After reading Linda’s (Granonine) story on Friday-Fictioneers I recalled a piece of poetry I wrote sometime ago, for a specific reason.
Let me know if you enjoyed reading it or otherwise.
Orbiting the Moon. (James McEwan)
Mother stood gazing out of the window As I walked along the gravel garden path. She looked through me as if I was hollow. But I smiled and waved. I saw her laugh.
We sat on the veranda having tea with scones. She asked where I had been all these years, Were you lost in space searching for stones? I can’t remember, she said and wiped her tears.
I passed her the album, pictures of our family. My children as babies then going on to school. Who are these people? I can’t see them clearly, Ah yes, she said, your father. The stubborn fool.
We walked to the park and sat by the lake. She told me she was proud of her beloved son, The first Scots astronaut who promised to take Her sightseeing to the stars and orbit the moon.
Is it time to go? she said and held my hand. I pulled up the blanket to fend off the chill. How long will it take and where shall we land? She rested on my shoulder and slipped away, So peacefully, and silent. Like the sunset sinking behind the hill.
For my contribution to Friday-fiction this week I have made faith my central theme. Adversity strikes us all at the most inappropriate of times, and it is our faith that keeps us going. Faith and trust in ourself, in others and a better world – Smile.
They have come! Carol fidgeted with the cross in her hand.
“Then sings my soul, my saviour God, to thee. How Great Thou Art.”
Surely, they can hear her. “Down here in the basement!”
She watched the crowd of feet; police and medics take away her captor, her abusive and weak-minded cousin. Her keeper.
Carol struggled against the straps in the wheelchair. “Down here in the basement!” She screamed through the gag.
She heard the vehicles drive off; the sudden silence speared her heart.
Carol’s sliver cross fell. “Lord help me today.”
Behind her, the lock turned, the door opened.
It was a dare; we ran naked along the beach.
Months later, the best man embarrassed us. Who told him?
You decorated and choose pictures for our home.
One day you said, “Nothing lasts forever.”
You left and disappeared.
I never liked your taste in art, and I was pleased to dispose of our differences.
But you were wrong.
When I close my eyes, I am with you under the moonlight; swimming.
I dream of us bobbing in the warm water; floating with promises for eternity.
Without your spirit, I flounder in this lonely depth of my dark despairing sea.
The corporation said out. They said no.
An accident? Their charred bodies lay for weeks.
It’s not much. There never was gold in the mine.
It was everything, a chance, just their dream.
What now? It’s impossible to sell.
Then, I’ll evoke their spirits and seek revenge.
I see a lake, hotels, casinos, dance halls, I see roads and an airstrip.
People will come for entertainment and play the games of chance.
I’ll sell them opportunity and aspirations of wealth.
They will come to chase the glitter of fool’s gold.
I will reap the goldmine of hopes and dreams.
When he stopped playing her tune, she threw him out.
‘And take your Steinway,’ she yelled. ‘It clutters up the place.’
For forty years he played on the street corner.
To the delight of commuters who dropped coins into his hat.
He never asked for a penny.
He lived and dreamed for music and to charm happy smiles from weary faces.
The lonely musician crawled under the lid one day, and citizens kept his piano as a memorial.
The passing shoppers can still hear Debussy being played.
Every day, when his wife waters the flowers on the musician’s grave.
Meghan steered the Pickup onto the road and accelerated away.
Last night they had watched the meteorite shower rain across the sky and spoke of romance and the future of the universe. Their future.
John and Jeff insisted a weekend away from all distractions, she had to decide.
She loved them both, but marriage! So insistent – John or Jeff.
Which one, they were both solvent, attractive and ideal, which one?
Didn’t they understand the meaning of a free spirit?
She buried her feelings with them beneath the tepee. Soul mates for ever.
Meghan sped away, free at last.
The remains in the burned-out shed were impossible to identify, so DCI MacLeod employed Mystical Egandor to investigate.
Egandor set up his past generator, a mirror he called Visionar, at the scene. He had to thump it to make it work, it shuddered in protest but eventually the past shed reflected in the glass.
Egandor fell asleep waiting and when he woke saw the reflection had disappeared, he thumped Visionar. Nothing.
He turned and saw the intact shed in the garden, confused, he opened the door and went inside.
Visionar shimmered and reflected a sunbeam to set the shed ablaze.
George, the transporter is landing.
Will I miss this place?
We did our best George, we must start over, a new beginning.
I feel a failure; all the destruction and greed.
Oh, George, remember the woolly mammoth.
Downhill since then. Where did we go wrong?
We gave them dreams and intelligence. Our experiment had potential.
Yes, we did very well, but should we just abandon them?
It’s too late, they are out of control; a self-consuming infestation.
George, the bag?
Yes, all human goodness, fully packed.
Think of our next creation; “Mensch”.
A perfect ideal; the Trappist Zone is ready.