Always you – Part 2

The second and final part of this short piece…

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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…

 

 

 

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Saturday.

Now I’m just making stuff up for sh1ts and giggles…

I drank your lies,

Tepid they filled my mouth, trickling down my eager throat.

Such sweet promises and sublime simple surrender.

Idle and bloated I lay like a roadside carcass

swollen by the seering sun, and watched your soft cherry lips.

Eagerly, foolishly, I clung to every word,

each sickly syllable a noose tight around my throat

and sleepwalking I follow, my hand in yours

over coals lit red with flames of broken promises

eyes streaming as acrid tomorrows drift ever skywards

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Friday.

Happy friday people. A day late.

Oh I’d smile and watch you weep

Tears as cold as your heart

Beautiful promise you couldn’t keep

Sickly sweet they dripped from your tongue

How I’d laugh as you tell me why

Acrid lies spilling over your lips

Pooling stagnant at your feet

As I remember his hands, gentle on your hips

Sweet moments soured and stained

And fists clenched, confined to experience

A heart now free once chained

No regrets, no forgiveness. Just nothing.

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Thursday.

A little late….

Alone she stands and silent mourns

Snow whipped about her feet

Dreams buried in a grave of lies

Air foul where once was sweet

And tears streaming down her cheeks

Fists clenched, jaw resolute

A rage inside pushed deep down low

Her screams once wild now mute

The trust now lost the joy departed

Cold earth on loves corpse piled

No rose she lays no prayers she speaks

Wipes her face, then turns, and smiles

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Tuesday.

Tuesday and still going strong…Bit dark though I will be honet. Perhaps tomorrow I will be serious about someone riding a bike. How dark can that get?

On the shore he stands, tempest raging, sky turned black

and defiant screams into the wind

Demands the ocean calm and give her back

and tears demand forgiveness for his sins

 

Atop the waves white horses rear and furious race

headlong, stamped and crash about his feet

and tousled hair is whipped about his sallow face

no surrender, no forgiveness no retreat

 

Nature’s fury taunts and mocks, he hears her calls.

The sun obscured, dark finger pointed, accusations fly

and though he begs she stays within deep prison walls

doomed to repeat and every night to die

 

 

 

 

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Monday.

More serious poems becauise I’m just that kinda guy. No I am really. Honest. Look at my rhyming n stuff.

Mouth full of lies and the soft sigh of thighs,

oblivious he swims in waters deep.

And entangled dragged low by her strong undertow

full red lips, creamy skin, whispered promises keep.

And so blinded, and chided and ever reminded

how she bends to her will and devours

very easy succumbs to the beat of her drums

and he withers with autumnal flowers

and so belly fat, filled, he’s a slave to her will

appetite, ravenous, quenched

too late rails, cold and frail, and her darkness prevails

on the shoreline cold lifeless and drenched

 

 

 

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Sunday

How about a poem to start. A poem can be a frightfully serious thing.

Through golden shards I see her one last time

Summer’s fading light reflected

and slow she turns away.

And ever since each moment tight in chains I’m bound.

Such cruel memories remind me often,

of things that I gladly a king’s ransom would pay,

and to forget.

And then, with sun on my face I look to her and at last,

as love lost fades into bliss I rest.

 

Butterfly

She watches him.

Fists clenched and a mouth filled with silent rage.

Scars long healed ache as he thunders, heart black as ink

boney finger point and stinging lies spew from his mouth

with rancid spite and bile.

 

Flowers long dead cast shadows at the grave of a love long departed.

Another day

another fight

another fist into soft warm flesh.

 

Words vile and dark fall on deaf ears,

and where once they cast wounds deep now

she simply turns and smiles

closing the door one last time.

 

 

 

Whimsy

6 lines of words

Wistful she sits, her heart another’s and lost in fractured thought

to places far and wide she wanders in search of life and love and more

while heavy the bonds of obligation lie and soul so sadly smothered

and then behind her came a tiger and ate her face off and she was dead.


 

Sorry but I just saw the photo and it made me laugh.  I am sure she is meant to be all pensive and comtemplative but really, there is a big frigging tiger behind her and she is a slip of a lass and barefoot so there is no way she will either fight it off or outrun it.

Maybe she’s thinking “Oh bollocks a tiger…” and the tiger is thinking “Hello hello what do we have here you look delicious”.

And why on earth is she wearing that daft dress out in the middle of a forest.  It’s going to get bloody filthy and there’s no way she will get the muck out of it.

Some people…honest.

Wi-Fi Outage

Got teenagers?

Raging, doors slam and knotted stomachs stir

Another day another night another fight

As hormones rage and darkness falls

And once tender caress no longer soothes

There in the dark wet cheeks and heaving chest

All seems so lost and nothing causes smiles to spring

Until selected, renewed and connected

Heart slows, head clears and once more peace returns

 

 

 

After party

Not really sure wtf this is but its something I suppose.

He waits, each day repeated forever hoping

All pressed cotton and fathers aftershave

Crimson wrists match carnation’s hue

And wet cheeks like blood red roses blush

At mere thought yet thought alone can wrench

And heart in chest does twist and writhe

then shrivel scorned and turn to dark

until madness claims him for her own

And with malady and melody sweeps away to cold dark soil

And love young dream fades slowly to black until daybreak once more

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jezebel

sometimes I just start typing words and hope something even half sensible emerges…

A heady mix of dark and light she dances

like gossamer on the breeze and sugar on the tongue

she delights, and in her freedom beckons you to follow

sweet whispers and soft words engage

and head and heart and form then with electric thrill

and without thought of consequence enslaved

to worship and new supplicant is wilful born

and freely takes his place in writhing mass of flesh

 

 

 

 

 

 

For my children

Some deep rambling stuff

My memories will fade one day

my eyes will shine less bright

and into dark I’ll surely slip

but you’ll remain my light

 

The best of me I hope I gave

My smile, my laugh my frown

from good and bad, your path I shaped

you’res the thing’s I’ve handed down

 

Your hand I help, your head I kissed

scraped knee and fever soothed

beside your bed all night I sat

a heart once hard so moved

 

And seasons pass, I watch and smile

you clamber, fight and strive

too quick to run before you walk

eyes bright and so alive

 

Each year that passes I embrace

such change and watch you grow

my hand let go you walk alone

and deep inside I know

 

Too soon my time will surely pass

alone you’ll be but find

your joy and hope and always feel

the love we leave behind

 

 

 

Through his mothers eyes

She watches, he, a picture of his father

beautiful and flawed

forever and always in her heart

protected, loved , adored

She watches, he, a picture of his father

beautiful and flawed

forever and always in her heart

protected, loved , adored

 

A world awaits, alone she prepares

first steps, first words, forehead kissed

hand held, knee scraped tears wiped

he – birthdays, Christmas missed

 

Held tight she wishes a life far more

than she can ever give

love overflows, it’s all she has

to pave his way to live

 

And seasons pass, she watches

he grows, eyes bright, unknowing

not realising what he does not have

the scars hidden, unshowing

 

Such pride she wears on tear worn face

a life surrendered without regret

to see him grow from boy to man

though her heart cannot forget

 

the life now passed her by,  in days

each lived but not her own

freely given yet taken too

by the man he has not known

 

 

 

 

 

Time and time again #writephoto

Sue provides the picture, the rest is up to you!

 

Sue provides the picture, the rest is up to you!


I walked past your window today

with it’s sun bleached glass and flaking paint

memories of fingerprints and noses pressed against it

as seasons passed slowly one into the next

 

Laughter long passed into time remembered like yesterday

Words lost like summers past

but clear as day I hear your voice

closing the window and heading in for tea

 

I stand and wait now as I did then

light filtering through roses wild and untended

a warmth like summer sun

from the heart and hearth within

 

and as I walk away I recall too well

how time has taken its toll

but memories live on where we turn to dust

and in our hearts are carried until sunset

 


https://scvincent.com/2018/01/04/thursday-photo-prompt-window-writephoto/

Dripping with Drudgery

‘Tis the season to be jolly, tralalalalalalalala

Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we.


Slumped against the cold brick of the station wall Darryl pulled the ragged hood of his coat over his head and twisted open the lid of the bottle of white lightning cider gripped between his legs.  It fizzed invitingly as escaped snowflakes danced on the biting breeze and he took a deep drink watching the masses pass by.

“Funny lot aren’t they” he said passing the bottle to a dirty faced, fair haired man sat next to him.

He took a drink and passed the bottle back, yellow fingers taking a cigarette from a crumpled packet.  He pulled from his pocket.  “Fun to watch though” he said struggling to light it, eventually resorting to pulling his jacket over his head to provide protection from the wind.  “So many of them yet all so very alone.”

“Do you think they’ll ever be ready” Darryl asked the fair haired man as the snow started to fall more heavily.

“My Friend” he replied, a fat bottomed girl in a red coat dropping pennies into the cup at his feet.  “Merry Christmas” he shouted as she scurried on her way.

“There are days when I think they are going to get it right but sadly each time they fall so very short.”  He ran a sleeve under his nose and sniffed.  It really was rather cold, next time he would have to ensure he had a warmer placement.

“I think they could be quite great you know” Darryl said taking another drink.  He coughed as he felt it trickle down inside him.

The fair haired man laughed.  “You really do like them don’t you” he said drawing deep on the cigarette.

“Yes I do” Darryl replied.  “They’re fun, creative, passionate, excitable, caring and…”

“And they’re violent and careless and selfish” the fair haired man interrupted.

Darryl sighed.

“I know I know“ he said picking up the cup and tipping out the coppers into his hand.

“How much did we make then” the fair haired man asked finishing the cigarette.

“One pound twenty” Darryl said, sadness etched across his face.

“And there you see my point exactly” the fair haired man said getting to his feet and dusting himself down.  “All we need is a tenner, just a tenner and they’re in” he said sharply.  “But they don’t care mate, not enough.”

Darryl put the change back in the cup and took another drink of the cider.

“I’m going to give it another ten minutes” he said rubbing his hands together against the cold.  “I’m still on the clock and you never know, this could be the day.”

“Good luck” the fair haired man replied, “I will see you back in orbit, I really need a nice cup of tea.”

Thistles and Thorns

The things that hold us back…

Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we.


I’ve a tale I would tell, and it might do you well

To pay heed and perhaps give some thought

To the things that constrain and the things that we blame

And on which were eternally caught

 

They’re the things in our heads, that live under our beds

And that lurk when we wake late at night

Paralysed by the doubt and the voices that shout

they defeat when we just cannot fight

 

Or you think you’re no good and that one day you could

be redeemed if you just do not stray

so you live only just and you hope pray and trust

that divine you’ll be carried away

 

so we stop in our tracks and we always look back

never trying to push on ahead

and were tangled in thorns and our minds they get torn

cant make sense of the thoughts in our heads

 

and you’re lying there scared and your wholly ensnared

to the things you believe are the truth

now perhaps they are not but you’ve sadly forgot

how to look for a sign or some proof

 

Unencumbered you’d find that the world can be kind

and there’s joy to be found and much more

we can live, love and learn and eternity spurn

for there’s hope here and now, life galore