Cerulean

Blighty

 

 

Stand up if you're proud to be British

and flutter a Union Jack.

Cos the days when old Blighty was something

have gone, and they're not coming back.

If you'd care to get all sentimental,

then shed a kitsch tear as you gaze

back yonder through rose-tinted glasses

 

remembering those halcyon days.

 

when sports squads were dapper and god-like

hats off to Geoff Hurst and the lads,

for winning the world cup at Wembley

Cos that's all the glory we've had.

If it wasn't for the home advantage

our coffers would be in a fix.

'Cos we've dined out on one football triumph

 

and milked it right from '66.

 

Oh but England's a wonderful nation

of playwrights, eccentrics and kings.

Oxbridge, Big Ben, Harrods shopping

The Spice Girls and SanPro 'with wings'.

We're barely acknowledging Europe

content to stand small and apart.

Our bombast and pride at our swift

downhill ride

 

is nothing that we'll take to heart.

 

For there'll always be blue skies in Dover;

that is, if the MET gets it right.

And an Englishman's home is his castle,

of course, if he's solvent and white.

So toss one more log on the fire dear.

Lean back, let's all bask in the glow -

of self-satisfaction about our inaction

 

Just don't let the cracks start to show.

 

 

___________________________________________________________________

From the (AN) Archmage forum, written in response to a thread about national pride

A Double Dactyl for Gwai

 

Higgledy-Wiggledy

Gwaihir the protector

puzzled the readers with

gender untold.

 

Was this particular

nonspecificity

caused by an oversight -

or getting old?

 

__________________________

 

A response to this thread

She's Smiling

 

 

She's...

 

Smiling,

 

smiles that chip the darkness into glittering shards,

 

roaring over wires and miles.

No meagre twitchings of a lip

for her

 

a full-blown beam.

Part ingenue, and clownish.

An explosion to split the seams and shame the sun.

 

You found your fellow sheepy, she's the one

who always got it wrong, and ever felt the need to create a personal icon

 

:s

 

a wriggly grin of embarrassed fun!

 

A fool indeed, a friend with keys,

unlocking possibilities of difficult gifts.

Scattering glimmers of self in a distant place.

 

And through it richer still.

Knowing that the skill lies in

watching one perfect moment

 

dive

off

into

i

n

f

i

n

i

t

y

 

and arrest it

as it's yet tangible -

s t r e t c h i t o u t through the telling.

Uncurling her fingers

and with the barest breath

sending it to him -

a dandelion clock of whispered thanks;

the softest rosette of down

and up and around.

 

For Zool,

 

who'll take the time

to paint the stars brilliant.

 

_________________________________________________________________

A thank you to Zool, for his inspiration and friendship. Originally posted in the Archmage Conservatory forum.

Moving Target

 

 

I didn't miss you.

You thought I would

with every tissue.

I didn't miss you.

There was no issue -

my aim being good.

I didn't miss you;

you thought I would.

 

_________________________________

My first attempt at writing a Triolet

Greenbelt Ladies' Park

 

 

Through dusking half-dark ~

 

park gates closing;

swarms of black-swathed forms

meander veiled to waiting cars.

 

Asserting jewelled rites,

soft-stepping towards males claiming

patiently in white.

 

No mingling for these two to pavement grey,

where moondips soften yellow day

and queen takes knight.

 

___________________________________________________________

A sexual chess match - culturally choreographed, perfectly executed

 

Orininally posted in the Archmage Conservatory forum.

Spirit

 

A juniper kiss

melts the ice and scents my thoughts

with lemon blossom.

 

_________________________________

Alternatively titled: Gin & Tonic Haiku

For Huda, my Iraqi student

 

 

Will you sift through the sand for his blood, my love

will you rub through the mud of your tears?

Will the lies in their eyes guide your hands, my love

will the lie of the land calm your fears?

Will they choke on the bones of your love, my dove

will they splinter the span of your smile?

Or will night clasp your light in its glove, my love?

Starving the dawn with its wile.

 

 

______________________________________________________

A piece that developed in the Writer's Workshop here.

Arabia

 

 

Civilization was

a careless promise that faded on the lips.

Incongruous and impressionistic; my Arabia.

 

*

 

A goat in the passenger seat of a Mercedes Benz.

Bedouin herding camels from four wheel drives.

Petrol fumes and animal spit.

 

*

 

A child in the classroom, drawing his mother:

Two sketched ovals, feathery outlines in pencil

centred on a white page.

 

He's beginning with her eyes.

 

A darker crayon underneath to line the lower;

magnificent concentration, the boy's six.

 

Now reaching for midnight, he chooses deepest violet

to emphasize

her top lids.

Painstaking lashes,

single and dewy -

curving and blinking under his touches.

 

The tear ducts cornered in and coned.

Bright iris. Brown fails.

Brown and yellow, he's searching for amber flecks.

Darkening. Quickening.

Tools inadequate; they're only crayons in his little fingers.

 

The pupils blacked in now. Two points of space.

 

And I behind him, gazing at this woman's eyes.

Impeccable detail, but only her eyes.

 

He's finished his picture.

 

And I rage at the slotted veil she bears,

which permits her son

only this fragment.

 

*

 

In a supermarket,

daydreaming,

careering into some intricate display,

which clatters down about my feet.

 

An English flush creeping over my cheeks,

awaiting the 'tuts' of other shoppers, but

I'm quietly escorted to one side of the chaos -

as local men rebuild the tower of tins,

then carry my goods to the pay counter

so my dignity as a Western female is never compromised.

 

*

 

Bringing beer over the border in black bags, giggling.

 

*

 

Kuwaiti girls, Purdah lifted,

walking in the streets ahead of their husbands.

An American journalist delighted by this 'progress'

smiles blandly on. Paternalistic pathos.

I ache to tell him:

"Land mines, that's why. "

 

*

 

The sand. The sun. The desert shifting.

Brutal and elemental.

My smallness.

 

*

 

The first call to prayer,

beating the stillness.

 

A tender imperative which arcs and climbs through the night.

 

And it's at once ephemeral and permanent.

The solidity of always. The fragility of ever.

But you long to linger in the half-light and catch it with your fingers,

 

grasp it while it flutters through your senses -

then form the gentlest fist,

holding it to you,

as it shudders like a thing alive.

 

*

 

____________________________________________________________________

Thank you for voting this piece into The Pen Recommends list. I am honoured.

 

Originally posted in the Archmage Conservatory forum as an entry to a competition run by Finnius.

Still under construction

 

Could I make a polite request to keep this thread clean please?

 

Your feedback and additions, enthusiasm and welcomes are lovely, thank you so much, but all the same I'd prefer to have comments in PMs and keep this thread free of other posts.

 

Thank you for understanding, Cerulean.

As I bumble towards my 40th birthday, I'm not sure I'm particularly wiser for being older, but ageing has provided me with a colourful palette of errors to contemplate.

 

If I could distill all that I've learned into one pearl, one perfect maxim, it would be this:

 

Never yield to the urge to get a third cat, unless you truly understand the meaning of exponential mischief.

 

Cerulean.

 

(Adopted human to the feline triumvirate of Dr Dog, Moppy and Little. )

The earth beneath me / softer than a lullaby

 

 

A lovely expression, a thoughtful piece.

 

Thank you for posting,

 

C.

I keep saying to myself I'm going to bed, and I'm still up - bah stop posting all this interesting stuff guys! Think of my blurry head in the morning!

 

Parm - what you said really struck a chord with me. Three years ago my nephew committed suicide. He wasn't found for several days, but some part of me knew he was dead. Two nights running I had vivid nightmares where I was running round all of my family's houses counting people and shouting out that someone was missing. I saw images of my sister screaming, and then on the third day coming home from work I heard my voice - clear as day telling someone I wouldn't be able to make an appointment because I had to go home for my nephew's funeral. That evening my brother called with the news. My mum had just found David.

 

I can't explain any of that. He was in England, I was in Dubai - I don't know how many thousands of miles distance that is, or if distance should be in any way relevant. Somehow we were connected.

 

At the time it frightened me, now I think there's comfort to be derived from it.

 

C.

Black tie and towel? It could work... I've known worse!

Ser-uh-lee-an!

 

Harpy'll answer to nothing.

Cherries rot in an enamel bowl. Light splinters through tapping blinds. Someone at floor level grubs in the dust.

In a gothic house, on a gloomy evening, a severed hand tosses one of its own bloody digits into the dish of the nervous dinner guest. The guest - being a vegetarian - politely eats only what's under the fingernail.

Cerulean pictures Zool, painting a word portrait from his portrait, of Aardvark in an Aardvark suit. She sucks on a pipe and contemplates Magritte.

Now you've gone and reminded me of the silly joke about the dyslexic who sold his soul to Santa.

 

Shame on you.

Happy Birthday Yui,

 

I hope you had a wonderful day.

 

Cerulean smiles softly at the huntress. Some distance away, Harpy totters about with a bottle of bubbly under one arm, and a gift-wrapped inflatable Aegon under the other. Scarlett is busily rotating a map. "If I didn't know better", she muses, "I'd swear Cery had given me the wrong directions..."

What a huge question!

 

I've been wrestling with this unsuccessfully for ages. I agree with Zool, kinda here, that each of these qualities can be the most important at a particular time, or stage in a relationship, or in a person's life. I think I've decided that try as I might, there's no single feature that can encompass what I look for in a partner. So instead, I'll offer one that's very important to me, but I don't think has been mentioned yet - tenderness.

 

C.

Glad you still have time for The Pen, at least!

 

*hugs*

 

C.

Hehe - my weekend in Arabia begins Wednesday afternoon and ends Friday night! So just as you're all kicking back to have fun, I'm preparing to go back to work, bah! Well except that I'm now on vacation, so it's all a moot point!

Hope you had a great day!

 

All the best,

 

Cerulean.

Warm wishes for a wonderful birthday Distarius.

 

I hope you have a lovely day.

 

All the best,

 

Cerulean.

Hey Mira,

 

Write pointed fluff any time you like lol - I really liked it, for lots of reasons. As for 'real meaning' - what's that? I'd be interested in your thoughts.

 

Cerulean.