Out of the Mouths of Babes…

The words of little ones surprise us many times
With wisdom far beyond the japes and pranks of nursery rhymes.
For though these little ones seem ‘wet behind the ears’
Out of the mouths of babes come words beyond their years.

Listen to a little one, and in those words you’ll find
A pathway to strict honesty, while still remaining kind.
A trust that calls to you to make your answers fair,
So that, with passing time, that confidence you’ll share.

(Sometimes, of course, their words are not like this
But full of silliness and hate.
That’s mostly at the times they try
Grown-ups to imitate.)

This post was prompted by the ‘100 word challenge’ here.

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Writing Workshop: Wishes

This will be a very short post.  It is too hard for me to put into words, at present, what I wish for in a personal sense.

But I’ll just say that I’d love truth and falsehood, honesty and lies, humility and arrogance, self-denial and greed, fairness and favouritism, to be shown up in an increasing way for what they are.  Because to deceive is not clever.  To defraud is not smart.  Where things are not what they may seem to many, I long for a day of reckoning.  Wherever and whenever a person or organisation presents an unreal façade to the outside observer, concealing a morass of vice and underhand activity, I wish for it to be torn down.

This post was prompted by the Writing Workshop here.

See the responses here.

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The Flower Sculpture

This post was prompted by the ‘100 Word Challenge’ here.  Please visit the post on Julia’s site and scroll down to view the photo.

Perhaps the astute wife of a country town tailor started the idea.  Imagine this:

“Bob, we should make the most of this pageant, you know.  Promote the old firm a bit.”
“Not my scene, sweetheart.  And we seem to get by…”
“Yes, love, we do.  But there’ll be another house to keep soon.  Our Nev has a thing going with Mary, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“You’ve got ideas going round in that brain of yours…”

And so, at the pageant, a cart bearing with the firm’s name carried a floral sculpture round the town: ‘Robert Flowers and Son, Tailors.’

This post is based on my own musings only.  Any similarity with any known incident, or any work of fiction, is unintentional.

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The Gallery: Week 73 – Shoes

So.  Shoes, the lady asks for, and shoes, she – and you, gentle reader – will get.  Even though I’m no great collector of them.  I count myself fortunate to find a matching pair, with non-snapped laces, as and when  I need them.  but what about these?

You see, sometimes, not only feet, but also wheels, have shoes.  But, unlike a smart pair of stilettos, ladies, they’re no fashion accessory.  In fact, they spend their working life hidden away inside a metal drum which spins with the wheel, the shoes themselves being mounted on a backplate.  Whenever a hydraulically-operated system pushes them outwards, the friction thus set up between shoes and drum slows the vehicle.

Although, increasingly, cars are now being equipped with disc brakes on all wheels, drums and shoes, many times bigger than these here, are still used on heavy goods vehicles – and stopping one of those is no mean task!  Just think how many shoes there are on a road tanker!  Oh, and the driver has a pair, too.

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Mary thought…

Mary thought that all she had left to do was to mourn.  With energy born of intense love, she got up very early and went to the place where her loved one had been buried.

She was amazed, however, to find the grave open and empty.  She ran to tell friends (who came to look, then went home.)

But Mary stayed there, weeping, then, looking into the grave, saw someone who asked her why she was in tears.  Then she turned round to see another man, who also questioned her, whom she took to be the attendant gardener.

Until he said ‘Mary.’

This post was prompted by the ‘100 word challenge’ here:
It is based on one account of the resurrection in the Holy Bible.
(See John 20: 1-16.) 

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That Firefly Phil bloke, still knocking out photography and other stuff.