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Terry Collett Jul 2015
Hannah and Benedict
sat on the floor
of her bedroom

playing chess
outside it was raining
hitting against
the windows

your move
Hannah said

Benedict moved
his pawn forward

Hannah's mother(Mrs Scot)
walked along the passage
by the open door
whit ur ye daein?

playing chess
Hannah said

wa haur?
Mrs Scot asked

where else?
Hannah replied

in th' dinnin room
Mrs Scot said

what's up?
Benedict asked

she wants us to play
in the dinning room
Hannah said

oan th' table
nae th' fluir
Mrs Scot said firmly

awe rite Maw
Hannah said

so Hannah picked up
the chessboard carefully
and carried it into
the dinning room
balancing the board
so that the pieces
were where they were

Benedict followed behind
hands in the pockets
of his jeans
Mrs Scot eyeing him
with beady eyes
her hair covered
in a tartan headscarf

Hannah set the board
on the table
and Benedict and she
sat at the table
to resume their game

Mrs Scot walked off
muttering to herself

whose move?
Benedict asked

mine now
Hannah said

why couldn't we play
on the floor of your room?
he asked

God knows
Hannah replied
as she moved her bishop
along the black squares
your king's in trouble
Hannah said

Benedict looked
at the board
and moved his
pawn forward to block
and protect his king

Mrs Scot appeared
in the doorway
staring at them
hoo lang ur ye
gonnae be?
she asked

not long the way
Benedict's playing why?
Hannah said

it has stopped rainin'
sae ye can gang it
Mrs Scot said

Benedict gazed at Hannah
then at Mrs Scot

ok won't be long
Hannah said

Mrs Scot went off
and Hannah moved her bishop
and said
checkmate

Benedict looked
at the board and saw
that he was

so there you are
he said
so do we have
to go now?

Hannah nodded her head
yes it's best
so she packed up
the pieces
and the game board  
and took them to her room

Benedict followed
watching her as she
put the game away

then they walked
to the door and went out
into the morning air
with Mrs Scot at the door
giving them
the dark stare.
A BOY AND GIRL AND A CHESS GAME AND HER MOTHER IN 1960 LONDON.
Terry Collett Nov 2015
Sae whit did ye dae?
Hannah's mother asked
when Hannah returned
from swimming with Benny

ah went swimmin'
Hannah replied

so where's he noo?
her mother said
looking past
her daughter's head

he's in th' cludgie
Hannah said

what's the' matter
wi' heem?
her mother said frowning

he's havin' a ***
Hannah replied

whit ur ye dae efter?
her mother said

Benny came out
of the toilet
and stood by Hannah
everything all right?
he asked

never better
Hannah said
come on
let's go in my room
and I can show you
the new knife
my dad got me

whit ur ye daein'?
Mrs Scot said

we're going to my room
and I'm showing
Benny my new knife
Hannah said

weel dornt sit
oan th' scratcher
she said moodily
and walked off
to the kitchen

Benny and Hannah
went to her bedroom
and closed the door

I see your mum's
her usual happy self
Benny said quietly

o don't mind her
her bark is as bad
as her bite
and Hannah laughed
sit down
and I'll show you
the knife

but your mum said
not to sit on the bed
Benny said

what she can't see
won't hurt her
Hannah said

Benny watched her
as she went to a drawer
and sorted amongst
many knives
many of which
he'd seen before

there was a knock
at the door
whit ur ye tois daein'?
Mrs Scot said

I'm showing Benny something
Hannah replied

Mrs Scot walked off
and said nothing more

that'll get her thinking
Hannah said smiling

thinking about what?
Benny said

never mind
about what
if it gets her thinking
it's a good thing
Hannah said

sitting beside Benny
showing him
the new knife
on her single
bouncy bed.
A 12 YEAR OLD BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960
Hannah Beasley Dec 2017
A name is but a label that has branded us for life
Hannah
A name such as my own, Biblical in nature
Meaning so much more to me than “The grace of god”
Hannah
With a heart for spoken word
And a mouth more than capable
Hannah
Who knows the great pleasure of the perfect phrase
And always has something to say
Hannah
I’ve got a way with words,
And I’m stronger than most
Hannah
A heavy heart,
And gentle hands
Hannah
With uncle lost to a smoking gun,
At the scene of a suicide
Hannah
A snapping turtle beneath my skin
Timid but fierce
Hannah
With intellect in my veins
And curiosity all the same
Hannah
Like a pine cone
Those rough and pointy edges remind me of my own
Hannah
Made from good intentions
And full of pride
Hannah
Backwards I am the same,
For I have only one face.
Hannah
My two-toned mind
Damaged, but alive
Hannah
My bipolar-stained brain
Depression? or mania?
Hannah
Because what good is “the grace of god”
if he only chooses to pit you against yourself
Hannah
For I am my only rival
Or Peninnah I should say
Hannah
For while god's word may be gracious
It is my name not his
Jade Jan 2019
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide, self-harm, and eating disorders⚠
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how do u know if ur having a nervous breakdown
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signs of a nervous breakdown
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can u be hospitalized for having a nervous breakdown
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grounds for admission to a psychiatric ward
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what's it like being admitted to a psychiatric ward
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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how do u know if ur having a panic attack
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
are panic attacks and anxiety attacks the same thing
-----------------------------------------------------------­--------
whats the difference between a panic attack and an anxiety attack
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
generalized anxiety disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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borderline personality disorder symptoms
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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why are my hands always cold
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
prozac side effects
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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bipolar disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
seroquel side effects
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
does seroquel make you gain weight
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how to refrain from eating
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how to force yourself to throw up
--------------------------------------------------------------­-----
eating disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
binge eating disorder symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
bulimia symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
anorexia symptoms
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
insomnia
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can you overdose on melatonin
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how did sylvia plath **** herself
---------------------------------------------------------­----------
carbon monoxide poisoning
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
how many advils do I have to take to **** myself
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
major depressive disorder symptoms
--------------------------------------------------------­-----------
suicide warning signs
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
IS PATH WARM
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
tortured artist
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
why did vincent van gogh cut off his ear
-------------------------------------------------------------­------
virginia woolf suicide note
------------------------------------------------------------­-------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
songs about suicide
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why soundtrack
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
billie eilish lovely lyrics
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
why do I feel so empty
----------------------------------------------------------------­---
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
empty
-------------------------------------------------­------------------
thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
----------------------------------------------------------­---------
i wish i was dead
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.come/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
i wanna be your girlfriend - girl in red

Oh, Hannah
I wanna feel you close
Oh, Hannah
Come lie with my bones
Oh, Hannah
Don't look away
Oh, Hannah
Just look at me the same
I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips
I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath
I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips
I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath
(Oh, Hannah
Oh, Hannah
Oh, Hannah
Oh, Hannah)
Oh, Hannah
Tell me something nice
Like flowers and blue skies
Oh, Hannah
I will follow you home
Although my lips are blue and I'm cold
I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips
I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath
I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips
I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath
Oh, Hannah
Oh, Hannah
Oh, Hannah
Oh, Hannah
I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath
I don't wanna be your friend
I don't wanna be your friend I wanna be your *****
And I wanna touch you but not like this
The look in your eyes
My hand between your thighs
Oh, this can't be real
Its all just a dream
I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips
I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath
I don't wanna be your friend
Lose my breath
I don't wanna be your friend
Lose my breath
A poem every day.
7/4/2020

cant describe it any other way baby
Terry Collett May 2015
I walk across
to Hannah's flat
in Arrol House
and knock at the door

Mrs Scott opens
the door and stands there
she's a short thin woman
with a face of granite
with a slit
where her mouth is

whit is it?
she says
her Scottish accent
rough as stone

is Hannah home?
I ask

I dunnae kinn
she replies
HANNAH
she bellows
over her shoulder
Benedcit is haur fur ye
she adds
scowling at me

jist coming
Hannah replies
from back in the flat

yoo'll hae tae bide
Mrs Scott says

and walks back inside
leaving me
on the red tiled step

I look into the interior
of the flat
and smell breakfast
having been cooked

I look back
into the Square
kids are playing
near by
on the pram sheds
and over by the wall
girls are doing handstands
their feet
against the wall
dresses falling
over their heads
showing underwear

sorry about Mum
she has a mouth on her
Hannah says
where we going?
she asks

thought we'd go
to the South Bank
see the Thames and boats
and have ice cream
I say

do I need money?
she asks

just about 2/-
I say
for bus fares
and ice cream

I'll ask Mum
for a handout
but wait for the answer

Mum have you 2/-
I can have?
Hannah asks

fa dae ye hink
Ah am Rockerfeller?
nae Ah huvnae
her mother replies

no problem
I say to Hannah
I'll have enough
for us both

are you sure?

yes don't aggravate
your mother more
than you have to

so Hannah gets her coat
and we walk off
through the Square

she's like that sometimes
Hannah says
she's as tight
as a wing nut

we walk down the *****
and up Meadow Row

I ask her how her father is

she says
he's Ok but in
the doghouse more often
as not with Mum
but he's a softy
to Mum's hardness
but Mum says
he's soft in the heed
but he's lovely really
Hannah says

-I know her old man
he's English and a bit
simple after helping
to empty out Belsen camp
in 1945 where some
he told me were
more dead as alive-

we wait at the bus stop
she with her dark hair
pony tailed
with a tartan skirt
and white blouse
and me in blue jeans
and white shirt
and quiff of brown hair
and hazel eyes

she with a budding beauty
with her mother's
touch of tongue
who if roused
could give words
full lung.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960
Terry Collett Jun 2015
She sat on her bed
looking out the window.

Hannah looked at
the fulling rain.

Her mother passed by
the bedroom door
and looked in.

Whit ur ye daein'?
Her mother said.

Looking at the rain,
Hannah replied.

Ye can help me
wi' the washin',
her mother said.

Do I have to help
with the washing?

Her mother stared
at her
Whit ur ye
waitin' fur?

I'm waiting
for Benedict,
Hannah said,
gazing at her
mother's stern gaze.

O heem th'
sassenach loon,
her mother said
and walked off
down the passage.

Hannah waited.

She'd was pushing
her manners close
to the limits.

Once upon a time
her mother would
have slapped her
behind for talking so,
but now at 12 years
old her mother dithered
and set her tongue
to work instead.

She eyed the rain
running down the glass.

She could hear
her mother in the kitchen
banging pots and pans.

Then a knock at the door.

Benedict no doubt.

Gie th' duir, Hannah,
her mother bellowed.

Hannah went to the door
and let Benedict in.

He was wet, his hair
clung to his head
and his clothes were damp.

Got caught
in the downpour,
he said,
shaking his head.

Hannah smiled.

I'll get you a towel
to dry your hair,
she said.

She got him a towel
from the cupboard
and he began
to rub his hair.

We can't go out in this,
Hannah said,
have to stay here
and we can play games.

He rubbed his hair dry,
took off his wet coat
and stood by her bed.

What games?
he said.

Ludo? Chess?
Draughts? She suggested.  

Her mother came back
to the door of the bedroom.

Ye swatch dreich,
the mother said,
eyeing Benedict.

He looked at Mrs Scot
and then at Hannah.

Mum said you look drenched,
Hannah said.

O right, yes, I am,
he replied and smiled.

Mrs Scot didn't
smile back.

Dornt sit oan
th' scratcher,
Mrs Scot said icily.

Mum said don't sit
on the bed,
Hannah said.

Mrs Scot went
off muttering.

Where shall I sit?
He asked.

We'll sit on the floor,
Hannah said,
and play chess.

He nodded his head,
his quiff of hair
in a damp mess.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960 AND A GAME OF CHESS.
Terry Collett Jun 2015
They met in the Square. Weather warm and sun sticky. Hannah was in her short dress and sandals. Benedict in jeans and tee shirt and black plimsolls. It was Saturday and they'd decided to give the morning matinee a miss and go elsewhere. We can go and paddle on the side of the Thames, she said. Can we? He asked. Sure we can. He wasn't sure. Is it wise? He said, what with all the crap that's put in? She looked at him. We're not to drink the water, just paddle in it. It's water, not **** pool, she said. Won't we need towels? No, our feet'll dry in the sun. She eyed him. How old are you? Twelve, he said. Not a baby, then? She said. No, he replied. We're both twelve, she said, so let's go get our feet wet. What did your mum say when you told her where you were going? I didn't, Hannah said. Why not? He said. Because she'd have said:Ye cannae gang in th' Thames. So I didn't tell her. What did you say? He asked. Said I was going to see boats on the Thames. What did she say to that? Benedict asked. Dornt faa in th' water, she said. Benedict laughed at Hannah's mocking her mother's Scottish dialect. What did you say to her? Hannah pulled a straight face, stern features. I said, Ah willnae. He laughed again. Right let's be off, she said. They walked out of the Square and up Meadow Row. Did you tell your mum where you were going? Hannah asked. Just said I was going out with you, he said. What did your mum say? Hannah asked. She said ok and be careful, he replied. They walked to the bus stop and got a bus to South Bank. The bus was crowded. They sat at the back on side seats. A plump man next to Hannah wiggled up close to her; his thigh touched hers. She felt uncomfortable. He smelt of sweat and cigarette smoke. She was glad when they got off. She stared at him and mumbled, ye mingin prat. Benedict said, what? Not you, that prat on the bus, touching me, she said. Benedict watched the bus go. You should have said, he said, we could have got him thrown off the bus. Too much hassle, she said. They walked along by the Thames, looking down at the water. Looks too high, Benedict said. Maybe later, she said. So they lay side by side on the grass by the Thames and enjoyed the sun.  Her fingers touched his. They were warm and dampish. He sensed her fingers against his. They turned and faced each other, finger still touching. Do you like me? She asked. Of course I do, he replied. She eyed him. I think of you a lot, she said. Do you? He said. She nodded. Yes, quite a bit, she said. O, right, he said, looking at her, taking in her darkish eyes and her hair in a ponytail. Have you ever kissed a girl before? She asked. He looked past her at the passing people. A man with a dog stared at them. I kissed my aunt once, he said, looking at her again. No, I meant a girl, not a relative, Hannah said. He thought, searching through his memory files. Don't think so, he said. Couldn't have been very good if you can't remember, she said. He never made a habit of kissing girls: other boys frowned on such behaviour. He had kissed a girl with one leg once at a nursing home when he was eleven. A year ago, yes, he said, I kissed a girl with one leg a year or so ago. Where did you kiss her? Hannah asked, her leg? He smiled. No,on her cheek, he replied, remembering. Why did you kiss her? Hannah asked. She said I could. She was twelve and big and had just the one leg. Hannah looked at him. Took in his quiff of hair, the hazel eyes and the Elvis smile-she'd seen a photo in a magazine of Elvis Presley and loved the smile- and the set of his jawline. Do you kiss any girl with one leg? She asked.  No, he said, just that one time. She looked at him, her fingers beginning to squeeze his. Would you kiss me? She asked. He hadn't thought about it. Hadn't entered his mind. Did you want me to? He said. Do you want to, she replied. What would your mum say? She'd say: whit ur ye kissin' fur? . He laughed. It tickled him when she said spoke her mother's dialect. He looked at her face. Where? He said. Where what? She said. Kiss you? Where shall I kiss you? He said, feeling shy all of a sudden. Where did you want to kiss me? He looked away. Crowds were passing by on the South Bank. Don't know, he said, looking back at her. She sighed. Looked at him. Squeezed his fingers tighter. I'll kiss you, then, she said. She leaned close to him and kissed his cheek. It was a short kiss. He sensed it: warm and wet. Was that it? He mused. She lay there staring at him. Well? What do you think of that? She said. He wasn't sure. It felt all right. It was ok, he said. Just ok? She said, looking at him. He nodded. She drew him closer to her and kissed his lips and pressed long and hard. He panicked briefly as if he'd not breathe again, but he relaxed as her lips became glued to his, and he closed his eyes, and felt a mild opening in himself and he breathed through his nose. As she kissed him, her lips pressing on his, she felt a warm feeling rise through her body as she'd not felt before. It felt unreal. Felt as if she'd entered another body and was a spectator in a game. She pulled away from his lisp and stared at him. How was that? Sh asked. He lay there his eyes closed as if dazed. He opened his eyes. Gosh, he breathed rather than said. She blew out and lay back on the grass. He lay back, too. What would your mum say if she saw us kissing? She smiled and said, lae heem aloyn ye dornt ken whaur he's bin. Benedict laughed and closed his eyes trying to picture Mrs Scot saying it. What does it mean? He asked laughing. Leave him alone you don't know where he's been, she said smiling. She turned and looked at him again. He turned and gazed at her. The laughter died away. How do you feel? She asked. Feel about what? He said. No, how do you feel inside? She said. He didn't know. It was new to him this kissing. He sighed. Don't know. How about you? He said. Tingly, she said in reply. Inside me. My body tingled. Is that a good thing? He asked, uncertain of these matters. I don't know, she said, looking at him. Do you want to paddle in the Thames? He asked. No, not now, she said, I want to kiss again. They lay there gazing each other. Let's go elsewhere though, she suggested. Where? He asked. St James's Park, she suggested, we can get a bus there. Ok, he said. So they walked to the bus stop and got a bus to St. James's Park. It was crowded. People everywhere: walking, sitting, lying down, running. They both sat on then grass, then after a few minutes, they lay on the grass. Hannah stared at him. He looked at her eyes. She moved forward and kissed his lips. Pressed them, breathing through her nose, closed her eyes. He closed his eyes as she closed her eyes. His lips felt hers. Warming, pressing, wettish, her tongue touching his just on the tips. He felt as if suddenly as if he were falling and then he opened his eyes and she had moved away from him. Well? She said, how was that? He sensed his lips slightly bruised, but warm and he felt unusually alive. She gazed at him. She felt opened up as if someone had unzipped her and exposed her. It was good, he said, taking hold of her hand, holding it against his cheek. She sighed, it was  good, but it felt surreal, as if it had been a dream, not real, not her kissing. It was, she said, still kissing him inside of her twelve her old head.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960 AND A KISS.
Terry Collett May 2015
Hannah lies
her collection of knives
on her bed
most given

by her father
-the largest
an SS knife
he took off a dead

SS man-
her mother
passing by
her open door

says
whit hae ye
those kni'es
oan yer scratcher fur?

I'm showing Benedict
my collection
Hannah replies
O heem

th' sassenach loon
Mrs Scott says
he's nice
Hannah says

and he likes knives
and guns
and he's interested
in seeing them

sae ye say
her mother says
and walks away
to the kitchen

Hannah sits
on her bed
and waits for Benedict
to arrive

she likes
the SS knife best
it has a kind
of haunting feel

about it
the door knocker bangs
gie th' duir
Hannah

it's th' loon
so Hannah goes
to the door
and Benedict

stands there
come in and see
Hannah says
so Benedict follows her

into her bedroom
here's my collection
she says
showing him

the knives spread
on her bed
he picks up a knife
or two and weighs

them in the palm
of his hand
and feels along
the blade

he picks out    
the SS knife
and says
deadly thing this

have you one?
she asks
no I have a flick knife  
my uncle gave me

he puts the SS knife
down on the bed
fine collection
he says

and they both sit
on the bed
near the knives
at the one end

Mrs Scott walks by
and stops and says
waur ye sittin'
oan th' scratcher?

just sitting and looking
at the knives
Hannah says
nae oan th' scratcher

her mother replies
Benedict looks puzzled
and Hannah says
she doesn't want us

sitting on the bed
Benedict nods his head
and says
o right

and looks at Mrs Scott
who stares at him
sternly and walks off
something I said?

he asks
no
Hannah says
she doesn't trust us

sitting on the bed
why is that?
he says
God knows

Hannah replies
hearing her mother
cursing in the kitchen
like a buzz of flies.
A BOY VISITS A GIRL TO SEE HER KNIFE COLLECTION IN 1960 BUT HER SCOTTISH MOTHER DISAPPROVES.
nathansolmeo Apr 2018
Isang karangalan ang pagiging *** laude para sa isang mag aaral. Karangalan na siyang hinahangad ng karamihan ngunit iilan lamang ang nagkakamit. Isa sa mga nagkamit nito ay si Hannah Isabelle D. Mendez. Ngunit sino nga ba si Hannah?Isang mag-aaral mula sa URSC na kumukuha ng kursong BSIT. Gusto mo bang mas kilalanin pa natin siya? Halina’t samahan mo ko.
Kanyang pinanggalingan...
Si Hannah ay ipinanganak noong Agosto 21, 1997. Bunsong anak sa dalawang magkakapatid nina Cristeo at Girlie Mendez. Simple lang ang naging buhay ni Hannah. Lumaking mabait, masipag at may takot sa Diyos kahit na mula siya sa isang 'broken family'. Naghiwalay ang kanyang mga magulang nang siya ay nasa ikatlong baitang. Masasabing hindi madali ito para sa kanya dahil nais niya ay buo at masayang pamilya ang makakasama niya ngunit sa pagsisikap at pagtitiyaga ng kanyang ina, naging matatag at matapang si Hannah.
Kanyang hilig…
Si Hannah ay mahilig magsulat, manuod ng mga pelikula at magbasa lalo na ang mga libro na akda ni Colleen Hoover. Ang pagbabasa ang naging pampalipas oras niya at nakakapagpasaya sa kanya. Maraming bagay ang kanyang natutunan bunga ng kanyang pagbabasa at isa ito sa naging dahilan ng kanyang mga kaalaman na nagdala sa kanya ngayon bilang *** laude.
Simula ng hamon bilang mag-aaral…
Noong bata pa si hannah, wala siyang interes sa pag-aaral. Tulad ng ibang kabataan, kasiyahan lang ang kanyang hinangad pero dahil sa kanyang naging **** noong elementarya, naging bukas ang kanyang isipan sa pag-aaral.
Nakapagtapos siya ng elementarya ng may medalya bilang ikalawang karangalang banggit, sumali sa iba't ibang kompetisyon tulad ng Nutri Quiz Bee - 4th place, Hekasi Quiz Bee -2nd place (Elementary, District level) at sa Highschool 15th place sa Sports Page (RSPC) 1st place Drama fest (School level) journalist at naging presidente ng isang organisasyon noong hayskul.
Sa pagtuntong ng kolehiyo, naipagpatuloy niya ang kanyang pagiging aktibo. Nahalal siya bilang kalihim (S.Y.2015-2016), pangalawang pangulo (S.Y. 2016-2017) at 4th year representative (S.Y. 2017-2018) ng BITS Organization. Naging miyembro din siya ng KASALI Organization taong 2014-2018.
Nang tanungin siya kung paano niya nagagawang pagsabayin school activities at academics, simple lang ang naging sagot niya, “Basta masaya ka sa ginagawa mo, magagawa mo lahat at naniniwala kase ako sa ibinigay sayo yung bagay na yun dahil kaya mo".
*** laude…
Hindi naging madali kay Hannah ang maabot kung anong mayroon siya ngayon. Dumating siya sa puntong hindi na niya alam kung ano ang uunahin. Nariyan ang school works, church duties, family problems at dagdag pa ang mga nagsasabing hindi niya kaya ang kursong IT pero kalaunan napamahal na siya dito. Goal na ni Hannah maging *** laude pero hindi niya ineexpect na makukuha niya ang karangalang ito.
“Sobrang saya dahil ipinagpanata ko ito sabi ko kung para po sa’ken ito, Kayo (Ama) na po ang bahala and then nung nalaman ko na isa ako sa *** laude, hindi ko alam gusto kong sumigaw sa galak, sobrang nakaka—overwhelm.”, wika niya.
Tanging inspirasyon niya ang kanyang pamilya para makapagtapos at maabot ang lahat ng kanyang pangarap.
"When the opportunity knocks on your door, always be willing to give it a chance, 'yan lagi nasa isip ko para wala akong pagsisisihan at always give your best shot sa lahat ng ginagawa mo", wika niya ng may halong ngiti sa kanyang labi.
Tunay ngang nakakagalak ang kanyang pagsusumikap upang makamit ang kanyang minimithi. Mula sa buong pamilya ng URSC, proud kami sa iyong pagdadala ng karangalan!
Tori Jurdanus Jun 2013
She Looks Like a Tiger
See how she places her paws so lightly, so as not to be heard.
Silently, she moves through the crowd, head held high, today she doesn't want to hide.
Depicted in peach coloured stripes. No red, no brown, no blue, no black.
Today, is the first day she felt it was safe to show them.
Asking for the first time in her life, for the world to continue doing what it's always done
Lean on her, sing her our our sorrows so she could sing them back and pretend, that we could not see her scars.
She has always been the brick wall.
The concert hall
The shoulder to cry on.
The logic you would chase after with your pedestrian problems and she was the designated driver.
But when it looks like you're a casual on bridges over troubled waters, there 's no one talking you down from the ledge.

She would never have asked you to.

Hannah, your name sounds like a semi-permanent tattoo.
I hope that's what this poem feels like to everyone who hears it
So that every time they think they know broken,
they feel cold lines crisscrossing their body and can honestly wonder,
was this feeling your blueprint.

But I think you look like tiger.  
And I know, I shouldn't give time to some little boys who refuse to use her real name because it fits her to well.
Callin' her some emo, weak hippie freak.
she's just looking for attention.
Because when you're the first person to make it through Hell and back alive, you're a liar.
A hitch hiker piggy backing on someone else's problems.
But her arms served as straightaways for razorblades for nine solid years,
and its no thanks to people like you she's still here.

You think, she should be ashamed of herself. As if scars are a ***** in the armour.
Like she was peer pressured into self-destruction and couldn't resist.
No one asks you:
"Hey there, wanna cut? Wanna, self-mutilate?"

Just like I won't ask you not to hate the idea of someone being that low
That every beat of the heart feels a little like ****** assault, and cutting was the best way she could find to say no.

She looks like a tiger,
and she didn't earn her stripes. People rarely do.
But she has earned the right to wear them for what they are;
Battle scars.
Things she's long overcome.
Her head is held high again.

And I know, I shouldn't be wasting my time on people
Who refuse to use her real name,
but Hannah is still Hannah inside out, upside down,
Backwards, Hannah is still Hannah,
Even with her insides out,
Hannah is still Hannah.
She's still here.
Terry Collett Dec 2015
Ah guess ye want
tae see Hannah?
Mrs Scot said

yes if I can
I said

she stood at her door
like a fierce dog

guess ye can
she said unsmiling
and moved to let me pass
HANNAH
she bellowed
THE BOY'S  HAUR

I stood in the passage
looking at her in hair curlers
and a cigarette clamped
at the side of her mouth

be it suin aam
in th' lavvy
Hannah said

she's in th' bog
Mrs Scot said

I nodded and stood
as she walked past me
into the kitchen
there was a smell
of boiled cabbage
filtering towards me

the toilet door opened
and Hannah came out
sorry about that
she said
let's go in my room
out of Mum's way

so I followed her
into her bedroom
and she shut the door

she's in a mood
Hannah said
Dad's been winding her up
before he went to work
now I have the full out
sit down on the bed
she added

so I sat on her bed
and she sat beside me
won't your mum mind me
sitting on the bed?

probably but if she
comes in we'll just get off
and smile at her
as if we'd forgotten
Hannah said  

I listened out
for her mother's footsteps

want to kiss me?
Hannah said

I hadn't thought about it
even after she mentioned it
the other day
did you want me to?
I said

do you want to?
she said

I looked at her
she was gazing
at me expectantly

I've not kissed a girl before
I said

(although Fay and I
had kissed but that
was different and she
had gone off with
her mother now)

it's easy you just kiss
Hannah said

I sat looking at her
waiting for something
to happen

like this
she said
and kissed me on the lips

I held my breath
sensing her lips on mine
and not sure if
I was allowed
to breathe or not

she moved away a little
and stared at me
like that?
she said

I nodded

was it good?

I nodded my head
and yes it was
I said
taking a deep breath
in case she kissed
me again

I hesitated
and then moved forward
and kissed her cheek
then moved away

she smiled and just
as she was about
to kiss me once more

a voice said
whit ur ye daein'?
sharply through the door.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960
It was a dark night in November
A baby wailed as it was delivered
The mother gasped and breathed no more
Began the tale of sorrow for
And every night was darkened pain as
Hannah would have to be refrained
Caught up in her guilt
She's thinking about cutting again

But comes a rattle upon the pane
And in flies the spirit's wind
"Who dares cross this portal door
Come out I do implore"

And Hannah stepped back in fright
For it must be an attack tonight
But the spectral image of a shady form
Left poor Hannah unadorned
"Speak most devious one
Tell me where it is your coming from"

The image coalesced into physical form
That on the outside looked so forlorn
It parted what looked like lips
And uttered the word,"Chi"

Hannah was quick to know
Everyone has a chi that flows
But still Hannah was confused
And the question now arose
"Of what Chi do you speak
And tell me how it works ?"

But the only response was a hollow whisper  "Chi" , was all it said

So Hannah was quick to respond
Ran to the refrigerator and opened the door
She grabbed a can and quickly returned
To the entrance unconcerned
With a can of five hour Super Chi

She popped the top and poured it down
Into the spatial beast
It shook at first then burpped at last
Wiped it's mouth and passed some gas
Then it said , "Chi that was great !"
Halloween  treat
Terry Collett Jul 2016
Whit dae ye want?
Mrs Scot said
as she opened the door
of her ground floor flat
across the Square

is Hannah in please?
I said

diz she ken
ye ur comin?
she said

I looked at her nonplussed
hoping Hannah
would come
and rescue me
from her Scottish mother

I said I'd meet
her here
I said

did ye noo?
she said
she looked behind her
and bellowed
HANNAH  
th' loon is haur

I looked behind me
into the Square
then back at Hannah's
mother standing
gazing at me
with her dark eyes

Hannah came along
the passage
to the front door

o Benny
she said
I was in the bog
but I am ready now

ready fur wit?
her mother said

I'm going out
with Benny
she said

whaur ur ye gonnae?
her mother said

see the tennis
on the South Bank
and have a tea
or lemonade
Hannah said

wi' whose bunsens?
her mother said
staring at me
like a hawk

bunsens?
I said

money
Hannah said softly

I have money
I said
rattling the pocket
of my blue jeans

dornt be late
her mother said
I'll hae tatties
an' neebs at 5pm

we won't be late
Hannah said
I nodded an affirmation

better nae
ur I'll tan yer backside
her mother said grimly

Hannah nodded
and we left
and into the Square
and we knew her mother
was watching us
darkly there.
A BOY AND GIRL AND HER MOTHER IN 1960 LONDON.
Terry Collett Feb 2016
Hannah said to meet her
at her flat
so I went across the Square
to where her flat was
and knocked at the door

Mrs Scot stood there

Hannah is it?
I nodded

Hannah's it at th' shaps
she said

o right can I come in
and wait?
I said

she stared at me
for a few seconds
as if I'd made
an indecent proposal

ah guess ye can
she said

and she stood back
to let me pass

I went to the passageway
and it smelt of yesterdays
dinner and boiling washing  

sit doon in th' livin' room
she said

I sat down
looking around the room
and she went off to the kitchen
the radio was on low
playing Victor Sylvester music

there were black and white photos
on the sideboard
and a big photo on the wall
of a wedding  

then the front door opened
and Hannah came in

I'm back
got your shopping
and she walked past
the living room door
o you're here already Benny
she said to me
good just putting this lot away
and we can be off

aff whaur?
her mother said

Benny's showing me
his new school
Hannah said

what's sae special abit 'at?
she said
coming out of the kitchen
like a warrior for battle

his new school in September
I want to see it
Hannah said

her mother pulled a face
and stared at me
is it a wee jimmies skale?

yes Mum a boy's school
Hannah said

I felt out of place
and stared at the wallpaper

right we are off now Mum
see you later  
Hannah said
and we went out the door
and into the Square

don't mind her
Hannah said
she's always that way

and I mused
good start to a new day

so we walked off
to where my new school was
about a good mile away
glad to be on our way.
A BOY AND A GIRL AND HER MOTHER IN LONDON IN 1960.
Terry Collett Aug 2015
I knocked at Hannah's door
her mother opened it
and I asked if Hannah was in
she looked at me as if

I'd suggested something impolite
Hannah th' boy's haur
she bellowed over her shoulder
I took in her fiery eyes and turbaned head

her dark hair tucked away beneath
Hannah came to the door
where shall we go
she asked

so I can tell Maw?
What about Bermondsey docks
I can show you my school
then see Tower Bridge?

We're gonnae see Tower Brig
Hannah said to her mother
awe rite be cannie
her mother replied

so we walked off from her flat
and got a bus to Bermondsey
(my mother had given me coins
she was a kind soul)

sitting together in the front
watching the scenes go by
nothing spectacular
just London sights

and people passing
and vehicles going by
we held hands
moving to the motion

of the bus
her hand was warm
our fingers entwined
once we arrived

I showed her my school
(she went to a girls' school
nearer to home
her mother insisting no boys)

it looks a bit Dickensian
Hannah said
it is and even the teachers
are old as grime

she laughed and we walked on
to see Tower Bridge
and walked across to the other side
then had pop drinks in a small cafe

and shared a slice of cake
and sat and talked
I don't think your mother likes me
I said

o she doesn't like males full stop
not just you Benedict
men ur blecht
she tells me and my dad

what's that mean?
I asked her
means men are a blight
like a disease

she laughed
and sipped her tea
I sipped mine
smiling away

hoping that she
(like her mother
Mrs Scot)
never included me.
A GIRL AND BOY IN LONDON IN 1960 GO SEE TOWER BRIDGE
Terry Collett Aug 2017
Whaur ur ye gonnae?
Mrs Scot said.

Going out
with Benny
Hannah said.

Whaur abit?
her mother asked.

Maybe swimming
in Bedlam Park
Hannah replied.

Again?
Ye only went
lest week
her mother said moodily.

Hannah went
into her bedroom
to find her
swimming costume
her mother
followed her.

Ah guess ye want
some bunsens?
the mother asked.

Just a few pence
for the locker key
Hannah said.

Her mother went out
and Hannah
found her costume
and a towel
and waited.

There was a knock
at the front door
and Mrs Scot answered it.

Benny stood there
she stared at him.

Ye hud best come in
Ah suppose
she said to him.

He entered
and walked down
the passageway
Mrs Scot following
behind muttering.

Hannah met him
by her door
got your swimming stuff?
she said.

Yes and money
he said.

Mrs Scot
got her black purse
and gave Hannah
a few coins
and stared at them both.

Nae funay business
she said.

Of course not
Hannah replied.

They went
to the front door
and went out.

The mother
watched them
cross the Square
and out of sight
down the *****.

What did she mean
no funny business?
Benny said.

Just Mum being
her usual charming self
Hannah said.

Benny let the words
disappear from his
12 year old head.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960
Terry Collett Oct 2015
Hannah and Benny
went swimming
at the Bedlam Park
swimming pool

water cold
clear blue
(unless someone ******
an orangey yellow
tang or tone)

they sat on the side
of the pool
after a while
in the water

gets cold
after a while
Benny said
looking at Hannah
in her bathing costume
of dark pink

does indeed
she said

your mother
(Mrs Scot)
didn't seem keen
you going swimming
with me
Benny said  

Hannah smiled
she said
wa gang swimmin'
wi' heem?
to me as we left
Hannah said

what did you say?
Benny said

coz ah loch heem
I told her

Benny smiled
don't know what
it means but it
sounds good
what did she say?

nae accoontin
fur taste
Hannah replied

good God
why doesn't she
like me?
Benny said

you're English
and a male
Hannah said
that's about it

what about your Dad
he's both?
Benny said

there you are
Hannah said
that's about it
anyway enough of her
let's get dried
and go get a drink
in the cafe
and you can tell me
about the Rob Roy book
you've bought
she said

o right
he said

and they walked back
to the changing rooms
and he got out
of his wet trunks and dried

and thought about
the slightly bulging chest
that he noticed
Hannah had

and wondered if
she was unwell
or was it just because
she was a biggish girl.
BOY AND GIRL GOING SWIMMING IN LONDON IN 1960
Alanna High Dec 2014
Her name is Hannah, like in the Bible.
Hannah, who could not find her place
Because her husband
Could not love her more
Than his *other
wife,
Who bore him strong sons and daughters,
While Hannah only made him laugh.

Her name is Hannah, like in the Bible.
Hannah, who, heartbroken for a man she loved
The man she married,
Went to the temple to pray so fervently
The priest thought she was intoxicated
And attempted to make her leave.
When all she wanted was to break her body to give her husband a son.

Hannah, who gave her only son,
Back to God, because she was faithful
Always faithful
And as her name means, full of grace.
The bible is full of women
Who carry the legends of men on their back and at their *******
Mothers and wives who play supporting roles to heroes.

My name is Hannah, like in the Bible.
I have played second fiddle to other women
For the hearts of men who did not deserve me.
I have prayed fervently for a family that I have lost
My name means full of grace, but I am empty
And god merely laughs when you talk about me in his bible.
Lily Oct 2016
I haven't cried in a while
Hannah
Why did I see your face again
Hannah
Your beautiful smile
And cheerful attitude
Despite what your going through
How can you do it Hannah?
You inspire me
Hannah
You were so strong,resilient, beautiful
Hannah
I never knew you more
You don't even know my name
Though I'm sure of one thing
God loves you more than all of the living
This is for Hannah. It's been more than a year since your passing. You may not know me but I am one of those people who silently prayed that you'd overcome the sickness but sadly, maybe God don't want you to. Cause he wants you to be with him, cause you're a beautiful human, way more beautiful than all of use here. You're too precious to ignore so God himself made a way, and now you're with him eternally. Rest in peace, Hannah ❤️
Emily Rene Oct 2013
The flyest chick that I will ever know,
she be cooler than winter, cooler than snow.
Her name is Hannah, but thats doesn't matter,
she's even better than the ******* Mad Hatter.

'Imperfection is Beauty,' is her favorite motto.
What the hell in the world rhymes with motto...
I'm definitely not perfect when it comes to poetry,
But I'm sure my Hannah-Kins still loves me.

I may have met her recently in this school year,
but she's an amazing & rad girl, I'd share my beer.
I just wanted my best friend Hannah to know,
I love her & I'll never let her go...
(Not in a creepy stalker kinda way... eh. Maybe)
Terry Collett Aug 2016
Sit doon,
Mrs Scot said.

I looked around
the sitting room.

In th' armchair,
she added pointing
to an old armchair.

Will Hannah be long?
I said.

Hoo dae Ah ken,
she said,
walking off
into the passage,
smoke from
her cigarette
following after her.

I sat down
and looked around
the room.

HANNAH
TH' BOY'S HAUR,
she bellowed
from the kitchen.

Won't be long,
Hannah replied
from the bog.

I hoped Mrs Scot
would not return
to speak to me
without an interpreter.

Dornt keep heem
tay lang,
Mrs Scot said firmly.

I rubbed my crucifix
with my thumb
in my pocket.

The bog door unlocked
and Hannah came into
the sitting room:
sorry about that,
she said,
call of nature,
or as Mum says
caa ay nature.

She smiled;
I smiled weakly.

So where we going?
Hannah said.

There's a film
we can see,
I said,
if you've money,
or we can go swimming
in the swimming baths.

I've no money,
but swimming seems
a good idea;
I'll just get my stuff
and ask Mum
for a few pence.

So off she went;
I sat listening,
fingers held
in each other  
forming a church
kind of thing.

Bunsens?
ye aye want bunsens,
her mother said.

Just a few pence
for the locker,
Hannah said.

Puckle bon
mah god,
her mother said.

I sat staring
at the wall
where a picture of man
in a kilt stared
back at me.

The resemblance
to Hannah's mother
and the man
was plain to see.
A BOY VISITS HIS GIRLFRIEND'S HOUSE AND MEETS HER SCOTTISH MOTHER IN 1960
Terry Collett May 2017
The sky looked overcast
dark clouds moved
above me.

I knocked
on the door
to Hannah's
parents' flat.

Mrs Scot opened it up
and eyed me
whit dae ye want?
she said.

Is Hannah home?
I said.

Nae she's it
Mrs Scot replied
in her Scottish dialect.

When will
she be back?
I said.

When she's dain
wi' messages
she said.

Can I come in
and wait?
I said.

If ye main
she said gruffly
and stood back
to let me pass by
and into
the sitting room.

Sit thaur
an dornt tooch
she said
through thin lips
and walked off.

I sat in one
of the armchairs
to wait.

There was a photograph
on the mantelshelf
of a man in a kilt
and hat
and stern gaze.

I wondered
if he was Mrs Scot's father
he looked like her
without the beard.

After  five minutes
Hannah returned
with the shopping
and walked past the door
and smiled.

Won't be long
she said.

I could hear
Mrs Scot moan
and Hannah reply
but couldn't grasp
what they said.

Hannah came
and after a few words
with her mother
we left the flat
with her mother's words
echoing after us
like a ******'s cuss.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960
Terry Collett Mar 2016
Benny walked
to Hannah's flat
and her mother
answered the door

(her mother was a Scot)
and stared at him
och it's ye
she said

best come in
HANNAH
the wee boy's haur
Benny followed her

along the passage
and she settled him
in the lounge
giving him her look

(which would have
brought fear
to a brave grenadier)
Hannah came

into the lounge
got behind
she said
all like a cat's tail

where we going?
Benny suggested
a trip to Jail Park
to ride the swings

and slide
want to go to
an art gallery
she said

see some art not
ride swings or slide
Benny nodded his head
and said
ok and talked
of where his old man
used to take him

in the West End
to see art
just going
to tell Mum

she said
and walked
to the kitchen
where her mother

was doing washing
in the copper
gang whaur?
her mother said

I’ve nae bunsens
just bus fare
Hannah said
the art gallery's free

her mother opened
her purse
(moths flew out
Hannah later said)

and placed a few coins
in Hannah's palm
aam nae payin'
fur heem

she said
hard faced
Hannah said
that's fine

and off they went
out of the flat
down the *****
to get a bus

to Trafalgar Square
and look at
the art in  
a gallery there
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1960
Terry Collett Sep 2016
I knock
on Hannah's
parent's door,
rain spitting down,
the morning air fresh
and lung biting.

Mrs Scot opens
the door:
O it's ye,
she says,
eyebrows rising,
eyes peering at me
hawk-like.

I've come
to see Hannah,
I say.

Ah didne hink
ye came tae
see me,
she says,
moving back
to allow me
to pass by.

I pass her by
like a mouse
passing a cat,
my eyes sidewards
gazing at her,
and moving past
as quick
as I can.

She closes
the door
and calls:
th' boy's haur,
gie it ay scratcher.

She indicates I go
into the lounge,
I do and sit down.

HANNAH!
She bellows.

She goes off
to the kitchen,
and I look around
the room.

Just coming,
won't be long,
Hannah says
from her bedroom.

Her mother says
something
incomprehensible,
and then all is quiet,
except for the ticking
of a clock.

The curtains
are drawn back
allowing light
to enter the room
(providing
it has wiped its
feet first
bringing
Dylan Thomas
to mind).

The picture
of a kilted man
stares at me.

He has big eyebrows
like dark caterpillars.

On the mantelshelf
is a photograph
of Hannah
and her parents
and her brother
who is away.

The bedroom doors opens
and Hannah appears.

Hello,
she says,
I overslept,
just going
for a wash,
and she is gone.

Dornt be lang,
her mother says.

Be quick
as Ah can,
Hannah calls back.

Water runs,
splash, splash.

She's a lazy huir,
her mother says,
coming into
the lounge,
holding a cup
and saucer of tea
for me,
puts it down,
smiles
the thinnest
lip smile,
then goes again.

Outside,
as I look through
the window,
is heavy rain.
A BOY GOES TO SEE HIS GIRL FRIEND IN 1960.
One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound
except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember
whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve
nights when I was six.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky
that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in
the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays
resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.

It was on the afternoon of the Christmas Eve, and I was in Mrs. Prothero's garden, waiting for cats, with her
son Jim. It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland,
though there were no reindeers. But there were cats. Patient, cold and callous, our hands wrapped in socks, we
waited to snowball the cats. Sleek and long as jaguars and horrible-whiskered, spitting and snarling, they
would slink and sidle over the white back-garden walls, and the lynx-eyed hunters, Jim and I, fur-capped and
moccasined trappers from Hudson Bay, off Mumbles Road, would hurl our deadly snowballs at the green of their
eyes. The wise cats never appeared.

We were so still, Eskimo-footed arctic marksmen in the muffling silence of the eternal snows - eternal, ever
since Wednesday - that we never heard Mrs. Prothero's first cry from her igloo at the bottom of the garden. Or,
if we heard it at all, it was, to us, like the far-off challenge of our enemy and prey, the neighbor's polar
cat. But soon the voice grew louder.
"Fire!" cried Mrs. Prothero, and she beat the dinner-gong.

And we ran down the garden, with the snowballs in our arms, toward the house; and smoke, indeed, was pouring
out of the dining-room, and the gong was bombilating, and Mrs. Prothero was announcing ruin like a town crier
in Pompeii. This was better than all the cats in Wales standing on the wall in a row. We bounded into the
house, laden with snowballs, and stopped at the open door of the smoke-filled room.

Something was burning all right; perhaps it was Mr. Prothero, who always slept there after midday dinner with a
newspaper over his face. But he was standing in the middle of the room, saying, "A fine Christmas!" and
smacking at the smoke with a slipper.

"Call the fire brigade," cried Mrs. Prothero as she beat the gong.
"There won't be there," said Mr. Prothero, "it's Christmas."
There was no fire to be seen, only clouds of smoke and Mr. Prothero standing in the middle of them, waving his
slipper as though he were conducting.
"Do something," he said. And we threw all our snowballs into the smoke - I think we missed Mr. Prothero - and
ran out of the house to the telephone box.
"Let's call the police as well," Jim said. "And the ambulance." "And Ernie Jenkins, he likes fires."

But we only called the fire brigade, and soon the fire engine came and three tall men in helmets brought a hose
into the house and Mr. Prothero got out just in time before they turned it on. Nobody could have had a noisier
Christmas Eve. And when the firemen turned off the hose and were standing in the wet, smoky room, Jim's Aunt,
Miss. Prothero, came downstairs and peered in at them. Jim and I waited, very quietly, to hear what she would
say to them. She said the right thing, always. She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets,
standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, "Would you like anything to read?"

Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the color of red-flannel
petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt
like Sunday afternoons in damp front farmhouse parlors, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the
English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the
daft and happy hills *******, it snowed and it snowed. But here a small boy says: "It snowed last year, too. I
made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea."

"But that was not the same snow," I say. "Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down the sky, it
came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow
grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely -ivied the walls and
settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards."

"Were there postmen then, too?"
"With sprinkling eyes and wind-cherried noses, on spread, frozen feet they crunched up to the doors and
mittened on them manfully. But all that the children could hear was a ringing of bells."
"You mean that the postman went rat-a-tat-tat and the doors rang?"
"I mean that the bells the children could hear were inside them."
"I only hear thunder sometimes, never bells."
"There were church bells, too."
"Inside them?"
"No, no, no, in the bat-black, snow-white belfries, tugged by bishops and storks. And they rang their tidings
over the bandaged town, over the frozen foam of the powder and ice-cream hills, over the crackling sea. It
seemed that all the churches boomed for joy under my window; and the weathercocks crew for Christmas, on our
fence."

"Get back to the postmen"
"They were just ordinary postmen, found of walking and dogs and Christmas and the snow. They knocked on the
doors with blue knuckles ...."
"Ours has got a black knocker...."
"And then they stood on the white Welcome mat in the little, drifted porches and huffed and puffed, making
ghosts with their breath, and jogged from foot to foot like small boys wanting to go out."
"And then the presents?"
"And then the Presents, after the Christmas box. And the cold postman, with a rose on his button-nose, tingled
down the tea-tray-slithered run of the chilly glinting hill. He went in his ice-bound boots like a man on
fishmonger's slabs.
"He wagged his bag like a frozen camel's ****, dizzily turned the corner on one foot, and, by God, he was
gone."

"Get back to the Presents."
"There were the Useful Presents: engulfing mufflers of the old coach days, and mittens made for giant sloths;
zebra scarfs of a substance like silky gum that could be tug-o'-warred down to the galoshes; blinding tam-o'-
shanters like patchwork tea cozies and bunny-suited busbies and balaclavas for victims of head-shrinking
tribes; from aunts who always wore wool next to the skin there were mustached and rasping vests that made you
wonder why the aunts had any skin left at all; and once I had a little crocheted nose bag from an aunt now,
alas, no longer whinnying with us. And pictureless books in which small boys, though warned with quotations not
to, would skate on Farmer Giles' pond and did and drowned; and books that told me everything about the wasp,
except why."

"Go on the Useless Presents."
"Bags of moist and many-colored jelly babies and a folded flag and a false nose and a tram-conductor's cap and
a machine that punched tickets and rang a bell; never a catapult; once, by mistake that no one could explain, a
little hatchet; and a celluloid duck that made, when you pressed it, a most unducklike sound, a mewing moo that
an ambitious cat might make who wished to be a cow; and a painting book in which I could make the grass, the
trees, the sea and the animals any colour I pleased, and still the dazzling sky-blue sheep are grazing in the
red field under the rainbow-billed and pea-green birds. Hardboileds, toffee, fudge and allsorts, crunches,
cracknels, humbugs, glaciers, marzipan, and butterwelsh for the Welsh. And troops of bright tin soldiers who,
if they could not fight, could always run. And Snakes-and-Families and Happy Ladders. And Easy Hobbi-Games for
Little Engineers, complete with instructions. Oh, easy for Leonardo! And a whistle to make the dogs bark to
wake up the old man next door to make him beat on the wall with his stick to shake our picture off the wall.
And a packet of cigarettes: you put one in your mouth and you stood at the corner of the street and you waited
for hours, in vain, for an old lady to scold you for smoking a cigarette, and then with a smirk you ate it. And
then it was breakfast under the balloons."

"Were there Uncles like in our house?"
"There are always Uncles at Christmas. The same Uncles. And on Christmas morning, with dog-disturbing whistle
and sugar ****, I would scour the swatched town for the news of the little world, and find always a dead bird
by the Post Office or by the white deserted swings; perhaps a robin, all but one of his fires out. Men and
women wading or scooping back from chapel, with taproom noses and wind-bussed cheeks, all albinos, huddles
their stiff black jarring feathers against the irreligious snow. Mistletoe hung from the gas brackets in all
the front parlors; there was sherry and walnuts and bottled beer and crackers by the dessertspoons; and cats in
their fur-abouts watched the fires; and the high-heaped fire spat, all ready for the chestnuts and the mulling
pokers. Some few large men sat in the front parlors, without their collars, Uncles almost certainly, trying
their new cigars, holding them out judiciously at arms' length, returning them to their mouths, coughing, then
holding them out again as though waiting for the explosion; and some few small aunts, not wanted in the
kitchen, nor anywhere else for that matter, sat on the very edge of their chairs, poised and brittle, afraid to
break, like faded cups and saucers."

Not many those mornings trod the piling streets: an old man always, fawn-bowlered, yellow-gloved and, at this
time of year, with spats of snow, would take his constitutional to the white bowling green and back, as he
would take it wet or fire on Christmas Day or Doomsday; sometimes two hale young men, with big pipes blazing,
no overcoats and wind blown scarfs, would trudge, unspeaking, down to the forlorn sea, to work up an appetite,
to blow away the fumes, who knows, to walk into the waves until nothing of them was left but the two furling
smoke clouds of their inextinguishable briars. Then I would be slap-dashing home, the gravy smell of the
dinners of others, the bird smell, the brandy, the pudding and mince, coiling up to my nostrils, when out of a
snow-clogged side lane would come a boy the spit of myself, with a pink-tipped cigarette and the violet past of
a black eye, cocky as a bullfinch, leering all to himself.

I hated him on sight and sound, and would be about to put my dog whistle to my lips and blow him off the face
of Christmas when suddenly he, with a violet wink, put his whistle to his lips and blew so stridently, so high,
so exquisitely loud, that gobbling faces, their cheeks bulged with goose, would press against their tinsled
windows, the whole length of the white echoing street. For dinner we had turkey and blazing pudding, and after
dinner the Uncles sat in front of the fire, loosened all buttons, put their large moist hands over their watch
chains, groaned a little and slept. Mothers, aunts and sisters scuttled to and fro, bearing tureens. Auntie
Bessie, who had already been frightened, twice, by a clock-work mouse, whimpered at the sideboard and had some
elderberry wine. The dog was sick. Auntie Dosie had to have three aspirins, but Auntie Hannah, who liked port,
stood in the middle of the snowbound back yard, singing like a big-bosomed thrush. I would blow up balloons to
see how big they would blow up to; and, when they burst, which they all did, the Uncles jumped and rumbled. In
the rich and heavy afternoon, the Uncles breathing like dolphins and the snow descending, I would sit among
festoons and Chinese lanterns and nibble dates and try to make a model man-o'-war, following the Instructions
for Little Engineers, and produce what might be mistaken for a sea-going tramcar.

Or I would go out, my bright new boots squeaking, into the white world, on to the seaward hill, to call on Jim
and Dan and Jack and to pad through the still streets, leaving huge footprints on the hidden pavements.
"I bet people will think there's been hippos."
"What would you do if you saw a hippo coming down our street?"
"I'd go like this, bang! I'd throw him over the railings and roll him down the hill and then I'd tickle him
under the ear and he'd wag his tail."
"What would you do if you saw two hippos?"

Iron-flanked and bellowing he-hippos clanked and battered through the scudding snow toward us as we passed Mr.
Daniel's house.
"Let's post Mr. Daniel a snow-ball through his letter box."
"Let's write things in the snow."
"Let's write, 'Mr. Daniel looks like a spaniel' all over his lawn."
Or we walked on the white shore. "Can the fishes see it's snowing?"

The silent one-clouded heavens drifted on to the sea. Now we were snow-blind travelers lost on the north hills,
and vast dewlapped dogs, with flasks round their necks, ambled and shambled up to us, baying "Excelsior." We
returned home through the poor streets where only a few children fumbled with bare red fingers in the wheel-
rutted snow and cat-called after us, their voices fading away, as we trudged uphill, into the cries of the dock
birds and the hooting of ships out in the whirling bay. And then, at tea the recovered Uncles would be jolly;
and the ice cake loomed in the center of the table like a marble grave. Auntie Hannah laced her tea with ***,
because it was only once a year.

Bring out the tall tales now that we told by the fire as the gaslight bubbled like a diver. Ghosts whooed like
owls in the long nights when I dared not look over my shoulder; animals lurked in the cubbyhole under the
stairs and the gas meter ticked. And I remember that we went singing carols once, when there wasn't the shaving
of a moon to light the flying streets. At the end of a long road was a drive that led to a large house, and we
stumbled up the darkness of the drive that night, each one of us afraid, each one holding a stone in his hand
in case, and all of us too brave to say a word. The wind through the trees made noises as of old and unpleasant
and maybe webfooted men wheezing in caves. We reached the black bulk of the house. "What shall we give them?
Hark the Herald?"
"No," Jack said, "Good King Wencelas. I'll count three." One, two three, and we began to sing, our voices high
and seemingly distant in the snow-felted darkness round the house that was occupied by nobody we knew. We stood
close together, near the dark door. Good King Wencelas looked out On the Feast of Stephen ... And then a small,
dry voice, like the voice of someone who has not spoken for a long time, joined our singing: a small, dry,
eggshell voice from the other side of the door: a small dry voice through the keyhole. And when we stopped
running we were outside our house; the front room was lovely; balloons floated under the hot-water-bottle-
gulping gas; everything was good again and shone over the town.
"Perhaps it was a ghost," Jim said.
"Perhaps it was trolls," Dan said, who was always reading.
"Let's go in and see if there's any jelly left," Jack said. And we did that.

Always on Christmas night there was music. An uncle played the fiddle, a cousin sang "Cherry Ripe," and another
uncle sang "Drake's Drum." It was very warm in the little house. Auntie Hannah, who had got on to the parsnip
wine, sang a song about Bleeding Hearts and Death, and then another in which she said her heart was like a
Bird's Nest; and then everybody laughed again; and then I went to bed. Looking through my bedroom window, out
into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other
houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas
down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.
Geno Cattouse Mar 2014
My how my muse desires you.Deeper you are is it your insanity.
Is it mine. Intoxicating. Born
Ouside dimensions you emit a constant hum or is it me the antenna born to your freakuency.

Every answer is a question. My inquisition.
Raw as a flicking lash..subtle as a midnight whisp.
Irish eyes awash with irony. You swiftly pull my pathos a querry in constant posture.

You are a devine girl/woman
Neither young nor old ...a vessel,a wonderous curiosity. Hannah you are what ?.
An ovation of thunder?
A Dickensonian verse ?
An ancient curse ?
A raven ?
POE ?
Bitter...Sweet enigma.

A sand siren self aware
You have my full attention every sultry deed.
God I feel the tide draw ill.
Against my will.
The mirage persists even to the touch.jagged rocks a starboard aching need a larboard. Simply Hannah.
But sad to say, I have seen you before sitting on beached and rotting vessel ashore arms oustretched your sisters have sung that
Sweet beguiling song to me before.I have surrenderd and run my boat ashore
At times turned the rudder and put my back to the breezes
Your song.
Your smile.a reincarnation
An ill wind sweet stench of forbidden. Solitary lilac standing tall beneath a waning moon..sweet
A portrait.
Succubus.
Cloaked in plain sight you are open as the sphinx. Too young to be this ancient too wise to be this.Hannah.

Brash as brass knuckles backhanded on bruised cheek. Soft as overspun cotton candy.
Add water and stir girl
All around the world girl
Proof positive that god has a wicked
Sense of humour.
Beautifull
Hannah.
Kelly Bitangcol Jun 2017
Let me tell you the story about the 6 people I’ve met. Let me just say first that they are famous. They are always talked about. But don’t envy me or feel anything bad, because don’t worry, you will meet them all too. Or perhaps, you have probably met them. You probably met some of them already. We all did. Now I will tell you the story of when I met them, of where I met them, and how I met them.



I first met Happiness when my mom bought me my dream barbie doll. I was so eager to have it and seeing my mom holding it made me feel.. incredible. I couldn’t explain it at first because I was so young, I didn’t know emotions yet but when someone named Happiness came, I immediately knew what I felt. Happiness stayed with me for a long time, happiness was with me during my 7th birthday when I had a party. Happiness was with me when I became the first honor of my class. Happiness was with me when I watched the Hannah Montana movie. Happiness was with me when I traveled with my whole family, when we were all together. To sum it up, Happiness was with me when I was young. And when I grew older, Happiness needed to leave. I begged Happiness, “Please don’t go.”, like Happiness was my father leaving us, like Happiness was my childhood friend moving to another country. But Happiness told me, “I need to.”


And then nostalgia came. Nostalgia came when I missed my barbie dolls. Nostalgia was with me when I was listening to Best of Both Worlds and all the memories of being a Hannah Montana fan came back. Nostalgia was with me when I was looking at the old pictures of me and my family. Nostalgia was with me when I was looking for my shirt and I suddenly saw my dress when I was a baby that reminded me of my childhood. Nostalgia was with me when I was missing what it felt like to have a complete family. Nostalgia was with me when I wished to be just a little kid playing barbie dolls with no worries in life. Nostalgia made me miss Happiness more, and made me wonder when will Happiness come back. And then Nostalgia left, and another person came. I was hoping the person would be Happiness, the person wasn’t.


A person named Loneliness came unwanted. Loneliness came the first time I had a failing grade. Loneliness was with my side when my friend needed to move to another school. Loneliness was with me when I was no longer an honor student. Loneliness was with me when my mom scolded me about my low grades and I locked myself inside the bathroom, alone, crying, and I didn’t have someone, only Loneliness. Loneliness was with me when I was growing up. Loneliness was with me when I was compared to other people, and they were better than me. Loneliness was with me when I lost everything. Loneliness was with me when I became a nobody. Loneliness was with me for a long period of time. Loneliness was like a friend who I never wanted to be with, a friend who I hated so much, but that friend won’t just go away no matter how hard you try, and no matter how hard I try Loneliness will never be a friend to me. But Loneliness told me, “Don’t worry. I will leave soon. I won’t be here forever.” And so Loneliness left.


And this strange, mysterious, indescribable person came. The person was named Love. And I thought, “Oh, so this is the famous Love.” I wanted to tell Love I wasn’t ready to meet you yet, but I didn’t know Love would come, Love came unexpectedly. Love came when I met you. Love was with me when you held my hands. Love was with me when I felt safe in your arms. Love was with me when I was reading Murakami. Love was with me the first time I wrote poetry. Love was with me when my best friend told me she would never leave me. I didn’t know why Love came, but I didn’t want Love to leave. But just like everyone and everything else, Love wasn’t meant to last.


And so heartbreak came. I met Heartbreak two summers ago when you told me you would leave me. Heartbreak was with me when I saw you with someone else that wasn’t me. Heartbreak was with me when I wasn’t accepted at my dream school. Heartbreak was with me when I didn’t win the poetry contest I worked hard for. Heartbreak was with me when my best friend suddenly became a stranger. Heartbreak was with me when I saw sadness and disappoint in my mother’s eyes. Heartbreak was a ****** person. I couldn’t wait Heartbreak to leave. But Heartbreak was with me a little longer than I wanted Heartbreak to be. And when Heartbreak will finally leave, I asked a question emotionally, “Are you related to Loneliness or what?” and Heartbreak responded, “No. As much as I’m the opposite, I’m the twin of Love.”


And a beautiful person named Hope came. Hope came when the storm was finally over. Hope was with me when I decided to write again. Hope was with me when I see people believing in my strength. Hope was with me when I looked in the mirror and told myself, “I can survive all of this.” Hope was with me when I watched the film Dead Poets Society. Hope was with me when I saw the most genuine smiles of my family. Hope was with me when I helped myself and became better. Hope was with me when I found myself. And I was hoping Hope would never leave.


But then I learned the truth about these 6 people. These 6 people, they leave, and they come back, in no particular order. Happiness came back when I made my family proud. Happiness came back when I met you. And suddenly Loneliness arrived again in the middle night, but good thing I was stronger now and I made Loneliness leave sooner. Nostalgia came again when I heard this one song that reminded me of my friends. And then Love, Love was here again. And Love confessed, “I am the only one who can be with you always, but sometimes another person makes you feel something more. I was with you since the beginning. I am with you every time you’re with your family and friends. No matter what you’re feeling, I am with you every time you’re with the people that mean so much to you.” And the horrible person named Heartbreak came back again, and as usual, it was ****. But I’m starting to accept Heartbreak’s presence. And I’m currently with Hope. I was with Hope when I attended my first rally last year, when I saw the people who can help change the world and make it a better place. Hope is with me every time I see people who help each other, even if they don’t know each other personally, even if they knew each other on the internet. Hope is with me when I see people never giving up. Hope is with me while I’m writing this piece. And when I knew the truth about these 6 people, I accepted it. I accepted the people I don’t want to leave will do, and the people I don’t want to come back will do. I accepted they’re always here. I accepted they will be here unexpectedly, I accepted that any of them will come sooner or later. And when that time comes, I will greet the person, whoever the person is, “Welcome back.”


*(k.b)
kaylan joseph Nov 2014
somehow her hair halts me at every sentance
a dark brown finsh over a cute slinder face
her personalty speaks rhthmic poetry
like a connection over mortal things
and the only thing she said was hi
normaly i would forget a greeting
but it seems so inviting  if the whole world went left it seemed like the right thing
so like lightning i respond hi
tripped over my words
and got lost in her eyes
a pale blue that could unviel any disguise
she said my name is hannah
and so nearly 2 hearts almost coldide

— The End —