Whew!

MAGPIE TALES

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/03/mag-56.html

supplied the illustration.

WHEW!

If those redoubtable Men of Harlech

Had ever taken to munching garlic

Would their horribly pungent breath

Have scared their enemies to death?

*

----------------------------------------------------------------------

RAINBOW RESOLVE

First comes the mockery.

Then comes the pity.

Finally,

And most importantly,

Comes the admiration.

*

Maybe he lives on the street.

Maybe he has no-one to love him.

Maybe he is growing old.

Maybe he is feeling fragile.

*

But he is not giving-in.

*

And the cure is colour!

*

Bright scarves,

Flowers on the hat,

A decorated accordion.

And, at his feet,

The rainbow colours of his xylophone!

*

Surely he plays

'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'.

Surely he still hopes

For the Crock of Gold.

*

When he goes,

As go he must,

He will explode like a Catherine Wheel!

Colourful to the end.

*

A Complex Situation

MAGPIE TALES

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/02/mag-55.html

chose the illustration

A COMPLEX SITUATION

(A story that calls for prose.)

I hadn't any choice. She'd broken a promise, and that was that.

Of course, I should have been used to it; after all, I was forty-two, and, in all those forty-two years, I have never found anyone to be reliable. Someone would pretend to be my friend, but their hatred soon revealed itself. Everyone was out to get me.

It started when I went to school. Other children always chose the pencil I wanted,  just to hurt me. As they took it from the pencil-tin they would look me in the eye with utter hatred and triumph. Over the years I grew to expect 'that look'. Everyone I met was out to get me. Every day I woke up in a sweat wondering whether today would be the day I was stabbed in a dark alley, pushed under a train or just......looked at.

I never got a job. How could I, when all possible employers looked at me and decided to 'cut me down to size'? How I loved that phrase! It summed it up so well. The whole world was trying to 'cut me down to size.'

In the end I was just another vagrant on the street. Even then, 'they' were out to get me. Those poor, gaunt creatures would try to grab my one blanket, my stolen crust, all the while looking at me with hatred.

But She was different. She was a large, blousy woman in a tasteless dress who brought us sandwiches and tea at night. 'Motherly', they called her. She would actually talk to me! 'I don't judge anyone' She once said. I began to feel I could trust her. 'I have a spare room' She said; 'Come home with me and I'll look after you'. It would be so good to escape persecution, I thought.

'I promise you I'll never harm you' She said. And I believed her.

But my relief only lasted a few hours. I wandered into her kitchen that first night. She was cutting -up a lemon. 'I do like a squeeze of lemon with my fish' She said. 'Don't you?'

Oh, it sounded such a harmless little phrase. But the knife was in her hand and I could tell from the glint in her eye that She wanted to plunge it into my flesh. How that woman hated me! And how She had fooled me! She shouldn't be allowed to get-away with it. I grabbed the knife.

I hadn't any choice. She'd broken a promise, and that was that.

---------------------------------------------------------

DAZZLE-DARK

Here, in the dazzle-dark of day,

Between the shadow and the shimmer,

My arm encircles the moment.

*

------------------------------------------------------------------

PS

Life has been rather hectic lately. We enjoyed Mike's final few days with us and here are the flowers he bought me, along with a gift token, as a parting gift. Lovely, aren't they. As I write Mike is high above the clouds on a 36 hour journey to his own front door...... and chilly weather. He'll be pleased to hear that, in Newcastle, the temperature has been about 35 degrees today, culminating in a storm

Yesterday we put-on another melodrama. This time there were only four of us available, so two of us had to play five parts! Olwyn played the two men and I played the three women. We had a large audience and they were very vocal and enthusiastic.

Here are two members of the audience hamming-it-up as Villain and unwilling Virgin!

And here is my lovely friend, Caroline, who came along to play the tape. She's not a member of the group (yet), but she stood-in for members of the Probus Club, who were all at a meeting.

                                      

  And, today, the Choir has performed for Malcolm's Club. I slept for two hours when I got home!

*

Missing

MAGPIE TALES
http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/02/mag-54.html
supplied the prompt

MISSING

You took pride-of-place in every picture.

You were the subject of my every scene.

Now, though I scrabble through the box of pieces,

I cannot find a trace of where you've been.

And what is the point of life without a focus;

A photograph without a centre-point?

The emptiness will stretch into the future

For everything in life is out of joint.

*

--------------------------------------------------------------

PAPA!

(A Victorian grieving.)

For a year and a day I will mourn him, the father of my child,

As the winds of grief blow round my heart, ever more chill and wild.

He was taken to live with the angels; he looks down on us from above!

Baby dear, kiss your own Papa, who gazes down with love.

I remember his face, so waxen, as he breathed his final breath

In life, my dear, he was lovely. He was lovely even in death.

They laid out my mourning costume, the thick black bombazine.

It breaks my heart to remember that he loved me best in green.

We'll stay fast in the house, my lovely, till our mourning days are done.

The shadowy house becomes us much more than the blazing sun.

I'll draw back the curtains one moment; you must kiss Papa on the face.

But to leave them open for longer would be a dreadful disgrace.

The clocks were all stopped at three, love, the time that the angels came;

To let them sound out the hours since then would bring this house great shame.

When a year and a day have passed, dear, I'll walk out in a dress of grey.

Am I really so terribly wicked to long for that distant day?

We'll visit the graveyard on Sunday; you'll wear your little black dress,

And passers-by will doff their hats to acknowledge our great distress.

Little children have to be taught, love, what a family death can mean.

I'm only just learning myself, you know, and I am all of sixteen.

*

Pursued

MAGPIE TALES
http://magpietales.blogspot.com/
supplied the prompt

PURSUED!

They call it my 'mental problem', which I find rather strange;

I know that I'm quite normal and I know I'll never change.

Ever since my childhood 'they' have been after me.

Demons, witches, goblins other people never see.

They leer at me in the mirror when I try to brush my hair;

They wait for me at midnight at the bottom of the stair.

They sit there in my coffee cup, laughing in the dregs;

They wait for me by the pathway and brush up against my legs.

One came up through the plug-hole when I had a bath last night.

One was hiding in my hamburger and I couldn't take a bite.

And I know why they've chosen me; they want to take me home;

I used to live in the woods, you know; I used to be a gnome.

But I'm locked in an institution and no-one will let me out,

No matter how I beat the walls and scream and yell and shout.

'They've come for me!' I tell them; and They give me a jab

And I have to return to 'normal', a life that's pale and drab.

I sit here, now, at the table; I feel safe, but quite depressed,

For I know they'll come, the  hobgoblins, the demons and the rest.

They say they'll bring me dinner but I don't much want to eat;

I'm feeling rather drowsy, just lolling in my seat.

Oh yes! Oh no! They're here again! The salt-cellar! See that face!

The pointed chin! The leering eyes! It's all falling into place!

I'll never get away from them! They'll take me, in the end!

Bring me another needle

For that's my only friend.

*

-------------------------------------------------------------

 
HEATED ARGUMENT


I don't much care what the boffins decide.
(Do they dissemble? Has somebody lied?)
Global Warming's rights and wrongs,
Can go back in the box where each belongs.
If Mankind's responsible, that's too bad.
If he's not then we're being 'had'.
Are we heading for a hotter stage?
Are we on the way to a new Ice Age?
It matters not, in the wider scheme;
'Do something about it!' that's the theme!
Think of a world where all can live
Powered by something 'alternative'!
Think how clean, think how pleasant!
Think how great for the poorest peasant!
A world without smog! Please bring it on!
How great when all that filth has gone!
And so, regardless of 'who' and 'why'
I think that all of us should try
To harness that great big ball of fire
That can give all the power that we desire.
It's hanging about up there, right now,
So let's all concentrate on the 'how'!
*

The Attic

MAGPIE TALES
http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/02/mag-52.html
supplied the prompt

THE ATTIC

I grew up in a pleasant house on a pleasant street in a pleasant town. That just about covers the subject. Everything was bland; there is really nothing more to say about it. My parents were rather bland, too; the sort described as 'lovely people'. Dad was a Bank Clerk and Mum was your regular Stay-at-home Home-maker. I was an only child. It was 1950.  The street was Smith Street. Get the picture?

Well, you don't, actually, because I haven't mentioned my imagination. It was wild. I lived inside my brain more than I lived inside my body, if that makes sense. I read voraciously, and I created stories of my own. They galloped through my brain so fast that I never had time to write them down, but they sustained and energised me through the long, bland days.

I became fixated on the house over the road. The owners were totally unremarkable, like everyone else in our street; they 'kept themselves to themselves'. This was considered a virtue, for some reason. I only knew them as Mr and Mrs Sinclair. We only exchanged nods and the occasional time of day. They didn't interest me in the least.

But their attic window did. It was blacked-out, in contrast to the other windows, which were curtained normally. And the black was never removed. Every day I glanced up to see if, by chance, this was the day for Mrs Sinclair to throw open the window and give the room an airing. But she never did.

I started to take an interest in the attic when I was about five years old. I inhabited it with goblins, who crept out at night and played tricks on the neighbours. Later on, when I was nine or ten, I imagined a troop of Creatures From Outer Space living up there, ready to take-over the world!  Then, later, there were the romantic ideas...... a beautiful girl was imprisoned up there, only waiting for me to rescue her. In my teens, I have to admit that my imaginings became quite torrid! What if the Sinclairs were running a brothel! Over the years that attic was inhabited by a remarkable array of characters and situations. It was a hive of imagined activity, although it would be hard to find anything less exciting, in reality.

In due course, Real Life took charge of me. I left home, with a sense of relief and found the adventures I had been yearning for for so long. I lived in the city; I married; I had children; I travelled. The attic was forgotten.

Until today, when I opened my old hometown newspaper. And there was the headline..........

'Skeleton Discovered in Attic of Demolished House on Smith Street. Police Investigate.'.

*

Memorial

MAGPIE TALES

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/01/mag-51.html
supplied the photographic inspiration

MEMORIAL

Some memories are too painful to revisit.

Some heartaches go too deep to be repaired.

Some guilt is etched forever on the psyche.

Some pain is too distressing to be shared.

*

So many times I've lived, in dreams, the torment,

With no-one else to whom I could confess.

Though others wondered at my tortured manner,

They never guessed the cause of my distress.

*

I was a jealous lover; I admit it.

That's why I prowled the house in search of proof.

For days I had been racked by my suspicions;

Your manner had become a touch aloof.

*

And there they were, the letters in your handbag!

The letters that confirmed my deepest fears.

I read them one by one then, with my lighter,

I set fire to them, though I was blind with tears.

*

I stumbled from the room! I left the building,

And, only looking back, I saw the fire!

So many of us tried to reach and save you,

But those letters soon became your funeral pyre!

*

Everybody understood my dreadful anguish.

I left the country, hid myself away;

Returning never seemed to be an option,

Yet, here I stand, in agony, today.

*

For sure the old house would have been demolished!

A brand new suburb must have been designed,

For fifty years can cause so many changes;

Now was the time to leave my pain behind.

*

I wandered down the lane to where 'it' happened;

I felt there were no ghosts for me  to meet.

I saw the brand new house and hesitated......

*

Then I glanced down at the brick path at my feet!

*

-----------------------------------------------------

 

 

 

DINNER AT DUSK!

(A Blogger called Celeste has a pet rat!)

What a wonderful word 'crepuscular'!

Did you know it applies to me?

My friend Celeste

Pronounces it best,

With the utmost fluency.

I like to sit on her shoulder,

When she's writing big words down,

Then I start to squeal

About getting a meal

And I'm off into the town.

"Is it dusk or dawn?", I ask her,

"Not too dark and not too light?

I'll be safe and sound

Running all around

If conditions are just right."

I can scuttle about in the shadows,

Before the sun appears,

For I feel afraid

Where there isn't shade!

When it's dawn I forget my fears.

Cats roam about in darkness

And then they go home to sleep,

I fear cats because

Of their teeth and claws!

With cats I know life is cheap!

Hawks rule the skies in daylight!

They swoop out of the blue!

I find it's wise

To avoid their eyes!

I know what talons can do.

Yes, the dawn and the dusk are friendly

To a little rat like me.

That's why I say

Keep your night and day!

I live 'crepuscularly'

 *

Inexplicable

 

(Though mine is a poetry blog, this seemed to demand prose.)

INEXPLICABLE!

There it was again! My favourite word! 'Inexplicable'! It was in the headline today, which made the project so much more satisfactory! Usually 'my' word is just in the body of the account. But this time I got a headline........ 'Another Inexplicable Accident!' All very satisfying.

Ghosts are usually depicted as ethereal beings, rather misty and semi-human, wafting around emitting strange noises. Or they may be invisible, clattering cups, that sort of thing. None of that is my style. I always was an individualist!

I had been on my way to propose to Annabelle. We had only known each other a short while but I knew we were meant for each other. The ring, in its box, lay on the passenger seat. I glanced at it now and again as I drove along the snow-covered lane. Had I chosen wisely? Was it, maybe, too flashy for my lovely girl? I began to doubt my own taste; after all, everything had to be just right.

I stretched out my left hand to open the box and take one more look. This was a foolish thing to do on a slippery road. I realise that now. As I wrestled with the tiny clasp on the box, with one hand, I lost control of the car and it ploughed into the trees on my right.

It was after my death that the great bitterness engulfed me. As I began to re-form in The Great Dark a desire for revenge overtook my being. Why should other love-lives continue, when mine had been destroyed?

Gradually, the idea of The Arrow formed in my mind. I think I told you I was an individualist?

I choose my victims carefully. They must always be young lovers. Sometimes I have to wait for months, even years, before the ideal couples appear.  Then I arrange myself as The Arrow, always pointing to the right.

I have had my failures, of course. Sometimes the young man at the wheel rubs his eyes, shakes his head in disbelief and drives on.

But yesterday was  a triumph! I watched it all...... the sudden braking,  the wild turning of the steering-wheel, the deaths!

And now, today, that wonderful headline. 'Another Inexplicable Accident'!

*

Thin Ice

MAGPIE TALES
http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/01/mag-49.html
supplied the prompt

THIN ICE!

'One final 'snap' before we go!

Off with our skates out in the snow!

Three sisters, ready for the fray.

(What a very apt phrase to say!)

Maudie speaking; that is me,

In the centre, where I should be.

For I'm the eldest. There was no boy,

So I was my parents' pride and joy.

Rose to my right; the other one's Dora;

The one with the slightly different aura.

Rose and I! Such friends we'd been!

Until that Dora came between.

The baby! The favourite! The parents' pet!

"Such a pretty baby!" (I can hear them yet!)

Right from the start she spoiled our fun!

 Dora was the unwanted one.

"Take Dora with you!" Mama would say

Whenever we two went out to play.

The wretched creature used to bawl........

Then, "Don't forget Dora! She's only small!"

Rose and I, for years and years,

Have suffered from Dora's silly tears!

But now we're grown; we both have beaux;

Childhood was bad enough, goodness knows!

Percy and George have begun to complain.....

"Not that Dora! Not again!"

Mama is pleased with us today!

She didn't even need to say

"Take Dora with you!"...... for we have chosen

 To skate on the pond where the ice is frozen.

We know a spot where the ice is thin!

We'll hold her down when we've pushed her in!

*

----------------------------------------------------------------------

VENETIAN VANITY!

Isn't it a menace!

I'll never get to Venice

For I don't like too much flying any more.

So, although it's superficial,

Because it's artificial,

I'll stand on this Bridge of Sighs outside the store!
*

Discarded Symphony

MAGPIE TALES

DISCARDED SYMPHONY

The ball of screwed-up paper was lying at my feet.

Something made me notice it as I walked along the street.

And so I bent and picked it up, to take a closer look.

Was it a page, torn in a rage, from some rejected book?

I spread it out, expecting some paragraphs or quotes,

And I saw them, marching across the page, a parade of musical notes.

The paper had been mutilated, crushed again and again,

As though by someone suffering immeasurable pain.

This was no casual cast-off, no idly rejected page;

I saw in my hand the evidence of disappointed rage.

And I visualised the musician, waking up in bed,

Hearing a glorious symphony circling in his head.

*

'Eureka!' he cried. 'I've got it! I've waited, oh, so long!

I'd have been content with a a party-piece, a jingle, a little song!

But here's a fully-fledged symphony, circling in my head!

I must rise at once and write it down before inspiration's fled!

I can hear it all! The clarinets, the violins, the basses!

I can see them all, the musicians, expectant in their places!

I shall be lauded, far and wide, like Beethoven or Liszt!

This will be a symphony that no-one can resist!'

*

He would have scrambled to his desk then, a pen in his eager hand,

Still hearing the glorious music, so magnificently grand!

But the music inside his head grew faint as he laboured with his pen.

After one page it died away, never to return again.

As all dreams fade in the morning, so faded his symphony.

So faded his life's ambition; so faded his destiny.

And the paper was screwed in a frenzied ball and out of the window thrown.

He had lost the most glorious symphony the world had ever known!

*

I continued on my morning walk, forgetting my useless find,

When, suddenly, a wonderful symphony

Started playing in my mind...............!

*

------------------------------------------------------------------------

HEY! MONET!

'Pose by that haystack!' I said to him, in my normal bossy tone!

Even as I said it, I sensed it was a clone.

It reminded me of one of Monet's many painted scenes,

Where the golden haystack stands amid the country's brilliant greens.

After I'd got my picture I peered at the board to the right.

Our haystack looked like a Monet! Yes! Well so it might!

An advertisement for a gallery, that's what we'd chanced upon.

When we returned days later the edifice had gone!

*

Motherhood

MAGPIE TALES

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2011/01/mag-47.html

supplied the prompt

MOTHERHOOD

Motherhood is complex, mixing all emotion,

Partly irritation, partly great devotion!

Is this a Mother full of care, bent over with the chores,

Or is this a Mother dancing with the children she adores?

A real-life Mother, somewhere, is rushing, fretting, stressed,

Busy in the morning getting children fed and dressed;

She will view this statuette as indicative of worry,

Children 'dragging at her skirts', chivvying them to hurry.

But, somewhere else, another Mother's in a happy mood,

Dancing with her children, happy with her brood.

She'll view the statuette and see a love that knows no bounds;

A vision of that special bond that engulfs us and astounds.

In ebony, the artist has captured bad and good;

That miracle of existence that we know as Motherhood.

*

-------------------------------------------------------------

 

IVORY IN IVORY

Florence Ivory, my dears, a dentist of renown,

Pictured in her surgery, in her working gown.

And ivory is the photograph that someone took of her

For this was 1917, and that was how things were.

Sepia always brings a certain melancholy air,

Because it makes it harder to pretend that we were there.

Colour-photography blares forth and seems so up-to-date,

But sepia demands we gaze and really contemplate.

We become aware of Florence and we realise that she

Was one female among dentists and quite a rarity.

What mad ambition drove her to study such a craft?

No doubt the other ladies looked a bit askance and laughed.

And look at that machinery; those nasties made for drilling!

And what if there were burly men who thrashed about, unwilling?

How did she cope with all those roots that needed such brute force?

For the helping hand of pain relief was very rare, of course.

She looks a girl to reckon with, and so does her assistant!

I'm sure one could rely on them if pain were too persistant!

Your history, in Pittsburgh, is quite unknown to me,

But I like this ivory picture, Miss Florence Ivory.

*

Cast Off!

MAGPIE TALES

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

CAST OFF!

It seemed fitting that I should wear them for that purpose!

You were with me when I bought them from the store.

They were made from the finest leather.

Yes, we bought the gloves together,

For we knew we'd be 'together' evermore.

*

Oh, it's clear that we were overly sentimental!

Sometimes we'd wear one each! I swear we did!

And you sewed a little sign,

Showing which was yours and mine,

Inside each glove of softest, warmest kid.

*

Yours said 'Marnie', mine said 'Beau'. Do you remember?

When I wore them as a pair it seemed to me

That you still held my hand,

That, still, everything was planned,

And this was how our lives were going to be.

*

But everything went wrong last Tuesday evening,

When I saw you out with Peter, looking snug!

You were gazing at his face!

Yes! He was in my place,

And he looked so damned delighted and so smug!

*

Gloves are useful when one plans to do a throttling!

Detective novels make that very clear.

Finger-prints? Ah, not a chance!

For our symbols of romance

Would prevent that sort of clue! No clues! No fear!

*

So it's done! My little 'big' romance is over!

But so is yours, my little sweetie-pie!

'One kills the thing one loves',

And my delicate kid gloves,

Were round your neck and made sure you would die!

*

I dropped them on the floor as I was leaving!

Then I couldn't get back in although I tried!!

Then I gasped at the realisation

Of my terrible situation!

The gloves had 'Beau' and 'Marnie' sewn inside!

*

--------------------------------------------------------------

THE BLUE ANGEL.

A sad clown? Was there ever

A clown as sad as he?

Or was I just impressionable,

As young girls are wont to be?

It was my very first 'foreign film';

To me it was exotic,

The black-and-white of the images

Made it the more hypnotic.

Then there was the music,

And a language quite unknown

And a certain air of decadence

Added a suggestive tone.

Marlene Dietrich's German

Sounded ribald and compelling

And her gaudy giddy life-style

Made the story worth the telling.

But it was the tragic professor

Who caused my flesh to creep.

I could hardly bear to watch him

As he got in far too deep.

And when he finally went mad

When they broke eggs on his head,

And began to crow like a cockeral

I viewed the screen with dread.

Even now I get goose-pimples

Just remembering it all.

How a worthy man became a clown!

How love came before a fall.

*

Low Maintainance

MAGPIE TALES

LOW MAINTAINANCE

High Maintainance babies are everywhere!

Babies need a lot of care.

They scream! They dribble! They often mess!

Yet this one exuded happiness!

Look through Google and you will find

That this one was of a different kind!

In every picture he's beguiling!

Sleeping sweetly, sweetly smiling.

Or else he's gazing out at us,

Without one sign of baby-fuss!

Now babies cry to show a need;

To express a desire to have a feed!

How could Mary ever tell,

Without that all-insistant yell?

Motherhood was all delight;

Not one sign of a broken night!
New young mothers everywhere
Envy that Low Maintainance care!
*
----------------------------------------------------------

                        Munche

CINDERELLA'S BALL

'Tonight, Berthe'

Said Mama, decisively, as always,

'We go to the dance'.

Berthe was folding the clean laundry

Fresh from the windy line.

She drew in her breath

And waited….

'The Minister tells me

It will be very suitable

As a young girl's first dance,

And I think you're of an age.'

'Of an age', means 'ready'

Thought Berthe.

And Berthe was ready, so ready!

'The cream dress will do'

Continued Mother.

'And you can put your hair up.'

Already the dance in the Church Hall

Was assuming the proportions

Of Cinderella's Ball!
As Berthe laid out her cream dress

And shone her black pumps

She felt the excitement mounting.

As she carefully brushed her hair

And caught it up behind her ears

The blood in her veins started dancing.

All by itself!

'The Dance of Life'

Thought Berthe.

'This is the beginning!

Tonight I'll find out.'

'Find out what, exactly?'

Said a quiet voice in her head.

'Tonight I'll meet a handsome man.

He will smile at me

With flashing teeth.

I shall smell the pomade on his hair!

I shall be close enough

To count the hairs on the backs of his hands!

He'll whisper into my hair

When Mama isn't looking!

He'll press me close

And tell me I'm adorable!

Tonight!

And how we'll dance!

A Bolero!

A Pavane!

Or even a Saltarello!

How we'll circle, how we'll spin!

How we'll fall,

Laughing,

Into each others arms!

'The Dance of Life!'

When they arrived, the Minister

Was winding-up the gramophone.

'Ah! A waltze!

How very suitable!' said Mama.

One two three, one two three, one two three.

'Dance with Uncle Arve'

Commanded Mama.

'He'll take you round.'

Berthe was clutched to a portly stomach

And perambulated.

One two three, one two three, one two three.

The gramophone began to wind-down.

The music went off-key.

'The Dance of Death'

Thought Berthe.

'The Dance of Death'
They went home early.

After all,

It was Berthe's first dance.
*

It's All in the Mind!

MAGPIE TALES
http://magpietales.blogspot.com/
supplied the ilustration.

IT'S ALL IN THE MIND!

Here, in the dusty cupboards of my past

Lie all the many things I've never done!

And riding on a sled through falling snow

Is, as I reconsider, such a one.

I've never perched upon that fragile steed,

High on a hill, and, gazing down below,

Observed the frozen pathway I must ride,

And muttered 'Do I really want to go?'

I've never forced myself to push away

And, overcoming fears, greet gravity

By launching my frail craft upon its way

Into a world of bright felicity.

I've never felt the glittering rush of wind

Assaulting my red cheeks as down I fly!

I've never clung on over dip and bounce

And felt the world of others streaming by!

I've never yelled with joy at risk and speed!

I've never clung on with such desperate verve!

I've never felt that overwhelming thrill

As the elements assault each tingling nerve!

Nor have I landed in a chortling heap

Among my friends who're waiting at the base,

And basked in that great feeling of success

Which nothing on this earth can quite replace.

So, since, in some ways, I have been deprived,

Do I feel that Fate has been a mite unkind?

Ah no! Because you see I ride my sleds

Here, in my ever-sledding mind!

*

-----------------------------------------------------------------

MIGRATION

1810

My son has left for America;

All night I have lain weeping.

Tossing and turning through the night

Without a thought of sleeping.

To think I'll no more see his face,

His voice I'll no more hear;

To think I'll never watch the door

And know that he'll appear!

The months will pass; there'll be no word.

I'll pray he has survived!

For weeks I'll wait to get the news

That at least he has arrived!

What if he marries over there

In a strange land far away!

I'll never see his wife or child

However much I pray!

And, if he dies, I'll never know!

So even now I mourn

For my lovely boy who's gone from me!

Why ever was he born!

My heart is like an Autumn leaf,

Dead and yet still existing!

The laughter's vanished from my life!

With tears my eyes are misting.

He's gone! A yawning gulf's been built

By my own son erected!

And I shall live till my dying day

Distraught and disconnected!

*

2010

My son has left for America.

He'll be working over there.

I felt a little teary

As the plane took to the air.

But, as he says, a hop and skip

Is all it takes these days

And we can all communicate

In so many different ways.

He'll text me when the plane arrives;

Should be any minute now.

And then I'll know the which and when

And where and who and how!

He's going to send an email;

I expect he'll attach some shots

Of all the places that he'll see;

All the really scenic spots.

I'm glad that we have both got Skype;

That means I'll see his face

And we can have a lengthy chat,

Sitting there, face to face.

I plan to take a trip in June;

Two months and then I'll leave.

And he's coming home for Christmas!

He'll arrive on New Years Eve.

It's great that we can keep in touch.

I'll never feel neglected.

The world has shrunk so very small

We're no more disconnected.

*

 
* 

Pristine

MAGPIE TALES
http://magpietales.blogspot.com/
supplied the illustration

PRISTINE

The evening hung heavy, my darling,

As I waited for you, all alone.

I sat in my chair drinking coffee

And awaiting a ring on the phone.

It was five, it was eight, then eleven!

You were never this late in the past!

It must be that something had happened!

If only you'd come home at last!

Ah yes! A small sound in the driveway!

The sound of your tyres on the snow!

The sense of relief was stupendous!

I'd kill you for scaring me so!

You were there! Gazing in through the window!

Was that blood on the side of your head?

Poor dear! You'd encountered a problem!

To think I'd imagined you dead!

I dragged open the door to embrace you.......

No-one there! Just the dark! Just the dark!

And the snow, glistened smooth, glistened pristine;

Ghosts never leave any mark.

*
------------------------------------------------------

JURY DUTY

I've never been called to Jury Duty, though I'm quite an age,

But I was once a jury member in a play upon a stage.

The play was 'Trial by Jury', which was rather apt, I guess;

It was one of the Light Operas written by G. and S.

(Gilbert and Sullivan, of course; I'm sure that's understood.)

I remember thinking, at the time, that it was rather good.

We were an all-female jury and we wore extravagant hats,

While the gentlemen, who were lawyers, wore shiny shoes and spats.

We only had to sit there, giving a frown or smile,

And often bursting into song, in true light opera style.

I can't remember the numbers; it's all so long ago,

But I'm sure today's musicians would find the whole thing slow.

Now, I'm a so-so singer, but dancing's not my thing;

I find it hard to remember words while I hop and prance and spring!

So I remember 'Jury' as a show that fitted my bill,

For I could act my heart out while I was sitting still!