Napo 19 - 2021 - Holding The Edge

He had hands like shovels,
fingers like bananas,
and an eleven inch span.
But...

There was a craftsman's reverence,
I would even say love,
in the way he cared for his tools

He could put an edge on anything,
usually with just a few passes
over an oil-slick stone.

Coarse, fine, and ultra-fine.
He hardly ever touched the first one.
It lived under a layer of sawdust,
buried by disuse until someone,
often me, bought him a 'hopeless case'.

It was as if the cold steel,
which resisted my attempts,
recognised the touch of a Master,
and willingly rearranged itself
at some deep sub-atomic level,
eager to please.

And in return he never, ever,
forced a slightly dulled edge
to make 'just one last cut.'

He'd always pause and re sharpen,
for one final pass,
one ultra-light finishing cut
for a precision joint,
or a bowl spinning in his lathe.

Gyppo

Napo 18 - 2021 - Cave

Mum had backed out after a few feet,
but Dad and his 'little man' pressed on.
These were 'tourist caves',
with clearly marked routes,
dim lights threaded on cables,
along dripping tunnel walls,
and numerous information boards.
And padlocked barriers,
criss-crossed steel bars,
blocking 'dangerous' routes.

But I lagged behind,
fascinated by some fossil formations,
and suddenly found myself alone.

I scampered along, to catch Dad,
and came to a slim steel bridge,
with high handrails and wire mesh sides.
I started to cross the dark gap,
looked down, and froze.

I know now that it was fake lava
for theatrical effect, 'tourist stuff',
but that bubbling fiery stream terrified me.

Dad came back and called me across,
but I wouldn't move.
No, I couldn't move.

Dad told me it was safe,
but the fear was absolute. 
He came back to guide me across,
but I wouldn't budge.

"I'll carry you across, Son.
You know I won't drop you."

"But I'll still see it, Dad."
"Close your eyes then,"
He was a pragmatic man.

But I knew myself too well, even then.
Knew I'd be tempted to peep.
Told him this.

"Do you trust me?"
"Yes!" Clinging to his legs.

He slipped off his jacket,
told me about frightened horses,
safely led from a burning barn,
because they couldn't see the flames,
and gently wrapped my head.

Lifted, held in the trusted embrace,
reassured by the familiar smells
of Old Holborn tobacco,
dried cement and wood chippings,
I  heard his steps echoing,
steadily across the metal bridge
as he carried me to safety.

For a few weeks afterwards,
if he heard me whimpering,
sleep disturbed by memories
of that fearful glow,
he'd enter my room
at the end of our van,
and talk me back down.

I love fires, but that glow,
moving and rippling underground,
still haunts me.

Gyppo

minimal swimwear

DIALECTIC

When a cow becomes really depressed and repeatedly vocal about its misery.  The cattlemen say 'She's got a right moo-on today.

But typesetters and grammarians hate the idea of three O's in a single word, even if hyphenated, so they created a new spelling which still sounds exactly the same but doesn't jar their sensitive and pedantic eyeballs.

TETRACYCLINE

Jo's reportI, whilst largely accurate, fails to address the hidden story.

It's down to a once in a lifetime combination of events.

Brain dead extra-terrestrials, poor English language usage by the 'Grammarly Generation' of journalists, and punitive word count budgets in the headline editing department.  Plus lockdown.

The real story is that thousands of gnomes have vanished from gardens around the country, which could have been a great story for a quiet news day.

'Going...  Going... Gnome.'  That would have been a punchy headline.  Or "G-nome fishing."  Or "Deadly new strain of Mutated Giant Chinese Goldfish Drag Gnomes Under."  But the word processing software said "No!  No! A thousand times, No!".

Or even an international conspiracy theory...

Gnome Gnodfather Gned summons the G-Clan to his home in America for a conference.   Aimed to resolve growing tensions between the three main races, Concrete, Plaster, and the ridiculously prolific newcomers, Resins.

Home owner Patti says, "Gee. I never expected to see that many Gnomes in one place.  I opened the garage door and thousands of the little perverts were staring at me as I did my morning workout.

"Some of the more muscular ones discarded their fishing rods and were joining in, weight lifting with my Dick's socket wrenches, and using his golf balls for balance exercises.

"After a while I got used to them, and Gned slapped down any that seemed a bit too familiar.

"Dick just ignored them - with the exception of one wearing a Cammo t-shirt and shorts - who hitched a ride on his golf bag with him - and mumbled that it served me right for hanging out online with a  bunch of weird-ass writers."

===

On a more mundane level the UK lockdown has led to empty streets, and the Extra-Terrestrial tourist trips have led the more simple minded little green men to believe that the Gnomes were in fact the entire population of earth.

As they offered no resistance  they were scooped up in thousands and submitted  to the usual tests.  Their refusal to communicate, resistance to pain, and the lack of anuses for the traditional 'probing' - which is a feature of such abductions - has led the little green men to assume Earthlings are unbelievably tough and resilient.

As a result all plans for an invasion have been cancelled, and any future UFO flights will be 'observation only'.  So the UFO freaks will still get their thrills, and the rest of us can sleep easy in our beds.

Our planet has been saved by Garden Gnomes.  If you feel any gratitude towards the little folks then make this the year to give them a new coat of paint.  And remember to keep your goldfish well fed.  Just in case.

Gyppo -  Fearless Fracturer of The Final Frontier.

Trick-Cyclist ;-)

Steppenwolf:  Jupiter's Child

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6etwZzv4rQ0