Poets' Thursday

Poets’ Thursday: Another one

You clutch the clothes to your skin Cold Nostalgia chills you to the bones You walked away again This time the mallet hit the wood Arrogant tears traipse down your skin Regret and pain encircle your bosom As you nod painfully Your thoughts walk back in time to When you sold your soul to lust, […]

The Medallion – Found.

…continued from The Medallion V They had found it; they had found The Medallion. The man who Simon had identified as Joseph of Arimathea spread out a length of white linen on the floor with which he wrapped up the body of Jesus. Mary and the other woman put the handkerchief containing the blood-drenched soil […]

The Medallion – V

Dear readers, see the MEMO just beneath this installment for a very very VERILY important announcement. Expo: Prizes to be won!!! …continued from The Medallion IV “Hold it!!!” Rufus bolted up, one hand automatically reaching for his dagger…   Slowly, he rose into a crouching position and turned around to see who it was. “Hold […]

The Medallion – IV

…continued from The Medallion – III “His mother, Mary” he answered.   Under the barrage of spittle, stones and lashes, the man rose again. Rufus didn’t understand why he didn’t just stay down – he stood and hoisted the cross higher onto his shoulder, teeth chattering, knees locked together at a very unnatural angle and […]

The Medallion – III

…continued from The Medallion – II After they found it, one of his contingency plans would roll into action; none of them held a good end for good ol’ Simon of Cyrene…   “Oho!” Simon exclaimed. He had been studying the clue for a while; they put their heads very close together to hear each […]

The Medallion – I

2057 years ago… Rufus hated crowds; the heat and noise of them, the slimy feel of sweaty bodies, choking pressure of body stench and putrid breaths…he hated it all. Rufus, son of Gozan, grandson of Elah of the house of Mikah the Nazarene, hated crowds – it was a farcical irony. His father and his […]

Mugando – "I swear to you…"

They think they have won, that their victory is assured. And I do not blame them. We do not look anything near dangerous; not with our soil-strewn farm wears, pitch-forks, axes, machetes and dane guns. If anything, we look imbecilic, especially in comparison to the sight before us: neatly-aligned rows of gleaming sinewy bodies sheathed […]