Did you mean my eavesdropping, Jiminy? By the way, thought I might want to clarify that my "come back"s were Jack's calling after her as she walked away, leaving him holding a lovely flower in his hand .
lizzytysh wrote:Did you mean my eavesdropping, Jiminy? By the way, thought I might want to clarify that my "come back"s were Jack's calling after her as she walked away, leaving him holding a lovely flower in his hand .
~ Lizzy
Lizzy, what can one say, you are remarkable and I've always thought so. You both will have a truly remarkable year next year, and you will both fondly remember me predicting this in retrospection, that is all I can really say. I will write more of my stuff later, I liked the last piece I did. Anyway, cheers.
Downtown heats the puddles rising
turning moisture, mist, listless
scents that churn the stomach reminding the
doe eyed street kid her meal is not yet
cooked, and tyres that splash from cars
up onto the sidewalk but hurries on, the
passengers are intoxicated in their
movement towards the embassy, it
is their night that they’ve waited for
tonight, they will be reminded of
dignity; the other side of the street
the bell rings of the rickshaw,
the clicking of the wheels almost natural
by comparison, two tyres behind raises
the damp up but does not disturb
the lad who is no longer
just the boy of the family,
he is being transported to a woman who
he has doted upon and whom he may convince to
love him.
He is not concerned by the heat, the
air is natural to him and he cannot fathom
any grand palatial setting, his family
may be thousands of years old, but this new
world accounts for nothing nor does the doe
eyed kid care for the cloth of those
garbed souls, she dashes across the
street and collects a silver coin, as luck would have it
fall from the pocket of the rickshaw passenger.
She gets on the bus and has to wait
Until the hour strikes anew
It gets me another hours travel
She says, looking at you
Of course she is only going the one way
Don’t matter diddley, its about saving
What you can
It is a part of her generation
One? Two? Three? Generations ago
Indeed it is all they used to do
Scrimp and save
There was no water
This is somewhat true
There was a war and war rations
She probably lost a child
Or at least a brother or sister
Little wonder she now stands beside the bus driver
Threatening all our lives as he tries to finally
Issue her a ticket once the hour strikes
And also manoeuvre the bus around the winding cliff track
Anyway, what can you do?
Being a part of the throw away society
Admire, admonish
Hold on!
They called me from the hospital
To come get Fred and maybe I could help
He had gone there to die
He wasn't sick enough they said
I took him home looked around
no food, no clothes, not much there
any other clothes I asked?
Nope don't need any
I take my baths with these on, saves time
We got to get you some food and clothes
Any money? I asked
Yep in the bank
Lets go I said
At the bank he was led to a safedeposit box by teller
the manager drew me aside, he was concerned about Fred
how much does he have?
a few hundred thousand
back in the days when that meant something
at home I asked him why
a habit, rolling the twine, selling the rations
what are you going to do with it?
give it to my family
Where are your family?
Don't know
they don't want to have anything to do with me
we hate each other
then why give them all that money?
To make them feel bad for being so mean to me
Not very sensitive. Just wrote what happened and when I wrote it I felt a bit of remorse remembering Fred and how I might have been more help to him at the time if I had had a little more confidences in my intuition.
Thanks for letting me steal titles, at least for awhile, and feeding me ideas of what to write about. It's my way of responding to what you write.
Jack, I wondered if yours was a deeply personal reflection; I don't know what more you could of done and I extremely happy to have been able to lend some fusion to your ideas, I've had a good deal of thought concerning your work for its great content and its place, please don't stop your reflections if they keep appearing.
The queue is a little claustrophobic and I’ve to move around so the waiting staff can go about their job, there SHE is taking orders in order to feed these people so as they might feel some satisfaction/relief with their lives on their day off from the grind of differing occupations, SHE is capitalised as SHE is another girl like any other girl a rose as a rose should be but my mind which should be in capitals but I daren’t has conspired to “fall” for her as I blatantly publicly exposed once in a ridiculous attempt at the feeble notion of expressing ones inner angst and angst well that is what I seem to be
and it appears to last forever this slow meandering line, there were only three people ordering before me, but SHE has seen me and I have seen myself standing there and I could not notice her noticing me as I am sure SHE has a boyfriend and if she doesn’t does it matter anyway and what if THEY all know as I think THEY must that I am just this ridiculous notion of affection for her, which can it truly be called anything more than lust;
STALKER wraps its knuckles over my bare mind in condemnation of any thought of love, as love I have done and to what extent other than to expose my own palatial disaster of a life, and then I am in front of her and she is again so nice as nice people are so often want to do and how can I cope with such; get thee to a nunnery as you are as man as the coat wrack in the corner that has no coats, it does not even sweat as I am presently want to and my voice works but it could not ask her name and it could not be true but it is a low grovelling growl as if the beast inside that desires her is warning her away and I tell her of my agoraphobia as she asks if I am coming to the party, just to be nice she asks and it is so, it is so and I am so stupid that I will go
.
. Your coat pocket 
.