Dec 1st – In Between the Clover and the Damp Earth

December 1st – In Between the Clover and the Damp Earth


We’ve tried it once or twice
And found it rather nice

Roll me over lay me down and do it again
Roll me over in the clover, roll me over lay me down and do it again


(Bawdy WWII song, popular in 1944)


Somewhere in between

the clover and the damp earth

she left her innocence;

a dead thing, used up.


And she was different, then;

half-elated, half-afraid

of who she was now,

of what she had become.


Mud and crushed greens

on her jeans, marks from where

she’d pulled him down,

her choice under the canopy


of trees and sky; marks

she hid with a sweater

loosely tied around her waist

as she let herself in,


the key unlocking, turning

into an unsubtle echo

of this Thursday afternoon.

She couldn’t look them in the eye


at the table, bit her lip

at did you have a nice afternoon,

dear? Did they notice any difference?

If they did, they said nothing.


Fine. I’ve put the washing on.

I had some things that needed doing.

The churn of the drum

washing away the signs:


washing away the mud, and the greens;

the marks on her jeans

of an innocence gladly thrown away

between the clover and the damp earth.



Inspired by a prompt from here

(I know it’s not technically the 1st of December, but I was in London, and my phone wasn’t too keen on posting anything, so this is what I would have written. More or less.)

The Truth Sucked the Life Right Out of His Chest – Dead Deer

Today I wrote from 19:42 to 19:52. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Aliens. The truth as an alien concept for this one. Maybe they did not really know what the truth was or is, but it certainly did not appear to be a very constant thing. The shifting sands of truth. But surely there is a definitive truth, even one made of personal intentions?

‘No and No’, is how it started. Two fairly unequivocal responses. (In time one of these would prove to be false, or change to being false, if we wish to be generous). How can a binary question be so deeply inaccurately answered?

‘It is bad, but not as bad as you think’. In fact you have no idea how bad I think it is. And the truth, or what passes for the truth nowadays, was worse than I thought. And it is even worse now.

‘You can, and you could’. Well, yes, that is true. But let us be honest. We all know I could not and would not do that. Yet despite all the protests and requests you did do it. Not I. You. And after so long being battered and bewildered and spun and splintered by half-truths and untruths I was not equipped to cope with the final irreversible terrible truth.

I thought I was empty. My insides first kicked out, then scraped out. Every atom of my being systematically removed and crushed. Yet in the face of that truth, spoken so gently, I discovered I had yet more to lose; sucked out of my empty chest in a moment; a breath almost taken.

Done. I am done.

Yet your difficult relationship with the truth continues.

I am tired. So tired.

Dec 3rd – The Truth Sucked the Life Right Out of His Chest

December 3rd – The Truth Sucked the Life Right Out of his Chest


I am Death.

I am also Truth.

It’s not, as you might think, a result of cutbacks, or streamlining, or economising, or anything like that. It’s just, when you think about it, that the two are inextricably linked. Death is the ultimate truth. Truth is only, ultimately, in death.

I am both.

I don’t separate out my roles, usually. It’s a combined package.

I offer two services. Collect ad reveal.

The nature of my job means that no-one has the opportunity to turn me down, when I arrive. I can come when you least expect, or when you have been waiting for me for days, for months, for years, even. I can come in the darkness of the night, where the stars fight with an inky sky, or I can come in the brightness of a spring morning, drenched in colours.

It’s all the same to me.

Let me give you an example. Maybe then you’ll understand.

It was a hospital. Often, I come to hospitals, although not always. I don’t stick to visiting hours. That would be too predictable. I don’t like to be predictable.

I had visited him once before, just to watch. Just to see if I was needed, then, but the doctors and the machines held me off, for a while. I don’t mind. I know I’ll be back, sooner or later.

That is my truth. I will always come.

This time I was needed. He knew I was there. They always know that I’m there, although sometimes I’m not expected. Then it’s a little surprise. This one wasn’t a surprise.

The morning was creeping into the ward when I arrived, grey fingers edging under the blinds. He didn’t speak. They’re not supposed to see me, they’re just supposed to know, and he knew. He breathed a little heavier. The line on the machine spiked.

I leant over him. I can do it from a distance, but I think the personal touch is appreciated.

I whispered the words into his ear. They’re always different. I can’t tell you the words, because that would ruin some of the surprise when it’s your turn.

And it will be your turn.

I whispered the words, whispered his truth into his ear.

I held my hand over his heart. This isn’t to be dramatic. It just makes things easier.

I held my hand over his heart, and the truth sucked the life, what little was remaining, out of his chest.

I didn’t stay for long.

There is always work to do.


Inspired by a prompt from here.