I cried to the moon

Dearest,

Once again I find myself struggling with the thought of you. You appear in my dreams and we walk barefoot outside, on the white snow. I can see the thin cotton of your gown so vividly clutching to your breast; I can see the chill running down your spine, and picture those lovely goosebumps as I place feathery kisses onto your palm. I remember the softness of your skin and how you quivered at my touch.

I am forsaken under the pale yellow moon, my love. I cannot say how much I suffer thinking that you are not going to be a sight for my sore eyes anymore; this poor old fool, this poor woman suffers. I cried to the moon. I have hoped for the sweet goddess Selene to listen to my prayers and turn your icy flesh to a new warmth. I would watch you sleep as she watched the handsome Endymion sleep. I would still love you dearly, then. I would love you like only a woman can love another one. I would cherish the smile on your pink, thin lips. I would kiss them, and I would enjoy your warm breath so close to me.

I curse the battle that separated us. I only cling to my bow and arrows.

I will miss you until I’ll see you again. I’ll keep looking between the stars.

Until then,

Goodbye.

Artists in the street

For this project I have written about characters I have encountered at events in Edinburgh. The name and origin I have made up according to what I think best to fits the character.

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Name: Viola Brell From: Scotland/Denmark

I see her yawn like a lion. Her vampire-like fangs revile her predator nature. She is a critic. Blue hair, short and candy-floss like hair sits on her head. She has her grandmother’s suitcase with her, one of those 50s floral tapestry leather suitcases.  Having returned from a long journey she is happy to be sitting here, in this red lit, underground bar. The sun has gone down already and it feels like it could be 10 pm. Viola gazes at the performers as she listens and scribbles illustrations of the songs she hears. The wine she is drinking shakes to the beat of the drum, she looks past the  folk cowboy to the lock haired bassist. And he sings “Smiles and smoke, avant garde tuning in E minor.”

26th Jan. 2015 Big Mouth Monday

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Name: Lola From: England and has just come from New Zealand

She appeared, from beyond that thick darkness. Her medallion earing shined like two eyes giving her a psychedelic look. While shaking her shoulders, the dark yellow and red lights twirled in a circle, then next brought her into sight. While holding on to her voice, Lola let a thread of a tone fill the air.. a pleasant sound which she ended in kisses of desperation. Her shut eyes suddenly opened, and it is as if she was allowing me to see the unrevealed character she had hidden behind her fringe. She guided my look to her guitar, which she played with a violin bow. Her voice leads me to my dreams.

2nd Feb. 2015

The Storm

As I make my way through the hellish white I am beginning to wonder exactly why it was that I agreed to attend this evening. She’s constantly pulling at my left arm. I don’t know why she chose such an adequate footwear in this weather anyway! Pushing on through the sheets of snow that sting as each flake hits my cheek, I see the golden glow of my mother’s house. The silhouettes of dancing bodies through the curtains. I can feel the warmth as I watch. I know what lies ahead, behind that door. It’s always the same…An evening of infuriating, mind-numbing conversation. Their naive minds are not interested in the ramblings of the likes of me.

We reach the door.

As I prepare for the hours of mockery and tongue-biting ahead, the door opens and with my wife by my side we both greet her with a smile.

 

Napier.

Transport Edinburgh

I hate getting four buses:

Lothian buses you are such a state

and not worth my one pound fifty at any rate

 

The driver is scowling because he can’t catch a break

While I sit here musing over how to stop myself becoming irate

 

My mum likes to tell me they are great

But that wouldn’t be the case if ‘four buses a day’ was her fate