My granddaughter dropped her kaleidoscope
From the top window
Tiny, coloured pieces scattered across the patio
I heard her little footsteps running down the stairs
Holding my breath, hoping she wouldn’t fall
Three-year-olds often know no fear
The tiny jewels shone under bright sunlight
Lost treasure belonging to the shining ones
Running into the kitchen where I stood
Watching the coloured dancing lights
Renewing my faith in magic
“I didn’t throw it Nan,
I tried to find more light to make the pieces shine”
Hugging my leg, her tears drying on my apron
Looking at her tear-stained face
I couldn’t tell her off for playing near an open window
Taking her hand, we walked outside
We will go to town and buy a new one
With a sob in her voice, she said
“It is a broken rainbow…”
Billy was grandads neighbour when they were kids Billy would be late for school, meeting his friends They would get fed up waiting, leaving him to catch up His mum said it was because he was a little behind the other kids. He didn’t walk until he was two and a half Even then, he would rather crawl, or sit where they left him. Things didn’t get better with age, and he’s on a warning from work. Those that know him will tell you he would be late for his own funeral. No point telling him to pull his socks up. His boss had blown those words into the wind Did he feel the smack as they returned?
William, as he liked to be called, now he was all grown, took up running, hoping it would help his timekeeping William loved his job at the kennels, as the animals never judged him Looking at his watch, he knew he would never make it As he started running, his feet came up from the ground, running faster than the wind, with two minutes to spare, he made it. From that day on, he arrived on time, helped by the wind at his back That was how grandad told the story. When I asked if anyone had seen him with his feet above the ground I did, he said. And Johnny Faux, my best mate…
Odds and sods, bits, and bobs Throw them together like the sherbet bits of my brain What do you get? A kaleidoscope look at life A fantasy in colour Stripes, cubes, dots, whatever you fancy Throw all your colours at the canvas Watch as they mix, making their own self portrait A strange sea to drown yourself in Dip your toe in, watch the colours rush up your leg Turn you into a striped candy stick of rock Now that’s my idea of abstract Anything you like if it relates to the odd…
My dad had a lot of crazy ideas, this one was the best crazy yet. Mum said it would be in the yard by the end of the week with the rest of his junk. The hugest telescope I had ever seen. Dad and I put it together, learned how to focus it. That night from the spare bedroom, my heart jumped from star to star. fourteen years old and I know what I want to do with my life. I told dad I wanted to work at the Hubble Observatory. That night I witnessed my first spiral galaxy. I had fallen into one of mum’s bible stories. Revelations came to mind; something began for me that night. Mum was right, dad will be bored by the end of the week. Some might say, dad had been marked by the beast 666. a number that drives the crazy in him. mum wouldn’t like to hear me say that, she would be crossing herself half the day, saying Jonathan, mind your tongue! Before going to bed, I made sure dad knew I wanted the telescope. He smiled; we didn’t need too many words, I knew the scope was mine…
Old, yet never world weary Built when a time passed slow When people could not be asked to rush Romance meant holding hands Walking out for months Getting to know each other Where a look from across the room Would have you spellbound Unspoken words, understood by the heart So much old-fashioned charm, lost to time I would wish it back, where a gentleman holds the door open for you to pass What charm is there, in todays panicked, rushed world? I want to tell you that charm remains. I had a young boy, of about twelve Hold the door to the chemist open for me I was bowled over by his charm I smiled all the way home How had he learned to be so polite So charming…
Merlin no longer walks the halls of Camelot Where Arthur lost his love Where Knights search for the Holy cup Dark castle walls crackle with magic Old lightning storms echo through forest glades Whispering spirits can be heard, worry not, time will return, new magic will be found Blown in by eastern winds Exotic sounds beat against your eardrums Foreign yet fresh, east meets west Blending, folding into new ideas New religions, new magic from old…
He heard the sound the minute he walked into the dining room to start work removing the ugly fireplace.
A faint scraping sound echoed around the room, but where was it coming from?
His mind returned to the job in hand, the removal of the totally unsuitable faux marble fireplace. He swung the large club hammer at the bolster chisel to separate the cheap surround from the wall. Seconds later, the scraping sound set his nerves on edge. He winced.
“Don’t be daft…you’re imagining it!”
But every blow he made was answered by the sound that seemed to be coming from the walls.
Once the fireplace lay on the floor in pieces, he started to carry the pieces out to his truck. Each time he returned; the noise greeted him.
What began as curiosity and amusement, slowly turned to annoyance and he couldn’t decide what to do about it.
He had to be imagining it, for he had moved in six weeks ago and not heard anything before now.
Maybe he should just ignore it.
Instantly, as if it heard his thoughts, the slightly louder sounds seemed to argue with that idea.
He slowly walked around the room, pausing at each wall but annoyingly, he heard nothing.
Three of the walls were brick, but the one adjoining the kitchen was a partition wall, plasterboard on a timber frame. He remembered building it the week before, and if there was anything trapped, it would be in that one.
It was getting late, and he was hungry. Whatever was going on would have to wait until tomorrow. As he turned to leave, the noise began again, and the sense of urgency was palpable.
He reached into his toolbox for his utility knife and approached the partition wall. Carefully, as he couldn’t remember exactly where the power cables were, he cut a sizeable hole and using the torch on his phone, he stretched his head through to see what the wall might conceal.
He could hear something moving about. He tried to see what it was, but the hole was too high.
Minutes later, after cutting a hole at ground level, a small, bedraggled cat crawled out, barely alive.
I looked up at him, my cup of tea on its way to my lips, wondering why he bothered with his objections. “What stuff are you referring to?”
“Tea… filthy stuff, it’s got more caffeine in it than coffee. Can’t be good for you…”
I wanted to ignore him, refuse to become involved in yet another tedious argument, but found myself speaking. “I read somewhere that tea is good for your heart and your blood pressure. Which is more than can be said about the muck you drink!”
He snorted like a pig. “That’s a load of rubbish! Has to be, it’s just a load of old leaves…”
“Very special leaves that come from the Camelia shrub. Did you know it was once so expensive it was kept in locked boxes?”
“Best place for it, if you ask me…” He reached for the tv remote. I had him on the run.
“They have been drinking tea for 2000 years in China, and then there’s the Japanese tea ceremonies…”
“Still no reason for you to be guzzling it, though…”
As I stared at him, he looked at me, with what I thought was a flicker of defiance in his eyes. Oh no you don’t, I thought. “If you want any supper tonight, you’ll be a dear and go and put the kettle on… and don’t forget to put the milk in first. Just the way I like it…”
Living in misery Attended by misery and woes Inferior in performance or quality Very unpleasant: deplorable
For the past two weeks, it has been a case of all the above, since Anita, the head of our family had a nasty heart attack. She also had pneumonia, which was complicating matters even further, but due to the corona virus lockdown, we were not allowed to visit her in the hospital.
So for seven miserable and wretched days we worried our socks off at home, wondering what was going on and how Anita was feeling.
On the third day, we managed to acquire the number of the telephone, which was conveniently right next to Anita’s bed, which enabled us to speak to her and find out how she was feeling and what had been happening. This contact was a godsend for all of us and went a long way to keeping us from self-detonating!
Anita is back home now, but the misery is still present, although not as intense as it was before, as she is still very ill. She has extensive damage to her heart and as yet no way of knowing the exact prognosis. There is a waiting list for the MRI which will ascertain the damage, but until that day arrives, wretched will unfortunately be the order of the day…