Tag: death

The place where silence had a voice

Another from the drafts that I continue to clear out…

Here’s another from my drafts. This one is apparently from October 2019. I don’t remember it at all really. It was one of M’s prompts that I never quite finished (obviosly right). I liked the beginning but never really planned it out, and the end is a bit of a cop out. It’s hardly an original idea, I think it was just s stream of consciousness kind of thing. Oh well, it’s something I guess.  Meh. *Presses ‘Publish’.

________________________

With what should have been his hands, Walter quite unsuccessfully reached for what ought to have been his head and found nothing.

After further exploration he quickly determined that neither his head, nor his hands were in the general vicinity of where one would expect to find them. In fact, without too much effort at all he was able to ascertain that he seemed to be missing rather a lot of assorted appendages and parts. And by a lot, he meant precisely everything.

His leg bone was not connected to his foot bone. And his neck bone was not connected to his back bone. In fact, none of his bones seemed to be connected to any other of his bones in any sort of way that would allow him to sing the song with the measure of confidence he was pretty certain he would have been able to earlier that morning.

In addition, and to compound his growing consternation, Walter also noted that he couldn’t see anything.  Not his non existent hands, or his curiously absent feet. Nor any of his other absent body parts.  Whether it was a deficiency of eyes that was causing the lack of everything else, or whether he indeed possessed eyes but there was simply nothing for them to see he could not tell, and the whole thing really left him feeling rather unwell.

“What the devil is going on?” He said mustering as best a sense of authority as he could, calling upon all he had learned during a two day seminar on ‘Meaningful Management’ in Brighton more years ago now than he could quite recall.  “Is anybody there?  Hello. HELLO!”

“Oh, good day,” replied a voice in the darkness. “I wasn’t expecting anybody, I am sorry.”  The voice was warm and calm, not quite a man’s or a woman’s, just somewhere comfortingly in-between the two.  “Did you have an appointment?”

“Appointment?” Replied Walter, confused. 

“Yes, an appointment, everyone who comes here tends to have an appointment,” replied the voice. “However would we maintain order if we didn’t have appointments.  It would be chaos and that really would not do.  No, it would not do one jot.”

As far as he was aware, Walter didn’t have an appointment and he confirmed as much. He knew he needed to be somewhere, though doubted it was here. It was far more likely he needed to pop to the shops for milk or tea bags. That said, it was was all a little fuzzy and he couldn’t be absolutely certain.

Walter noted that he couldn’t feel his tongue or lips, and that made him wonder how he was managing to speak.

“It’s your consciousness” said the voice.

“What is?”

“You were wondering about where the words were coming from weren’t you.”

Walter managed little more than a mumble in response. 

“I…well you see it is just that….” Walter’s voice trailed away and once more only darkness remained as he waited.

And Waited.

“Ahem,” Walter coughed politely.

“Oh yes yes, so sorry, now about that appointment.  You say you don’t have one right?  Most unusual I must say.”

“Sorry no, I don’t really know what is going on to be honest with you.”

“Best policy that” Replied the voice enthusiastically, “Can’t go wrong with a bit of honesty.  Now let’s clear up this appointment business shall we.”

Walter would have shuffled on the spot had there been a spot to shuffle on. Or feet to shuffle.

“Yes, there’s definitely no appointment.” The voice said. “The book is never wrong and there is nobody due for another one point eight seconds.”

Walter mouthed a silent nothing. He would very much have liked to have something constructive to say, anything, but he had precisely nothing. 

“Well,” continued the voice, “this really is a pickle isn’t it. What are we going to do with you. It’s not like we can just send you back now, is it.” 

It wasn’t as much a question as a statement, Walter thought. 

“Are you sure?” He mustered. “I am pretty sure there is somewhere that I need to be.”

“Oh no, no chance of that. You’re here now. We can’t just stuff you back in now can we. Whatever would those upstairs say if we just went stuffing things where they ought not to be stuffed. It would be chaos. No, no, you’re here now.” 

“You can’t?” Said Walter, remembering where it was that he was supposed to be. “I was supposed to have a job interview this afternoon. In Wimbledon.  Could you maybe not just drop me off there?”

Whether he was being ignored, or the voice had drifted off somewhere to do whatever it is disembodied voices do when people don’t have appointments, Walter did not know, but for what seemed an immeasurable length of time, he waited. And paced. In as much as you can pace without anywhere to pace to or anything to pace with. 

“Good news,” came the voice in the darkness. “We have an opening. I had a word with the boys in lost property and we think we have something that might fit. “It’s not exactly your size but should do the trick.”

Walter did an about turn and then faced back to where he had been originally. “What do you mean by ‘fit’, he asked. “I need to be in Wimbledon. I have an interview. I really cannot be late.”

“Oh no, terribly sorry, but you won’t be going to Wimbledon,” the voice said. “That ship has sailed. Afraid you’re just going to have to settle for whatever we have. Clerical cock up I’m afraid.”

“Sailed? You mean I missed it?” Walter asked. “But it had wonderful benefits and a parking space and….”

“Just step back a little will you,” said the voice. 

Without thinking, Walter shuffled backwards.

“That’s it, just there. Now hold still.”

“But I…now listen here, what do you mean by cock up,” Walter protested, “I want to speak to someone in charge. I have right s you know. This is all very…”

Walter never finished explaining what exactly it was, and he never got to speak to whoever was in charge. The quiet darkness was replaced by a roaring gush of sound and there was an ear piercing scream. All about him he felt a warm wetness, and his chest was tight as his lungs burned.

“Just a little more,” came a voice as the darkness gave way to soft warm light. It was a woman’s voice. “Her head is nearly out…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Great Field

words. mostly…

I remember it quite clearly

Pale sun painting frosted fields

And you at peace, to sadness yields

So many, loved so dearly

…

Butterscotch sweets in kilner jars

Full house, late nights, your Sunday roast

Full ashtrays I recall the most

What was, now framed like painted flowers

…

And years go by, the memories stronger

Each twisted branch still skyward growing

The things you handed down not knowing

That they would linger, loving, longer

…

And so the sequels spring to life

A library of stories new

And every one because of you

Mother, grandma, sister, wife

When time runs short

words. mostly…

When silver threads creak with first frost

And summer thought in mists are lost

I wonder if you’ll count the cost

Or blindly hide from reason

When nights bleed into shortened days

And stars no longer light your way

So willingly you choose to stray

and blindly protest treason

No one to watch, no one to keep

Your candle burning while you sleep

And memories sink into the deep

Lost in the cold, dark freezing

Your stories ink washed from the page

And meekly without pain or rage

The curtain falls on empty stage

At closing of your season

Forever

Dirty. But if you read it out loud in a posh english voice it could almost be poetic I guess…

What once were endless summer days, and tender nights not counted

Sweetest whispers, love unbridled, days drift by embraced

And 69 more ways your soft pink flesh was nightly mounted

And your skin glowed with the blush of love’s seed spilled upon your face

The heart quickened, loins wet, thickened, hair pulled, lost souls intertwined

Gimp mask, red room, 12 inch pseudo love meat, I am yours and you are mine.

So spent, we lay in sheets soiled with the remnants of our love

we fit like trains into a tunnel, like large hand into small glove

And when no lube can dampen, when blue pills can not revive

Will we shuffle from this mortal coil, our passions still alive

Somewhere far beyond these night time stars that we once watched together,

Shall our memories drift slowly into inky black forever

________________________

Oh come on, it’s saturday, why not do something a little different.

The first 2 lines and the last two are kind of sweet I think.

Happy weekend you cheeky monkeys!

Passing

All a bit rhymey but meh, it’ll do

He watches from his window, rain like tears runs down it’s face

Petals fall as summer fades, once golden face now stark and bare

To this cold earth, beneath the sun, they seep into the earth

Beauty lost, like memories, life’s end to once bright birth

From green to gold and amber his life turns with passing seasons

All alone, he waits for something lost, his mind forgets the reasons

Of what was and is no more, faces blur as time slips by

And in a blink like flowers turn to dust, and skies do cry

They mourn for him, the things he once held dear, like him are lost

Like petals, cold, beneath the earth, embraced by winter’s frost

He slips away and fades from thought like breath in winter’s air

When flowers bloom once more nobody knows he is not there.

Stars

A kinda poem thingy but not about anything wholly inappropriate

I made for you a garden

From the stars I stole from cloudless skies

And deep within earth’s warm embrace

Sprung forth as tears streamed down your face

And quiet you sat in this place

And waited patiently

Each passing day under the skies

With hope, new shoots turned into bloom

And brightly shine when sunset falls

Until the light like beacon calls

These shards of nightfall, heart enthrals

From shadows setting free

And with the seasons turning, living

Pass full circle, gold to green

Hearts warmed by light unwavering

And beauty bright, sweet savouring

Sweet tears of heaven favouring

Forever comforts thee

Each day

Think this could have been better but I need to get the eldest out of bed and go to the tip…Happy Monday!

I tore the pages from the book

that holds the story of our lives

of darker times that might have been

and in their place I wrote these words

my promises to you.

Not to forget each day to live

and love and laugh and treasures mine

to hold most dear and know their worth

and thanks with grateful heart I give

all that I have to you.

When sunset paints with flames of red

the words we wrote on pristine page

We loved though time will pass us by

as stories gather dust upon

life’s shelf where now we lay.

Time and time again, no more

Words and more words and more words still…

Silver wisps of memories

The things that once so brightly shone

Now gone but one alone remains

Which fight the pull of time, refrains

From slipping through soft fingers

Clasped in prayer, in silence lingers

On that vision of her beauty, sweet

Her countenance so kind and meek

And one last time her forehead kisses

Always misses all they were and sunset burns

Like furnace flames

He smiles

And says goodbye

June

Words and more words and more words still…

Time steals the sweetest memories

Those moments where we wished that she’d

Halt in her tracks and carve emotions into stone

Forever monuments to love

Where, in later days we’d celebrate

That which was and now still is

But cruel she marches unrelenting

And halo slips, becomes a noose around the neck

As envy’s eye looks greedily on summers long ago

These barren lands, unfertile soil where only sadness grow

And dreams they whither on the vine as winter steals

The very breath that spoke you name

These lips once red now bare the pale of death’s caress

Eyes closed I fall to his embrace

and beg he take these memories

And cast them into the abyss

These poisoned gifts

Not sure what I was going for here. I started something, inspired by a song, then painted the bathroom so lost my train of thought…

In the dark stripped bare and cold

Drowning in things handed down

These rags, the curses, bloodied lips

Sins of the father, chains that bind

And shadows in the doorway watch.

Each blow, each bruise and words that cut

far deeper into sun bleached bone

than sharpened blade could ever do.

Dark lullaby and icy kiss goodnight

The hooded shame chokes, burns and blinds

But from outside wide smiles deceive

And shackled, shuffle silent by

Sunset

Words and more words and more words still…

Memories in monochrome, sweet youth now seems so far away

and slowly memories ebb and flow, sandcastles crumbling in the tide

And walls fall down she cannot hide

Heart’s windows closed, doors locked, inside

She waits, so frail, her mind to long lost days does stray

Remembering, those rainbow days

Grey swept away, bright lights so shine

And lovers limbs do sweet entwine

Once more taste embrace divine

And hand in hand he finds her there in summer’s perfumed haze.

And so he leads her, barefoot, laughing, youth restored

Down paths familiar painted through the years

In love and joy, devoid of fears

And through the door, there no more tears

At last she rests, home, much loved and adored