Issue 393 26th June 2015

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'The fundamental cause of trouble in the world is that the stupid are cocksure while

the intelligent are full of doubt.' Bertrand Russell

'My doctor told me to stop having intimate dinners for 4 unless there are 3 other

people there.' Orson Welles

FLASH FICTION: Random Words: finger, marquee, maverick, claim,

regent, placebo, confuse, futile, complete

Assignment: on the bench

A warm welcome awaits. COME to WORKSHOP ... Every Monday 1.30 start Rising Brook Library

Has Michael Gove dreamed up

these grammar rules just for our

entertainment? Nicholas Lezard article

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/

jun/21/michael-gove-harry-enfield-grammar-rules-civil-

servants?CMP=fb_gu

Found on Facebook

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Cosford Air Show

Red arrows flying high in sky Passing each other flying by Entertaining us here on ground What a loud wondrous sound Wish I could learn to fly 14/06/15

Photo Credit Gareth Williams

5

Gardening Tips for June ... Frances Hartley

Sweet Peas should be flowering well now, but to keep them so, they should not be

allowed to set seed, or they will think, “Job done” and stop flowering. Also the

more flowers you cut the more you will get. Tomatoes should be fruiting now. If so

and you have baby ones on, start feeding the plants with a high potash feed such as

Tomorite. If you give a Nitrogen feed you will get a lot of growth, but not much

fruit. I have not seen many bees about yet to pollinate plants so when watering the

tomatoes I like to give the support canes a little shake to disturb the pollen.

Any winter and Spring flowering shrubs should be pruned without delay if not al-

ready done. If you can get into garden Centres you will find most of them are clear-

ing out Dahlias, Spring flowering bulbs and the big beautiful Lilies. They will all

be reduced quite a lot now and will still flower as the flower will already be in the

bulbs waiting for a good drink and a little T.L.C. but do check that the bulbs are not

shrivelled.

If you are fond of Salads sow a few seeds of Lettuce at a time and a few more after

a couple of weeks. If bending is a problem sow them in a trough stood on bricks.

The cut and come again Lettuce, where you can pull a few leaves at a time, are

quite good if you don’t mind having small leaves. Scatter a few Radish seeds in be-

tween the lettuce as well if you like them because they will be ready at a different

time.

If slugs and snails are a problem, Vaseline smeared round pots and tubs about 1 ½ -

2 inches up from the bottom will stop them. I was fed up with them blocking the

spout of my watering can so that was what I did and it worked.

All for now. Cheerio

Frances Hartley.

Thursday 11th June 2015

A walk on Hyde Lea

Bank.

Like a kiddie in a sweet shop I was investigating apps for my new smartphone and WOW!

I found Instagram.

It introduced me to likeminded

folk across the globe who were interested in countryside and some who were hobby artists/

gardeners like myself. As a graphic designer

I am always scratching my head in need of a photo for

an illustration. Now I can take

lots and store them online for when I need them.

Encouraged by what others had

been uploading, and there are some very clever phone

photographers out there, I took

a stroll up Hyde Lea bank and snapped everything

I saw. And the more pictures I

took the more I enjoyed it.

I couldn’t remember the last

time I actually ’looked’. There will be no stopping me

now, I’ll be unbearable.

Sci-Fi Plot Assignment: (SMS)

Blinding flash. Brilliance of a million stars lit up the interior for a half second and was gone. Her eyes

attempted to focus in the blackness of the void that remained. She struggled to her knees. Blue finger-nails searched out the tiny porthole.

No trace remained only a shimmering disturbance. The mothership was gone. So was the planet she had once called home. But, that was a lesser consideration. The threat was

gone in a flash of their warp. She was alive.

Water wouldn’t be an issue. Condensation droplets were dripping off every surface. She needed air and

food and a million other things totally lacking. Her escape had been a gesture of defiance; one which probably wouldn’t extend her span by more than a few hours. But these were her last hours and pre-cious. She was free to die slowly at her own pace and not in the mass humiliation of being fat and pro-

tein processed. Her plain little body wasn’t going to win any pageant prizes but the idea of being turned into protein

snacks for aliens of unknown origin wasn’t high on her wish list. “What would mother have done?” she mused with her forehead resting on the rim of the porthole.

“Mother wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, would she?” She sighed: “Mother would take stock, make a plan and execute it.” Why did she always refer to mother in times of crisis? She had achieved living for fifty cycles. Mother, a blitz survivor, was long gone, which was a blessing

in the circumstances. “Take stock it is then Cally, old girl: I’m old; I’m female; I’m invisible; I’m non-threatening; I’m

smart, but can conceal it; I’m obedient, if it is to my advantage to appear so; I slip easily below the ra-dar; I’m psychopathic on my father’s side; this is my best survival skill; I’m devoid of empathy; I can

appear empathetic if the need arises; I’m educated to a reasonable level although probably not in the subjects I need for this situation; I’m fit and healthy for my age and best I am adaptable to change.” Why she was talking to herself was unclear but the sound of a voice, even if it was her own, was com-

forting in the blackness. “Step two, make a plan.” Fingers felt their way along the metallic walls of the escape pod. It wasn’t

very big. It was a tight fit for an alien but would have fitted about three average size humans. There was a smear of blood by the hatch. “No, no, no ... take me with you ... I’m begging ...” That woman should’ve got out of the way. She’d given her a chance to exit the pod. It wasn’t a day for pleasantries.

Bang. Something heavy impacted the hull. A warning light was flashing above her head. The sym-bols meant nothing but in the snatches of blue light it was possible to make out something of the inte-

rior fixtures. Her eye found its way back to the tiny porthole. It was another pod. It had attached itself to the hull. Was this what released pods were supposed to do? Join themselves into strings of pearls

floating though space-time. “How wonderful. Oh. Perhaps there’s an alien inside. That wouldn’t be wonderful, would it? No.”

Bang. A lesser bang, more of a thud and a shudder. Perhaps it was another pod attaching to the last

one. But, where were they coming from? She’d launched the pod when the mothership flushed its rub-bish in the hope of being overlooked as debris. Had she been alone in using this strategy? It wasn’t

very original, every sci-fi film she’d ever seen had used the ploy in one form or another. Bang. Not the same at all. More violent. More being hit by something. She jumped away from the

porthole. Debris. Big section of solar array by the look of it. Panels and gantry. Blast damage. The pod had attached itself and its two hangers-on to the space junk.

“Now I’m a target for firing practice. Today keeps getting better and better.” She had seen the

rangers in their competing darts firing at space debris for the last three weeks. She had been getting acclimatised to day-to-day life in the slave quarters until the day she realised the next meal would be

some of them and the truth of on what they were being fed in the protein cubes finally registered. Cannibalism and her a vegetarian. And how she’d been tucking in at chow time.

Another impact. No. Not an impact. The new arrival was locking on. That meant intelligence. “That’s

it. Cast your sad little life goodbye, Cally... I’m ... Armed ... ” she tried to shout but the words died in her throat.

The airlock was being opened. Blindly, fingers searched for a weapon. Anything. There was nothing.

Clichés of the Committee Table

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears,” launched Martin. “Oh, he’s off again,” said Jim. “Shh,” said the co-chair Vernon. Martin sat back up in his chair and continued, “Genius is 1 per cent inspiration and 99 per cent perspiration”. “So, how are we to get the ball rolling and get a handle on this?” enquired Jim. “We’d have to start by getting down to brass tacks, to get the show on the road,”, suggested Vernon. “Well, the only way to get all our ducks in a row and get underway, is to get our feet wet by her getting on her soap box”, observed Tom. “One has to have the gift of the gab and not give up the ghost. We must give a glimmer of hope and not only all gloom and doom”, started Lucia. And then Lucia launched good and proper into an impromptu speech. “We must grasp the nettle and go against the grain, glowing like a good deed in a naughty world. Go for broke and rail against them taking us to hell in a hand bas-ket. Rot them and good riddance. For them, it is hard to swallow that it’s harder for a rich man to go to heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. Whilst of all us haven’t got a penny to our name. Come hell or high water, we must expose that there is something rotten in the state of Denmark, as they say. We must start

from scratch, steal a march and stick up for the little guy. The long and short of it is, that the bigger they are, the harder they fall. At the crack of doom, the darkest hour is just before the dawn, to rid us all of the devil incarnate and so how are the mighty fallen. It’s better to light a candle, than curse the darkness.”

A small ripple of applause, then a point of or-der, “Right time for some tea and biscuits,” sug-gested Martin. All agreed. (ACW)

The Convergence of the Twain Thomas Hardy (1912)

(Lines on the loss of the "Titanic")

In a solitude of the sea

Deep from human vanity,

And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

Steel chambers, late the pyres

Of her salamandrine fires,

Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

Over the mirrors meant

To glass the opulent

The sea-worm crawls -- grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

Jewels in joy designed

To ravish the sensuous mind

Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

Dim moon-eyed fishes near

Gaze at the gilded gear

And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?". . .

Well: while was fashioning

This creature of cleaving wing,

The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

Prepared a sinister mate

For her -- so gaily great --

A Shape of Ice, for the time fat and dissociate.

And as the smart ship grew

In stature, grace, and hue

In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

Alien they seemed to be:

No mortal eye could see

The intimate welding of their later history.

Or sign that they were bent

By paths coincident

On being anon twin halves of one August event,

Till the Spinner of the Years

Said "Now!" And each one hears,

And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

Everything is nothing It's the nothingness That is everything The warmth, the silence Everything The thoughts that swirl Into oblivion It's the nothingness The rebellion The sounds of the world Turn to nothing Inside this house Empty is everything The voices and feelings Shatter to something Sharp and shiny But I feel nothing The people around Are everything Until the day They turn to nothing

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jun/19/

simon-armitage-wins-oxford-professor-of-poetry-

election

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leeds-

33210714

Simon Armitage wins Oxford

professor of poetry election

Simon Armitage : web image origin unknown

20th June 2015 LOCAL RADIO visits garden opening day

Pictures: Stafford FM

via Facebook & http://

www.hobstafford.co.uk

Assignment: “Well, we‟ve shaken them off. At least for the time being!”

The second officer of the ELS Timpotree laughed at the Captain‟s hopeful pro-nouncement. “We should have a few periods of rest anyway. The Engine has said that all this high-speed running has seriously depleted the fuel stocks. It doubts if we can keep it up for more than a few centuries.”

The Captain, as nearly as possible as his bauplan allowed, chuckled at the thought of the AI that WAS the propulsion unit having „said‟ any such thing. “You mean that it sent you a snotty message complaining about being below 80% on fissionables,” the chuckle stopped. “A few more centuries? How many more do we need? We‟re near the end of this run; there‟s only three more seed pods to launch, and the ordered place is a star jump away.”

The sudden tegument change was visible to the second officer who raised the alarm, “All hands to defence stations!” the alarms, sounds and lights, for those of the crew who had the necessity for them, rang out. “Nursery! Shoot those transformer pods into the assigned system, as accurately as you can at this range.”

The flight from attack was short. A bubble universe had hardly started to form when a lucky shot from the attacker got through to the propulsion unit. The crew of the ELS Timpotree having lost all hope of returning to base, fought to the bitter end. Even-tually both ship, semi-molten, radioactive and laden with dead, started a millennia long orbit around a nameless star system.

During the fight the nursery had managed to shoot all three ready-to-colonise pods into the void, hopefully they‟d impact the target area in the next few decades; the remaining, empty, pods were used as dumb missiles and scored some direct hits.

All three colonisation pods, fuel exhausted, inexorably, fell down the stars gravity well and entered a planetary atmosphere on a ballistic course.

The first fell to the ground at a steep angle, destroyed itself on impact and opened up a rent in the mantle that bloomed into a short-lived vol-cano and shortened the existing glaciation by centuries. Number two managed to survive

an open water impact and sank

to the bottom. The outer case

broke open and the mineral con-

tent of the ocean destroyed the

contents.

Image: nasa1965

POETRY LIBRARY UPDATE: Make space in your diary for

Poetry International, bringing together voices from around the world from Thursday 23 to Sunday 26 Jul. 'A poem is a sword. It's our form of resis-tance.' (Sahera Sharif). Encounter poetry from the Middle East by poets from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, Kurdistan, Iran, the Palestinian territories and Syria. True to the vision of the festival's founder, Ted Hughes, this year's festival is inspired by contemporary news, events and conflicts in the world today. Join us for talks, readings, workshops and free events that illuminate poetry's enduring ability to anticipate and envision change and transcend barriers of censorship, prejudice and conflict. The festival features Choman Hardi, Warsan Shire, Eliza Griswold, Kei Miller, Imtiaz Dharker, Jo Shapcott, Malika Booker and Aamir Iqbal, among many others. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/festivals-series/poetry-international Highlights of the festival Poetry in Conflict: Talks Pass Sat 25 Jul This afternoon of three talks presents the stories of poets and poetry in the news from Afghanistan to Pakistan via Iraq. Modern War Poetry Voices from outside the US and UK describe their different experiences of conflict, making war personal in the way only poets can. Why Afghan Women Risk Their Lives to Write Po-etry Find out from the poets themselves and award-winning poet and investigative journalist Eliza Griswold, who shared these women's work and stories in The New York Times. Free of the Taliban We hear of poets in remote north-western Paki-stan who were ordered to compose jihadist mes-sages of war, brutality and conformity. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/poetry-in-conflict-talks-pass-92272 Sex in the Afternoon Sun 26 Jul Join Forward Prize-winner Kei Miller, inaugural Royal Shakespeare Company Poet-in-Residence Malika Booker, African Poetry Prize-winner and first Young Poet for London Warsan Shire, plus performance maker and curator Rachel Mars as they share poetry and prose exploring sex in all its pain and glory. Their readings are fol-

lowed by an open and frank Q&A session with historian of sexuality Dr Jana Funke. Presented as part of the Wellcome Collection's Sexology Season. Curated and produced by People Brands Events, with special thanks to Apples and Snakes, Free Word and Spread the Word. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/sex-in-the-afternoon-92386

Poets on the Front line Fri 24 Jul Poets Choman Hardi (from Iraqi Kurdistan) and Ghareeb Iskander (from Iraq) are joined by UK-based Jamaican poet Kei Miller to offer poetic dispatches from the front line and discuss the challenges of capturing conflict in verse. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/poets-on-the-frontline-92189

Take part in poetry workshops How to write Activist Poetry Fri 22 Jul Work with renowned Palestinian performance poet and human rights activist Rafeef Ziadah to explore poetry as resistance, look at exam-ples of activist poetry and create your own. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/activism-poetry-writing-work-92211

How to write Poetry of Witness Fri 24 Jul Draw on personal and collective experiences to learn how to write poems that combine the in-dividual with the universal and political. This workshop is led by poet Karen McCarthy Woolf. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/poetry-of-witness-workshop-92158

How to write Ghazals Sat 25 Jul Learn about an ancient Arabic verse form that powerfully invokes love, longing and loss, and write your own ghazals with Aviva Dautch. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/how-to-write-ghazals-92322

How to write Landays Sun 26 Jul Discover the power of landays, a form of folk poetry from Afghanistan with a rich history. Award-winning poet, investigative journalist and landay translator Eliza Griswold intro-duces you to some of the greatest poems in the form and helps you write your own. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/introduction-to-landays-92446

The theme for the RBW

2016 Poetry

Collection will be

LINKS

Submissions Open NOW

POSTERS in the branch library now state volunteers are needed

to keep the libraries open.

Councillors have always denied library closures.

This is not what their new posters imply.

We need clarification: DOES NO VOLUNTEERS MEAN LIBRARY CLOSED?

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Time and Tide

The 2015

Short Story

Collection

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