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The Last Remaining Grain

Death is easy for there is nothing to do while living is hard, for you live right up to the moment you cease to live.

Everyone has a story and sometimes fragments of these stories reach us like one did today. The following is a follow on from the post Reg At Sea. We often forget that although we grieve, we are not always the only ones.

The Departing

Crayons for Grandad
as beautiful as the first rainbow who caressed the sky
the weight of the starburst colours,
avid from a delicate hand
waters cries from an old man's eyes
as the last grains of sand
fall
to
cease
and leave him behind.

Samaritan

“I'm lost and alone in the dark and I need a light to show me the way.”

Samantha was shocked by the maturity from one so young. She resisted the urge to say “Well…” to break the bricks of silence, which had cemented themselves across the table. She thought for a moment searching for something wise and meaningful. Something to provide a ray of hope.

Johnny raised his head from the tabletop and look of desperate expectation filled his face.

“Well….”, said Samantha, “…..everything will be okay now…”

“No it wont!”, screamed Johnny furiously banging his head against the table.

Clearing Out The Closet

I write about my father, I write about my mother and in simple terms they are a little like Ying and Yang, opposites of each other and each has an important lesson; one good, one bad but they are still both of me since both made me both psychically and mentally.

In recent times she features less and less in my expressions. The following is inspired by both my own and my sisters attitude to our mother, in particular the past and point of time we now find ourselves.



The Broken Face

She slipped like a glass,
cracked, failed to smash into chunky sharp needles

Instead she sat in a stale cupboard draw,
filed away like records of the dead.

Time prised her jaw to an old crows beak
toothless she scraped, more and more

Until their hands scarred as wise old oak,
Two children bought her demise on the rubbish tip.

Failed Plan

The pied piper sat on the kitchen floor holding back a flood of tears. It had all gone wrong. Horribly wrong. Not only had he not got paid for ridding the local town of it’s rat infestation, his first big contract, the parents of the children he kidnapped were refusing to pay his ransom demands and denying all knowledge of having any children.

He was being eaten out of house and home, the electric and phone bill were being delivered in a trailer pulled by a monster truck and despite his best efforts not one of them would eat cabbage.

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