A memoir from my schooldays …. Whilst I look at you, paying attention, you think, really I am elsewhere, paying attention, and I don’t think. I don’t think of the knowledge you think you are sharing with me, but I do think, and with thinking, I pay attention to the fact that my knees…
Tag: memories
Lilies of the Valley
I’ll find you both in the valley of lilies, wafting away the smell of mothballs from your clothes. My country grandmother, sunning yourself on the rim of your best Sunday hat, taking a well-earned rest from your garden of vegetables and honey. My city grandmother, swinging yourself from the handle of your trolley-bag, so ill…
Lonely Hand
‘Hands Folded Woman’ image from Pixabay.com (Creative Commons) Lovers’ hands still holding on, gripped, suckered, stuck like the suckers on windows of wooden toy-shop arrows bought, aimed, fired, landed, then pulled off, popped off; all leftover traces of once-was washed off without regard by a sloppy window cleaner. And a note shared through a door;…
Pakefield Sea Front
Waves. Waves walking towards me as I sit drinking tea at a pub by the sea Thinking about fish running beneath the surface of the Milky swirl of the tea as I swish my teaspoon around Making whirlpools Kites ripple and twirl around in the sea…
Death at Christmas
The tree is up and the lights are on The glow is bright and warm But I feel cold The tree is real, not a plastic job The colour is green, but parts are yellow and the ferns are falling The glow may be bright But the…
Revisiting a Childhood Home
The smell of sleeping mouths hanging wide open; damp fumes spreading. A pair of shoes with black melted plastic soles sizzling next to the fire. A panting beast – it’s dreams interrupted with the occasional snore – with bottom parked on singed shoes. A pair of red ankles emerging from beneath the…
Sibling Territory
Magazines neatly piled – the edges all lined up with each other and parallel to the edges of the table. A dust-free table and a strong smell of furniture polish, toothpaste and starch. Shirts hanging in the wardrobe; each hanger exactly two centimetres from its neighbour – not a crease…
City Playground
Face squeezed between tall rails My spirit vaporising out through the gap The concrete contains me. Copyright owned by Jay Cool
