http://slow.writerscafe.org/Beccy The original writings of author Beccy en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775948487 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Just thoughts on a already warm early summer morning. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2899157/ A true and evolving story. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2852135/ The old man, (eighty seven I had beentold by the vicar,) looked to be asleep,memories of past glories no doubt crowding his dreams. I smiled, then settled next tohim and reached out a hand, a gentle touch."Heard you knocking love," he chuckled,surprising me, "thought I'd let you make your own way in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2799305/ “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shunThe frumious Bandersnatch!”Lewis CarrolFor now, even the rain is cleaner.And there are more birds in my garden,more little things going about their business; uncaring of our malaise; t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2788268/ The tear stains are temporary,a passing dampness on plain paper,not yet inscribed with condolence;and my conservatory, ordinarily filled with sunshine and birdsong,is dull and eerily silent.I ought to write something really,even triteness is better than nothing,but words are hard to find,as the turb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2785190/ I attended a lecture on pests yesterdaywhere a very large numbers were present,including a termite who munched noisilyand made life most awfully unpleasant.To my left sat a bottle green aphidwho kept eyeing my pink paisley tie."Is that silk I can scent?" he faint ventured,inching closer with hope in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2770998/ There is a difference now. Night used to be when cold sheets becamewarm and 'La petite mort,' was writ largein both heart and mind, when the illusion of love became a transient reality. Night used to be shy smiles, Followedby whispers in the dark, an entwining of limbs; perfectly timed quicksteps an.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2576882/ After school, all in the park, sharing secrets; swings and slides, the traffic barely breathes a sighwhere safe behind the canopy of trees,we took our turns, absorbed the world ;best friends, just brief and small dividesthat barely breached the trusting eye.Three decades since, all on the bus, conve.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2480042/ I saw you in the high street today.A fleeting glimpse, little more than a reflection in a shop window;a momentary flicker frameof recognition, followedby the faintest of hesitations,that caused my heart to almost cease. Then, you were gone without trace, like dropped ash from a cigarette end. Later,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2261528/ for my Grandma, who passed away fifteen years ago this month. She is always in my heart and mind. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2177535/ There became an overstepping of the mark,a thinning of the gulf between us and the brutes.It lies in the past, but disfigures the future;and though heaven is broad and blueit cannot explain all that has passed,why the shepherd turned his flock about.And thus, we search, mostly amongsuburban chimneys.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2175495/ The trouble with symbolsis that they are a necessary evil;and there are so many now,thirty one million, two hundredand sixty eight at last count, (sic,)red octagons my least preferred,the variable 'x', in a mathematicalequation, my all time favourite.Though the 'golden arches,'comes a close second w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2169318/ The bricks pile,angled in certain shadows;whilst in stark contrasted trees, crows squabble,vying for what little space remains, as pale twilightsearches for redundant and recently departed ancient oaks.There is bustle, where onceonly meadow grass rose togreet the day; muddie.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2168167/ A different thought stream and perspective to my poem 'Animate objects.' http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2166370/ Every day in the park,he shared.Scattered crumbs,the happy chirrupingof his fellow party goersa symphony to his ears;whilst at his feet, leaves swirledin approval, becoming alive again.Passing by, there were those that understood,those that didn't.But all nodded a greeting,somehow assuredby his.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2163523/ Even filing cabinets have feelings,so too the carpet trod carelesslyunderfoot; the purse or wallet thatknows your PIN, but never tells.It's why children talk to teddy bears,and sticks picked up from forest floorsbecome Superhero ray guns; or magic wands that make wishes come true;And why cars w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2156857/ " a sonnet of sorts. " http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2156214/ For my friend and longtime mentor Ewain Roberts. bendithia chi. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2153730/ The little mouse defies the owl,but only when a higher need,stands shoulder to the hunter's wingand makes hurt seem a welcome thing;when sustenance from winter's chill,is all and more his heart desiresand shows the cycle of the year,is more compelling than his fear.It is the same with hopeless love,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2153375/ you never what you might find if you look. :)) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2152384/ On reading; 'I am the only being whose doom,'by Emily Bronte. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2152145/ It is early and dew still adorns,but next door someone is already playing music,the sound spreading,  being shared,dissipating the haze of morning.But listen, further out, the church bells are ringing,telling me there is no music save their own;that I need to escape the weekday burden.Momentari.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2151645/ It happens. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2150936/ It was a mile or more I came to walkon that small and winding track,'til the tree line closed out all aroundand there was no turning back.Such silence filled the evening air,such thoughts ran through my head,as I listened, watched and waitedto see where I'd been led.Then came a gentle rustling noise.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2150160/  A little twist of fate,a wind blown seedborne on a transient zephyr breeze.Fair daffodil or dandelionit matters not,for both bear giftsthat glitter at my naked feet. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2149567/ He stalks as though it were the veld,claws unsheathed, yet lightly held;hugs the ground, then still unseen,he pounces, and I hear the scream,the taking of a final breath,the certainty of sudden death.What manner is this beast I see?unblinking in his savagery,the vestige of a different agecontained i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2148820/ It starts earlier than you imagine. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2148107/ It is raining tonight,street lights capture shadowsdark as the night itself.There is sound, the clatterof high heels tip tappingto the beat of illicit barter.A calm before the storm.Above, three floors up,rain sheltered, a predatoris on patrol. Cruel eyed,fingers tip tapping on the rusted balco.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2147734/ I  wrote this in the mind's eyewhilst driving in my car,so small beneath the paling sunthat seemed so very far;and as the wheels kept spinningfrom beginning, to the now,I thought about and pondered both of the why and how.That life is mostly mystery,like why a wave seeks out the shore?Inst.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2147221/ I am not a great advocate of labels,my thought processes being more akinto the disinterest shown by cans of good value baked beans,to the cost of designer kitchens at fifty grand or more a flippancy.Nor do I prescribe to Gucci or Louis Vuitton handbags and the like;'made in China,' ho.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2147167/ I am lost to the rhythm of the tides,beached trinkets from shipwrecks;the accidental discovery that our world had no sharp edges.I am bound by moonlight,ageless forests and mountains,the ghost wolf's mournful howlas it recounts the passing of centuries.I believe in mass-energy equivalence,that gold .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2145756/ From a long ago memory http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2145385/ Old men are asleep in chairs,dreaming of tragedy,mankind's small epitomeand the moon blood red,like the Bible said;as Lemming like, we turn our eyes to the sky,though only for the finale,as the distraction of 9 to 5 becomes of no accountand the concern of the priestrules paramount.And then, what of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2120969/ Silence - Oh! That blessed state,where nervous rank and file await -in blinkered head down concentrationand soon to come deliberation,where not the slightest scratch of pendisturbs the meditative Zen.But then, if briefly, swings the door,a pace outside, then one pace more;and from within, so lightly.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2108903/ The glance, when understood, is morethan all the words that have been said;Than all the paths upon this earththat we so briefly tread...And here was time, encapsulated,as quiet as the tip-toe back and forthof the last bastions of hope in their crispand perfectly ironed uniforms.He thought the silenc.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2105047/ Darkness slips,subservient to the dawn chorus.Cobwebs glistencelebrating first light,the freshness of dew. In the trees, birds stir, ushering the new day,the thrum of wingssound enough to sendthe little earthworm deeper,and from my windoweverything is in motion;the rippled grass.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2099697/ I passed by a strange vexation the other day,a place with more than a dozen crossroadsand couldn't decide which way to go,then I spotted a sign that said,'Lost Victories this way.'It was weather beaten, part hidden by lichen;even so, it intrigued, so I followed.Eventually I came to an anci.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2095627/ A child, four years old, came up to me and told me she was a fairie.I smiled, but was unable to outshineher gap toothed little grin;or the makeshift magic wandthat told the truth of her words;as did the little pink tutu she woreand the dance she danced for me.In any case, who was I to tell her .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2091349/ My father was telling me about sixpences;(not for the first time,) and my mother was laughing, as she does."He still thinks you ought to beable to get into the cinema for sixpence,and have enough change left over forthe bus ride home," she said, a fond glance beneath an elegantlyarche.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2064307/ Wrote this a while back. Just thought I'd dust it off. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2061628/ A slender tree, vertical as noonstands alone to the left of the lake.It is quite beautiful; and close upthe resin swells, live amber glows, beckoning my touch, whilst the birdsong remains innocent of my passing.I gaze over the lake's unblemished surfaceand think of what has gone before.&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2055292/ He sits hunched over his workbench.At first glance, he is old;sinew and bone, skin like leather,but his hands are deft, those of a much younger man.Momentarily he looked up, gavea gap toothed smile, that made meashamed of the amount I once spent on cosmetic dentistry; during a time wh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2053537/ Time stored all, but kept its council.Wrote no history of our creation,but chronicled instead, the ancient forests,the ceaseless oceans.Aeons passed, ember became fire,whilst multi hued moths gathered with wild mischief in their wings.A different species, populatingevery space, but sharing.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2048294/ There is a plumpness in the air, that sayswe never lack two Sundays in a week; and thereis the surety of God's acre stretching greenly. An unspoken suspicion that it's all fake news,CGI conjured and served from breakfast to supper,the only reality being the barking of contented dogsand the comf.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2042404/ written after an Autumn visit to Dôl Idris; a most beautiful place. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2035871/ Beyond the scent of first beinglies the dreamers journey, cobbled streets of imagination, where youth rises, celebrating the passing of innocence andbuilding mountains of desire.It is like the unfolding of a flower,only briefly gifted, but as the child,so beautiful in its simplicity;&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/2023993/ There was an old, rather cracked flower pot in the back garden,I noticed it as we settled down for a nice cup of tea;(served in fine bone china naturally.)"That's a bit like me," she said, catching my glance,then she smiled and the sun came out."but the forget-me nots still come up every year,they h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/1986898/ An old man passed me in the high street,he was uneven in both gait and expression.I gazed steadfastly at the dress in the window,guiltily unwilling to add a further burdento an already overburdened there and now.The price to pay seemed reasonable,and I thought that perhaps some childishhour had come.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/1979080/ It was only base metal and paste,polished, if slightly scratched glass,but the look in his eyes saidthat to him, it was pure goldwith a diamond brighterthan all the starsthat shone at night.“Look at this mum,” he said,“It was only two pounds“what do you think?”I made no.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/1957687/ There was a time when we loved the sun, counted  those unquenchable flames as one vast illumination lying deep in the impenetrable night; brooked no corruption of its beautyas it gave life to the little blue dot we call home.But things, as they do, change; we no longer decay.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Beccy/1936623/