Wink: A Collection of Poetry and Short Stories
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About this ebook
Yendole Yendole
Cofounder of Writershed, Kay is a retired teacher who at last has found time to write. Kay hopes to write more poetry, stories, play scripts, murder mysteries, and biographies of family members if they let her! She has already published one life story and some travel blogs but not for general sale, but you can read her travel blog on Travelpod.com, where she writes about her round-the-world trip and French experience. Happily married and with two daughters and six grandchildren, Kay feels she has a lot to write about and has enjoyed putting this book together. WinK is a name Kay devised for her murder mystery writing that she has done for Thresholds, Women’s Institutes corporate functions, Carefree rallies, and Weybridge Mariner’s Club. The poetry and stories in section 1 are from Families published separately in conjunction with Writershed, the Women Writers Workshop, a group Kay founded in 2011, now on Amazon and Kindle. The other stories are a selection from new projects Kay is working on. “The Spinster” is an extract from her biography of her mother’s life. “The Snowchild” is an extract from her children’s book Joshua’s Globe. Kay hopes to complete these projects in the near future as well as help the Writershed group to put together their second book. The best seller is still a long way in the future, and Kay has no illusions about how tough it is to get started as a writer. But one word of advice she can give to all those budding writers out there is to “write every day and make writing part of your life as that book inside you will never happen just talking about it.”
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Wink - Yendole Yendole
© 2012 by Kay Yendole. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Published by AuthorHouse 07/05/2012
ISBN: 978-1-4685-8211-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4685-8212-3 (e)
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Contents
Section One
Families
I Carn’t!’
The Imaginary Friend
Trekking with Llamas
Topping Out
The Room
My Garden is My Family
The Rings—Mother’s Ring
The Ring 2
African Grey
Bilbo and the Bacon Butties
Breaststroke
Co-incidence
A communion with nature
And All that Jazz by Kay Yendole
Life in the Old Girl Yet
Retirement
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered am I
Section Two
Etc; Etc; Etc;
The Spinster
The Arrangement
Californian Muesli
The Snowchild
The Mariners Murder
The Breakdown
The Biscuit Tin
A Souvenir of Wimbledon
Joshua’s Globe: The Singing Wolf and the Dancing Bear
Section One
Families
I Carn’t!’
‘Do your laces up John’
‘I carn’t!’
‘There’s no such word as carn’t John’
‘but I carn’t’
‘Of course you can, just try John’
‘Well I tried and I tried
but I carn’t
do my laces up, I really carn’t’
‘There’s no such word as carn’t John,
Right over left, that’s right
Now under and through the loop
It’s easy when you try John’
‘Right over left then under
make a loop each side’
‘I carn’t’
‘There’s no such word as carn’t John
Try harder John
Right over left and under
Then pull there you’ve done it John’
‘Oh yes I have . . . look
I’ve tied my laces . . . . I can!’
The Imaginary Friend
No need for toys
That plastic rubbish
Taking up space, messing my room.
I want more time
To play out of doors
There is my horse, I am the groom.
I play for hours
Galloping across the downs and jumps.
It’s mane a rope
But the saddle’s real
Its body built from boxes and trunks.
I talk to him
My stallion friend
In my mind my fantasy will never end.
I urge him on
From trot to canter
I stroke his neck, his breath I feel.
Together we ride
Over hedges and fields
I want this game to never end.
So don’t buy me toys
Mother can’t you see
My imagination is good enough for me.
Trekking with Llamas
You’re growing up so fast ; I miss you
I miss the way we used to all read in bed together, us three
Eating biscuits ; you had milkshake, I drank tea.
I miss the walks in the woods, collecting bugs, imagining finding Tigger and Pooh
and Piglet and Roo.
And Pooh sticks from the bridge we used to play
by the stream down the lane.
I miss the baking of cakes and playing at opening the Frog Cafe.
Plasticine and painting of castles and kites,
make believe, dressing up as princesses and knights.
The teenage years have taken you away from me
Into the world of i-pods and music I’ve not heard.
We’ve lost the art of conversation, you seldom speak a word.
I desperately look for things that you’d enjoy
Last year ‘Go Ape’ swinging through the trees
Colin nearly seventy is acting like a boy!
This year we thought we’ve surely truly found
something different and exciting to keep you wanting to come round
We kept it secret, a mystery adventure
But still worried, would you like it? we weren’t sure
Every picture tells a story so they say and
by the look of the smile on your face it would seem.
It was a success we’ve regained for a while at least the old bond
through trekking with Llamas in the Forest of Dean.
Topping Out
After the flood, the tears, the damage done
Light rain fell in shallow puddles
Pools of water reflecting sombre skies
Benevolence compensated no sun in his smile
He lifted me up out of the mud
‘You shall be the foundation of my new life
The pillar of strength in my hour of need’
He said and like ‘Bricklok’ we joined together
The exact fit, we needed each other to become one whole
We locked together the perfect match.
No more cold abstract soul-less strangeness
No more remorseless uniformity of style
but curves of softness in our symmetry
But still strong and impenetrable as clay.
Together we are building a new life
One that leaves the rubble and ruins behind
Our structure is fresh and new
It lets in light, hardly a brick to be seen
The strength is inside in the being
Of my man
My brick.
The Room
The dining room door opens into a light filled lounge. Three walls of the room have large windows that let in maximum light from the east, south and westerly points. Mirrors and glass reflect the light again and it has the feel of a conservatory about it, without a single plant inside, the garden is clearly visible and feels like part of the room.
Mottled natural shades of brown and cream are in the carpet and sofas and small oak carved tables and cabinet housing crystal. The inevitable T.V. video; DVD and music centre are not obtrusive. The eyes are