Sunday, 5 July 2009
I feel like a dictionary’s sponge, ready to soak up all the words.
I am twisted around a tree root and my heart is sprouting promises.
I am in a frosty grey winter’s day, the spiky leaves of the Mahonia bush
brighten the garden with their trellis-shaped leaves of bright yellow.
I am in Paradise, surrounded by happy people, none complains of illness.
I can see my relatives and friends who died long ago. This place is
so beautiful. The animals that used to be dangerous are now friendly,
I feel peace, I’ve got no worries at all.
I am playing amongst the clouds. I am an angel above the clouds.
The sun blazes through and warms my soul. Then I am here again,
human and whole
I am curled up in a tiny ball inside a pretty tulip, where I stay warm
in the sun’s rays and sheltered by the leaves. The bloom shields my
pale skin from the cold breeze.
I am the hazel brown of my children’s eyes.
I am sitting in a tavern in 14th century France, writing a love letter
for my friend to the woman he claims he loves, but I know the truth.
I am in a cup of tea, so dark and gloomy, but suddenly a smile comes
to my face when the tea gets bright and creamy with milk
I am a character in a book, the title of the book I do not know
but all I know is that the writer made me the centre of the story.
Sunday, 22 March 2009
I am pregnant at the age of 13 and I don't know how I'm going to break the news to my family. But I'm very excited because that will mean no school for me. I can feel the baby's heart beat - I think I must be 3 months pregnant.
The food doesn't taste the same anymore. Oh I can't stand being in the house when they are cooking. The onion smells terrible, even the bread that I used to love so much smells strange. I feel like throwing up. It is only early hours of the morning and I'm craving for ice, but it’s not the proper one - it is the soft fluffy one that grows on the side of the freezer wall. I know very well that it’s not good to eat this ice, but I’m just going to eat, to satisfy myself.
Now I am going outside thinking heavily ‘what is going to happen to me?’, to tell or not. No, I'm not going to tell anyone. I must leave town very quickly but before I do that, I have to have money to travel on the train. So what can I do?! Yeah! There is a shop that buys second hand clothing, and I can go and exchange my clothes for money. It’s only me and the house maid in the house, my sister is at school and elder one is at work. So, I'll cook some lies for the maid. Mmm, I don't want her to see me collecting some dresses, I'm going to tell her to go and pick some fresh vegetables from my brothers garden, it is about 20 minutes walk, to my brother's house, so that will give me at least more than 40 minutes to pack everything and disappear.
The bag is now full of some of my favourite colourful clothes. There is no need to worry about clothes right now, my life is already changed. I don't know how I'm going to raise my baby. The only person who’s going to know about my pregnancy is my sister who lives in the second capital, but I’m not the one who’s going to tell her: she will see my stomach growing.
The perfect blank page
for pushing through years
of blood, sweat and tears
She stands in the wings
Her blood starts to sing
then she's moving through sound
The music invades
trills and cascades
each note entwined
through muscle and mind
Stretching and turning
leaping and burning
impressions of light
in the spectators' night
Then it ends
She gracefully bends
back down to earth
Till her next re-birth
The colours were amazing…everywhere I looked there was the dazzling bone white of clean linen like human-shaped clouds drifting through the streets, slashed through with the blood soaked red of sashes and neckties. All around the faded yet warm and inviting yellow and browns of the apartment blocks where people had garlanded flowers of deep purple (so dark like the grapes) that grew on the hillsides around, suddenly a shout of exclamation, fear and exhilaration combined, as the beasts were let loose. Their hides jet black like the gloomiest recesses of unlit alleyways at night, in Victorian days, eyes of burning black coal bored into me each time I looked over my shoulder, horns yellow white with edged slits of black. The thundering noise of hooves along cobbles, I pull to the side as I can run no more. One stops and turns and stares me straight in the eye. The moment is frozen. It seems to smile and say with a pulse in my mind, ‘Born May the 3rd you were’. Maybe that’s why there is an affinity between this Taurus and I. He turns and resumes his headlong charge down the street.
The noise is so loud it’s like it’s pressing within my ears. There are people everywhere – all different races, colours and sizes. The huge stone rotunda stretches above me, seemingly all the way up to the seats of the gods. All around us the crowd parts as I am with the most famous man in Rome. Caesar himself! I am in the sagest of company, yet all I can smell is the filth and corruption of this once-great city – the sweat of the labourers and slaves mingled with the sweet pungent stench of the ruling classes. We enter the theatre dedicated to the memory of Pompey: a gutless weasel of a man, but a fighter and a general beloved of the mob. The sense of foreboding yet tinged with the knowledge of freedom and release attacks my instincts with the ferocity of the wild beasts let loose in the arena of games. The dagger in my hand concealed within my robe seems suddenly plunged into the body of my friend, as if I am possessed of another and have no control. He lies on the steps, his scarlet life draining away. He pulls me to him close, as his odd-coloured eyes stare into mine. A slight gasp escaped his lips, then his words like whips of fire to my soul: ‘Et tu Brute!’
Starter: sheish kebab
Like you, its chunky, rich-spiced meat will leave you wondering what flavour’s next, cooked for your unpredictability and short temper
Main Course : spaghetti bolognaise
Succulent tangy mean in a rich tomato sauce, topped with gooey, sticky mozzarella cheese, making it juicy and tasty – just like you. Cooked for your funny, caring and loving side.
Dessert: crème brulee
Moreish, creamy sweet dessert, topped with melted caramel and thin crispy toffee, sprinkled with Belgian chocolate. The sweet aroma and taste will leave you yearning for more – ‘like you do to me’. Cooked for your laughter, because it is collapsed you would see the funny side, and for your passion
For blue twinkling eyes I will take four balls of ice cream, two of vanilla, one of chocolate, one of mint and place them in the middle of the dish, then combine some fresh double cream with cold vanilla custard, pouring it generously over the top of the ice creams, finishing off with a big sweet ripe strawberry that has been washed and dipped in sugar.
For your cheeky smile I will make a foaming mug of latte coffee with foaming cream on the top, and next to it on a small plate six ginger nut biscuits just asking to be dunked while you slowly drink the frothy coffee.
For your sense of mischief, I will make a pan of hot vegetable soup, the veg all cut into small cubes and boiled in chicken stock for about thirty minuets . We’ll have carrots, swede, turnips, broccoli, spring onions, celery, potatoes, peeled tomatoes, mixed Italian herbs briskly stirred in as it all comes to the boil. Inhaling the mixture of smells and warming to them as they cook and blend their flavours.
For your energy I will make a dish of rich fruit trifle . Small pieces of sponge cake placed on the bottom of the dish, hot orange jelly poured over the top. Cold pear halves spread on the top after it has cooled some, a few spoonfuls of crushed pineapple, top it with pink blancmange and whipped double cream. Decorated with hundreds and thousands with chocolate shavings.
by Old Salfordian
Dish for your personality
A lovely sunny personality: a mediterranean dish. I take the feta cheese and olives and add a mixed salad of red leaves and peppers, and toss it in a vinigarette dressing. The feta cheese and olives have a distinct, quite sour taste in the mouth, the mixed peppers – yellow and red- have a sweet crunchy texture in the tasting, and the missed salad a bitter yet sweet taste within the various leaves. Quite a variety of different tastes. Delicious!
He was a staid, utterly logical man.
He had spent his life as an underwriter in a large insurance firm that dealt in million pound contracts. He had pursued this career hoping one day to be able to be on the board of directors of his company. To his utter dismay this never materialised.
He had an aloof type of personality, but really, as far as providing for his wife and family, was beyond reproach. He never did anyting on the spur of the moment. All his actions were premeditated.
He had been raised to the ethic that men didn’t do any of the menial household tasks – that was women’s work! Also, he had been taught by his mother that he was the breadwinner, and so was treated accordingly. So, his word was treated as the law! Really, he belonged to an age long gone. The only hunger and passion he had ever felt were to reign supreme in his chosen field. What a very unfulfilling existence indeed!
by La la la la Lola
Hunger is a tall thin man with a cadaverous face and he is almost skeletal in build.His eyes are piercing, his nose is long and narrow, but in complete contrast he has sensuous full lips and a well shaped mouth.
He is always looking for someone or something, he searches relentlessly and eternally. He sometimes smiles and his smile is hopeful, promising and hungrily exciting as his small white teeth gleam from within.
He is well known and has numerous acquaintances, especially in the less fortunate parts of this world! Many people have met him at least sometime in their lives - in fact to some he is a constant unwelcome companion. He can unwittingly cause pain and sorrow and this distresses him but what can he do?
It's his never ending story as hunger will always be with us no matter what - he will live on for ever and ever and ever.....
If hunger were a person, he or she would be tall and full, with no problem filling a room: you cannot escape.
When he or she walks by, the smell will entice you, then you would want taste. His or her personality is limitless, as it all depends on what flavours you want. He or she would be versatile: you can have what you want.
Sometimes hunger can be lonely, unless you introduce him or her to new friends.
Like the other day – I introduced hunger to potatoes and paprika, pork and coriander seeds, and they got on very well.
He or she would be strong. You cannot fight them. You must obey and indulge with flavours, sides and desserts.
Hunger is a small frail man bent over with a small hunch to his shoulders. His age is indeterminate but his hair is long and lank the colour of old straw. His face is composed in a scowl that emphasises his long jaw line and sharp nose, his eyes are a rheumy blue washed out with sadness. A short stubby neck connects the head to his bent hunched over shoulders that look so very narrow. His arms hang long and loose from his shoulders made to look even longer by his stoop. His torso is covered in a loose fitting shirt of some kind made from a coarse sacking type of material. Around his narrow waist is a belt made from an animal skin that seems to act as a support for his distended paunch. His lower extremities are partially obscured by a trailing garment that hangs from his hips passed his knees. This attire seems to insinuate knobbly knees and lean shanks, his feet are clad in a pair of holey socks and down at heel shoes. His whole appearance is one of a down and out who wanders the earth looking for people to inflict himself on.
by Old Salfordian