50 Word Stories: Waiting to Change

It is that last cool breath before the summer’s warmth. Field upon field of heaped greens sway in a ripening wind waiting for the sun to impart its own gold colouring upon them. Not quite foodstuffs, nor still seedlings dreaming of life, they prepare to change. As do we all.

50 Word Stories: Change For Change’s Sake

“I like my vacuum cleaners to look like vacuum cleaners not airships, or oxygen masks, or lilac lawnmowers, or frisbees! Bleedin’ disgraceful!”

“It’s called progress, Granddad. Stop moaning.”

“Pfft! It’s called change for change’s sake.”

“What would you rather have, a fancy vacuum, or dirt?”

“A housemaid.”

That’s my Granddad.

The Noisy

Once when the world was young

Stars less tarnished

Nights more polished

And innocence still remained

I dreamed of the quiet

Of the fresh and warm

Of snow gently falling

Birds shaking wings

Everything was wonderful

All I would wish

All anyone could wish

Streams running through my mind

Tinkling like bluebells

But then came the noisy

Who spoilt it

Brash and foolish

False glitter and loud voices

Bad language and trash

I remember the moment

The second

The instant

It cracked open my soul

And nothing seemed the same again

I Closed My Eyes To Summer


The world turns,

Air drops,

Something differs,

Stifles the humidity,

Kissing the leaves with cold breaths,

Revealing souls,

Displaying life

In a way the heat never could.

A skittering leaf

Troubles the window glass,

Disturbs a restless sleep;

The sort of sleep that is aware

Even if the sleeper is not.

I closed my eyes to summer

And open them to autumn.

The world has changed

Once more.


I frequent the in between:

The non-committal;

The private world;

The sheltered spaces 

Of heart and soul;

The me.

Some seek to drag me from it

Kicking and screaming,

Protesting at not living like they do.

But I do not wish to live that way:

Life is too short to waste.

So, if you catch a shadow within the shade,

Hear a slow-thudding heart in the night,

Don’t search for the light switch.

I’ve removed all the bulbs.

The Steel Ones

Red-eyed and dark 

The shadows move.

They outnumber us now:

Four feet;

Four eyes;

Hard shelled,

And hateful.

When did we lose the battle

For our own existences?

Was there even a battle?

I see the odd biped 

Moving through the flow 

With fear etched upon their face.

I share it;

I hate it.

This is the world we have created.

This is the world we once owned.

I see it all from my house

Nestled between mountain ridges.

I see it all from my eyrie

Where the steel ones can’t find me.


 The night echoes of a Winter to come and that of a Fall falling.
 It is the moment between Summer’s joy and Winter’s slumber.
 Life luxuriates over memories past and fortunes future,
 And I inhale of it hoping to capture the essence of the change.
 Whether I succeed or not, I am not sure.
 But there’s a tang of something to roll around in my mouth,
 Perhaps, it is the flavour of something new.