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"My soul is all an aching void " - John Wesley
DARKNESS
Deep within me there is a void, I know not for certain what it is
what label to give it, what title, what name to file it away and give me peace
It is a pain, an ache, an emptiness, a crevice in my soul
A gap, a crack that goes too deep to leave my psyche whole
It is a wound that will not heal and it keeps me from my goal
I think perhaps that it is hate, it is gone sometimes I think at night
and I take ease just for a while
But it is so sly it takes disguise, it hides away just out of sight
Then from within it spews forth bile
Livid and angry to eat at my soul
It needs a name, a recognisable card
I cannot exorcize it untitled
It has loathing and anger and venomous ire
But I am preparing a funeral pyre to send it onward to eternal peace
I snatch at it, grab it but it twists with ease
away from my grasp
It lays and laughs at the feeble attempt
'Tis stronger than I and overflowing with disdain
it feeds and fattens on my pain
I will defeat it, it will not win
It will not rule me on its whim
I am more powerful, each day I grow
I will overcome it, this I know to be fact
And when I do, no looking back
to tortured times
Then in a flash does the answer appear
A masquerade, veiled, concealed
It is not hate
It is fear
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SISTERS
Walking along Blackpool's promenade, taking advantage of the evening lull
while others had their dinner at the B&B
The two women slowly strolled, set against the myriad bright lights of the evening’s Illuminations
like a pair of dowdy moths drawn to the brightness
One gripping the arm of the other as if to stop her being misplaced
With their busy, blue rinsed hair-do's and clown-rouged faces
and white nylon cardigans, feet bulging over their Dr Scholl's
Like pensioners in uniform
They were, so obviously, sisters, Widows, perhaps, I thought
With their respective husbands laid low
Determined to enjoy themselves at all costs
Even though this place, with its pretentiousness was so foreign to them
By the expression on their faces they could have been machete'ing through the jungle
Disdain could not have been more evident if they were picking off leeches
Instead, they were battling a different type of parasite
Vendors of the tat only found in seaside places
that no right minded individual would want cluttering up their homes
But it's a "Present from the Seaside" so on the mantelshelf it resides
A prominent pointer to working class values
I see them perambulating past me, lost in wonderment of light
and ignorant of the power they wield upon my watchful sight
I look and I watch and I wonder
Does something happen to you on your 60th birthday ?
Does dress sense fly out the window
to be replaced by crimplene skirts
and trousers three inches too short ?
And do you get a guide book with your pension
telling you where to buy these outmoded fashions
that you never see
in Dorothy P's?
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