KIT

SATURDAY 24th APRIL 2021 ~ FLASH FICTION ~ POETRY 

This is a response to writing prompt provided by WordPress,com

PROMPT ~ STRANGER


Have you ever had a random encounter or fleeting moment with a stranger that stuck with you?

KIT

by John Yeo

A tribute to a stranger, long gone,

Who brought pleasure to millions.

A man who lived life on the cusp,

Mingling with the theatre fraternity. 

His work shone with amazing brilliance.

~

Comedy, Drama, History and Tragedy.

A sweet pleasure to read and enjoy.

A man who followed his instincts

Using every trick in the book to employ       

The wonder of the written word.

~

His pen became a deadly sword

To ensure his voice would be heard 

Echoing through the centuries.

A man who was no stranger to intrigue

In the political world of the time.

~

A life tragically cut short with a knife,

A young life cruelly extinguished

By shadowy mysterious forces unknown

Robbing the world of a terrifying genius

Who dabbled in fictive reality.

~

While the glory went to the upstart crow

Who became the sweet swan of Stratford,

The world will never reject or forget 

The work of Christopher Marlowe.

Rest in peace, poet and playwright.

~

© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

Image courtesy of bloomsbury.com

Six days to go to the end of the USA Poetry Month

BANGING OUT A DISH

SATURDAY 20th MARCH 2021

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

Prompt ~ BANGING OUT A DISH



BANGING OUT A DISH

by John Yeo

 The auctioneer’s assistant was gingerly holding up an unusual solid silver dish. The dish was lavishly decorated with engraved images of fruit and flowers. Billy the assistant was holding his breath, this was reputed to be an extraordinary piece of work. The illustrations were incredibly ornate and the markings on the base indicated that this piece originated in Russia. The professional theory was that this dish had been stolen and secretly smuggled into Britain. Rumour had it that this incredibly historical dish had once belonged to a girlfriend of Ivan the Terrible; the Tzar of all the Russia’s in the sixteenth century, who had presented a full dinner service to her as a gift to seduce her. This exquisite piece of silver was part of that set; the remainder of which was now housed in the famous Hermitage museum in St. Petersburg. Billy could feel his hand trembling slightly as this information was passed to the assembled buyers in the auction room.

 The auctioneer started his patter; the bidding was fierce and competitive between two buyers. 

  Finally with the words, ‘In banging out a dish of this historical quality, before I bring the gavel down for the final bang have I any further bids?’

 Right at that moment a man dressed strangely in a Russian Cossack outfit leapt at Billy waving a sword.

    ‘This is a bloodstained dish tainted with the blood of creatures consumed by creatures. Bloodstains that will never wash away!’

  Billy, in a shocked defensive reaction, threw the dish at the approaching swordsman. The dish bounced off the attackers head and then fell to the floor with a sickening, damaging thud.

 The Auctioneer, shocked; dropped his gavel, picked up a gun and shot the menacing intruder dead.

 History, in the form of a badly dented valuable dish, lay sedately on the  saleroom floor.

  The buyer claimed his property, maintaining he had secured a bargain as any competent silversmith would be able to restore it to its former glory by simply banging out the dents.

 © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

TIME’S DOORSTEP

THURSDAY 28th JANUARY 2021

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

Prompt ~TIME’S DOORSTEP

 

TIME’S DOORSTEP

by John Yeo

In the time of the after-time of Supertime,

Time’s doorstep will always be shrouded in mist.

~

Death is a Passover from the self to the Superself,

Life is a preparation for the Superlife to come,

Life is infused with pain struggle and strife

Time’s doorstep will always be shrouded in mist.

~

Heartbreak at the loss of Husband or Wife

The bonding and non-verbal closeness is riven

Torn apart from one dimension to another

Time’s doorstep will always be shrouded in mist.

~

Tears and sorrow, mourning and desolation,

Guilt and sadness pass in times revere,

Pain-free, now bathed in Superlight,

Time’s doorstep will always be shrouded in mist.

~

A beautiful person, who lived, loved and laughed here,

Has passed from our consciousness but still feels near,

In memories, images and many a dried up sad tear.

Time’s doorstep will always be shrouded in mist.

~

In the time of the after-time of Supertime,

Time’s doorstep will always be shrouded in mist.

© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved 

TWIN ENGINE TRAGEDY

SUNDAY 3rd JANUARY 2021

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

Prompt ~TWIN-ENGINE TURBINES

Image courtesy of pixabay.com

TWIN-ENGINE TRAGEDY

by John Yeo


  Captain Peter Rochester was a tall man with medium length hair that looked as if it retained its youthful looks with the aid of a proprietary hair dye. Retirement had come as an unwelcome shock since he’d retired from the Air Force. Still a relatively young man he received a good pension. Rosa, his wife was a retired fashion model. Still as glamorous as ever, in a mature way, Rosa still worked infrequently on a self employed basis. They were comfortably off and the future looked secure.
  Then the advert below appeared in his trade paper and his fertile brain came up with some ideas to alleviate the interminable boredom he was currently experiencing.

Twin Engine Turbine for Sale

‘Select from the twin engine turbine aircraft for sale manufacturers below to view aircraft designations by model. These twin engine turbine aircraft for sale are available immediately.’

  ‘Rosa, this looks interesting, we can set up in business as couriers and make some money if we look into this.’ 

 Rosa smiled and nodded,  ‘OK Pete!’ she replied, ‘I suspect you’ll need me to do the paperwork.’

  Several days later, after the financial matters had been settled, Captain Peter arranged to rent a hangar to house the aircraft at a tiny local airfield.

  Captain Peter was in his element as he flew above the countryside enjoying the view of the fields and villages spread out below. Suddenly with an almighty bang, an object collided with his left hand engine and a fire broke out. 

  He radioed the local Air Traffic Control, and gave them his position. ‘I’ve been hit by what looks like a rogue drone! I’m going to crash-land in the fields below. My left engine is hit and I’m flying using my twin right engine.’

  Suddenly his engine failed altogether and the aircraft crash landed.

There was a deathly silence over the burning aircraft as Captain Peter Rochester breathed his last breath.

© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

A TIMELESS APPROACH

WEDNESDAY 30th SEPTEMBER 2020

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

Today’s prompt ~ A TIMELESS APPROACH

A TIMELESS APPROACH

by John yeo

  The world is threatened by a new virus that seems to be indiscriminately killing many people who come into contact;

with its deadly infectious spoors. 

Everywhere people are standing and fighting with every possible weapon at their disposal.

A timeless approach.

~

  People dying all over the world, suffering in agonising ways

this disease kills indiscriminately from labourers to Kings; 

Heroes; medical people wearing PPE.

Many public places are closed and forbidden, theatres, cinemas and churches; our prayers are said in private.

A timeless approach.

~

  The fighting guidelines rapidly change, almost on a daily basis, masks worn in public places and social distancing everywhere, observed.

Some scoff at the measures in place and construct conspiracy theories as the fight goes on.

A timeless approach.

~

Pandemics have come and gone, throughout the historical record, instant exchange of information, the touch of a button throughout the world; the modern weapon.

Collating; sharing information through the media is no substitute for hands on care,

A timeless approach.

~

© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

BONNIE AND CLYDE

SUNDAY 13th SEPTEMBER 2020 ~ FLASH FICTION

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/09/12/weekend-writing-prompt-174-rectify/

BONNIE AND CLYDE

by John Yeo

Clyde was faced with a problem.

   ‘How do I rectify my stupid mistake and keep the romance alive?’

The problem was solved when the jilted Bonnie arrived and shot him dead.

‘Rectification achieved, my lover.’

(35 WORDS)

CHICKENS AND CHOCOLATE

WEDNESDAY 29th JULY 2020

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

CHICKENS AND CHOCOLATE 

by John Yeo

   Larry was a 10 years old legend among his boarding school fellows. He was leader of the Blaggards, a small group of six young lads who were always getting into mischief. They had got their colourful name from a local farmer who had chased them away from stealing apples from his orchard. ‘Come here you crowd of thieving blaggards;’ he was heard to cry out as the friends scattered in all directions.

   The group of friends were always together during the school day teasing the other pupils and making a nuisance of themselves. If they were a few years older they would have been labelled a gang of ne’er-do-wells and severely dealt with.

   There had recently been a national strike and the pupils were shocked to hear there would be no Easter eggs available anywhere this year. Larry was out walking in the school grounds with Walter and Jim when they heard the news from one of the prefects.

 ‘Oh no!’ Exclaimed Jim, ‘No Easter eggs, what next?’

 Walter shrugged and said, ‘Don’t worry, my parents always send me parcels full of chocolate bars, we can all feast on those.’

  Larry was quiet for a while and suddenly said. ‘I have an idea that is bound to work. Call all the Blaggards together,

 We will have our own supply of delicious Easter eggs. Trust me.’

There was excitement among the boys when they met up in the early hours of the morning a week before Easter. Larry had been hatching a plan and there had been some mysterious goings on.

Walter had been carrying a mysterious paper bag and scattering the contents in the farmers chicken pen for the last few days. The Blaggards were up early to collect some special eggs from the chickens. Larry was excited about collecting his first chocolate eggs laid by the chickens.

  There was a shock in store for them when they discovered  four dead chickens in the pen. They ran back to the school as fast as they could. 

© Written by John Yeo

Information from the web.

‘Chickens should not eat chocolate

The darker the chocolate, the more theobromine it contains and the more dangerous it is. … Chocolate is known to cause heart problems in birds which can range from an irregular heartbeat to full cardiac arrest and death will happen very quickly – within 24 hours of eating the chocolate.

26 Jan 2018′

BOTTLE OF BAMBOOZLED

SATURDAY 25th JULY 2020

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

A BOTTLE OF BAMBOOZLED

by John Yeo

   His Lordship suddenly passed away from a massive heart attack. He’d always been a man who took risks and he’d invested the family fortune in fine art and antique furniture. His pride and joy had always been his wine cellar which was packed to the roof with racks containing many bottles of rare wine.

    Some months later when the late Lords affairs were settled her Ladyship received a huge bill for death duties. Lady Ronson, was a petite gray haired lady, who’d led a sheltered life, always leaving the financial decisions to her husband. 

     ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked her son. Sir Nigel, who was a sharp stockbroker, with extremely square shoulders. At 6’ 6”, he was a formidable looking man

       ‘Well Mother, we’ll have to raise money quickly by selling off the family silver, starting with Father’s wine cellar. I know just the people to deal with this for us, Coldmarten and Carter, a firm of auctioneers who specialise in fine wine.

  A few days later Sir Nigel arrived with a portly fellow with a handlebar moustache, wearing a brown tweed suit. 

    ‘Mother, allow me to introduce you to Professor Coldmarten, a respected, proficient, auctioneer, he would like to examine the wines in Father’s cellar with a view to valuing them for auction.’

     ‘Of course!’  said Lady Ronson.

Two hours later Professor Coldmarten and Sir Nigel approached Lady Ronson with some sad news.

   ‘Mother, I’m afraid, Dad has been consistently robbed and bamboozled over the years. Most of the wine in the cellar is valueless. Absolute plonk! We’ll have to have the death duties revised and sell this rubbish for what we can get. Sadly it won’t be much.’

  Some months later when the estate death duties had been revised, Sir Nigel bought a place in Bermuda and retired. Professor Coldmarten became quite prosperous from the sale of some exceptionally rare wines that seemed to have suddenly arrived on the market. Lady Ronson went to live in an upmarket sheltered accommodation.

 Sir Nigel and the Professor visited her Ladyship five years later and they all raised a glass from the last ‘bottle of bamboozled’.

Do you know, the wine was really rather good.

 © Written by John Yeo

THE STING OF REJECTION

Sunday 5th July 2020

This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..

THE STING OF REJECTION 

 The scene was played out in the rural peace of central suburban England. Deaven and Gertie were lovers and they had enjoyed a long affair together throughout their years at University.

 They had returned from a long holiday together in the sun of the Caribbean now a fragment of both of their memories as they landed in windswept, rain-lashed England.

‘Will your parents be at home when we get there Gertie? I would like to meet them and have a chat with your father.’

‘Yes! They should be there Deaven. What do you want to see him about?’ asked Gertie, feigning ignorance.

Deaven smiled and said nothing in response to this. The chauffeur was waiting for them when they alighted from the train and they were whisked off to the Manor House; Gertie’s home.

Immediately they arrived; after the introductions had been completed, Deaven asked to have a private word with Gertie’s father and the two of them retired to the library.

Raised voices could be heard and the noise of a gunshot broke the silence of the manorial splendour.

The servants dashed in to find one man shot dead and the other man with a serious head wound. 

It seems Deaven had asked for the hand of Gertie in marriage and the sting of her father’s response of total rejection had caused him to lose his sense of reality. Deaven had pulled a ceremonial sword off the wall and attacked the overbearing man. Gertie’s Father had pulled a gun from a desk drawer and killed the young man in self defence.

The tragic effect of the sting of abject rejection had a permanent irredeemable effect on all their lives.

© Written by John Yeo

LES BLANCS

FRIDAY 3rd JULY 2020 

BLOG POST 

   Here is my take on the eye-opening performance of the play ‘Les Blancs’ written by by Lorraine Hansberry., currently streaming on YouTube by the National Theatre. I think this is what reality theatre should be highlighting. The unacceptable face of a whitewashed history.

LES BLANCS


    Take a shack, place it in the middle of a revolving stage. Surround it with throbbing beating African music and let the story unfold.
  Except this was no story, this was the largely untold and hidden history of the horror and abject cruelty of racist imperialism. The hidden history of many European countries who colonised parts of Africa and bled the inhabitants dry of resources and treated the inhabitants as slaves or lesser members of humanity. This play obviously focussed on British imperialism, although it was written by an American, Lorraine Hansberry.
  Three African brothers are drawn together to attend the funeral of their Father. The shack represents a mission, where the local hospital is located. At the same moment an American writer arrives to research a book he’s writing on the situation in this unnamed part of Africa. The brothers are all from different spheres of life. The first of the brothers we encounter and who plays a leading role in the play has traveled from the USA, where he is married to a white woman, with whom he has a child. The second brother we meet is a priest who is preaching the white man’s religion and is thoroughly imbued with the white man’s culture. The third brother is a helper in the mission and appears to have a relationship with one of the white medical staff who provides him with alcohol and cigarettes. He is a half brother, conceived as a result of a rape of their Mother by an Army officer.
There are a melange of important characters who make up the white colonial cast, including a blind elderly lady missionary, two doctors, one male and a lady doctor.
The dialogue and the interaction between the various players is a powerful statement of the undercurrents of racism and revolution running through the country at a certain point in time. Revolution against the imperialist invaders is always in the background. The music and the scenes of cold blooded murder, by both the oppressors and the oppressed. There are rumours of white families including babies slaughtered by the rebels as the revolt against imperialism builds apace.
    Watching and recording everything as it happens in this racist microcosm of African life is always the American writer. Observing and questioning the background and behaviour of both the native rebels and the imperialist invaders.
  The language and the portrayal of the white supremacist treatment of the natives is shocking and the murders take place openly. The background culture of the lady missionary and the lady doctor as they try to make sense of an insensitive situation is an education in itself. The military presence is portrayed brilliantly by a cruel, racist military officer who has no qualms about shooting and killing a suspect in cold blood.
  The tension builds as the revolt draws closer and closer to the mission and the white population are ordered to evacuate and leave the area.
  As the American writer leaves, the  lady missionary pleads with him to, ‘Write it and tell it as it is.’
  The play makes its way to the final scenes.  The remaining two brothers are arguing in a passionate scene and the priest is killed by his brother, who returns to his tribal roots and joins the rebels. The revolution arrives with fire as the mission shack is engulfed in flames.
The reality behind this extraordinary play is the hidden history behind the story the author has vividly brought to life. This is the reality of a history that is never taught in schools, perhaps because the establishment is ashamed to draw attention to a past that will always be a stain on the conscience of imperialist colonialism.


  Sadly I think very few people will see this performance as the bulk of the viewers will be too busy watching soaps to tune in.

© Written by John Yeo