a cooking pot and twisted tales
Thoughts and Tales…A Lifestyle Blog with a Zing.
Ribbons of purple bruises
worn like a ring around her neck,
hidden from probing eyes’
by a pretty floral sweater.
§
how long will she hide a bleeding heart;
under beautiful colours of bold splashes,
counting the days till she’s asphyxiated,
and purple wreath for her death bed.
©
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Literally, he now sings for his Supper, but the hurrying feet of passersby barely brought in enough coins to buy him that supper. The few commuters who stopped by only paused long enough to take photos or make a video that they would probably post on their Social Media platforms to entertain their friends.
Johann’s mind drifted as he strummed away on his guitar. Momentary worries clouded his mind and all the heart melting country songs that he sang in his husky tone failed to ease the burden on his shoulders in that peculiar way that playing his guitar and singing did for him.
Life has been hard in recent times and the downpour of tough times kept increasing. He hated the thought that he has to resort to selling his personal belongings especially the guitars inherited from his grandfather, however, life hasn’t left him with many choices.
A sudden thought struck him as he pondered on what to do next and how to turn his situation around. He would enter the local talent competition and take a chance. After all, what did he have to lose?
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you, Sunayana MoiPensieve for the photo and Priceless Joy for this enchanting platform
I have no patience
for those who spend
a better part of their time
judging and labelling others.
You’ve never worn
the other man’s shoes,
how exactly do you know
how undersized and pinching they are?
Quit being obtuse
You don’t smell like roses yourself.
If we look hard enough, I bet
there’s are loads of manure in your garden.
Tend to your own garden
called your life.
Concentrate on being the best you
that you can be.
Concentrate on being a supportive anchor
for someone who might be adrift,
but leave your judgment at the doorstep
otherwise, you’ll wear out your welcome.
Remember that not all who wander
have truly lost their path,
they are simply in search of a beacon
to help them find their way back.
©
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Evangeline trudged to her beat up truck with a sigh of defeat and resignation. Tears pooled into her eye’s as she turned back to take one last look.
Everything was practically gone except the house that stood silent and forlorn in the backdrop and Buck the young cow who stood in the paddock and gazed at her through his limpid eye’s as if he was disgusted and accusing her of treachery.
This is it! She pushed the gear into reverse and backed out for the last time. She was not sure she would be returning to these parts for a long time to come.
The pain of failure and losing her home to foreclosure stung deeply.
She hoped the new owner would be kind to her cows.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Thank you, MajesticGoldenRose, for the inspiring photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories
Rhonda sighed in relief as they checked out of the airport and headed to their hotel. Another long-haul flight concluded.
Fourteen and half hours from Geneva to Los Angeles, via Zürich, would wear even the most toughened cabin crew out and she was beginning to wonder if it was time to seek for desk job opportunities.
As far as she could recall she had always being fascinated with aeroplanes and wanted to work at the airport. Going to the airport had been a treat for her from her growing up years – when they would pile into dad’s car for a drive to the next towns local airport to see the planes – till now that she works as a hostess on AirVoyage.
She never grew tired of flying to different destinations, or the busy hubs and the millions of faces hurrying along in different directions with their wheely luggage.
Some would hug and kiss, some would wave and beam in smiles, some eyes’ glistened with unshed tears of mixed emotions, some with sheer relief of touching down.
Her life was filled with a lot of hellos’ and goodbyes’ but she hoped that a welcome massage from Dirk would help answer some questions on her mind.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Watching the parade of bikers from the window, the vibrating, heavy drone of the machines gave Maggie a thrill.
Though her dad warned her severally to keep away from the loud bunch, there was something about them that excited her and she simply couldn’t resist wanting to be around them, especially that handsome rascal Rafael.
His rich laugh, long locks, and twinkling eyes warmed her insides every time he came to their pub and spared her a glance with that steady look in his eyes’.
Tonight was special, she just knew it. She had sprayed her vanilla mist perfume liberally, let her lustrous hair down and wore her pretty dress that gave her cleavage some boost.
The city’s festival lights have been lit, the mistletoes’ hung, soon the boy’s will troop into the pub for their round of drinks. Rafael is in for a surprise.
© Jacqueline
Kate sighed in pleasure, sipping her cup of tea and listening to her mother tell the hallmark love story of her grandparents.
No matter how many times she heard the same story, it never failed to satisfy and she hoped that someday she would find the kind of love that they had shared.
Grandpa Robert, a handsome sweet talker had fallen in love with Daisy May, the Sheriff’s daughter on his regular trucking trip through town.
Young Robert had convinced Daisy to elope with him, leaving behind an arranged marriage and an irate father.
He kept his promise to take Daisy places that she had never been before and for many years to come, they covered long miles together; even their first child, Maisie was born on the road.
Though its original owners had long passed on – mere week’s of each other’s death – the old truck’s head still sat in its’ prized position. As integral to the land as the homestead that they had built.
In little drops,
your love penetrates
it wears down my inhibitions
it breaks down my suspicions.
♥
In steady flow,
your loving motions
grant me buoyancy
taking me to places I never knew.
♥
In rocking rhythm,
I learn how to love
floating beside you
we make a beautiful song.
♥
For this weeks‘ Writers Quote Challenge, I offer the African proverb above in keeping with the ‘Love’ season and I also have family on my mind.
The Writer’s Quote Challenge is a weekly blogging event. Either make up your own sayings or use a quote from a famous author that you find gives you inspiration. Each Thursday, a hostess will post the prompt and all you have to do is participate.
Our hostesses are:
Bernadette at http://www.HaddonMusings.com
Jacqueline at http://www.Acookingpotandtwistedtales.com
Joan at http://www.familyparentingandbeyoned.wordpress.com
Oneta at http://www.onetahayes.com
Please join us. You can check this link for more information.
I look forward to seeing you.
Jacqueline
Little Tim’s tears flowed unbidden as he trudged home from school. Other parents came but his own had failed to come and watch his performance as promised.
Momma has been drinking more often than usual, crying so much and grown forgetful. Dad seemed not to care anymore, he was hardly at home and when he came home it would always end in a shouting match with mom and broken crockery.
He hated it all. The shouting, fighting, silence… that he always hid in his room to avoid getting in their way. He felt afraid that his family would break up.
Tim didn’t want to become his classmate, poor Mary, whose parents got divorced and she caught a bad disease called Leukemia.
He knew what to do once he got home. He would talk to mom and if they continued fighting he would simply take all his money in his piggy bank and run away.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
She decided to come clean and tell the truth.
What she didn’t anticipate was the depth of peoples’ reaction.
Many wanted her to pay with her blood; for the blood of the innocent young man she had falsely accused.
She wished she had kept the secret to herself, but the burden had eaten her alive for decades.
Opening the bottle, she gulped the vile syrup, that should put an end to things.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post – Clean
a cooking pot and twisted tales 