Tag Archives: story

Deja vu?…

*

“I want to talk about our responsibilities in the face of danger.

The events of this year may have helped to illuminate that danger,

but the dimensions of its threat have loomed large on the horizon for many years.

*

There is no escaping either the gravity or the totality of this danger to our survival.

Its challenge confronts us in unaccustomed ways in every sphere of human activity.

*

This challenge imposes upon our society a requirement of direct concern:

the need for reliable public information.

*

There is little value in ensuring the survival of our nation

if our traditions do not survive with it.

*

I ask every news publisher, every news editor

and every news man and news woman in the nation

to re-examine their own standards

and to recognise the nature of our country’s peril.

*

Our way of life is under attack.

*

The danger has never been more clear

and its presence has never been more imminent.

*

We are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless organisation

that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence…

On infiltration… On subversion… On intimidation…

Its preparations are concealed,

its mistakes are buried,

its dissenters are silenced.

*

I commend this problem to your attention

and urge its thoughtful consideration.

*

I cannot believe that those citizens who serve

in the news media business consider

themselves exempt from this appeal.

It is your obligation to inform and alert the people,

to make certain that they possess the facts that they need

and understand them as well…

the perils… the prospects… the purpose of any proposed program,

and the choices they face.

*

I have complete confidence in the response

and dedication of our citizens whenever they are fully informed,

complete confidence, when fully informed, that they will

strive to remain what they were born to be,

independent, and free…”

– Count Jack Black (apologies to JFK)

Free Society!…

*

Big Bee hunkered over his desk with his head in his hands.

Teigue-the-Fool was running amok…

“In what sense can we be regarded as a free society when we have a litany of regulations governing our every move?”

Much more of this and Big Bee would scream, “We are a free society because I say we are a free society,” he said.

“Ah, I see,” said Teigue-the-Fool, “you are using the word ‘free’ in the same way that the American Administration uses the word ‘peace’.”

“Huh?” Said Big Bee.

“To mean the exact opposite of its dictionary definition.”

“I’m not listening,” said Big Bee and clamped his hands over his ears.

“But the people have questions, Sire,” said Teigue-the-Fool and removed Big Bee’s hands from his ears.

“What kind of questions?” asked Big Bee, dejectedly.

“What kind of ‘virus’ discriminates between small and corporate businesses?”

Big Bee said nothing.

“What kind of ‘virus’ discriminates between the man in the street and the world’s elite athletes?”

Big Bee said nothing.

“What kind of ‘virus’ discriminates between ‘peaceful protestors’ and ‘riotous children’?”

Big Bee’s silence had become deafening.

“The word on the street, Sire, is that the virus is man-made.”

Big Bee exploded.

“THE VIRUS IS NOT MAN MADE!”

“No Sire,” said Teigue-the-Fool, “just manipulated.”

 

 

 

Moons of Mountain Ana: Never…

 *

“So when do I get that drink you owe me?”

“Soon…”

*

The warmth of silence as she threads the eye of a needle.

*

“I like your owl.”

“It’s Minoan.”

*

It would have been a privilege

to spend

the rest of my days

here, forever.

*

Never.

*

It never was

so good,

again… ?

Moons of Mountain Ana: Nestle…

*

Gemma’s warmth as

she links my arm and

the world stops screaming…

*

You are an island dark with life;

A swan-hatched dream, taking flight;

A blue-shot cormorant, nestled in night.

*

Gemma’s warmth when she talks about

the sort of house she wants, her bottom

drawer, and the colour of christmas decorations.

 *

The warmth of a smile

 when I look at her crotch:

 earth / urge / air / care.

  *

O’ for another storm stressed day,

when the sky spoke and

our world yielded… to rain.

 *

‘I could have run much faster.’

‘You should have been here over Christmas.’

*

Of all the things

I’ll never get chance to do…

Moons of Mountain Ana: Vamp…

*

Becky is beautiful

but kind and cruel,

in turns.

 *

Her eyes flash when I call her a vamp,

and when I bad mouth her boyfriend.

 “You make me laugh,” she says, “can I kill you?”

 *

She has the hair of a teenage friend,

the eyes of an old love, the profile and

features of a desirable aunt, the body of

the goddess Parvati, and a smile like paradise.

*

Her mischief resembles that of a childhood adversary.

 “I’m going to turn you into an ass,” she smiles.

*

 Her hoot face is reserved for her most cunning lies,

 “I thought I’d see you there,” yet she still

succeeds in soothing the situation.

*

 ‘Does she really sleep with him?’

*

“I’m sorry about your Grandad,”

she says, like Mum at such times.

*

Warmth floods the room…

 

Moons of Mountain Ana: Rituals..

*

Regardless of content, our most intense moments have a habit of assuming ritual clarity.

Together, the figures our characters cut are colourful, and bright, and amusing;

the wheel-spinning white car which your mother read about in my story, or Roma’s amber earrings, Louise and Paula, uncharacteristically, dressed in black.

*

Gemma,

who plays football,

and for whom love… is too painful?

*

Did I really say that?

She wants to travel, or that?

‘Me too! ’/ ‘that’s how I drink’/ ‘I do.

*

If only it,

and you,

and I

were true!

*

Even Sandra

mimicking my mudra,

and Mimi’s mint.

Moons of Mountain Ana: Laburnum…

*

With almost perfect symmetry little Josh

wants to take some flowers back to Mum.

*

 He plucks from the two Laburnum

grown together over a garden gate;

harmonious estate,

or the strain of embrace,

stretching… to cleave ?

The scent from the cups is intoxicating,

and yellow… Becky’s colour…

 *

O’ my tyger tree,

 your blossom

 will spread that smile

over lips which profess to disdain flowers.

 *

…On the way back Josh has an idea: he wants to visit his Dad.

 

Moons of Mountain Ana: Sulk…

*

Becky’s sulk face is adamant with indignation.

If she only knew how perilous it is to neglect the young.

*

…Our roles are reversed for the tale

of mum and dad and a kitchen knife,

which Fiona tells in sobs on the stairway.

 *

Something I said has recalled her

feather streaked cheeks of pain.

 *

She laughs

and we go on up

to talk about

a tennis ball

turned inside out…

 *

Becky speaks quietly

but her quiet voice banishes

distance like a shout,

“Josh, come back inside.”

 *

Is this redemption, or merely the wisdom

of being old enough to know better?