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cuando raf salinger se enamoró o quiso de verdad
salió de sí como de un calabozo
brilló con propia luz
no tuvo tacha ni defecto ni mengua

como caballos como vacas al fin de la jornada
raf salinger vertía sus aguas en plena soledad
fulguró afuera como sol
no pálido de cárcel no en guerra

"cuidado que me lastimás" decía raf salinger
a los hombres de manos ásperas
que como niños están cubiertos de miel
pero le quitan la victoria el vencedor

"oh ángel que te inclinas en la primera mitad"
decía raf salinger furioso cavando
el viento que le envolvía la trasluz
o el revés de los días malos que le comían la verdad

"si el coraje consiste en ser prudente" decía raf salinger
"si los vestidos significan desnudez y miseria
dicha el llanto cadáver curación, te arde amor el odio" decía
con gran perdones finalmente

todas las ventanitas se cerraron
cuando raf salinger murió
un calor le creció entre amor y afuera
juntándole los dos al solito

"ah tiempos no distancias que hay entre mí
entre mi calor y mi sol" decía raf salinger
casi disuelto ya bajo la sombra
que le apagaba el hubo que vivir

sobre su gente subió el frecuente olvido
peor raf salinger viajaba abrigado
por un cuerpo desnudo
encontrado o joven
entre las cosas que raf maloney tenía
había una dinámica de la penetración orgánica y moral
una fisiología de la continuidad del cuerpo
una ética de la sensibilidad nerviosa

ninguna de la cual le servía para nada
se lo vería oscurecer día tras día
mirando al este en estado de inocencia
sin llorar eso sí raf maloney no llora

había una melancolía también grande gorda marrón
y sobre todo un pájaro raf maloney
cuidaba a un pájaro de cuello largo frío
en una pared de su casa

"pájaro" le decía al pájaro "¿te crece el cuello para ver
los pensamientos que te suben del corazón?" le decía raf maloney
"¿para palparlos mucho y medirlos?" le decía
pero el pájaro callaba completamente

raf maloney tenía también
un día español ancho abierto con olor a merluza
fresco glorioso alto
lo había plantado en el fondo detrás del perejil

allí se acostaba a ver el cielo cuando llovía
y había sol y había vino y tabaco portugués
"¿ves esta furia en paz?" le decía al pájaro
"¿la ve tu cuello pájaro?" decía raf maloney

cuando raf maloney murió lo cortaron al pájaro
y comprobaron que daba cielo como sol
cielo como noche
como sol

el cuello lo tenía noche
y daba cielo como sol
así era el pájaro de raf maloney
que murió cualquiera de estos días
judy smith Jul 2016
THE CROWD at Raf Simons’s Spring 2017 menswear show at Pitti Immagine Uomo in Florence seemed more uptight than usual, yet that’s exactly how Mr. Simons intended it: Scattered among the wound-up throngs of editors, buyers and gate-crashers were 266 secondhand mannequins, some seated stiffly, others frozen into upright positions, all clothed in archival pieces from his 21-year career in fashion. Though the dummies were arresting, the Belgian designer, 48, later downplayed this unconventional look back. “The pieces weren’t chosen with a certain kind of curatorial intention,” said Mr. Simons. “I didn’t want it to look like a typical kind of retrospective.”

Mission accomplished: Between the spooky setting in a cavernous former train station, the wooden mannequins and his decision to show “off calendar” (forgoing his usual Paris Fashion Week time slot), it all felt more like a Robert Gober art show than a museum tribute. Mr. Simons is, after all, still hard at work, his every move watched by industry insiders amid speculation that he may be joining Calvin Klein—after concluding 3½ years as creative director of Christian Dior’s women’s collection, in 2015.

Mr. Simons continued to riff on his signature elegance in his Pitti Uomo menswear show. The cornerstone of the collection was a series of loose, photo-enhanced shirts, knits and jackets created in collaboration with the Robert Mapplethorpe Foundation: voluminous pieces emblazoned with images of Debbie Harry or eroticized flowers by the photographer, who died in 1989.

Much like his designs, our chat with the usually circumspect Mr. Simons reflected a broad array of preoccupations and influences. He was outspoken about tailoring (“so much bad suiting out there”) and his design process (“no system, no rules, no structure”) but also about mobile phones, the African countryside and ’70s dance music.

One of my favorite spots in the world is: Puglia in Italy. There’s a house by the sea I go to, and outside, it’s just a horizon line. It’s that feeling of eternity: It allows you to think. If you put me there, I wouldn’t need love or anything anymore.

Between the country or the city, I prefer: the country. I live in Antwerp, a city that’s kind of like a village.

A place I’d like to visit again is: Kruger National Park in South Africa. It’s mind-blowing how it sits so far away from anything you’ve ever experienced in a city. There were no people, no proof of human life, just animals and animal behavior. It’s survival of the strongest, which is fascinating.

One thing I’ve had forever is: A yellow T-shirt with a black print on it from the movie “The Shining” that goes way back to when I was a teenager.

If I could be granted one wish, it would be: solidarity. That may sound emotional—politically emotional—but with everything that’s happening, I wish everybody would just let each other be in peace.

A current band I love is: The **. At first they seemed weird but they overwhelm me—massively—all the time with their intelligence. They may be the group that’s had the most impact on me in the last five years.

An old album I still listen to is: Kraftwerk’s “The Man-Machine” [1978]. My 1998 show was called “Kraftwerk” because I had four boys in red shirts in it who looked like replicas of the band members.

If I could tell my 20-year-old self one thing, it would be: grab and protect love when you find it. Cherish it, focus on it, concentrate on it.

My dream client would be: anyone, really. When I design, I am thinking about a lot of people, not just one. It’s more about connecting to a certain kind of generation or a certain kind of person that will connect to what we do.

I always wear: Adidas Stan Smiths. I have had periods where I only wore Stan Smiths, maybe from age 15 until I was 25.

The place that most inspires me is:everywhere. Some people have to go for a swim or have a holiday to be inspired, but for me, it’s there when I walk out the door.

My favorite movie directors are: Stanley Kubrick, Todd Haynes and Alfred Hitchcock.Kubrick’s movies are so visually striking, especially “2001: A Space Odyssey” and “Eyes Wide Shut.”

I collect: art. I started collecting more than 15 years ago. Cady Noland, Richard Prince,Cindy Sherman, Isa Genzken, Rosemarie Trockel, Charlie Ray, Robert Gober are artists that have made a huge impact on me on all levels, emotionally, conceptually, visually.

The hardest part of a man’s wardrobe to get right is: the tie and suit. [There is] so much bad suiting out there in terms of fit, style and fabric. So, when I design, I don’t start with fit or fabric, but with meaning. The phrase “suit and tie” has a special place in our vocabulary.

One of my favorite books is: The Christiane F. book [“Zoo Station: The Story of Christiane F.”—about a teenage ****** addict]. The movie [1981] was an amazing interpretation, but the book is more striking.

I feel most proud about: simple things like being able to handle love and friendship and family. Or taking care of my dog. Of course, I do also feel proud of what I do.

I am a big fan of: furniture design, especially French or Swiss designers such as Jean Royère, Pierre Jeanneret and Jean Prouvé as well as Japanese-American designer George Nakashima. I love how beautifully designed furniture sits in history—it’s unpretentious.

The one thing I always travel with is: my sweatshirt from Vier, a skateshop in Antwerp. “Vier” is the Dutch word for four. I always take it on flights because I refuse to put on the pajamas they give to you.

I wish I could always be with: my dog, Luca, a Beauceron, who behaves like everything except a dog—more like a cat or a frog. She’s still a baby.

The one thing I wish didn’t exist is: mobile phones. I am old enough to remember how it was before them. There was something much more beautiful about not having one. We communicated in such a different way with each other.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses
Mateuš Conrad  Oct 2018
politico
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.while some people hijack planes and fly them into the anti-thesis of the Jenga game, others hijack things more... metaphysical... like language... oh... over 20 years in England... there was that French girl, the Australian girl, the Spanish girl, the Bulgarian, the African lass, the Russian... and count my stars lucky.... no English girl.

in terms of how much ****- is
a racial slur...
is it the syllable count?
should i ask an Afghan?
****... pure laziness...
      so not the prefix...
how about the suffix,
i.e. -stani? Stanley...
                 auburn Stanley...
never mind,
apparently nothing short of
a sense of humor outside
being on the receiving end
of: identifiable vermin...

oh, right...
identity politics...

         i'm a mongrel,
   a hybrid...
                         really...
i don't exactly know what this
tongue is doing in
this body...

     inorganic English...

acquired -
  psyche mongrel...
to your suspicion of half caste;

because i was going to
feel obliged to feel subordinate
to a former colonial
       subject on the basis
that... what?
what, exactly?

RAF RAF RAF...
    last time i checked.
“One of the effects of living with electronic information is that we live habitually in a state of information overload.”                                                      
                                                                                      Marshall McLuhan
So, let’s review:
Man is a thinking animal.
Stanley Kubrick took us to space to get us to think.
Marshall McLuhan:  “There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.”
Hemetucky: what was I thinking?
The Rapture for the 1%:   The Language of the World and The Language of Enthusiasm explains why Sir Richard  Branson’s ****** Galactic will only be taking the richest among us to space.
Ian (Limey Futurologist) Pearson:  “Binary is already the dominant language on Planet Earth with today’s machines having more conversations in 24 hours than the whole of humankind since the birth of Eve.”
Larry Flynt:  “**** is the answer to everything.”
Goofy:  “Yeah, I ****** Minnie. I shagged her rotten, baby!”  
Winston Smith:  “Do it to Julia!”
McNugget Buddies:   “Parts is parts.”                                          
Stunod: “Donuts-a -spella backwards issa stunod.” Think about it.
Tony Soprano.  “You ****** stunod, it's a joke.” (Stunod:  in southern dialect Italian means stupid, or a stupid person) http://(www.urbandictionary.com) define.php?term = stunod  / buy stunod mugs & shirts
Marshall McLuhan:    “Jokes are grievances.”
Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino:  “Antonio Gramsci thought that Stalin and Bolshevism could save him and Italy from Fascism:  stunod.”
The Cloud:  My acceptance of the Cloud into my life and my changeling cyborg self is by no means a capitulation to the surfing life.
Paulo Coehlo:  “The God you seek; that someone who awaits you is you.”
Howard Beale:  “That’s the God *******.”
God:   “Because you’re on television, stunod!”
The Elders of Zion:  Nu?
Meir Kahane:  “Let us not suffer from a national amnesia that causes us to forget who and what we are. No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and place. I know that American and Israeli elections must be limited only to those who understand that the Arabs are the deadly enemy of the Jewish state, who would bring on us a slow Auschwitz - not with gas, but with knives and hatchets. Vote for Newt!”

**** Jagger:    “Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out” (40th Anniversary Edition, Rolling Stones)
Keith Richards +Fijian palm tree = Stunod.  
Marshall McLuhan:   “The more the data banks record about each of us, the less we exist.”    
Howard Beale: “If there's anybody out there that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me that man is a noble creature, believe me: That man is not only full of *******, that man is  stunod.”
The Nam, Part I:   a demented slaughterhouse within a microcosm and grains of beach sand inside micro-Cosmo Kramer’s shorts. When I was in the Kingdom of The Nam I was always under the influence of some drug, mostly my own pure adrenaline when scared shitless--a frequent condition for me—not only my own piquant adrenal juice but other stuff like ****, hash, Thai stick, *****, amphetamines, H-Horse ******, quaaludes, horse tranquilizers and Russian *****. The drugs were always a welcome and needed friend, a respite from the horrors of war in Southeast Asia. To meditate & levitate, to transmigrate & navigate, to negotiate & regurgitate myself, I needed a head start if I was going to SLIDE through what would be called a wormhole today, making a three-dimensional movement between different parallel universes, a conquest of time and space. Cue our favorite narrator:
Rod Serling:  “You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension--a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.”
WWII, Part I:  A slider now, I SLIDE to my father’s war—the War in Europe in the years before V.E. Day, May 8, 1945. Suddenly I’m flipped right out of the jungle to Germania, to Deutschland in the winter of 1945. I am a P.O.W. of the Germans, sent out into the economy as slave labor. It’s February in Dresden, Germany, the Baroque capital of the German state of Saxony, the city called lovingly by her (****!) many lovers: “The Florence of the Elbe.” It was a long time ago, during the war and I Survived to Tell the Tale. I am a wet floppy Kilgore Trout; I’ve flopped right out of the Twilight Zone into what appears to be an underground meat locker in Dresden. There are animal carcasses hanging from the ceiling and the building is known as Slaughterhouse Number 5. I am a lucky ******* because even though I don’t know it yet, I’m in the safest place in the entire city. Cue the Bombing of Dresden, a strategic military bombing by the British Royal Air Force (RAF) and the United States Army Air Force (USAAF).  In four raids, 1,300 heavy bombers dropped more than 3,900 tons of high-explosive bombs and incendiary devices on Dresden. The resulting firestorm destroyed 15 square miles (39 square kilometers) of the city centre and killed many thousands, according to **** figures-- largely discredited by the victors who not only get the spoils but get to spin the history any which way but loose. Casualty figures were 200,000 and death toll estimates went as high as 500,000. Or maybe just 25,000 total, if you believe the ******* Anglo-American valkyries who unleashed the wrath of Khan’s Smoking Joe’s Barbecue Ribs and Hotlinks. Win a war, get a medal and a seat in Congress, maybe the White House; lose a war, get indicted. You’re going to Nuremberg, pilgrim, or the ******* Hague.
Kurt Vonnegut: “World War II was over and I was standing in the middle of Times Square with a Purple Heart on and a purple hard-on.”
Colonel Kurtz:  “We fight for the land that's under our feet, the gold that's in our hands, women that worship the power in our *****.  I summon fire from the sky. Do you know what it is to be a white man who can summon fire from the sky? ...What it means? You can live and die for these things, not silly ideals that are always betrayed  . . . I swallowed a bug. Who are you, captain?”
Willard:   “Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long long year, stolen many man's soul and faith. Stuck around St. Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change. Killed the Tsar and his ministers, Anastasia screamed in vain. I rode a tank, held a gen'rals rank when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank. Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.”  
WWII, Part II:  The bombing of Dresden had to have been some kind of a violation of some International Code or Geneva Convention. But, of course, the bombers, the Victors, ran the Nuremberg show trials. The bombees didn’t get a chance to say much, didn’t want to make a fuss, seeing how generous the Army of Occupation was with their coal, gasoline, clothing and food handouts. But I was there when it was safe to climb out of the meat locker, and immediately got put to work on the après les bombes clean-up. I was there doing the ***** work, a corpse miner, tasked with collecting the fried grasshopper remains of so many unlucky Krauts who were simply burned alive, like heretics at the Inquisition. So it goes.
William Tecumseh Sherman: “War is Hell, Babaloo!”
Colonel Kilgore: “You can either surf, or you can fight!”
Sam Bottoms: “I dropped a tab of acid at the Do-Long Bridge, so I think I’ll surf for awhile: ‘I see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.’ Reading Blake: for years it was the only way I could block out the war, that and losing myself in a bunch of undercover assignments. Yeah, it was William Blake, I-Spy and lots more acid; that how I dealt with PTSD.”
The Nam, Part II, LT DAN:  “Good job, trooper; those ******* drugs got you coming and going, sliding so fast you’ve missed latrine duty 3 times this month. Now go get 5 gallons of diesel fuel and gasoline, mix it together and torch that ******* feces, soldier.”
** Chi Minh:  “This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around.”
***** Friedman:   “The Democrats and Republicans are the same guy admiring himself in the mirror.”

Muhammad Hosni El Sayed Mubarak:   “Vote for Pedro.”
Drew Gilpin Faust, Harvard:    “Fight Fiercely!”
Marshall McLuhan:    “I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t believed it.”
The Author:   I am a disaffected angry old man, formerly a disaffected angry young man; a Hopi-Italian Jew with Chinese offspring, namely my left-brained son, a mathematical genius but having a tough time dealing with idiots, the many truly stunod people in the world.  Then there’s my Rose, my sweet King Lear-jet daughter, like her half-brother, not yet finished paying for my sins. My offspring are haunted, visited upon daily by their father’s  ghosts, ghosts created, ghosts hovering over me, from wars hot and cold and peace lukewarm and cloudy, like the uranium ground contamination on the mesa, visited upon mothers and infants  and children who seek only a glass of cool water from the spring not to be glow worms in the dark, leukocytes made insane by something in the water. My sins, a father’s sins; things I did to curry favor, to ingratiate and advance myself with the 1%, things I did to get ahead in life, to get what I thought my father and others in the ancestral slipstream had failed to get, twice to the Rabbi for a get (Hebrew: גט‎, plural gittin גיטין), to get the edge my kids need now, the edge I never had, and life reduced to an exercise in ultimate combat, little more than a cage fight, man against man and God against all. The things I did for money and position shame me now. And shame is a large  source of my anger.  I will remain angry. I will hang on to my anger at God and myself and all who have been disappointed in me, by me, especially the cavalcade of short-term caretakers, women used, abused, left behind and forgotten. Why am I me? Sometimes I think that’s the way I’m programmed. But it’s okay, like Gaga: “I'm beautiful in my way 'Cause God makes no mistakes I'm on the right track, baby I was born this way' Cause God makes no mistakes, I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way and will I continue to surf the Cloud: even though God is dead and I don’t believe you, or me, or them.
Basic: remember Basic?

10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30   GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30  GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30 A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 30
30  GOTO 10 Ad infinitum
toywill Aug 2013
The Hawker Hurricane is a British fighter design from the 1930s. Some 14,000 Hurricane and Sea Hurricane fighters and fighter-bombers were built by the end of 1944。 August 1940 brought what has become the Hurricane's shining moment in history: The Battle of Britain. RAF Hurricanes accounted for more enemy aircraft kills than all other defenses combined, including all aircraft and ground defenses. Later in the war, the Hurricane served admirably in North Africa, Burma, Malta, and nearly every other theater in which the RAF participated. The Hurricane underwent many modifications during its life, resulting in many major variants, including the Mk IA, with interchangeable wings housing eight 7.7mm (0.303in) guns;the Mk IIC, with a Merlin ** engine; the Mk IID, a tankbuster with two 40mm anti-tank guns plus two 7.7mm guns. During the war, Hurricanes were sold to Egypt, Finland, India, the Irish, Persia, Turkey and the USSR Air Corps.More in http://www.rangorango.com/124-series-c-1_5.html
judy smith Apr 2015
Fashion show finales follow a familiar rhythm: after the models march along the catwalk for a last hurrah, the designer comes out to take a bow. Their demeanour is often telling, an indicator of their attitude to the collection they've shown – are they a bag of nerves, or grinning from ear to ear?

Also noteworthy is the look they choose to take their bow in. Are they even wearing their own work? One of the most celebrated designers of our time never wears his own designs. Karl Lagerfeld may create the occasional menswear look at Chanel and he designs a whole men's collection for his eponymous label but he has long been a customer elsewhere: Dior Homme.

Lagerfeld started wearing Dior Homme when he was in his late 60s, shedding 41 kilograms to fit into the skinny styles of the label's then designer, Hedi Slimane. Lagerfeld has stayed loyal to the brand ever since, even after Slimane, now creative director of Saint Laurent, quit in 2006. And although the label is known for its emphasis on youth, Lagerfeld, now in his 80s, remains one of Dior Homme's most visible clients.

Raf Simons, meanwhile, Dior's creative director of womenswear, is partial to Prada: his presence in the documentary film Dior & I (2014) is most clearly announced via his distinctive studded Prada sneakers and he often takes his catwalk bow in a head-to-toe Prada look. For his first Christian Dior ready-to-wear show he wore a vintage denim jacket with red stripes by Austrian designer Helmut Lang.

And yet many designers do wear their own work, especially if the brand carries their surname. Editors scan the wardrobe of Miuccia Prada for clues to her latest collection: is she feeling utilitarian, elegant or purposefully off-kilter? When Donatella Versace takes her bow, she often wears a look from the collection she's just shown – for autumn/winter 2015, it was a pinstriped, flared pantsuit. And even Simons has worn pieces from his own label collaboration with Sterling Ruby.

So if the name is on the label, does it mean the clothes will always be on the designer's back? Not necessarily. "I've never been into wearing clothing with my own brand name inside," says Jonathan Anderson, designer behind JW Anderson and now creative director of Loewe. "I find it odd and arrogant."

UNIFORM DRESSING

Anderson's own wardrobe is a familiar uniform: crewneck sweater, faded blue jeans, Nike sneakers. It's entirely opposite to the menswear looks he creates for his own label's catwalk presentations, which have included bandeau tops and frilled shorts. He seems to favour a clean-palette approach: keeping himself neutral so as to not deflect from his experimentation elsewhere.

This kind of wardrobe is common among fashion designers. Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez of Proenza Schouler appear to have no desire to create menswear for themselves or others, dressing instead in a similar style to Anderson: crewnecks, polo shirts or button-downs, usually with jeans and sneakers.

Mary Katrantzou, meanwhile, recent winner of the 2015 BFC/Vogue Designer Fashion Fund, may have built her business on print and embellishment but she is usually found in a black knit dress by Azzedine Alaïa. Alaïa himself has perhaps the ultimate clean-palette wardrobe: for decades he has worn black cotton Chinese pyjamas, fastened by simple floral buttoning.

Each of these designers has a successful business with its own clear signature. So maybe it doesn't matter if they don't wear their own clothes. And yet when designers do, it can be so seductive. Men buy Tom Ford because they want to be like Tom Ford. Women buy Céline because they want to look like Phoebe Philo. Stefano Pilati, creative director of Ermenegildo Zegna Couture, is often said to be his own best model; Rick Owens, in his long draped vests and baggy shorts, is the perfect ambassador for his own alternate universe of otherness.

The style of Roksanda Ilincic is synonymous with her own brand. "I create pieces that embrace the female form," she says of her bold colour palette and silhouette. "Being a woman means I'm able to feel and test those things on a personal level … I tend to favour long hemlines and nipped-in waists, with interesting shades and textures, pared down with simple basics and outerwear." Does she ever wear anyone else? "Of course! Black polo necks from Wolford are an absolute staple and in winter I am rarely without my favourite black cashmere coat by Prada, which is on permanent loan from my husband."

It seems like an industry divided between designers who wear their own work and those who don't. But sometimes things change. Backstage at Loewe earlier this season, Anderson said: "With Loewe, I have a detachment. I wear a lot of it. Now I'm more, 'Does this work?' I've got a bit of a love back for fashion."

Two months on, his interest in wearing his own designs has grown still further. He is the cover star of the new issue of menswear biannual magazine Fantastic Man, posing in a slash-fronted sweater and leather tie trousers. The pieces are both his work from current season Loewe. Womenswear. In for a penny, in for a pound.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015 | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Michael Parish Oct 2014
I knew there would be black smoke
Escaping from my powerless
Hold on the path of no mans
Lands atonement.
I went as fast as I could
Into the grounds of unbaried graves.
John  Nov 2013
Insidious Wallop
John Nov 2013
I got them 25 dolla bills in my pocket *****
gonna make it rain make it rain on yo ******* quick
pyrex raf simmons drippin wit the real swag
smashing bottles of that grey goose
all the ****** gettin loose
gonna make it rain
make it rain
make it rain
make it rain
make it rain
make it rain
make it rain


.
Jude kyrie Jul 2016
England 1942

The war was endless she thought it would be over in six weeks when it was declared.
now three years later she found herself in this airfield crowded with young fighter pilots flying Spitfires and the bomber crews flying the stalwart Lancaster bombers.

She was twenty eight now getting to that  age of being called a spinster of the parish. The young airmen were interested in her but really only for one thing.
She worked in the photography department of the RAF and developed pictures taken by the recon airmen of France and Germany and Holland .
Recently an American had joined her in the darkroom.
He was a big man and  had a crooked smile and big hands he lay on the belly of the bomber plane taking pictures he laughed and said he never fired a gun in his life.
And that he had no beef with Germans he just fired his camera at them.
He liked to develop his own pictures and they worked alongside each other in the darkroom all though the war.
She got used to his crooked smile and big hands. He got used to her being there.
The war finally ended and he went back to the States. Where he opened a small photography store and built a darkroom with his own hands.
When it was finished he returned to England on a ***** steamer to save money. He knocked on the ladies door that had worked with him in the darkroom.
She answered and he asked her for her hand in marraige.
She accepted his proposal and they sailed back to new York.
When she explored the photography shop she found the darkroom.
On it was pinned a note in his nice neat handwriting.
It said I fell in love with you in the dark my love.
But I want you spend the rest of of your life following the light with me.
She was to be my grandma and he was my grandfather.

My father was born a year later
he had a crooked smile and big hands with a love of photography.
His specaility light and shadow.
I was born much later and did not share the family love of photography and was let off by God with only a crooked smile no big hands.
Instead I used to get into trouble at school for writing poems in the margins of my exercise books.
Grandma passed away a little while ago
i was given the task of clearing her personal items from the house.
In her memory box I found the note
in Grandfathers hand that he pinned on the door
of his darkroom so long ago.
It moved me to write this story.

So Go follow the light Grandma
Look for a big man
with a crooked smile and big hands
Hes waiting for you.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2018
"YOU'LL BE SHARING WITH AN OLD RAF ACE
...TRY NOT TO WAKE HIM!"

The voice in the dark
telling me his life in a full

fathomed five voice
detail after detail after detail

stitched onto the darkness
so that I can relive it

unpick it
make it my own.

The voice in the dark
young and vigorous

so alive
so full of life.

"Jerry shot our guys...did so they did
as they came down in their parachutes."

A dandelion blown
by a child.

"Fishing is nice..fishing is calming!"
The man I can not see

moves from past to present
like a professional time traveller.

"We'd wait for a Jerry train
to go into a tunnel then..."

"Have you ever fished for trout..?
...then do a loop de loop and

bomb the tunnel at the other end...
...casting the fly far out on the water then

fly over and bomb the end of the tunnel
**** and bury the ******* at the one and the same time!"

Finally the voice in the dark
winds down as if it had been merely

a mechanical toy that
time forgot.

Sunlight invades the room
throws itself upon the floor

a parallelogram of morning
etched upon the floor.

The voice in the dark
is a gaunt old man

corpse like
mouth open  in a final plea

for forgiveness for
still being alive when

"...better chaps than I
died."

His story seeding itself
inside me

before turning
into words.
Kendra Wheeler  Oct 2010
JBC
Kendra Wheeler Oct 2010
JBC
Jolly good friends are we
Only because of “Raf-Rod” pain
Happiness when the assignments were complete.
Not far off is
Sonic,
Our favorite activity, but,
Not with out Dan

Best friends forever
I** repeat,
Best friends forever
Leave it or take it
Everyone’s a hater

Crammed in the truck
Only Dan, Stan and Kendra
Leaving behind the haters
Loving our route 44’s and
Eating out taters
Getting all dressed up
Everyone in this city be jealous of us.
This is an acrostic poem, spells Johnson Bible College (my school), written for a class, thought I'd share :)

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