Life Post

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Tomorrow my time of babysitting a grandson and puppy (both avid attention seekers and prime mess makers) not to mention a lizard and two hamsters will be over. No more clearing the debris of a rapid New York departure or overhauling toys and boys clothes in an effort to get things ready for school again, parents and teachers will once more take the reins. While they’ve been fun (and very affectionate) after a week also stuffed with urgent business it will feel so good to get back to my writing (and reading) again, my quiet, clean and tidy little “ivory tower” beckons.

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I Remember.

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50s

I remember writing laboriously with pen nibs and ink, their pattern of blotches decorating my spidery drawl and blue blotting paper limiting the damage. I remember evenings in the sitting room gathered around the piano before TVs usurped the family hearth, my mother playing as we tried to sing along.
I remember watching as my father guided their waltzing steps round the dance floor amidst a ruffle of organza petticoats, his getting up before us all to light the coal fire, and carving beautiful furniture from wooden egg boxes.
I remember helping my mother pluck chickens and shell peas, her superb baking, and how she made our clothes on the little Singer sewing machine. Life was simpler then still in touch with its roots.
Now food comes ready made in packages, entertainment is available at the touch of a button, and central heating means I can snuggle in bed while the house warms, but while making life easier we seem to have lost something.
The easy neighborhood camaraderie of post war London has evaporated leaving a nation of strangers. In a time when everyone was thankful to have a roof over their heads and food on the table all were in the same boat. Even the remaining upper-classes seemed to have a respect for the laboring class who had fought at their side in the war, divisions closed by a common enemy.
Now, rich or poor, everyone competes on the rungs of their various ladders and I would look in vain for a man who can grow vegetables, make furniture, fix our shoes, wall paper the house and fight for us if needed, or a woman who cooks and cleans, makes jam and pickles, clothes and books, who can make a meal from nothing and made our house a home, folks solid in their foundations standing united no matter what fate brings against them. I fear in loosing our roots we have lost much of our strength also.

Moments.

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Brief moments of time glimmer in the darkness as pearls upon a string, savored one by one, each a complete entity.
Linked by strings of events, like twining DNA they weave their patterns from beginning to end, each strand diverse in length and radiance.
Will we set radiant jewels and pearls upon our thread of life or worthless stones, pebbles, even garbage? We must choose wisely each day those things we seek, for all to soon the moment has passed set forever in the pattern of the chain.

Ode to Atlantis.

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atlantis

Down where the silver fishes play
Sunk down deep in its decay
Where once the proud like peacocks stood
Lies shattered stone like shards of wood.

It’s peaceful there now down in the depths, no more slaves, no more evil, earth and water washed it all away, this once “thriving” civilization. It thrived on hate and greed, on privilege and slaughter, using its knowledge to enslave the souls of men, trapped in the treadmill of its habitation.
Once the tumult of voices filled the streets, but no more. Now all is silent as the grave, and bones, picked clean, line the confines, earth and water conspiring to eradicate their evil lest it spread, contaminating the earth.
Now sharks bask in scattered sunshine that filters through the waves, like sentinels guarding the city hidden deep below. Coral adorns its sunken walls, shadows its depths. The trinkets and gold it sought long scattered by the waves, sunk beneath encroaching sands.
A lesson lies here, hidden, unknown, all glory brought to naught in a single day. Its vast armies unable to intervene, its technology of no avail against the powers that over threw it. They thought themselves invincible upon the earth, securing its resources to their will, enslaving “lower species” of men. Standing in the height of their power they were consumed in an instant. Now the fish inherit all.

Atlantian Legends.

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Down where the silver fishes play
Sunk down deep in its decay
Where once the proud like peacocks stood

Lies shattered stone like shards of wood

atlantis

It’s peaceful there now down in the depths, no more slaves, no more evil, earth and water washed it all away, this once “thriving” civilization. It thrived on hate and greed, on privilege and slaughter, using its knowledge to enslave the souls of men, trapped in the treadmill of its habitation.

Once the tumult of voices filled the streets, but no more. Now all is silent as the grave, and bones, picked clean, line the confines, earth and water conspiring to eradicate their evil lest it spread, contaminating the earth.
Now sharks bask in scattered sunshine that filters through the waves, like sentinels guarding the city hidden deep below. Coral adorns its sunken walls, shadows its depths. The trinkets and gold it sought long scattered by the waves, sunk beneath encroaching sands.
A lesson lies here, hidden, unknown, all glory brought to naught in a single day. Its vast armies unable to intervene, its technology of no avail against the powers that over threw it. They thought themselves invincible upon the earth, securing its resources to their will, enslaving “lower species” of men. Standing in the height of their power they were consumed in an instant. Now the fish inherit all.

Frost.

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frost 2

Frozen leaves crunched beneath her sneakers. She shifted the backpack spreading the weight. Behind the lights of “home” shone dimly through the darkness, a reminder of days, when summer dreams blossomed.
Now there was the road. She never stayed long, it always ended this way. Revving the motor gently, she steered the bike onto the road. She’d leave it in town with a note, he had the car. Bracing against the cold invading her heart she picked up speed, the wind in her hair, freedom! It was just how she was, commitment frightened her. She pictured his face when he woke to see her gone, the sleepy brown eyes and tousled hair. He’d been good to her she had no complaints… She’d just been here too long…
Rounding a corner into darkness she never saw the ice. The bike twisted careening into the ditch as she was thrown clear. Agony shot up her leg. Shadows swam and span…
Sometime later she came to, the pain subdued to a numb ache. Her gloves felt sticky. Raising hands to her face she sniffed – blood. She yelled into the darkness, but there was no one to hear…
She must stay awake, try to keep warm, but movement was agony. She pulled her hat down over her ears, remembering the warmth of his body beside her, the protective arm resting across her waist as he slept…
Lights swam in the darkness, twin beams glaring, delirious with pain she thought he was there; lifting her in his arms, but pain eclipsed her dreams in agony.
She felt warm and comfortable, didn’t want to wake. He was beside her holding her hand, telling her he loved her. It didn’t matter, it was just a dream. She could let him say the words…
It was afternoon when she woke from the sedation. Lights gleamed on tacky hospital walls. Her leg was encased in plaster from the hip down but the pain had receded. Someone must have found her. She looked around.
“Why you’s awake!” A cheery voice piped. “We was worried about you, came in half frozen, but you’s gonna be OK now. Thank God he found ya when he did!”
“Who found me?”
“The guy that’s been sitting here all day long. That’s who! Guy with a leather jacket with an eagle!” It was then she knew.
“Where is he now?”
“Went to get some food, hadn’t eaten all day. You’ll be wanting something yourself soon.” The nurse continued on her way.
She didn’t feel like eating, she felt sick, released by her dark ordeal emotions escaped the cage in which she’d kept them bound, dreams melted into reality yelling their message.
The door opened. He stood, his face contorted with remorse.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he cracked out. “I heard you rev the bike. I had a feeling you’d run for it. Ain’t no way I could make a woman like you happy. I followed you but the darned car wouldn’t start. I looked all over town but you weren’t there. I just wanted to say goodbye and make sure you were OK, but I couldn’t find you…”
“You’re not mad?”
“Me, no. I always knew what kind of woman you were. I jus’ wanted to keep you safe.”
“So you came looking.”
“Yeh.” Reaching out her arms she held him tight.
“I realized something out there on the road,” she murmured. “I realized I need someone to look out for me, someone who’ll come looking.”