PERSPECTIVE

Another prose poem;

PERSPECTIVE

We went back after the funeral to sort out his things.

Mam couldn't face the fact of his death. His clothes went into

binbags for the charity shop but those that he wore on the day

were taken down to the tip.We packed away the tools 

he'd been using, the chisels, saws and planes he once taught me

to use.They were his living, but his life was music, Italian tenors

his passion, now at last mine too.I found the dictionary of music 

I'd bought for his birthday, pleased that I'd got it right for once and

behind it another copy that he already had and never mentioned.

In a paperback copy of 'Candide' a box Brownie snap of his 

younger self proudly holding his first born, showing me off for 

the first time. He'd saved newspaper cuttings of my minor 

achievments, prizes won, (never firsts), school reports, photos

from child to soldier. In a torn envelope held with an

elastic band were my letters from abroad written unaware of

his fears for my safety. We took everything home to sort out later

but it's all still in the loft with the other once precious debris.

Our lives moved in parallel, sometimes converging but

never quite touching until we reached the vanishing point.

LUCKY

 I heard the following phrase on the radio during one of our recent overseas projects;-

                                      "He's lucky in a way, his prosthetic arm is state of the art."

LUCKY 

The mine that they hit was a P38,

long out of date and no longer

'state of the art'.

Our X52 being virtually new

is much more efficient

With an infinitely higher 

negative coefficient 

being 'state of the art'

it has world wide sales

important in maintainig

our balance of payments

His driver too

was lucky in a way

not to become

another survivor,

there being no progress

(at this moment in time)

in the advanced technological research

into the 'state of the art' prosthetic parts

that would have met his reqirements

DAY OF RECKONING

I heard this story from a friend of a friend of my wife and thought it should be, if not immortalised at least put on some sort of record. It may even be true
A performance piece for a mature lady.

DAY OF RECKONING

Yes --I'm OK thank you young man-- too kind-- no I didn't fall-- though I suppose I looked a bit awkward trying to get comfortable on the sand. Anyway I'm quite settled now---- this is where I used to come when I was a girl--- I'd sit for hours watching the sea. I loved it but I haven't been here for years--- my husband wouldn't bring me-- he said Blackpool was dirty. noisy. smelly and common and he wouldn't be seen dead here.He used to take me to Southport, he said it was more refined---- I thought it was dull--you were lucky if you caught a glimpse of the sea which always seemed to be flar and boring--- a bit like him--- not like here where there's plenty life.He was a bit la-di-da was Tom-- his mother's fault--when he passed for Grammar School she treated him as God's gift--always called him Thomas- it was bound to affect him I suppose.We got on OK most of the time---just ignored each other's faults like most 'happily marrieds'. It was an accident us getting wed in the first place, well the usual kind of accident that used to end up in marriage.Surprise you does it? Thought your generation invented sex did you?---everybody thinks so. He used to get on my nerves always wanting something better, something he couldn't have, it made him a right misery at times.I suppose his job didn't help--- called himself a manager but all he did was organise deliveries from the carpet store upstairs.They say we shouldn't speak ill of the dead-- why not? I say-- it can't hurt them can it? I suppose that amongst all the niggles and arguments of married life the one thing that really upset me was that he wouldn't bring me here. Seems silly doesn't it but sometimes it's the little things that nag at you , like having a stone in your shoe or well, lots of things--- Have you got a knife?---You youngsters always seem to carry knives these days--- thank you-- I can't seem to get this damned plastic super-seal bag open--- Ah--- that's done it--- thank you---better put that away..
There we are---no it's not sand---paler isn't it? I was surprised at the colour myself though I didn't know what to expect.---If I make a hole next to this post and empty the bag into it, mix it up and put this little dead crab on top that should do it--- there we are---there we are---really I should say,--- here we are at last.
What?---
The bag?
Oh didn't I say---they're Tom's ashes, he was cremated just last week.

FUNERAL MUSIC

It's easy to defer things which have a limited time available for action and this thought prompted me to write the following as a phone call to my nearest and dearest survivor;-

FUNERAL MUSIC

Hi,
I've just come from the hospital, not good news I'm afraid, so I thought I'd give you a ring to remind you of the arrangements we discussed and I just remembered that we didn't mention music and I thought I'd better give you some idea of what I'd like, not that I'll hear it of course. You know I'm not one for church music or churches for that matter but for a start perhaps the first piece on that CD 'Officium' by the Hilliard
ensemble which sounds suitably solemn and religious and earthbound until Jan Garbarek's soprano sax soars above them like a soul's release into the heavens which I hope may be the case and it could be a moment for everyone to meditate on life and death and all that stuff.You can borrow it from the library if you you don't have a copy, I seem to have lost mine, did I lend it to you? Then for a bit of nostalgia the most aching yearning piece of music that I know, the fourth movement of Mahler's fifth which he wrote for his wife Alma.(We won't say any more about her will we?) Then there's Sibelius one and two not forgetting the fifth and I couldn't leave out Beethoven could I? the Eroica, the Emperor not forgetting the violin concerto and perhaps some Bruch. Then for a bit of variety that recording of 'Baillero' from 'Songs of the Auvergne' sung by Victoria de los Angeles it should be in the bureau, second shelf  I think if I didn't lend it to you and what could be more perfect than 'E Lucevan le Stelle' where Cavaradossi is waiting to be executed and sings of his life and love of Tosca, there's a tape of the Callas recording in the rack with di Stefano singing the aria or the other with Carreras and---what? -- they only allow 5 minutes between cremations!!!!! Are you sure??
In that case we'd better have Peggy Lee singing 'After You've Gone'.

NURSERY RHYMES

I came across these early excercises recently and thought someone might be
 interested in having a go at summat similar. They're hardly 'high art'
(none of my blogs could be mistaken for that), but a bit of fun, Have a go why don't you?
Let me see them?

FIDDLE-DE DEE

Hey diddle diddle

MP's on the fiddle

Their accountants are

over the moon

With questions for cash

No wonder they're flash

I hope I'm elected soon

DAFT MARY

Mary Mary quite contrary

D'you know why your garden won't grow?

Silver bells and cockle shells

Are just for the Chelsea Show

HUMP

ETT

Y

Humpty dumpty saton a wall

Should have checked with

Health and Safety first

Silly sod.

MARY who 

had a little lamb

With mint sauce for her tea

And then she watched the telly

With a tray upon her knee

I know, it was a long time ago, will try to do better next time

TONGUE TIED

Perhaps a love-sick accountant with speech difficulties would try to
express his feelings thus;-

        TONGUE TIED


If           I                    save       
all                     the      words
            that       leave              me
when                I see              you
           and       add    them   
to        those              that I   
shout                to                  the wind
I could  put      them              together
            and                make    a
kind                 of                  poem
which   may be          a way    to tell
you                  that               I care

IfallwhentoshoutIcouldkindwhichyou
Ithatandthoseputandmaybe
theleaveIseeaddtothemofthat
savewordsthemthatImakeaway
meyouthewindtogetherapoemtotellIcare                   

LOVE IN MANCHESTER

Have been having a bit of a rough time recently therefore no blogg-time but here's one I made earlier.
It's in strict French Rondel form writing which is a bit like doing a Xword puzzle but I'm not SO
ashamed of LOVE IN MANCHESTER, (perhaps you think I ought to be)

There should have been a rainbow when we met
and not just shitty rain that soaked our feet
and left us wondering why we said we'd meet
as the rain ran down our necks, ice cold, so wet

We didn't know then that we'd found love and yet
we stayed like fools in sodden Market Street
There should have been a rainbow when we met
and not just shitty rain that soaked our feet

The days we've had I know I'll not forget
and though our friendship had to be discreet
I still remember the times we used to meet
how good it was, but, parting now without regret
there must have been a rainbow when we met.