As Time Goes By
Dear Mary,
Or should I call you Mum? It’s such a long time since I last saw you that I don’t know if you still think of me as your son. Anyway. Time has moved on again and I thought I should get in touch. I never was much good at that, especially with all the travelling, and the last commune didn’t have phones and stuff.
I’m more settled now, have been sorted out with some benefits and have even got a small flat. It’s a bit conservative round here and I get some funny looks when I’m out on my bike. That thing where people assume that I’m a druggie cos of my long hair and that, you know? The sandals are gonna raise eyebrows again now we’re heading into Winter but, if there’s one thing you taught me, it’s that we have to be ourselves, no matter what people say. Sticks and stones eh? Had plenty of them too, come to think of it, on my way back through Europe. Not always easy to turn the other cheek or whatever. All that forgiveness stuff is easier said than done. Still, keep the faith as they say these days.
Sorry for the short letter – need to pop out to the shop for bread and wine before it closes.
XXX
***
Dear Son,
How lovely to hear from you after all this time. I’ve not been good myself at keeping in touch. I should get one of those mobile telephones but all this technology makes my mind itch. Give me a bit of peace and quiet in a barn in the middle of nowhere and I’m grand.
Sorry to hear you’ve had trouble with the natives. You’ve never had a good time in Rome I seem to remember. Too much history there, no doubt.
I always liked your long hair. Fashions change but this reincarnation malarkey doesn’t make it any easier to keep up with the trends. Should you not be thinking about a nice short back and sides and see if you can’t get a proper job? All that work in the community is surely commendable and your father would be proud of you but you have to earn a living these days.
You take care now, Jesus. Write again soon.
Love
Mum XXX
Published by Jen on October 12th, 2008 Tagged A363 Open University, Jesus on a bike | Comment now »Summer Sunday
Whispers in the trees
announce the storm’s arrival.
Heard before it’s felt.
30 words - A Morning Moment
The graceful Willow glows like summer against blue sky, veil of frost glistening in the sun.
Light mist hangs motionless in the valley as artificially heated traffic rushes by.
Published by Jen on April 9th, 2008 Tagged Uncategorized | Comment now »Things I Can Afford
(or Non Shop-Bought Happiness)
A corny joke
A good night’s sleep
The sense of loss when turning the last page of a great novel
Published by Jen on March 18th, 2008 Tagged Uncategorized | Comment now »Friday Morning
Watercolour sky
insipid in its stillness
No spring in the air
Published by Jen on March 14th, 2008 Tagged haiku | Comment now »Dark Truth
She didn’t think she had any secrets. Secrets were dark, threatening. If people knew your secrets, life would change. Even if people suspected you had something secret, they would dig and probe until they’d found something satisfactory, regardless of whether they’d found the truth or not. They just wanted something.
So no, she didn’t have any secrets. There were, of course, things she didn’t tell other people. Things that she didn’t bother thinking about herself, in fact. What was the point of dwelling on grotty bits that could send you whirling and crashing to the place you’d worked so hard to escape? Secrets were like an abandoned well, dark and impenetrable but drying up slowly with time. But the dank, dark drips never quite disappeared; instead, they fermented, became more potent, more viscous. No, she didn’t want to think about that.
Perhaps if people found out what the secrets were, they would raise the level of the toxic well until it brimmed over. Perhaps the sunshine would make the water sparkle clearly. Small children would splash about and sparrows would drink from it.
All in all, she was glad she didn’t have any secrets.
Published by Jen on February 14th, 2008 Tagged Uncategorized | Comment now »Moody Weather
Heavy, static, low
clouds graze the stubbly treetops
Depression descends
Published by Jen on February 6th, 2008 Tagged haiku | Comment now »30 Words of Winter
Sapphire sky above, dulling in the distance.
A solitary snowdrop peeps hopefully through a mulch of dead leaves.
It looks like summer but, outside, the sharp wind drags winter back.
Published by Jen on February 1st, 2008 Tagged Uncategorized | Comment now »The Flat Truth
I’d like to write a love letter to you. The truth is, however, that I’m really not that keen on you. In fact, I hate you.
Let’s see, shall we?
I hate the way you sit there smugly, winking at me from time to time. I hate the way you always need water when I’m in a hurry. I used to laugh at how you made my glasses steam up but now? No. It’s one of things I loathe.
You’re a pain. Literally. You’ve scarred me, left imprints of yourself on me that will never fade.
I wish I could live my life without you, without your hushed hissing and steely glare. I can’t though, can I? I hate to admit it but I need you. You won’t last forever though. When you die, I shall replace you with a newer model. Your replacement will be better looking, less awkward and quicker to satisfy my needs.
I know you’re indifferent to my feelings. You’re just an iron.
Published by Jen on January 23rd, 2008 Tagged Uncategorized | Comment now »Ticketty Boo
Perhaps we’re all a little bit crazy, he thought. All sitting quite normally, as if we’re calm, rational people. But perhaps, underneath, everyone is bubbling and frothing with frustration, having arguments that aren’t going to happen, living out conversations they’re too afraid to have. Preparing quick, witty retorts to taunts that will never come.
They’re all sitting there, swallowed up by their own worlds. They think they’re managing, think it’s normal to go over and over and over past remarks, regrets, relationships and recriminations.
He looked at them all, squashed into the train carriage, being transported back and forth from one place to the other every day like worker ants. How many of them were happy with their lot? They looked bloody miserable for successful people with their gadgets and gizmos and pin-striped suits.
Perhaps they had therapy; perhaps they were all drunkards, spending all evening trying to forget their days.
He decided that the train would be a better place if everyone was forced to have counselling until they could prove they didn’t need it anymore. Until they could prove they were happy, normal. Sorted, as those shouting youths would have it.
The receding hairlines blushed at the words those young things said too loudly. Was it the words or the freedom to make noise that bothered them?
What would they talk about in therapy? Could they afford it or would be become another strain on their already holiday-stretched wallets. Working to spend, slaving to spend just five days in a different place, attached to their Blackberrys and barking at underlings.
Published by Jen on January 16th, 2008 Tagged madness, middle class stuff, work | Comment now »