writing lives

Thoughts

2009-07-05T14:02:00.000-07:00

I am in a mountain of words, spiralling out of control

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.

The moment when everything changed

2009-03-22T09:25:00.000-07:00

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.

by Christine

Dancer

2009-03-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

An empty stage --
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
inhibitions unbound

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

by Erin

Bull and Dagger

2009-03-22T09:06:00.000-07:00

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 3^rd 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!’

by Mario

If you were a menu...

2009-03-22T08:51:00.000-07:00

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

By Sam

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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

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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!

By Lola

Hunger walks into a room...

2009-03-22T08:42:00.000-07:00

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

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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.....

By Von

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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.

By Sam

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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

sweet and bitter treats

2009-03-22T08:34:00.000-07:00

Coffee
The pungent aroma of ground coffee reminds me of home, when as a small boy I would sit by the open fire with my brothers and sisters listening to my Father tell stories, while the coffee pot sat on the hearth and bubbled and sang to us as it boiled in the old Billy pot. My Mother would be in the kitchen working and listening to Dad ramble on about when he was a boy and the adventures he and his brother had. Their trips down the Manchester Ship Canal and onto the Potato Wharf, watching the Dockers unload the fruit from the bowels of the ships, mostly by hand in those days, or using the big donkey engine to drag up the cargo nets from the hold. On occasion there would be an accidental dropping of a crate of oranges and they would quickly secrete the spillage among their clothing to take home.

The wharf was a very busy place in those days bringing in all manner of goods from all over the world, cotton from America and Egypt, grain from Canada, meat from Australia and New Zealand, spices and herbs from the far east, tea from India and China. There was a large tea warehouse in Ordsall lane and they would climb over the wall to go looking in the empty tea chests for rolls of rubber tape, this they would make into balls that were excellent for playing cricket. We never knew of course how much of these adventures were true and how much was the product of his fertile imagination.

All these memories and more evoked from the smell of ground coffee.

by Old Salfordian

It tasted like nectar from heaven, or at least what I imagined nectar would taste like!
It was so soft and sweet and fluffy, with a delicious sugary smell hmmmm...

My hands and face were sticky and I licked my fingers with sheer pleasure to capture the last minute strands of this tantalising confection!

So that was candy floss!!!! Oh what had I been missing? It was perfectly pink bliss! I WAS HOOKED!!

- by von

oasis of hope

2008-12-06T13:54:00.000-08:00

tall trees cling to summer with tanned leaves
sporadically flecking the green leftovers
and beyond the horizon
are warehouses
dark and morose in their old and dirty bricks

vivid blue jackets, wool coats and berets
a bundle of talent whipped by the wind
we huddle against the cold

grey men pass by looking at us
unanswered thoughts in their minds
and no guts to ask us what we we’re up to

on the other side of the road
a red mail box stands
forlornly on the corner behind some railings
like a prisoner, its mouth gaping emptily

how many people use it each day?

a row of little shops
(some shuttered and some with dull eyed windows)
go from meat to medicine
standing salutes to the boulders
that the hometime children climb

the long roof is covered
with clumps of green and brown moss
and populated by scaggy pigeons
above houses with balconies but no movement

a bird flies and sings
so happy
as an empty cigarette box
dances below

people bustling, walking and talking
busy shoppers, wrapped up warm
boys in hoods on mobiles
chatting, huddled close
while litter and leaves
blow around the feet of
shivering mothers with chubby
overdressed babies in buggies

the wind catches my eye
and tears well up
at the sudden cold

and so I turn to the open door
an oasis of hope

a collective poem
by members of the Writing Lives group

Thoughts on a black cat

2008-11-09T13:27:00.000-08:00

Only a cat,
and I stay in my place...
Up there on your chair,
on your bed or your face!
only a cat,
and I’m not finicky much...
I'm happy with cream
and anchovies and such!
only a cat,
and we'll get along fine...
As long as you know
I'm not yours... you are mine

More thoughts on a black cat

A cat as black
as blackest coal
is out upon
His midnight stroll,
His steps are soft,
His walk is slow,
His eyes are gold,
they flash and they glow.
And so I do run
and so I do duck,
for I do not need
His black-cat luck.

by Old Salfordian

I am invisible

2008-11-09T13:20:00.000-08:00

I am invisible

Yet I can see everything you do

I can hear the lies slipping from your tongue

As you leave me a voice mail

This is second nature to you

Trapping the naïve requires no effort whatsoever

I’m not surprised or shocked by this.

How dare you tell me I’m paranoid

That I’m making false accusations

How dare you mess with my mind.

I am invisible

I watch as you spin your web of deceit

I’m not upset or angry

I have no animosity towards you

I feel a sense of calmness and strength

Now I can walk away from you

I am free.

Goodbye.

by Callie

Give and Take

2008-10-05T10:59:00.000-07:00

Take my wrangling,
Put it on the Jeremy Kyle
Show to punish it.
Jeremy Kyle would grind
My wrangling down
To snowy white dust
So that I could
Brush it away.

Give me a dash of complacency
To lie within my arguments
To give my opinions doubt
and reason,
So that they could be satisfied
With another person’s
Point of view.

by Peaches & Cream

To Fear

2008-10-05T10:55:00.000-07:00

Right, Fear, today is the 22^nd of September 2008

and I have come up with a strong decision

about what to do with you. For all these years

I have accommodated you in my life,

but today it is all going to end.

I am taking you to a place where I will disgrace you

in front of everyone. I will tell them that you are

a destroyer, tormentor, you are everything

that is bad, everything that I can’t even name.

Those who are going to be there will know

who you are and they will never accommodate

you because I will tell them the signs

and how you love to control.

For your own information, Fear, in your place

I have replaced you with Confidence.

It feels good to have Confidence.

by Christine

Would you believe it

2008-10-05T10:44:00.000-07:00

I have a zebra called Sporty. He jumps, he runs, he has been in the Olympics, the Animal Olympics. And he has won First Prize. Sporty is a zebra who loves athletics. He has been in the Triple Jump, Long Jump, Short Jump, Gymnastics and other sports. He has a trophy for all sports.

Sporty was in the news with his medal on his long neck. The man who was sitting in the front of the crowd called up the 20 best animals in the Animal Olympics. There was a tiger, lion, dinosaur, giraffe, hippo, leopard, crocodile, snake, viper, venomous creature, lizard, adder, whale, elephant, horse, ass, deer, donkey, monkey, chimpanzee and Sporty.

by Catwoman

Life and Birth

2008-10-05T10:18:00.000-07:00

Born Again
I'm a survivor - one of the lucky ones.
I've made it here and I've come out strong!
A second chance I have been given
All thoughts of doom have now been riven!

I take each moment, each hour, each day
And on my knees I daily pray.
Thank you for this gift of life
I will not waste it come what may!

No more misery, pain or sorrow
I'll take with both hands another tomorrow.

Retirement
So life begins at forty I think to myself!
My life began at sixty and wasn't due to wealth
Work is now a forgotten word
And in my life is never heard!
I laugh, have fun and time to play
Perhaps I'll visit a friend today!
I can stay at home and do what I like
Or get my boots on and go for a hike!
I wake up each day feeling inspired!
Oh what joy since I retired!

by Von

Invisible...

2008-09-20T05:45:00.000-07:00

I have dreamed many times of being invisible. I suppose this can be interpreted as an anxiety situation. For instance, I often go out from my office at lunchtime and get lost trying to find my way back. I ask people for directions or get on and off busses and nobody seems to see me.

I eventually find my way back to the office and sit back down at my desk. After what seems like many hours, feeling guilty and used, it dawns on me that nobody has even noticed the fact that I am missing at all!

I don’t fancy the idea of actually being invisible. I don’t want to be an eavesdropper on private conversations or have people talk about me thinking I am not there. I find it rather scary and not an experience I wish to undertake.

by Von

I am invisible

I am from the land of make believe

I live with fairies

I will have many dwarves

I will go to Memphis

I will travel all over the USA

I will be a millionaire

I will be famous

I will have a building society

Nobody will know my name

I won’t have a name

I will live in a castle

I will have a lot of children

I will be a monarchy

by Catwoman

I am invisible, that’s plain to see

What’s plain to see is you can’t see me

You can hear my breath and feel me there

When I’m touching your face, when I’m stroking your hair

No space do I take, no shadow do I cast

I am an empty vessel lying dormant in your past

I walk the streets the same as you

Some I recognise, most are new

When you laugh, cry, sleep, I am there in your presence

I linger around, consuming your essence

I am all alone, you’re with a new man

I may not be there, but here I still am

I am invisible, I became this way

The day your love died and you walked away

by Peaches & Cream

I cannot be seen, felt or heard. It is quite unnerving being able to see and hear but not be noticed. It feels as if people should be able to walk through me and not just pass by. I am experiencing a mixture of wonder, panic and apprehension. It seems in this state I could do almost anything, go anywhere. It is a sense of complete freedom and at the same time I feel the loss of not being noticed, of not being there.

If I cannot be seen then am I really there, or is it all my imaginings? Can I go to different places? If I can, how do I travel? Do I think of where I want to fo and then just appear there, or do I have to choose a mode of transport? Can I open a door? Can I climb steps? If I fall in water, can I swim?

This invisibility thing opens up so many questions.

I wonder if I will have time to do anything at all. Can I even move on my own? How will I move if I cannot walk? Will I float about? Will I still need to eat and drink, or will something else sustain me? This strikes me as being the ultimate in being alone.

by Old Salfordian

Our Chip Shop - by Fay Wall

2008-09-14T08:06:00.001-07:00

There's a chippy on Whit Lane corner
That sells the best fish n chips.
We drool as we queue
Saying 'I'm before you'
While patiently licking our lips.
There's a waft on the the breeze
Oh, hurry up please
The smell is driving me mad!
It flies up your nostrils and tickles your tonsils
And makes me want to add
A penn'oth of chips a penn'oth of peas
And don't forget the vinegar please!

The Pawnshop Window - by Fay Wall

2008-09-14T07:51:00.000-07:00

What a fascination the window holds for me.
It attracts my attention, oh the things I do see.
There are brooches and rings of silver and gold
Alarm clocks and watches, some very old
A Westminster chime with a shiny face
Placed high on a shelf in pride of place.
People's possessions once treasures of theirs
End up among the pawnbroker's wares.
A picture framed, a stag at bay
The Scottish hills look out on decay.
Silver spoons all tarnished and brown
The box inlaid with blue velvet
Says silver crown.

Three brass balls
Companions of poverty
That sum up bad days
Of pick pockets and squalor.
Fagin, Shylock, and others that follow
Humiliation and distress, when bad luck calls
One never knows which side the coin falls.

There's clothing made of satin and laces
Ladies stays with very long laces
All faded with age. Well I'm not amazed
They will have seen much better days.
Slippers for dancing from some happy feet
They are red and sparkle, still very neat.

Carpets and rugs rolled and tied with string
Stand like soldiers awaiting the king.
A genuine flying carpet with long tassels and fringe
Conjures up Arabian nights, oh no! It's been singed.

In the corner there's a fly in the dust, on its back
With its legs held high. It's buzzed its last buzz
In this mausoleum
Gone to a great place in the sky
Where no one will see him.

I am curious to know who would pledge
A hammer, a drill, and a thing for a ledge
Tools of a tradesman down on his luck.
Was there no work? To make a quick buck
What a sin
If he'd no money to redeem them again.

Every thing has a story to tell.
Open the door and ring that bell.
Humbled by circumstances
Beyond their control
There's not much money when you're on the dole.

To sell their treasures, they had but few
But such is must when the rent is due.
In this window, what do I see?
Mill girls and miners, I'm glad it's not me.
Shawls and clogs
It's the school of hard knocks.

The Mirror - by Fay Wall

2008-09-14T07:40:00.000-07:00

The mirror hangs above the fireplace
It's a bit too high to see my face
Then I don't want to stand and stare
That's not the reason the mirror's there

It reflects the light and
Makes the room nice and bright
But that's not the reasons the mirror's there

It's a focal point for all to see
It's clear and round, it means a lot to me
It's a bit of old, a bit of new
A story I would like to tell to you:

The frame you see isn't new
When my parents wed in '22
Their wedding picture was in there
The bride and groom without a care

A wedding gift, a rosewood frame
For Fred and Mary there's none the same

The picture hung upon the wall
In the parlour down the hall
The family grew, a happy crew
but laughed at the style of year '22

The bombs and the blitz caused disaster
The picture fell with all the plaster
The glass was broke, the picture damaged
To restore it we could not manage

So the mirror replaced the picture
My reflection I care to see
I have a mental picture
of Fred and Mary smiling at me.