Around eighteen months ago I dabbled at extending my literary boundaries by trying my hand at writing poetry. All very pompous and tongue in cheek stuff, delivered in an olde worlde style, some of which can be found on my website writesaidfred.org under the menu title of 'Pretentious Prose'. https://strachan.blog/2017/06/24/pretentious-prose/ These pieces of work were … Continue reading Poetic Licence
Tomorrow sees the 100th anniversary of the end of the Great War (WWI). To mark this occasion today I've decided to take a break from the status quo and write a poem. A piece of prose addressing a fallen soldier from that conflict, referencing the irony of this centenary celebration's close proximity to seemingly fraught … Continue reading Sceptred Isle’s Soldier
Thursday 17th May - I'm sat writing this monologue at the salon of my mum's hairdresser. My attendance here that of dutiful son patiently awaiting to drive his mater home post-haircut. Despite me being firmly entrenched in middle-age, mum feel moved to promise me a bag of M&S Peppa Pig candies if I'm a good … Continue reading Tuffy Hardcase & The Rhum Deal
Departed Loiner’s final glass vessel; merlot bereft In smithereens; akin to spirits of those left behind Fragmented for regeneration; successor yet untold Like Loiner, vessel existentially intact two months prior Their chance meeting short, though physically & spiritually fruitful Distressingly, House of York affiliate’s hindmost drop of fermented grape Empty merlot vessel bereft … Continue reading Last Bottle of Red
Triggers abound; blindsiding brood Culprits melancholic refrain, aroma, vino, cuisine Messages present on device; though hearken avoided Sobbing avoidance key for offspring of taken Tears for departed patriarch not an option Resistance to avoid exhibiting fragility his lad’s focus. Triggers ad infinitum; their sporadic existence surety Though no surety of coping strategy to employ Has … Continue reading The Tiring Jab?
Comfort zone, erstwhile sanctuary of clan chief Former chamber of serenity, grape and musical refrain Empty leather seat beckons product of god’s own county to no avail Empty brood hearts beckon man of god’s own county to no avail Sinatra in solitude, Darrin in desolation his clans hereafter. Yorkshireman’s invite to his sanctuary has … Continue reading Salle Des Declencheurs
Name your ransom; what dowry for chief’s homecoming? Brood at sea, despite occupying terra firma Clan cut adrift, despite occupying terra firma Old Blue Eyes lament awaits chief Frankie’s throat cleared; though won't sing 'The Good Life' Wine rack bereft of buddy merlot For Pontefract cakes, blue is new black For the brood, skies black … Continue reading Black Skies Are The New Blue