Welcome to the clockwork of The Devonshire Arms. Eleven minutes past nine and any moment Geoff will walk in through the glass-panelled door and begin unbuttoning his burgundy overcoat as he does every Wednesday night. The bar is dotted with customers. Charles-the-Shoe in residence at the end by the wine rack, draped over his stool. He stares through his wire frame spectacles at the whisky he turns in his wrinkled hand – studying the liquid as it flows in waves. As I reach the bottom of my pint, Carl is already pulling me the next. I watch its bubbles swim as the door opens with a squeak. No one looks round.
- Benjamin F Jones
I am climbing back to my feet after months of exhaustion as a result of a thyroid malfunction. I never thought that it was possible to be so tired that sitting at a keyboard for 5 minutes was to exhausting to comprehend.
Posted in Flash, Snapshots
Tagged ale, beer bunny, Benjamin F Jones, Cambridge, creative prose, Creative writing, devonshire arms, drinking, every night the same, graphite bunny, no one looks round, pint, prose poem, prose poetry, pub, pub life, routine, thyroid, thyroid malfunction, thyroxin, wednesday night, whisky
The first interpretation of this celebration originates from a small walled city called Luberus. Whilst the city’s defences were being constructed hordes of hungry open countryside armed with brushes and scrubbers roamed outside. To honour the engineers working on the city’s outer walls, a spigot was thrown so that no harm would befall them or the large hooked poles they carried while working ‘outside’. Also at this time, but in honour of the Unseen-Queen, the young women and boys were put into a transparent box with a crank and drawn by lot. The boys and girls who were matched would be considered married or ‘bell-spawn’ in readiness for the new washing-cycle which began in March. This celebration continued long after the engineers had tamed the wild countryside.
- Benjamin F Jones
Posted in Cut-up, Humour, Prose, Prose Poetry
Tagged absurd, bell spawn, Benjamin F Jones, bunny valentine, creative prose, Creative writing, cut up, cut-up, funny, graphite bunny, history of valentine's day, Humour, luberus, microfiction, nonsense, Prose, short prose, snapshot, spigot, valentine, vignette, writing
What is the question you ask when the coffee is thick as blood and the radiators carry warmth like ants into the hive? I got a parcel this morning, a rare butterfly from Cerro Catedral. I must attach the Latin name. In its lifetime the butterfly would have gone a few miles – but it travelled thousands in the belly of a boat. The manservant brings a fresh mask and boots. At breakfast my wife asks what I’m doing today, she doesn’t care, it’s just words on autopilot. I know what she’ll be doing, lounging in the conservatory with the papers and moaning about the state of the world. She’s like a butterfly – beautiful but weak. If only I could drop her into the collecting jar – watch her curl back and forth. Pinned her in the chair next to that tower of newspapers, how long it would it take for the sun to fade her?
- Benjamin F Jones
Posted in Snapshots
Tagged almost graphite capsule, ants, Benjamin F Jones, breakfast, butterfly, butterfly bunny, cerro catedral, coffee thick as blood, creative prose, Creative writing, entomology, flash, flash fiction, gothic, graphite bunny, horror, marriage, marriage bitterness, mask and boots, October 2012, prose poem, prosepoem, relationship, relationships, snapshot, sun
A doodle of someone waking up to the smell of fresh coffee in a mug.
January 7, 2014
Tagged art, Benjamin F Jones, bfj, black coffee, coffee, doodle, dyslexia, graphite capsule, love, morning, picture, sketch, swirls, twiddle