I am afraid I shall not be around for the next few days due to circumstances I have to enter and stay in the real world. I say real world who is to say this is not real world.
Either way I have to depart for a while. I shall miss you all but I shall be back soon so please forget me not! I leave my pixie sister here to watch over you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The shouting stopped,at last. The phone flew across the room he walk past me, in his wake, gloom. The door slammed and the noise of feet receded upon the stairs. On the landing another door bangs. On my necks electric hairs.
The grief attacks my heart the pain constricts and feeds upon my soul. Pointless to reach out for his mind is as made up as those slammed doors, between us an immeasurable hole.
Why had the phone rung, why had their argument begun, I was not party to the words I was not involved yet my name was bandied, promises, let downs,and money, as usual all left unsolved.
Some how the tension had been building all evening I know damn well the phone call was not the beginning just the trigger . It is always the same eggshells to traverse, walking on glass, fear of a row, that is my universe. Why does it happen why will it not stop. I bargain with God I plead until I drop. It is all pointless though, so my spirits drop.
I try to please him his ego I stroke but there is is only so much you can do for such a bloke. I am always in the wrong even if I am not involved it is true.Tell me then what can one do when every fucking thing is always down to you! No matter which of them upset him it always me who has to carry the can they have all up and left so it is all down to me when the shit hits the fan.
It is late now and I am too tired I think I shall go to bed before any more bad things start to stink. I pray every day and I pray every night could may the next day be less of a fight.
Dream not of today,yesterday is still here the future is what you fear, dream not of today that is what the wise men say. Fear not for yesterday it is gone it has picked up the things you should of done , scooped them up like a thief and then made off at a run.
Dream not of today waste not your time on dreams you need to be out there stacking up the hay. Reach not too hard into your future it is not yet come, why make panic for yourself of things you can know, nor will be done.
Dream not of today though you may think that it is here to stay. Hold not on to that which cannot last however tight you cling to it. Or run your best,you can not out run time no matter your efforts to be fast, you will just fail like all the rest.
Dream not of today, dream not of what there is no chance to change. Look not too far back for that is all done and gone, let it waft off on the breeze as the fading notes of a song. The future too right now has no claim on you. Live for the moment make the most of life is what you need to do.
Dream not of today. Above you see the lily as it was in bud and as it is now open and beautiful living, and then to the future the fading bud oozing life. Dream not of today waste not your present take hold of life and what it is giving.
Last moments of the Aragon
The Aragon
From Malta, after Christmas, in nineteen seventeen,
Seems like only yesterday but I was just nineteen,
On board the troopship “Aragon”, sailing off to war,
Wondering what the voyage and the desert held in store.
The Med. was stiff with U boats, but the Aragon seemed fine,
She had destroyers on each side and zigzagged all the time.
The sergeant said, “You lazy lot, for there is work to do,
I need some volunteers below, that’s you and you and you”,
“Give me just a minute lads, and then I’ll do my share,
For here’s one sweating volunteer who needs a breath of air,”
I ran towards the bows, who knows what made me move so fast,
The stern was blown apart, I heard the noise and felt the blast.
Young nurses in the lifeboats; I hope there’s room for all,
The Captain calls “Abandon Ship”, who needs a second call,
My army boots are first to go, they’re no more use to me,
And they’ll not be short of company at the bottom of the sea.
I blessed the baths in Battersea where I had learned to swim,
I’d been in many races, but this one I had to win.
Some died in the Aragon, and some died in the sea,
Some men reached the escort ship, thinking they were free,
A torpedo hissed beneath my feet, disaster struck again,
And the men that had been rescued died in water and in flame,
And I turn to thinking now that more than sixty years have flown,
Of those two hours in the water so far away from home.
Now I watch my four great grandsons in the local swimming pool,
They’re laughing in the water and they’re safe now if they fall,
They’re learning as their mothers and their grandma did before,
But I hope they never need it in another bloody war.
I hope they never have to see six hundred comrades drown,
Or have memories like mine of when the Aragon went down.
Maureen Jones, 1982
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This week I have decided to show the war from the perspective of those who are the descendants of soldiers, sailors, airmen, nurses, doctors in fact all of those who fought in the two world wars. I discovered this author, Maureen Jones this week while researching.
This poem speaks of the plight of some young soldiers and nurses who were torpedoed. Women went out to all the “fronts ” as doctors and nurses some of the nurses very young not even twenty.
Maureen Jones’s grandfather was on the troop ship, The Aragon, on 30th December 1917, it was just about to enter the Egyptian port of Alexandria, when it was hit by a torpedo fired from a German submarine. It sank within twenty minutes. Of the 2700 souls on board 610 were drowned. Maureen’s grandfather lived to tell the story and her poem (which was written and is often performed as a song) records his experience and reactions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This Poem really reaches out and grabs you where it hurts. It tells of the split second change from the normal sailing along in the convoy with destroyers on both sides and zig zaging away. Then suddenly with no warning all hell lets loose, explosion, fire, smell of burning oil, burning people nothing can explain how it would of felt, the ship is on fire the sea is on fire, noise screaming shouting whistles ships horns people running round in circles people in life boats people trying to get into life boats… people drowning people suffering burns broken limbs huge open wounds and you cannot help them, you want to help them but you cannot. Sadly some were just beyond help.
The day was just ripped away from them and they saw, heard, felt and smelt Hell.
The young man (Maureen’s grandfather) was alive because, feeling sea sick he had run forward to the bow of the ship to be sick at the moment the ship received the torpedo hit in the stern. Thinking quickly he removed his army boots realizing that they would only weigh him down.The sights and sounds he witness that day, two hours of his life burned on to his brain never to leave him. We could never imagine, only those who have been in a war at sea can know.
Imagine safety insight you hear and feel a torpedo pass beneath you in the water and sink your haven of hope the ship you were heading for. People on that ship only just saved from the fire, oil and wave find themselves back in the sea some injured,some dead some gone mad. Now there are the survivors of two ships in the water. Two hours in the water God know what going on around you.
I do not know what else to say, I was not there I cannot possible tell you. But Maureen’s grandfather can. May if you read the poem again with some of the eye shades of poetry removed. All I can do is say “Thank You” to all those generations who fought , died survived. God Bless Them we will not forget.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Below is another poem written by Maureen Jones about her husband’s grandfather’s medals which she took to have valued and explained. The expert referred to them as “Pip, Squeak and Wilf” medals.The poem is wonderful and explains perfectly how undervalued and almost forgotten and tucked away,the sacrifice made for us generations to come has become. The lines “”They made them by the thousand and they’re still quite common now, They’re maybe worth a tenner, their value isn’t high” Just says it all.People forget the medals represent a person, a life , their heroic deeds their sacrifice.
I have said enough, too much some would say but heed the truth do not forget them. I shall Maureen’s poem say it all. Thank you for reading .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Grandpa’s Medals (Pip Squeak and Wilf )
We took Great Grandpa’s medals to a travelling antiques show,
Just to have them valued, for we’d never let them go.
We told the man “They’re from the nineteen fourteen-eighteen war”,
We could tell by his expression that he’d seen them all before,
And, though polite and helpful, he looked unmoved somehow,
“They made them by the thousand and they’re still quite common now,
They’re maybe worth a tenner, their value isn’t high”,
So I resisted the temptation to poke him in the eye,
Put the medals in my bag and turned to leave the hall.
“They made them by the thousand,” I suppose that says it all.
Maureen Jones
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poetry Challenge #7 is to create a journal of links and your reactions to poems by established (living or dead poets.) Details are here. Example response is here. Mr. Linky for Challenge #7 is directly below:
Time to take the make up off time to face the night without the safety mask. Time to expose the truth, your soul, remove protection from the day and sun light.
Time to cream away the layers of the false, the colours of the trained liar the lipstick and beauty spot take the floral baby wreath and earrings and toss them in the fire.
Time to remove the lashes thick and black the liner and shadow place the lashes safe, lose them not they need tomorrow to be put back.
Time to cleanse the face remove the rouge the powder cleanse it deep remove every show of style. Stow away the remnants look into the mirror and feel your insecurities begin to scream louder.
Time to remove the clothes the many layers that you present to the world the gory colours the lacing’s, hooks and eyes , the net petticoats the suspenders and stockings that grip your thighs. Remove the shoes with killer heels evil stiletto that the punters demand, remove the lingerie they love to feel in their hand.
Time to bathe , to scrub, scrub, scrub,scrub until you bleed, bleed, bleed wash them off those traces of those men, every vestige of their need, need.
Time to be hidden from the world your sullied locks un-clipped and un-furled . What is left you choose not to show the world, what is left, less and less each day , you know.
Time to wrap your dirty dressing gown around your thin and bruised body. Time for slippers time for the dose. No not time for food you must have what you need the most.Anyway you need to keep this figure it’s all you have to trade, you have lost all else, you had still the happy memories thankfully each day fade.
Time to look in the mirror and admit what is it you see. A shadow of a person, used, abused lost and from chemical cravings no longer free. You hate what you have become you hate it to your bones but you hate the other reflection more .. almost as you hate to hear the punters ecstatic groans.
Dear all I want to introduce you all to DepotGhost he is writing his life story which so far has taken him from Canvey Island in Essex to London ,London to Karachi in West Pakistan, back to England and so much of life in the story I can truly recommend it !!
I can see him in the dark I can see him watching me. He is pissed and he is angry he furious with me.
There he stands the dark angel, planing how next to torture me he is cruel and he is clever he has so many tools to use on me.
He can make me beg for mercy he can make me scream for pain he finds out how to take me so near then just knock me back again.
Knowingly he can touch me where the fire burns the most, drawing and drawing until I implore for sating then he kicks me to the floor.
He can lift me his hands in my sweet places, rest me on his joyous gift then as ecstasy is in reach toss me off as so much shrift.
He can leave wet and breathless crying out for sweet relief he can drag me down to places that are so far from your belief. I am open wide to him but he does not care he will make me beg and pleased for it and then just rape me with his stare.
Here he comes the dark angel a smile upon his face he drags me across the floor strips me naked pulls me wide open, then displays to the world my disgrace.
I am spell bound by Bollywood, the beautiful women the dashing men. The music , the dance oh! the dance if only. So I have written what I hope are expressions of that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sparkling eyes , flashing gold and ankle bells
Gyrating hips red temptress lips
Stomp stomp shift arms up lift wiggle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh! colours blue and red
Huge brown eyes say come to bed
how does she do that move of her head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Faster now they move boys and girls
Twisting, turning side to side
Painted feet twinkling toes brown legs glide
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Boys make their move
The girls reply they are in the groove
Hidden meanings all to prove
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Henna painted hands and jet black hair
Fantastic saris sway and flair
Rings on fingers bells on toes
Golden chain from ear to nose
I would like to thank Steph lostupabove.wordpress.com for awarding me the Liebster blog
I would like to pass this award to:
11 Ajay Ohri
14 zendictive
15 granbee
17 Martin Shone
18 bipolarmuse
19 Kate58
20 http://giselzitrone.wordpress.com/
21 VIKRAM ROY
22 http://greatpoetrymhf.wordpress.com/
and so many many many more!! Love you all and if I have not nominated you it is only because my fingers ache everyone on wordpress deserve this award you are all dear to me!
This is more real than we believe , there are less things random than we perceive.
Everything has it’s place in this universe, the fact that we have not discovered this yet is just the human curse!
What yesterday was a million light years away tomorrow will be as simple as mere child’s play.
Nothing is Random nothing is new if only we all opened our eyes at the same time we would see that it is true.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The little ditty above was inspired in me by Ajay Ohri and his amazing post Random Numbers.
THIS THE POEM THAT INSPIRED ME FROM POEMS FOR KUSH. AND THE LINK.
http://poemsforkush.com/2012/02/15/random-numbers/
Random Numbers
“The generation of random numbers is too important to be left to chance.”
Time to re-write algorithms, it is time to dance
What you thought was random, was predictable after all
Even though you ignored the failure that occurred so small
Breach occurs at the lowest strength in the wall
What is random today , tomorrow it shall fall
Based on the NYT discussion at
Thank you Ajay Ohri
✨Epicseekerblog, ever seeking answers to questions newly formed in Poems ‘n Stuff, ✨
KL CALEY
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
Authors' Blog - Book Reviews, Author Profiles and Reflections on Writing
Fun, Fitness & Photography
A mixed bag
This WordPress.com site is Pacific War era information
Thirty Years of Wonder
Curiosity run amok . . .
Another Way of Looking at Your Business
Finding Yessings and Blessings in Lifes Messings!
Poetry, Flash Fiction, Stories, Musings, Photos
Musings and memories, words and wisdom... of a working family woman
Write here, write now.
A Dime of Time: Mostly 10 Minute Stories, Fiction and Memoirs
Living life with dissociative identity disorder and complex ptsd
...what Lady A Lewis thinks about it...
Random thoughts, life lessons, hopes and dreams
An onion has many layers. So have I!
The independent she who loves life
there's plenty more where the first year came from
Or not, depending on my mood
I am with 12 years of experience and ready to achieve any type of works such as, converting any form from JPG, PDF, ...etc into Excel,Word, PowerPoint and other editable forms, In addition to having a deep experience in inserting and managing data
Life & The Artistic Creations of M. Snyder
Writing Magic, Myth and Mystery
SteveTanham - writing, mysticism, photography, poetry, friends
Salty like hot dogs (and tears). Sweet like marmalade (and life).
Rants, humor, sarcasm, and a haiku-like substance? It's hard to know what's going to come out of our minds next.
An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart
Random Ramblings and Reviews from Trent P. McDonald
Multi-Genre Author of YA Fantasy and Non-Fiction Self-Help
Having fun blogging with friends
Learner at Love
A Wife, My Verse, and Every Little Thing
Sacred Soulsongs
willowdot21 