Lizbeth walked home from school in a mood passed shops without looking in the windows as she usually did walked past Mrs Hooley without her usual chat about her cat up the pathway to the cottage into the back door passed her mother in the kitchen who was preparing dinner barely taking note of her mother's words of welcome and criticism about her bedroom and the mess there and up the stairs to her room where she opened the door and closed it behind almost in one motion and throwing her school satchel to the floor lay down on her double bed and stared at the ceiling crossing her legs at the ankles how could he tell her the ****** queen about us in the church and the pew and wanting to have ***? What was he thinking wait until I see him next how could he? She fumed and uncrossed her legs and looked at the curtains moving in the slight wind that came through the open window bringing to mind the girl Jane confronting her in the girl's toilets at school at afternoon break and saying how could you tempt Benedict in a church of all places? Tempt him with what? Lizbeth had asked *** Jane had said blushing as she said the word as if it was too hot for her mouth to stay there too long what do you mean ***? Lizbeth had asked looking at the girl with her brown eyes peering and he dark hair tied back in a ponytail he said you tricked him into going to the church and tempted him with having *** on a pew Jane said standing stiff and if the words had temporarily frozen her Lizbeth had gazed past the girl hoping another girl would enter and end the conversation what's it to you? Lizbeth said did you want him first then? The girl Jane blushed more and looked away then walked out of the toilets tearful Lizbeth put her hands behind her head and looked at the room at the picture of Elvis pinned to the wall-much to her parents' disapproval- at the mirror of the tall boy where she could see herself laying there like another self in parallel world he'd seek out Benedict and have a word with him how could he let that ***** Jane know all the details about them and that day in the church and about the *** bit that was a bit low and what a waste of time it had been anyway all that way on their bikes and he wasn't a bit interested in the idea and she had been so wanting to so warmed up for it and wore her short skirt especially and o how she fumed that day on the way home on her bike it wasn't as if she slept with other boys in fact she hadn't had *** with anyone yet in fact she didn't want *** with just anyone she wanted to have *** the first time with him with Benedict and she was till a ****** still untouched still boiling over especially when she saw him at school or when she cycled to his parent's cottage in the hamlet a few miles away and all he wanted was to show her bird's eggs or nests or butterflies or dead animals bones she sat up on her bed and sighed she'd read the book on *** that the girl at school had lent her with its long words and vivid diagrams and photos she'd read it cover to cover and absorbed the diagrams and photos so well that she could bring them to mind when she felt the time was ripe she moved to the side of her bed and remembered the day she'd managed to get him into her room when her parents were out and still he wouldn't agree to *** even though her bed was there and ready and she had begun to undress before him and still he refused leaving her at boiling point and then her mother had returned early from the shops and well that was it the chance blown and having to pretend to her mother that she was just showing Benedict her record collection-not that she believed- she stood up and took off her school uniform before dinner standing in front of the mirror pretending Benedict was watching her from the bed behind her egging her saying get them off get them off but she knew he never would he'd look out the window or close his eyes and momentarily she stood there gazing at herself standing there in her small bar and underwear wishing he was there behind her on the bed and watching but he wasn't there just her teddy bear laying there disinterestedly gazing into space she took out a blouse from her chest of drawers and a skirt and put them on kicking her school uniform into a corner in a mood hoping he mother wasn't going moan at he rover dinner or her father yak on about his day at work and who he met and who did what and to whom she stood there and gazed at her red hair and few freckles and her eyes staring at her how could he say that to her of all people? That ****** queen? I could have slapped her one I should have done slapped her innocent stare off her ****** face but she liked him liked his hazel eyes that quiff of hair that stare that smile so Elvis like o to have him here to have him in my bed o to have it with him her mother called her for dinner her mother's voice breaking into her thoughts breaking up her desires and wishes like a brick through a window she sighed blew kiss to herself in the mirror and walked down the stairs in her mood wanting *** and Benedict not her mother's company or food.

A nether world of online dating,
With new suitors to be relating,
I seem to attract unsuitable suitors,
Unsuitable kisses from my 'lovers'!
How tactile, passionate and sincere,
I wonder who is real on this website here?
Ah! Unsuitable kiss from an online love,
"Does he mean what he says?" I ask above,
Should I swoon and hurl my knickers,
Do I, or the suitor, end up in snickers?
With progress I am updating,
With new suitors to be relating...
"Hooley dooley!" that's what I'm stating......

Here I sits, Nanna Julie,
Ready for birthday's hooley dooley!
In comes the little one,
Ten years old, party number one!
Give us a hug, she's a pearl,
"Take me to my grandma, girls!"

Fallen leaves clustered together, like corner boys,

ready to cause mischief in swirling eddies,

chasing each other in never ending circles, by gusting winds

ignoring onlookers in their Mistral ecstasy.

Autumnal frolics will soon cease, before prevailing snows and ice,

A final Hooley before they tire in Compost mire,

or blown out to the seas, denying a rebirth, a Deciduous Tree.

another Season ends with glee, lively, dead leaves sleep till Spring,

budding to bloom, start all over again, anew.

            
                  By Holly Barrett

.    Truth is a calculated
                cowardice

    Lying’s a premeditated
           courageousness

       No comment is not
               an opinion

         Silence is guilt by
               omission

       Repentance deserves
             no forgiveness

     Confession is the art of
      concealing falsehoods

      If honesty was valued
     penance wouldn’t exist

        Al's a teetotaller but
           he goes on Anon

     His candour’s concealed
      sans vino non est veritas

   There must be no contrition
     Hell's where the Hooley is.

Truth is calculated
cowardice

Lying is premeditated
courageousness

No comment is not
an opinion

Silence an omission
of guilt

Repentance deserves
no forgiveness

Confession is the art of
concealing falsehoods

There is no contrition
Hell is where the Hooley is.