TEDDY BEAR

When I found you in the attic you were threadbare.
On closer inspection it seemed you'd shrunk.

But the smile on your face remained as I remembered it -
like an old soldier's moustache.

Your breath smelled of dust and years of neglect
and one of your poor eyes had drooped.

Oh how I wanted to hug you,
to resume our exclusive closeness

that once soothed me in the dead of night
when vile nightmares tried to claim me

and left me feeling so alone and scared...
but I was afraid of what I'd feel.

Then I probed the archives of your heart
and there discovered a little blonde girl

lovingly cuddling her teddy bear, her Soul-Mate.
Suddenly, my world turned upside down

as, engulfed in aching nostalgia,
I clutched you close to my heart.

ADRIAN

In your eyes there is an emptiness, an absence
of years, of time to fulfil
all those expectations: a beloved eldest son
upon whom all family ambitions rested, confined now to a fading likeness
that hangs between trees in the garden of Castle Drogo.

Oh that beautiful face, cursed with such
grim aura of profound tragedy.
The pointlessness of it. I look at you
and sense no future, just a dismal premonition of things to come.
And I can bear to look no longer

in case I experience through you too vividly
that fateful day in Ypres, nineteen-seventeen, when
all around you the skulls rose up in blood-soaked mud
of blasted trenches...and that ghastly hush that followed
with the sudden horrific realisation

that your smile had expanded to encompass
Creation's endless entirety,
and you'd lost yourself somewhere in agony
between the brilliance of the poppies and explosive shell-fire.
And how the young Major wept inwardly then for his wife;

for the offspring he would never sire;
for his parents' and siblings' grief;
for the homeland he would never again see...
and for those who were left to gather up the pieces
and lay them to rest in Vlamertinghe New Military Cemetery...


In Memoriam,  Adrian Drewe.   1891 - 1917



Just a flying visit, guys...to send you my heart-felt thanks for all your kind messages of support. I can't begin to express how much they mean to me at a time like this. I will reply to each one as soon as I possibly can.
There have been many scares: the op was over, then he had a massive arterial bleed so had to be rushed back to theatre and opened up again.
He just began to come round from the anaesthetic, then his kidneys began to fail. They managed to rectify that, only for his breathing to deteriorate.
At the moment he is stable though, in intensive care.
So we are hoping and praying...

I am missing you all so much. As soon as I can I will visit you all, I promise.

The above post was written a month ago, for Remembrance Day.
I hope you like it...

And thank you again for all your support. You have all been so kind that it brings tears to my eyes.
Bless you all...

LUCIA

Inspired by "The Highgate Vampire"  by Sean Manchester.


I have a shadow
                   whose mane is LUCIA.
I acquired her
                   on a guided tour
                                          of Highgate Cemetery.
I heard her softly calling me
from deep within the catacombs
and felt
           compelled to follow
                                        the seductive syllables
that reverberated through my being.



It led me to a crumbling tomb
                                       that appalled me to the core.
So I gripped my pentacle
                                      and prayed to the Gods
while fervently crossing my chest:
dividing Earth from Air...
                                    Fire from Water...
                                                           and (hopefully) myself from LUCIA.
But..."That,"  she crooned,  "is a fallacy!"
as she followed me home that night.



Well I found myself watching her like a hawk,
never averting my eyes -
                                  not even for an instant.
For I knew then she and I were rivals
                                                       for my immortal Soul
and the blood that coursed through my veins.



But beneath blonde hair
                                   those saucer eyes
gradually subdued my will.
She whispered to me in my dreams
of things absurdly preposterous:
promising me eternal life,
                                     while the painful ecstasy
                                                                         of icy kisses
nightly drained my jugular.



And so today
                 I'm sorry to say
                                      LUCIA has finally won.
See how my fangs
                          have grown long and pointy
and I'm terrified of the Sun...



Happy Hallowe'en!!!



PS  My husband has been admitted to hospital to have his heart operation. I will keep in touch as often as I can...I just can't predict how often at the moment. Do hope you will bear with me through this difficult time.
Thank you so much for all your support and kind words. They are appreciated with all my heart.:)

Just felt the need to add a photo of us together...as we face an unknown future...

PUPATION

You bought me a red dress
a decade-and-a-half ago in the January sales.

In the bedroom behind white wardrobe doors,
it hangs like a sun-drying tomato.

New still in theory, it smells of the perfume
I wore when I tried it on - and years of various moth repellents.

On a hanger, suspended in the darkness,
red frills have come to accept the role of servants-in-waiting,

but unadjusted shoulder straps envy their older neighbours
who have taken on the dimensions of human form.

When red silk finally is worn, eyes and fingers bestow
the attention so avidly craved, and younger dresses

learn that newness and fashion are irrelevant, long before they're worn.
"I love that retro dress! Is it new?"..."Yes," I reply, "it is."

MISSING LINK

My best friend from school
became a top model

which was fantastic for her but left me feeling
somewhat lacking. I knew I wasn't

particularly feminine, but neither was I lesbian.
Uncomfortable in dresses and mystified by girl-talk,

I did nevertheless date guys
and write them erotic, suggestive poems -

while living in terror of actual intimacy:
that one of them would someday believe me "normal"

and venture beyond painted face and padded bra
to discover the odd little boyish creature beneath,

then divulge my guilty secret to all and sundry,
humiliating me to the core...



A mother now and far from ideal wife,
for innate awkwardness still generates

a pronounced reticence that must be off-putting.
I live off-balance, making excuses

to avoid wifely duties: cleaning, sewing, cooking, I abhor;
preferring instead motor sports, sword fighting and archery -

and  I'm more adept at these than most men I know!
No one seems to know what to make of me.

I am definitely not your archetypal female.
I am Aries woman: gender's missing link.

CREME DE MENTHE

Fourteenth Boxing Day at Auntie Blanche's.
The appetising aroma of roasting turkey
pervading every room of her three-storey house.
The entire family gathered, drinking cocktails.
Auntie's face flushed red, absurd and clown-like
in contrast to her pale blonde hair.
Being the only juvenile present, I felt left out
of their increasingly loud jocularity.
Becoming resentful, I opened my mouth to protest.
But she, ever the empath, turned to me,
took my hand and led me to the scullery.
Aah...that mysterious place
where her special glass-fronted cabinet
stood in it's alcove.
How it's contents had always
fascinated me:
a myriad of miniature bottles with exotic labels
that contained liquids in every colour imaginable.
Always strictly out of bounds to me-of course,
but that only made me covet them all the more.
Then, as if on impulse,
she quickly took a key from a drawer
and unlocked the double doors,
opening them wide.
"Choose one," she said, "Go on!"
I scrutinised her face intently
thinking it some kind of cruel joke.
But she smiled encouragingly and repeated,
"Go on!"
It took me a full twenty minutes
to make my selection -
there were so many to choose from.
I eventually decided on the Creme de Menthe
and how my hand shook as I reached
into that hitherto strictly forbidden place
to take it out.
And the taste, as I sipped from a sculptured liqueur glass
was utterly exquisite - all I had ever imagined, and much, much more.

Then, that evening the first blood came.
Nothing was ever the same after that remarkable day...
It felt like I'd finally come-of-age.

FUSION

I studied his image
all evening,
every gesture,
each facial expression.

By bed time I believed
I knew him intimately:
had demystified his idiosyncrasies,
decoded his DNA.

Later, in dreams, I began
probing his psyche
for unconscious desires
akin to my own.

Then time stood still
and neither of us knew
if we were inside
or outside of the dreams - even
if they were dreams at all -
or some fantastical fusion
of Tantric destinies:
a touching of Souls
in rapturous unity
that I couldn't even begin
to find the words to express...
until now.