No words. Joy. Tears. So happy for you both, she chokes. Psalm and pepper father proud to be the salt in his wound. Sparkly sparkly, she said yes, he says. Young, so young, so happy. Lifetimes to travel, wishes and kisses, footsteps they won't remember in the end, but that carried them to it. Love sweet love, how bitter you can be. Empty nest, a babies chest carried the heart that now belongs to him. Sparkly sparkly, my older baby brother so much older now he seems. She said yes . . . yes . . . yes  . . . yes.

Sitting in some car in a forgotten parking lot
Grey marks the skies
Lush green plants peeping in
The wildlife of concrete and paint makes the perfect background
For
Little ***** of liquid heaven falling on my windscreen
And some music to complete the scene
Each guitar line synchronises with each raindrop
Each blast of power thunder hits hard like heavy metal
But the soft clouds, the gentle ebb and flow lull me to sleep
Whispering, persuading me to dream
But I really don't want to miss this shard of time
I never want to lose little moments like these

A silver raindrop is born by landing on my car
Crash landing, rather
The bubbling pocket of mystery travels down
Swerving and slamming into other fellow pockets in crime
It's life cycle completes when it reaches the bottom
It races to it's death, unable to stop gravity's plan for it
Each drop morphs into another, making a wave
The rain weaves an intricate web of waves
All strutting their sparkly magic before me
I sense a metaphor for humanity creeping in
Millions of crescendos growing about
Too concerned with their internal politics to worry about others
But I stay focused on the beauty all around

I wonder if heaven has rainy days
If so, this must be one of them

You gave me a glass jar
We collected fireflies and put them inside
We admired them every night.
Only the two of us understood
what the flicker of the tiny lights meant.

Only the two of us understood.

One day, we walked down the beach
We walked by a stranger whose eyes
sparkled like our glass jar.
I lost my mind
I dropped our jar
I gave the stranger our fireflies
I thought he was worthy.

You ran away with tears in your eyes
and wounds in your hand
from all the broken pieces of our glass jar.

As I tried catching up, I stepped on broken glass
I hurt myself
I stopped chasing you
I let you go and went after the stranger with the sparkly eyes.

For a moment, I forgot about you and our jar and our fireflies.

One day, it rained.
The stranger left and I felt my wounds fresh again.
I thought about you and our jar and our fireflies.
I missed you.
It hurt and I cried and I promised
not to collect fireflies anymore.

I haven't seen fireflies or sparkly eyes since then.

Six hundred and seventy three days passed
I went back to the ocean and saw the broken pieces of our glass jar
The wounds are now healed but I still miss you
I picked up the pieces and glued them back together
I sent them back to you in a box with a bow
"This is yours", I said
I did not wait for a response.

One day, I saw you holding our empty jar
You were looking at me
I looked back, holding my tears
I moved close and I saw
There were no tears, no pain, no anger in your eyes anymore

I moved closer 'cos I thought I saw your eyes sparkle
I thought about our fireflies
And in that moment I realized

It was you all along
It was not the stranger with the sparkly eyes
It was you
It is you
You are my fireflies.

Sister and I loved to play, to run and twirl and roll in grass all day. Momma gets mad when we go too far but our yard is massive we live on a farm! Running on rolling fields of prairie, singing and laughing and acting merry, shot right through the tree line that marks our abode, slid across the rocks on Old Joser Road, saw an old lady who walked with crumpled toes and spoke too and listened too a pack of crows, plucking weeds and picking a thorny flower she called out to us that fateful hour;

  “Oh my and how lovely, two twins so cute! I had thought no one lived so far out here, away from the town and its charming cheer? Why don’t you come over and meet my pet crows and I’ll show you two a trick that nobody knows!”

  I leaned down to consult with sister you see, she being younger she’s littler than me, I told her to stay close while we watched the show, then we’d be off and away we’d go;

  “Okay old lady my name is Tim and this here’s Tam and this place you’re in, is our family farm and that guy in the field, well that’s our Dad, and if you mess with us he gets real mad, so no funny business in this game and we’ll be nice to you just the same.”

  “Agreed indeed you little man and I can’t wait to see you in my pan!”

  Now I had to think on this real hard. Did that mean something about being able to see or was she talking about eating me? No matter, no problems and boy those crows, did they sure put on some funny shows and acted like they had lots of smarts and seemed just like pets and warmed our hearts;

  “Thanks old lady we gotta go we’re almost late for dinner you know?”

  She moved too fast and came right up and pulled out an odd-looking wooden cup;

“Wait there dearies, not so quick, about that dinner and my sweet shtick, you see you owe me a trick too, two coins I’m asking there of you, you bring them up to my cabin on that hill and I’ll teach you some magic and give you a thrill!”

  “Okay lady!”

  I agreed as we ran, if we don’t get home soon it’s gonna be my can! ‘Cause I know my pops he’ll beat my **** and I’ll be sent upstairs with nothing to eat, so I told little sister to move those feet!

caesura

  Whisk you down the road of boiled toad, and singeing hair, of whispered things and fires' flare, of evil looks from open books, pigeon’s toes and a chicken gizzard, while around your legs it crawls and creeps, my hungry lizard that never sleeps! You gawk! You stare! My wrinkly-face, the dank rank air in my dingy place, the dusty shelves a-lined in books and creepy crawlies in every nook, cobwebs and spiders at every corner, piggies run squealing while the chickens banterer, ravens caw at strange green light from lantern but back to all those shadow corners where little bad things spy and salivate, thinking on what they had last ate, and there you are shaking, nervous, trembling; a porky little piece of meat and something we all want to eat!

  “Oh don’t be scared my little one, I’m kidding, teasing, just having fun. Hand me the coins I asked for earlier, when we crossed paths along Old Joser, draw near to me, come here, come a bit closer!”

  Be careful will I not to bare my teeth, or lick my lips or stare too deep, for one is easy, two a dangerous feat and I so want to have my little porky piece of meat! I stood on a ladder with little Tam on my shoulder, so she could see the *** as it smoked and it smoldered, I directed little Tim over there to a seat and he saw me lick my lips as I thought about their meat.

  “Aha ha ha ha ha!”

  I laughed out loud as I cast in the dust and the billows changed color and kiddies made a fuss, but then the sparkly things popped and shimmered in their eyes, while both of them let out marvelous sighs, bewildered, bemused and tricked by my lie, I threw Tammy in to my cauldron to die!

  “Nooooooo!”

  Little Tim, little Tim did he let me in and punished will he be for that little sin, I whispered a spell and took up my broom and zapped a hole in the floor out in the room, where Tim was running and dropped him in a hole, down a tunnel he went that saved his soul, for out he shot back on Old Joser Road, no wiser no worse for the trick I showed!

Now listen up children or this is your lot,

For I’m out there always lurking with my ***,

I’m always hungry and so are my crows,

We’ll eat you up all the way to your toes,

“Jimson and sassafras, morning glory, woodrose seed,”

“A ***** of my finger, lock of my hair, a thimble and tweed,”

“Two coins, a cauldron, my cunning and your breed,”

“Whenever I’m hungry that’s all that I need!”

Today I woke up 1AM
and felt like playing FIFA
I thought I was about to be robbed cuz when I rode the van...
but the guy's earring was sparkly
and I was the only one left in when we got to the airport
My bags were heavy
and they allowed my ID
to enter so I went to the departure
and played FIFA again
loud people are annoying
the lady in the food counter is pretty
My flight made me feel nervous
the old woman i sat beside kept talking and reading the magazine, i just kept nodding
When we landed I swore my heart skipped a beat
when i didn't see my luggage in the conveyer belt
I ate at a dimsum place and felt like they ***** my wallet
But more ****** was the guy who tried to rip me with a 700-peso taxi ride
I went to another, only got 170
I rode the Baguio bus
another old woman was beside me
she was creepy
but she told me I had a nice personality
That was the best thing a stranger has ever said to me

1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.

If I were doing my Laundry I'd wash my ***** Iran
I'd throw in my United States, and pour on the Ivory Soap, scrub up Africa, put all the birds and elephants back in the jungle,
I'd wash the Amazon river and clean the oily Carib & Gulf of Mexico,  
Rub that smog off the North Pole, wipe up all the pipelines in Alaska,  
Rub a dub dub for Rocky Flats and Los Alamos,
Flush that sparkly Cesium out of Love Canal

Rinse down the Acid Rain over the Parthenon & Sphinx, Drain Sludge out of the Mediterranean basin & make it azure again,
Put some blueing back into the sky over the Rhine, bleach the little Clouds so snow return white as snow,
Cleanse the Hudson Thames & Neckar, Drain the Suds out of Lake Erie  

Then I'd throw big Asia in one giant Load & wash out the blood & Agent Orange,
Dump the whole mess of Russia and China in the wringer, squeeze out the tattletail Gray of U.S. Central American police state,
& put the planet in the drier & let it sit 20 minutes or an Aeon
till it came out clean.




                                                     Allen Ginsberg
                                                    Bou­lder, 26 April, 1980








.

its not fair for the sky to be mean to the clouds for crying so much

its especially unfair because the sky cries every night too

silver sparkly tears washing off blue eyeshadow

but its ok when the sky does it because the sky pretty-cries

the clouds ugly cry

and thats not okay with the sky


its not fair that no one likes it when the clouds cry

because the clouds only cry because they are heavy

and want some of the weight to go away

the sky cries and everyone loves the sky

maybe because the sky is older

and can smile again when it is done

because the sky cries to get what it wants


but the clouds dont know why they cry

they cant help it

they are so heavy and it hurts so much to carry all the raindrops

and the sky does not care

the sky says, “but you look so light and fluffy

so i think you are not heavy at all

i think you just cry because you want people to talk about you

and you know unless you cry

no one talks about the clouds”


the clouds try to hold their raindrops in now

even though it hurts

and they are very heavy

because they live in the sky and they must

do what the sky says

when the sky is watching


but of course they cant hold it all

and the sky gets mad when they let out all the raindrops they were holding

so the clouds try to explain “I’m sorry

the rain was heavy and i had to let it go”

and the sky does not listen

the sky says “you are so dramatic

you do not have to cry so much

over something so small”

but the clouds do not understand

because the clouds have never had a reason to cry

not a big one or a small one

they just do


so the clouds start holding more and more and more raindrops

they dont let themselves have thunderstorms anymore

it hurts so bad

so

so

so

bad

and the sky still does not seem to understand that

the clouds just want to not be heavy


the clouds wonder if the sky will miss them when they are gone


they suppose that the sky will be glad to be rid of the rain


and then the clouds go away forever.

We’d been to concert at the Town Hall. It was a Saturday night and still early for a Saturday Night Out. So many people on the streets. The girls barely dressed, the boys bouncing around in t-shirts. Older people threaded along the pavements walking purposefully, but ‘properly’ dressed, and now making their way, as we were, for the station.

I know He noticed her because He stopped, momentarily. We were holding hands. He loves to hold my hand. That evening I remember squeezing his hand firmly as if to say how pleased I was He was here and I was not walking to the station alone. I have done this, walking to the station alone, so often. It is good to have someone close at such times, someone to talk to about the performance, the music, what is going on around us. We walked right past them.

I noticed the man first and then the child. He was very tall, very dark, wearing a black leather jacket I think. He was not scruffy so much as untidy, dark and untidy, with curly hair that did not know a comb. He was busking. He sang an incomprehensible song in a language I didn’t recognize, playing an electric guitar plugged into a small amplifier by his feat. He turned from side to side as he sang as though looking for an audience. I remember his trainers and the soft guitar case open on the pavement with a smattering of coins. Then, this child.

Over the last two days I’ve examined the scene in my memory. I’ve sought to recall as much as I can about this little girl. She was not that little I think for her age, perhaps seven or eight. Stocky. Thick golden brown hair. A sensible skirt covering her knees, a fawn jumper with some sparkly decoration. Tights or long socks perhaps. Proper shoes. I keep examining my mind’s photo. What I recall most vividly was her large smiling eyes and her expression. This is my daddy, it said. He’s singing and I’m here looking after him. I’m his smiley girl here on the city street. It’s late. Other children back home would be in bed, but I’m here smiling at the people passing.

Yesterday we talked about this couple, the little girl mostly. He brought the subject up. He’d been thinking about her too. He’d been puzzling over the two of them. As a pair they seemed so physically different, hardly father and daughter. It was the (possible) daughter’s gaze, her twinkling eyes that had spoken to him - as they had spoken to me. This is my daddy, those eyes and that smiley face had said. And she was holding a bear.

Why did I not mention the bear until now? Of course, she was holding her bear. She had both arms around her bear. She was hugging her bear to herself. It was a mild evening for March – she wore no coat. He looked a good bear, not too old or small, not the kind of bear she’d been given in infancy, perhaps recently acquired but well-loved, well-hugged. A bear that seemed entirely right for her age, for her slightly old fashioned clothes. The sort of clothes I might have worn as a child. I think of a photo of me at that age dressed in a Cloth-Kits dress, with an Alice band, with glasses and lots of curly hair.  

He said ‘I’ve been wondering about the two of them. Did they have a home? Where would they go to when it became late?’ Was there a mother? Was she working somewhere on that Saturday night and the father had to take the girl. Was she wearing her best clothes? She looked OK. A glowing, healthy face, a face that reflected the bright, coloured lights of the city street.’

Suddenly, I realised there were tears in his eyes. I thought, He is imagining a story. He is imagining a story of this seven year old who should have been tucked up in bed with her bear, like my little boy with his blue blanket. He was imagining her life., her past in some Eastern European town, where she went to school, where she had friends and relatives, where she had been born and brought up, and been loved. And now the girl was here in this not so distant city. Perhaps illegally, without the papers, smuggled in as so many are. Her father, swarthy, even a tinge of the Roma perhaps, but she so different. It was the golden brown hair. Thick hair, a ribbon tied in it. A pink ribbon.

He had thought of his little girl, now fifteen, only when she was that age, seven. Oddly similar in some ways, the thick hair, the smiley face, a different but ever present bear, an infant’s bear, not a bear she’d take with her except in a bag. A bear not to be seen with at seven, but loved.

‘I’ll call her Katya,’ He said. The girl, not the bear.

And later He did. Every few days He would mention her – just in passing. ‘Do you think Katya’s  at school today?’ ‘I was in the city this afternoon, but I didn’t see Katya.’

He wrote about her and her father. A little story. I haven’t read it. He just told me He’d written it; He’d thought of following them in his imagination. He was a little embarrassed telling me this, and He didn’t offer to show me the story, which is unusual because when He mentions He’s written something He usually does. And so I wonder. I wonder how long this memory will stay with him and whether He will follow this couple (and her bear) into the future, create a story for them to live in.

Perhaps it will bring him the peace He does not have. The peace I try to give him when He is with me at home and we sit in my little house, at my table eating toast with Marmite after I’ve been out late whilst He’s sat on my settee and read – in peace at being in my home. I know He feels cast adrift from his family and He can’t be part of mine, yet a while. Perhaps it’s like being in another country. Perhaps He thinks, at least that busker had his child with him, his shining star, his ever-smiley girl.

Yet He is thinking of his smiley girl, smiley still at fifteen, still loving her dad despite what He’s done, despite the fact that she sees him so seldom. Despite the fact that He is only occasionally with her, and she knowing I, his lover, his young woman, his companion and friend, has captured his heart and thoughts.

I think of Katya too. I think of my older girl, so loved and circled about with love and admiration by her respective families and our friends. She is so special and so beautiful, as I was special at eleven, as I think I was beautiful at eleven, just on the brink of that transformation that will take her towards becoming a teenager – and the rest.  

We were lying in bed the Saturday morning before seeing Katya and I was telling him about my childhood. He’d asked me about zebra finches. Walking in his nearby park He had admired their bright red beaks in the park’s newly-restored aviary. I told him about a parrot in a park close to my childhood home, a parrot I passed as I went to school. I described for him my walk to school, meeting up with my friends, passing the parrot. I know how happy it made him to hear me talk about such things. He said so later, embracing me in the kitchen. ’I so love to hear you talk about your childhood.’ I could feel he was moved to say this. It was important. I realised then just how deeply he loved me. That it was important. That he imagined me as a child. That He wanted to know that part of me. He’s rarely asked about the stuff in between. Of my former lovers I’ve said a little. He has said a little about his past liaisons and affaires, but knows I am uncomfortable when he does. So we leave this. But childhood, That’s so different, because it is that precious, precious time of shelter and care: when we begin to discover who we are and who and what we love.

Where is Katya now? In a messy room she shares with her parents in a house shared with economic migrants, where she has a few belongings in three plastic bags. In one, her best clothes she wears to stand on the city street on a Saturday night with her daddy. In another a jumble of not so clean clothes she rotates each day. She has her sleeping bag, her bear, her warm coat and gloves. There’s a few magazines she’s found about the house. English is puzzling. She learnt a little at school back home, and from the TV of course, those American soaps. If she was here in my house I would stand her in the shower, wash her thick hair, put her clothes in the machine, sit her on my bed in my daughter’s clothes with some picture books, introduce her to my cats, we would bake some buns. I would give her a small gift of my love to take away with her and she would look on me with her smiley face, her sparkling eyes and let me hold her bear.

And later when I saw him I would tell him that Katya had been with me for a little, and tears would fall, mine and his, knowing that only in our dreams could we make this so.

(a travelogue)

He stared down through
the unbroken silence
lapping the shoreline
Water skippers dart around
the rocks and windfall driftwood
settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds
and emerging broadleaf sprouts

A petrified heartwood timber
lie fallow waiting bare barked,
hushed like a pining lover’s
     timeworn love seat,
     rubbed smooth as
     the crystalline waters
     of  half-moon lake

Lingering for a while  ―  
like a hidden stalker,
a perched wildcat waiting
for the full moon’s  
swooning spell to saturate
the thickening dusk quietude;
     arousing the urgent
     call of the wild —
exhaled from the held breath
of the wilderness nocturne
    on half-moon lake

The stillness was scattered
with the soft downy hairs
of the sleeping cattails,  and
the newly shed catkins
a spring gust bestrewed
from a tall resin birch tree
nigh the Sitka willows

     He  sat  quietly ...
     time out of mind ―

tossing his eyes up into the sky;
taking the time to read the stars ―
catching  them  each  again
as they fell into his gentle hands,
to show him who he was

Seeing their sparkly tracers  
trail-out above the cattails,
     from a distance
they resembled falling stars
unable to perceive their own renaissance ―
plashing lightly upon the still-water
     on half-moon lake

A lone shadow glides stealthily
near mid-tarn,.. swimming  
enchantingly with the grace
     of a blackswan
Appearing to glance shoreward
at the glowing low stars
rise and fall, as his eyes
twinkled skyward over
     the moonlit lagoon ―
heavenward of its moonlit ballet;
the lone sleek dark shadow
     slipping through
     a faint circular ripple
stirring the smooth as glass waters ―  
disappearing like a fleeting moment
     waning deep aneath
     a subtle silent wake.

When all the clear lines blurred,
he knew it had been so long ...

     but hearken !
… an interceding
     long drawn out wail  
     echoed  a feral ache
     across the stillness,
     breaking the silence ―

as the shadow reappeared;
     his tears surrendered
to the undulating call of the wild;
he felt the spirit of the sole Loon,
     as black and white
     as the moonlit night,
stir deeply in his wanting heart ―
     lay bare the silence
in lengthy yodeled psalms
to the god of the moon

Diving down deep yet again,
keeping the light he’d been given,
vanishing into the lifespring
sanctuary of half-moon lake


harlon rivers ... May 2018
travelogue: 4 of some more