Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
22h · 24
Frank the Yank
Frank the Yank is out of his senses

give him crap there’s consequences

danish accent eloquence’s

drinks black coffee with thugs and fences


here’s a nice girl no one knows

blue eyes two eyes broken nose

gin glass lard *** pal in tow

what you reap is what you know


Mama Cass can kiss my ***

California’s smoking grass

wide awake her eyes are screaming

winter’s days are not for dreaming


Uncle Sam is still uploading

building missiles for exploding

when in Rome recite a poem

Alabama  home sweet home
only your pencil cared for you

that conduit to a tormented brain

a writer’s dice crash landing on paper

looking for a six in the alphabet

it was your poems that hated you

for abandoning them to the mercy of indifference
1d · 27
Bright fragment
who will shine on the Sun in its darkest hour?

place a trace of light upon its countenance

hold the hand that warmed our hearts

farewell dear friend

You were all of our days and respite from night

the hope in our lives

a bright fragment in a drab world
******* looked with bulging eyes at the planet just visible in the star plains ahead. His neural-scope zoomed into the surface and confirmed his gut instinct. It was no time to contact his base and confirm the sighting. ‘Observe before commitment’ were his orders but the hell with that. Glory first was his creed. That and money and neither were for sharing with cretins.

Very subtly and with great precision he landed his craft just on the crest of a mountain and checked the nitrogen levels. All was well and within the range of his brains nitrogen- survival index.

His synaptic rifle was in his hands already. A brilliant piece of instrumentation that fired an electron charge which neutralized the amygdala and neo-cortex of all known species in the nebular complex of Neural Nineteen.

Still, ******* was light years from Skylon 15; his military base in that complex.

What if it didn’t work? The old ruse of an alien from space was enough to frighten some civilizations on other planets. He smiled when he recalled the first time he kidnapped an Earthling. It was priceless and the commander roared with laughter when he brought the captive in.

The Earthlings brain had short-wired with the shock. Way too small in capacity to be of any use to the scientific community. A primitive species whose very existence was a mystery to them. What good was a small brain in this universe?

If it had not been for that then Planet Earth would have been considered for an invasion.

Yet here he was now and staring at a different species.

They dwarfed ******* by a gargantuan figure. Their heads were ****** enormous. If I can only get one he thought.

He considered his position. Their heads were huge and yet their bodies were way too small to carry them; so it seemed they moved at a pace slower than Earth’s snails. What kind of a skeleton could support that weight? They moved in herds.

He was overthinking now he realized. Just shoot the ****** thing.
******* looked through his sight and fired a round.

The target reeled over in shock and looked up at ******* with rage.

That’s when ******* realized he was in a vulnerable position.

All of the herd suddenly gathered and instantaneously became one.

All of the heads merged into one unit and centipede -like ran at him with the speed of a demon possessed.

*******’s first instinct was to fire off the nuclear neuron destroyer but this would contravene his orders.

Overthinking again. *******’s survival instinct took over and he cursed himself for getting too far from his craft. He ran like blazes.

Hurling himself in he closed the hatches just as a monstrous head was closing in perilously near.

Hitting the power extreme- acceleration button he took off in the nick of time.

**** it! This would set him back big time. Now the cranial giants were alerted and would be on their guard. It frightened him to recall the intelligence in the eyes that had focused on him after the failed shot.

‘Dumb creatures my ***’ he thought. Someone in Command would get a tongue lashing over this.

How in hells name did they merge into one creature?

He made his report.

I have found the planet of the mythical large cranium creatures.
There are huge herds of them and we have underestimated their intelligence.
They can merge into one being at will. The synaptic rifle is useless.
Visual recording successful.

******* waited for a response from Command. Had it not been for the visual recording he would have been accused of drunkenness and dereliction of duty.

Still he thought ‘perhaps I will get a hero’s welcome on return?’

‘Overthinking again, *******’ he thought. ****** overthinking again.

Then he set his altitude for a megamillion metres and looked into deep space. It was beautiful. As far as he knew he was alone.

Unknownst to ******* a craft had pursued him; with a Cranium headed giant at the wheel.

******* had become the hunted.
Harriet Cleve Jan 15
Gunther zipped off his flesh suit. Staring at his bare bones in the mirror he breathed a sigh of relief. Who in their right minds would be content wearing it constantly he thought.

Flopping down on the couch of the rented apartment in the city’s slums he was exhausted.

He rolled his calcium cigarette and inhaled. It felt good. Smoke billowed from his rib cage as his bones absorbed the nutrients.
Allowing himself a laugh at the sight of himself he realized his time among the sapiens would be his toughest mission yet.

Gunther reflected on his position. He could hang out in graveyards if he found an old subsided grave. This was a possibility although it freaked him out knowing the site was populated by dead skeletons.

He had a map of archeological sites where he could lay low at night.

No one ever suspected a thing and he never looked out of place there.

For the moment he decided the government- issued flesh suit would have to do. The clothes made it worse. Suits and ties suffocated him further. Still when in Rome he thought.

He wished Androlona was here. She was a beauty and just the thought of her milky white skull was enough to send him into a mood of tranquility. ‘You come home safe’ she had told him.

It rankled him that she was accompanied to the star-port by his rival in the corporation Ulther Heidleman. A broad skeleton with a great set of teeth. Androlona might be tempted by his charms.

**** it! he thought. Focus on your mission.

He got up irritated then and carefully looked out his window.

There they were. The night shifters getting ready to go to work.

One of them was Henry Hammond and he had been tracking him for five days. Tomorrow he would knock on his door and introduce himself as a new colleague in his job. On the pretext of looking for advice he would abduct him to the next galaxy.

Command wanted a young flesh walker and it was vital he was not injured in any way. Henry’s skeleton held a vital dna complex nutrient and if all went well then Henry would be used an interplanetary *******.

Henry had been under observation for some years now and a previous attempt to lure him had failed when it was found out he had a hatred for his fellow sapien.

Gunther  would dress in a female- sapien  flesh suit and try his wiles and failing that then Henry would be brought back to Command nursing a sore head.

Once more he dragged on the calcium cigarette and poured himself a calcium slake. That hit the spot. Androlona came into his consciousness again and his spirits lifted.

He took a look at the flesh suit lying on the floor and burst out laughing. How pathetic these creatures are he thought.
What a waste of a skeleton. Still they were a resource now and Command, if all went well, were intent on a full scale invasion.

Gunther was tired now and he glanced at the bed. Then he caught his reflection in the mirror,

‘Gunther, he said, you are one handsome *******’

Then he laughed till his ribs hurt and thought about tomorrow.
Jan 10 · 99
Losing the head
Harriet Cleve Jan 10
the head doctor told me with a shake of his own sorry head

that I had lost the coin toss

heads loses he said

your head that is

then he headed off

to a little corner of a very small room

sat down on a tiny chair

looking out through this miniature window at me

Go he said

you have lost the toss

it’s a terrible thing to lose your head and the toss in one day
Elliot Fragglehertz was a nasty *******. One of a long line of ******* who likened themselves to a tribe who took it upon themselves to inflict maximum casualties amongst their fragile co- habitants of this delicate planet. Not fragile in the physical sense, oh no, fragile in a psychological sense. Those who are by nature of a timid disposition. The landscape of the inner worlds of their victims minds was the hunting ground for the blood thirsty Fragglehertzs.

Many timid people whose  voice barely rose above a whisper were steamrolled by the juggernauts of destruction commandeered by Elliot and his uncouth sycophantic devotees.

Elliot liked to pick up the Bible and place his brutish ***** thumb on the passage which stated ‘ the meek shall inherit the Earth’ and his mouth would spew a volcanic guffaw of irreverent laughter.
A tall, gaunt faced young man who had traded in the art of bullying and earned his stripes in the grammar schools of old England. His eyes were a vicious squinted predators eyes and quick to make an assessment of his intended victims. His teeth were stained by tobacco  and fine port. He was proud that some of his handiwork had sought refuge in the final kiss of a rope. Let them hang he thought. What of it. His was the world of psychological blood sport.

Now approaching thirty eight and appointed the manager of a large engineering firm Elliot Fragglehertz was about to meet his nemesis.

A young, frail in appearance, waif like gentleman of twenty nine.
Edwin Castletower was a new recruit to the accounts division and destined  to report to and interact with Fragglehertz.
What he lacked in stature and physique though was well balanced by an intelligent brain and although Fragglehertz didn’t know it Edwin had already murdered three of his previous tormentors. None of which were ever attributed to him. By sheer cunning and a brass neck forged in hell, young Edwin killed only those who crossed his path and threatened his well being or made efforts to trample on his sanity.

Fragglehertz was about to enter a new world where his efforts to proceed with impunity were to be met in the same currency as his own.

The tribe of torturers were about to go hunting and find out that the bite was gargantuan compared to the timid bark of their intended victim.

Edwin Castletower did not want to inherit the Earth and he was not a spiritual young man. His philosophy was survival at all costs.

Fragglehertz was about to learn a new lesson in life.
Jan 5 · 43
Coke-fire
around a coke-fire lit like a rush-torch of the kind you might see on a grey stone wall of any Kings castle in old England, gathered a crowd of calloused and cold knarled hands greedily grabbing the heat from the stoked coals gouged from the eyes of an English mine.

It is the hands that betray the men. Countless men hardened by the sting of many cruel winters; their faces testimony to extreme hardships and desperate lives.

Hands that have swung picks into a terrified stoney soil or whose firm grip lashed the earth with shovels till the splinters of the handles sank their vengeful teeth into flesh, ripping the nails from oblivious fingers.
Men who laboured for a miserable wage and whose hands built a new England. Whose shoulders buckled under the load of the hod and whose feet scaled the scaffolding of progress for a future their eyes would not see.

Around the circumference of the coke- fire they gathered like warriors amongst carnage on a battlefield where it was uncertain whose side has won the conflict. Breath from their mouths gushes out like smoke from a dragon slain in slaughter and the fire spits in their faces in defiance.

We do not know what dreams they carried or if their thoughts sought expression in the form of words from a pen stabbed on rough paper.
There must have been poets amongst them whose verse lay silent in their hands and never left their hearts.

Yet I see their poetry. It is here in these buildings and industry of England. The flames leap into the frosty night sky heralding a victory cry. These are the men who lived and died as unsung heroes. Let these words be their song.
There the severed hand lay. A ghastly, grotesque weather worn obscenity.
The gun had been removed from it's grasp since it's horrific amputatation from Ned Marlow. Three days had passed since the incident and no one dared to remove it from the street. Ominously, no decay had festered to spoil that monstrosity;for life still lingered within it's ghoulish flesh.

Mangy street dogs looked at it with curiosity yet kept a tentative distance. The little finger still wore a silver ring set with a black stone. Once it had belonged to an ancient Pagan High King who had been slaughtered in battle. An artefact from a distant time carried across Europe into the Americas.

Evil had tainted it's properties and the Sons of the Unholy had sought it since. The ring now sought a new owner as the severed hand, an abomination of creation, crawled like a filthy worm in the dirt. Slowly, laboriously, with uncanny certainty the wretched hand made it's way towards the room of the one who had hurled the hatchet.


Raihna sat alone in her bedroom.The hatchet lay across her lap and it was emitting a low hum, almost inaudible, but she had heard it. At first she thought madness was setting in, but she realised that the voices communicating with her were real; the Mind Seekers had chosen her.

Her mind and body became a telepathic conduit and she was absorbed in receiving the messages. The Ancients were channelling through her and a deep trance held her almost comatose.


Slowly, sickening slow, the hand crawled it's way towards her. Grubby thick fingers inching themselves stealthily, dangerously close, while Raihna was immersed in the communication.
Her eyes were closed in the deep state between the conscious and the unconscious; so she could not witness the fingers wrap themselves around the handle of the Hatchet.

Both hand and clasped hatchet lifted silently from her lap. As the hand moved to distance the weapon from her, the ring glowed a greenish hue, emanating the presence of the Unholy. Suddenly the hand lunged at Raihna's throat!
Raihna's life was ebbing into eternity.The possessed, filthy, unholy amputation squeezed her windpipe with the vengence of perpetual hostility. As her body slumped to the floor so too did the severed hand which crawled away and sought out another victim.
it is strange to relate and seems incredible though it will have its detractors.  A moon shone with an inquisitive glow over a ghastly stretch of wasteland on a corner of a small city. As is usually the way of these things only I was on that fog strewn moor to witness the most bizarre occurrences. A large number of hieroglyphs were running across the moor in pursuit of a shabbily dressed Pharaoh.

Knowing this part of the city well I was aware there were no pyramids or oceans of sand in this area.The Pharaoh was desperate and looked pleadingly at me but what could I do?

Each hieroglyph was well armed and every countenance bore an expression of frustrated malice.

As they closed their distance all fell upon the Pharaoh and beat the living daylights out of him. I was alarmed as I spoke no Egyptian and was powerless to intervene.

Having satisfied their bloodlust they returned in the same direction they had come from and not one pair of eyes met my astonished gaze.

Tentatively I made my way to the Pharaoh and his expression was one of great distress. I could not understand one word as he expired holding my hand to the last utterance.

Unable to report to the police for fear of being sent to the madhouse I lifted the Pharaoh up in my arms and walked across the moors.

Leaving his body outside an Anglican Church I immediately set off on foot back across the moors.

To this day I do not know why the Pharaoh met a bad end in a city nowhere near Egypt or if the hieroglyphs ever found it back to a pyramid. Not knowing any Egyptian this is all I can relate.
Dec 2019 · 335
Hard Boilers
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
Hard hats on hard men are hardly needed for hard heads that can take hard knocks unlike a fresh egg fresh from an egg box or an egg head with a sunny side up fragile mentality looking to parade as a hard boiled egg or hard of hearing nanogenarians on the rip looking for hard covered books of hard boiled pulp fiction to beat sense into hardy women who are as hard as nails.
Dec 2019 · 42
Looking for a Kingdom
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
In the medieval earth beneath the altar of the church lie the remains of those whose donations secured them the closest seat in the house of heaven although it is crowded and more a pit than a grave.

a touching stone rests to one side worn with indelible suffering of those who chose to test the Gods and call as witness to their lives those spirits who dwelt in the floors below the pews upon which knurled knuckles and knarled knees kneeled as though their prayers would contain and command the dead below to raise up and join the congregation.

a mass is offered and all the memories are poured into the pious walls whose piety is beyond reproach.

eight hundred years and eight times eight hundred candles have burned within these walls and their glow is a luminescence of what can be and what may be and perhaps was or will be or could be if only we burned enough tallow although tallow is a rare commodity in a church whose redemption is divied up by the annual accounts of clerical bookends and stipends and the weeping and gnashing of a surplus amount of tea stained teeth grinding out novenas for the lost souls of a new paradise guaranteed to all whose only task is to believe that they are they of the most holy they and not just chosen but purpose built in the factories of prophets whose only concern is to reduce the defect ratio to an acceptable level compatible with the laws of nature and nurture and a guaranteed life warranty if the rules and regulations are adhered to.

As for me I am on the outside looking in at the inside looking out and above me is a tree whose timbers and weeping leaves have kept me company these many many weary years. It is not for all to enter the heavens or have access to the gilded lilies of suburban dreams although it is courageous to carry the hope that existence is hope dressed in the clothes of a beggar looking for a kingdom.
Dec 2019 · 57
Goodbye Sun
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
The Sun didn't feel like shining when I lay sick in bed

no dog placed beneath my feet, to burn with when I'm dead

even though I pulled the curtains and stared up at the sky

the Sun didn't feel like lighting and preferred that I should die

So die I did and two days hence was buried in the clay

the Sun came out and as it did some were heard to say

'Oh look at that !' she would be so pleased; her having loved the Sun

to see it shining in the sky when all her days were done

the Sun didn't feel like caring when I touched her in the sky

she calmly took my hand away and preferred that I should die
Dec 2019 · 30
Our city
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
It is on these dark damp wintery nights that the architecture of the city lets you know its alive.
Exhaling their frosty moist breath as they crowd your personal space.
Some are spectres outlined against the dark lunar sky reaching their bricks and mortar towards the heavens; as if God were placing his hand down to pet their concrete heads.

It is you who is the affront to their dignity swaggering into their arena and disrespecting their right to live even as you live.
Others are warm like fresh cotton blankets pressed against a newborns skin.

Here in our city the buildings thrive and crowd into formations ready for battle. Beneath the gaze of the stars they watch humanity trespassing on the footpaths and backlanes of their lives.

Look at the cranes and hoists renewing their numbers even as the old and infirm amongst them are crushed by wrecking ***** and mechanical diggers ripping their souls out of the earth.

This city is old and has seen sights and horrors that would parallel
battle hardened men from the theatres of war.

A pungent smell permeates and fragrants this city. Its blood and bones are bricks and mortar. It breathes even as you breathe.

Bury me in this city when I am dead and gone. Let these buildings devour my remains and live to tell the future the tale.
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
I fear for my mind and an eye that is blind

once I was young and I was Carl Jung

walking in shadows across valleys of death

where I met

Archetypes and long held gripes

smoke billowing from old mouth pipes

like a London smog and thick dense fog

prohibiting the collective unconscious from being conscious

choke-smoke break-broke a demons back

sidetracked from neurosis and numinous complexes

Was I mad to protect and project my delusions?

Only if the rain in Spain was insane

handing umbrellas to slithering Suns

to protect my cranium from uranium

Yes I was a mad genius on the brink of sanity

proscribing from the lunatic fringe

Unhinged and unheralded

solutions to the answers to existence

a pied piper taken out by a ******

a new beginning  has begun

So long Carl Jung

the hand of Freud or fraud

is nowhere near the mind of God

Nor are you or your motley crew

If Jung is God then all is lost
Dec 2019 · 88
Our true selves
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
We have supped at the Devil's table. Slaked the deep draughts of our dense black shadow. Imbibed till it was brought to a conscious state.
One cannot recoil in horror at ones self and so it is in others that we see the dark side; carefully averting our gaze lest we see our true selves.
Dec 2019 · 39
The lonely skeleton
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
A white pasty - coloured skeleton climbed the last three feet out of the grave. Covered in clay and soil and insects it stood beside the tombstone. Rain poured incessantly and found its way through the eye sockets and gave the appearance of tears on the skull.

It was three o' clock on New Year's Eve in a remote disused cemetery.
Beside its grave stood an old tree withered by a harsh winter.
The hands of the skeleton traced the name on the stone and a look of despair crossed its boney countenance.
Something stirred deep inside its residual consciousness.

What was death if it could think? The flesh had abandoned its existence. Betrayed the white chalk -coloured bones.

A fire glowed close by and the skeleton was drawn to the heat and orange-yellow flames. A dog lay beside the fire and looked up wagging a curious tail. The skeleton picked the dog up and together they sat by the fire. Gradually the fire petered out as the dog fell asleep.

Placing the dog down the skeleton felt a pang of loneliness and looked around. A horse was tethered not far off and seemed unperturbed by the presence of a living skeleton.

As the horse looked on at the skeleton, the wind cried its most mournful lament and blew its breath upon the skeleton.

At that moment the skeleton leaped onto the horse and galloped into the darkness.

Where would it ride to if not another destiny or another world?

The moon broke free from amongst the clouded skies. It was too late as its pale glimpse could not see what had occurred.

Only the sound of the wind remained and echoes of a horse galloping into the distant past.
Dec 2019 · 181
Dark Side
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
We are not illuminated beings with a dark side

we are dark beings with a shadow of illumination
Dec 2019 · 114
Existence
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
sometimes the sky belongs only to you

the birdsong is your song

there is only you and an infinite world

a landscape transcending time

a sun that rose in your youth still breathing life

there in the summers of the past a hand is waving

It is you with a smile on yesterday's face

All will be well

this Earth is yours

embracing your existence
Dec 2019 · 33
Skinhead nostalgia
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
Cyril the Skinhead was tired of it all. It was a long way from the seventies and he missed the riots and violence.
Even now that old sound of Trex 'get it on' filled his eyes with nostalgia.

He missed the beer and throwing the empty bottles at innocent heads. Sometimes he shouted ' Ye bleeding  *******!' but his voice carried no menace now. He was too old and no longer a threat.

Tonight he would sneak out of the old folks home. It was time to touch base with any of the lads still alive.
Time to get the chain  swinging and the doc martens ready to root someone up the ****.

The seventies were over but that didn't mean his life was.

Tonight London  would  become a battlefield for old skinheads.
Harriet Cleve Dec 2019
'Dad? do you think if I knuckle down and keep my nose clean that I can be like you. I mean kicking peoples heads in and all.
It must be cool swinging your chain and booting people up the ****'

'You better believe it son! Now hurry up and finish your beer before the school calls around'

'You're a good lad is you son'

'And you're a great da, da!'
Nov 2019 · 110
Beryl
Harriet Cleve Nov 2019
In the dense scrubland of a Guayan jungle

my girl Beryl cuts a swathe

larger than an Indian Elephant

no bigger girl God ever made

once she stared a rhino down

kicked a vulture out of town

took on skinheads, chains and all

smashed their heads in, what a doll

Beryl writes me every day

she's heading home this coming May
Nov 2019 · 45
My girl Beryl
Harriet Cleve Nov 2019
My girl Beryl is bigger than large

We are in the army; she's the Sarge

I am a private doing my paces

cowering beneath her gruesome faces


Beryl taught me *******

Gives me orders; I know the drill

Through her teeth she yells 'Attack!'

Then kicks my guts out through my back


One day she smashed in my front teeth

stuck her bayonet through my feet

drove her jeep into my spine

blew me up in an old landmine


Despite the danger and the peril

I still love my girl Beryl
Nov 2019 · 269
Billy Bunter goes to war
Harriet Cleve Nov 2019
Billy Bunter looked in the mirror.Two years had passed since he left school. Greyfriars school for young gentlemen had finally made a man of him.

Back then he was an obese, corpulent, extremely fat boy. He had survived his education. If those beastly young men who bullied him mercilessly could see him now.

Billy had turned eighteen when he left school and had found employment in a small back street power-lifting gym.

A good head for figures had landed him a job running the accounts. It was here he met an old man, William Wilson, who took him under his wing and trained him in the art of nutrition and body building.

Incredibly  Billy lost the weight rapidly and discovered he was an athlete. All six foot seven of him was a lean, muscular, lithe physique.

Wilson was a fellow Englishman with a mysterious background. He was an old man and yet looked remarkably young. He became a mentor for Billy and would play a significant role in the life of Billy Bunter.

War had broke out over Europe and Billy enlisted in the British army. Now he was private Billy Bunter of the Queens Own 17th Hussars. One more proud glance in the mirror.

'If ****** wants Old Blighty that badly he better have an appetite for a lion.
We will show that old rotter a thing or two!'

Just then his fellow new recruit, Thomas Cowardman walked in.

A sleek young man of equal height to Billy, Cowardman was an officer and Billy was assigned to be his batman.

'Steady on old chap!' he said

'Your first thoughts will be to ensure I survive this war, Bunter!'

If even a hair of my brylcreamed head is knocked out of place it shall be you who is to blame! Understand Bunter?!'

Billy had met his type before in Greyfriars and knew how to handle him.

"Yes sir! If you get the honour of a Victoria Cross it will not be posthumous'

'That's the spirit Bunter! said Cowardman

'Glory and honour for England and all that, eh?'

'That's it sir! Billy responded.

'Look here sir, I have made you a brew of your favourite tea. Earl Grey sir'

'Good man Bunter. Now remove yourself from my quarters.
You are beginning to annoy me old chap.
Is that a smell of body odour I detect?
Go on and scrub up wont you?
It wouldn't be seen for me to have an unhygienic batman would it?

Billy was as fresh as a new dawn and had only taken a shower. He knew Cowardman was setting out his place in the hierarchy.

'Good idea, Sir!'Billy said.

Suddenly a young woman knocked on the door.

'Sir!

Yes? said Cowardman

'Private Bunter is required immediately by Major Wilson'

'Well Bunter, hop to it!'

Billy left the room and Cowardman was alone with his thoughts.

'What in God's good name do they want with an ignoramus like Bunter?' he thought.

'Well, what of it. If that bufoon Wilson wants a word with Bunter I will worm it out of that moran. Billy Bunter? What in the name of all that is unholy. Billy Bunter.  What kind of a peasant is he?'

All these thoughts ran through him. Lifting the cup of Earl Grey he gently poured a slug of gin into it and sipped it back.

'I hear he went to that decrepid grammar school with Caruthers. Greyfriars! he snorted with derision. What has become of the empire?  A sneaky chuckle emitted from his pale thin lips.

Greyfriars? Bunter? The Empire?
What a howl.The flower of England is it? Haw haw haw!

Chapter two: --------------------------

'At ease Bunter' said Major Wilson.

'Sir! Yes, sir!

Two other men, in civilian clothing,  sat beside Wilson. One of then wore an eye monocle.  He glared at Billy as though he were an insect beneath a microscope.

A serious looking fellow in a pinstripe with an elegant handlebar moustache.

The other chap was a rugged looking man. His eyes pierced Billy's with fierce intensity.

'Well Bunter,  who would have predicted the war eh?'

'From what I hear sir, Prime Minister Churchill read their cards from their very beginnings.
'Odious vermin' I think he called them. Rightly too sir!  The jackboot of **** Germany will not stomp on England's fair fields if I have my way sir!

'Excellent Bunter, well said old fellow!'

The two men in civilian clothes remained silent.

'Now to business,  Bunter'

'You are here because I have made contact with the War Office'

'I have met directly with Churchill himself'

'Before I say another word you must first be sworn into the Official Secrets Act'

'These two gentlemen will speak to you in detail once you have done so'

In that moment Billy Bunter became a covert agent in the Secret Service.

His mission was explained in full detail.

'Now, old chap' said the monocled gentleman.

'Your role as Batman to Officer Cowardman, an unfortunate appellant,  is a cover only.

'We, along with our Czech friends, have decided to take out, that is, assassinate Reinhard Heydrich'

'You, Bunter, will be a part of the assassination team'

'As will Cowardman whom we shall speak to next'

'You will be sent to a secret military base and given full training in weaponry, spying and hand to hand combat'

Billy Bunter was shocked to the core. Here he was, a Greyfriars graduate about to explode on the map of History.

'Congratulations, old chap!' said Wilson

'Now go and get Cowardman.  Do not say  word until he is briefed'

Billy returned to Cowardman's quarters.

'Your presence is required in Major Wilsons office Sir'

'Is it now?'

'Polish my boots old chap and have them gleaming when I return'

Cowardman looked at Billy with disgust.

Perhaps I am getting a new batman he hoped.

Cowardman knocked on the door of Wilsons office.

'Come in Cowardman!'

The door of History opened and **** Germany were in for a rude awakening.

Chapter three : following soon-------


At ease, Cowardman. At ease'.

'Yes sir Major Wilson'

'Has Bunter said anything to you?'

'Sir?'

'About his meeting just now'

'No sir'

'Good. A fine splendid fellow'

'What do you think of him, Cowardman'

'If you don't me speaking candidly Sir?'

'Go on'

'Well Sir, I feel he is insufficiently educated to be an officers batman.  His diction and vocal inflection are to be desired. I fear he is cannon fodder and to continue with that phrase perhaps a loose cannon.

'Anything else Cowardman? '

'If I may sir request he is transferred elsewhere.  After all isn't it beneath my station, an Oxford graduate, to be subject to the dregs of society'.

'That will do Cowardman'

'I will ask you to keep in mind that your Country is at war. Any man willing to shoulder a rifle is deserving of respect.
If Bunter dies in this war, his patriotism is no less than yours'

'Do I make myself clear, Cowardman?

'Sir! Yes Sir!'

Cowardman's guts were churning. He knew he had overstepped his position. Wilson looked flush with anger and was red in the gills.

'I have chosen you Cowardman for a dangerous mission. It may be that you do not survive it such is the nature of warfare.
I believe though that you will survive it'

'I believe further that Bunter is the reason you will survive'

'I know character when I see it Cowardman. You may yet redeem yourselve in my standing.

'It is because you speak German as good as the Fuhrer that I have chosen you. Also you are an educated man and you will be ideal in the circles of the upper society of the *****. You are going to Germany, Cowardman'  

'Now, before I say anything further we must first swear you into the covert agency.  The official secrets act will be applicable'

Cowardman's face blanched. He felt his stomach churning and a nauseaus feeling crept into his gut. This was horrible news.
He felt he might pass out.

Was that buffoon Wilson out of his ****** mind. The fool!  An old **** who had drank at the deep cups of life. While he, Cowardman, a young man only starting out.
This couldn't be happening.

**** Wilson! And this war he thought.  **** Bunter too!'

The room started to spin.

'Sit down old fellow won't you?'

'I can see you are bursting with pride at this opportunity to bring honour to your country and your family name'

'Well done old boy!'

Wilson poured a scotch on the rocks for himself and a plain sparkling water for Cowardman.

'Your good health, Cowardman!' said Wilson

Cowardman was seething with fury. He was sworn in and briefed about the mission.

'Good Christ! Are they mad?  Assassinate Reinhard Heydrich?  ******'s man with the heart of iron! In **** occupied Prague.
It's a suicide mission he wailed inwardly.

Those Nazis were tough mother ******* and enjoyed the killing.

By God, he thought, Bunter will suffer for this

'I will punish him for the hell of it' he thought to himself

'Now Cowardman, remember Bunter is a batman as a cover only. You are both of equal rank in the old boys network.  You know how it works'

'Yes sir'

Cowardman was raging. 'Outrageous! was what he wanted to scream.

'When do we set out, Bunter and I, for training Sir? '

'You will be flown to the training camp in a Hawker Hurricane.

'How exciting is that!'

'A Hawker Hurricane Sir? '

'What did you expect, Cowardman?'

'A Spitfire perhaps Sir?'

'Splendid! Splendid! guffawed Wilson

'The fellow has a sense of humour after all'

The room exploded with gales of laughter.

Cowardman tried his best to put on a brave face. But bravery and Cowardman were polar opposites. He was trembling at the prospects of flying into the training camp let alone **** Germany.  

'Bunter, he thought,  you will be my body guard old boy' By God you will make sure I get out with my skin intact'

'Dismissed till nine a.m Cowardman'

'Thank you Sir for placing your confidence in me'

'Not at all my boy!'

Cowardman left the office with his lily white liver in his cowardly throat'

Even his footsteps felt sorry for him as he paraded down the hall back to his quarters.

Chapter four - to follow

'
A nod to Charles Hamilton and George McDonald Fraser
Nov 2019 · 61
Nowhere and Everywhere
Harriet Cleve Nov 2019
A horse clopping on cobblestones

that beautiful sound on a dark evening

the rhythm of nature; a sound of peace

Time, the coachman, lolling in the driver's seat

taking me on a journey to nowhere and everywhere
Nov 2019 · 927
A word in your ear
Harriet Cleve Nov 2019
Life happens

poetry helps
Harriet Cleve Nov 2019
Four women stared at the shoes.
Only one could afford them. Only one wanted them.
Only one needed them.

The fourth woman would steal them.

Beryl Masterman glared at her competitors in the plush carpeted showroom of Sothebys on Oxford street

Her eyes were transfixed on the three women. Seething with rage at the sight of her great grandmother's former diamond studded heirlooms on ****** display in a gold gilded glass cased monstrosity.

Beryl was a beautiful woman possessed with delusions of grandeur.
Her family's fortunes were lost when the ***** industry collapsed and the Chinese authorities nationalised their properties.
Barely escaping with their lives they had  made a valiant attempt to smuggle arms into the Congo in the hope of securing a lease on a diamond mine in the Transvaal.

This scheme  too was fated to collapse but not before forty extremely precious diamonds were discretely sewn into the hem of Great Aunt Sarah's wedding dress.

It was a small step, no pun intended, to get a cobbler to purpose build a beautiful pair of diamond studded shoes. No one knows what price he was paid or if it covered the cost of his funeral two days after the shoes were handed over.

The Mastermans were a ruthless lot and each generation had an intelligent matriarch at the head of the family.

Beryl was trained in the ancient art of skullduggery, hand to hand combat,profiency in wrestling and was an expert with a rapier.

All her skills would be called upon in the events about to unfold.

Only once had Beryl come close to death. Making a mad dash across check point Charlie she had unleashed a full ammo clip when her sten gun misfired. The startled guard, a brute of a woman with the fists of a boxer cut Beryl's face with a nasty uppercut. This immediately caused her nose bone to destruct and the blood flowed unmercilessly.

Provoked by this savage attack Beryl lunged into a full tilt roundhouse and caught the guard on the side of the head causing instant death. Five other guards shocked at her reactions failed to act and Beryl made it to safety. This would go down in legend although it was the least of her exploits.

Hitting thirty eight now she still had the legs of a glamour model.
Six foot six and a beer belly to match the bar flys in any American city. Yes, she was out of shape but once committed to a cause was known to get into fighting shape in rapid order.

It's true that her mishaped nose took away from her looks slightly but even at that men stopped in their tracks at the elegant gait.
Men were known to duel at dawn for her affections.
No one ever really captured her heart and had they known her scurrilous background they would have backed up the bus a mile before she boarded.

As Beryl cased the room and took note of the exits and fire escapes she noticed a small man looking at her. It might have been an innocent glance but nonetheless his body was found an hour later in the Gentlemans privy with his head shoved and smashed into a ******. The look of horror on his mutilated face was a sight the coroner to this day has never forgot.

Beryl was on a mission and it was essential to get those shoes.
Her fake passport and identity were in her handbag and a hotel reservation booked in South America. Tonight she would steal the shoes and three women would lie dead in their hotel rooms.

One man would be given the task of solving the case. Detective Harry Horsefooder would need his full faculties to bear down on the culprit. As Beryl's plane took off that very night his body was found torn from limb to limb in the backroom of a cheap hotel. He never got a chance to fire his weapon. His eyes were gouged out and his wallet was missing.

Scotland Yard were now on the case. The trail would lead them all over the map of South America.

In a hotel in São Paulo Beryl lounged across her bed. Smoking a Cuban cigar she figured out her next move.
Perhaps she would get the next flight to Cape Town.
The shoes were going back to Africa either way.

Beryl gazed in the mirror and looked at her reflection.
The belly was getting harder to lose. The make up not quite as good at camouflaging her broken nose. A couple of teeth were getting loose in her head but by God she was still beautiful.

A soft smile traced her countenance but even as she relaxed another woman was on her trail. An enemy from the past.
The incident from Check point Charlie was about to reignite.

A KGB agent wanted to apprehend Beryl. She had orders to bring her back to Mother Russia. Belanka Stavros Lettrovnass was on a flight to Sao Paula.

Belanka looked at the photo of Beryl her handlers had given her.

'What a fat ugly looking *****' she thought.

Already she was underestimating Beryl and this would have fateful consequences for the KGB's best undercover operative.

Beryl averted her gaze from the mirror and sank back a Black Russian. Stretching her torso across her bed she thought to herself

'I will get the Masterman fortunes back. Or die trying'

Then she closed her eyes and slept the sleep of the just and righteous.
Beryl's exploits will follow soon.
Oct 2019 · 145
Who dares wins
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
Crags head old folks home was said to be impregnable.
Set high on the hills of an ancient monastic settlement it was renowned for its disciplined security. No one ever dared to escape for fear of the white uniformed nurses patrolling its perimeters.
Each one armed with a Glock and an AK-47.

Strict curfews starting at ten thirty a.m were enforced. Visitors entering and leaving were strip searched.

Not one unwarranted letter, book, magazine, denture repair kits
monocle or pair of eye glasses went undetected.

Massive search lights were placed at strategic locations around the buildings; on permanent loan from an old **** German who traded them for a recuperative month in the home. Adolf Heidler was never seen again. His fate unknown. Relatives who traced his last whereabouts were refused entry to the premises and the chief supervisor of Crags head denied any knowledge of his existence.

Terror reigned in the home and the drill sergeant rousted the octogenarians out of their bunk beds at three a.m and after a quick thirty minute jog around the buildings, regardless of the weather, they were given their rations of rice, gruel, and stagnant tap water.

These were the conditions then that former parachute member of the fearless SAS regiment, Harry Balderdash, faced on entry into the most secure old folks home in the whole of the British Isles.

Harry stood six foot two in his hush puppy slippers and still had one tooth in his head. A glint in his one remaining eye and the countenance of a man who had stood at the gates of hell, gave the devil a boot in the proverbials, and still made it back to old Blighty for his morning brew of Earl Grey and salmon sandwiches. He was a holder of the V.C and carried a letter from King George V citing his bravery in the jungle wars of Burma.

Harry would need every one of his remaining ninety two year old wits to escape from Crags head old folks home.

The tale I am about to relate to you, dear reader, would go down in legend in the hallowed halls of Westminster and send spine chilling shivers down the spine of every nurse on duty in Crags Head. This then is the story of Harry Balderdash V.C.

It is not for the faint hearted. Fear not those of you reading this who happen to be in an old folks home far from your loved ones. Take courage from the exploits of Harry Balderdash. You are not alone.
Harry's exploits will follow soon
Oct 2019 · 120
Knackered
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
It has come to my notice

that the word indefatigable is no longer in currency

it is a spent force

having exhausted all its efforts to remain in usage

Indefatigable has succumbed to debilitation

enfeeblement and lethargy

burned out, listless and plumb tuckered out

bone tired

dog weary

In a word it is knackered
Oct 2019 · 177
Operation Skinhead
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
In a breaking new military development the following initiative has been adopted.

In the event of total war breaking out, it has been decided to recruit every single skinhead in the country.

A special beret has been manufactured; which illustrates a pair of ox-blood maroon coloured Doc Martin boots as the regiments insignia.

Every recruit will be issued with a knuckle duster, Dr Martin boots, and a stainless steel chain one metre long.

A gruelling training course will be implemented which will involve smashing the heads in on a purpose built test dummies rig.

Inside sources have revealed further that the regiments battle cry will be ' Gerrrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuppppppp ye bleeding *******!'

In close quarter combat it is expected to be 'I'll bleeding **** ya! Ye stinking toe rag!'

It is believed that this will make use of the Nations civic warriors currently on standby and dispersed throughout the cities. A major plus is that they are already battle hardened and blooded.

Initial reactions from the Royal Constabulary are positive.

'****** fantastic! It will keep them off the streets and channel their aggression'

An insider in the SAS parachute regiment expressed concern at the possibility that unleashing the nations skinheads might be 'cruel malevolent and odious and contravene the human rights accord'.

'All is fair in love and war but come on!' said an undisclosed source.

It is hoped by the brewing companies that this will boost the sales of lager in the armed forces.

All together 'I don't know but its been said

all the hardo's are skinhead'

'Gerrrrrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuupppppp ye bleeding *******!'
Oct 2019 · 41
Dropping the t
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
If you drop the t

you can only dry your ears
Oct 2019 · 129
Son of a Gun
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
The revolver was proud of his father

a Springfield .45 used in the Indian wars

no son of a gun knew more about its parentage

tragedy lay around the corner of history

the Springfield was smelted down

in front of its son

to find reincarnation in the wheels of a steam locomotive

it was all too much for the revolver

some say it took to drink and ended its days in a museum

a relic of the past never fired in anger

reflecting on the exploits of its father

a true son of a gun
Oct 2019 · 120
Far flung places
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
On the outskirts of the outskirts of a far flung place

close to the edge of a precarious precipice

if you look very closely through your microscope

a very delicate fragment from the curled edges of a parchment

is just about discernible

It states and I quote

'I have seen no one in this vicinity for over three centuries

what I would have given to meet a fellow neanderthal

the ****** homosapiens are proliferating like no ones business

I fear for the planet and the demise of intelligence' End of quote



That is the only documented evidence to indicate that the sapien was the harbinger of a dumb downed society.

It gets better

On the outskirts of the outskirts of an even further flung place

in a cave in a ravine northwest of uncivilisation

there is a formula etched on the wall

purported to be written by an opposable thumbed chimpanzee

E=mc^

and I quote

'Tomorrow I will unleash the plutonium

the dinosaurs will not know what hit them' End of quote


Incredible as it may seem the cradle of civilisation can be traced back to the furthest flung places on the surface of the planet.

You just have to know where to look.
Oct 2019 · 57
Doing well in America
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
Dear Mrs Kong

Your son King is doing extremely well in the film business.
We expect his latest role will be a block buster.

Please ensure you manage the payment fees wisely

King is unlikely to be offered another role as his appearance will undoubtedly type cast him.

Best regards to Mr. Kong.

Jack Warner

Ps. King was an inspired name. I am trying to get funding for a new spy movie 'The gorilla who loved me' and an action movie 'The gorilla who would be king'. Much depends on the latest fad for Gorillas in a leading role. Tarzan also being considered however Johnny Weissmuller upset at not being the king of the Jungle if King appears as a cameo. Will keep you posted!
Oct 2019 · 128
Dear Louise
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
Dear Louise

So sorry to hear your pet elephant went on the rampage through your front room. I know you treasured that antique vase your great grandfather pillaged from an ancient tomb in Cairo.

Try not to worry about your crushed shoulder blades. You were never too fast on your feet. Elephants can outrun an Olympian when they decide to get going.

I understand the insurance company refused to entertain any associated damage as contrary to the household goods act 1783.

What a pity but to be expected eh? Anyway what possessed you to turn on Wild Safari on a Sunday afternoon. That 85 inch telly is like a window into Africa. No doubt that elephant thought he was one step away from the Savannah.

Well done and full kudos to the grandad on the Honda 50 who went in pursuit of that magnificent creature. What a heroic gesture he attempted in overtaking your pet and waving his arms in the air.
A brave but futile attempt. You might want to know he was picked up off the ground by a rapid response ambulance. First reports say he will live but will be restricted in his mobility for at least two years.
The Honda is a write off and his family are none too pleased.

Anyway at least the Zoo are happy with their new acquisition.

Your elephant has settled in nicely.

I know you are anxious to get a replacement pet to keep you company. Maybe now is not the right time for an anaconda.

I will drop by next Sunday and drop a few grapes into you.

All my love

Virginia
Harriet Cleve Oct 2019
In the retirement home for skinheads

it is hard to maintain order

everyone wants to swing their chains

don their doc martens

run riot in the rockers wing

before launching into foul mouthed tirades

all the nurses on standby with sedation syringes

Other than that it's a very quiet place
Harriet Cleve Sep 2019
Slick Brick Mandini, half Irish -half Italian, was raised in the Dublin slums. Around the corner from Henrietta Street, Europes biggest slum, was the Italian quarter of Smithfield.

Slick Brick knew every stone and alley, every hawker and scumbag, every dark street in the North side of the fair city.

A tall, good looking man with a penchant for riding street horses late at night. Many the harmless vagrant were run over and trampled to death as Slick galloped his piebald down North King street into the early hours. He could turn that horse on a sixpence, with the deft assurance one would normally attribute that skill to an Apache or Commanche warrior from North America.

North America would beckon one day but for now it was the mean streets of Dublin that tried to contain him.

Everyone knew he had a brain and could recite his Shakespeare as well as the Bard himself. In his own mind he was a MacDuff ready to take on the Macbeths and weird sisters of life.

An incident in secondary school which he evaded suspicion of set him on the road to criminality.

Brother Lugnaciois was patrolling the school corridors that fateful day. 'The Lug' as the schoolboys called him behind his back was a vicious *******. A Christian Brother with a passion for violence and intimidation. His leather strap hung from his swaggering hips like a gunslinger from the Old West and many's the hand he welted with pure savagery. Lug's favourite torment though was to pull a young school lads locks and lift them up off the ground in one horror filled moment.

Slick had the misfortune to be returning from the school toilets and was confronted by Lug. For no reason other than the infliction of base terror Lug grabbed Slick by his locks and twisted his ears for good measures.

It was expected from Lug and retaliation meant sustained torment.
Slick pulled a flickknife from his waistband and slashed Lug under his left eye. It took a moment for Lug to realise what had happened.

Stunned at the emerging pain and gush of blood from his face, Lug went into a rage.

That was when Slick's fathers tutelage came to his mind.

'Always remember, Son, a swift kick to the lower nether regions will stop a racehorse'

And Lug became a racehorse in that very instance of thought.

He reared up to grab Slick by the throat when the kick landed to his nether regions.

First he went purple then green then a fury arouse on his countenance. With what must have been a testimony to the power to retain control in extreme pain Lug lunged at Slick for revenge.

Slick knew it was a life or death moment. He deliberately and calmly drew the knife across Lugs throat. Even that was not enough.

From his pocket he took out his pistol. A silencer had been fitted.

The horror with which Lug's eyes met Slick's was one of disbelief.

'You ***** toe rag!' Slick uttered and pulled the trigger.

Lug's head exploded in a spray of red death.

At all times Slick had retained his composure. He had opened the door to the underworld and eagerly walked through.

In time the world would come to know of the foul exploits of Slick Brick Mandini. Only a few close friends would ever know who murdered the ******* Lugs.

Slick would lie low for a while and it would be some time before Dublin was shook by another ******. This ****** would be the one that placed Slick Brick Mandini firmly in the gaze of the police.

For now Slick smoked a cigar of Cuban origin and felt proud of his efforts. He allowed himself a smile as he recalled Lug's terrified and confused countenance.

'You had it coming you *******' he thought as he held his war trophy.
The leather strap which would never again inflict pain on a schoolboys hand.
Sep 2019 · 551
God is not a mirror
Harriet Cleve Sep 2019
God is not a mirror

you must look deep within yourself

to see His reflection
Sep 2019 · 45
Tommy Thug
Harriet Cleve Sep 2019
Tommy **** looked at his son

'What do you want to be when you grow up, son?'

'A skinhead, Dad'

'What's that, son?'

'You get to shave your head and kick people's heads in'

'Go on, son'

'You wear cool copper tone boots and swing chains'

'Would that make you happy, son?'

'You better believe it dad, I want to be just like you'

Tears welled up in Tommy ****'s eyes.

Gazing admiringly at his wife Tina he was bursting with pride.

'We've raised a good one here love'

'A ****** good one, Tommy, you are a great father'

'Do you remember his first words'

A smile lit up Tommy's face as he recalled that magnificent day.

'Yes I remember'

Then Tina and Tommy exclaimed in one voice

'Gerrrrrrruppppp! ye bleeding *******! '

They all had a hearty laugh and knocked back a few cans.
Harriet Cleve Sep 2019
'Is this the dress I must wear?'

'Yes! your head will soon be parted from it'.

'The executioner will dispatch you to eternity'

A look of anguish swept the countenance off Eleanor Grey.

'I have done no wrong! I shall not wear such a hideous dress!'

'You shall wear it and be buried in it! '

' Then I curse it! And all who falsely claim I murdered any child'

'A plague on their lives and their seed! '

Breaking free from her warden she lunged at the maid holding the black dress. She spat on it and swore it would be the downfall of any who had a hand in her death.

A fierce blow struck her temple and she lost consciousness.

When she awoke she had been clothed in the black dress and her head lay on the executioners block.

Gazing at the hate filled crowd she wept as the shadow of an axe was raised above her.

'**** you all to hell!' she screamed

Her head rolled into the basket as the cries of terror rose from the crowd.

Later that night her body was thrown into a lime pit.

Her black dress had been removed by a paid turnkey.

At midnight a coach and six drove away from Tyburn.

Inside was a lady of high society. Her smile was content as she gazed at the countryside sweeping past her. On her lap she carressed a black fabric. At last it was hers. The black dress of Eleanor Grey had a new owner.

On the  the coach a spectre sat amongst the coachmen unseen.
A chill pierced the night air.

On the horses raced till at last a tavern appeared.

Stepping out of the coach the lady and dress emerged into moonlight.

'You have got it then!'  said a young woman's voice

'Yes! It is ours and we will avenge Eleanor before this week passes'

Eleanor Grey looked on as her two sisters embraced.

The horses whinnied and seemed startled.

In the tavern the executioner was resting in his bed.

A knock came to his door. The twin sister of Eleanor stood before him as he answered. She wore the ****** black dress.

'It couldn't be!' he screamed

A shot rang out and he lay bleeding profusely on the straw covered floor.
Sep 2019 · 127
Weird Witness
Harriet Cleve Sep 2019
No one noticed it. I was the only one. It stood out like the black ink on a white page. Perhaps they were crows on a linen cloud.

For a long time I stared as if trying to decipher a language. Swirling patterns of light green strobes. As if it were a giant glass of absinthe permeating in the sunlight.

Even when the sky ripped open as though it were velcroed to the Earth, no one glanced up. There above the torn athmosphere was a second sky. Three people looked down pointing curiously. Our eyes met and a look of indifference swept their countenance.

In that moment I realised the futility of existence. Nor did I believe I was mad or hallucinating. An idea struck me that we were in a cryogenic vapour and something had triggered this intrusion into our world.

It occurred to me that they were harvesting our lives. To what purpose I had yet to intuit.

I continued to stare in defiance and all the while life continued on around me. The sounds of people talking, traffic, dogs barking were amplified. Still no one looked up.

It was a brief encounter as just before they closed the sky all three continued to meet my gaze. A look of disgust filled their eyes. I was a microbe to them. Perhaps we were parasites under a microscope. Carcinogenic bacilli. Filth to be eradicated.

I know not only what I witnessed.

There are worlds and there are Gods we have not yet seen.

I know this. They have seen us.
Sep 2019 · 88
Search
Harriet Cleve Sep 2019
'I've been looking for you some time now'

'Do I know your face, Mister?'

'You know me. Been on your trail sometime now '


Each of them looked the other up.

'You packing iron?'

'Don't need to. You know I'm Death'

'You know who I am?'

'You know I do'

' Yeah, I know it'

The Devil looked at Death running at him with a scythe

Instinctively he pulled his colt revolver and shot dead Death.

'I don't understand it! Death cried just before he succumbed.

'I am Death! I cannot die. It is others who must die that I must live'

The Devil rubbed his boots in Deaths face.

Tumbleweed blew down the gulch and a pale horse wandered off without its rider.

Another man stood in the distance as the sun set and cast his silhouette.


'I've been looking for you some time now'

'Do I know your face, Mister?'

'You know me'

'You packing iron?'

'You know I am!'

'Go for you gun!' screamed the Devil

God reached for his colt and emptied his pistol.

The dust settled.


In the bowels of Hell one of the Beasts minions got word the Devil was dead.

Elsewhere in the halls of Heaven Jesus got the news.

'It was unexpected but each of them fired fatal bullets.

'Pack my four horses! I will destroy the Earth for this'

'They're packed already except for the pale one. Must have bust loose from the stables'

'Well  find it and rope it in'


The biggest drug dealer on Earth was snorting a line.

A man stood fifteen feet from him.

'How the hell did you get in here?'

'I've been looking for you sometime' replied Jesus

'You packing a gun?'

'You know I am'
Aug 2019 · 53
Granny Battler
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
Granny Battler was twenty five when she joined the French Foreign Legion.

It was a rough recruitment involving grilling mountain treks and five day fastings.The toughest quarter master couldn't break her.She could bench press two hundred and fifty pounds and not break a sweat.She swore as good as any navvy worth their salt.

Proficient in weapons training and martial arts it was rumoured she was instrumental in the suppression of the Indian Sepoy mutiny and broke the heart of a maharaja.

Now approaching ninety five she settled down in the bronx and ran a protection racket for the local mafioso.

Slick Brick Mandini decided to take Granny Battler down. What follows is an account of the horrific end to Mandini's life.

Granny Battler had not fought since she was ninety at  the showdown of blood bath Friday on Nelson street.She was out of shape and her nose broken severely in that fracas. Mandini's best man Harvey Knuckles Ballroom got the worst of it that night.

Mandini sought to settle the score that fateful evening.

He packed a wheel brace, a knuckle duster and a nine iron golf club.

Granny was tipped off and intercepted him in her back garden.

Grabbing him in a full Nelson neck hold she sliced his throat open.

Mandini, taken by surprise, looked in horror as the blood flowed like a fountain.

Granny Battler ducked suddenly as she heard the **** of a gun.

Diving for cover she made her way out of the garden and escaped to a downtown apartment.

Word spread quickly and it was decided.

The five families got together. A professional outsider would be appointed.

He would need nerves of steel.  Granny Battler vowed to get into her best ever shape.

A showdown was coming and Granny Battler was going to kick *** big time.
Aug 2019 · 147
Radioactive Skinhead
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
The world ignited and lit up the cosmos

One person survived the Nuclear flash

Cyril the Skinhead lived on

wandering the Earth

looking for heads to crack open

shops to wreck

an excuse to wield his violent chain

looking to plant his Doc Martens up someone's ****

What was the world without a victim?

He was alone now on Earth

and like all bullies afraid of his isolation

'Take me! ' he screamed to the Gods

Radiation set in and gave him immortality

destined to walk the green glowing Earth for eternity

shaking a raging fist at the stars

A radioactive skinhead in a world that didn't give a ****

Cyril the Skinhead

Last of the Homosapiens
Aug 2019 · 351
Johnny Icarus -Spitfire Ace
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
The air raid sirens screamed over the Kent Landscape.
Above  the skies an indifferent Sun gleamed its energy off the Spitfires on the ground. Never did the landscape look so beautiful than when it was realised it could be the last sight of England witnessed by the brave men scrambling to their aircraft.

One of those men, Johnny Icarus, was already in the air. A squadron
leader with tested courage in combat.

Churchill paced the grounds of Bomber Command. He had heard the pre-war exploits of Johnny Icarus and commissioned a plane especially for him.

'Hey Johnny, check out your new spitfire. It's called the 'Daedalus'.
Courtesy of Churchill himself'

This went over the head of most of the men but Johnny saw the irony and even felt it was as if he was favoured by the Gods.

Suddenly the Luftwaffe came into view. A Messerschmitt engaged with the Daedalus and unleashed a barrage of flak.

Johnny dived his Spitfire and looped up and behind the Messerschmitt. The Sun glared his eyes as he was temporarily blinded. Even so, he fired his guns and the Messerschmitt Bf 109 went up in flames and careered to the ground.

His eyes recovered as he regained his bearings and pulled into the open skies. He saw it then as he climbed; a Focke-Wulf Fw 190 gunning for him.Instinctively he fired his machine guns and destroyed the Focke. It seemed as though he was surrounded by enemy aircraft when he noticed a Hawker Hurricane covering his rear. For forty minutes the Daedalus  fought for control of the battle when it was suddenly over. The enemy was routed and sent back to Germany with their tails between their legs.

Johnny Icarus stayed in the airspace above Kent. The countryside was a glorious shade of green. England would stand firm.
The Daedalus turned its back from the Sun.

Back in Westminister, Churchill was informed of the outcome.

'I want to meet Johnny Icarus. In three hours I want him here in my office. Get Barnes Wallis too. The Germans are going to get a taste of their own medicine. We will pay them back in their own coin'

'Yes Sir'

Johnny looked down at England from the cockpit of his Spitfire.
He would give his life if he had too for this magnificent country.

The Sun shone oblivious to his thoughts.

Back in **** Germany a portly figure was pacing Hitlers office.
Goring was grilled by the Fuhrer.
The War was turning against the odious Germans.

Johnny Icarus descended to the ground and lit a cigarette.
Inhaling deeply he touched his precious craft gently.

'Good job Baby! Good job'
Aug 2019 · 75
Shock Monkey
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
'Pull into this fuel station and top up, Harry'
I don't want us running out of juice on the highway at three a.m"

'I don't know Michelle, it's getting late and we are still away off from San Francisco'

'Just do it Harry, it will give the dogs a chance to stretch their legs'

'All right, I told you the dogs weren't able for long journeys though'

Pulling into the forecourt Harry looked around before letting the two pitbulls out.
Grateful for fresh air they scurried about excitedly.

He filled the van and noticed the garage had a coffee dock.

'Let's chill for ten minutes, Michelle
It's getting late, we need a breather
The dogs are fine in that enclosed field'

Entering the service station they were greeted by an old man with a weary face.

'What can we get ya?'

'Two coffees when you're ready please'

'Bit late to be out if you don't mind me saying' the old man said

'Well we hope to be hitting San Francisco soon'

'Them your dogs? '

'Yes, just giving them air is all'

'That there's an old grave yard son
Ain't right dogs running about in there digging and sniffing'

'Oh!  No disrespect intended. Didn't know or we wouldn't have cut them loose'

'No harm meant son, I know it'

'That field's an old Indian burial ground'
'Some  say it's cursed too'
Hair stood up on my neck many times the sounds I heard late at night'

You can call me an old fool but I believe that stuff about spirits taking revenge on desecration and disrespecting sacred bones'

Harry and Michelle drank their coffees.
'Let's get the hell out of here' Michelle whispered

This place is weird . The dogs were whimpering and nervous when I put them back in the van' she said

'One of them had a stock monkey in their mouth and wouldn't drop it'

Waving goodbye to the old man they made their way back to the highway.

'I feel uneasy, Harry' Got a bad sense of something dreadful but I can't describe it"

'That old man shocked you is all' said Harry

'Probably winding us up so relax'

They drove on for some time when Harry noticed the landscape looked out of place.

'Give me the map Michelle, think I took a wrong turn some where'

Pulling into the side of the dirt road he glanced at the map. His mind worked hard figuring out the route.

Suddenly the van shook violently and the dogs went beserk howling and barking.

'What in hells name is going on back there?'

Michelle looked at Harry.She was terrified and crying but couldn't say a word.

'Relax' I am going to check on the dogs

He grabbed his revolver which he had no permit for and was incapable of using.
It was a show of bravado for his friends to big him up in their eyes. Shaking as he got out the van he approached the back doors.

Inside he could hear terrible cries of whelping, anguish and terror coming from the dogs.

Quickly he pulled the doors open

'I've got a ******* gun!'Harry screamed

There facing him was a savage monstrous silver back gorilla. It had torn the pitfbulls asunder. It's teeth were blooded and bared as it lunged on top of Harry.

Michelle heard a gunshot.

Crying and shaking she got out of the van.

Her eyes were streaming and her heart raced when she saw Harry's lifeless body on the ground. Horribly mutilated with an expression of terror on his face.

She couldn't find it in herself to scream.

Total shock had set in. A guttural animal cry broke the moment. She felt steaming hot breath upon the back of her neck.

Turning slowly as her legs trembled violently she lost control of her bowels.

Facing her was a six foot silver back gorilla.
It grabbed her throat and ripped her to pieces. Feeding on her organs it devoured her in a ****** carnage.

At the scene the  next day a forensic detective examined her remains.

'Put that stock monkey in a bag.Might be something to it'

'Yes sir'

Later that night a car pulled into a filling station

An old man looked at the young couple

'What can I get ya?'

'A couple of coffees please'

'Them your dogs in that there field' said the old man...
Aug 2019 · 189
The Unavoidable Unknown
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
The unavoidable unknown

will always be a dangerous precipice

we must step off the edge or succumb to regression
Aug 2019 · 171
The psyche within
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
The psyche within where we begin

to figure out the psyche without


is a dangerous place to start


one man's brain will never refrain

from casting doubt on the brain without


or clashing or smashing an ego's mouth


Seven loaves and a few small fish will feed a multitude

still this world spins while many within never feed on food


the religions without started out looking for the mind of God

yet too many Gods spoiled the broth and were sent to the land of  Nod


Many's the King and Royal red Queen professed they saw a sign

then placed a yolk on the neck of man and claimed themselves divine


the pysche within is afraid of death so claims it is immortal

then invents a place in another space where eternity is a portal



the pysche within where we begin

to figure out the pysche without


is a dangerous place to start
Aug 2019 · 95
Animals night out
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
I've had my fill of pig swill

said the garrulous pig to the blathering black dog

Have you now? exclaimed the drunken cow

looking menacingly at the bloated snorting sow


Aye! Enough of the swill said the tired old dog

What we need now is porter and grog

fine wine too! fine wine! roared the swine

a hen in the corner, ******, gave a cluck

I've had enough so I don't give a   look at that!

what? Look at what? squeaked three tittering mice

drunk on their saki and barley and rice

Over there by the chair is a dancing brown bear

drinking Harvey wall bangers and n'er a care

How dare! How dare he not pass the bottle

We'll twist his neck and give it  a throttle


Now now! said the rat echoed by cat

Enough of that! No need for that

I've brought you all a share of my dream

A bottle of sweet Harvey's Bristol cream


Hurray! they all cried and drank through the night

everyone of them sozzled not a sober in sight

That's where we leave them with smiles on their faces

all getting on famous then going home to their places


The Moon looked down and then told the Sun

All the animals went mad! Drunk every one!
Aug 2019 · 132
One day in the Sun
Harriet Cleve Aug 2019
The dog in the street

that lives for five summers

ignorant of commerce

or the cost of living

savours the essence of Creation

embraces each day to the full


While Man gorges on labour

trading existence

for one day in the Sun
Next page