Just photos. From August.
Another one of these. Art all by my fair hands!
Crisp autumnal days
Filled with rage out on the streets
Dog shit ‘neath the leaves
Shall we? Been sooo long since we did.
Autumn Leaves appear
At last Moobs will stop sweating
Fattie hates summer
A few photos from May
The second and final part of this short piece…
The cold metal frame of the trolley digs into my hands as we wander past the bust station, the street lights flickering into life in the growing gloom.
“It’s Just around the corner here” Tom says pointing as he shuffles along beside me, directing me down a long street of identical red brick houses that sit squat over the road like dark haired fisherman on a river bank.
Again he tells me how grateful he is and I reply and tell him that it is no problem at all.
“Have you lived around here long?” I ask avoiding the puddles trying to keep my good work shoes dry.
“Oh yes” he says, a sense of pride in his voice. “Been here since they went up new in the seventies.” He straightens his flat cap and then pauses for a moment as if remembering before I jog him from his thoughts.
“This way?” I ask, shifting the weight of the trolley from one hand to the other. I can feel the splashes of water soaking through the bottoms of my trousers.
“Yes, yes straight on, not far now” he says pulling his coat tight around him as the rain continues to fall. “Quite a thing it was back then you know” he continues. “To buy our own home, took every penny we had saved up plus some we borrowed from the family. But it was worth it in the end.”
“I’m sure it was” I reply and he leads me across the road and down a smaller side street. Cars line one side, the water swirling and swerving around their tyres sweeping litter along. Weeds strain through crevices in the path, and as we pass the houses the cracked paint, cluttered yards and stained net curtains tell of better times now past.
He tells me how he’s seen everything change so much over the years, and I’m reminded of my own grandparents who I see less than I should.
“Just over there” he says and nods to a house with a neatly tended front garden and freshly creosote stained fence that stands out from the others. The Gate squeaks as he holds it open for me and he looks almost embarrassed.
“Better get some oil on that” he says and pulls it closed behind me.
The gravel path, dark from the rain, leads to the front door and Tom fumbles for his keys as I let him pass. Eventually he pushes the door wide open and encourages me to head inside.
“It’s straight ahead to the kitchen” he says as I step into a small entry hall. I’m uncertain if I should take off my shoes but head down the short hall anyway, desperate to put the trolley down.
“Anywhere in there is fine ” he shouts taking off his coat and hanging it on a peg behind the door. I place the trolley down gently on the light colored linoleum.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” He asks. I check my watch. Not sure if will even be worth going to the pub by the time I get home now. Even so I decline politely but Tom insists and takes an old battered kettle from the stove and fills it. “Please, take a seat” he says waving towards a small wooden table and chairs against a wall. A biscuit barrel in the middle of the table in the shape of a bear grins at me as I sit down. He seems grateful for the company and I find it hard to refuse.
Slipping off my coat I hang it over the back of the chair and It begins to drip onto the lino. I start to apologise but he laughs, a glint in his eyes. “Oh don’t worry” he says, “now if my Kathy was still here that would be another matter. She liked things just right she did. Very particular.”
His words are a mix of pride and sadness, and it seems to me a fair assumption that she has died. Looking at Tom I guess he must be somewhere in his eighties at least.
“How long since you lost her?” I ask looking about. The kitchen is simple and compact with clear work surfaces and plain white cupboards. A single plate and glass are drying next to the sink and a small vase of tulips sits on the window ledge which looks out onto the garden.
“Oh nearly eight years now.” He looks out of the window as he drops three tea bags into a pot on a tray with two white china cups. “One for each of us and one for the pot” he says smiling. Steam begins to drift lazily from the kettle spout. “You’d have liked her.” He fetches a half pint of milk from the fridge, “Everyone around here did. Not a person she wouldn’t help if she could.”
For a while he says nothing more, concentrating on the tea. He pours the boiling water into the pot and gives it a stir before bringing it over to the table and setting it down.
“Do you take sugar?” he asks.
I shake my head even though I normally take two. I don’t want him to have to do anything else. He moves so slowly as if distracted, yet each action is so purposeful. I wonder if this is the pattern of his days. A quiet private existence filled with the routines developed over a lifetime which are now all that is left.
Waiting for the tea to brew he remembers that he has not yet asked my name and apologises.
“Oh you have the same name as my father” he says when I tell him and his hand shakes as he pours the tea, the china cup clinking as he lifts it from the tray and offers it. I accept with a thank you and add milk. Just a little.
“So do you have any children?” I ask. I don’t like the idea of him being alone all of the time, dragging that trolley to town once a week and then straight back home.
“No, it never happened for us. it was just the two of us. We would have liked a family but I guess it just wasn’t to be.”
I take a sip and add a little more milk.
“Looks like the rain’s stopping” he says and asks if I want a biscuit, reaching for the grinning bear.
“No I’m fine thank you” I reply as he takes a KitKat from the jar and slowly opens it.
“Kathy loved a KitKat, always used to hide them from me. I knew her hiding places mind, just pretended I didn’t.”
A distant single chime of a church bell tells me it’s half past six. I check my watch to confirm. I could actually probably still make it if I set off now, I might be a few minutes late but nothing major.
“Do you need to get going?” Tom asks taking a bite of his KitKat. “It’s okay if you do, I am just so grateful for your help. Not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped to help me.”
I check my watch again and then pull my shirt cuff over it and reach for the biscuits.
“Maybe I will have one after all” I say lifting the lid on the bear barrel. “And then I’ll help you put that shopping away shall I.”
We set the night ablaze, the shadows
scuttled as infernos burned
and in your arms, soft thighs, sweet sighs
a dance of life lived to the full.
We set the night ablaze, the shadows
scuttled as infernos burned
and in your arms, soft thighs, sweet sighs
a dance of life lived to the full.
Not ever did I all those nights
wonder would we ever be
a thing not this, not all consumed
a violent tempest, blissful still.
And to this day, this hour, this now
this very moment still we rage
and burn, sheets scorched and satisfied
and tender smiles such tales do tell…
These scars u bare etched on your skin
While smiles spread sweet across your face
Soft sighs, clenched fists, eyes red like dawn
love’s vows, now bitter on your lips.
Each broken promise, empty words
Ring in your ears quite deafening
And into darkness breathless screams
As tempest black consumes your voice.
Back bent, weighed down you claw and stretch
Cold fingers, dragging from your mire
Face to the sun, new dawn, new day
Slowly emerging free once more
At this point I remember why I wanted to work in an office. I’ve never been any good with my hands, unless you count typing, which most people don’t.
It was raining the day I met old Tom, my light summer coat proving completely inadequate against the violent deluge that fell from the dark November sky.
“Did you not check the forecast?” Joanne asked me as I stood huddled in the office doorway as she locked up. I started to answer but the question was more an admonishment that an actual interest in my ability to plan for meteorological eventualities. She didn’t wait to find out though and scurried under the shop awning of the bakery next door and lit up a cigarette.
“Those things will kill you” I told her trying to be funny. Her withering glance told me I had been anything but.
“See you tomorrow then.” I shouted.
She nodded and waved as she took a long drag on the cigarette, the embers lighting up the sharp features of her mostly unremarkable face.
Waving back I turned as the rain cut through the pall of silver smoke and pulling my coat around me as best as I could headed off to catch the bus.
The number 45 runs just a few minutes from my place and If I hurry I’m thinking I might catch the Five-twenty which means I will be home before six and at the pub by seven.
Not wanting to get my good work shoes too wet I avoid the puddles as best as I can and trying to stay under cover I head past rows of unremarkable shops all closing for the night. Lights blink out and shutters rumble closed as people, seemingly as grey as the sky above, head home after another day not wholly different to the day before and likely quite similar to tomorrow.
The place has certainly seen better times I think to myself, and that’s when I saw him.
He had the posture that only age can bring, hunched over an old blue shopping cart and the rain cascadied onto his flat cap and spilled down his long brown coat.
“You alright mate?” I ask him checking my watch. I’d normally not bother asking but somethign about him said he needed help. And if everythign is okay there’s still time to get the five-twenty.
He looks up slowly, his face long and gaunt with thin lips and deep set dark eyes.
“Bloody wheel’s come off” he says pointing a long bony finger at the right side of the trolley, which I can now see is sitting quite lopsided. “Typical when I’ve just bought my week’s shop.” He shakes his head and fumbles with the wheel.
I tell him I’ll take a look if he wants and he nods appreciatively. “My eyes aren’t great, thanks” he says.
At this point I remember why I wanted to work in an office. I’ve never been any good with my hands, unless you count typing, which most people don’t. That said even with my limited knowledge I do know though that it looks knackered and tell him so.
“Oh that’s no good” he says shaking his head and he asks me if I think he needs a new one.
“What do I know” I think to myself and check my watch. If I don’t leave now It’ll be gone eight before I get to the pub.
I nod and scratch my chin as if I’m suddenly a shopping trolley mechanic. “Do you need a hand with it? Are you going far?”
“Oh yes please” he says, his face brightening. “Are you sure?”
I shake my head and tell him it’s not a problem really and he smiles. “Not too far” he says, “it will only take ten minutes.”
As seasons turn and memories fadeonce vivid, love like mist gives wayto vistas new and fresh caresswhere once we lay in summer sun.
As seasons turn and memories fade
once vivid, love like mist gives way
to vistas new and fresh caress
where once we lay in summer sun.
Those vows, heartfelt, made evermore
so easily spilled from our lips
where kisses soft and sighs so sweet
such promises we swear to keep.
Such declarations sworn that I would be the first,
and last thought every day
and undertakings to not fail
loves lustre binding tarnished truths.
Through tests and trials and seperation
Face lined, time urges to recall
Let slip for blurred my recollection
will you, like me, forget at last…
Where once we lay
Do your think of me those days
Where dark thoughts senses suffocate
That joy I watched drain from your face
As life and lies cruel whispers told
Fools promises and could have beens
I could not keep them from your door
Arms wide you beckoned them inside
Smiles melancholy, sickly sweet
Coarse noose of lies, soft velvet hopes
Blinded, stumbling, on and on
And to this end inevitable
But now alone where once we lay
it’s somethign I guess…well actually not really…meh…
It seems that there are those that will, and I think it’s a farce,
but people (per the internet) do hide things in their arse.
I’m told (though not seen it myself for I share my PC
with kids) so cant research it but if I did I would see
Ripe marrows place in darkest holes, and veges by the barrow
inserted, lubed and with great force, pushed into bottoms narrow.
Digits, midgets, varied widgets placed where sun shines not
a friend of mine vanished a vase when on it she did squat.
This bloke from Scotland, cavernous, spread wide, bent to receive
the contents of Old Nick’s full sack when drunk on Christmas eve.
And I did read a tale of woe of one lad who took pleasure
dressed as a pirate placed gold coins inside like hidden treasure.
A story told of one young chap one night when feeling fruity
filed down a tooth bruch, electric type, to place inside his booty.
But not outdone a lass invited several chaps to sample
her gaping hole but it turned out that just the two were ample…
Things stuck inside, spread open wide, or isides falling out
each to their own, and when at home, I really have no doubt
that there are those who cant recall, have lost things, or forgotten
I might suggest they might just be lodged inside your bottom.
Seems I wrote one…
You can read about the WHY here…but it’s out there. 300 of my finest limericks. Currently trending at number 359 in the limericks category on Amazon!
After a few people have read it I am probably about ready to admit I am kinda proud of it now. 🙂
Paperback in the UK is here
And in the US here
There are ebook versions too.
Mostly just rhymey lines of stuff
If time will tell of darkest deeds
Succumbed to burning wants and needs
And how for love she gladly bleeds
Hunger unfulfilled she feeds.
And in those moments laid quite bare
She spirals skywards through the air
And soars like morning clouds most fair
Unbridled without thought or care.
Lips blood red and wild unleashed
A lovers tale between the sheets
Where love and lust at crossroads meets
To bliss succumb and love most sweet
These battles played out on the streets….
These battles played out on the streets
For heart and soul, beneath the sheets
And words they spill, lips full of rage
And like blood spill onto the page.
Our what might be
And blinded, clambering to see
The path not taken, setting free
And time will tell, and roads will wind
As shrouded pasts are left behind
That what could be
Those sweetest of tomorrow’s
Like stars beyond my reach …
Like stars beyond my reach those thoughts of you
slip through my fingers to my feet
head bowed faintest recollections blown like sand
I’m left here on this precipice.
Here in the darkness looking out
and fire burns on horizon distant
blood red, golden on my face
One last time wind whispers your name
One of these?
At night he whispers sweet reminders
of how it felt, quite swept along.
Returning tides compelled, jump in,
strong currents have their way.
And beaches red at sunset burn
as she returns to land once more
and on her lips his promise lingers
salt stained on her skin.
Until tides turn and whispers fade,
sepia tinged her longing rests
and deep she sighs, sea at her back
and smiling turns away.
You’re gone, and then you’re back again You’re back, and then you’re gone Reduce your words by lacking pen The hourglass you fractured then But swirling grains of you, I’ve seen before, they never linger long You’re smiling, and then you frown You’re laughing, then you cry Reduce your presence and your sound I search […]
Read it damn it. Read all of his stuff!
Just a few libnes…I’m off to bed.
Should I ever turn and find you gone
and memories are all I have
then each as treasure I would hold
each precious as the next.
Each sweet caress and gentle word
heart racing at your touch
and incomplete I recollect
each morning by your side.
For time and tide may senses dull
diminished may I be
you shine as bright as summer sun
and home is where I find you still.
This is one I did for linda that I will not post here but please go see her and follow her because she is fab. Do it!
Okay so perhaps a work in progress title but it got your attention I am sure. Just in one of those moods 🙂 Sorry. Kinda.
Were I at last to recognise the thing that we became
The thorny, bristling, spite filled rage
That spews from me onto the page
And like so many through the age,
At last I give it name.
My not again, my what the fuck, my who the hell was I
Quite compromised, unrecognised
And like those fools, philosophised
That I was there, just drowned by lies
And watched as life passed by.
And then, unshackled, this my thought
Regret no more, not turning back
And craving not the things I lack
now place your lips upon my sack
And kiss them like you ought.
One I wrote for linda…
Come on, were all a bit too serious sometimes
In sleep I kiss your lips now cold
and miss the hand I used to hold
but god you made me feel so old
I’m kind of glad you’re dead
Heart’s drift apart when rent asunder
but can you blame you blame me there’s no wonder
from day one it was quite a blunder
should have listened to what friends said.
Mouth full of lies and legs oft parted
and that time you shit when farted
Inside I smiled when you were carted
to final slumber’s bed.
On and on such endless droning
pretty mouth but so much moaning
okay so I quite liked you groaning
when you were giving head.
But time moves on and people change
yeah yeah I know I may be strange
but jesus you were most deranged
and filled us all with dread.
So fare thee well, you did expire
now consumed with roaring fire
toast marshmellow on funeral pyre
I’m glad you’re gone, ’nuff said.
Though chasms divide
Hearts long, sweet caress do crave
Such needs unfulfilled