Dear Moonface,

can I have a room at your place?
somewhere high in the magic faraway tree
would suit me
admirably

And dear Mr Saucepan man
I know that you're deaf but I can shout
to help you out.

It will give me a thrill if you say that you will..
..rent me a room.
I hope to hear from you soon.

Regards.
.from your friend waiting at the worlds end.

John.

We might not be rich with property
Mom said with education we were rich kids already
We might not have the money to spend for holidays..
In our small home… we were the richest with love, respect and honesty…
With all the simplicity in life we lived contentedly…


We might not have a colored TV…
Never dreamt of a library of Enid Blyton or Dickens
We had MOM who amused us with her amazing bedtime stories…
Kids talked of SUPERMAN and SPIDERMAN in the movies
Lucky we were …we had a living superhero and he was our DADDY…

That was our life back then….
A meal of Hardship a cup of misery…
Mom came home tired but always looked happy…
Dad stood at the door…shouted our names and hugged each of us lovingly…

No success in life would come so easily…
For each teardrop and the past life difficulty,
Each hurdle, each obstacle in life
Each challenge we faced was the greatest pain in past life history…
Together we faced them… with the help of god Almighty…
We became who we are today…eventually
What lesson did we learn from this unforgettable life tragedy?
Bittersweet life…We came to learn to appreciate things in our life so humbly…..
Thank you god, Thank you mom Thank you dad… for this incredible story…

and the page turns,
memories sepia, brown
and frosted with time
come to light.
faint, murmuring words,
swim at the back of my mind.

summer days....spent in splendour.
balmy nights and mosquito nets.
rockpools little crab kingdoms, the smell of coconut oil and arms macadamia nut brown..

and again the page turns
the boys in rugby kit
me standing off to one side
head in a book...
one girl among too many older brothers
always a tagalong in handmedowns and enid blyton's famous five..

and again the page turns...
christmss hats and presents
cold chicken,salads and little baby prawns....sherry trifle
and poppajack snoring, beer still in hand...

and the page turns and turns
little windows into former lives......sometimes nostalgia
and sometimes.... just a peeping tom..

I leave you in the middle of town
I hope you have a map
to get back to the bus station

Over a cider in the posh end of town
which probably cost us both more
than we could afford

after our afternoon's talk of Tolstoy
& a shared love of Enid Blyton
& musicians we both loved

we talked of what the current government
was doing to the British poor
& you told me of your own

straightened circumstances
as a child, relying on food parcels
from the Church to stay alive

& I told you how in the Soviet Union
& during the Perestroika
there was never any food in the shops

for anyone & how my mother
queued for hours to get a single pint of milk
not knowing if she'd get it

& how our life changed
when we came here
for the better

we come from different worlds,
each has had their problems
this & Poetry is what connects us.

oh' where did those days go
those enid blyton days
when my greatest wish
was to be jo, from the famous five....

those long and glorious
summerdays....
of sunshine and youth.

when bikes and fresh air
whipping past your face,
was way more....
important,
than winning the ratrace.

when the local creek
was the multiplex,
with so many different worlds on show ....
at each
new bend of the
winding, water slow.

when life was a beach
and living was carefree..

those days of watermelon
slices and orange icee's
backyard cricket....
belt it over the fence
for a six and out!!!

bbq'd sausages,
smothered in onions
and tomato sauce....
slapped on a slice,
of good white bread,
sufficed as dinner.

with a salad of course,
(if quick the salad could
be served surreptisiouly to
the local wildlife with a slip
and tilt of the paper plate)
if lucky, strawberries and
icecream to follow.

oh' those were the days,
simpler than most...
when the biggest
difficulty
was in ,cadging
one more hour,
before sleeping at night.
one more chapter,
(perhaps, even two)
of adventuring
with the famous five,
before sleeping....
under the security
of  youth...

I make my way through neon fury
Into a dizzying blur of heads
I think i see mountains in the distance
The darkness hides the concrete mounds from sight
Child imagination
For this night make them those mountains
From the time that your gait was free and your feet tiny

O Immortal night

Turn the gravel
Into the wistful green that cushioned my soles
Turn the amber of my room into a bonfire
let me look upon the city lights from the shelter of my tent

O Immortal night

Let Wodehouse laugh from beside my bed
And turn midnight fury into a wisp of smoke
Douse the embers of the day with the silver juice of the moon
While i rest at the root of the hibiscus that bloomed when i was ten

O immortal night
let me dip my quill and rejoice in the ink of your innocence
for the chatter of voices past fills my cave
from shelves they read out their favourite lines
as Blyton speaks to Shakespeare
and Dahl courts Woolf
their spirits high and their voices low

O immortal night
Let the tooth fairy knock on my door once again
Its been ages since i met her
Let the mystery of the future
Stir my soul
With millions of questions
Blind me with the succour of my faith

O immortal night
Lend me belief
In the sunlight of rhythm
While Belafonte spreads his warmth
Let the oil paints make a marble on my ceiling
And beckon to the stars
I am
Because you are

Plug me in and light me  
stay for the night
It might be
fun.

Falling at Mach 5
you're dying
but more alive
than you've ever been.

Have you ever seen the
Sunrise over Alaska?

'Only the young die young'
words from a song that
has never been sung.

It worked,
clicked
copped off with
a chic,
seeing her again
on Saturday.

I
practice this look
it's one I read of
in a book by
Blyton, she was
right on the money by
all accounts,

I count the hours until Saturday
a hundred and twenty two plus
some minutes away,
time goes so slow when you just want to
know what it's all about.

Of course the town's not the same anymore, they've painted the monuments gold and they tore down the church doors, kicked out the old ******, the hobo, the wino, the addicts, picked up the pimps and sent them to death row, shot down in flames every side show that decided to show, closed all the cinemas, the mini marts, the sisters of mercy and donated their hearts to a third world charity, the pawn shops, the **** shops, the born again brigades, the renegades were rounded up or hunted down, the old town is not the same anymore,
They've by-passed the underpass with an overpass and no one sleeps under a by-pass unless they're under the influence of alcohol which is no defence in courts of law which were privatised to become the eyes of Lords and Ladies who see us as running dogs mad with rabies or scurvy and the town's all topsy-turvy,
it's all a bit Enid Blyton which is right on the nose for those in the know and those not in the know don't know and care even less unless they're the hunted ones , the ones shunted off to a dumping ground, silenced by the sound of the sound of it all.
I'll fall too, the town's not the same anymore,
it's new and I don't like it, but
I'm open to persuasion.

*****, go read to Dad today,
But Mama, I am in class four and I haven't perfected my reading,
Well, Dad is a teacher and he is going to help you pronounce those hard and complex words,
Have you not seen him teach Nancy, Sue and Irene and the rest in Mama Helen's veranda?
He's not like Emily, he will not laugh at you but correct you,
He has some soda for you too, here's a glass take it with you.


Hi Baba?
How was your day?
I have a glass for you.
And where is yours?
Oh!
Bring the biggest cup, that plastic one you take your porridge from,
Ha ha ha, ok Baba.


In front of you is the young Hanson ready to read to the best dad in the world,
Today's book title is The Secret Seven Adventure, a series by Enid Blyton,
We will do a chapter a day,
Thank you,
Chapter one...


Make it a habit son,
I will get you a new book tomorrow The Wind and The Willows by Kenneth Grahame,
I am sure you will like it,
Its all about frogs and animals you'll see,
Thanks Dad, goodnight....

What's your favourite weather?

For me, personally
I love hot, sunny days
Blue sky with puffy, puffy white clouds

Perfect for laundry
For washing up those thick blankies and set of bedsheets
Putting them up to dry and seeing the wind flapping them away
Reminds you of those Enid Blyton stories you used to read when you were smaller

Also perfect for just sitting outside
With a book in hand and cold Coca Cola in the other
A bowl of munchies on the table
Feet up on a stool with the breeze in your hair

Great for going out and about
With your loved ones in toll
May it be shopping or just walking around
Just to enjoy that hot sun in your face

My favourite weather is hot, sunny days
For more reasons than the ones before


What is yours?
Your favourite weather?

Many a times, when I am alone
I just find myself thinking of the fun
Collecting pouring water, drenching in the rain
Sailing my paper boats in the small drain
Catching in matchboxes frogs from puddles of water,
And throwing them on young and old with giggles and smiles

Smearing the silver, golden color on my friends
Of the butterflies that we picked in the sunny garden
Feasting on dollops of homemade icecreams and chuskies (ice lollies)
Listening to stories of kings n demons by granny

How could I forget hat fight with parents
To stay awake all night during summer or winter break
To watch uncountable movies on the rented video recorder
Or to read Agatha Christie, Enid Blyton in just one sitting

There was a different story all the time
for each of my tantrums and fantasies alike
And a unique reason for enjoying every season

Oh! How I wish I could have a time machine
To take me back to my childhood innocence
I really miss being a little kid O my Lord!
With no stress, worries or care in the world...!!!

© Neeloo 'NeelPari'

My spirit guide's a bit wide of the mark, just seen him sitting, having a beer in the park, that side lets me down yet again, my only salvation is to pick up a pen.

Evening all.

It is done
the light fades
the deadly night
comes into its own,

what lurks in your head are the things that you think hide under the bed, don't look, read a book, maybe Enid Blyton, leave the lights on, say your prayers,

some times are later than others
that's what bothers me, not
Christ on the cross, not even
the Holy Trinity,
which I do not understand,
probably
because understanding
isn't in me,

what I do know is,
if you close your eyes
the monsters don't go away,
they wait
patiently
monstrously
until sunrise.

No one's going anywhere
or not to where you think,
you may as well sit back
and have another, but blink
and it all changes.

Several types of men
of which I know,

some are speeders
some are slow
some are joggers
others plod, but most,
believe in the
greater good of God,

although
some believe in
Wally Whyton
Enid Blyton,
some won't do it
with the light on
some won't do at all.

That's where we are
and we haven't gone
very far,
have we?

Public library
I remember my school-days
read Enid Blyton

If we're all going down the same road
we'll need to carry lanterns and big sticks.

This isn't Enid Blyton and a tale of
'the magic faraway tree'
this is us in real life
trying to find a way through
the twenty-first century.

There are villains that lay in wait
and
will not hesitate to do you down,

take the road out of town
but
be careful.