Heirloom

More rambling words…

These memories, like trinkets long discarded, out of reach

And though I search elusive they remain

With faded paint, and gold hue once so bright now dim

Ensnared with such a wonderous pull now seems like pointless whim

You held it in your hand, I think, though cannot be so sure

For memories aren’t always believed

And where I saw it last slips through cold, frail grasping fingers

And names once tripped from sparkling tongue, now only in fog lingers

Instinct pricked, elusive elements of something once so sure

This certainty, now possible or maybe

I search, I know it’s to be found, so close, so very near

This trinket, bauble, well loved toy, that now seems oh so dear

AB

Unforgiven

Rambling words…

He finds her, in that place where dreams ignite

And softly calls her name, lips red from painted ladies

Sweet lies he spins, like stars they light her darkest night

Promises in love entwined and future shining bright

            _

The words, so very well rehearsed, like petals on the floor

To try and lift the chains of true love once betrayed

Played out, it seems, a thousand times before

Heart aches like empty stomach’s of the poor

            _

This here, this now, this evermore, and blinded to his ways

He brings her to his alter of deceit

And pledges sacrifice of heart through endless days

To love, to hold, nor on another gaze

            _

To lift the curse to feel once more complete

And thoughts of her he lost might drift away

A red stained dress, and veil of dark deceit

Where hearts and minds and love’s desires meet

            _

And so she joins the brides parade

Where willingly the pining souls are one

Here words form bonds that aren’t unmade

And so he leads from light to endless shade

            _

Nightly now they lie on sullied beds and rot

Another notch, just one more failed escape

For fate forgives where lovers scorned do not

And he finds a new love, and hers is soon forgot

AB

Go, please, just go

Stick with it…get to the end.

Waiting, like a man at the gallows

I wait and wait, and watch your desperate dance

The chance to leave this place I seek

But this is not my choice, but yours

And time ticks slow as cold seeps in

My coat pulled tight ‘gainst coming night

That perfect refuge still evades

And so you lead me to the dark

On and on, beyond the vale

of day and dusk and all that’s bright

A merry dance, and I must give

My all to follow where I’m sought

I try to fight against the pull

Insisting our time has run out

And beg, please free me from this duty

As slumber calls me slowly home

Just over here, you beckon me

As helpless I can not refuse

This is my lot, my place to be

I beg my dog, please do your poos

AB

Deepest Blue

My weekly dose of drivel

Alone she stands, a beacon, calling loud into the night

And to her warm embrace she beckons, drawing in with love and light,

Her warmth and tender words, they promise rest and fretless sleep

Through crashing waves, and razor rocks they flood into her keep

Her eyes as dark as deepest seas, upon which they once sailed

Her pallid skin, her blood red lips, the cross on which impailed

They pledge their love and service for the promise of life’s rest

And at last find solace in the embrace of her breast

Until the end of days, beneath the waves, they serve the throne

Lost to the world and those they left that toil the sun, alone

And in her wake they trail as slow she gathers for her store

Until their memories have faded, and at last they are no more

AB

Time

My weekly dose of drivel

She slips her hand, soft, into his and tender does suggest

that had she known him years ago then all would now be best

Sweet promises that seek to mend the things that cause such rot

With shallow smile he nods, and lies, for he believes her not

Like knotted roots, the tangled web of thoughts run deep and wide

And in the dark he chooses what she seeks to coldly hide

For these things make us who we are, and stoic he persists

Lives the ruin he will not give up, that blinds like winter’s mists

Queen of the tides

Something a bit different today

She slips beneath the silver spray, and into Neptune’s cold embrace

A tidy pile left in the sand, and not a thing left out of place

The rancid rot of time, well hid, laid bare where lovers hands caress

And in the waves, they tumble, she succumbs to false confess

She counts the life she lived, the lovers lost, and feels the dark

Until his siren beckons, turn away, and to his call she harks

And setting sun lights up the crashing waves like fire’s embers

She looks, forlorn, as hand in hand he leads, but she remembers

But it’s too late, their vows are said, she reigns and rules alone

In inky depths, her seaweed crown on bleached white, flesh stripped bone

Worse things happen at sea

I’m just kidding. Honest.

There’s a saying that runs in our family, coming from fishing stock as I do, and it goes something along the lines of “Worse things happen at sea.”  It’s pretty patronising and somewhat dismissive and gets trotted out most often when you bemoan a situation that the other person couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff about.

“Mom I’ve banged my knee…”

“Oh it’s just a scratch, worse things happen at sea son.”

with me?

 

Thing is there comes a point though when through indifference and old age I am finding it becoming my standard response to even more serious situations and it has me thinking that perhaps things really were quite terrible at sea and granddad was a quiet man not because of all the time he spent out on the water but because of all the awful things that must have befallen him.

Should my kids want sympathy then you know, I want to see a leg dangling limp with bone sticking through the skin because I am pretty sure something worse happened to granddad Tom at sea and it probably involved biting down hard on something and crying for his dead mother.

Should they be feeling a little blue then I find myself resisting a fatherly hug but instead insisting that it is considerably more taxing out on the waves and that they should pull themselves together, pack their bags and stop crying over being put up for adoption because it is just a waste of good tears and they should keep them for the orphanage because they’re going to need them.

I know it may seem harsh but I tell you, they just don’t make them like those salty sea dogs do they.