Lacking

 

 

You told me you had died.

I wasn't there to lick your wounds, 

to soothe the pain, 

to hold you when you cried.

You made it sound ok,

like these things happen every day,

that the colour wasn’t black but grey

that you were sailing forth and not 

wrecked, in pieces scattered on the rocks.

You told me when you would arrive,

And I wasn’t there to meet you

to hold you in my arms and 

say how sorry I am that you died.

You told me you had died.

And I wasn’t there, 

to lighten the load for you to bear.

You told me you had died.

I didn’t make it clear.

I am sorry, 

I care.

Stay Alive

Stay Alive

"Stay alive." she said.

"No matter what, stay alive." she said,

Giving me reasons and reasons and reasons to die.

"Stay alive." she said, "stay alive." 

"What for?" said I, "Why can’t I die?"

"Stay alive." she said, "stay alive."

"Hear the abyss call, but hang on, stay alive."

"I can’t hang on, I'm mid fall", I said, “Mid fall."

"And theres no net to catch me, to trap me, to snatch me out of harms way, that's for sure."

"Stay alive." she said, "Stay alive."

She smiled at me through teary eyes.

"Stay alive." she said, "stay alive."

whispering, last moments.

And then, she died.

And with her all my reasons to even try.

The Beltaine beast

The Beltane beast

Beware the Beltaine Beast, take heed!
For he will ride you hard to meet his needs.
Beware, beware, his power grows,
Your deepest desires he knows, he knows.

I am rutting stag,
I am hungry wolf,
I am rising owl.
I am deepest breath, and first howl.

I change my shape to suit the day,
Sometimes as hunter sometimes as prey.
Standing tall and crouched down low,
Horned one, sharp-tooth, moonlit glow.
Gliding high and on the ground,
nowhere, and yet all around.

That bitter sweet musk scent in the evening trees,
That quiet rustle and..tumble in fallen leaves,
The tendrils of smoke from ancient fires,
That howling as the moon grows higher.

Oh beware, beware the beast indeed
The beast! The beast! The flowing seed!
Beware the howling horned ones prowl
Beware the wolf, the stag the owl!

Grey wolf

The greying beast howls.
His cry splits the night.
Distant longing, like a scent
lingering of something that maybe,
just maybe, once was
more than just a fleet footed thought.

Hunter and prey would run together,
it was foretold.
Hunter and prey would dance,
Paw and feather as one.
But for how long?
And it is done, the dance, is done.

Grey fur shakes off a bitter chill,
no sun to warm these darkened days,
no nest, matted and soaked in constant rain,
no lair in which to find some rest.
The skies, empty, match his tone.
The pack pauses, calls to him,
He answers.
Turns to go, and just before
Looks up hoping he is not alone.

Heathrow Gnomes

Heathrow Gnomes

The first time I heard of the Heathrow gnomes I thought I had misheard. I was sitting on the flight deck of an A320 taxiing towards the take off runway with a set of headphones on when the Captain asked me if I had ever seen a Heathrow Gnome. I shook my head and wondered desperately what he had meant. Had he said “Crows”?
He went on to say that they were often seen at the foot of the orange windsocks which ware dotted around the runways. “He must have meant crows”. I thought to myself. “Or perhaps some other sort of animal”.
Andy the Captain went on to say that they moved around and were spotted in all sorts of random places around the runways doing random things. I was getting very confused and decided to humour him by smiling blankly. “God help us” I thought. “This man is flying the plane today.”
He must have seen the look of “You’re a nutter” on my face because he turned towards the windows and started to studiously peer out as the First Officer took control of the taxiing. Suddenly he gave a shout and I nearly wet myself. I am not used to people shouting on aircraft unless its an emergency. He pointed out towards a windsock. “There’s one!” he said triumphantly. “Over there! Look! Can you see it?”
To my complete and utter disbelief, sure enough, sitting merrily under the windsock was a cheeky little garden gnome.....

A few nice hours in Nice Dec 4th 2013

A few nice hours in Nice


I walked down to the main shopping street towards the Place Massena which sported an upmarket Christmas market. Maybe its the azure blue sky, but I feel I like this place, despite its pretentiousness. The market sells the usual Christmas tat together with pricey cheeses and sausages. I am tempted by a cows cheese with truffles until I spot the price tag of 69 euros a kilo...
They also have an ice-skating rink right next to a large fountain, selling half hour slots for 5 euros With Skates, a bargain clearly, based on the number of people on the ice. I am surprised they are able to keep it cool enough as despite it being December, the temperature is at least 18C.
The beach front is a bit of a let down. The town is clearly taking advantage of the low season to do its improvement works, and the each promenade runs alongside what basically amounts to a building site. I’m sure it’ll be lovely when it is finished but I take the chance to follow the signs to the “Castel”, which morphs into the “Casteau”. It is only once I am much further up the hill enjoying superb views and tranquility that I spot a sign to the “Chateau”. Phew, I was beginning to think my understanding of French was very poor. I notice that a lot of the  roads have two names, a French one and a local one, squares are often “Plassa” rather than “place”. At the top of the mount I find a lovely waterfall complete with a hidden staircase behind it which alas is locked. Perhaps next time I will sneak in, but the water is very cold and the rocks are slippery so I will wait for warmer times.
I walk back down the hill into the maze that is the old town. Beautiful buildings host bijou antique shops and restaurants. Basic meals seem to start around the 20 euro mark, but the setting is formidable.
I also notice a large number of 3 wheel motorbikes. When the first one goes past me I snigger, thinking they look funny with their 2 front wheels, and that the riders clearly don’t have the confidence to ride real motorbikes. But there are lots of them, parked up on the sides of roads next to more normal looking bikes. I wonder what it is about Nice that makes these so popular and whether it is to do with the weather and the aging population who might not be so stable on 2 wheels but can cope with 3. Curious.

The Witch of Savernaky

I was out one day in Savernaky
Hunting there for 'shrooms
When I came across a fair young maid
a-riding on her broom

She smiled at me with her comely face
And said young man take heed
I'm a witchy witch in Savernaky
The last of a dying breed

I've got spells galore, all the charms you desire
I've a potion here I'll pour
With a root that'll set your loins on fire
And a herb so you'll never tire.

We witchy witches of Savernaky
We are such a dying breed
That I need a child and I like your look
I intend to make you my steed

She pushed me down and I fell to the ground
And she jumped upon her steed
And she rode me hard and she rode me well
And I was very pleased indeed.

Now the years gone by
and my babe doth cry
In the heart of the Savernaky
Shes a bright wee babe from the witch in the glade
Shes a little witchy witch baby