A poem about the early days…

Such an indescribable feeling,
a warmth radiating outwards from the core,
expelling any vestiges of remaining chill;
like the sun at the dawn of spring
melting away the shimmering, icy, silky cobwebs of a past winter.

And it was during those years of youth,
(It seems like a different age now – how time can alter)
during the relentless march of those late spring days
– breaking through to summer
that I remember the teacher one Friday afternoon
as the sun blazed through the window,
acknowledging the feeling we had,
for I guess I was not singular in its effect,
praising its beauty, its charm,
– the sunlight
– the warmth
causing a blossoming of feelings
For her.

For her only,
that’s how it was back in the halcyon days
– of innocence
– of inexperience
days of long summer nights –
made all the more vivid,
through longing,
through euphoric thoughts of what might be,
of what might have been.

And it would leave me enchanted,
intoxicated with its desire
with a potency which would fill the soul
becoming enraptured
carried away,
through its beauty,
and its charm.



Life sometimes seems to be some kind of huge, one thousand piece jigsaw, which you assemble as you progress through the ages. What picture, or scene it forms into really depends on your experiences throughout life; a nice landscape for instance, with the sun slowly setting in the distance; or even a picturesque scene on a beach, or of a nice seaside resort, blue sky, sunny day; pictures portraying happy times, good love and a successful, honest, caring life. However, for a few of us, it is never like this. For what reason is open to debate and we can think on why this was so. Instead a bleak, dark cloudy picture of some dreary wind-swept moor, maybe with an abandoned manor house in a state of disrepair, could be the picture it morphs into. Despair. There may be some break in the clouds further along, offering a small ray of light onto the scene (candlelight), a glimmer of happiness, as you assemble and put together the incredibly small pieces of this puzzle; but on the whole it’s a dreary image. And this really is an abstract portrayal of existence; your life into a puzzle, being assembled piece by piece as time continues its relentless march into, or through, your destiny.

And I suppose, as you build the perimeter of your scene, as you embark upon assembling what will be the puzzle of your destiny, this will be the formative years, and this will decide whether you build a nice blue sky or an overcast day. I suppose though, that it could start with a nice image, a nice surrounding, but as you build this jigsaw, it could slowly become dreary and a not so wholesome scene, indicating something working against your much deserved happiness. And, I suppose, this puzzle symbolises the paths you choose to take in life. However, many things can conspire to throw you off that path, and they do, conspiracies in life’s various guises all dressed up to entice and ruin. It appears as if it is like some huge game being played.

A short story…

It started to snow quite heavy. She was wrapped in her long black coat, huddled into her scarf with her hair tied into a bun, the odd loose strand floating around her face which greatly added to her appeal. She struggled onwards through the snow, head down, determined not to let the worst, and yet the most beautiful, of the elements beat her. The snow beat down and quite soon the ground was covered in a fine layer. The street lamps gave it a most seasonal appearance, their glow creating a magical look and feel to the ground and surrounding objects. It was quite spectacular timing in all consideration, mainly because of the fact that it was a seasonal time of year (it being December), and also the fact it was happening, this snowfall, as she was on her way to meet <i>him</i>.

This was another of their secret rendezvous’. Since their meeting in the park a few weeks ago, even though he had promised to consider doing something about his predicament, this time seemingly with more hope than on other occasions, still nothing had come from it; he was still as unhappy as ever, his brief moments of contentment were only when they were together, but then that would almost always be marred with a fall into a deep solemn mood which took all her effort to bring him back. Which ever way she looked at it, he was getting worse; his mood swings were becoming increasingly more frequent and deeper, his passion becoming less and less, he was becoming more fragile. Red wine seemed to help, to offer solace, to break the barriers holding him down, to release good feelings. But that was no solution. However, she still loved him deeply; she was one of the few that understood what he was going through, who recognized his moods, his struggle. She also knew who the culprit was, and who and what was making him feel this way.

She sighed as she continued on her way. The snowfall had not abated and by now an even greater amount of snow had covered the ground. She saw him in the distance, under the gloomy halo of a streetlight, blurred against the relentless downfall of snow, a solitary figure stood underneath the light, which looked like it was trying to illume him, to make him stand out against the depth of this cold night.

“I guess this is the time to say Happy Christmas and all that, no?” she stated when she had reached him.

“Happy Christmas and all that then” and he gave her a kiss on her cheek.

“Yup” she said and just stared at him.

He looked away at the intense scrutiny she was putting him under, an age old shyness resurfacing, something he could never beat even though he tried hard to overcome it. It was a part of him, even though he found it debilitating at times, well in fact most of his life. And when people did show him attention, he always would shy away. It was something he could not deal with. It was just the way he was.

‘Your place then?’ he asked, wide eyed in anticipation.

‘Mmm, I guess, well, unless you want to undress me and screw me in the snow?’

‘Too cold!’

‘My place it is! Oh, and I have something to show you….’.