***
velvet curtains half drawn
room in half darkness
the child looked at the old paintings
of stags on Scottish moorland
they stared back at her...
***
the child was scared of the rug
she'd been told
to sit on it
the fur was itchy on her legs
its stuffed head turned towards her...
***
the child could not walk
through doorways
she had to run
the stuffed stags head above the door frame
opened his mouth further...
***
the stone
staircases
winding upwards
'til they converged
on an old wooden latched door
***
***
so many collections
so much hoarding
in that dusty attic room
and
secrets...
***
in the attic
boxes of old books
collections of pinned butterflies
and birds eggs
wrapped in cotton wool
***
one day
the child was given
boxes of bird's eggs
each one carefully cradled
in cotton wool
***
***
the child was given
a collection
of many butterflies
each one pinned on a board
wings open forever
***
***
the child read
all the books
she could lay her hands on
she read out
her loneliness
***
unseen
the child took a book
from the attic
stamped in purple ink "Prisoner of war camp..."
unaware of its relevance to her
***
***
once
something
becomes known
it cannot become
unknown
***
at night
the child sat
by the attic room window
and watched the sky
she remembered
***
the
attic room
enveloped the child
and
comforted her
***
half a century later
the child returned
for her attic room,
window bricked in, door plastered over
new owners
***
***
the child
could
never understand
why others
could not
***
is
behind the sky
the child thought
just like
behind the television?
***
***
the child
had
a magnifying glass
she used it in the sun to turn paper brown
red embers then flames
***
on dry sandy soil
child traced
patterns with a stick
happily
all day
***
the child
made
puppets
she pulled
their strings
***
***
“keep out”
the notice
said
the child opened up
the chain link fencing…
***
the child felt
she existed
somewhere
but not
in this world
***
***
each time
the child found a dead bird
she buried it in a cocoa tin
used lolly sticks for a cross
and said prayers
***
"Ready, come and find me"
child called
from her perfect hiding place
stiff legs, aching limbs
got up to look for her seekers but they'd gone
***
school playground
whistle blew
every child froze in their tracks
except the deaf girl
who carried on playing
***
***
Gen Gen I am in a playground here I feel like a wee child again exploring this is how your art and prose makes me feel each time I come to the next picture and prose I feel like I am finding treasures these are pure gems all of them to read Your depth of insight to human nature at times really touches the nerve ... and beautiful visuals that persuade you in many of your writing to also look within yourself .. Out standing . Beez :)
ReplyDelete