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Always you – Part 2

The second and final part of this short piece…

Part 1 is here

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.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then

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…

Awake

Words…

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

Always you – Part 1

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.”

 

Would you?

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…

 

 

 

Inevitable

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

Things I would not place inside myself – A poem

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My First Book – For those who missed it last time…

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

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1916089011

And in the US here

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1916089011

There are ebook versions too.

 

 

Succumb

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

 

 

Waking

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.

 

My now

Your then

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

 

This evermore

That what could be

Those sweetest of tomorrow’s

Stars

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

Fading

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reduce — constant Variable

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 […]

via Reduce — constant Variable

 

Read it damn it.  Read all of his stuff!

Always you

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Families

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!

https://mainepaperpusher.wordpress.com/2019/04/19/guest-in-jest-93-afterwards/

 


Families

We all have them.  Mostly.  I mean there are those that don’t see them, or don’t particularly care for them.  There are those that have disowned them and live a blissful existence where they are never obliged to try and see them once a year so as to not feel like a complete bastard –  even though a reciprocal visit is as unlikely as is a simple thanks for the present you sent their kids.
Heavens I am sure there are people out there who don’t have to like someone simply because they fell out of their vagina.
Okay so thinking about it I will admit that there are those who have, by fate or choice, simply ended up without any.   But we’ve all had them at some point then.  Let’s settle on that shall we.
Anyway my point was that I wanted to share a tale or two from mine this week.
I have two boys and like to think I’ve done my best and when last week the youngest looked most upset when watching a TV show about cancer patients and how 2 in 4 people will get the disease I thought “yeah, empathy, good qualities.”  Mrs’ Afterwards eyes welled up as we were encouraged to dial in and pledge just £2 to cancer research and she looked over to Aterwards Junior and assured him that it was okay, it was just part of life, but before she was able to assure him further he explained that “fingers crossed it’s you and dad that get it” and not him and his brother..
I see a career in politics or the church for him surely.
There was also an incident at the end of a particularly tricky day with my eldest who, despite being a lovely gentle boy, is prone to outbursts of profanity when I am perhaps a little less understanding of his hormonal situation as I might be.  He is 14 after all.  Anyway, the boys were tucked in bed and I came down from checking on them and Mrs Afterwards insisted that wasn’t it good that he hadn’t once insisted I fuck off this evening.  Straight faced.
To make it worse I actually agreed thinking yeah, I am fucking super dad!
The week though was crowned by a moment of such glorious madness that I believe I will be telling the tale for many a year.
A particular family member came out you see.  After more than four and a half decades a certain someone decided that in fact he was gay and had been fighting it for many years and was ready to admit to it and see where that lead.
More wonderful than this act of self acceptance though was his mother’s response.
She insisted that if that was his choice then he better not use her tooth brush ever again and there was absolutely  no way she would ever again eat any of his leftovers.
I mean what the fuck.
Dissect that as you will.
I mean does she think she will catch something from him using her toothbrush?  To be fair I don’t want to share one with anyone regardless of who they choose to place themselves inside.  Does she think she will catch syphilis if she eats his leftover sausage roll?
Does she think you can catch gay?
She is 75 so maybe she is worried she will eat half of his cheese and pickle sandwich and wake up desperate for a shaven headed tattooed lass to eat her out and then insist she fist her and there’s no way she can, not with her arthritic wrists?!?!
Oh god maybe Freddie Mercury got aids after sharing a family size bag of crisps with some bloke in a night club toilet?
People eh

Kiss my nuts

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.

 

 

 

Chilled

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.