Three walked the riverbank, old friends Searching for Arundel, the lost castle Made from elfin hair, stronger than any fortress Hide to find, the legend states it moves from place to place So few have returned to tell the tale Of a castle made from hair that stands as rigid as bone From so many travellers who did not find their way home…
We didn’t want a big tree this Christmas, so when we saw this pretty fibre optic tree in the shop window, we took it home, content with our preparations.
The next time we went to town, we spotted a wonderful tree in a charity shop window. This was a small tree too, although quite different from the one we already had. Old fashioned ribbons and flowers gave it an old-world charm, as if it had come straight from a Dickens novel.
We had to buy it, even though we already had a tree.
It was decided that the Dickens tree would be in pride of place in our decorations, relegating the fibre optic tree to the dining room.
And this, as they say, is when the fun started.
On the first night, the fibre optic tree turned itself off at 10 pm. Puzzled, we checked the instructions, but it wasn’t supposed to do that. It hadn’t overheated either. Before we could turn it on the second day, it turned itself on and then off again at 10pm!
We made sure it was switched off, thinking it just a fluke, although it felt distinctly weird. We are quite used to weird in this house. Remember that red light reflecting on our window, the one we never could find the reason for?
The next night, we switched it on and waited. It felt uneasy, as if someone we couldn’t see was controlling the tree.
It was one of those trees that has the capability of a choice of different light patterns. Twinkling, fading and several other combinations. We only wanted the static light, so we were very glad it didn’t decide to muck about with the sequence too.
Despite the weirdness, we have kept the tree… and it has turned itself on every afternoon, and off in time for bed.
What would you have done in these circumstances, chucked it out or run for the hills?
here I am in my trusty silver steed My favourite four-legged friend sitting beside me I tip my top hat to a lady passing I have thrown a four, stopping before chance I can hear the trains at Fenchurch street Speeding, I narrowly miss a spell in jail I would have lost the chance to collect two hundred The wait to get out of jail would be too long I continue my journey through Regent Street One of my favourite places to stop and look around I can see hotels being built People having sold their houses, now thinking big In the distance, Mayfair, one of the most lucrative places To build your first million…
For the visually challenged writer, the photo shows people seen in individual units through the large windows of a multi-unit apartment building.
Darkness that makes me wonder what lies hidden Windows lit, solitary beings stand within What do they wait for? Do they wait for darkness to take their pain? Could be they wait for a lover to be let in The darkness plays out many lives Within the same space Each story reflecting hope played to a different tune Which window do you hide behind?
I hear the voice, as if someone walks one step behind me The words unformed, the sound of an angry bee caught in a web I turn, face the empty street Keeping my voice low, I ask, who are you? “I am your shadow, here inside you Where no light shines. Most of your life you have taken no notice of me As if I don’t exist.” My shadow is nothing more than a trick of the light “You think so? I am here to tell you I can be free of you. Let someone tread on your shadow, while you continue to walk away You may feel lighter without me. You will feel slower, your days will take longer to pass Each time you allow someone to step on me A small part disappears Soon I will be gone, you will miss me, wish me to return This I will not do; I will have the freedom I seek…”
Mountains high Old dark scars Black tar rivers run High castle walls Lords and Ladies having fun Unearthly sounds split the night Warning went unaided Fools entered Swallowed by dark inner walls Never would angels enter Indoor evil attracts its own Walls scarred by sounds new, swell Souls buried in old castle mortar Too long they lie forgotten Names scratched on walls Calling out dates to remember No visitors heeding Their hearts unturned By old news…
The road ahead is long, hard to walk alone The world has eclipsed my mind I am swallowed by darkness The black hole reaches for me Dragging my senses to its upside-down way of being The mirror shows me walking away I never see my face The food on my plate is raw, never cooked I am living in a nightmare Rain runs up, the way it does when driving a car Fascinating, but no place to live I need to find a way out Step back, keep stepping backwards Until I reach the beginning Discover that missing step…
Here I am, in the living room Watching TV, reading a book today, the book lay open on my lap Pen and paper at my side As a word spoken can set me off Yesterday, it was the word destiny Something I have just read Rewrites itself to end up in a poem Not today. My mind went on its own journey This doodling isn’t something I am known for I wonder what it says about me.
I felt lucky when I inherited my grandmother’s house I loved every minute spent there as a child, each visit felt like a two-week holiday My grandmother made life fun I could feel her spirit in every room Joe, my fiancé, loved it as much as I did. He was the first to enter the attic There we found paintings of every size Dozens of them, from a long time ago, no signatures There were four paintings of my grandmother Much younger than I had known her Her eyes sparkled with the same mischief I remembered Who was the artist? I imagined a dark-haired Latin lover someone Grandmother never spoke about We discovered more behind a large painting My grandmother in the embrace of a woman Scant clothing between the two of them Surprised, as she had been married to grandad For fifty-five years. Who was this woman? Were they lovers as the painting showed? Joe said they were good enough to put in an exhibition I’m sure Grandmother hid them here for a reason Least of all from Grandfathers eyes. I may never find the reason they were hidden for so long My search goes on, for there are dozens of boxes and suitcases to look through What I find will be a story for another day…