The Castle Old and Grey

    It's the first poetry post of 2018 and I'm featuring Scottish, 19th century poet, Alexander Anderson. I particularly loved this poem of his because I am totally fascinated by old buildings, especially castles. His words I can identify with, because when I too walk into an old castle I think of who walked before me in the corridors and upon the stairs in the past. It wouldn't just be servants, but kings and queens as well. Every inch of the building's floors and walls, all have a story to tell. If they could only speak.

The Castle Old and Grey

I never see a castle

That is gaunt and grey and grim

But my thoughts at once go backward

To the past so misty and dim

To the time when tower and turret

Kept watch far over the vale

And along the sounding draw-bridge

Rode knights in their suits of mail

I see the sunshine glancing

On helmet, pennon and spear

And hear from the depth of the forest 

A bugle calling clear

I fill the hall with visions

Of ladies rich in their bloom

And stately knights in armour

And waving with feather and plume

If  I climb the broken stairway

Where the stone is smooth and fine

I hear a rustle and a whisper

And footsteps in front of mine

Whisper of youth and maiden

As they met in the long ago

His deep and strong and manly

Hers tender and sweet and low

But maiden and youth have vanished

Away from the scene and the light 

Gone, too, the high-born lady

And the plumed and armoured knight

Only the grey old castle

Of crumbling stone and lime

Still stands to speak of the ages

And the iron footsteps of time

                                                                                         Alexander Anderson 1845-1909

                                                                      

Flying Free

         Birds are beautiful creatures and they come in all shapes and sizes. On a winter's day there is nothing more pleasurable than watching a robin bobbing about the snow in the backyard, picking at the dried mealworms that I've provided. Or, the blackbirds  feasting on the pieces of cooked apple that I cooked especially for them.

    Spending  spring and summer days on the banks of  a loch, or canal are filled with great delight, watching the swans, ducks, geese, moorhens and a vast assortment of birds who make their habitat amongst the marshes.

    If we can all enjoy these alluring creatures in their natural surroundings, why is it then that many are captured by unscrupulous individuals and kept in unnatural environment. There is only one reason, that is PROFIT. They are not pets and it's up to us human beings to protect them.

    Today is National Bird Day, let's celebrate our feathered friends.

     Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird.

                  Davis Attenborough



https://www.facebook.com/NationalBirdDay

 http://www.avianwelfare.org/issues/conservation.htm

http://www.avianwelfare.org/nationalbirdday/index.htm

Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird? David Attenborough
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/david_attenborough_454695?src=t_bird

Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird? David Attenborough
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/david_attenborough_454695?src=t_bird

Reaching for your Dreams

   

    So, what plans do you have for January? Do you have writing goals, or do you have life goals that can be achieved in the next year?

    Personally, my goal is to carry on writing and may my ideas  keep on coming. There are many things that I want to achieve in my writing career and sometimes it feels like a real hard slog. As though I'm paddling through water, not going anywhere fast.

    The thing about embarking on a writing career, nobody ever said it would be easy, in fact the opposite. But, as a writer I get to do the thing I love best and that's write.

     Whatever you are embarking on this year, I wish you every success and remember if you don't achieve your goal it doesn't mean you have failed.



    Remember your dreams and fight for them. You must know what you want from life. There is just one thing that makes your dream impossible: the fear of failure.

                       Paulo Coelho 
                       Brazilian novelist and lyricist.

   

   

   

Wishing You a Perfect Year

  

    The year 2017 is now coming to an end. For some of us it may be a time to close an unhappy chapter of our lives and wish on the stroke of midnight that the year about to start is going to meet our hopes and aspirations.

    For others it may be a time to be thankful for the good fortune we have been blessed with, grateful for the love and support we have received from those around us.

    As we take time to reflect, melancholy can creep up behind us, making us think of times gone by, sadly thinking of those friends and relatives who have left our lives, for good, or have moved many miles away. Leaving a great void behind.

    However, I hope that the memories of the joyous times spent with them will outweigh the loss felt and I hope what ever your midnight wish is, you all have a perfect year.



   

The Journey of Regret Part 3

Part 3 of 3  (Final)

    I feel a piercing pain in the side of my skull and I explore my right temple with my fingertips. I wince, I've found a bleeding head wound. My blood moistens my fingers and it runs down my face. I can taste the saltiness of it, as it trickles onto my lips and into my mouth. I sit still and try to orientate myself with my surroundings, but the situation I find myself in seems somewhat surreal.

    "Jemma follow me. I will take you to safety," says a woman. I'm unable to see her because of the strong light that is now shining in my face.     Thank goodness, I feel relieved that a rescue party has arrived.  I can hear the voice of the woman clearly persuading me to follow her. I shakily get to my feet and I clamber into the aisle. I hesitate, I've remembered that my carryall is on the seat to the inside of me. I reach in and I brush my hand across the sticky, velvety pile of the upholstery. But the bag is no longer there, it must have fallen onto the floor. How on earth am I going to find it in this darkness? I sigh, there is no point in me fumbling around to try to locate it.

    The female voice continues to encourage me on, but the light is moving away from me and I have to follow. I take a step and I stumble over something. I bend down and tug at what is some kind of bag, hopefully I've found my carryall. But the item is too small to be mine, I think it may be a briefcase, or a laptop. I push the bag aside to clear my path and it moves away from me at speed. I hear it coming to a thudding halt somewhere up ahead. 
    I can only assume that the train has been derailed, because the carriage is slightly tilted over to one side and I proceed with difficulty. I grab hold of the backs of the seats to steady myself and I follow the guiding light. I pass by my fellow passengers, some groan loudly and others cry for help. I can't understand why they don't follow the rescuer. 

    Although it seems to have taken forever, I've reached the end of the carriage and to an exit. I stop at the open doorway and look up into the cloudless December sky. The cold air blasts my face, making my cheeks go numb. I take a deep breath, a strong smell of diesel oil fills my nostrils and lungs. A multitude of twinkling stars and a full moon light up the night sky, but they fail to illuminate my surroundings. I can't see anything but the woman's light.

    Jumping down onto the track, I drop to my knees. Sharp stone chippings dig into my flesh, causing me to flinch.
    "Jemma, follow me. I will take you to safety," the woman's voice beckons.
    "Please help me," I plead. I'm still on the ground, but my plea is ignored. I lurch to my feet; the light of the rescuer is advancing and is now some distance ahead. I must gather my strength and go after her.

    I walk unsteadily along the track, my feet slide on the hard-core rock that lies between the rails. I  stagger and I nearly lose my balance. I can hear muffled voices, but they're nowhere near me. I can hear sirens, but they're in the distance. The cold bites through my whole body; I start to shake and my teeth are chattering. I have no other option but to keep following the light. With great difficulty I stifle my sobs, I feel so desperately alone and very scared.

    The light is becoming bigger and brighter, I must be nearing safety at last. My legs are weary, I'm struggling to put one foot in front of the other. My head throbs, my body aches and I want to lie down. I daren't though, because the light is within reach.

    I exhale a sigh of relief, I've reached the light and I’m now bathed in it. Its whiteness burns deep into my eyes. I try to shield them with my hand in an effort to see, but to no avail.

     "You are safe. Your pain will ease. Your wounds will heal. We will take care of you now,” says the woman.

     I drop my arm away from my face; the light no longer hurts my eyes and I can feel it penetrate deep down into my body, into my soul. I try to turn around, but I can't. It's as though I've been cemented to the spot. I turn my head and glance behind me; but there is nothing to see, only the white light.
     "I want to go back,” I beg.
     "I know Jemma, I know. But now you can only look back, because for you there is no going back. You are with us now,” the woman says.

BREAKING NEWS

    The 8:00 P.M passenger train to Brighton from Victoria Station, London was derailed at 8:20 P.M yesterday evening. At present the cause is unknown, but accident investigators are on the scene.  

    Several passengers are known to be severely injured and there is one reported fatality. The deceased is believed to be 17-year-old Jemma Anders,who was said to be returning home after visiting some friends in London. Although badly injured, Miss Anders is thought to have wandered from the train following the derailment,in search for help.

    An Emergency Service spokesperson, told reporters that a rescue worker had gone to investigate, what he thought was someone waving a flashlight some distance away from the wreckage.But unfortunately he came across the body of the deceased. It is likely she died because of head injuries. A full postmortem will follow.

    Relatives, family and friends have been informed.

THE END

** This was first published on this blog Nov/22/2012

The Journey of Regret Part 2

        

Part 2 of 3

    However, after two days, I was struggling with the whole living away from home thing. Sneaking into shopping mall restrooms to wash before going for an interview and drying my hair under the hand-dryer. I found it all more than a little alien and I didn't get the jobs either. The most distressing thing for me though, was that I was really missing my mom. I was yearning to hear her voice, feel her arms wrap around me, and giving me a big hug.

     I managed to stick it out for another five days and now I'm on the train, going home. I'm feeling relaxed and I'm now thinking about things constructively, rather than destructively. I managed to make a call to my mom before the train left, from a payphone. I told her I was on my way back; there were lots of tears, but she's forgiven me for my unreasonable behavior. So much so, that she's making my favorite supper tonight. She's a great cook, and I love her chili beef and garlic bread. My stomach's rumbling just thinking about it.

     It's 8.00 PM and the carriage is empty. The other occupants are all seated quite a number of rows away, so there's no one to disturb me with their coughing, sneezing, snoring, or any other bodily function that takes their fancy.

     Suddenly I feel overwhelmed and here was me telling you that I was thinking constructively. Okay I lied; I was just putting on a brave face.

     Deep breathe; I’m putting my negative thoughts in a box and into temporary storage, in a dark corner of my brain. My mind goes blank, I now only hear the noise of the carriage wheels as they roll along the steel track and a state of calmness engulfs my whole being. I close my eyes in the hope that I may be able to drift off to sleep, the state of slumber being something that hasn't been easy to do the last week. The thought of a rat nibbling my toes, or someone stealing what little money I had, kept the adrenalin pumping and the sleep at bay. 
   
    OMG, I've been awakened by a sudden jolt and the carriage is in darkness. I hear some of my fellow passengers moaning and there's noise of general chaos echoing all around me. 



** First published on this blog Nov/18/2012

The Journey of Regret Part 1

     Part 1 of 3

The Journey of Regret

　

     I wish in real life there was a pause, rewind and replay button. If there was, maybe I could rectify some things that have happened in the last week, for sure. Have you ever felt that you may have something in common with the guy called Humpty Dumpty? If you remember, his wall tumbled down round about him. I did, except my world came tumbling down. I opened my eyes one day last week and I decided that things could not go on as they were. I was miserable, everything I seemed to do was wrong. I just had to get away. Anywhere, anyplace.

     Well, my septimana horribilis started last Thursday morning at around 6:30 a.m to be exact. It began with my mom, going on and on about me staying out after curfew time. A curfew time that I felt, she had unfairly imposed upon me. Bottom line is we had a terrible row, I threw my dolly out of the pram big style and I stropped out of the house.

     This row was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. At school that day, I just could not concentrate. All I could think about was the cross words that my mom and I exchanged that morning. Arriving home in the evening from school, the rowing started again and I decided it was best if I went to my room; never surfacing for the rest of the night. So when I woke up on Friday morning  I made the decision to leave home.

     Mom and I didn't say much over breakfast, but we never did anyway. She thought I was heading for school as usual. But of course, I wasn't. To run away from home I knew I was going to need some money. Luckily for me, my dad had given me some money on his last visit and if I watched what I was doing, I would be able to get by on that until I got a job. One of my school friends had left home, she had gotten a job as a waitress, and that's exactly what I was going to do. I would be working long hours, but Emily, she’s my friend, said that the tips were great. 

     I checked the train timetable on my PC and I saw that there was an early train into Victoria. Instead of my schoolbooks, I packed what I could in the way of clothing, toiletries, and a couple of things that had some sentimental value into my carryall. I wrote a quick note explaining my reasons for going, and that I regretted that it had ever come to this. Dressed in my school clothes I set off as normal. Mom had no reason to suspect anything; we had disagreed a million times before. So what was knew?

     I arrived at the station feeling sick as a dog; I had never been away from home on my own before. I received a message on my cell phone from Emily just as my train was pulling out of the station, she said that she had to work. But all going well she would still be able to meet up with me first thing at Victoria station. But when my train turned up an hour and a half late, all my plans were thrown up in the air, adding to my anxiety. Eventually we did meet up and she took me back to her squat. The folks she’s sharing with were very accommodating; they were happy for me to move in and even happier when I offered to contribute something towards the communal living expenses.


** First published on this blog Nov/15/2012