The flood of tears

How could I not feel?
The deep anguish in her eyes
As I spoke those words

How could I not see?
The flood of tears on her cheeks
As we argued long

How could I walk out?
Without giving it a thought
From our house that night

Moon hid in the clouds
In the cold I walked alone
Regretting each word

Later I returned
Everything was in darkness
There was not a sound

She slept with the kids
With her arms around them both
It's my turn to weep

Image found at www.huffingtonpost.com

Love in her eyes

My heart was on fire
Clare agreed to go with me
We walked by the river
The sunshine smiles at us
Approvingly

Our hands were so warm
I didn't want to let go
Then suggested a boat trip
She nodded agreeing
That should be fun

I rowed from the dock
Upstream to the shady trees
To escape the day's warmth
Though it was such hard work
She looked so sweet

Pulled into the bank
We kissed each other fondly
Not noticing close by
A camping site site just there
Oh, damnation!

What a mooring place
Small children and their kayaks
Campfires and marshmallows
Was my idea of hell
But she just laughed

I rowed further up
And we talked of many things
I liked her long brown legs
I'll not be tired of her
There's love in her eyes

For the final time

Let’s begin again

That is what you said

I should have laughed

At your excuses

Trampled on your words

Thrown them in the wind

To let such manure

Fertilise the plants

You’d string me along

As you did before

To drive me insane

I’m not your putty

To fill some weird need

To be kneaded with spite

With my wings clipped

Those days are gone

I have paid my dues

To your own weird club

For the final time

Imagine that loser

It's you that's been stung

Image found at www.guineapigtoday.com

You just don't get it

“I don’t think this is working”, she said staring him in the eyes              

Puzzled he recoiled from the blow that was not physical

It hurt and it was not even expected, where had he been?

She sighed and whispered softy, “I feel so sorry for you”                               

He tried to collect his thoughts, but they were so jumbled

She was ditching him! That was a first and it peeved him                  

He was hurt of course and now he wanted to hurt her                                   

She felt sorry for him! Who the hell did she think she was?              

For some reason he thought of his mother at breakfast

Serving up oatmeal on to his plate, just a lot of mush

Which was just how his brain felt at that very moment                        

Because of that he couldn't hear the words she then spoke

What was it again? Moving out; Gone by the weekend

She would pay the rent and then he would be on his own

“So you found another guy have you; thought as much” 

She shook her head sadly, "You just don't get it do you?"

Image found at www.citifmonline.com

My mother had no faith in the sea

                 
This photo of Weymouth is courtesy of TripAdvisor  It is however typical of the old ferry boat at Littlehampton

My mother had no faith in the sea’s trustworthiness. She panicked whenever the ocean, sea, tidal inlet or even a sluggish river were in close proximity. This became apparent to me as an 11 year old when we spent a holiday with relatives who lived by the sea at Littlehampton in Sussex shortly after WW2. We stayed in a village a tidy walk from the town and the sea itself was still a distance from the shops. The beach was flat and mostly sandy which was where most people congregated close to all conveniences such as the ice cream parlours, the tea rooms, the amusement arcade, the putting greens and of course the public conveniences.

My father was more adventurous and on hearing of a deserted beach on the other side of the river that ran through the town decided on an expedition to this haven from the hoi polloi, in order that games, picnics and sea bathing could be enjoyed without the need to jostle for space on the main beach, trip over others belongings and join hundreds of others in the an almost religious dip into the ocean akin to bathing in the Ganges. Mother approved the plan and we found that to reach the unspoilt pristine beach we would have to be rowed across the river by a boat plied by a boatman. This was exciting. The boatman himself was a gnarled weather beaten old salt that said little and merely did his job whilst smoking a old pipeful of rank tobacco that sent up a cloud and stench so foul no other water craft came near us. I do remember his hands though; great brown knotted clumps of flesh on the ends of his arms that gripped the oars and seemed to me to epitomise immense strength.

I could see the panic on my mother’s face as we and several other hardy souls intent on exploration also clambered into the boat. The charge per passenger was 1d and for this we were ferried a few yards across the River Arun. This comparatively short river rising somewhere to the north of Arundel was extremely fast flowing. At Littlehampton this was quite evident when the tide was out. When the tide was in, as it was this morning, the basin filled and the water was sluggish so rowing across to the other side was simple, much to the relief of mother. Thus it was when we crossed for the first time and safely delivered on foreign territory we trekked the few hundred yards to the beach and spent the whole day there, exploring, eating, playing and even bathing. Mother however merely donned her sunsuit and had no discourse at all with the sea.

With all the food eaten, bodies burnt by the wind and the sun, tired out from so much exploration and hungry again we made our way back to the ferry crossing. There was a queue of customers as the journey seemed to take longer this time. The tide was going out. No that is not true it was racing out and the pair of ferry boats in use were making very heavy weather of the trip. When we finally boarded and pushed off the boatman with grim determination immediately turned the craft and rowed with a steely look on his face in what appeared to be wrong direction upstream and continued that way painfully slowly. Only when the berth on the opposite side seemed totally out of reach did he carefully swing the boat around and drift with the current. The craft seemed hopelessly out of control until some yards from the berth did he nudge the boat into the waiting hands on shore to quickly fasten it and unload the passengers on dry land. Now we boys and Dad certainly had faith that all would be well. Mother on the other hand did not open her eyes until she was helped out of the boat on the other side.

I posted  this recollection originally in Aug 2010 on the old Sunday Scribblings web site