Sparkle dust Spring

Pyrus Communis, pretty white flowers, Forsythia, little golden bells in gardens, sweet cutting of a newly grown lawn, crispness of the air in the early dawn.

Narcissus growing plentiful to lighten the dark, camellia rose shrub in the Parks, Cherry blossom, beautifully tall, leaving the most wonderful flower of all, a new year begins as the Magnolia fall.

Gracie

He looks out of the window, it’s a solemn day outside, rain is falling again, a small grey squirrel is hanging on the feeder table, helping itself to peanuts, a sparrow hides under the wing of a pigeon, cooing softly. 

The nurse startles him “you all right Bill?”,  he nods, not expecting to see anyone enter his room, ‘they don’t normally!’. 

 “d’you wanna chat and a cup of tea?” She say’s in a broad geordie accent, William nods,  “okay then, if you’re sure” she say’s, then leaves as quickly as she came in.

 He looks at the small wall, drab magnolia in colour, ‘not a pretty sight’ he thought, he then looked along the wall at a framed photograph hanging, covered in dust, the picture was a photograph of his wife and himself, sixty years earlier, ‘now’,’she; was; pretty’, he thought to himself. 

William stared at the picture, mesmerised by her beauty, remembering every, line in her perfect face, her gorgeous scent of sweet rose, to touch her skin, as soft as a silk cushion, a cushion which he now held tightly, after what seemed like five minutes but was almost an hour, he wept a deep tear, all alone, to himself. 

William glanced out of the window again, there he saw the squirrel, chewing nuts, this time it was joined by a friend, a big brown rat, gorging himself, ‘my Jake should have caught that rat by now’, ‘where is he?’, he thought to himself, forgetting that Jake’, his cat, had been taken into care about the same time as he had been taken into the home. 

The nurse entered, this time a large Jamaican woman, “well bill, are you going to talk to me today honey?” She asked, William thought ‘if only they knew my name was William’ not Bill’, then nodded, “I’ve brought you some dinner”, “are you hungry”, William was hungry and nodded, “Good, we have Pie and mash for you darling”. 

Nurse kindly fed him his food with care using a fork and a spoon, then helped him drink a cup of tea, she never checked if he required changing, then left. William was wearing a pad but was wet. He was mostly unable to do much for himself anymore, he was Ninety two, William had gone downhill after his wife had died.

William sat in his chair looking around, ‘not much to see’ he thought, he would have watched the television except he’d dropped the remote control on the floor three days ago, he could not reach it and could not ask for it.

After some time of staring out of the window it began to get dark, the sun was setting although he could not see it above the clouds on this dreadful grey day, William glanced at the Star shaped clock on the mantelpiece it said six o’clock, he nodded off. 

The nurse came in at Seven P:M, she woke William, “Bill are you awake?”, “Bill”, he opened his eyes and nodded, “why don’t you ever watch tv man, you wouldn’t doze off, you must be bored, William rolled his eyes, “Are you ready for bed honey?”, he Shook his head, it was far too early as far as William was concerned, he wanted to watch Television.

“my goodness Bill”, ‘William’ he thought, “your wet man”, she changed and washed William, then with a hoist, tucked him into a freshly made bed, he was protesting, the Nurse asked “what honey?”, William lay still, he was looking at the ceiling, he could not express how he felt so he gave up,“well goodnight honey, sleep well” Nurse said, William glanced at the time, it was quarter to eight. He lay still, awake, feeling sad. Feeling alone.

Killer

A passion for life with a story to tell, unlikeliest confidence to chat to every girl,  he is lonely, hidden, insecure at fault, incredibly dangerous with desire that’s wrought, a dinner with one, a drink in an inn, gifts of exquisitiveness thrown in the bin, living with failure, history of sin, forger of a craft extraordinarily din.
The headline reads some tragic news, another sad story adding to the blues....... Nineteen year old, drowns in a bath, silenced with a rope in midst of a laugh, newspaper reports the tragedy and guile of a young lady of misfortune, crazy and wild.

A demeanour bright, clothes to match then torn off in the midst of a tragic fight, Walker of fashion, lady of the night, met the young man, she thought he was great but never realised that he was full of such hate, bottle of gin later, refusal of sex, as if his soul is encarcerated by some kind of hex, he had a mind of troubled beguile, paranoia felt a hated refrain, finished the girl with no thought of pain, strangled and drown the confident lady, releasing her gain.

Encountering the situation again and again, wallowing in guilt not likely without sin, desperate for passionate love to be won, the need to be a persons number one, incredibly unlikely to enjoy such fun, always wanting an unwanted run, love cannot be strangled or chained up with need, that kind of desire will only end one way, all alone with another death on another day, he could never achieve anything in any way.

Investigation, closing the net, they wanted to teach him a lesson he’d never forget, cornering the suspect by a bridge, he climbed high to escape attention, “come on down”, “we will look after you”, ‘I can’t take anymore’ he said, tying a rope above his head, ‘I never meant to, but they laughed’ , “who laughed”, ‘all of them, no one cared’ I just wanted love’. “Come down and we will help you”, born to a mother on drugs and a father shot dead by the feds, the young man tragically died that day, a piercing sound rang out from below, not the police who shot him down but the young girls father who’s daughter had drowned, there he swung, not a sound, No one knew his name or cared, come what may and one may ask, why should they?.

UK Lockdown

Go beserk, have a rest, go to work, get it off your chest, cough all day, invincible perks, look like deaths door in a glamorous shirt, a week in quarantine, stay indoors with your partner breathing rapid and poor, inhale eucalyptus through your e-cigarette, drink some gin, you might forget, science speaks of braving it out, before you find out what it’s all about, when at last we reach the peak, stay indoors for another week maybe die from the havoc it wreaks, maybe grow a defensive streak unpopular popularity requiring a sleep affecting the weak, the poor, the old, visit a festival, go on, be bold, retrospectively cold, infected by the thousands, ten fold.

Passing on

In the land of nowhere, where nobody goes, featureless darkness, where nothing grows, I can see a mist far ahead, does this mean, I have woken up dead, have I entered another plain?, where nothing is the same and everything has changed, I feel nothing, I am left without shame, no noticeable pain, is this the grace I sought, yet without any gain?, is this hell or is this heaven?, consumed by a quake, soulless, completely forgotten. 

Contemplating Sleep

Closing my eyes, mind lingering for ages, going over the day, it’ proclaiming lies, I am punished day by day frequently remembering the anger, ‘no’ hatred towards thyselve including the varied ways that I am mistreated, often relinquishing responsibility for such actions abated, why then, oh why am I so cut by terrible happenings unrelated?, struggling, tormentiously, psychologically anxious, ending the evening in serative sedation.  

My heart contemplates every shred and ordered slice, lashing contentiously at thy soul causing it to weep deeply without release, throat tightening around vocal chords garrotting words expressed from an abundance of self destruction, a life bound by sorrow, alone as a child at play while friends form without delay, not being in or part of a team or so it would seem, ejecting every possibility of ever being accepted or ridiculous as it may seem, actually spending days being ridiculed and outcast, isolated, hardly ever seen. 

Growing slowly into a man, wound tightly by invisible chains, fearful of making incorrect decisions thus not making correct ones, a whole life of penetrating excursions into unknown movements, untraceable patterns, regrettable truths, a person reflecting worthlessness, yet a moral bounty of honesty, is this the person that I have become or the person that I have always been, hiding beneath an impeccable camouflage of hidden persona’, then ageing, acceptance of change as it derives, fearful of none, knowing the fullness of life, children to continue the genealogy with the knowledge of god in their lives.

A day out in Dorset

Narrow twisting turning roads, flooding deep fords, revolutionary action, driving like a lord, then engine stalls, engine stalls

Damp reality, clouding the mind, feverish storm, falling behind, slipping the slurry, on a childish grind, elasticated tyres, crash then die, just crash then die.

There she was strolling along, looking at the views, an impetuous sea gull lands on her head, the damn sign says it must not be fed, it steals an Ice cream from her hands, an ice cream from her hands.

On another day, maybe in spring, the sun would shine in Lyme Regis, alas not today, still picturesquely charming, the sea rolls on alarming, there’s only one set of young having some fun, surfing the waves, riding on high, riding so high.

It darkens now in this damp dreary place, towards the end of ‘Storm Dennis’, when it is time to go home, pretty as a picture, there’s one little face that brightens the day, he brightens everyday.

(Especially his Mum and Dads)