WHITEWASHED COTTAGES

Through the pain glows the sun
On whitewashed cottages
Singing joy in remembrance
Of times past
For a moment
Just one moment
A flash of wonder
A moment to be drunk in
For it will pass
It is transient
Yet worth the pearl of my heart
Just one moment that pierces the pain
To be forgotten
The moment passes
The journey continues
Bathed in the glory of the sun
Warming caressing soothing
The cottage remains
The sun retires
Clouds come again

DISTANT WOODS

One day the distant woods enfolded me
Wrapped within their sensual green I rested there
Alone apart from nature’s kiss
I talked with all who gathered there
Birds who sang in chorus proud
Rabbits running wild and free
Snakes a’slithering in the grass
Squirrels darting up the trees
Oh how blessedI was that day
That now seems oh so long ago
But in this time you wait for me
One day I will rest again you will enfold me
Once again

IN VILLAGE HOME

In village home the birds still sing
For they all know that it is Spring
Beside the beauteous rowan tree
Where once I sat within its lea
I wish I too could take to wing

Oh to escape this deadly thing
Fly in the sky pure joy to bring
Hear once again the church bells ring
In village home

I ride again on the big swing
In fairground bright such fun within
Bright stars that twinkle in night sky
While the big swing takes me so high
Those days were good I had my fling
In village home

SHIT

I have posted this before but I feel like having another go lol

Shit
Stinks bad
Steam rising
Words stink like shit
Ponging up airwaves
Let’s breathe some fresher air
Put ourselves in a clear cool space
Get the hell out of here you shit bag
Get thee behind me you steaming rat bag

A NONSENSE VILLANELLE

A mouse jumps up high in the sky
A camel walks right up my street
An elephant eats red cherry pie

A dog purrs and tickles my thigh
A horse climbs up on my feet
A mouse jumps up high in the sky

A flea asks us the question why
A crocodile jumps and gives me a treat
An elephant eats red cherry pie

A dinosaur squeaks and tells me a lie
A little lamb roars and a wolf starts to bleat
A mouse jumps up high in the sky

A zebra with stripes lies down in the rye
A bird perches and neighs on a stalk of wheat
An elephant eats red cherry pie

A parrot coos and then starts to cry
A polar bear melts in the summer heat
A mouse jumps up high in the sky
An elephant eats red cherry pie

THE WIBBLYWOODERS

One day the wibblywooders got a bit above themselves. They wibblied through the town shoutikins and yellikins. Everyone thought they were drunk, and the policeybobbies were callised and they came and said,

“Whatty do we have here?”

The wibblywooders looked dead innocent and said, “We are wibblywooders and we have come to teach peopliodes how to have joyikins and play around a bit.”

But the policeybobbies didn’t believe them and they got a contraptionipod out and said,

“Blow into here please.”

All the wibblywooders had a turn, and then turned to each other and said,

“Ooh, that was good. What fundipopes.”

The policeybobbies had to let them go in the end because they were not drunk, except on the joyikins of lifepops.

TAKE ME TO THE WILD PLACE

When the world talks
There is a loud clanging
Of emptiness
Disguised as fullness
Leaving me hungry
I crave that which satisfies the soul’s longing
Which can only be found in solitude
Take me to the wild places
Oh wind
Where I can be alone with my soul
Where I can eat and drink
Of Nature’s fullness
Let the wild wind laugh
And let me laugh with it
Let us roll around in joy
Dancing with the clouds
Until the sun sets
And night comes
Then let us rest in peace
In the arms of the dark

ACHING

Sitting outside in the dark
Under the willow tree
I hide a million woes
I need to go
But where?
Suddenly my heart has broken
Like a carrier bag
Spilling all its contents
No words could explain
The mess on the lawn
Nor can it
Be scooped up
I sit here
Torn open
A stitch in tine saves nine
They say
There was no stitch
And a cat has nine lives
But I am not a cat
And so I sit
Aching

*TRIGGER WARNING. Contains abortionhttps://wordpress.com/post/blindwilderness.wordpress.com/25789

From my novel:

Rachael’s life had been littered with rejections, pain, cruelty and revulsion from those upon whom she was dependent. Always, always, there had been the icy coldness of her mother’s stare. The stiff unyielding roughness of her hands. The arms witheld, as surely as was the love that she craved. Never, as a child had she known why her mother was like this. Until she was thirteen. Then she found out. And just as surely as did the blood flow from Rachael’s newly acquired womanhood, so did the venom pour out of her mother. In picturesque language she had told her of how she didn’t want her, and of how she had done everything possible to get rid of her. Again, the blood. The blood that seemed to be a blight and a mark on her life for ever. She saw, in vivid colours, mostly red, the scene as her mother described it to her. The ambulance men taking the woman from the flat above down the stairs with the blood pouring from her. Rachael saw herself in that blood. The baby whom the woman had not wanted and had tried to murder. And yes, Rachael’s mother too had tried to murder her. But she had survived. She wished she hadn’t. And now she too was capable of bearing a child that her mother would have murdered. Maybe that was what she had done wrong – been born a girl. A girl capable of doing all the things that her mother never wanted to do. Always, there had been murder in her mother’s heart. Rachael could never have stood a chance, certainly not of peace, security, and happiness. Her mother’s murderous intent followed her throughout her life, reaching even the babies that Rachael eventually conceived in her own womb.

Unclean, always unclean. Rachael was always unclean. Nothing in this world could ever have made her clean. Nothing could have cleansed her of her womanhood. That was a given. She was stuck with it. Maybe the deep waters of the river could cleanse her, take it away once and for all. It would have been better for it never to have existed.

JUST A BIT OF WRITING. From “A Life.”

She knew that it was not possible to go back to the past. Yet despite the fact that it is not possible to go back in time in the physical sense, she had wanted to go back in her mind, to reconnect and to recover what had happened there in an effort to find herself again. For that had been the worst thing about the illness. She had felt that she did not know who she was any more. And so, on a hot August day she had sat by the stone church wall, remembering, thinking and meditating. As she sat, she became aware of the village again, now much changed, and yet with some of the same components. Dogs barking in the distance, the shire horses going up and down the hill upon whch the church had been built way back in time, tractors passing by, children on bikes, making the noises that children do. No, those things hadn’t changed. But there were more cars, many more cars. The High Street now felt more like a highway, and often it was almost impossible to cross the road. There was an ice cream parlour now, too, and a caravan park. Signs of progress was it? She did not know.

It was harvest time, and the bright red rowan berries on the rowan tree in the churchyard had taken her attention. They had seemed to her to herald the end of the summer. Soon, it would be cold and icy on the hill. But she remembered the harvest. Her grandparents had had a farm a little way out of the village, where they grew wheat, barley and oats. The harvest time was a wonderful time of celebration, when her grandparents would get men from the village to go and help get in the harvest. There would be an amazing party atmosphere, with the men sitting around on the hot ground under the blazing sun, eating piles of sandwiches and drinking urns of tea that her grandmother had provided. The men would be singing and laughing, so glad that they had got the harvest in in time. Occasionally the dog, a liver and white spaniel called Shot, would chase a rabbit that had wanted to join in the fun. A huge shout had gone up telling Shot not to chase the poor unfortunate rabbit. She remembered having helped the men to stook the corn, and then looking at her handiwork with pleasure. She had done well. There was a certain way in which to do it and She had done it exactly as it should be done.

She had sat by the churchyard and remembered all these things and more, and her heart had been both gladdened and saddened, for that time had gone now, as had the people. Her grandparents were no more, and neither were her uncles and indeed most of the men in the village who had gone to the farm and helped with the harvest. She laughed, she smiled and she grieved. But then the darker memories had come back. The ones where the slipping had begun. The ones where there were no safe arms to hold her. The ones where there had always been an abyss to fall into.

She and her parents had lived up the hill out of the village, in a tiny cottage with a rather romantic name. But it was far from romantic. And this was where the slipping began. The slipping that had become a feature of her whole life, until she had finally landed on the river bank about to slip, forever, into the deep water.

JEN AND BETSY. *Warning, contains suicide

Jen stood on the bank of the river looking at the water. For many months the water had drawn her, and she didn’t really know why. Yes, suicide had drawn her, but why the water? She did not know. She often thought of her friend Betsy who had drowned herself in that river. Betsy had tried to do it many times by wading in until the water was over her head, but it had not worked. No one understood why she had got into this state as she had always been such a kind and gentle person. She would have done anything for anybody. Quiet and unassuming, she got on and lived her life in an admirable way.

Betsy had called herself a Christian since being a child. She had been brought up in a religious family, and it was truly in her heart. In her forties, however, she met up with some very extreme Christians who believed that many ills were caused by demons. And so they practised the casting out of demons. Betsy became a target for them. It seemed improbable, with her soft and gentle spirit that she would be affected by such things. But she was. Under their influence she began to think she was irredeemable. Things began to play on her mind, until she became so sick that she was admitted to the local mental hospital. She was detained for many weeks, but one weekend they allowed her to go home for the weekend, and that was when it happened. She drove herself to abhigh bridge over the river and jumped from the centre of the bridge into the deepest part of the river. This time there was no way she was not going to drown. Two days later her body was washed up some miles downstream.

Jen thought about all of this as she stared at the water. Her best friend Alice had also committed suicide not too long ago by shooting herself in the head. Jen was at the end. Her life was impossible now, and she could see no way through. She felt disconnected from the world and everyone in it. She felt that no one could reach her. She had tried to reach out to people many times but it was as if her hurt and pain could not be touched by anybody. It was too deep.

Soon the light disappeared and it was night time. The moonlight shone on the water. The water had a strange beauty about it. It had a drawing power about it. A lone ship passed by, on its way to the docks.

3TC#680

https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2021/08/04/three-things-challenge-680/

Sal put her hands up to her THROAT and felt it. Yes, it was still there. Quickly she WROTE a note and laid it on the table.

Throwing her COAT into a rucksack she looked back at the room. The room where they had made such tender love. This was no time to be sentimantal though. Her life was in danger. With no more ado, she opened the door, walked out into the fresh air, and ran.

THE DEMISE OF THE YUMMY YAM

On a darik night the Yummy Yam was bollocksing
Through wollids and fandigangs
Frittersing all the critterlings who scurrised screamering
Shittising themselves
Oh what a mess there was
But the Yummy Yam kept bollocksing
And the poor critterlings tore out their hair crying
Oh Great God what shall we do
The Yummy Yam is bigger than you
And soon we will be dinner
But the Yummy Yam just kept saying Yum
These critterlings are just what I want
Nice and green and plump
To fill my bellykins
But unbeknown to the Yummy Yam
There was in the wollids a huge Catilode
Who ate Yummy Yams for breakfast
And suddeny the Great God answered the prayers of the critterlings
As the Cattilode pouncied on the Yummy Yam
Licking its lipsies
And saying
Yum yum that was a tasty Yummy Yam
And at that the critterlings bowed down to the Great God
Thamkising him for being greater than the Yummy Yam
And for evermore there was peace in the wollid

ANOTHER NONSESE POEM. The Zum Zums

The Zum Zums frizzled
Through the great forest
Holdising their scoodlebangs
Close to their chestilodes
Looking for the great Jaliwop
Slithily they creeplsed
Not a wirrod was heard
Then…..there was the Jaliwop
Right in frontilode
They took their scoodlebangs
And thrusiled them
Into the Jaliwop
And there he lollised
On the forest florry
Now all would be queast and piet
In the green green forest