Love this photo by another of my talented nieces Hannah Chambers  

 Illustration of me by my talented niece Ellie Marriott 

Happy endings?

Snow White, was all right when she got her man.  Fed up with looking pale, she got a bottle tan. 

Sleeping Beauty was a cutie but needed to wake up and smell the coffee.

The Ugly Duckling, was often seen chuckling, as he was beautiful inside.

Jack didn't amount to can of beans, until he became upwardly mobile. 

The Three Little Pigs, operating from digs became pink property developers.

Hansel and Gretel, never did settle and ended up in a commune in Wales.

The Princess was restless until she bought a memory-foam topper, while the pea was frozen and sold to an Iceland shopper.

Beauty was a beast.

Little Red, blushed and said: "I should have noticed something was wrong, my granny has a much hairier chin."

Pinocchio woodn’t grow but his nose grew into a branch of Ikea.

Tinkerbell made a smell and blamed it on Peter Pan.  Captain Hook took a look and dispersed it with a fan.

Creative Writing

It was silly really, letting the weak winter daylight disappear before walking her dogs; now it would be too late to get back without the dark closing in. Pulling on a coat over her expectant belly, chastising herself for becoming distracted and irritated at the prospect of a wet, muddy slide in the twilight, Justine squeezes through the back-gate.

Her day has been frustratingly unproductive, undeveloped ideas melting away before forming fully and the baby seemed unusually restless shifting within her. And there was a nightmare which suddenly surfaced - freed by a radio debate discussing gender neutrality - a cause she'd adopted by opting-out of a sexing scan and felt was a fundamental part of this androgynous existence.

Devastatingly real, the dream revealed a faceless baby, slick with blood, umbilical cord fast about its neck.  "It was only a dream", she comforts, shaking her head to stop foreboding thoughts sinking deeper. 

Heading along the well trodden hedge-line, huddled against the annoyance of an unorganized existence writing her first novel, she passes under the tree's dense canopy.  She wonders at her unease, having always been more concerned with creating a book than a life.

Ahead, the beagles stop abruptly, unhappy tails tucked despondently beneath them, focusing their intense gaze on something sensed along the path.  A cold, malingering pocket of air, drapes itself across Justine’s shoulders and shivering, she instinctively touches her stomach.

Suddenly, a blackbird sounds a noisy warning.  On edge and annoyed at the dogs’ unease, she calls to them but hears a voice as faint as an echo whispering back. Pulse pounding, she searches the direction of the canines’ neurosis, while fishing for her mobile in her pocket, swiping for the reassurance of the torch.

Her phone is dead and swearing, she moves to hurry back, startled at how vulnerable and cold she unexpectedly feels. But the unintelligible voice speaks again – louder this time - as if tuning to a more receptive channel and glancing down she sees that a pale-light is emanating from its screen. Shakily holding it away from her like an unpleasant thought, Justine reluctantly places the phone to her ear with a tentative “Hello?”.

She expects a girl’s voice but can’t be sure and as she tries to make sense of the barren words; the voice is lost to babies’ screams in the background. The glow dies, along with all composure, and sobbing, she tries to run back along the slippery path.

Falling painfully onto her knees, struggling to stand up, a new terror seizes her as something brushes against her face and turning, Justine sees a pair of pale, dirty feet suspended in mid-air.

Hauling herself up, hysterical sobs racking through her body, she stumbles away and looking back sees a corpse hanging, head lolling unnaturally, blank eyes staring down at its distended stomach.

The police and paramedics arrived quickly but there’s nothing to be found. 

Her doctor insists on another scan later that week, which confirms Justine is having twins – a boy, and a girl.

Copyright© Lucinda Merriman

Word for word

I need to write a poem – I want to write it quick, ‘cause if I don’t get the right words out soon, I’m afraid of feeling sick.

Verses coursing through my body, arranging which route to take, surging along my arteries, trying to escape.

Bashing up my brain cells, mithering my messy mind - tickling my stomach lining - dashing down my spine.

Trying to find an opening, a natural way to flow, my conjunctions are forming untidy lines but still it’s all too slow.

My liver says it’s leaving to find a more eloquent space, while my heart is busy emoting, at a fast and furious pace.

Alas, I’ve mislaid all the alliteration I imagined tipping off my tongue - I’ve failed to corral any apostrophes and the prologue’s not yet begun.

If only I could locate a preposition, to see just where I am or think of an interjection that didn’t give a damn!

Clumsy commas dash off with semi-colons, not sure what mark to make; whilst an ill at ease idiom, puts on its brave face.

Clouds of clichés gather, hovering ominously overhead, lazy similes bumping into muddled metaphors, that should have stayed in bed.

What if these thoughts do make it into the open and are transcribed onto the page, will their sudden exposure seem weak or overplayed?

An errant ego rushing off to find flattery, seldom looks back to ponder on its faults, not for it perpetual circles of uncertainty, as in a beginner’s waltz.

We should be careful what we wish for, be wary of what we aspire to write, as often words betray their creator, leaving them ashamedly contrite.

After all it might just be hyperbole, overstated and often queer – for example who ever thought of a word that sounds like itself and called it an onomatopoeia?

Copyright Lucinda Merriman ©

To be?

Be careful what you wish for,

be mindful what you think.

Be cautious what you eat for tea,

be wary what you drink.

Keep walking on the sunny-side 

of life’s perpetual gloom.

And be sure to stay on the funny-side 

of your eventual doom. 

Copyright Lucinda Merriman

Greeting card verses

Special Birthday Wishes 

Every year you have a birthday, today you have one too, 

of all the things most wonderful, I wish them all for you.

Walking in the sunshine, singing in the rain, 

holding hands with the one you love, making daisy chains.

Catching warm birthday wishes, holding happiness in your hand, 

embracing joyful moments, will make you understand, 

how sending across all my love and wishing you the perfect day, 

will happen every year I think of you, in this very special way.

Thank You

Thank you for being so wonderful, thank you for being so kind.

All the lovely things you do for me, have been swirling around my mind.

Listening to all my problems, giving me a hug, 

buying me a bunch of flowers, never looking smug.

If everyone were as nice as you, the world would be a better place,

the streets would be full of happy people with smiles upon their face.

Copyright Lucinda Merriman