Thursday, 19 August 2010

There's something wrong with Grandad

There’s something wrong with Grandad.

He’s acting rather strange.

He stumbles with a confused look

And doesn’t sound the same

It started at the weekend

He said that he was ill

He wouldn’t take his medicine,

Or wouldn’t take his pill

And now he’s on the landing,

With arms stretched out ahead,

With dripping blood around his lips

And scars across his head….

I didn’t meant to hit him,

But when he bit my Dad,

And took a chunk out of his arm

I thought he’s turning mad.

And now my dad is changing,

His skins gone rather grey,

He really smells of nasty meat

And doesn’t want to play

( Find out what happened to Grandad when Spooky Stories is published in the very near future)

Wednesday, 18 August 2010

Miss Carr's Pies

Miss Carr's Pies
by Leighroy Marsh from the Spooky Stories Collection

Long, long ago, there was nothing but snow on the dark country lane in my tale

And galloped a horse, (with a rider of course) with a bag full of paintings for sale.

But the snow was too thick, and he had to think quick - if he stayed out too long he would freeze

And though the dark night he saw the pale light of an inn, where he could find some ease.

He tethered his steed in the stables next door, and carried his pictures inside.

And there by the bar, was the lovely Miss Carr with a tray full of pies at her side

Good evening Miss, he said with a hiss – his mouth was all frozen and solid

She simply looked up from a recipe book and said in a manner quite stolid.

“Good evening sir, can I get you a beer? A room for the night or some tea?

There’s nobody here at this time of year I can give you a discount maybe?”

“What would be nice, is one of those pies.. “ Said the traveller eyeing the tray

“Can you warm right it up with some ale in a cup and tell me how much I must pay

“I certainly can” she said to the man “please take a seat by the fire”

“I shall warm it up quick, I ‘ll be back in a tick – with a pie that will match your desire”

Miss Carr went away to the pies on the tray, and selected the largest one on it

To the kitchen she went with a pie for the gent , whilst humming herself an old sonnet.

“So the man wants a pie”, she said with a sigh – it will cost him much more than he thinks

She pulled out a locket from inside her pocket and opened it over his drink.

Down poured some dust, which was redder than rust – It bubbled and fizzled and festered

She stirred up the brew which was thicker than stew – but smelt rather good none the less

(Find out what happens to the Traveller and Miss Carr's Pies in Spooky Stories - coming soon)

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

The pen is mightier than the parking ticket

You may remember that in a previous blog, I mentioned that I got a parking ticket for slightly overstaying the limit by 8 minutes, due to me staying a little while longer to give a reading at the Oxfam shop.  I was relying on those charitable souls at the parking office to rescind the fine as the circumstances were, in my view exceptional. 

Unfortunately it seems that those 'charitable souls' are not one for charity and unfortunately my appeal fell on deaf ears.  On the plus side however, it seems I have a new set of villains to write about.....lucky me:

Those charitable souls - down at parking control, with their cameras and watches and tickets
Skulk in the dark of the public car park and hide in the bushes and thickets
Like lions they'll wait if the victim is late, they'll pounce without mercy or pity
Then they'll gorge and they'll feast on the poor wildebeest, in manner described as "not pretty"

First attempt at a Plugmonster Wordsearch

Friday, 6 August 2010

The Pot Bellied Cook and The Three Legged Dog

The Pot Bellied Cook and the Three Legged Dog


In an old wooden tavern, quite close to a bog

Lives a pot bellied cook and a three legged dog

He spends all his days making green smelly cheese

While the three legged dog sits and scratches his fleas

High up in a tower, lives the Old Purple Gint

Who drinks nothing but smoothies of onion and mint

She grows all her food in a pair of old boots

And makes soap from the juice of the dandelion root

But cook wasn’t happy to live all alone

He wanted to share the green cheese in his home

So he closed up the tavern and set foot outside

With his three legged dog he looked for a bride

To the Old Purple Gint in the tower he strolled

With some cheese in a sock, feeling ever so bold

He called from the ground to the window above

And proclaimed from his knees his intentions of love.

“My darling, my sugar, my sweetheart, my dear

I have lived all alone for so many a year

I have come to ask you, would you marry me please

And stand by my side with my dog and his fleas”

The Gint just stood silent, as stiff as a rock

Then she gazed at the cook and his green smelly sock

“I will be your wife” , was her short sharp reply

“If you bring me the shoes from the Snufflebug fly”

(Find out what happens to the Pot Bellied Cook and  the The Legged Dog in 2011)