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Posts Tagged ‘Loss’

The Sea’s waves

Fat

Heavy with the Moon’s oily light

Moon glow seaside Bundoran

Ginger rimmed

Caked in winter’s corona of cloudy night

The town glows too

From above seen

The waves take on the pores

Of skin swept sea

All held firm this

Extra

Given

Night

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There are deep words that sound
Sound throughout the doings of a day
Working, Running, Cooking
Hillwalking
Can cover them for a spell.
But as a bell  clanging
The tension of the sound carries.
So there are words  there
From behind trees
Around buildings
Along byways
And main  roads.
In places where people gather
And are alone
There
On waking

And at the pause before sleep
For me now the deep sound
And the words
Merge into
The sound of your name
And the answering echo

Calling in my heart’s space
Your name before me.

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Imagine you own a dog called Rover, Fido, Barney or something else. One day you are out walking your dog and throw a ball or stick or body part for the mutt to chase and return. Sadly you forget your arm strength and the object lands in the deep undergrowth. Dog runs into said undergrowth in a show of canine fidelity. Cur never returns.

You are heartbroken and confused. What happened to your dog? What happened to your ball, stick or body part? To which there is no answer. You are bereft. How can you replace such a loyal, steadfast, slobber chopped companion?

Simple! With a pie!

dog walker copy

Could This Be The Family Pet Of The Future?

Gingerfightback conducted an opinion poll in a pie shop in east London to find out which pie would make the best pet. Not surprisingly Apple Pie came out top. But savoury pies took most of the top positions! We asked Professor Alfred T. Damp-Patch, Professor of Advanced Cobblers at the University of Salamanca for his views and he told us, “Really? How interesting. I’m allergic to short crust pastry. Where’s the bar?” pie

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spermwithaperm Hi Everyone!

Been a while!

Two Words!

Tight Underpants!

As hot as hell in here while he wore that thong.

Then it all changed yesterday!

Boxers!

Aaaahh the sheer relief of a dangling pair of knackers. (Go the whole hog and make kilts compulsory – let ’em sway fellas!)

Oh well time to get back in the saddle. Giddy Up!

As Tennyson may have written, “Into the Valley of Death, rode the 40 million…….”

Right……Ready Or Not…..Here I Come!

sperm_wiggle

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Shifting over in the bed.
Waking at
My usual time to wake
Minutes before the alarm sounds.
I laugh at the lonely
Silliness,
Of my being pleased
That I can turn on the other lamp with a toe
My left big toe.
It has taken these years
To shift from having
Had
A
‘My side of the bed’
But I navigate around
These various double beds
Painters long since slipped
Still a deep sleeper
But wandering now
From clinging to the
Ribbing at the side
Of a queen-sized mattress
In the company of
Her
Her of splendid isolation
To now
To all the kingdoms
And beyond
As there’s no one there to wake to.
If there were to be
It’d be a pretty pass
To wake a sleeping lover with a big toe in her gob
(Still?
….horses for courses…)
As I swing to turn on their lamp
I can imagine lights being put out for less.

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He re-read the notice in the Obituary column, “…long battle with illness…bravely fought…loving wife, mother and grandmother.” The family asked for donations for the Hospice rather than flowers to be sent.

It was easier to count the lost years in decades. At least five of them. Where had the time and life gone? The wraiths of despair and sadness caused his heart to skip a beat and momentarily he felt his soul slip away from him.

He had loved her. Utterly. But he had never possessed the courage to tell her. Now he had lost her. For good.

“Feint heart never won fair lady.” He hated that saying.

The train manager announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now approaching Doncaster station. Please ensure that you take all your belongings with you. Thank you for traveling with Great Eastern and have a safe onward journey.”

It would be another two hours to home. To the town he had moved to in order to escape the broken heart and confusion he had felt.

Her smell and taste lived in him once more. He put the newspaper down.

Why had she bought it? Did she know?

He studied his hands. Finger joints throbbed with arthritic discomfort but he clenched them tightly into fists. Shards of pain filled his mind, but at least it acted as a distraction.

His wife returned.

“They didn’t have any ham so I got you a chicken salad instead. Is that OK?”

“Fine thanks.”

“You look like you have seen a ghost.” She said.

“Just tired from the trip. Nothing to worry about.”

She searched the carrier bag and tutted.

“I didn’t pick any milk up for the tea. Could you nip back to the buffet car for some?”

“OK.” He lifted himself out of the seat, his replacement hip still stiff and uncomfortable. But he was glad to stretch his legs and move. He threw the grief over his shoulder, sagging slightly under its weight.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Just the milk. It was nice to see your sister.  She’s definitely visiting us Boxing Day and staying for a couple of nights. Anita can meet her at the station.”

She picked the paper up and casually examined the front page, “Anything in the paper?” she asked.

“No. Not really.” He made his way to the buffet car.

She hoped he had read the news. His sister had told her when they were washing up after dinner last night.  She was pleased and sad in equal measure. But above all she hoped he would no longer cry out for Audrey in his sleep.

All of them deserved some peace now.

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A ploughed field by the sea

I miss you more than the sea*

Light rain has fallen

The rain revealing napped flints all along the field’s boundary

My snares were not set to hold you

But only cast as my heaven’s reach

Now proven so much less than your gaze’s measure

Glinting catching the light

Still sharp lying there

These old worked stones

* Paul would like to thank his friend Genevieve for this line.

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