Introducing work from Simon Daniels, a writer of short fiction and poetry for children and young adults.
Poet Blog...http://maybepoet47.blogspot.com/
Wednesdays
Angel
On
Wednesday I met an angel. Well, the friend of an angel. Well, not really a
friend either, more of an Agent. Not a Literary Agent or, God forbid an Estate
Agent, or even a Special Agent, although that would have been cool.
Anyway,
the agent looked normal enough. No sprouting feathers or golden halo. Although,
when she sat in the bay window the winter sun breathed on her head and
shoulders, just like a halo.
Halo’s
aside, we started off with a chat, well it was a series of unconnected conversations
- topics ranging from my recent marital demise to the meaning of life and her
well-fed cats.
Two
hours tried on 10 minutes for size and liked the fit. I felt like I’d come home
to mum’s hug and a mug of something hot and spicy, after wandering the cold
streets wearing someone else’s ill-fitting Summer clothes.
She
suggested we start and positioned a dining chair in the middle of the lounge like
a mobile hairdresser. She told me to relax and place both hands on my knees in
the back-to-school pose
She
moved round behind me. I closed my eyes. I’d recently seen ‘Sweeney Todd’ and
swallowed hard. She placed her hands on my shoulders with a light, lovers
touch. Sensuality and trust becoming one, and after a few moments she moved
alongside me. I sensed one flat trembling palm close to my heart like a kind
scanner.
The
heart is a fragile organ. Don’t believe all that bullshit about gallons of
blood and a billion beats. The heart can break as easy as a butterfly’s wing, unless
the hand that holds it isn’t human.
Next,
the turn of my belly, and crotch. Oh, I forgot to say there was a brief ‘before’
bit as well. With the aid of a tear-drop
crystal suspended from a fine chain she concluded my Chakra’s were not so much
blocked as impacted - (nursey) joke.
I
digress. With eyes tightly closed slight dizziness took over. The way you do
when you look over the side of a high bridge or multi-storey. I snatched my
mind back just in time. Then, there was this feeling. Not quite holding, more
like slow juggling as though I was being passed from one huge hand to another.
Behind
my eyelids it was November the fifth. Pink tourmaline circles of light
pulsed
before me, followed by red and gold. I didn’t want it to end.
Heat
followed. Dad told me to “get away from
the fire!” But I still singed my fingertips. Next, a building nervous
excitement like when we take our clothes off for the first time in front of
someone we love hoping they won’t giggle at that large dark mole creeping up
our back.
I
opened my eyes and the rainbow vanished in a slightly altered, better connected
world.
***
Cobbles
By day, I am many things,
Overcrowded molars,
chewing rubber gum.
Grand piano keys
washboard melodies
Drum-drumming fingers,
to flavour nights' crumb
I yearn for the spark of a clog
Or the nudge of a log,
dropped from a high-stacked wagon.
I crave the squeal of a steel rimmed wheel
passing the 'George and Dragon.'
At night I dream
of bustling streets
when my repertoire was full
of sounds without insulation.
Naked sounds
raw sounds
smash on the floor sounds
felt in close proximity.
Road works offer some relief
when I'm teased out with giant tooth picks
or flossed with high pressure hoses.
It’s only then that I can truly breathe,
and sense
and listen..........
***
Snow on Christmas Eve
A soft, insulated
hush
Eradicated angles
Airbrushed unwanted lines and wrinkles
Smoothed out imperfections.
The night was so bright,
The moon wore shades.
Poor sighted owls caught albino mice
And the sun thought twice
About coming up at all.
Snowballs were moulded, thrown and dodged.
Feet creaked across hidden lawns
Cars wrote their names on roads
While cats probed snow for unexploded mines.
Children squealed.
Parents sighed, then tried to find sledges.
Pensioners appeared like hungry bears
Tipped out of hibernation
But ready to kill for a small sliced white
Or be killed trying.
After the melt
The last snowman standing
Mugged by rain
Blackened by soot
Smiled, as though he’d been told
The best joke in the world.
***
Jenny Wren
Real time’s too slow for you
Subliminal vision’s what we need
To see this ballerina at top speed
Arch her back and do a pirouette
Giving slower insects time to leave
Before supper’s served
Too exquisite to be real.
A celestial decoration
Plucked from God’s Christmas tree
This russet hussy flits into our lives
Steals the show, takes a bow
and leaves
***
Many Moons
A bull’s-eye
for NASA
A lyrical
must
A slice of
salami
A shilling
through silk
A nail on
black velvet
A barn owl’s
PA
A lunatic’s
mirror
A passion for
drink
A speech
after dinner
An X-raying spot
A frigid
ex-planet
A sliver of
cork
A scab of
white lichen
An
alchemist’s vice
A mariner’s
time piece
A future for
earth
A crash mat
for comets
A self-styled
month
A lupine transmitter
A lover’s delight
A telescope’s
motive
A plover’s blown
egg
A waltz round
a partner
in eloquent
grey
A blue sky
rehearsal
A cheeky
reply
The infinite beauty
of borrowed
sunshine.
