OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Advertisements

Love birds

Love birds imagine wild hopes
lips kissing softly rest silent thoughts
sweet and sure pleasure moments
smiles and sighs touch beauty
wanting the same things or enough
for I am hungry for your eyes.

Love play

Acting – performance
rehearsals worn,
secrets told,
scenes of castles, air
blushing, tears

the perfect couple –
he is taller, bigger darker than her,
he is confident and looks straight ahead;
she looks to him, small and delicate,
his big strong hands dry her tears;
he is daylight, she is evening,

season’s sweet spring
adorns her child’s heart

writing romances,
crying bitterly
over tempting
young wives
pink dresses
eyes fixed on the wall,
taken in his arms,
worn out emotions
pull on her strength;
even an angel
can fall to earth.
Curtain falls

Thursday fragments 3

By the time I was four years old I had grown from being a baby to be a small child with curly red hair and soft milky white skin and a trace of freckles forming across my nose. Mum called them sun kisses and said they made me look beautiful. All of the excitement from my birth had worn off with the other children and by then I was just another part of the family, although I was much smaller than the others and always seemed to be a step behind. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t keep up with my sisters.

Dinner time each night was full of noise and bustle with everyone sitting at the dining table talking at once. The television blared away in the background as Dad listened to the evening news, competing with cutlery rattling against plates. The girls talked about things that were happening at school, or repeating jokes that were heard during the day, followed by lots of laughter. Sometimes Mum would jump in with a question and set the conversation off in a completely new direction until Dad roared at everyone to be quiet when he wanted to hear something on the television.

After dinner, my sisters could always be found in the kitchen washing the dishes and the room was filled with singing, dancing and laughter. ‘The marching band came down the street,’ Samantha sang in a loud voice with her feet marching around the sink. She was ten years old and her hands were covered in long pink rubber gloves as she scrubbed the dishes and then placed them on the drying rack. She had her back to me and all I could see was her long black ponytail bouncing up and down as she moved back and forth on her bare feet. Every now and then her head turned slightly and I could see the sharp outline of her face.

‘And with her head upon his shoulder…’ Catherine’s voice was higher and sweeter and it made me think of the wings of a butterfly as she danced across and put her head on Samantha’s shoulder. Catherine was the eldest and was still wearing her school uniform. Her straight brown hair hung down to her shoulders and I watched her from my stool at the bench. Her hands moved with the tea towel as she dried the dishes, while her green bangle bounced up and down her arm. It caught the light and sent diamond sparkles dancing across the bench top. I tried to catch them in my fingers.

Jasmine joined in for the chorus as she put some more plates back in the cupboard after Catherine dried them. She was six and was usually mischievous and full of fun, but sometimes she was quiet and moody as well and I often caught her green eyes looking into space, deep in thought. I sometimes wondered what she was thinking, but she never told me because I was just her little sister.

‘Billy, don’t take your pillow,’ I sang from my stool.

‘Molly! That’s not how it goes,’ laughed Catherine.

‘Stop being annoying, Molly,’ Samantha said with her hands in the sink and flicking her long black ponytail back and forth, just like the cat’s tail. She was always like that, but I wasn’t being annoying; I was just trying to join in.

‘Billy, don’t take your pillow,’ I started again.

‘Mum! Molly is being annoying again!’ Samantha called out.

‘Molly, leave the girls alone,’ Mum’s voice came back from the lounge room. ‘Why don’t you come in here and read a book?’

Pouting, I hopped off the stool and wandered into the lounge room. ‘Come and sit over here, Molly,’ Mum said, looking up as I came into the room. She had some sewing on her lap and the television was on. I could still hear the girls singing in the kitchen. Dad was sitting in his arm chair reading the newspaper; he didn’t look up when I came in.

I sat on the lounge and picked up one of my favourite picture books, the one with animals in it. I heard Mum sigh, but I wasn’t sure whether she was tired or frustrated. Dad cleared his throat loudly and Mum looked at me and smiled secretly with her blue-grey eyes, as if to say, ‘I smile just for you’. But she turned back to her sewing and I looked down at my book. I couldn’t read yet but I was going to school next year and I couldn’t wait to learn how to make sense of those black squiggles on the page. I already knew some letters and the sounds they made. ‘That one is “cuh” for cat,’ I said out loud. I wondered where the cat was; maybe he was out chasing mice. Yuk, I wouldn’t want to be a cat and eat mice.

The newspaper rustled as Dad turned the page. ‘The price of petrol is going up again,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonder anyone can make any money these days.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Mum, ‘It never stops.’ Her busy fingers painted stitches in the cloth. ‘I ran into Robyn today. You know, I think her and Paul will get married soon.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Dad replied.

‘Oh, it’s just a feeling. The way she talks about him. She was looking at flowers.’ Dad grunted and continued reading the newspaper and Mum kept sewing. ‘I think it would be lovely if they got married.’

‘It’s about time, anyway.’

‘“Duh” for dog,’ I said as I turned the page. I don’t like dogs very much because they are scary the way they bark and jump all over you. I’m glad we don’t have a dog. ‘Woof! Woof woof!’

‘Molly, be quiet,’ said Mum, ‘We are trying to watch the television. Just read to quietly, please honey.’ The needle stabbed the cloth, leaving a row of neat little stitches. ‘She will make a beautiful bride.’

‘Paul had better get a proper job first,’ said Dad. More singing could be heard coming from the kitchen.

‘They’re only young. They have plenty of time; they want to travel first.’

I turned over a few more pages. ‘“Huh” for horse.’ I had never seen a horse up close, only those ones across the road. They looked nice standing there and eating grass. I wondered what it would be like to ride one. Maybe I could be a princess and ride through my kingdom on a beautiful white horse. Everybody would come out of their houses to see me go past and I would wave back at them.

‘I wonder when the wedding will be.’ Mum was already sewing the wedding dress in her mind.

‘Is that all you can think about?’ The newspaper rustled again.

‘“Sh” for sheep.’ I like sheep; they are all soft and woolly, I thought to myself as I ran my fingers over the picture. ‘Baa, baa.’

‘Molly! I think it’s time for bed; you are being far too noisy tonight.’ I looked up at Mum quickly because she was annoyed with me. ‘Come on, let’s go and clean your teeth and I’ll tuck you in bed.’

I trotted off to the bathroom and stood on a little stool to reach the sink. I hated the taste of toothpaste; it made my tongue feel all funny.

‘Mum,’ I said as I climbed in bed, ‘Do you think I will ever be a princess on a horse?’

‘You’re already a princess, sweetheart. Now go to sleep, there’s a good girl.’

‘Goodnight Mum.’

‘Goodnight Molly.’

As the light went out, I lay in bed thinking about those horses again, but I wouldn’t like it if one started to run. I closed my eyes and saw the neatly trimmed hair of my horse’s mane fluttering in the breeze like the ribbons in my hair. The clip-clop of hooves rang on the pavement as I rode out of the castle courtyard; my long white wedding gown was billowing behind. I was sitting up straight in the saddle because I was a princess, moving serenely through my kingdom, long elegant legs striding across my dream landscape until I eventually fell asleep.

Extract from Molly’s Dreams

A year for undreamed dreams

Normally I would spend the last few days of the year looking back at the things that had shaped the year, but 2016 was such a stressful year that I only want to dwell on it for a moment before looking toward 2017 – my year for undreamed dreams.

2016 started with nothing more than hope that it would be better than the previous year. But I needed more than hope to get through the tough, stressful, depression and abuse filled year and I just wasn’t ready for what 2016 threw at me.

So for 2017 my dream is that it is a year of calm – inner peace, outward calm. That will be my guiding light so I don’t move too far out of balance. However, my horoscope promises a year of excitement and electric influence and suggests I will tap into my reserves of energy to do some wondrous things with my life. I know from experience that I have to use that energy wisely when I’m among the stars.

In a month I will start the second year of my creative writing degree and I am looking forward to getting back into study. I need to finish my novel By Light of the Third Moon and by the end of the year have made a start on my young adult dystopian novel Caldera. I want to keep posting on my blog every day and write more poetry and spend more time playing my guitar. I haven’t written a song in ages and it’s time I did that again. There is also a pile of books on my bedroom floor that are crying out to be read as well as novels I have to read for uni.

Before my heart starts racing at all the things I want to do this year my horoscope reminds me that being methodical is the key to success. Don’t rush and take on more than I can handle and do it all with a loving heart. Oh, and watch out for bullies! I need to be more careful who I get involved with because I won’t stand for any more abusive partners!

So my undreamed dream is not a thing, place, person or activity. It is about me remaining calm – inner peace, outward calm. Yes, and that loving heart!

Happy New Year to you all

Love

Molly

xx

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑