Monday 12 March 2018

Turn The Page - a poem for Pratchett


Turn The Page


I turn a page, and then another, 
And swallow every word with hunger,
’Til I have left this comfy sofa, 
And found another flatter world.

It turns gently, supported by elephants, 
Balanced on a turtles back, 
It swims grandly through the stars, 
And it is home to me, and flat.


I have felt cobbled streets through thin-soled boots, 
Hunched against the rain just so, 
Have raged against a monstrous world, 
And run from werewolves in the snow.


I have flown through mountains, home to gods, 
And said my prayers to blind Io, 
I have danced with villagers, danced with winter, 
And I have smiled to see him go.


I have taken tea with witches, 
Had haircuts from beautiful barbarians, 
Spoken with rats, 
Conversed with a cat, 
And over and over, I go there again.


So I cry at the loss of the creator, 
The one who wrote of eggs and revolutions and strange rage, 
But I will come to this place forever, 
And I will turn another page.


3 years ago we lost an amazing writer, and I don't believe the world will ever see his like again. But a man's not gone while his name is still spoken. GNU Sir Terry Pratchett.

Thursday 8 March 2018

The Unchanging Kingdom - a fairy tale.


The Unchanging Kingdom

This is an old tale, and a true one.


Once upon a very long time ago, there was a kingdom over the hill. Like all, such places, it was sometimes happy, and sometimes, miserable. But the rulers of the kingdom were anxious, fretful people, and when a time came of peaceful prosperity, they made a wish for it always to remain so. Thus it became a rich and splendid kingdom and it did not, could not change. A river snaked lazily throughout, the water clear and sparkling like diamonds. The buildings were built of clean white stone and stood tall and proud. There were no droughts or blights, and the people lived fat and happy, for a time.

There was a princess in the kingdom over the hill. She was fair of face, graceful in her movements, and she was bored. There was little for her to learn on the running of this splendid, easy kingdom, as it was assumed her husband would take care of such things when the rime came. The pursuits of the outdoors were not an option for her, as her delicate beauty could not be risked. She had no true companions, just ladies who endlessly gossiped and suitors who cared more to impress her than to know her. The princess was lonely, she was ignored, she was trapped and thus the princess was bored.

The price all paid to live in such a rick and splendid kingdom was stillness and stagnation, and the people paid it willingly at first. Nothing changed in that kingdom, nothing moved, nothing arrived or left, everything stayed always as it was, and this seemed a small sacrifice for the sake of peace and prosperity.

But things that cannot change cannot grow, and the stagnant kingdom had been still for too long. The boredom of the trapped princess was only the tip of a rotting iceberg. A great unrest was brewing.It began when the blacksmiths son took a dislike to mending horseshoes. Tired of a life of sparks and steel, he decided not to follow in his fathers footsteps. Instead, he packed a bag and stepped out into the world, trusting his feet to carry him to a new kingdom and a new life. He walked to the forest at the edge of the kingdom, then walked through the trees for a night and a day, only to find himself back at the door to his fathers cottage. Unperturbed, and sure he’d simply lost his way, he set out again the following day. For a week, then another, the blacksmiths son followed his feet, only to keep arriving back at his fathers door. The kingdom would not let him leave.

Slowly, the other subjects came to the same realisation. They could not travel, or even send messages to other kingdoms. They were doomed to follow in the footsteps of whoever came before them. The sons of fishermen could only fish, the children of weavers stayed tied to their looms, suitors could only preen and primp, and ladies could only giggle and gossip. The unchanging kingdom had become a prison, and the princess could only read in her tower and sigh.

The ruling monarchs fret and cried at what had become of their unchanging kingdom. Their wish for permanence, peace and prosperity had created a miserable place. There was nothing in their power to create change, and there was nothing they could do but watch as their subjects grew miserable, and their daughter wasted away.

The princess went back to her storybooks again and again, and sobbed in frustration at repeated illustrations of princes and knights and their daring rescues. There was no dragon to be slain here, no castle of roses and thorns to be hacked through with great glittering swords. Just a trapping tower in a kingdom of stillness, and a princess who dreamed of escape and change and teeming life.

But outside the unchanging kingdom, the world continues to turn on its axis. The neighbouring lands, riotous and colourful and filthy as they were, fought at times and traded at others. and the people lives were rick and busy and loud.

One fine spring day, out of these lands travelled a strong young woman. With sword and sturdy feet, she set out to seek her fortune. She had heard mysterious stories of the unchanging kingdom, and those who knew the tale clucked their tongues at the folly of the monarchs, wishing for stillness to protect their land and their fair daughter. the strong woman with the sword and shining shield was determined to see the strange kingdom for herself.

The clever, strong woman knew her feet would never take her to the kingdom of their own accord, and went first to a cobbler she knew. In exchange for favours of the sword, he made her boots of the strongest will, that would carry her through any enchantment.

Next, she went to the apothecary that lived in the town by the ruined towers, who sold his wares with suspicious glares from a hatch in his wooden door. For a lock of the woman’s hair (for the apothecary was partial to such trinkets) he sold her a tonic that would prevent her from being at rest until she lay in the arms of a lover.

Last, she visited the garden behind the church on the third hill, for she knew she must have three things to take on her quest. She took a single daisy and pinned it to her breast. After leaving a final prayer in exchange, she went on her way.

The strong-willed boots took her through the forest for many days, until she came to a strange and quiet place where the life of the woods did not rustle and whisper to her. This was the border to the unchanging kingdom, and she drank her tonic here. As it flushed through her veins she felt a burning urge to rush, and run, and never be still, and she dashed into the strange kingdom with a cry of delight.

From her tower, the princess looked out over her frustrated kingdom, sure she was losing herself to madness. That could not be a new glint on the horizon, and light she had never seen before. No, the stagnating bored had taken its toll on her mind. This could not be rescue, she could not feel hope. Hope had left this place a long time ago.

The strong woman with sword and shield felt a creeping unease as she marched bravely though the kingdom, sunlight sparkling on her armour. The locals seemed not to see her, their eyes sliding away as she stomped towards the tower. She was new, she was change and she could not be here. A sigh of frustration brushed passed her lips as she reached the base of the tower and began a pacing circle around it, unable to stop and rest. Her sword could not breach doors that did not wish to open, and her shield was no use against that which was unmoving.

On her third circuit around that tower, the strong woman remembered her third token (for there is much power in threes) and plucked the waist from her breast. She bent to plant it at the foot of the tower, and watched in hope that it would find a way to take root. The princess watched and wept with tears of joy to see new life and movement in this still place. If this was madness, it was sweet, and made life worth living. 

A single tear from the princess in the tower landed on that simple daisy, and the strong woman laughed with delight as it began to grow and spread it’s way up the tower, watered by joy. She climbed it to the highest window and found that fair-faced, princess there, more beautiful for a chance to change and live and grow.

“Have you come to save us?” asked the princess of the strong woman with the sword and shield, tears of disbelief still glittering in her eyes.

“What, were you expecting a prince?”

“Oh no, this is so much better.”, and with those words, and hope suffusing her being for the first time, that princess kissed that strong woman, and poured gratitude and sweet strange joy from her lips.

The strong woman was finally at rest, and fell in to her royal lovers arms, weary from her journey and pouring peace from her lips.

The kingdom came to life and noise, and bubbling laughter danced through the streets as the subjects broke free and found hope, change and sparkling freedom.

The blacksmiths son set off one more through the forest, reached an ugly, lively town in the next kingdom and immediately placed his cap on the ground. He raised a whistle to his lips and began a jaunty tune that caught the ear of a handsome-passerby.

And they all lived chaotically ever after.

The End.

A short fairytale for International Womens Day.

Wonderful Women

There are women all around me,
They refuse to be defined
By their hair
Their choices
Their parenthood
(Or lack thereof)
Their ability to look refined.
These women walk in power,
With graceful smiles
And chilling snarls.
These women hold the hands of others, 
Stride purposefully, alone, 
Write, smiling, in corners,
 Captivate rooms with booming voices,
And they fight, shout, nag and moan.
I am surrounded by women, 
And they walk undefined.
I am one in a sea of wonderful women, 
And that is just damn fine.

A short piece for International Womens Day 2018.

Thursday 1 March 2018

The Beast from the East

The Beast From the East


In a harsh hush
With biting teeth
The Beast from the East
Came like a thief in the night.
It howled through the streets
It screamed through bone
Would roam and roam and make all still.
But the Beast from the East
Came not with a roar, 
But a whisper.
Just the soft little pats
Of a flake at a time,
And as poets write trite rhymes
On blankets of ice that sparkle and shine,
The Beast from the East, 
Took over our lives.
It buried history, 
’Til children slid screaming over old bones, 
And joyous laughter rang in skips and tumbles, 
Over frozen cobblestones.
The Beast from the East
Took daily routines, 
And tossed them in flurries into frozen air,
’Til time lost all meaning
Was swapped for glorious holidays in miniature, 
As we sheltered under blankets, 
With plates of crackers and cheese.
It could end any minute, 
This visit, 
And so we grumble and moan, 
As the Beast from the East roams and roams, 
And take secret, shivering pleasure, 

At the attack of this vicious monster.

A Month In Verse - Inktober 2018 Day 31 part 2!

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