I can’t say no to beauty. That’s why you brought me flowers, plate-sized sunflowers that sizzled, blood-red roses dripping dew…. Then one day – Leave them there on the floor. I can smell your betrayal through the crushed chrysanthemums. Walk away and leave me with the broken vase. I could name the pieces poetically but now the glass is only a function no longer needed. Be proud of what you have done.
Moments
Talking about David (1)
Tim took a cigarette, put it in his mouth. he looked up and a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. He breathed out smoke and the words. He’s gone then. Really gone this time. Yes. Yes, he has. Tim pulled hard on the cigarette, spotlit by the streetlight. I looked at him, hurting from being unable to help. He walked away across the road, through the sudden traffic. Rock and roll man, I heard. Rock and roll.
Don’t gently touch my hair
Don’t gently touch my hair while I am sleeping. Please don’t blow sweet kisses on the hairline of my neck. You don’t sleep here any more now, do you? No. I feel the draught from the summer-open window. Please don’t breathe the words I cannot hear.
Big sigh
There, there, there you are, don’t cry, you’re mummy’s big boy.
(Big sigh)
Are you the biggest brother? No, I’m the middle one. My little brother’s the biggest. Big brother is the smallest of all three.
(Big sigh)
Only three people ever called me Si. A grandad, a brother, and another.
(Big Si)
Storytelling
Guess what happened next! You’ll never guess!
Was it the elephant?
No!
Did Guacamole the cowboy come back?
No.
Ooh, ooh! The spaceship –
No! No, it was Mrs Bunn the baker! She –
I don’t remember her.
Mrs Bunn! Mrs Bunn the baker! She –
No, I don’t remember her. Tell me about the elephant. I like the elephant.
The past wins
The past wins. It is always with us, a squatting, glistening frog, always with us. We cannot outrun it though it does not run. In a B-movie treatment of a nightmare chase, our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no farther from the frog. Every now and again the frog’s wide mouth gapes.
The future is a lizard, green, red belly, flicking away into the distance over sunhot rocks. Every now and again it looks back over its shoulder, dragon smoke curling impatiently around it. Our feet try to move but take us nowhere, no closer to the lizard.
The future is impatient but the frog is always with us. The past wins.
New Year
New, new, new.
Dreams are new and memories.
Time flew through the year
and here is another.
A time for renewal
like no other before
but more days should be so.
Chances we need to make and share.
New, new and not so new.
Do. Or don’t do.
Now your world is quiet or should be.
Slow down how time flew.
The story that might yet unfold
You go to your bath, violet-scented.
Hours later, I go to my bed
and lie, heart double fist thumping,
and wonder at the story that might yet unfold.
Jackalhead (Chapter 1)
He stole my thunder and rolled it down the hill behind him. It made Mr Jenkins jump and drop his washing on the muddy lawn. I stared at him, open-mouthed.“What-do-you-think-you’re-doing?” I shouted into the wind the thunder had kicked up.
Jackalhead showed his teeth and spun round. Mr Jenkins, who had just picked up his muddy sheets, saw him bounding down the hill towards him and fainted clean away.
By now my patience was wearing thin. I picked up one of the lightning bolts that lay fizzing at my feet and hurled it down the hill. It flew over Jackalhead’s shoulder and landed just in front of him. He had to come to a skidding stop before he burnt his muzzle on the quivering bolt.
“That-was-just-a-warning-shot” I yelled. “Come-back-up-here. Now.”
He trailed back up the hill. Strangely enough for someone called Jackalhead he looked a little sheepish. “Sorry Dad” he said. He smelled a little singed and his whiskers were steaming.
“Listen-to-me. You-know-humans-aren’t-meant-to-see-us-except-in-the-darkest-corner-of-a-car-park-or-behind-a-half-closed-bedroom-door.”
“Yes Dad.”
I left it at that. Knowing what I know now, of course, I never should have done. But not all gods can see into the future.
The turkey and the Queen
The turkey and the Queen had been and gone. Sofa-slumped in stupor, clutching bellies, nobody wanted to dance or sing so Vikki began to play charades. Soon everyone knew what she had seen Mummy doing with Santa Claus.
Ted swung his fist but the mulled wine made him miss. Uncle Nick made a dash for it. Snow blew in through the open door and Ted’s words flew back to him. “Is it a film?” Vikki asked.
Published on http://www.paragraphplanet.com 04 January 2016
