My favourites were Enid Blyton. I began listening to The Noddy stories when I was very young. Big Ears Browning was my favourite character; hence I never forgot his name. The car was brilliant too and I loved the colours in the pictures. They were full of their adventures.
It was the beginning of a creative mind that yearned for more. I am eternally grateful for the love my parents gave to me in those wonderful years of my childhood.
Progressing along a few years I became aware of the parcels arriving from England. I can still relive the joyful feelings that filled me on realizing that once again, they contained more books, more Enid Blyton.
The Famous Five had arrived. This was a totally new life. Real live characters, adventures beyond my wildness dreams. There were names to be remembered through out my life and in my games with my friends, stories to be copied.
My parents gave me an excellent beginning, usually stopping a story at the end of a chapter. This was always the place where I wanted more. I have continued this practise during my life with different situations.
Bedtime Stories have now grown up. Currently I am reading “An Unsung Hero” by Michael Smith. It is the life story of Tom Crean Antarctic Survivor. It’s unlikely I will imitate any of his heroic endeavours, but I appreciate a good read at bedtime and am still fascinated by adventure.
Sarah was utterly shocked by the transformation in the field. Gone were the silver lichen covered black thorn trees that had dotted themselves along the top of the small field. They had formed a misty veil along the ditch that skirted “The Fairy Ring”. Now they were missing. All chopped down and pooled into the centre of the field along with all the remnants of the ditches now broken and cracked. It was a sad sight.
Sarah wondered how the Fairies, who lived in The Fairy Fort, overlooking this field, would react to this carnage. She walked up the short incline and under the silver stone placed her gift, 3 silver shillings.
It was cold at 4am on Christmas morning. Sarah got up and put another blanket on her bed. It seemed unusually bright outside and she was drawn to take a peep through the curtains. She blinked in surprise because what she saw outside, falling heavily, looked silver not white. The garden sparkled. In the centre of a clearing a cluster of lights shone. Forgetting the temporary cold Sarah rushed down the stairs. Below in the living room all the Christmas lights twinkled.
She cautiously opened the front door and stepped outside. Her bare feet crunched on the silver. Her whole garden was covered in shillings. But it would take all morning to gather them. That was if she had no assistance.
Sarah had seen The Fairies once before when she was a child. She had waited until now for their second coming.
Christmas morning produced a watery sun which streaked across the living room floor giving a green light to the faded carpet. Sarah’s Christmas stocking contained a gift wrapped in silver paper with a red bow.
Her laughter could be heard outside by the birds that picked at the loose nuts she had placed on the ground for them.
She fitted on the pair snugly over her ears. They were perfect. Clear eyesight at last. Santa had brought her a pair of glasses.
******************************************** LULLABY TO TILLY
My favourites were Enid Blyton. I began listening to The Noddy stories when I was very young. Big Ears Browning was my favourite character; hence I never forgot his name. The car was brilliant too and I loved the colours in the pictures. They were full of their adventures.
It was the beginning of a creative mind that yearned for more. I am eternally grateful for the love my parents gave to me in those wonderful years of my childhood.
Progressing along a few years I became aware of the parcels arriving from England. I can still relive the joyful feelings that filled me on realizing that once again, they contained more books, more Enid Blyton.
The Famous Five had arrived. This was a totally new life. Real live characters, adventures beyond my wildness dreams. There were names to be remembered through out my life and in my games with my friends, stories to be copied.
My parents gave me an excellent beginning, usually stopping a story at the end of a chapter. This was always the place where I wanted more. I have continued this practise during my life with different situations.
Bedtime Stories have now grown up. Currently I am reading “An Unsung Hero” by Michael Smith. It is the life story of Tom Crean Antarctic Survivor. It’s unlikely I will imitate any of his heroic endeavours, but I appreciate a good read at bedtime and am still fascinated by adventure.
He’s living for the bottle” Called the neighbour Joe Five a side football Dancers that touch toe Love lies bleeding flowers Salty sardines on toast Marmalade and tea Pretending to be host. “He’ll never be the same again” Now she’s got the collar His shirt is clean His trousers gleam She’s spending all the dollar STILL TAKING TABLETS His only vice was Poker He lived inside a hill Ditched the God Forsaken For the promise of a pill. Bellied up he strolled along White and wormy but never wrong Some say he was a sinner Others a downright rake But the night he ate my dinner I took him for a saint I don’t know if he measured up Or down the old boreen Or even if he tumbled On the easy way to Scream All I know is when he went His pockets were all full Of easy days and earth wise ways And pictures that were never dull.
It’s a line In the sky White and emptying into light Black night One star Leaving Headlights Leading cars Work waits A day ahead Wonder calls I beckon To a new stranger Golden metallic Fired with idealik Turn over Red Rover dreamer
Ignore the Daisies Drink down river Offer penance To someone unknown A tourist Maybe it’s Christmas Next year I’ll travel Neverland to Far Better to stay Close To bundles Of joy Spread outward Trollop of the Universe
I’m a bundle of energy How come I get up in the morning Drive my car Listen to radio. It’s not that I don’t believe, Have faith in The Laws of Success, But it’s hard to see A half moon When even it’s dark side Shines a dull call, Or warning. I take myself to work On a starlit time Before dawn
I am in Autumn Overflowing with Breezes branches Grass blades yielding Shadows strong From evening sun Shine slanted Days done work And Sunday slippers Relaxed sprawled Outside the flapping clothes Line over the hedge Of Blue Hydrangea Home Sweet housed swallows On twirping wires White breasts facing west To catch the last rays Of yet another days close.SHE SEEKS HIM OUT The garden paraded Curves rare Palate black Shadows long Formed brush strokes for the artist Who, dressed in white Painted only colour. Black cat mourning Danced speckled Through drenched flowers After mist heavy days Of laden summer. “Come into the garden Maude” Played through open glass Door way to secrets She never would tell Model of sunshine Closed bosom of mid-day. AFTER What has yet to be learned Pull back when taken by signs Of a bad day approaching. Ruts are easily addictive Recognise then with wisdom Taken from a tree. See the lights but not at the end of a tunnel It’s too far away. Break bread not windy gaps Of memories and take head of senses They bring one home To feelings. Ignore negative advice But listen Maybe that person Has something else to say. Flourish your writings It shows a creative hand And inside is the gift of true Art. Be bold Take cover when under fire And save judgement, trust compassion They are opposites but one leads to the other. Bring an orchid to your teacher Yourself and life’s experiences Have brought you to NOW. Don’t listen to drivel its too long And life’s too short.15 SECONDS LATER Lazarus had not only scribbled on the wall but had upturned the sugar bowl on my mother’s new carpet. I just wanted to catch his biro and either stick it up his nose or shove it in one of his ears and out the other. His mother’s response to him was; “Ah now Lazarus.” During the subsequent dinner party, in which Lazarus made mountains from his potato cakes and gobbled the trifle, I got my chance. Clearing my throat, my voice clear I said. “When are Lazarus and his mummy going home?” My mother gobsmacked replied, “They return to Egypt next week.” I answered, “No, I mean when are they going out that door?” I was four and he was five, a long time ago that was. Since then Lazarus has grown up. Looking at him now it seems like only fifteen seconds ago he first kissed me.FIFTEEN SECONDS LATER Fifteen seconds later the huge mountain exploded. I pulled the trigger and there was darkness, total darkness except for the moon white light in the sky. Barcelona 2009. A huge crowd applauded. The concert was over, no more encores. It was time to leave. Those devoted fans had to collect their wraps and leave the stadium. I turned to Lazarus who reinstated the lighting. He was the only one I had told about my dismissal. It was unfair he had said. But that was no help to the feelings of self reproach I had now and failure. It was not my fault the accident had happened but I was the one the blame had been pinned on, and all because I had slept with the lead singer. I despised that man now for his lack of courage. His courdise as a man appalled me. Was it only fifteen months ago I had begun my contract? It seemed longer. A hell of a lot had happened and now my walking papers awaited me in Birios dressing room. If I could freeze a moment it would have been the moment we met. I was not gobsmacked like other girls, no I was dismissive and that was the pull. He then wanted me so badly. It must have been the only time he got down on his knees, the night he begged me to sleep with him. “Frozen moments are lost in time but never forgotten in memory.” Does he not remember that those were my words, now incorporated into the song that made it to number one for fifteen weeks? If only I had proof. Lazarus kicked his heels. He was small in stature and maybe I had never noticed him before beyond him being a mate. Fifteen seconds later he kissed me. It was very nice. And that’s where our story began. DISCLOSURE Isolda broke a promise Of love Rich or poor Standing beside his bed Was easy Until confronted With fear She stole away And turned to friends Backed by promises They did not keep. Now acing Waiting With wonder less eyes She drifts in disguise Disclosure.
In a café Cold coffee Drowning, drizzly Tears. He left her Long ago. Haunting friends Proclaim her deeds Of do-good. Faltering she sits below a cloud. Its Christmas Eve Every day alone.
What is happening Inside a heart That’s cross With temper Exploding Wildly, freely In a chariot Or carriage.
Safe journey On broken wings Where a bird Flew so high It caught The morning Light of angels Dust Tomorrow Only Heaven knows.
