Who Can Hear You

‘Think before you speak’

On a pavement Cafe at the end of the street, two smart men took themselves a seat.

Tristan, he bragged about his car, ‘£48000 look at it gleam, Mercedes coup’e a Successful man’s dream.’

Harry said ‘I worked hard taking overtime when I could. No room for a holiday or even a siesta.’ His £17000 spent on a pepper red fiesta.

They argued together, the for and against,
compared fuel consumption the weaknesses and strengths.

Now, Mary, she sat on the ground by the door

listened to them both open mouthed … in awe.

She sat head bowed by a note that said ‘park’ To remind her to get in her box before dark.

Her mac was large came down to her feet, an excellent choice, when you lived on the street.

for underneath, was all she possesses, two pairs of gloves and four threadbare dresses.

She didn’t speak nor look in their eyes when they lit cigars and binned crusts from their pies.

Silently she sat as they said their goodbyes. Missing the quiver of her lip and the tears in her eyes.

They dropped her a pound and crossed to their cars. She could have been an alien living on Mars.

A lightbulb moment!

Let me know what you think. Would you, in your excitement of the moment have stopped and looked at Mary? I’d like to think I would have taken my discussion inside, thought about how she would feel; overhearing.

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Absent.

Wait for me when I’m gone,

Don’t forget I was here.

Come and read a while

There’s nothing to fear.

Life has other idea’s

That keep me away.

But please don’t

stop coming,

I still have a lot

To say.

I am having to take a break for a while. I can’t say for how long, but I hope to pop back and read any comments and reply when I can. I look forward to continuing to read your posts and banter on your blogs where possible. I will be back once I am fit and able.

But when life gives you lemons … you need to stand back and take in the scent, look at the whole tree; not just the fruit.

Wearing A Smile.

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City life is fast and furious, not a soul knows your name once you’re out of context. Heads down watching feet, wrapped up on a dark street. Christmas is only Christmas until midnight; then it loses its glow. Sales hit the high street stores and only a few twinkling lights remain, as the remnants of the day disappear.

“This year will be different” I said,  pulling the collar up on my red Christmas coat, I stand tall, I feel like a super hero wearing this. I march down the main street, buildings in shadow, frost in the air, me on my toes. I trail plumes of white from both nose and nostrils; a determined stride soon warms the soul. *Thinking* this year I will make it different. I take time to notice the faces and smile at each figure I pass; regardless of no forthcoming response. “Nice evening, seasons greetings” I call with a skip in my step.

Our eyes meet so I nod,  a twitch of his lips makes me feel great. Ten steps more and I see her, she looks about eighteen, tying her belt, checking her phone, brushing away hair with her hand as she walks, then bam! “I am sorry” she said scrambling to her feet, she pulled me up while rubbing my cashmere coat with her cold thin hand. “No problem, no bones broken. Are you okay?” Late for something are you?” I said concerned. Her bottom lip trembled as she mumbled a sorry. “Look I am fine, let me buy you a drink,  there’s a wonderful teahouse around the corner, we will both feel better for a hot cup of tea.” She stooped, grasping her bag from the pavement; wide eyed, she swallows and nods.

The tea was hot and the fondant cakes comforting. She wipes her mouth with a serviette and quietly tells me her story. I nod and smile, shake my head in… I believe all the right places. Her story was one most of us knew and had experienced, girl meets boy and it doesn’t quite work out the way they hoped. We shared the bill and clasped hands for a second as she continued on her way, and I on mine.

On return to my flat, in this loneliest of cities, my keys rattle and echo through the hall. On the surface,  all  was just as I left it … but everything had changed. I felt good, invigorated from the walk, and worthwhile. My face is still wearing its smile and my red coat didn’t lose its glow the day after Christmas; I was still Wearing a Smile.

Giving others a greeting, acknowledging  their presence, throwing out a smile or simply listening, takes but a fraction of our time but can change so much. Let me know if you agree in the comments … I love to hear your views.

Silence Please.

Charli at the carrot ranch has charged us with a challenge in 99 words no more or less write about something not allowed.  🔜 press here 🔙 to join in.

photos curtesy of pinterest.

She shushed me as the door slammed,

My arms full of books.

People peered above their specticles,

Gave me dirty looks..

She wagged a silent finger and 

pursed her lips tight.

When I slipped to the carpet

And toppled off the light.

My card was marked at the library door,

When a cough sent bubblegum

To skid across  the parquet floor.

Her sole was stuck fast 

As I staggered past.

just to round the debacle off

I snorted as I laughed.

Her teeth you couldn’t fail to miss

As the librarian delivered an Almighty hiss…

and pointed to the quote   

#Poetry To Fall In Love With

W.H.Auden an inspiring Author poet playwright

My second choice is #leanardCohen  An extraordinary  man with talent that will live on long after he is gone. He will fill the heaven’s with passion and song.        A thousand kisses deep.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

Edward Lear.

 

 

W.H. Auden The most eloquent of poets my first one learned was this,The plan was to step up to the challenge to take 3 poets  you love and use their essence to create my own on a canvas fresh, I began thinking it too huge a task and it was for me. How do you step into the arena with these? GIANT’S  of men and words. I baulked at the idea of choosing my favourites; how the hell do you choose? This is how I did.
E.Lear my earliest remembered poem.

you see The challenge didn’t stand a chance. I couldn’t choose my three favorite poets or even three poems, so there was a hope in hell of me publicly pitting my self beside them. And Cohen the voice that soothed a broken teenage heart. So while the going is good i lay some of the best before you… no competiton.

To see the exercise  in poetry and to be  inspired press 🔜   creative and good luck to those that can.😇

Has a challenge you meant to take been a step too far? or have you excelled?

And did you enjoy… slip answers gracefully into the comments i will feel as if i have somehow been forgiven for failing.thank you.

All thanks to #youtube and #google for providing the copies above.

Other Folks Dreams.

He worked in the butchers did Dan, came home smelling like meat; blood on his clothes. But he had big ideas ones he’d tell me late at night under cover of darkness. Tucked in our bunk beds we’d recount our day, reinforce our dreams, just brothers stuff.
Me, I didn’t have ambition or drive, in and out of jobs every few months. Mum was good, she always saw me right. Me, the runt, the smallest twin. Two and a half minutes younger than Dan, meant I could play her like a harmonica in a blues band, it came off every time.

Always on the bottom I was, being the eldest he got the top. When we was kids he’d wait till sleep had just come; then call my name softly, he wouldn’t want to wake Mum. “Eth, Eth … Ethen,”he’d call. Drowsily, I’d slide my head out and look up. Dan would spit, filling my ever open gob. He called me gormless, said I was always catching flies. Unbeknown to him, I wondered why I didn’t have the drive, what could I be. It hurt me head wonderin. Everyone else had known what they wanted, had plans and dreams; cept me.

Here I am, a man at nineteen, sleeping in the same bunk as I did at three. In Mums house, in the same street still not knowing what will I be. Life’s about getting my leg over on a Friday night, watching footie with me pals on a Saturday; what more could I want?

When Dan gets mad cos I lost another job and Mum bailed me out again, he calls me lazy, says I’m like him, our Dad. He left when we was nine, went for some fag’s and never came back. That’s the only time we’d fall out, me brother and me, when he’d call me ‘Dad. Lucky I was, privy to Dan’s dreams, honoured to know them, but sometimes I wish they included me.

Dan got a girl and he stopped confiding in me … I missed that. Got himself a second job down the Legion behind the bar; saved up bought his self a car and her a ring. When he left the Butchers ole Jack cried … he said he felt like he was losing a son. No choices left I needed a plan, so Dan taught me all he knew got me up to speed and Jack took me on, he, took a risk for Dan.

Now a butcher that’s me, in and out the fridge all day. I got a way with the ole girls, a bit o’ banter makes them laugh, they lap up my twinkle while weighing their mince, it does nicely for me. Jack knows I’m a chancer a bit of a lad, he pays me partly in produce the rest in cash. We eat well Mum and me. She’s in an out the doc’s, can’t work no more … now it’s down to me.

bit-of-a-spiv

Dan married his girl, a good un too, they live in a big house on the hill outside the city. He got his dream I knew he would. Dan the man, sharp suit big car his dream paid off. A footballer for the Arsenal, who’d ave thought.

I bask in his glory, take my brown pay pack and treat the boys. We watch the match on a wide screen down the pub, they slap my back and I am proud. Ole Bill has pulled me a few times, kindly let me sleep it off, pissed as a fart after a game; they always let me go … because of Dan’s name.

ole-bill

But I am a butcher by trade looks after me mam, one day soon I’ll get the house. Maybe then I will chuck out the bunks and be able to stop, stop being in and out of other folks dreams.