99words to a new start in life

99words to a new start in life - the writer

they’d had this conversation many times

they’d talked till the small hours

they’d talked and talked and talked and talked

and

they could talk no more…

…they’d talked…about noise…and not sound…

…about running…from…and not to…

…about yesterday……tomorrow……what was…will be…and not of what IS…

…she had always loved him, loved him from the moment she set her eyes on him, looking up from his reading as she passed. She felt that she knew him and that she would share her life’s path with him. She did not know his name.

She did share her life’s path with him and they grew old together, weathered every storm one by one. Had lived by the promise she had once made…until death do you part , wilt thou love him? Honour him? Obey...? weeeelllllllll, not that one, she wasn’t born to be his servant, she was her own person after all… but she loved to cook for him…and that was different. They both grew and changed, not always they way they’d thought or planned but that was the way it was, life was like that, life changed you. You had to be vigilant and learn…life had no voice that you could hear…

…he loved her and she loved him. She had always loved him, loved him from the moment she laid  her eyes on him….

‘Idiot!’ she heard him call out to himself and she knew why he ‘d said it, he could not simply shrug, accept mistakes as a part of living and learning on his journey…with or without her… his own journey…’Idiot!’…she listened to her toothbrush whirr and its echo in the top of her head, there was a pain under her jaw…it would go again…it always did…

‘do you know what?, she asked,

‘no, what’, he replied,

‘you must first accept the idiot you have called yourself and then you might love him, might then explore why.  You have called yourself that because I believe it is because you have an image of who you are,  who you have not become…you have run away from yourself and have been running ever since…and don’t know where to…stop the running and  be still, listen and you will…down my arm now, not good…it will pass…

know who you are, the lovely man I met that day and I have always loved no matter what…heart pounding…drat these palpitations…will go after Christmas, really I must…weeeellllllll, after the New Year…this will pass…it always does…I have always loved you………you…………………

she had always loved him

they had talked and talked and talked and talked

till the small hours

they’d had this conversation many times………..
and
he began to write the talk.............

27.12.11

wishing all who come to visit a gentle season in Advent,

a very Happy Christmas

and

a wonderful New Year 2012.

in love and light,

ingka

one secret

one secret

it wasn’t just a chilly day

it was cold

the kind of cold that froze your breath

and

gripped your ankles as you walked

…the snow plough ground past and the house trembled and as I pushed the buggy over the gritty ice I marvelled at the sparkling banks of pure white snow either side in the sunlight that morning, gaps to the front doors where people had dug their way out to get on with their day. We were on our way to the store but  pushing was hard as the wheels gripped but we would get there in the end, my baby and I…

‘Miss’, I heard a small voice call, ‘Miss, could you spare a quarter? I’m hungry, need  lunch, for some chips or a dime?’

A quarter? A dime? Hungry?  Chips? No lunch? I had no money at all to spare, bought everything we needed on tab at the General Store, paid it off, was agreed, once a month when the pay cheque came in…and how he was dressed , the poor boy,…his skin almost purple, just sneakers, no laces, a torn plaid shirt much too big, pants that hung loose…his breath curled and met mine, grubby, his face and his questioning eyes shone too bright, all skin and bones he was, that shook and shivered in the cold as he asked…he was hungry, that I could see, but I had no quarter to spare or a dime…

‘No’, I said, “ I have not, ‘but I’ll be back in a mo and I’ll bring you something, then sit you down by the range to warm up and you can eat, a sandwich maybe and some cookies, a warm drink .’

He didn’t stop to hear me out, he was gone before I knew it, ran and disappeared behind a drift…’no time’, I heard him shout as I pushed my buggy to the store, Baby snugly tucked. ‘What’s your name?’ I called after him…but he had gone…my  calling after him hanging, frozen, in the still, chill air…

I pushed on then through the winter morning and thought what I could do, what could be done and where to start…

…and…

…I mentioned it to friends I knew who met up for coffee every Tuesday, to chat about the cold, the logs for their fires their husbands had cut in the wood lot in the fall, the stockings they’d hang by their beds, toys under the tree for their kids and surprises for all, new lights for the inside and out, the feasting they’d do and how big and how plump their turkeys would be…no, they had never noticed such a boy…

…and…

…something was said, it was news after all and news travelled fast on the island…

‘twas a funny thing I heard someone say, he’s brilliant at math every other day and always bad at English on those days…can’t make it out…and the clothes that he wore….no kid should be dressed like that in the cold…rags on the boy…

…sneakers, no socks…nice lad he was really,  if  only he’d wash…talk to his parents…green teeth as well…yes, someone must phone…no, someone should go and check it all out…over the causeway they live, by the back harbour somewhere…

…nice little house, was they said, could do with some paint and the rubbish all moved, all hidden by snow so you could only guess what it was, bits of bike sticking out and a fridge door gaping, boards hanging loose and the gaps stuffed with plastic, just needed a couple of nails, …but there was tinsel on the door the boy opened when they knocked…they looked down in surprise, wasn’t  the boy at his lessons in school?!

’Who is it’, a tired voice drawled from the murk of the parlour... ‘Teachers from school’, gasped the boy and he turned right around and ran back in and away up the stairs, stick legs in his Dad’s knickers, no slippers, bare chest, left the door gaping, and the people standing right where they ‘d knocked on the door…they were met by the stench of tobacco and booze…but, eyes smarting, they went on inside…

…alcos, the parents, was what they said, just lie about, they had two of those boys, identical twins, and only the one set of clothes on the one on his day at school…sent in on alternate days…so no one asked questions…

‘Kids had to be tough from the start’, said the mum and the dad…’life was rough!’

it wasn’t just a chilly day

it was cold

the kind of cold that froze your breath

and

gripped you by the ankles as you walked

lest we forget

lest we forget

lest we forget?

what makes you think that we might?

we will not forget

forget not their plight

or their fight

and we’ll always regret…

who would forget?

we remember their courage

we will not forget

forget not their strife

or their life

we will not disparage…

will we forget?

we know who they were

forget not the sons

or the sweethearts

the lovers

the Dads

or the friends

men who gave all

gave all that they had…

their laughter

their song

and their fears

tears of regret

lost their life’s light

we will not forget

do you think that we might?

not one

or the others

who laid down their lives

‘stead of arms

not died in vain?

were they not slain?

comrades and brothers…

in

war

iW November 11

the secret

 Chagall

the secret

it was all over the papers
the national news
who would have thought 
it might have been her…
it caused quite a stir…

why did she do it
said he
butter wouldn’t melt
said she

would not hurt a fly
never say die
kept a clean house
but never a spouse
don’t understand why…

how could she do it
said she
kindness itself
said he

all a great front
to pull off such a stunt
a lady of leisure
who gave us such pleasure
ne’er asked wherefores or why…

how did she do it
said she
it might have been me
cried he

she baked him a cake 
with chocolate on top 
sweet sherry to drink
their glasses would clink
they knew to make merry…

where did she do it
said she
right by the lake
said he

rustling reeds 
summer breeze
would he go on his knee?

if he’d not ask 
then death by chocolate be…

when did she do it
questioned he
right there and then
did answer she

when he fell over
the would-not-be lover
slept his last sleep
in meadow’s green grass
where no one would pass
and
curled up in his arms
he succumbed to her charms
they slept close as lovers
and no one discovered
no sound of alarm…

why did she do it
said he
her pure heart was broken
said she

it was all over the papers
the national news
who would have thought
it was her
and it caused quite a stir…

dream's dreamer

life

life

in the shade of a tree

a flower grows

where your blood flowed

and

left a lake

for all to see

red was the earth

when you fell

blackened  now

and 

all there is of what was your life

is a simple flower

in the living hell

a reminder

of the power

in

the

strife….

…that took your life

green woman 3

green woman 3

winter's coming

winter’s coming

the moon to the half

bright morning star

whispers that winter’s not  far

the year’s on the turn

and

clouds race

storm driven

rising sun roseate

on the edge

of their billowing form

 chill wind from the north

I hear the first bird

on the wing to the sea

carrying forth

memories of love

of  all that there was

and yet is to be

age striven

as

branding waves on the rocks

tell the time of my days

my spirit is young

my body is old

hears

whispers that winter’s not far

that

my life’s on the turn

love’s love is given

and

yearning to be

with the birds

that glide free

o’er

the

deep

of

the

sea

buddha for a friend

veil of tears

conflict

conflict

there is no time

when rockets scream

when the bombs fall

and

bullets hiss

missiles roar

grenades explode

and

fires rage

there is no time

to sleep or dream

there is no time

but watch to keep

when

the sun sets

the moon appears

stars agleam

there is no time

for rest

 but

pray  at best

for one day more

and

the longing for home

for the ones you love

tears in your heart

and

all that you have

is your life on the line

and

your gun by your side

grenades in your pockets

and

you hide with your mates

and

wait till the dawn

to fire

to kill

for peace

more bullets

and

rockets

there is no time

in warring days

in conflict

where no gentle ways

will find the path

to

peace

for

all

iW11

Friedolin

  

Friedolin

my new friend is Friedolin

most handsome guy

you’ve ever seen…

he sleeps all day as in a daze

but not at night…

…with me he stays

he comes and sits upon my lap

he is such a friendly chap…

…whispers sweet nothings in my ear

really, he is such a dear…

he leaves my towards

morning light…

Friedolin aristocrat

my

lovely

Kriti

kitty

cat

          Song of time

I am the wind

from far away

sweet balm of ancient time

          I bear the gift

          of jasmine scent

          of rosemary and thyme

I am the sigh

on the edge of time

that reaches out to you

          I bear the gift

          of love’s sweet love

          that longs to make you mine

I am the echo

of a bell that rang

that once called out to you

          I bear the gift

          of all there is

          the song that Sappho sang

          I am the love

          from where you sprang

iW11

night of the harvest moon

night of the harvest moon

this night

of the harvest moon

when our souls met again

that I remembered you

when young love’s passion glowed

when young love’s love

would touch

upon the times of old

touch secrets

blowing on the wind

a grain of sand

no one could see…

you heard the strain

of love’s old song

and

you remembered me

when I was young

the night

of the harvest moon