Paul A. FreemaN - chaucerian inspirations - New Page

Putin Meets Trump Limerick

7/17/2018

When Putin Met Trump

Said Donald, “My dear, darling Poots,
Perhaps we could wear matching suits;
and then, with my tongue,
once your praises I’ve sung,
I’ll happily lick clean your boots.”

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!

Royal Birth Limerick

4/23/2018

Town Crier Announces Royal Birth

Royal Birth Limerick

"How thrilled and excited are we!"
said the Queen over afternoon tea.
"For Will's wife, Duchess Kate,
has concluded the wait
and delivered up sprog number three."

Well, I haven't posted in a while, what with having to edit three novels, so I thought I'd post something written today.

The Tower awaits me!

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!

'The Perfect Girl' Published in Australia

12/11/2017

The Perfect Girl

My daughter wrote a story titled The Perfect Girl, which in a way resembled the story line of the Tom Hanks film, Big. It concerned a girl who was over-aware of her physical appearance and wanted to be 'perfect'. At a tent on a seaside pier she tells a mysterious clairvoyant her wish and the woman grants it. Suffice to say all doesn't go well.

I helped Kimberly edit the story, then reworded areas of it until it was of a publishable standard and submitted it to Fast Fiction magazine where it was published in the Australian magazine's winter (summer in the northern hemisphere) issue.

What a proud moment for me, considering I did not get my first paid publishing credit until I was 36!

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!

October 24th, 2017

10/24/2017

New Toothbrush

I placed second in the Inter-Board Poetry Community competition for August with my humerous poem Ill-Used (about a new toothbrush), though a friend of mine found the later part of the poem a difficult read.

Anyhow, below is the link, followed by the poem (not for the feint-hearted), followed by the judge, Tim Mayo's assessment of my poem:

ibpc.webdelsol.com/2017/08

Ill-Used

I’ve been ill-used, no other word will do;
pristinely packaged, sanitised and new
a month ago I stood upon display
till someone paid to carry me away.

Once home, he placed me in a cup whose rim
was chipped and whose interior was grim.
Upon a shelf, inside his smallest room,
I stayed, alone, to contemplate my doom.

Next morning he adorned my head with gel –
my bristles had a fresh and minty smell.
But then he raised me up into his mouth
and brushed from east to west, from north to south.

I rubbed against decaying slabs of brown,
deep cavities, raw gums, a tarnished crown,
till finally he scrubbed his furry tongue,
an organ as malodorous as dung.

Each morning since, I’ve gagged upon his breath,
that rancid cavern’s stench is worse than Death,
with plaque and gummed up lips that dribble goo –
I’ve been ill-used, no other word will do.

(I love the conceit in this poem. It is well thought out and well executed. The rhyming couplets accentuate and underline the comedy of the poem. --Tim Mayo)

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!

Spectacular 'Spectator'

9/26/2017

Big Ben

Over the past few months I've been entering the weekly Spectator magazine competition which alternates between poetry and prose.

Since April my work has warranted a special mention on four occasions, and twice I've been a runner-up (that's two 25-quid paydays).

The lady who runs the competition, Lucy Vickery, seems to be more a fan of my poetry than my prose - all my special mentions and runners-up were poems. The runner-up poems are linked below.

Over the past few months I've been entering the weekly Spectator magazine competition which alternates between poetry and prose.

Since April my work has warranted a special mention on four occasions, and twice I've been a runner-up (that's two 25-quid paydays).

The lady who runs the competition, Lucy Vickery, seems to be more a fan of my poetry than my prose - all my special mentions and runners-up were poems. The runner-up poems are linked below.

https://www.spectator.co.uk/2017/08/bowing-and-scraping/

https://www.spectator.co.uk/2017/09/watching-the-clock/

The subjects of the competitions tend to be based on topical political issues or typically British issues that are in the news. My runner-up poems were a 'bowing and scraping' poem about Donald Trump, and a sonnet about Big Ben going on sabbatical.

My sonnet writing has improved immeasurable since I started entering this competition - long may the improvement continue!

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's, annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!

Kim Jong Un Limerick - Published in 'Daily Mail'

8/22/2017

Kim Jong Un

My Kim Jong Un limerick was published in the Daily Mail a couple of weeks back. I've republished it below:

Kim Jong Un is a tyrant with flair,
who has left the U.S. in despair;
but the world knows him best
for his ‘4XL’ chest
and the curious state of his hair.

Enjoy!

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's, annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!

Dr. Who Limerick

7/24/2017

Here's a limerick I knocked up in honour of the amazing news that the new Dr. Who is the fantastic actress, Jodie Whittaker.

The new Time Lord’s quite a surprise;
she’ll emerge once the Scottish one dies.
But I warn you, refrain,
from the urge to complain,
or the Doctor will scratch out your eyes.

Happy regeneration!

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's, annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

'Happy Dependence Day' - a Short Story by a Redcoat

7/3/2017

Bulldog Bus

For any American who thinks they really attained independence from England and the Crown, read on...

Happy Dependence Day

Sitting behind his computer in his dorm room, Carl Weston grinned at the email he had just received. “Mom’s inviting me home for Springberg’s ‘Dependence’ Day celebrations,” he told his roommate, emphasising the typo.

On July 3rd, Carl arrived in Springberg.

He pushed open the porch door. “I’m home, Mom.”

“Since when have I been ‘Mom’,” his mother called from the kitchen. “It’s ‘Mum’.”

“Whatever.”

As always when Mrs Weston was cooking, the kitchen was chaotic.

“Shall I take the trash out?” Carl offered.

“‘Trash’? Take out the ‘rubbish’ if that’s what you mean. What kind of English are you picking up at university?”

“I get it,” said Carl. “You’ve gone all British for Independence Day. How quaint.”

With his mother regarding him curiously, Carl tied off a bag of garbage and took it out to the trash can.

A municipality truck was parked outside and workers were putting up decorations along the street. Carl did a double take. Instead of ‘Springberg Municipality’, the truck had ‘Springberg Council’ written along the side. And there was no way those flags being fixed to the streetlights were the Stars and Stripes. The blue rectangle in the top left corner had the requisite number of stars, but they were superimposed over a British flag.

“What’s happening?” Carl asked a municipal worker who was unfurling a banner with the message ‘Happy Dependence Day’ on it.

“What do you think’s happening? We’re preparing for tomorrow’s celebrations.” Grinning, the man pumped the air with his fist. “U.C.A.,” he chanted. “U.C.A.”

Back in his mother’s kitchen, Carl asked, “What does U.C.A. mean?”

“United Colonies of America, of course,” said Mrs Weston. “Get me the butter from the fridge, will you? Thanks, dear.”

Thoroughly mystified, Carl excused himself and went upstairs to his bedroom. From a shelf he took down and opened An illustrated Encyclopaedia of American History.

‘Criminal acts,’ read Carl, ‘by the Boston Harbour Saboteurs against the Motherland’s economic interests, led to the War of Dependence (1775-1783). After the Blue Coats’ defeat, the Fledgling Fathers of the thirteen Colonies signed the Declaration of Dependence. This signified an end to hostilities and pledged allegiance to the Crown.’

Stunned, Carl flipped to a picture of the flag he saw being hung from the street lights. The accompanying text said, ‘The American flag is commonly known as ‘Starry Jack’. The stars represent the fifty American colonies, whilst the main body of the flag incorporates the Motherland’s famous ‘Union Jack’.’

“Come down, Carl,” Mrs Weston shouted from the foot of the stairs. “Your dad’s home.”

Carl closed the book and let out a nervous laugh. “This must be a prank,” he said, scouring the room for hidden cameras. “Let me just play along.”

Carl found Mr Weston out on the porch.

“Nothing like a sun-downer on the veranda,” said Mr Weston, pouring himself a gin and tonic. He indicated the cool box beside his chair. “Grab yourself a can of bitter, Carl.”

It wasn’t until late evening, when Mr Weston raised his glass to toast the Queen of England, and when Mrs Weston suggested that after the Dependence Day parade they could watch the one-day cricket match, that Carl’s patience finally ran out.

“Enough, already,” he said, his speech slurred by alcohol. “This is the United States of America and tomorrow’s In-dependence Day. I don’t know what reality show deal you’ve signed, but this isn’t funny.”

With that, Carl got to his feet, went indoors, stumbled upstairs and flopped onto his bed.

An hour later, tiptoeing to the kitchen to get a drink of water, he overheard voices from the porch.

“This is just like Jeff McCarthy’s daughter,” Mr Weston was saying. “She kept going on about weird sports no one had ever heard of – basketball, and a game she called baseball.”

“I blame university,” said Mrs Weston, “and all these drugs the kids experiment with. So what are we going to do about Carl?”

“The McCarthy girl became normal again after just a week at Springberg Mental Asylum,” said Mr Weston. “Let’s wait until after Dependence Day, then get Carl sectioned at the asylum.”

Making a U-turn, Carl tiptoed back upstairs. “It’s not me that should be in the nuthouse,” he murmured, and lying on his bed made plans to escape from Springberg.

Next morning, blaming his previous evening’s behaviour on a twenty-four hour virus, Carl accompanied his still suspicious parents to the Dependence Day parade. There was the ‘Sad’ King George the Third float (‘Sad’ due to the rebelliousness of his subjects), the Battle of Bunker Hill float with Red and Blue Coats re-enacting the great English victory, and marching bands in eighteenth century regalia beating drums and playing penny whistles.

When the hero Benedict Arnold’s float had passed by, Carl made his move. Ducking between school children attired in period costume, he crossed the street and headed for the bus station.

Once the Greyhound reached its first rest stop, Carl breathed more easily. Inside Gracie’s Diner he ordered coffee and waffles off the menu. Only now could he reflect calmly on what was transpiring in Springberg. There had to be a secret government department that dealt with this kind of thing, hadn’t there?

Staring out the diner window, Carl watched as the side of the Greyhound bus shimmered. The sleek greyhound motif transformed into a pugnacious canine face, and the lettering altered until it spelt out ‘Bulldog Buses’.

Then the waitress arrived at Carl’s table with his meal.

“I didn’t order buttered scones and tea,” Carl insisted, snatching up the menu in time to see ‘hamburger’ change to ‘fish and chips’ and ‘apple pie’ change to ‘rhubarb crumble’.

“Is everything alright, sir?” said the waitress, frowning.

Carl wasn’t sure how to reply. There was something important he needed to remember, but try as he might, he didn’t know what. Instead, feeling a bit of a chump, he smiled up at the pretty young waitress and said, “Happy Dependence Day, miss.”

Alice in Trumpland - The Press Briefing

6/19/2017

Homophone - shoo/shoe

Alice in Trumpland – The Press Briefing

Alice hurried down an impossibly long, winding corridor, searching for the White House press briefing room. None of the doors was numbered, and there were no signs indicating what lay inside each room. The only writing on the doors was the single word ‘push’. So, trusting to her luck, Alice pushed a door open. Inside, a troupe of Russians danced Cossack-style around piles of hundred-dollar bills. Simultaneously, they typed suspicious-looking computer code into the tablets on their laps.

“Are you lost?” said an unfriendly voice. “There’s nothing to see here.”

Alice turned with a start and came face-to-face with Alternia Factus, the ovine-faced Miscommunications Officer.

“I assume you’re from the Big League Gazette?” she continued. “You’re the only journalist unaccounted for.”

“Actually, it’s the Bigly Gazette I work for,” Alice corrected. “Not the Big League Gazette.”

“Bigly? Big League? It’s merely an alternative pronunciation, my dear. Don’t you know I’m never wrong?” Then, quickly changing the subject, Alternia added, “The press briefing room’s this way.”

The Miscommunications Officer pointed to the door opposite, which instead of saying ‘push’, said ‘press’. “Now don’t you feel stupid?” she said.

“But the press room should be labelled as such - on a sign,” Alice argued. “Anyway, who presses a door to open it?”

“What is a push but a big press?” said Alternia, rolling her eyes. “I told you, I’m never wrong. No wonder our beloved president calls you news people ‘ignorant anuses’.”

“Er, I think he meant ignoramuses,” said Alice, as the Miscommunication Officer pressed the briefing room door open with her index finger, her face contorted with the painful effort.

Inside, the Press Secretary, Choo Spencer, had an important announcement. “Due to our beloved president re-pronouncing my first name at a TV interview, henceforth I’m officially known as /ʃuː/ Spencer.”

“Would the spelling be ‘shoe’ as in what’s on one’s foot,” asked Alice, “or ‘shoo’ as in go away?”

“Go away!” said Shoo, at which the Forks News journalists obediently stood up and left.

Alice sniggered. “What ignorant anuses. Aren’t the Forks News reporters aware that /ʃuː/ is a homophone?”

“What did that girl call me?” bellowed Shoo Spencer from behind his dais. “It’s a lie! It’s more fake news!”

While Shoo Spenser marched angrily up and down the stage, ranting and raving about pressmen and presswomen being enemies of Western civilisation, a freshly typed Tweet appeared on the briefing room plasma screen.

‘Donnal D Trump (@alternativeDonnalTrump) My press apologist is neither a homophone, nor xenomorphobic, nor misorgiastic. Period. Anyone saying otherwise…sad! Kick her out!’

“Kick-her-out! Kick-her-out!” Shoo began yelling.

The chant was quickly taken up by Alternia Factus and several front row journalists who had been kissing Shoo’s shoes each time he marched past them on the stage.

As Alice was escorted from the room by Alternia Factus, she heard Shoo Spencer announcing that a wall was to be built between the USA and Cuba.

‘The poor fish,’ thought Alice.

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Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's, annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!

Roger Moore Limerick Published in the Daily Mail

6/11/2017

Roger Moore

Very sad to say goodbye to Roger Moore. Not an actor of Shakespearean stature, perhaps, but an actor who could convey quiet charisma, humour and had a distinctive voice. Add to this the humanitarian work he participated in after retiring from acting, and you have a man who will be remembered for all the right reasons.

Anyhow, I wrote a limerick in honour of Roger Moore which turned better than most of my efforts and was published in the Daily Mail on the last day of May.

Here it is:

Of Roger Moore we were all fond;
the most famous spy’s mantle he donned.
And what can be sweeter
than telling St. Peter
“The name, my dear fellow, is Bond.”?

So farewell, Mr. Bond!

Below are links to my Global Short Story Competition winning story, my short-listed story for the National newspaper (Abu Dhabi's, annual short story competition) and a story that appeared on the Every Day Fiction site - where you can leave a comment:

http://www.inscribemedia.co.uk/assets/october-ebook.pdf

http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/short-story-a-day-for-decisiveness

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-d-day-diorama-by-paul-a-freeman/#comments

Happy Writing!