Untitled…

Royal CourtsThey walked slowly out of the building; through its long shadows, down the stark white steps and into the sunshine. It was only then he realised how chilled the stone had been, and how muffled the sound as it’d bounced around the cavernous architecture.

He glanced up at the arch as they came out under it. The building seemed to glow in the sunshine. The sky a blue back-drop. In any other circumstance, he may have paused to appreciate it more.

He was suddenly aware of a group of people clustering around the family who had come out just ahead of them. Men with cameras, a woman holding a microphone. Press.

He guided Geena in the opposite direction, and closer to him, thankful that the family had come out before him..and that they were not interested in them. In the grand scheme of things – they were small fry.

He glanced at Genna as they crossed over the Strand and made their way down Arundel Street, towards Temple Tube Station. Her shoulders shook under his hand every so often as she took another gulp of breath. They hadn’t said a word to each other for hours.

But, what do you say?

His attention was caught by a young black man standing outside a coffee shop. He wore a long black robe that fell to just above his ankles. He was holding a white wig under one arm; his other hand held a thin cigar, which he drew on every so often before it collaborated in making another point to his companion. 

He realised that it was the smell of the cigar that had caught his attention. It took him back to the last time he’d smoked one, thirty odd years ago, when his son had just been born.

With two girls already, he’d really wanted a son. He’d have been happy with either, of course. But, he’d secretly wanted a son. So when he’d arrived at the delivery room, and the nurse presented him with a wriggling bundle in a pink blanket, he was slightly dismayed.

Geena laughed at him. She’d looked blotchy and knakered. Her gown was in disarray, and the top of her breasts were streaked with blood. She was beautiful. 

And then he realised, as the nurse, half smiling too, opened up the blanket.

“We ran out of blue ones today,” She’d said, apologetically. 

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Poem: Dorset

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White horses met us on the shore.
We; wind whipped and wide eyed,
Braced to meet their thundering gait.
Not the romantic amble I’d hoped;
The jutting Jurassic coastline stole my gaze,
The violent air took your words away.
And although your hand clutched mine,
Your wonder was at the force of nature,
Which pushed us together
Like a majestic match-maker.

A First…

Blue butterflyDry umbrella, sniff of summer,
An invasion of butterflies.
The strangest feeling
Planning a meeting
By internet with emoticon smiles.

You were late, our first date.
So, i settle with a glass of wine.
Suppress exclamation,
Quell expectation,
But I text ‘I’m fine’.

I like the buzzing, gentle muzzy
Feel of the trendy gastro bar.
Clinging to my mobile,
I felt a little less solo
Then, looking up, there you are.

Lovely sparkle, like a tickle,
You’re a wait that’s worthwhile.
It’s the nicest feeling,
Knowing we’re meeting
By sunset, with genuine smiles.

The Kit Kat

Kit KatShe tipped the rest of her tea into his lap and stamped out of the busy café. His eyes were as big as saucers.

Jen had bought the Kit Kat and a cuppa with her last pennies. She’d fancied chocolate to go with her peaceful read.

He hadn’t asked if he could sit in front of her, but when he’d opened the wrapper and taken a finger of chocolate, she’d seen red. She’d carefully put her bookmark back in her book and placed it in her bag. She’d then taken the three remaining chocolate fingers and stuffed them in her mouth. Her tea was still hot; she’d scalded the roof of her mouth.

The only problem was, when she got home, she found her Kit Kat at the bottom of her bag.

The Only One

I’ve been following the news story on the shootings in Annecy, in the French Alps.

I picture the four year old who was found 8 hours later, cowering under the bodies of her parents and think, what sort of human being would do that?

Zeena has inspired me to start a short story…

My ears pricked to the sound of distant sirens. Yes, they were coming my way.

I closed my eyes, but could still feel the steady drip of liquid splattering against my left cheek. It ran uncomfortably down the back of my neck, and pooled under my shoulder. I tried to ignore the fact that it was still warm.

The sirens had cut through a thick and disorientating silence. Their oscillating wail stepping in to replace the heartbreaking cacophony that had stopped just a few moments before. It was a moment I wanted to claw back; the lull slipping away like the unchecked tears from my squeezed eyelids.

I couldn’t, block out the grating monotony of sound. Instead of trying to make myself small, encouraging the world to skip past me, my whole being betrayed me by exploding.  It was a while before I realised the new, inhuman scream was coming from my own mouth.

I hope to finish in the next few days or so.

Transform Me

Your fingertips shaped Creation,
And what was good is perfect.
Intentional inspiration;
more than worthy of respect.

Extravagant your bestowing
Light, entity, a deluge of galaxies.
Meticulous Designer, fore-knowing
Scrutiny, query in life’s galleries.

Indulgent Father, I create anarchy
An unintentioned disposition
Still, you relinquish your love to me
Lavishly, at your own volition.

Reshape my miniscule soul?
World wearied, in disproportion
Transform me, mould me whole?
Pure. Like when you shaped Creation.