Childhood

A Fear of Flying

A Fear of Flying

First Violin

First Violin

it was a thing of beauty.
your face a picture, as you
opened the case and saw it
for the first time
laid in red silk, fairy lights reflecting
on polished maple, resin overpowering pine.

we laughed as you battled
with the chinrest, trying to
breathe new life
into aged strings.

we cried at your early renditions
of “cat dragged across a blackboard.”

you persevered.

Sunday mornings
became the Royal Festival Hall.
Mutter, Neveu, Handel
graffiti on your bedroom wall.
until youth’s folly led you away,
the violin put to rest again.

sometimes i still sneak
into your cupboard
opening the case, listening
to the songs you left behind –
amongst disturbed dust.

© Davy D 2017

Telescope

Telescope

a child’s eye gazes
into a vast Universe
wondering what lay beyond.

between stars
thoughts of eternity
and a churning stomach
repel sleep.

mortality sows its seed,
still seeming far away.

in time’s blink
it returns to the doorstep,
reminding of now
and life’s remaining flavour.

with moments left,
the child dives
back into darkness
searching, for remnants
of a last hope.

© Davy D 2017

Haiku in Winter

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Picture Credit: Carsten Huels

How did that happen?

It only seemed a moment ago, when I was walking through decaying leaves and pondering the poetic joys of Autumn when Winter arrives.

Here in the UK we have had a colder start to Winter than in past years. Temperatures have reached minus 9 degrees centigrade, in some areas, and snow has fallen in the North of England. It looks like a cold one and I’m happy, as I can hibernate in the poetry den for three months and get ahead with the poetry and writing.

Winter has provided the inspiration for many poets and poems and haiku is a genre of poetry where the theme of Winter is prominent. I have been reading a lot of haiku recently and there are perfect examples of haiku both, traditional and modern, inspired by the winter months.

Three of the masters of the haiku tradition Bashō, Buson and Issa all took inspiration from Winter and reading their work takes you to the heart and moment of the season. This haiku by Bashō (translated by Robert Hass) provides a perfect example.

Winter solitude-
in a world of one colour
the sound of wind.

From a more modern perspective Ruth Yarrow’s haiku captures the childhood joy that

Hurt

hurt

Written for November Notes, hosted by Rosema at A Reading Writer and Sarah at Heartstring Eulogies.

Day 28 Music Prompt: Look After You by The Fray.

november-notes

Goalposts

goalposts

Written for November Notes hosted by Rosema at A Reading Writer and Sarah at Heartstring Eulogies.

Day 21 Music Prompt: Recreational by Aaron Krause.

november-notes

Yugto

Yugto

For the Word-High July Prompts of Filipino Words hosted by A Reading Writer.

Yugto – (n.) A fundamental transition or development of a story or phenomenon.

Winter

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She came last night; it had been a while.
I missed her at first, too busy fighting
Zombies and saving the world.

Her calling card of white blankets and
Grey sky fired the child in me.
Visions of snowball fights
And snowmen drew me outside.

Her icy breath welcomed me, burning
My throat and nostrils, silencing
Those in her presence.

She pulled me to the floor,
My arms and legs jerked in joy.
We played for hours, caressing,
Sliding, cavorting, until her
Burning touch forced me away.

Green pools appeared on her silken dress.
She started to withdraw.
Frantic, I grabbed what remained.
I hope she returns soon.

Harper Lee: my Christmas in New York | Books | The Guardian

One midwinter in 1950s New York, Harper Lee went to stay with friends. Little did she know she was about to be given the gift of a lifetime…

Source: Harper Lee: my Christmas in New York | Books | The Guardian

An excellent short story for Christmas from Harper Lee.

I recently wrote a post after re-reading her classic To Kill A Mockingbird. In short, it looked at how our brain selects and deletes certain memories.

This story evoked a particular memory of a childhood Christmas in 1970, when I received my greatest ever present, the  1970 World Cup Subbuteo football game, including real working floodlights.

Not quite the gift of a lifetime, but one that would have a prominent influence on me for future years.

Alien Childhood

Phew! that’s the first exercise completed.

The brief was to make notes of a dream, and re-write them so that each phrase is placed on a new line.

For some reason dreams never seem to stick in my memory so I wrote about a recurring dream I had as a child. In summary, the dream involved confronting aliens on the upstairs landing of my childhood home. The only way to escape from them was to jump from the top stair down. I never ever reached the bottom of the stairs, going into free-fall until the moment I suddenly woke up.

After redrafting the piece three times, I have ended up with the following;