Every month a title is suggested, written below. Writers and poets are then invited to write up to a 500 word story or 30 line poem on this subject. The deadline is four weeks from the published date, so the deadline for the May 18 title will be June 18 and so on. The submissions are initially published on this website and then in a book.Send your submissions to tsaunderspubs@gmail.com and include Title in the subject bar and they will be published on this page. In time they will feature in their own book. Good luck!
September 7, 2023
Title: It's too hot
It’s too hot for Home
There’s a lot of places on earth uninviting
but man has a knack for finding his niche
a beach in the Med looks delighting
the Riviera no less exciting
but a travel agent provided one glitch
my ticket’s punched for a warm resort
and my pockets are bulging with change
but there’s something slightly out of sort
like maybe we turn round and abort
because below Rome’s looking quite strange
we were for sure flying north on the screen
and to it was a slight course correction
it wasn’t Rome that was seen
but a continent in-between
the Pole lied now in our direction
a pilot at times makes an urgent decision
jets run on fuel not on a fume
so with landing gear in position
we touched earth with precision
then the sight of a place dark with no bloom
the sharp crew knew this was a depot
and it took a fuel truck only a second
there was nothing around but for snow
except for a smiling helper Eskimo
so to him I smiled back and I beckoned
now between us we managed conversation
and my thanks was more than a lot
so I extended an invitation
come with us to that Rome destination
but politely he declined because “It’s too hot”.
Tom Bowler
It's too hot!
It's too hot and the flies they bite,
I'll feel much better, when along comes night.
The day time's so hot, my Mars bar melts,
the heat haze appears, need to loosen, my belt!
Undo a button, no, I'll wear a sun-vest,
this heatwave burns, puts us all to the test!
It's too hot for a curry, too hot to cook,
just want to flop down, with a good book!
It's too hot, my body, it sweats, best to sit down, by a fan, me and my pets...
Drink lots of water, for that is best, this heatwave, puts us all to the test!
The red Toms are ripening easy and fast,
soon the summer, will go quickly past.
Then a cold, shivery winter will head, for the door,
we'll all be wishing, it was summer once more!
Laura Sanders
It's too hot
by Laura Sanders
Sandy stumbled into the house, shoved open the door in a temper. It had been blisteringly hot, and she searched in despair for the gunky bottle of calamine lotion. She found the bottle, at last in a wicker basket, covered by a multitude of other items. Her skin was red raw from the sun. She hadn't realized, but her fair skin had burnt while outside, in the searing heat. She had only been outside for twenty-five minutes and had been feeling uncomfortable, with prickly heat... Sandy cussed and sat down. She switched on a fan that whizzed around like helicopter blades.
"Damn this heat, damn the heatwave, it's too much!" she said. "I hate this weather, please let it rain!" she said to herself.
Salads again, flies and wasps in the house. How much more could she take? She sat in a chair and fell asleep. When she awoke it was evening and she felt relief and much calmer. She glanced out the window to see the most beautiful sunset with the sun sinking into the sea, like a red orb. She reached for her camera to take a picture and even began to excuse the weather for its relentless aptitude, for burning skin to rawness. It was beautiful out there. She wouldn't forget it in a long time... Drinking another glass of orange squash she said to herself, "it's too hot!"
When she switched on the TV she learnt with dismay that Greece, Turkey and Bulgaria were experiencing flooding and fourteen people had drowned in the waters. A year's worth of rain had fallen in one day as Greece faced more extreme weather following a summer of wild fires! Sandy thought how strange, yet here in England, it was hot and a heatwave. "I must keep things in perspective," she thought. What is prickly heat, compared with losing your home, or drowning in floods?
July 12, 2023
Tile: The cost of living
The Cost of Living
by Donna Turner
The traffic grinds to a halt. Again. Another person sits precariously on the edge of the bridge, threatening to jump to the tarmac below. The bus driver turns off the engine, they are going to be there a while. He shouldn’t even be working today but railway works mean replacement buses and he could do with the extra money. His attention is diverted to the noise of a baby crying towards the back of his bus. A young mum struggles to comfort the infant while entertaining a toddler, two or three years old, the bus driver guesses. He recognises the look on her face; tired, worn out, desperate, finely disguised by a smile. He then glances round at the other passengers. He doesn’t know their stories, how could he? But he enjoys imagining the lives of these strangers on his bus.
He doesn’t know that the young mum is grateful for the delay in getting home. The cost of living has driven her back to her abuser. He provides for their children, and a roof over their heads and food in their bellies is more important. Even if it costs her life.
He doesn’t know the man in the suit is about to lose his job. He’s been late to work every day this week. He had to sell his car to pay his rent, he could no longer afford to insure it, the tax was due and the tank was empty. Getting public transport to work was proving difficult but he knew he could crack it if they gave him a chance. The cost of living affecting his ability to earn a living.
He doesn’t know the young woman in the headscarf is on her way to her fourth round of chemotherapy but is considering stopping treatment altogether. She can’t afford to continue. Travel to the hospital is costing a fortune, she’s self-employed and she hasn’t been well enough to work, she is behind on rent and facing eviction from her home. The cupboards are bare. Even if she survives the cancer she isn’t sure she has anything to live for, the cost of living seems unachievable.
He doesn’t know the older woman glued to her phone has just spent her last ten pounds on an online gambling app. As the cost of living rises, so has her gambling. Desperate to win back some of her losses to pay her rent, she just can’t stop.
Finally, the person on the bridge comes in from the edge, a kind police officer talking the young man down, an ambulance on standby to take him to hospital.
The bus driver hopes the youngster gets the help he needs. He starts the engine and pulls away, thankful to be on the move again. He’s glad the delay is over but he knows it won’t be the last time a person sits on the edge of the bridge weighing up the cost of living.
Too tight a belt
On Thursdays they ate
peas and rice.
It was a cutting back,
a reigning in,
like showering every other day,
wearing clothes twice
retreating to bed by 9pm
jogging instead of the gym.
They gave up the car,
anyway, ‘work, school the shops weren’t far’
used their legs,
instead.
And there was no budget for Xmas,
no holidays, no treats.
They even thought about getting an allotment
investigated other ways to eat,
to maintain heat, their morale,
hold on to some pride,
in short exist on very little,
not despair,
'cause life had become a little too hard
a little too unfair
and they had really tried.
Sharon Webster
The cost of living
The cost of living's going up,
it's making my hair go grey!
When I'm standing at the till,
and for food I have to pay!
Digging about for my debit card,
and coupons for money off.
The cost of living is ridiculous,
I must be frugal and not scoff!
The electric meter I have to watch,
the coins grow less and less.
Seeing the money go down the drain,
putting my needs to the test!
Car tax and fuel equally are bad,
the miles I HAVE to go!
Cutting down my daily trips,
mustn't go fast, but SLOW!
Clothes are from charity shops,
jumble sales, I now attend.
Watching the pennies and the pounds
is driving me
ROUND THE BEND!!!
Laura Sanders
Reverse caterpillars
by Owen Southwood
The occupied sleeping bags in the shop doorways form strange, giant caterpillars, dozing in their concrete caves upon cardboard pillows.
On my 7.30am stroll, I glimpse their leafless underworld. They are many. I walk briskly past their dreams, unwilling to wake them, unable to help.
The street seems longer nowadays, and wetter, soaked in misery.
Occasionally, I see a caterpillar shuffle. Once, I heard a caterpillar scream into its narrow cave doorway. And now, I see one with a wheelchair parked next to its newspaper nest.
I ask the authorities to help. They do. But more caterpillars always appear.
These larvae are special not because they are giant, or because of their human heads, or because they can become invisible. No, they are special because they are reverse caterpillars: Their metamorphosis happened backwards. They once were butterflies.
June 14, 2023
Title: Running the country
Head Honcho
by Alan Grant
When the PM phoned me directly at home, I knew a Houston moment was pending.
Outside of Cabinet, when the PM summons one of his MPs it is usually through the Chief Whip. They send a message directly to the MP and brief on the reasons. Depending on urgency, they might make a direct phone call in certain circumstances. My contact was nothing like that.
Parliamentary careers are made, and can be wrecked in such interaction and responses. A few days earlier, Mark, an old university colleague, now a parliamentary journalist, phoned me about an issue. He was quite specific, and challenging in his own way, not a quality previously shown during our university days. Mark's own career ambitions were key drivers in anything he did. While such contacts were sometimes beyond my experience and responsibility, there was a need to respond.
Three months ago, his call referred to certain compromising photographs and documents in his possession. He'd even sent me a sample to confirm their authenticity. In simple terms, I owed him one. The material was red hot. What I did with it, could make or break my parliamentary life. In return, my evidence and experience of Mark's behaviour on a special night at the university made us uneasy compatriots, certainly not bedfellows. There was a mutual dependency.
The PM's call, while not referring to what Mark had contacted me about, had some parallels. He wanted to see me at No. 10 at eight in the morning, and I was to use the rear entrance, avoiding the usual press melee in Downing Street. I spent the evening reviewing what Mark had
sent me and doing follow-up research. The more I did, the more nervous I became. My sleep that night was very unsettled.
Within minutes of parking, they escorted me into a small room at the rear of No. 10. A discreet knock on the door and I was ushered in. The PM was sitting in a large leather armchair. He smiled and pointed to an adjacent side table where a coffee dispenser sat. I shook my head and, without being asked, sat down on an adjacent sofa. His reaction was immediate.
"Can we confirm the house rules? Anything we discuss remains private and confidential."
Agreeing, I nodded.
"How well do you know Mark Elliott?"
“We were at uni together. Both studying politics and economics.
"Do you trust him?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"Whether it is in Mark's interests. No matter what the issue."
"When did you last have contact with him?"
"He rings me occasionally. We haven't met in person for months. Well, not deliberately. I bumped into him in the House a few weeks back. He was in one of the bars while I was rushing to catch a vote."
The PM sat back in his chair. I continued.
"Do you trust me, PM?"
His response was immediate.
"Of course. Absolutely. No question."
"Then why am I here? Promotion?"
"Name it."
I smoothed my skirt.
"Options?"
If I ran the country, I'd give everyone extra public holidays,
better working conditions, better, higher pay.
Reduce inflation, make it a place worth living in
instead of seeing it go to the dogs,
disappearing into a rubbish bin.
Reduce crime, tougher sentences, better NHS,
to me and my party, it would be yes, yes, yes!
Further education for all, money for mental health, specialized needs.
If I ran the country, it would be a better place, indeed.
Laura Sanders
Running the country?
It sounds very exhausting
it’s such a long way.
Donna Turner
If I ran the country...
If I ran the country
I'd feed the starving
I'd home the homeless
I'd treat my family and other people
I'd fight for the working man and women
everyone could be
who they truly wanted to be
I'd improve the parks and communal areas
I'd listen to what people wanted
I'd protect from violence and suffering
I'd admit my mistakes if I did wrong
if I ran the country...
Kate Geoghegan
May 18, 2023
Title: Artificial Intelligence….
AI, the latest, perhaps the most far-reaching change agent of our times.
Technology that threatens our purpose and place on this planet.
So many roles in so many industries and organisations about to be made redundant.
Replaced by chat bots and robots who have no human frailty and fallibility and who don’t go on strike, go off sick, or get pregnant.
Unable to compete with such an infallible rival, our adaptation to this threat is almost futile, given the lack of alternative occupations that we could reskill for and retain our stake in society.
Social media has already exacted significant societal change, but nothing in comparison to the wrecking ball of AI, which will bring about cataclysmic change.
We may well be already on the threshold of civilisation, as we have come to know and appreciate it, being redefined.
Our preparedness for this, is woefully inadequate.
Roger Knight
Title: It's too hot
It’s too hot for Home
There’s a lot of places on earth uninviting
but man has a knack for finding his niche
a beach in the Med looks delighting
the Riviera no less exciting
but a travel agent provided one glitch
my ticket’s punched for a warm resort
and my pockets are bulging with change
but there’s something slightly out of sort
like maybe we turn round and abort
because below Rome’s looking quite strange
we were for sure flying north on the screen
and to it was a slight course correction
it wasn’t Rome that was seen
but a continent in-between
the Pole lied now in our direction
a pilot at times makes an urgent decision
jets run on fuel not on a fume
so with landing gear in position
we touched earth with precision
then the sight of a place dark with no bloom
the sharp crew knew this was a depot
and it took a fuel truck only a second
there was nothing around but for snow
except for a smiling helper Eskimo
so to him I smiled back and I beckoned
now between us we managed conversation
and my thanks was more than a lot
so I extended an invitation
come with us to that Rome destination
but politely he declined because “It’s too hot”.
Tom Bowler
It's too hot!
It's too hot and the flies they bite,
I'll feel much better, when along comes night.
The day time's so hot, my Mars bar melts,
the heat haze appears, need to loosen, my belt!
Undo a button, no, I'll wear a sun-vest,
this heatwave burns, puts us all to the test!
It's too hot for a curry, too hot to cook,
just want to flop down, with a good book!
It's too hot, my body, it sweats, best to sit down, by a fan, me and my pets...
Drink lots of water, for that is best, this heatwave, puts us all to the test!
The red Toms are ripening easy and fast,
soon the summer, will go quickly past.
Then a cold, shivery winter will head, for the door,
we'll all be wishing, it was summer once more!
Laura Sanders
It's too hot
by Laura Sanders
Sandy stumbled into the house, shoved open the door in a temper. It had been blisteringly hot, and she searched in despair for the gunky bottle of calamine lotion. She found the bottle, at last in a wicker basket, covered by a multitude of other items. Her skin was red raw from the sun. She hadn't realized, but her fair skin had burnt while outside, in the searing heat. She had only been outside for twenty-five minutes and had been feeling uncomfortable, with prickly heat... Sandy cussed and sat down. She switched on a fan that whizzed around like helicopter blades.
"Damn this heat, damn the heatwave, it's too much!" she said. "I hate this weather, please let it rain!" she said to herself.
Salads again, flies and wasps in the house. How much more could she take? She sat in a chair and fell asleep. When she awoke it was evening and she felt relief and much calmer. She glanced out the window to see the most beautiful sunset with the sun sinking into the sea, like a red orb. She reached for her camera to take a picture and even began to excuse the weather for its relentless aptitude, for burning skin to rawness. It was beautiful out there. She wouldn't forget it in a long time... Drinking another glass of orange squash she said to herself, "it's too hot!"
When she switched on the TV she learnt with dismay that Greece, Turkey and Bulgaria were experiencing flooding and fourteen people had drowned in the waters. A year's worth of rain had fallen in one day as Greece faced more extreme weather following a summer of wild fires! Sandy thought how strange, yet here in England, it was hot and a heatwave. "I must keep things in perspective," she thought. What is prickly heat, compared with losing your home, or drowning in floods?
July 12, 2023
Tile: The cost of living
The Cost of Living
by Donna Turner
The traffic grinds to a halt. Again. Another person sits precariously on the edge of the bridge, threatening to jump to the tarmac below. The bus driver turns off the engine, they are going to be there a while. He shouldn’t even be working today but railway works mean replacement buses and he could do with the extra money. His attention is diverted to the noise of a baby crying towards the back of his bus. A young mum struggles to comfort the infant while entertaining a toddler, two or three years old, the bus driver guesses. He recognises the look on her face; tired, worn out, desperate, finely disguised by a smile. He then glances round at the other passengers. He doesn’t know their stories, how could he? But he enjoys imagining the lives of these strangers on his bus.
He doesn’t know that the young mum is grateful for the delay in getting home. The cost of living has driven her back to her abuser. He provides for their children, and a roof over their heads and food in their bellies is more important. Even if it costs her life.
He doesn’t know the man in the suit is about to lose his job. He’s been late to work every day this week. He had to sell his car to pay his rent, he could no longer afford to insure it, the tax was due and the tank was empty. Getting public transport to work was proving difficult but he knew he could crack it if they gave him a chance. The cost of living affecting his ability to earn a living.
He doesn’t know the young woman in the headscarf is on her way to her fourth round of chemotherapy but is considering stopping treatment altogether. She can’t afford to continue. Travel to the hospital is costing a fortune, she’s self-employed and she hasn’t been well enough to work, she is behind on rent and facing eviction from her home. The cupboards are bare. Even if she survives the cancer she isn’t sure she has anything to live for, the cost of living seems unachievable.
He doesn’t know the older woman glued to her phone has just spent her last ten pounds on an online gambling app. As the cost of living rises, so has her gambling. Desperate to win back some of her losses to pay her rent, she just can’t stop.
Finally, the person on the bridge comes in from the edge, a kind police officer talking the young man down, an ambulance on standby to take him to hospital.
The bus driver hopes the youngster gets the help he needs. He starts the engine and pulls away, thankful to be on the move again. He’s glad the delay is over but he knows it won’t be the last time a person sits on the edge of the bridge weighing up the cost of living.
Too tight a belt
On Thursdays they ate
peas and rice.
It was a cutting back,
a reigning in,
like showering every other day,
wearing clothes twice
retreating to bed by 9pm
jogging instead of the gym.
They gave up the car,
anyway, ‘work, school the shops weren’t far’
used their legs,
instead.
And there was no budget for Xmas,
no holidays, no treats.
They even thought about getting an allotment
investigated other ways to eat,
to maintain heat, their morale,
hold on to some pride,
in short exist on very little,
not despair,
'cause life had become a little too hard
a little too unfair
and they had really tried.
Sharon Webster
The cost of living
The cost of living's going up,
it's making my hair go grey!
When I'm standing at the till,
and for food I have to pay!
Digging about for my debit card,
and coupons for money off.
The cost of living is ridiculous,
I must be frugal and not scoff!
The electric meter I have to watch,
the coins grow less and less.
Seeing the money go down the drain,
putting my needs to the test!
Car tax and fuel equally are bad,
the miles I HAVE to go!
Cutting down my daily trips,
mustn't go fast, but SLOW!
Clothes are from charity shops,
jumble sales, I now attend.
Watching the pennies and the pounds
is driving me
ROUND THE BEND!!!
Laura Sanders
Reverse caterpillars
by Owen Southwood
The occupied sleeping bags in the shop doorways form strange, giant caterpillars, dozing in their concrete caves upon cardboard pillows.
On my 7.30am stroll, I glimpse their leafless underworld. They are many. I walk briskly past their dreams, unwilling to wake them, unable to help.
The street seems longer nowadays, and wetter, soaked in misery.
Occasionally, I see a caterpillar shuffle. Once, I heard a caterpillar scream into its narrow cave doorway. And now, I see one with a wheelchair parked next to its newspaper nest.
I ask the authorities to help. They do. But more caterpillars always appear.
These larvae are special not because they are giant, or because of their human heads, or because they can become invisible. No, they are special because they are reverse caterpillars: Their metamorphosis happened backwards. They once were butterflies.
June 14, 2023
Title: Running the country
Head Honcho
by Alan Grant
When the PM phoned me directly at home, I knew a Houston moment was pending.
Outside of Cabinet, when the PM summons one of his MPs it is usually through the Chief Whip. They send a message directly to the MP and brief on the reasons. Depending on urgency, they might make a direct phone call in certain circumstances. My contact was nothing like that.
Parliamentary careers are made, and can be wrecked in such interaction and responses. A few days earlier, Mark, an old university colleague, now a parliamentary journalist, phoned me about an issue. He was quite specific, and challenging in his own way, not a quality previously shown during our university days. Mark's own career ambitions were key drivers in anything he did. While such contacts were sometimes beyond my experience and responsibility, there was a need to respond.
Three months ago, his call referred to certain compromising photographs and documents in his possession. He'd even sent me a sample to confirm their authenticity. In simple terms, I owed him one. The material was red hot. What I did with it, could make or break my parliamentary life. In return, my evidence and experience of Mark's behaviour on a special night at the university made us uneasy compatriots, certainly not bedfellows. There was a mutual dependency.
The PM's call, while not referring to what Mark had contacted me about, had some parallels. He wanted to see me at No. 10 at eight in the morning, and I was to use the rear entrance, avoiding the usual press melee in Downing Street. I spent the evening reviewing what Mark had
sent me and doing follow-up research. The more I did, the more nervous I became. My sleep that night was very unsettled.
Within minutes of parking, they escorted me into a small room at the rear of No. 10. A discreet knock on the door and I was ushered in. The PM was sitting in a large leather armchair. He smiled and pointed to an adjacent side table where a coffee dispenser sat. I shook my head and, without being asked, sat down on an adjacent sofa. His reaction was immediate.
"Can we confirm the house rules? Anything we discuss remains private and confidential."
Agreeing, I nodded.
"How well do you know Mark Elliott?"
“We were at uni together. Both studying politics and economics.
"Do you trust him?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"Whether it is in Mark's interests. No matter what the issue."
"When did you last have contact with him?"
"He rings me occasionally. We haven't met in person for months. Well, not deliberately. I bumped into him in the House a few weeks back. He was in one of the bars while I was rushing to catch a vote."
The PM sat back in his chair. I continued.
"Do you trust me, PM?"
His response was immediate.
"Of course. Absolutely. No question."
"Then why am I here? Promotion?"
"Name it."
I smoothed my skirt.
"Options?"
If I ran the country, I'd give everyone extra public holidays,
better working conditions, better, higher pay.
Reduce inflation, make it a place worth living in
instead of seeing it go to the dogs,
disappearing into a rubbish bin.
Reduce crime, tougher sentences, better NHS,
to me and my party, it would be yes, yes, yes!
Further education for all, money for mental health, specialized needs.
If I ran the country, it would be a better place, indeed.
Laura Sanders
Running the country?
It sounds very exhausting
it’s such a long way.
Donna Turner
If I ran the country...
If I ran the country
I'd feed the starving
I'd home the homeless
I'd treat my family and other people
I'd fight for the working man and women
everyone could be
who they truly wanted to be
I'd improve the parks and communal areas
I'd listen to what people wanted
I'd protect from violence and suffering
I'd admit my mistakes if I did wrong
if I ran the country...
Kate Geoghegan
May 18, 2023
Title: Artificial Intelligence….
AI, the latest, perhaps the most far-reaching change agent of our times.
Technology that threatens our purpose and place on this planet.
So many roles in so many industries and organisations about to be made redundant.
Replaced by chat bots and robots who have no human frailty and fallibility and who don’t go on strike, go off sick, or get pregnant.
Unable to compete with such an infallible rival, our adaptation to this threat is almost futile, given the lack of alternative occupations that we could reskill for and retain our stake in society.
Social media has already exacted significant societal change, but nothing in comparison to the wrecking ball of AI, which will bring about cataclysmic change.
We may well be already on the threshold of civilisation, as we have come to know and appreciate it, being redefined.
Our preparedness for this, is woefully inadequate.
Roger Knight
