Monthly Archives: February 2019

Pharaoh…

France & Vincent

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…There was famine in the land so Abram and Sarai,

 his wife, went into Egypt to avoid the grievous blight…

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On nearing Egypt Abram said to Sarai,

“Because of your great beauty, when the Egyptians see you,

they will kill me in order to possess you,

say therefore that you are not my wife

but my sister and that way

it may go well with us in this land.”

*

When Abram came to Egypt,

the Egyptians saw Sarai

and commended her before Pharaoh…

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Sarai was taken into Pharaoh’s house

and Abram was given sheep, and oxen,

and camels, and slaves for her…

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But the Lord sent a pestilent wind

which blew through Pharaoh’s house all night.

*

When Pharaoh discovered the cause of the pestilent wind,

he called Abram before him and said,

“Why did you tell me Sarai was your sister,

when she is…

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Troll Bridge…

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Black-Jack-Davey had been on the road since sun-up.

As twilight descended filching the last of the colour from his day he came upon a village.

Up ahead he could make out a little stone bridge and what he took to be a garrison turret.

On the far-side of the river were lights.

As Black-Jack approached the bridge it started to rain.

“Who goes there!” cried a gravelly voice.

From under the bridge lurched a hideous troll who leered at Jack and demanded, “Be ye friend or foe?”

“Oh, I’m definitely a friend,” laughed Jack.

“Yee’ll still ‘ave to pay,” drooled the troll eyeing Jack up for size and licking his…lips.

“What if I’d been a foe?” asked Jack.

“Why, then it’d ‘ave been double,” replied the troll uncertainly. No one before had ever asked any questions.

“And on whose authority do you demand payment to cross this bridge?” continued Jack…

This was too much for the troll. He needed back up.

“Lycretia!” he hollered.

After a small space, Lycretia, lumbered up from under the stone bridge looking distinctly nonplussed to have been disturbed…

“What now, Gore-Tax,” she complained. “Can’t a woman leave a man to do owt reet these days?”

If Gore-Tax was a big, fat, ugly looking troll, which he decidedly was, then Lycretia was bigger, fatter and uglier. She was also decidedly meaner looking…

“It’s this little fellow ‘ere,” said Gore-Tax, looking down and then hastily re-adjusting his gaze, for in all the hullaballoo, Black-Jack-Davey had walked onto the threshold of the stone span… “‘Ere,” said Gore-Tax again, quickly retreating further onto the bridge.

“What about him?” said Lycretia, moving behind Black-Jack…

“He’s asking questions,” said Gore-Tax.

“What sort of questions,” said Lycretia, moving in on Jack.

“Wants to know about authority?” said Gore-Tax following Lycretia’s lead.

“We don’t need any,” laughed Lycretia…

As the two trolls pounced, Black-Jack-Davey hit the deck, rolled to his left, leaped to his feet and dashed across the bridge.

The two trolls collided head to head in mid air and fell to stone concussed.

Their combined weight, falling from such a height, was too much for the little stone bridge. It cracked and collapsed into the dark river where it was washed away.

The trolls went with it…

But what of Black-Jack-Davey?

Well…

he lived…

a number of other tales…

…to tell.

*

Dear Wen: Ghaist Stanes…

France & Vincent

Dear Wen…bakewell 001 (169)

Why that particular text for a trip to the hospital was all I was really wondering…?

The old Chestnut, with a twist, of files baked into Bakewell Tarts is possibly not the way to go…

But the ‘…Stane’ will doubtless remain, at least for the time being, an interesting phrase which one is tempted into making the Time Being… can one ever really be anything else…?

The recovery of Ulster’s Epic, ‘Cattle Spoil…’ is accredited to the ‘Ghaist Stane’ of Fergus Mac Roigh, but it isn’t at all obvious in the story as it has come down. For a start the stone is described as his grave stone which makes it sound like it stands in a Church graveyard when in fact, as we now know, it is more or less bound to stand in an open field or moorland…

Not unlike the two ‘Stanes’ we came across…

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#Bookreview – Mr Fox and the Green Man

Roberta Writes

book reviews

Sue VincentMister Fox and the Green Man Kindle Edition

What Amazon says

“Foxes, Welch!”
When Special Agent Tommy Welch is called into Tee’s office, he has little idea of the perils of his latest assignment. Accompanied by the sensuous Miss Hunnyfludd, Welch believes he is to investigate an outbreak of mysterious Foxes. Instead Tommy finds himself flung far back in time, to the court of King Arthur, where a Green Knight is about to extend a deadly challenge…

Within the humorous spoof that frames the story, the reader is transported to Camelot to witness the confrontation of Gawain and the Green Knight. Based upon the story that lies deep at the heart of Arthurian lore, the threefold nature of the ancient myth unfolds…

My review

This is a most unusual book which presents three concepts from English mythology in the form of a graphic novel. It was not what I originally expected but I did enjoy this unique idea…

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Dryad…

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…That night the world took on strange colours and my dream-girl became a tree.

If I were a Druid I would say that I had fallen under the sway of a wood nymph, a Dryad…

She is certainly very beautiful and pulls me  away from the busy road where traffic endlessly flashes through the ever screaming air…

She always wins.

I always turn from the road and allow her to take my hands in hers.

We roll down the embankment conjoined…

We roll together

for all eternity

but then collide with the bole of the tree

and she is gone.

Dear Don: Ghaist Stanes…

France & Vincent

november hawk orc 028Dear Don,

Had the inadvertent blooding of the book indeed been a ritual, I would have minded far less, as such would hark back to the oldest rites, continuing the thread of vicarious sacrifice reaching even into the heart of Christianity.

It was, however, nothing so symbolic… merely annoying and messy.

The book, however, is still readable, and the whole, sorry affair puts a new complexion on red ink…

Speaking of vicarious sacrifice… Ah, Ben… of course. Poor Ben, incarcerated now for the duration. I wonder if they provide tarts to the prisoners?… being Bakewell, of course, before you jump to any erroneous conclusions! Perhaps we could send one… with a file baked into it, do you think?

I do feel a tad responsible after all… Still, if he hadn’t insisted on going back… And I still maintain the thing is better in its original position… I wonder if they…

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Mine-Sweeper…

Wales 053

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I entered the ruin to a low hum…

The snug fit of my arms in the portal vectors was no accident.

Once inserted an irreversible chain reaction commenced.

The stone and wood around me shifted into old form:

sleek… modular…

The screen before my face showed a small orange planet, turning in space.

The hieroglyphs overhead read Mine-Sweeper…

Earth-to-Venus-Sixty-Nine.

Thinking the words was enough to initiate the familiar

‘Thwop-Thwop-Thwop…’

of passing solar systems.

Three light speeds later and the low hum again indicated arrival.

White-Glare flooded the craft.

“Welcome back, Agent Blonde. How goes it with Urantia?”

“Not good, Ma’am…”

*

 

Harvest of Wyrms…

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‘The Witch’, they called her but she minded not, tending to her herbs and the animals and birds which nature’s highest intelligence brought to the garden of her single roomed house knowing her abilities to hold and to heal…

It started slowly.

A black stain on the stone and the gentle glooping of mud or oil disturbed by rising vapours.

But by noon the single roomed house had begun to rise through the air…

She peered from a window of the house, now tower, at the receding garden, far below, and smiled.

Unfurling her wings she hopped from the window…

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