Sunday, 31 July 2016

The River

For audio click here
The water trundled gently in front of us, taking its history with it. The vast river had carried its fair share of blood and bitterness down the years, but for now its surfaces ran clean. Today, the sun shimmered off the water, spreading its warmth on the ripples and contributing to the feeling of a long, lazy afternoon. My feet dangled into the cool waters.
“Have you ever thought about that water?” I said to Daisy, who was lying on her back soaking up the sun.
“What about it?” she said, without opening her eyes.  Her tanned legs were sticking out from her short dress; summer suited her.

“I've never thought about it before, but I look at that river every day and I think it’s the same, but if you think about it, every day it’s completely new; all the water that was here yesterday has gone and tomorrow when I look at it, it will be completely changed again.”
Daisy hmmed a response.
“So every day it’s just about a different beast. It's like the gardener's broom. You know the old story, the gardener claims he’s had the same broom for forty years but he’s changed the head every two years, change the handle every five. I always think of the river as being a link to the past, but really it's the newest thing in the whole city. It would make a good riddle, what’s the oldest and the newest thing in the town?”
Daisy mmmmed lazily.
“Then again, I suppose the water cycle means this water might have been here before; run the same course as it were. It might be a constant visitor, a loyal tourist that comes back time and time again. But still, what’s here today, won’t be here tomorrow. Amazing isn't it?
There was silence.
“Hmmmrrr. What?” She pulled herself up and looked at me through squinted eyes.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Kind of. What were you saying?”
I looked at her and smiled. 
"Oh, nothing,"Maybe it was best that no one had heard. 

Friday, 29 July 2016

Poetry Friday 4

Probably the last in the Poetry Friday series, but you never know. 
For audio click here

teeth yellow, etched
with history.
Smoke from a
thousand chimneys,
a million cigarettes,
motorways of exhaust fumes.
Wrinkles form crevices
dust filled canyons.
Particles from the beginning of time.

Kisses in Chrome
Orange light
floods the room.
And I see me,
a pale reflection,
eyes captivated by the snow.
Swirling, falling, chasing,
Kisses in chrome,
monotone reflections.

Cardiff Rain
Thin mist
gorges the flesh
like a thousand
tiny insects
the skin.  

 For previous poetry Friday's click here and here and here 

Thursday, 28 July 2016

Seven Tears

For audio click here
Ten to two, that magical time of night where those wallflowers left without a date would have the dance of desperation with another sad, lonely wallflower just so the night didn’t feel like a complete waste of time. Karen was there again. Every week she went down to Fantasia in the hope that she’d leave with the man of her dreams and every week she ended up having the last smooch with some loser who would think one dance meant he had the right to cop a feel and maybe take her home.
Karen had seen him looking at her for the last twenty minutes, lining her up as his ten to two. And now, right on time, he was coming over. To be fair he wasn’t that bad looking. He had a bit of the Nick Heywood about him, only a tiny bit, but that tiny bit had been magnified by booze and desperation.
“Hi, I’m Jim,” Jim yelled, “wanna dance?”
Karen nodded and allowed Jim to take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. The DJ was playing Woman by John Lennon and couples swayed gently like trees on a summer's day. Men were testing the waters with roaming hands, women were marking boundaries; some allowing freedom of movement, others with strict border controls.
Jim clamped Karen to him and started swaying in time with the music, while dry ice and cigarette smoke circled around their bodies. His chin was on her shoulder and his warm breath on her neck.   
Karen soon realised that it might have been better to remain a wallflower this week. It wasn’t because Jim’s cheap aftershave and tobacco smell were mixing with the vodka she’d drunk and making her think she might puke any minute. She was a little perturbed that it wasn’t his cigarette packet that she could feel bulging through his trousers, and she didn’t really like the fact that Jim seemed to be moving his hands rather too close to her bum for comfort, but they weren’t the worst of his problems either.
The DJ had changed songs and Jim had stopped trying to nibble her neck, instead he was singing along. He was about an inch away from her ear and terribly out of tune. But what was really upsetting Karen was that he knew all the lyrics, every single one of them. Not just the chorus, everyone knew the chorus, but Jim knew the verses as well. The song faded out and the lights came up. The DJ was promising an even bigger and better night next week and saliva was being shared all around the club. Jim released Karen from his vice-like grip.
“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Karen looked at him. In the light he was quite cute, but no, there was no way she could say yes. How could she even consider starting a relationship with someone who knew all the words to SevenTears by the Goombay Dance Band?