The Moving Pen | Classic Blog

Classic Blog

Sharing life experiences in style.
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‘Hey Babe, my boss is hosting the work Christmas party this year at his house. Partners are invited. So you need to come,’ Anne said to her boyfriend David. ‘Fine, when and where?’ David said without looking up from his computer. ‘It’s this coming Saturday. Party starts at noon and they live in Gordon,’ Anne referred to the email on her phone. ‘Fine,’ David mumbled as he returned his attention …

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Do you remember summer in the seventies?  I do.  As my eyelids lower under the weight of a glass of chardonnay and the grandchildren squeal while their parents fuss over sunscreen and hats, I can see myself, lacquered in Johnson & Johnson baby oil, running across the spongy green grass of our front lawn. I wore baby-doll pyjamas from early afternoon – they must have been my favourite –  or …

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Christmas Miracle

David looked at his watch.  Five minutes to the end of the sermon, he reckoned. A couple of closing hymns, a prayer, maybe a Christmas gift thing for the kids, the benediction and then they’d be out. He hoped the ham wasn’t burning; he’d turned the oven down low. He hoped it was cooking fast enough. Was it too low? He hoped his house wasn’t burning down. He should have …

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Getting it Together Part 4

He proposed a few weeks later. I knew he would, but I’m glad to say I didn’t actually predict the date. We’d been on a couple of very romantic dates or dinners at home, and each time I thought, this is it. But no, he was setting me up. I was caught off guard one evening after work when he’d call a dinner in town, just for the fun of …

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  ‘Acidic,’ I smile. ‘Some certainly are; in fact many I come across.’ The guy doesn’t know whether to grin – am I talking about him? He hovers his phone near the credit card machine. ‘But this one’, I say as I pour a glass, ‘is a perfect blend. Look at its body, its bigness. Its depth. It’s…’ I gaze high, move my lips, as if searching for the correct …

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Dry autumn leaves swirl and scrape the pavements Making a sound like a drummer’s brush on a hi-hat, A furious wind pours out from the dirty grey sky Like a distant deity hurling insults at unruly mortals, Winter is almost here, swirling over these tall towers Gusting around the next corner, following me down pitiless laneways Through alleyways of lost hope, across the grief-swept mall, Past façades of shining buildings …

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Thine birthday was a grand and hearty feast; We supped on fowl, roast beef and bread not stale. We gorged so much we nearly were deceased And drank our fill from vats of finest ale. Yeah, gluttons all we shamed ourselves in greed, Sang bawdy songs of country girls so sweet Till Will supplied us with some high grade weed, Then all of us danced naked in the street. Next …

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narrow neck topography

No! A needle jammed in the groove of busyness. No room to think. Full!   Blah! Words tumble, meaningless, inconsequential, Stop!   Wait. Ideas will flow, words, pictures, colour. Fingers poise, Naught!   Come on! Try harder. Sentence, shape, tone. Empty page stares. Can’t!   Walk. Legs stretch, Blood pumps, lungs fill, Body aching. Breathe.   Slow. The track winds forward, backward, out of view. I am in between. Here. …

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It’s Saturday. Cold, blubbery. Whingey. She thinks: I’ve gotta go to the laundromat. If I don’t go now I’ll never go. He stares at the pile of dirty clothes. Food stains; semen; coffee; shit; beer. She thinks: Fuck, it’s raining now. He thinks: Why is the washing machine busted? Now, of all days? She piles her shirts and trousers and bras and undies into a black plastic garbage bag; scowls …

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THE DOCTOR I should be dead. The news of my passing was published in the newspaper. Dr. John McMahon – Paediatrician, was listed as one of the nine victims who perished in a helicopter crash. Yes, that was me. My name and title were both printed correctly. There was no mistake there. But I didn’t die. The helicopter was from the Navy. I was a new recruit with the Army …

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