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Johnny walker Nov 2018
When I was just a kid
I would have this recurring dream where
I'd be falling but would have a terrible agonising pain In my stomach as I was falling, but I couldn't wake up I'd just have this terrible pain then suddenly
I would see the ground coming up fast and I
would hit hard, there was
a thick layer of snow that would cushion the Impact and I'd still be alive, but couldn't move anything other than my
head
In doing so I could see my surroundings, It was like
something out of the Victorian days, shops with bullseye window quaint
little streets, ladies with long dresses and
bonnets
Then all of a sudden I'd wake up but still remembering my dream this would continue
right throughout my childhood,! never ever found out what the dream meant, but remember that pain was as If It were
real
A recurring dream as a kid never found out the reason for the dream but the terrible pain was as If real
vhea Jan 2017
You suddenly stop laughing and the light moment just a second ago will turn dark as you become silent for seconds. I ask you what’s wrong and you bite your lip, hesitating. My heart thumps fast and I realize something’s wrong. A million thoughts run over my head as to what I have done wrong. Did I say something? I rewind every moment that has passed since I entered this deserted coffee shop that has become our place for the last 6 months.

You take a deep breath and say you’ve fallen out of love with me for months now. That you just couldn’t tell because you were scared of breaking my heart.

I look down at my coffee and took a deep breath. I hate coffee. I never consume everything, even so reach halfway down to the bottom. I wonder if you had ever noticed that. I clench my hands to fists.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly and I close my eyes. “Please look at me.” I open them again and I see a teardrop fall into the cup, standing out for a moment then finally blending in to the darkness.

Again, I take a deep breath, swallow all of the bile that’s forming in my throat, and I look at you.

You had your eyebrows turn in a frown. You had your lips pursed. Your eyes were staring at me intently and all I can think of is how the **** did I not see this coming?

You beg me to say something but I just look at you with a blurry vision. There is a lump in my throat, completely blocking words to come out of my mouth. Please, stay. I wanted to tell you. Tell me what I did wrong. Let’s get through this. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I looked at you for a while, distorted because of the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. You just sat there, waiting for me to say something.

I never did.

And I looked at you until the distorted image of you finally stands up, walks to me, and kisses my forehead. I relish the last time I feel your lips against me. The last time I feel your arms around me. The last time you whisper something against my ear.

“I’m sorry it had to end like this.”

Your words seep inside my head, completely enveloping my brain and suddenly I was sobbing on your chest. I press my face as far as they can get close to your heart, just in case you remember you once said that it beats for me. My heart hammers on my chest and a thousand thoughts run through my head. Please. Please don’t go. Please. You love me. I love you. Please stay. I love you so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.

A whimper of “please” was the only thing I could get out of my system and you hug me tighter. You apologize. I could feel that this was going to end soon. I hug you for twenty more seconds until you pat my back three times and pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” You tell me one last time before finally leaving.

I hear the door open, and close again. I turn to the door and your back was the last thing I see before I completely fall apart in front of the chair that you used to sit in for the last 6 months with only the coffee to catch my tears.
Carl Halling Sep 2015
There was a long vanished England
Of well-spoken presenters
Of the BBC Home Service,
Light Service, and Children’s Favourites,
Of coppers and tanners, and ten bob notes;
And jolly shopkeepers, and window cleaners.

I remember my cherished Wolf Cub pack,
How I loved those Wednesday evenings,
The games, the pomp and seriousness of the camps,
The different coloured scarves, sweaters and hair
During the mass meetings,
The solemnity of my enrolment,

Being helped up a tree by an older boy,
Baloo, or Kim, or someone,
To win my Athletics badge,
Winning my first star, my two year badge,
And my swimming badge
With its frog symbol, the kindness of the older boys.
"There Was a Long Vanished England" was created out of two previously versified pieces, the first verse being based on the beginnings of some kind of short story almost certainly drafted in the early 2000s, the second from another unfinished story, this one sketched out - or so I remember - when I was in my early 20s.
As a uniform, he always wore
the grey ironmonger's coat
immaculately pressed and bore
clipped hair neat as well as a
close shave.

Mr. Cornthwaite (all of us
minions called him only Mr.)
was no "Do It 'Cos I Say So" boss
but with patience would teach
and preach retail folklore:

Cooks' staples stored well inside
our mini-market shop advanced
for its 50s' existence; shelf-stacking
to re-arrange for early use-by at the
front; fast-moving lines checked
hourly if not sooner; trusted staff
becoming the Tasting Squad for
new fresh produce being considered
for supply - The Cornflake (never
uttered in his hearing) circulating
to ensure not only that his ever-clear
commands were reflected in full shelves
but also that staff were coping not
rushed or overwhelmed.

The best Warrant Officer cares
just as much commands as
my de-mobbed Warrant Officer
father used to tell me when I asked.

(c) C J Heyworth
Two pieces of advice I received when much younger have had a huge influence on how I have lived:
Dad's observation that forming people into a team is just as much about care for them as it is about command, and my grammar school headmaster's certainty that our education in his school was intended to turn us into NCOs who actually make the world work satisfactorily.

Stanley Cornthwaite was shop manager of Booth's 1950s' Blackpool mini-market which stretched from the Promenade back to The Strand, and sold far more varieties of the groceries, meats, breads and cakes than many of its competitors.  
Working there during several school holidays when I was a very impressionable 13/14 year-old was my first significant work experience, showed me that I would not go into retail, but was very pleasant and informative for most of the time.
I'm unsurprised that Booth's has grown and grown, and now has several high-quality, medium-size mini-markets across the North West.  It is not at all a Pile'em High & Sell'em Cheap company.
Joe Wilson Apr 2014
The Victoria plum-tree that we planted this year
Is now full of blossom that looks lovely from here
The creamy white flowers and the brightest green leaves
Makes beautiful colour as Springtime relieves.

The garden of Winter, this year so wet
Does blossom herald a ‘best Summer yet.’

It’s quite true of course that village life so snug
Can have a tendency to make one feel smug
But for years our’s has struggled, it now has no shops
And a pub that’s near closure though it still sells the ‘hops.’

We don’t take it lightly the community here
For we know we could lose it which would cost us all dear.

It’s not really the money though the costs would be great
But there’d be no Village Hall and no Summer Fete
No chats with our friends over stiles by the field
Nor any more eggs from the local chicks yield.

We don’t take it lightly the community here
And we will fight to keep it which will cost us all dear.



©JRW2014
Villages struggle much more nowadays, ours does.

— The End —