Talking Dog first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 30th 2010
“Come on, get up you lazy git!”
I can hear the voice but I must be dreaming it, I really must stop drinking before I go to bed!
“Look, come on, we have important business today”.
I open my eyes, roll over as if to get out of bed, it’s then that I notice my Jack Russell dog sitting on my briefcase. He has an odd look to him but then, like me, he is not a morning lover.
“Will you hurry up, you need to have a shower before we go”.
Now I am looking him square in the muzzle! He sits on the briefcase looking at me as if what he was saying; doing, was the most normal thing for a five year old Jack Russell to do, which is tell his master to get out of bed and get in the shower.
“Jeez, it’s early!” I mutter under my breath as I look at the alarm clock “I’m not getting up just yet”.
“You won’t be going to work today mate! We have important business to attend to. Get in that shower, NOW!”
“Are you really talking to me?”
I’m now beginning to understand this dream, talk to my dog and I’ll wake up with the alarm going and things will be just fine.
“Yes, I am really talking to you and no this is not a dream. Get in that shower”
I see the dogs jaws move as the words come forth. What the hell?
I get up anyway, I might as well follow the dream and see where it takes me. I go to the bathroom and get showered.
As I get dressed, my Jack Russell comes trotting into the bedroom, he has his brush in his mouth. I know in real life there is no way he can get to his brush so now I know I can safely follow this through and wake up in what is my rather humdrum reality in due course.
“Brush me, I need to look my best as well you know”.
“This is a first, you hate getting brushed”.
I am really up for this dream now and wondering where it is going to take me.
I brush the dog, finish getting dressed and stand starring into the wall mirror admiring this odd looking pair smiling back at me. Yes the dog seems to be smiling.
“As I’m not going to work today, where are we going?” I ask
“You are taking me for a walk down the park”
“Which park?” There are three parks within easy walking distance of my flat, all of which I walk my dog in regularly
“The one with the stream”
We walk the mile and a bit to the park. It is a lot earlier than I would normally take him for a walk. In fact we see no one apart from a milkman doing his rounds.
“Now what”? I ask
“You’ll see”
I start to walk by the stream as I often do when we come to this park when I hear a dog barking. I look up to see my dog running towards another Jack Russell, in the distance I can see another walker who I assume is the other dogs owner.
I watch the two dogs play, my dog never plays but he is behaving like a puppy with this strange, new dog.
“Hello” I hear a soft female voice behind me. It is the other dog walker.
“Good morning” I reply
“My dog woke me and spoke to me this morning” The lady dog walker looked as confused as I had felt an hour ago.
“So did mine but I know this is a dream and I’ll soon wake up” I say, trying to sound convincing, the dream like state is not feeling quite so comfortable now, In fact I begin to wish that I am not dreaming at all.
“What did your dog say to you?”
“He said we had important business to attend to” I reply
“So did mine”
I look into the ladies eyes as she looked into mine.
The dogs come running towards us, still playing and tumbling as they arrive at our feet. My dog looks up at me and says
“I told you we both had important business this morning”
©Trevor Litchfield
Friday 31 December 2010
Talking Dog
Talking Dog first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 30th 2010
“Come on, get up you lazy git!”
I can hear the voice but I must be dreaming it, I really must stop drinking before I go to bed!
“Look, come on, we have important business today”.
I open my eyes, roll over as if to get out of bed, it’s then that I notice my Jack Russell dog sitting on my briefcase. He has an odd look to him but then, like me, he is not a morning lover.
“Will you hurry up, you need to have a shower before we go”.
Now I am looking him square in the muzzle! He sits on the briefcase looking at me as if what he was saying; doing, was the most normal thing for a five year old Jack Russell to do, which is tell his master to get out of bed and get in the shower.
“Jeez, it’s early!” I mutter under my breath as I look at the alarm clock “I’m not getting up just yet”.
“You won’t be going to work today mate! We have important business to attend to. Get in that shower, NOW!”
“Are you really talking to me?”
I’m now beginning to understand this dream, talk to my dog and I’ll wake up with the alarm going and things will be just fine.
“Yes, I am really talking to you and no this is not a dream. Get in that shower”
I see the dogs jaws move as the words come forth. What the hell?
I get up anyway, I might as well follow the dream and see where it takes me. I go to the bathroom and get showered.
As I get dressed, my Jack Russell comes trotting into the bedroom, he has his brush in his mouth. I know in real life there is no way he can get to his brush so now I know I can safely follow this through and wake up in what is my rather humdrum reality in due course.
“Brush me, I need to look my best as well you know”.
“This is a first, you hate getting brushed”.
I am really up for this dream now and wondering where it is going to take me.
I brush the dog, finish getting dressed and stand starring into the wall mirror admiring this odd looking pair smiling back at me. Yes the dog seems to be smiling.
“As I’m not going to work today, where are we going?” I ask
“You are taking me for a walk down the park”
“Which park?” There are three parks within easy walking distance of my flat, all of which I walk my dog in regularly
“The one with the stream”
We walk the mile and a bit to the park. It is a lot earlier than I would normally take him for a walk. In fact we see no one apart from a milkman doing his rounds.
“Now what”? I ask
“You’ll see”
I start to walk by the stream as I often do when we come to this park when I hear a dog barking. I look up to see my dog running towards another Jack Russell, in the distance I can see another walker who I assume is the other dogs owner.
I watch the two dogs play, my dog never plays but he is behaving like a puppy with this strange, new dog.
“Hello” I hear a soft female voice behind me. It is the other dog walker.
“Good morning” I reply
“My dog woke me and spoke to me this morning” The lady dog walker looked as confused as I had felt an hour ago.
“So did mine but I know this is a dream and I’ll soon wake up” I say, trying to sound convincing, the dream like state is not feeling quite so comfortable now, In fact I begin to wish that I am not dreaming at all.
“What did your dog say to you?”
“He said we had important business to attend to” I reply
“So did mine”
I look into the ladies eyes as she looked into mine.
The dogs come running towards us, still playing and tumbling as they arrive at our feet. My dog looks up at me and says
“I told you we both had important business this morning”
©Trevor Litchfield
“Come on, get up you lazy git!”
I can hear the voice but I must be dreaming it, I really must stop drinking before I go to bed!
“Look, come on, we have important business today”.
I open my eyes, roll over as if to get out of bed, it’s then that I notice my Jack Russell dog sitting on my briefcase. He has an odd look to him but then, like me, he is not a morning lover.
“Will you hurry up, you need to have a shower before we go”.
Now I am looking him square in the muzzle! He sits on the briefcase looking at me as if what he was saying; doing, was the most normal thing for a five year old Jack Russell to do, which is tell his master to get out of bed and get in the shower.
“Jeez, it’s early!” I mutter under my breath as I look at the alarm clock “I’m not getting up just yet”.
“You won’t be going to work today mate! We have important business to attend to. Get in that shower, NOW!”
“Are you really talking to me?”
I’m now beginning to understand this dream, talk to my dog and I’ll wake up with the alarm going and things will be just fine.
“Yes, I am really talking to you and no this is not a dream. Get in that shower”
I see the dogs jaws move as the words come forth. What the hell?
I get up anyway, I might as well follow the dream and see where it takes me. I go to the bathroom and get showered.
As I get dressed, my Jack Russell comes trotting into the bedroom, he has his brush in his mouth. I know in real life there is no way he can get to his brush so now I know I can safely follow this through and wake up in what is my rather humdrum reality in due course.
“Brush me, I need to look my best as well you know”.
“This is a first, you hate getting brushed”.
I am really up for this dream now and wondering where it is going to take me.
I brush the dog, finish getting dressed and stand starring into the wall mirror admiring this odd looking pair smiling back at me. Yes the dog seems to be smiling.
“As I’m not going to work today, where are we going?” I ask
“You are taking me for a walk down the park”
“Which park?” There are three parks within easy walking distance of my flat, all of which I walk my dog in regularly
“The one with the stream”
We walk the mile and a bit to the park. It is a lot earlier than I would normally take him for a walk. In fact we see no one apart from a milkman doing his rounds.
“Now what”? I ask
“You’ll see”
I start to walk by the stream as I often do when we come to this park when I hear a dog barking. I look up to see my dog running towards another Jack Russell, in the distance I can see another walker who I assume is the other dogs owner.
I watch the two dogs play, my dog never plays but he is behaving like a puppy with this strange, new dog.
“Hello” I hear a soft female voice behind me. It is the other dog walker.
“Good morning” I reply
“My dog woke me and spoke to me this morning” The lady dog walker looked as confused as I had felt an hour ago.
“So did mine but I know this is a dream and I’ll soon wake up” I say, trying to sound convincing, the dream like state is not feeling quite so comfortable now, In fact I begin to wish that I am not dreaming at all.
“What did your dog say to you?”
“He said we had important business to attend to” I reply
“So did mine”
I look into the ladies eyes as she looked into mine.
The dogs come running towards us, still playing and tumbling as they arrive at our feet. My dog looks up at me and says
“I told you we both had important business this morning”
©Trevor Litchfield
Meet me tonight at Guido’s
Meet me tonight at Guido’s first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 26th 2010
It has been a week now since Derek passed on and I think I am finally getting over the loss. Derek was without doubt my best friend, we had grown up together, gone through school together, we both supported the same football team, we liked the same music We had done just about everything together, I missed him terribly!
Today had been my first day back at work, my wife had said that it would help and, as always, she was right. Catching up on everything in my office had taken most of my day and concentration. I was now tired and ready for the journey home while I sat looking out of the office window and waited out the last five minutes before it was time to leave the office. It felt good to be getting some semblance of life back again.
I heard my door open but took little notice as I knew it would be my secretary letting me know that she was leaving for the day. Instead she came to me and handed me a small UPS package, then informed me she was going.
It was the usual sort of package, I receive several during the course of the day. They normally contain paperwork relating to one contract or another that I oversee from this office. I ripped the tag and expected to find the usual papers or drawings held within. All I found was a postcard that had a photo of Bury St Edmunds Abbey on the front. I turned it over, curious to see who it was from. I nearly fell off my chair when I read the short handwritten message on the reverse.
“I’m not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido’s Pizzeria. Tell no one. Derek”
I sat totally stunned staring at the writing. It was Derek’s handwriting alright, he had an unmistakeable scrawl that I think only we could decipher, even then, I struggled sometimes. I read the words again then noticed that no time was stated. Did this mean he would be there now, or did he intend to be there at what would have been our usual time to meet at Guido’s? We only ever met there on Thursday evenings around 9pm after we had been in the snooker hall for a couple of hours and the girls had attended their yoga class.
It was 5pm and I had decided to walk across town to Guido’s right now. It would only take about fifteen minutes. Driving across town, then finding somewhere to park could take at least an hour plus the walk might help me clear my head a bit.
What the hell was going on?
I arrived at the pizzeria to find it almost empty. Well it was Monday evening and most people were either on their way home or still thinking about leaving off work and then making their journey home through the evening commuter traffic. The walk had done little to ease my mind, in fact I had a hundred thoughts racing through my head at the same time, a bit like the commuter traffic on the motorway.
I entered the eatery, I knew at this time of the evening they would be happy serve me just a coffee, so I ordered and took a table near the back wall, out of sight from the door and with only slight views from the big windowed front of the pizzeria. I sat searching the few faces in Guido’s for Derek but I didn’t recognise anyone seated at the other tables, like me, they sat sipping from coffee mugs perhaps waiting for the rush hour to subside a little before making their journey home or perhaps waiting for their meal to arrive.
Guido’s was a popular haunt both day and night for the office workers in the city. Guido, real name David, had once worked the offices selling sandwiches or pies and other lunchtime treats and had finally built up enough savings to live his dream. Though Guido’s was not the best decorated or refined establishment to eat, it did have David. He had made many friends whilst doing his rounds as a sandwich boy and in return they all stopped by to support him, even if it was only for a coffee at the end of the day.
My coffee was brought to me by Guido himself, he then sat and looked at me.
“Did you receive a postcard?”
I again almost jumped off my chair
“Yes, what the hell is all this about?”
“I Dunno, I got one about an hour ago. It just said look for you when you turned up.”
“Here I am” I stared Guido straight in the eyes hoping for something to explain away these fears in my head.
“So, what did yours say?” asked Guido.
“Just that I should come here and that Derek wasn’t dead. It was in Derek’s handwriting so he either wrote it before his death or he is now on his way here. God knows…..” I stumbled to the end of the sentence, feeling at a total loss.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ve no idea” I replied “This is all too much for me to take in”
We both sat in silence, me sipping my coffee, Guido staring at the floor. There was nothing else we could say to each other.
Time passed, my coffee disappeared and I was thinking that I should either phone my wife or get out of here and start making my way home when the door opened and in walked Derek as full of life as I had ever seen him.
I did not know what to do or say, it was only four days ago that me and everyone else that knew Derek had been to his funeral, now here he was as bold as brass, walking towards me and Guido.
“Evening chaps, coffee please Guido”
Derek spoke as if this was simply another quick get together after work to plan some surprise day out that we sometimes sprung on the girls. They loved these surprises of course but today was more than a bit different.
Derek sat where Guido had left, he looked straight at me and said
“Well, that’s me then”
“That’s you what? What the hell is going on?” I was full of questions but this was all I could say.
“I had to do it this way, otherwise I’ll be a gaol bird for the rest of my life”
“What are you talking about?”
“I set it all up, Angie knows and is already on her way out of the country. Do you and Bev want to join us? Then we could talk about this to our hearts content. I have tickets for you here.” He handed me a paper pouch with two flight tickets to Singapore tucked inside with mine and my wife’s names on the tickets.
Derek’s coffee arrived, Guido sat down again
“I dunno” I replied
“The flight leaves in the morning and I can’t change them. This is a one time offer”
Derek sipped his coffee
“I fly later tonight via Amsterdam and Berlin, you fly direct in the morning, if you decide to come I’ll meet you at the airport”
“But how will you know? what…….”
“Just decide!”
Guido looked puzzled at me, then at Derek
“Guido, can you do me a small favour?” said Derek
“Yes of course”
“Can you put flowers on my grave once a year, or at least have some sent?”
“Yes but why, your not dead?”
“ Don’t ask, will you do it? I’ll make sure it won’t cost you anything”
“OK” Guido looked more confused than I felt.
“Right gents, time to go” Derek handed me a folded piece of paper and stood up to leave.
“You can contact me on this number for the next hour, talk to Bev now. I’m going.” He took my hand, pulled me out of my seat and gave me the biggest hug I’d ever received from him.
“I have to go” and he departed our table and walked out of the door without looking back.
So, here I sit overlooking a beautiful beach somewhere on the coast north of Mombasa; with a very cool refreshing drink by my laptop as I fill you in on some of the finer details. Seems Derek had been doing some monkey business at the bank he worked at. He had squirrelled away a vast fortune in a little under eight months, faked his death and had gone on the run. After a quick phone call to Bev, my wife, who said “What the hell, let’s do it”, I called the number Derek had given me and he answered and said we might have to ‘hop’ around a bit but life could be really good if we wanted it to be. We caught that flight to Singapore.
On our arrival there was someone holding a board with our names on it. We approached him, identified ourselves and he gave us an envelope. Inside were two more flight tickets, this time to Mombasa in Kenya and a thick wad of 100 US dollars notes along with a note saying “Sorry, not able to meet you personally but here’s some joy money. More where that came from. See you soon. Derek”
©Trevor Litchfield
It has been a week now since Derek passed on and I think I am finally getting over the loss. Derek was without doubt my best friend, we had grown up together, gone through school together, we both supported the same football team, we liked the same music We had done just about everything together, I missed him terribly!
Today had been my first day back at work, my wife had said that it would help and, as always, she was right. Catching up on everything in my office had taken most of my day and concentration. I was now tired and ready for the journey home while I sat looking out of the office window and waited out the last five minutes before it was time to leave the office. It felt good to be getting some semblance of life back again.
I heard my door open but took little notice as I knew it would be my secretary letting me know that she was leaving for the day. Instead she came to me and handed me a small UPS package, then informed me she was going.
It was the usual sort of package, I receive several during the course of the day. They normally contain paperwork relating to one contract or another that I oversee from this office. I ripped the tag and expected to find the usual papers or drawings held within. All I found was a postcard that had a photo of Bury St Edmunds Abbey on the front. I turned it over, curious to see who it was from. I nearly fell off my chair when I read the short handwritten message on the reverse.
“I’m not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido’s Pizzeria. Tell no one. Derek”
I sat totally stunned staring at the writing. It was Derek’s handwriting alright, he had an unmistakeable scrawl that I think only we could decipher, even then, I struggled sometimes. I read the words again then noticed that no time was stated. Did this mean he would be there now, or did he intend to be there at what would have been our usual time to meet at Guido’s? We only ever met there on Thursday evenings around 9pm after we had been in the snooker hall for a couple of hours and the girls had attended their yoga class.
It was 5pm and I had decided to walk across town to Guido’s right now. It would only take about fifteen minutes. Driving across town, then finding somewhere to park could take at least an hour plus the walk might help me clear my head a bit.
What the hell was going on?
I arrived at the pizzeria to find it almost empty. Well it was Monday evening and most people were either on their way home or still thinking about leaving off work and then making their journey home through the evening commuter traffic. The walk had done little to ease my mind, in fact I had a hundred thoughts racing through my head at the same time, a bit like the commuter traffic on the motorway.
I entered the eatery, I knew at this time of the evening they would be happy serve me just a coffee, so I ordered and took a table near the back wall, out of sight from the door and with only slight views from the big windowed front of the pizzeria. I sat searching the few faces in Guido’s for Derek but I didn’t recognise anyone seated at the other tables, like me, they sat sipping from coffee mugs perhaps waiting for the rush hour to subside a little before making their journey home or perhaps waiting for their meal to arrive.
Guido’s was a popular haunt both day and night for the office workers in the city. Guido, real name David, had once worked the offices selling sandwiches or pies and other lunchtime treats and had finally built up enough savings to live his dream. Though Guido’s was not the best decorated or refined establishment to eat, it did have David. He had made many friends whilst doing his rounds as a sandwich boy and in return they all stopped by to support him, even if it was only for a coffee at the end of the day.
My coffee was brought to me by Guido himself, he then sat and looked at me.
“Did you receive a postcard?”
I again almost jumped off my chair
“Yes, what the hell is all this about?”
“I Dunno, I got one about an hour ago. It just said look for you when you turned up.”
“Here I am” I stared Guido straight in the eyes hoping for something to explain away these fears in my head.
“So, what did yours say?” asked Guido.
“Just that I should come here and that Derek wasn’t dead. It was in Derek’s handwriting so he either wrote it before his death or he is now on his way here. God knows…..” I stumbled to the end of the sentence, feeling at a total loss.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ve no idea” I replied “This is all too much for me to take in”
We both sat in silence, me sipping my coffee, Guido staring at the floor. There was nothing else we could say to each other.
Time passed, my coffee disappeared and I was thinking that I should either phone my wife or get out of here and start making my way home when the door opened and in walked Derek as full of life as I had ever seen him.
I did not know what to do or say, it was only four days ago that me and everyone else that knew Derek had been to his funeral, now here he was as bold as brass, walking towards me and Guido.
“Evening chaps, coffee please Guido”
Derek spoke as if this was simply another quick get together after work to plan some surprise day out that we sometimes sprung on the girls. They loved these surprises of course but today was more than a bit different.
Derek sat where Guido had left, he looked straight at me and said
“Well, that’s me then”
“That’s you what? What the hell is going on?” I was full of questions but this was all I could say.
“I had to do it this way, otherwise I’ll be a gaol bird for the rest of my life”
“What are you talking about?”
“I set it all up, Angie knows and is already on her way out of the country. Do you and Bev want to join us? Then we could talk about this to our hearts content. I have tickets for you here.” He handed me a paper pouch with two flight tickets to Singapore tucked inside with mine and my wife’s names on the tickets.
Derek’s coffee arrived, Guido sat down again
“I dunno” I replied
“The flight leaves in the morning and I can’t change them. This is a one time offer”
Derek sipped his coffee
“I fly later tonight via Amsterdam and Berlin, you fly direct in the morning, if you decide to come I’ll meet you at the airport”
“But how will you know? what…….”
“Just decide!”
Guido looked puzzled at me, then at Derek
“Guido, can you do me a small favour?” said Derek
“Yes of course”
“Can you put flowers on my grave once a year, or at least have some sent?”
“Yes but why, your not dead?”
“ Don’t ask, will you do it? I’ll make sure it won’t cost you anything”
“OK” Guido looked more confused than I felt.
“Right gents, time to go” Derek handed me a folded piece of paper and stood up to leave.
“You can contact me on this number for the next hour, talk to Bev now. I’m going.” He took my hand, pulled me out of my seat and gave me the biggest hug I’d ever received from him.
“I have to go” and he departed our table and walked out of the door without looking back.
So, here I sit overlooking a beautiful beach somewhere on the coast north of Mombasa; with a very cool refreshing drink by my laptop as I fill you in on some of the finer details. Seems Derek had been doing some monkey business at the bank he worked at. He had squirrelled away a vast fortune in a little under eight months, faked his death and had gone on the run. After a quick phone call to Bev, my wife, who said “What the hell, let’s do it”, I called the number Derek had given me and he answered and said we might have to ‘hop’ around a bit but life could be really good if we wanted it to be. We caught that flight to Singapore.
On our arrival there was someone holding a board with our names on it. We approached him, identified ourselves and he gave us an envelope. Inside were two more flight tickets, this time to Mombasa in Kenya and a thick wad of 100 US dollars notes along with a note saying “Sorry, not able to meet you personally but here’s some joy money. More where that came from. See you soon. Derek”
©Trevor Litchfield
Meet me tonight at Guido’s
Meet me tonight at Guido’s first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 26th 2010
It has been a week now since Derek passed on and I think I am finally getting over the loss. Derek was without doubt my best friend, we had grown up together, gone through school together, we both supported the same football team, we liked the same music We had done just about everything together, I missed him terribly!
Today had been my first day back at work, my wife had said that it would help and, as always, she was right. Catching up on everything in my office had taken most of my day and concentration. I was now tired and ready for the journey home while I sat looking out of the office window and waited out the last five minutes before it was time to leave the office. It felt good to be getting some semblance of life back again.
I heard my door open but took little notice as I knew it would be my secretary letting me know that she was leaving for the day. Instead she came to me and handed me a small UPS package, then informed me she was going.
It was the usual sort of package, I receive several during the course of the day. They normally contain paperwork relating to one contract or another that I oversee from this office. I ripped the tag and expected to find the usual papers or drawings held within. All I found was a postcard that had a photo of Bury St Edmunds Abbey on the front. I turned it over, curious to see who it was from. I nearly fell off my chair when I read the short handwritten message on the reverse.
“I’m not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido’s Pizzeria. Tell no one. Derek”
I sat totally stunned staring at the writing. It was Derek’s handwriting alright, he had an unmistakeable scrawl that I think only we could decipher, even then, I struggled sometimes. I read the words again then noticed that no time was stated. Did this mean he would be there now, or did he intend to be there at what would have been our usual time to meet at Guido’s? We only ever met there on Thursday evenings around 9pm after we had been in the snooker hall for a couple of hours and the girls had attended their yoga class.
It was 5pm and I had decided to walk across town to Guido’s right now. It would only take about fifteen minutes. Driving across town, then finding somewhere to park could take at least an hour plus the walk might help me clear my head a bit.
What the hell was going on?
I arrived at the pizzeria to find it almost empty. Well it was Monday evening and most people were either on their way home or still thinking about leaving off work and then making their journey home through the evening commuter traffic. The walk had done little to ease my mind, in fact I had a hundred thoughts racing through my head at the same time, a bit like the commuter traffic on the motorway.
I entered the eatery, I knew at this time of the evening they would be happy serve me just a coffee, so I ordered and took a table near the back wall, out of sight from the door and with only slight views from the big windowed front of the pizzeria. I sat searching the few faces in Guido’s for Derek but I didn’t recognise anyone seated at the other tables, like me, they sat sipping from coffee mugs perhaps waiting for the rush hour to subside a little before making their journey home or perhaps waiting for their meal to arrive.
Guido’s was a popular haunt both day and night for the office workers in the city. Guido, real name David, had once worked the offices selling sandwiches or pies and other lunchtime treats and had finally built up enough savings to live his dream. Though Guido’s was not the best decorated or refined establishment to eat, it did have David. He had made many friends whilst doing his rounds as a sandwich boy and in return they all stopped by to support him, even if it was only for a coffee at the end of the day.
My coffee was brought to me by Guido himself, he then sat and looked at me.
“Did you receive a postcard?”
I again almost jumped off my chair
“Yes, what the hell is all this about?”
“I Dunno, I got one about an hour ago. It just said look for you when you turned up.”
“Here I am” I stared Guido straight in the eyes hoping for something to explain away these fears in my head.
“So, what did yours say?” asked Guido.
“Just that I should come here and that Derek wasn’t dead. It was in Derek’s handwriting so he either wrote it before his death or he is now on his way here. God knows…..” I stumbled to the end of the sentence, feeling at a total loss.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ve no idea” I replied “This is all too much for me to take in”
We both sat in silence, me sipping my coffee, Guido staring at the floor. There was nothing else we could say to each other.
Time passed, my coffee disappeared and I was thinking that I should either phone my wife or get out of here and start making my way home when the door opened and in walked Derek as full of life as I had ever seen him.
I did not know what to do or say, it was only four days ago that me and everyone else that knew Derek had been to his funeral, now here he was as bold as brass, walking towards me and Guido.
“Evening chaps, coffee please Guido”
Derek spoke as if this was simply another quick get together after work to plan some surprise day out that we sometimes sprung on the girls. They loved these surprises of course but today was more than a bit different.
Derek sat where Guido had left, he looked straight at me and said
“Well, that’s me then”
“That’s you what? What the hell is going on?” I was full of questions but this was all I could say.
“I had to do it this way, otherwise I’ll be a gaol bird for the rest of my life”
“What are you talking about?”
“I set it all up, Angie knows and is already on her way out of the country. Do you and Bev want to join us? Then we could talk about this to our hearts content. I have tickets for you here.” He handed me a paper pouch with two flight tickets to Singapore tucked inside with mine and my wife’s names on the tickets.
Derek’s coffee arrived, Guido sat down again
“I dunno” I replied
“The flight leaves in the morning and I can’t change them. This is a one time offer”
Derek sipped his coffee
“I fly later tonight via Amsterdam and Berlin, you fly direct in the morning, if you decide to come I’ll meet you at the airport”
“But how will you know? what…….”
“Just decide!”
Guido looked puzzled at me, then at Derek
“Guido, can you do me a small favour?” said Derek
“Yes of course”
“Can you put flowers on my grave once a year, or at least have some sent?”
“Yes but why, your not dead?”
“ Don’t ask, will you do it? I’ll make sure it won’t cost you anything”
“OK” Guido looked more confused than I felt.
“Right gents, time to go” Derek handed me a folded piece of paper and stood up to leave.
“You can contact me on this number for the next hour, talk to Bev now. I’m going.” He took my hand, pulled me out of my seat and gave me the biggest hug I’d ever received from him.
“I have to go” and he departed our table and walked out of the door without looking back.
So, here I sit overlooking a beautiful beach somewhere on the coast north of Mombasa; with a very cool refreshing drink by my laptop as I fill you in on some of the finer details. Seems Derek had been doing some monkey business at the bank he worked at. He had squirrelled away a vast fortune in a little under eight months, faked his death and had gone on the run. After a quick phone call to Bev, my wife, who said “What the hell, let’s do it”, I called the number Derek had given me and he answered and said we might have to ‘hop’ around a bit but life could be really good if we wanted it to be. We caught that flight to Singapore.
On our arrival there was someone holding a board with our names on it. We approached him, identified ourselves and he gave us an envelope. Inside were two more flight tickets, this time to Mombasa in Kenya and a thick wad of 100 US dollars notes along with a note saying “Sorry, not able to meet you personally but here’s some joy money. More where that came from. See you soon. Derek”
©Trevor Litchfield
It has been a week now since Derek passed on and I think I am finally getting over the loss. Derek was without doubt my best friend, we had grown up together, gone through school together, we both supported the same football team, we liked the same music We had done just about everything together, I missed him terribly!
Today had been my first day back at work, my wife had said that it would help and, as always, she was right. Catching up on everything in my office had taken most of my day and concentration. I was now tired and ready for the journey home while I sat looking out of the office window and waited out the last five minutes before it was time to leave the office. It felt good to be getting some semblance of life back again.
I heard my door open but took little notice as I knew it would be my secretary letting me know that she was leaving for the day. Instead she came to me and handed me a small UPS package, then informed me she was going.
It was the usual sort of package, I receive several during the course of the day. They normally contain paperwork relating to one contract or another that I oversee from this office. I ripped the tag and expected to find the usual papers or drawings held within. All I found was a postcard that had a photo of Bury St Edmunds Abbey on the front. I turned it over, curious to see who it was from. I nearly fell off my chair when I read the short handwritten message on the reverse.
“I’m not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido’s Pizzeria. Tell no one. Derek”
I sat totally stunned staring at the writing. It was Derek’s handwriting alright, he had an unmistakeable scrawl that I think only we could decipher, even then, I struggled sometimes. I read the words again then noticed that no time was stated. Did this mean he would be there now, or did he intend to be there at what would have been our usual time to meet at Guido’s? We only ever met there on Thursday evenings around 9pm after we had been in the snooker hall for a couple of hours and the girls had attended their yoga class.
It was 5pm and I had decided to walk across town to Guido’s right now. It would only take about fifteen minutes. Driving across town, then finding somewhere to park could take at least an hour plus the walk might help me clear my head a bit.
What the hell was going on?
I arrived at the pizzeria to find it almost empty. Well it was Monday evening and most people were either on their way home or still thinking about leaving off work and then making their journey home through the evening commuter traffic. The walk had done little to ease my mind, in fact I had a hundred thoughts racing through my head at the same time, a bit like the commuter traffic on the motorway.
I entered the eatery, I knew at this time of the evening they would be happy serve me just a coffee, so I ordered and took a table near the back wall, out of sight from the door and with only slight views from the big windowed front of the pizzeria. I sat searching the few faces in Guido’s for Derek but I didn’t recognise anyone seated at the other tables, like me, they sat sipping from coffee mugs perhaps waiting for the rush hour to subside a little before making their journey home or perhaps waiting for their meal to arrive.
Guido’s was a popular haunt both day and night for the office workers in the city. Guido, real name David, had once worked the offices selling sandwiches or pies and other lunchtime treats and had finally built up enough savings to live his dream. Though Guido’s was not the best decorated or refined establishment to eat, it did have David. He had made many friends whilst doing his rounds as a sandwich boy and in return they all stopped by to support him, even if it was only for a coffee at the end of the day.
My coffee was brought to me by Guido himself, he then sat and looked at me.
“Did you receive a postcard?”
I again almost jumped off my chair
“Yes, what the hell is all this about?”
“I Dunno, I got one about an hour ago. It just said look for you when you turned up.”
“Here I am” I stared Guido straight in the eyes hoping for something to explain away these fears in my head.
“So, what did yours say?” asked Guido.
“Just that I should come here and that Derek wasn’t dead. It was in Derek’s handwriting so he either wrote it before his death or he is now on his way here. God knows…..” I stumbled to the end of the sentence, feeling at a total loss.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ve no idea” I replied “This is all too much for me to take in”
We both sat in silence, me sipping my coffee, Guido staring at the floor. There was nothing else we could say to each other.
Time passed, my coffee disappeared and I was thinking that I should either phone my wife or get out of here and start making my way home when the door opened and in walked Derek as full of life as I had ever seen him.
I did not know what to do or say, it was only four days ago that me and everyone else that knew Derek had been to his funeral, now here he was as bold as brass, walking towards me and Guido.
“Evening chaps, coffee please Guido”
Derek spoke as if this was simply another quick get together after work to plan some surprise day out that we sometimes sprung on the girls. They loved these surprises of course but today was more than a bit different.
Derek sat where Guido had left, he looked straight at me and said
“Well, that’s me then”
“That’s you what? What the hell is going on?” I was full of questions but this was all I could say.
“I had to do it this way, otherwise I’ll be a gaol bird for the rest of my life”
“What are you talking about?”
“I set it all up, Angie knows and is already on her way out of the country. Do you and Bev want to join us? Then we could talk about this to our hearts content. I have tickets for you here.” He handed me a paper pouch with two flight tickets to Singapore tucked inside with mine and my wife’s names on the tickets.
Derek’s coffee arrived, Guido sat down again
“I dunno” I replied
“The flight leaves in the morning and I can’t change them. This is a one time offer”
Derek sipped his coffee
“I fly later tonight via Amsterdam and Berlin, you fly direct in the morning, if you decide to come I’ll meet you at the airport”
“But how will you know? what…….”
“Just decide!”
Guido looked puzzled at me, then at Derek
“Guido, can you do me a small favour?” said Derek
“Yes of course”
“Can you put flowers on my grave once a year, or at least have some sent?”
“Yes but why, your not dead?”
“ Don’t ask, will you do it? I’ll make sure it won’t cost you anything”
“OK” Guido looked more confused than I felt.
“Right gents, time to go” Derek handed me a folded piece of paper and stood up to leave.
“You can contact me on this number for the next hour, talk to Bev now. I’m going.” He took my hand, pulled me out of my seat and gave me the biggest hug I’d ever received from him.
“I have to go” and he departed our table and walked out of the door without looking back.
So, here I sit overlooking a beautiful beach somewhere on the coast north of Mombasa; with a very cool refreshing drink by my laptop as I fill you in on some of the finer details. Seems Derek had been doing some monkey business at the bank he worked at. He had squirrelled away a vast fortune in a little under eight months, faked his death and had gone on the run. After a quick phone call to Bev, my wife, who said “What the hell, let’s do it”, I called the number Derek had given me and he answered and said we might have to ‘hop’ around a bit but life could be really good if we wanted it to be. We caught that flight to Singapore.
On our arrival there was someone holding a board with our names on it. We approached him, identified ourselves and he gave us an envelope. Inside were two more flight tickets, this time to Mombasa in Kenya and a thick wad of 100 US dollars notes along with a note saying “Sorry, not able to meet you personally but here’s some joy money. More where that came from. See you soon. Derek”
©Trevor Litchfield
The Day Santa’s Elves Nearly Went On Strike!
The Day Santa’s Elves Nearly Went On Strike! first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 22nd 2010
“Get Bushy Evergreen down from his office! I want this sorted now!” cried Bjugnakraekir
Alabaster Snowball, administrator of the naughty and nice list was passing by the toy production warehouse and could see that everything had come to a halt. Head in hands he entered through the door into the melee within. All the senior elves had heard the rumour that one of the elves was for the bullet but no one knew who yet.
“Ahhh Alabaster, you’ll do” said Bjugnakraekir as he spotted Alabaster Snowball enter the warehouse “What’s all this about Steingrimur getting laid off at the end of his shift?”
Although Bjugnakraekir had no authority among the elves he had the loudest voice and was the most militant of the elves, he always took notes and made sure his views were heard at every meeting Santa or any of the senior elves held. Now he had heard of a rumour that one elf was to be laid off. In truth he did not know which one, he had fears that it might be himself but by calling out poor old Steingrimur’s name, he was highlighting who was oldest among the factory elves.
“Come on Bjugnakraekir” said Alabaster “There’s no need for this now. It’s only two days to Christmas morning, all these toys need packing and wrapping ready for the big day.”
“I don’t care about that, all I care about is poor old Steingrimur”
“But who said it would be Steingrimur?” asked Alabaster
“It’s what I heard!”
Bushy Evergreen, inventor of the magic toy-making machine, entered the warehouse.
“Come on now” said Bushy “There’s no need for this, lets get at it people!”
All the other elves turned around and someone pushed the button to get the packaging line moving once again. All the other elves privately wishing that it would not be their name they overheard next.
“Should we tell ‘em” Bushy looked to Alabaster for some help
“Tell who?” Bjugnakraekir still standing near the door, not bothering to get back to his position in the line
“Look Bjugnakraekir” said Bushy “We honestly don’t know which of us is going to see that letter at the time clock tonight.” Bushy looked Bjugnakraekir straight in the eyes “It could even be me!”
“Yeah right! As if Santa’s going to sack you, you’re the only one who knows how most of this stuff works!” Bjugnakraekir swept his hand vaguely around as if pointing to all the magical machinery in the warehouse whilst staring Bushy down.
Alabaster tugged on Bushy’s shirt sleeve
“We’re going to have to get this sorted, Santa should be sorting this out himself, let’s go and get him”
“I’m coming too!” said Bjugnakraekir
“No you’re not, you’ll stay here and calm all this down, after all you started it” said Bushy over his shoulder as he and Alabaster walked out of the warehouse.
“Look, all I know is that we can’t go on like this, we’ve had a bad year and you both know we got very little in the way of food left out last year. You guys know that’s how we do things here. I know it looks like I eat all the food and drink all the drinks left out for me but you guys know I bring it back here for everyone to use throughout the year.” Santa sat in his chair behind the big oak desk in his office, his arms folded over his large but slimmer than usual chest.
“What am I to do fella’s?”
The pair that escaped the warehouse now looked down on Santa.
“Look boss” said Bushy “Whoever you let go is going to make no difference unless we have a bumper haul this year, we’re down to nothing in the granaries you know!”
“And how will whoever you let go survive?” Alabaster joined in “They all have families to feed, who ever it is can’t do that if you lay him off, it’s hundreds of miles to the outside villages, they’d never make it!”
Santa sat in quiet contemplation, he hated this situation just as much as everyone else. Could they all tighten their belts further?
Minutes ticked by like years.
“OK lads, tell ‘em no one is getting laid off. We’ll just have to tighten our belts another notch I guess.”
Alabaster and Bushy both sighed with relief, they could all hope for a decent collection this Christmas and they would all be happy to tighten their belts to keep their jobs, even Bjugnakraekir.
©Trevor Litchfield
“Get Bushy Evergreen down from his office! I want this sorted now!” cried Bjugnakraekir
Alabaster Snowball, administrator of the naughty and nice list was passing by the toy production warehouse and could see that everything had come to a halt. Head in hands he entered through the door into the melee within. All the senior elves had heard the rumour that one of the elves was for the bullet but no one knew who yet.
“Ahhh Alabaster, you’ll do” said Bjugnakraekir as he spotted Alabaster Snowball enter the warehouse “What’s all this about Steingrimur getting laid off at the end of his shift?”
Although Bjugnakraekir had no authority among the elves he had the loudest voice and was the most militant of the elves, he always took notes and made sure his views were heard at every meeting Santa or any of the senior elves held. Now he had heard of a rumour that one elf was to be laid off. In truth he did not know which one, he had fears that it might be himself but by calling out poor old Steingrimur’s name, he was highlighting who was oldest among the factory elves.
“Come on Bjugnakraekir” said Alabaster “There’s no need for this now. It’s only two days to Christmas morning, all these toys need packing and wrapping ready for the big day.”
“I don’t care about that, all I care about is poor old Steingrimur”
“But who said it would be Steingrimur?” asked Alabaster
“It’s what I heard!”
Bushy Evergreen, inventor of the magic toy-making machine, entered the warehouse.
“Come on now” said Bushy “There’s no need for this, lets get at it people!”
All the other elves turned around and someone pushed the button to get the packaging line moving once again. All the other elves privately wishing that it would not be their name they overheard next.
“Should we tell ‘em” Bushy looked to Alabaster for some help
“Tell who?” Bjugnakraekir still standing near the door, not bothering to get back to his position in the line
“Look Bjugnakraekir” said Bushy “We honestly don’t know which of us is going to see that letter at the time clock tonight.” Bushy looked Bjugnakraekir straight in the eyes “It could even be me!”
“Yeah right! As if Santa’s going to sack you, you’re the only one who knows how most of this stuff works!” Bjugnakraekir swept his hand vaguely around as if pointing to all the magical machinery in the warehouse whilst staring Bushy down.
Alabaster tugged on Bushy’s shirt sleeve
“We’re going to have to get this sorted, Santa should be sorting this out himself, let’s go and get him”
“I’m coming too!” said Bjugnakraekir
“No you’re not, you’ll stay here and calm all this down, after all you started it” said Bushy over his shoulder as he and Alabaster walked out of the warehouse.
“Look, all I know is that we can’t go on like this, we’ve had a bad year and you both know we got very little in the way of food left out last year. You guys know that’s how we do things here. I know it looks like I eat all the food and drink all the drinks left out for me but you guys know I bring it back here for everyone to use throughout the year.” Santa sat in his chair behind the big oak desk in his office, his arms folded over his large but slimmer than usual chest.
“What am I to do fella’s?”
The pair that escaped the warehouse now looked down on Santa.
“Look boss” said Bushy “Whoever you let go is going to make no difference unless we have a bumper haul this year, we’re down to nothing in the granaries you know!”
“And how will whoever you let go survive?” Alabaster joined in “They all have families to feed, who ever it is can’t do that if you lay him off, it’s hundreds of miles to the outside villages, they’d never make it!”
Santa sat in quiet contemplation, he hated this situation just as much as everyone else. Could they all tighten their belts further?
Minutes ticked by like years.
“OK lads, tell ‘em no one is getting laid off. We’ll just have to tighten our belts another notch I guess.”
Alabaster and Bushy both sighed with relief, they could all hope for a decent collection this Christmas and they would all be happy to tighten their belts to keep their jobs, even Bjugnakraekir.
©Trevor Litchfield
The Day Santa’s Elves Nearly Went On Strike!
The Day Santa’s Elves Nearly Went On Strike! first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 22nd 2010
“Get Bushy Evergreen down from his office! I want this sorted now!” cried Bjugnakraekir
Alabaster Snowball, administrator of the naughty and nice list was passing by the toy production warehouse and could see that everything had come to a halt. Head in hands he entered through the door into the melee within. All the senior elves had heard the rumour that one of the elves was for the bullet but no one knew who yet.
“Ahhh Alabaster, you’ll do” said Bjugnakraekir as he spotted Alabaster Snowball enter the warehouse “What’s all this about Steingrimur getting laid off at the end of his shift?”
Although Bjugnakraekir had no authority among the elves he had the loudest voice and was the most militant of the elves, he always took notes and made sure his views were heard at every meeting Santa or any of the senior elves held. Now he had heard of a rumour that one elf was to be laid off. In truth he did not know which one, he had fears that it might be himself but by calling out poor old Steingrimur’s name, he was highlighting who was oldest among the factory elves.
“Come on Bjugnakraekir” said Alabaster “There’s no need for this now. It’s only two days to Christmas morning, all these toys need packing and wrapping ready for the big day.”
“I don’t care about that, all I care about is poor old Steingrimur”
“But who said it would be Steingrimur?” asked Alabaster
“It’s what I heard!”
Bushy Evergreen, inventor of the magic toy-making machine, entered the warehouse.
“Come on now” said Bushy “There’s no need for this, lets get at it people!”
All the other elves turned around and someone pushed the button to get the packaging line moving once again. All the other elves privately wishing that it would not be their name they overheard next.
“Should we tell ‘em” Bushy looked to Alabaster for some help
“Tell who?” Bjugnakraekir still standing near the door, not bothering to get back to his position in the line
“Look Bjugnakraekir” said Bushy “We honestly don’t know which of us is going to see that letter at the time clock tonight.” Bushy looked Bjugnakraekir straight in the eyes “It could even be me!”
“Yeah right! As if Santa’s going to sack you, you’re the only one who knows how most of this stuff works!” Bjugnakraekir swept his hand vaguely around as if pointing to all the magical machinery in the warehouse whilst staring Bushy down.
Alabaster tugged on Bushy’s shirt sleeve
“We’re going to have to get this sorted, Santa should be sorting this out himself, let’s go and get him”
“I’m coming too!” said Bjugnakraekir
“No you’re not, you’ll stay here and calm all this down, after all you started it” said Bushy over his shoulder as he and Alabaster walked out of the warehouse.
“Look, all I know is that we can’t go on like this, we’ve had a bad year and you both know we got very little in the way of food left out last year. You guys know that’s how we do things here. I know it looks like I eat all the food and drink all the drinks left out for me but you guys know I bring it back here for everyone to use throughout the year.” Santa sat in his chair behind the big oak desk in his office, his arms folded over his large but slimmer than usual chest.
“What am I to do fella’s?”
The pair that escaped the warehouse now looked down on Santa.
“Look boss” said Bushy “Whoever you let go is going to make no difference unless we have a bumper haul this year, we’re down to nothing in the granaries you know!”
“And how will whoever you let go survive?” Alabaster joined in “They all have families to feed, who ever it is can’t do that if you lay him off, it’s hundreds of miles to the outside villages, they’d never make it!”
Santa sat in quiet contemplation, he hated this situation just as much as everyone else. Could they all tighten their belts further?
Minutes ticked by like years.
“OK lads, tell ‘em no one is getting laid off. We’ll just have to tighten our belts another notch I guess.”
Alabaster and Bushy both sighed with relief, they could all hope for a decent collection this Christmas and they would all be happy to tighten their belts to keep their jobs, even Bjugnakraekir.
©Trevor Litchfield
“Get Bushy Evergreen down from his office! I want this sorted now!” cried Bjugnakraekir
Alabaster Snowball, administrator of the naughty and nice list was passing by the toy production warehouse and could see that everything had come to a halt. Head in hands he entered through the door into the melee within. All the senior elves had heard the rumour that one of the elves was for the bullet but no one knew who yet.
“Ahhh Alabaster, you’ll do” said Bjugnakraekir as he spotted Alabaster Snowball enter the warehouse “What’s all this about Steingrimur getting laid off at the end of his shift?”
Although Bjugnakraekir had no authority among the elves he had the loudest voice and was the most militant of the elves, he always took notes and made sure his views were heard at every meeting Santa or any of the senior elves held. Now he had heard of a rumour that one elf was to be laid off. In truth he did not know which one, he had fears that it might be himself but by calling out poor old Steingrimur’s name, he was highlighting who was oldest among the factory elves.
“Come on Bjugnakraekir” said Alabaster “There’s no need for this now. It’s only two days to Christmas morning, all these toys need packing and wrapping ready for the big day.”
“I don’t care about that, all I care about is poor old Steingrimur”
“But who said it would be Steingrimur?” asked Alabaster
“It’s what I heard!”
Bushy Evergreen, inventor of the magic toy-making machine, entered the warehouse.
“Come on now” said Bushy “There’s no need for this, lets get at it people!”
All the other elves turned around and someone pushed the button to get the packaging line moving once again. All the other elves privately wishing that it would not be their name they overheard next.
“Should we tell ‘em” Bushy looked to Alabaster for some help
“Tell who?” Bjugnakraekir still standing near the door, not bothering to get back to his position in the line
“Look Bjugnakraekir” said Bushy “We honestly don’t know which of us is going to see that letter at the time clock tonight.” Bushy looked Bjugnakraekir straight in the eyes “It could even be me!”
“Yeah right! As if Santa’s going to sack you, you’re the only one who knows how most of this stuff works!” Bjugnakraekir swept his hand vaguely around as if pointing to all the magical machinery in the warehouse whilst staring Bushy down.
Alabaster tugged on Bushy’s shirt sleeve
“We’re going to have to get this sorted, Santa should be sorting this out himself, let’s go and get him”
“I’m coming too!” said Bjugnakraekir
“No you’re not, you’ll stay here and calm all this down, after all you started it” said Bushy over his shoulder as he and Alabaster walked out of the warehouse.
“Look, all I know is that we can’t go on like this, we’ve had a bad year and you both know we got very little in the way of food left out last year. You guys know that’s how we do things here. I know it looks like I eat all the food and drink all the drinks left out for me but you guys know I bring it back here for everyone to use throughout the year.” Santa sat in his chair behind the big oak desk in his office, his arms folded over his large but slimmer than usual chest.
“What am I to do fella’s?”
The pair that escaped the warehouse now looked down on Santa.
“Look boss” said Bushy “Whoever you let go is going to make no difference unless we have a bumper haul this year, we’re down to nothing in the granaries you know!”
“And how will whoever you let go survive?” Alabaster joined in “They all have families to feed, who ever it is can’t do that if you lay him off, it’s hundreds of miles to the outside villages, they’d never make it!”
Santa sat in quiet contemplation, he hated this situation just as much as everyone else. Could they all tighten their belts further?
Minutes ticked by like years.
“OK lads, tell ‘em no one is getting laid off. We’ll just have to tighten our belts another notch I guess.”
Alabaster and Bushy both sighed with relief, they could all hope for a decent collection this Christmas and they would all be happy to tighten their belts to keep their jobs, even Bjugnakraekir.
©Trevor Litchfield
'Dream Lover'
'Dream Lover' first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 15th 2010
It all started years before, nearly twenty years before. He saw her walking down the street, to his eyes she was stunning. The next day he saw her going into the offices next door to the warehouse he worked at and for the next year he simply admire her from afar. Simply watching her leave the offices at lunchtime, returning after her lunch and sometimes seeing her as he left off work as she was leaving her office.
He felt he could not approach her, for one thing he was recently married with his first child on the way, she also looked much younger than him. Even if he did have the guts to talk to her what could he say to this young woman that he found so attractive?
He left the warehouse job and didn’t see her for maybe eight or nine years. Then, as these things have a habit of doing, he saw her in the street. She smiled at him as she passed by, a friendly ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before’ sort of smile. He had never forgotten how he felt about her but the desires had subsided to a point that he felt a bit stupid about it all. Once again she looked stunning, yet she was only wearing casual clothes, blue jeans, flowery top.
His mind once again filled with desire for this woman, still he made no move to talk to her. He now had two children with a woman he loved, he really wasn’t going to mess that up, even if his dream woman was interested in him.
Life went on but he could not forget about the woman that haunted his dreams. He saw her rarely but when he did she smiled, he smiled back.
His children were growing up, his eldest, a daughter, now seventeen, had started dating a local rugby player and she had invited her father along to watch her latest flame play in a local cup final match against the next town. To please his daughter he said he would go, he would meet her at the game on the day.
Match day arrived and he turned up as promise, standing beside his daughter discussing the game. Her boyfriends team were much the stronger team and were winning the game quite comfortably as the half time whistle blew. Some of the attending crowd made their way to the clubhouse either to get refreshments or use the facilities for some comfort. Inside he and his daughter got a coffee and sat talking across a small table when he absently looked up and there she was, sat at a table on her own. She looked happy yet at the same time lonely.
The second half of the game was about to begin, his daughter asked him if he was ready to go and watch the second half. He had still got most of his coffee to drink and it had been very hot when they bought them so he said in all honesty that he would stay inside at the table until he finished his coffee, then he would join her outside. His daughter left him with his coffee and rejoined the rest of the crowd outside.
Once again he found himself staring across to where she had been sitting, she still sat there! She looked up and smiled at him yet again. He felt he really should go outside, leaving his hot coffee to rejoin his daughter, instead he sat, transfixed by her smile. It looked to him as if she had not aged in the past seventeen years, he was staring at the young woman he had seen so many years ago.
His mind was whirling, they were now alone in the clubhouse apart from a lady cleaning up the coffee mugs scattered around the tables in the room. He got up to leave, she stood up and walked towards him.
“I know you don’t I?” she said smiling that beautiful smile, searching his eyes.
“Not really” he replied “I think I’ve seen you in town a few times though.”
She was close now, so close he could smell her delicate perfume, see into her eyes. They stood, not saying a word, looking into each others eyes like star crossed lovers. How he wanted to kiss her, hold her, it was agony for him to restrain himself. They were so close, they were almost touching. He had lost control, he was thinking of his wife at home, his daughter outside and he wanted to caress this woman so bad it hurt. Her lips parted slightly, he knew the sign, he had to resist, all he had worked for was going down the drain if he lost complete control. He could see her pupils dilating, he could feel his lips part. He knew she wanted this as much as he did.
“Dad, are you coming outside or not?”
His daughter had saved him from himself. They parted guiltily still looking into each others eyes.
“Well?” his daughter stood in the doorway, looking at him, arms on hips.
“Yes, I’m coming” he replied
They parted slowly, the pain just as strong as the pain from wanting to kiss this woman just a few seconds earlier. This was as painful as anything he had ever known
Once outside and watching the game his daughter asked him who the woman was and why were they kissing? He coughed at the word, yet could think of nothing to say. His daughter laughed saying that she knew he would never kiss another woman because he loved his wife too much. He took this lead, also laughing and saying how true that was. After everything that had just happened, he loved his wife with all his heart.
Now an old man, he remembered that day, the day at the rugby club. The woman that haunted his dreams for years. The woman he had so nearly kissed. He still, after all these years, did not even know her name but he knew now, that if he ever saw her in town, he would kiss her full on the lips.
©Trevor Litchfield
It all started years before, nearly twenty years before. He saw her walking down the street, to his eyes she was stunning. The next day he saw her going into the offices next door to the warehouse he worked at and for the next year he simply admire her from afar. Simply watching her leave the offices at lunchtime, returning after her lunch and sometimes seeing her as he left off work as she was leaving her office.
He felt he could not approach her, for one thing he was recently married with his first child on the way, she also looked much younger than him. Even if he did have the guts to talk to her what could he say to this young woman that he found so attractive?
He left the warehouse job and didn’t see her for maybe eight or nine years. Then, as these things have a habit of doing, he saw her in the street. She smiled at him as she passed by, a friendly ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before’ sort of smile. He had never forgotten how he felt about her but the desires had subsided to a point that he felt a bit stupid about it all. Once again she looked stunning, yet she was only wearing casual clothes, blue jeans, flowery top.
His mind once again filled with desire for this woman, still he made no move to talk to her. He now had two children with a woman he loved, he really wasn’t going to mess that up, even if his dream woman was interested in him.
Life went on but he could not forget about the woman that haunted his dreams. He saw her rarely but when he did she smiled, he smiled back.
His children were growing up, his eldest, a daughter, now seventeen, had started dating a local rugby player and she had invited her father along to watch her latest flame play in a local cup final match against the next town. To please his daughter he said he would go, he would meet her at the game on the day.
Match day arrived and he turned up as promise, standing beside his daughter discussing the game. Her boyfriends team were much the stronger team and were winning the game quite comfortably as the half time whistle blew. Some of the attending crowd made their way to the clubhouse either to get refreshments or use the facilities for some comfort. Inside he and his daughter got a coffee and sat talking across a small table when he absently looked up and there she was, sat at a table on her own. She looked happy yet at the same time lonely.
The second half of the game was about to begin, his daughter asked him if he was ready to go and watch the second half. He had still got most of his coffee to drink and it had been very hot when they bought them so he said in all honesty that he would stay inside at the table until he finished his coffee, then he would join her outside. His daughter left him with his coffee and rejoined the rest of the crowd outside.
Once again he found himself staring across to where she had been sitting, she still sat there! She looked up and smiled at him yet again. He felt he really should go outside, leaving his hot coffee to rejoin his daughter, instead he sat, transfixed by her smile. It looked to him as if she had not aged in the past seventeen years, he was staring at the young woman he had seen so many years ago.
His mind was whirling, they were now alone in the clubhouse apart from a lady cleaning up the coffee mugs scattered around the tables in the room. He got up to leave, she stood up and walked towards him.
“I know you don’t I?” she said smiling that beautiful smile, searching his eyes.
“Not really” he replied “I think I’ve seen you in town a few times though.”
She was close now, so close he could smell her delicate perfume, see into her eyes. They stood, not saying a word, looking into each others eyes like star crossed lovers. How he wanted to kiss her, hold her, it was agony for him to restrain himself. They were so close, they were almost touching. He had lost control, he was thinking of his wife at home, his daughter outside and he wanted to caress this woman so bad it hurt. Her lips parted slightly, he knew the sign, he had to resist, all he had worked for was going down the drain if he lost complete control. He could see her pupils dilating, he could feel his lips part. He knew she wanted this as much as he did.
“Dad, are you coming outside or not?”
His daughter had saved him from himself. They parted guiltily still looking into each others eyes.
“Well?” his daughter stood in the doorway, looking at him, arms on hips.
“Yes, I’m coming” he replied
They parted slowly, the pain just as strong as the pain from wanting to kiss this woman just a few seconds earlier. This was as painful as anything he had ever known
Once outside and watching the game his daughter asked him who the woman was and why were they kissing? He coughed at the word, yet could think of nothing to say. His daughter laughed saying that she knew he would never kiss another woman because he loved his wife too much. He took this lead, also laughing and saying how true that was. After everything that had just happened, he loved his wife with all his heart.
Now an old man, he remembered that day, the day at the rugby club. The woman that haunted his dreams for years. The woman he had so nearly kissed. He still, after all these years, did not even know her name but he knew now, that if he ever saw her in town, he would kiss her full on the lips.
©Trevor Litchfield
'Dream Lover'
'Dream Lover' first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 15th 2010
It all started years before, nearly twenty years before. He saw her walking down the street, to his eyes she was stunning. The next day he saw her going into the offices next door to the warehouse he worked at and for the next year he simply admire her from afar. Simply watching her leave the offices at lunchtime, returning after her lunch and sometimes seeing her as he left off work as she was leaving her office.
He felt he could not approach her, for one thing he was recently married with his first child on the way, she also looked much younger than him. Even if he did have the guts to talk to her what could he say to this young woman that he found so attractive?
He left the warehouse job and didn’t see her for maybe eight or nine years. Then, as these things have a habit of doing, he saw her in the street. She smiled at him as she passed by, a friendly ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before’ sort of smile. He had never forgotten how he felt about her but the desires had subsided to a point that he felt a bit stupid about it all. Once again she looked stunning, yet she was only wearing casual clothes, blue jeans, flowery top.
His mind once again filled with desire for this woman, still he made no move to talk to her. He now had two children with a woman he loved, he really wasn’t going to mess that up, even if his dream woman was interested in him.
Life went on but he could not forget about the woman that haunted his dreams. He saw her rarely but when he did she smiled, he smiled back.
His children were growing up, his eldest, a daughter, now seventeen, had started dating a local rugby player and she had invited her father along to watch her latest flame play in a local cup final match against the next town. To please his daughter he said he would go, he would meet her at the game on the day.
Match day arrived and he turned up as promise, standing beside his daughter discussing the game. Her boyfriends team were much the stronger team and were winning the game quite comfortably as the half time whistle blew. Some of the attending crowd made their way to the clubhouse either to get refreshments or use the facilities for some comfort. Inside he and his daughter got a coffee and sat talking across a small table when he absently looked up and there she was, sat at a table on her own. She looked happy yet at the same time lonely.
The second half of the game was about to begin, his daughter asked him if he was ready to go and watch the second half. He had still got most of his coffee to drink and it had been very hot when they bought them so he said in all honesty that he would stay inside at the table until he finished his coffee, then he would join her outside. His daughter left him with his coffee and rejoined the rest of the crowd outside.
Once again he found himself staring across to where she had been sitting, she still sat there! She looked up and smiled at him yet again. He felt he really should go outside, leaving his hot coffee to rejoin his daughter, instead he sat, transfixed by her smile. It looked to him as if she had not aged in the past seventeen years, he was staring at the young woman he had seen so many years ago.
His mind was whirling, they were now alone in the clubhouse apart from a lady cleaning up the coffee mugs scattered around the tables in the room. He got up to leave, she stood up and walked towards him.
“I know you don’t I?” she said smiling that beautiful smile, searching his eyes.
“Not really” he replied “I think I’ve seen you in town a few times though.”
She was close now, so close he could smell her delicate perfume, see into her eyes. They stood, not saying a word, looking into each others eyes like star crossed lovers. How he wanted to kiss her, hold her, it was agony for him to restrain himself. They were so close, they were almost touching. He had lost control, he was thinking of his wife at home, his daughter outside and he wanted to caress this woman so bad it hurt. Her lips parted slightly, he knew the sign, he had to resist, all he had worked for was going down the drain if he lost complete control. He could see her pupils dilating, he could feel his lips part. He knew she wanted this as much as he did.
“Dad, are you coming outside or not?”
His daughter had saved him from himself. They parted guiltily still looking into each others eyes.
“Well?” his daughter stood in the doorway, looking at him, arms on hips.
“Yes, I’m coming” he replied
They parted slowly, the pain just as strong as the pain from wanting to kiss this woman just a few seconds earlier. This was as painful as anything he had ever known
Once outside and watching the game his daughter asked him who the woman was and why were they kissing? He coughed at the word, yet could think of nothing to say. His daughter laughed saying that she knew he would never kiss another woman because he loved his wife too much. He took this lead, also laughing and saying how true that was. After everything that had just happened, he loved his wife with all his heart.
Now an old man, he remembered that day, the day at the rugby club. The woman that haunted his dreams for years. The woman he had so nearly kissed. He still, after all these years, did not even know her name but he knew now, that if he ever saw her in town, he would kiss her full on the lips.
©Trevor Litchfield
It all started years before, nearly twenty years before. He saw her walking down the street, to his eyes she was stunning. The next day he saw her going into the offices next door to the warehouse he worked at and for the next year he simply admire her from afar. Simply watching her leave the offices at lunchtime, returning after her lunch and sometimes seeing her as he left off work as she was leaving her office.
He felt he could not approach her, for one thing he was recently married with his first child on the way, she also looked much younger than him. Even if he did have the guts to talk to her what could he say to this young woman that he found so attractive?
He left the warehouse job and didn’t see her for maybe eight or nine years. Then, as these things have a habit of doing, he saw her in the street. She smiled at him as she passed by, a friendly ‘I’ve seen you somewhere before’ sort of smile. He had never forgotten how he felt about her but the desires had subsided to a point that he felt a bit stupid about it all. Once again she looked stunning, yet she was only wearing casual clothes, blue jeans, flowery top.
His mind once again filled with desire for this woman, still he made no move to talk to her. He now had two children with a woman he loved, he really wasn’t going to mess that up, even if his dream woman was interested in him.
Life went on but he could not forget about the woman that haunted his dreams. He saw her rarely but when he did she smiled, he smiled back.
His children were growing up, his eldest, a daughter, now seventeen, had started dating a local rugby player and she had invited her father along to watch her latest flame play in a local cup final match against the next town. To please his daughter he said he would go, he would meet her at the game on the day.
Match day arrived and he turned up as promise, standing beside his daughter discussing the game. Her boyfriends team were much the stronger team and were winning the game quite comfortably as the half time whistle blew. Some of the attending crowd made their way to the clubhouse either to get refreshments or use the facilities for some comfort. Inside he and his daughter got a coffee and sat talking across a small table when he absently looked up and there she was, sat at a table on her own. She looked happy yet at the same time lonely.
The second half of the game was about to begin, his daughter asked him if he was ready to go and watch the second half. He had still got most of his coffee to drink and it had been very hot when they bought them so he said in all honesty that he would stay inside at the table until he finished his coffee, then he would join her outside. His daughter left him with his coffee and rejoined the rest of the crowd outside.
Once again he found himself staring across to where she had been sitting, she still sat there! She looked up and smiled at him yet again. He felt he really should go outside, leaving his hot coffee to rejoin his daughter, instead he sat, transfixed by her smile. It looked to him as if she had not aged in the past seventeen years, he was staring at the young woman he had seen so many years ago.
His mind was whirling, they were now alone in the clubhouse apart from a lady cleaning up the coffee mugs scattered around the tables in the room. He got up to leave, she stood up and walked towards him.
“I know you don’t I?” she said smiling that beautiful smile, searching his eyes.
“Not really” he replied “I think I’ve seen you in town a few times though.”
She was close now, so close he could smell her delicate perfume, see into her eyes. They stood, not saying a word, looking into each others eyes like star crossed lovers. How he wanted to kiss her, hold her, it was agony for him to restrain himself. They were so close, they were almost touching. He had lost control, he was thinking of his wife at home, his daughter outside and he wanted to caress this woman so bad it hurt. Her lips parted slightly, he knew the sign, he had to resist, all he had worked for was going down the drain if he lost complete control. He could see her pupils dilating, he could feel his lips part. He knew she wanted this as much as he did.
“Dad, are you coming outside or not?”
His daughter had saved him from himself. They parted guiltily still looking into each others eyes.
“Well?” his daughter stood in the doorway, looking at him, arms on hips.
“Yes, I’m coming” he replied
They parted slowly, the pain just as strong as the pain from wanting to kiss this woman just a few seconds earlier. This was as painful as anything he had ever known
Once outside and watching the game his daughter asked him who the woman was and why were they kissing? He coughed at the word, yet could think of nothing to say. His daughter laughed saying that she knew he would never kiss another woman because he loved his wife too much. He took this lead, also laughing and saying how true that was. After everything that had just happened, he loved his wife with all his heart.
Now an old man, he remembered that day, the day at the rugby club. The woman that haunted his dreams for years. The woman he had so nearly kissed. He still, after all these years, did not even know her name but he knew now, that if he ever saw her in town, he would kiss her full on the lips.
©Trevor Litchfield
Cold Winter Days
Cold Winter Days first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 29th 2010
Snow covered layers drift across this winter landscape
Cold is the blue of the sky shedding light on this day
Grey clouds drift across biding their time afore transferral
of yet more snow behind which nature hides her beauty
Dark trees offer no comfort in this season of withdrawal
When during summer they provide laughter and fruit
Flowers hide deep in the soil, their bulbs awaiting heat
Slow will growth be to perform their miracle of colours
Darkness falls to soon on these dull days of winter
Log fires warm the hearths of cottages in the dark
Lasting solstice rituals survive in these winter times
For where would a body be without food or heat
Celestial lights so much clearer in winters clean air
Moon hidden on it’s perennial journey through the sky’s
Heavy clouds pass unseen, finally relieving themselves
To apply new shrouds ready for another winters day
©Trevor Litchfield
Snow covered layers drift across this winter landscape
Cold is the blue of the sky shedding light on this day
Grey clouds drift across biding their time afore transferral
of yet more snow behind which nature hides her beauty
Dark trees offer no comfort in this season of withdrawal
When during summer they provide laughter and fruit
Flowers hide deep in the soil, their bulbs awaiting heat
Slow will growth be to perform their miracle of colours
Darkness falls to soon on these dull days of winter
Log fires warm the hearths of cottages in the dark
Lasting solstice rituals survive in these winter times
For where would a body be without food or heat
Celestial lights so much clearer in winters clean air
Moon hidden on it’s perennial journey through the sky’s
Heavy clouds pass unseen, finally relieving themselves
To apply new shrouds ready for another winters day
©Trevor Litchfield
For You On Christmas Morn
For You On Christmas Morn first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 25th 2010
I’d like to write something full of Christmas cheer
I’ve never tried to compose for this time of year.
I’d like it to be full of bells that jingle or ring
With kings and queens or lords all a prancing.
Thing is such words appear so often in rhyme
To use them again appears to be such a crime.
Yet still I want magical sparkles, trees and light
To give you, dear reader, candles burning bright.
Instead I offer these simple words from Yuletide
Hoping that family and peace be at your side.
©Trevor Litchfield
I’d like to write something full of Christmas cheer
I’ve never tried to compose for this time of year.
I’d like it to be full of bells that jingle or ring
With kings and queens or lords all a prancing.
Thing is such words appear so often in rhyme
To use them again appears to be such a crime.
Yet still I want magical sparkles, trees and light
To give you, dear reader, candles burning bright.
Instead I offer these simple words from Yuletide
Hoping that family and peace be at your side.
©Trevor Litchfield
As solstice approaches once again
As solstice approaches once again first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 19th 2010
As solstice approaches once again
I find myself with renewed desire.
A new beginning beckons this day
To start a fresh brand new page.
Chapters are complete, assigned
to be read by readers old and new.
Attempting to rewrite this used life
into something new and meaningful.
Having finished too many chapters
in the solstice season of midwinter,
I intend to begin writing my own.
Title, heading, the words are mine
to rewrite this life with new direction.
Gifting the past I wish to release
myself from these lingering ghosts
that seem to haunt my very existence.
Life’s loves are to be relinquished,
old passions placed on the shelf.
They may gather the dust of time
to be remembered and not relived.
Memories past carefully arranged
in cabinets, doors firmly sealed.
Never again to haunt this earthly life
as I walk renewed into the sunlight
©Trevor Litchfield
As solstice approaches once again
I find myself with renewed desire.
A new beginning beckons this day
To start a fresh brand new page.
Chapters are complete, assigned
to be read by readers old and new.
Attempting to rewrite this used life
into something new and meaningful.
Having finished too many chapters
in the solstice season of midwinter,
I intend to begin writing my own.
Title, heading, the words are mine
to rewrite this life with new direction.
Gifting the past I wish to release
myself from these lingering ghosts
that seem to haunt my very existence.
Life’s loves are to be relinquished,
old passions placed on the shelf.
They may gather the dust of time
to be remembered and not relived.
Memories past carefully arranged
in cabinets, doors firmly sealed.
Never again to haunt this earthly life
as I walk renewed into the sunlight
©Trevor Litchfield
Watching all the rain and snow
Watching All The Rain And Snow first appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 16th 2010
Watching all the rain and snow
falling together it looks ugly.
Rain washing the slush away
to unnatural slews at the kerb.
Gritters ply their trade scattering
grit in hope of preventing ice.
Rain washing away the minerals.
A waste of earth’s finite resources
Cars driving along without care
of conditions or pedestrians.
Splashing water into the air
to land on pavement or my trousers.
As night creeps it’s sullen way
over the ever wet and slushy streets.
Rain turns to snow and beautifies
hiding this once grotesque scene.
Lights glisten on the fresh laid snow
sparkling like jewels in the sun.
All man’s avaricious desires
stalled by this winter wonderland.
©Trevor Litchfield
Watching all the rain and snow
falling together it looks ugly.
Rain washing the slush away
to unnatural slews at the kerb.
Gritters ply their trade scattering
grit in hope of preventing ice.
Rain washing away the minerals.
A waste of earth’s finite resources
Cars driving along without care
of conditions or pedestrians.
Splashing water into the air
to land on pavement or my trousers.
As night creeps it’s sullen way
over the ever wet and slushy streets.
Rain turns to snow and beautifies
hiding this once grotesque scene.
Lights glisten on the fresh laid snow
sparkling like jewels in the sun.
All man’s avaricious desires
stalled by this winter wonderland.
©Trevor Litchfield
A bottle with no cap
A bottle with no cap First appeared on Trev's Telautograph on December 14th 2010
It hits me in waves like surf on the beach
Continually hitting and tossing me around
Covering me completely as the tide comes in
The current taking hold and drags me out
At times like this I’m a bottle with no cap
No choice but to succumb to the journey
If the bottle fills then I am lost, drowning
I slowly sink barely attempting to fight
I would refuse the hand of salvation
As I know I have declined in the past
I would shut the world out, locking the door
Despairing in solitude, giving up the fight.
If the bottle half fills, the tide carries me
I could float for days with no sight of land
Hope barely a flicker but the light is on
To get washed up on some new shore
Like so much flotsam on a deserted beach
Ragged and exhausted, to tired to fight
Whichever way the tides have taken me
The journey is one of despair, self loathing
Mind shutting down to feed on itself
Ignoring all help, denying to even try
The world outside is an alien landscape
Taking months to acclimatise once again
It hits me in waves like surf on the beach
Continually hitting and tossing me around
Covering me completely as the tide comes in
The current taking hold and drags me out
At times like this I’m a bottle with no cap
No choice but to succumb to the journey
If the bottle fills then I am lost, drowning
I slowly sink barely attempting to fight
I would refuse the hand of salvation
As I know I have declined in the past
I would shut the world out, locking the door
Despairing in solitude, giving up the fight.
If the bottle half fills, the tide carries me
I could float for days with no sight of land
Hope barely a flicker but the light is on
To get washed up on some new shore
Like so much flotsam on a deserted beach
Ragged and exhausted, to tired to fight
Whichever way the tides have taken me
The journey is one of despair, self loathing
Mind shutting down to feed on itself
Ignoring all help, denying to even try
The world outside is an alien landscape
Taking months to acclimatise once again
©Trevor Litchfield
Tuesday 14 December 2010
As I lay this night waiting for sleep to arrive
As I lay this night waiting for sleep to arrive
I have a fantasy of a life that includes you
To have you close, by my side this night
Talking of life's day, our dreams together
Things we could do, things we might say.
So on this lonely night when I sleep alone
I think of you and things that will never be
©Trevor Litchfield
The window that opened Pt II
The window that opened Pt I
He had spent countless days looking through the window, the one that opened, the one he had gone through just the once. The people that had brought him here from a life before tried every day to get him to do other things, things he did not want to do, things he had never done, he hated doing other things!
All he wanted was the chair in front of the window, the one with the little table beside it and with his bottle of whiskey and a small glass into which he could pour the whiskey, the small glass that he drank from. The little table that had his tobacco on, he loved smoking and made his own cigarettes to smoke when he drank his whiskey from the small glass. The little table that had a lighter to light his own rolled cigarettes with. The little table that had cigarette papers to make his own rolled cigarettes. The little table that had the ashtray on it, the one he flicked the ash into from his own rolled cigarettes when he was drinking whiskey from the small glass.
The small glass and the ashtray are not the ones he used to have, he wished he had the old ashtray and small glass. He liked the patterns on the ashtray he used to have. The small glass he used to have also had patterns on it, they were different from the patterns on his old ashtray but he liked the different patterns. The ones they gave him, the they that brought him here to the chair in front of the window. Those ones are plain, plain glass ashtray, plain small glass, no patterns on anything! He still used them but did not really like them much.
When they first brought him here, they said he could not have his whiskey, they said he could not have his tobacco, they said he could not have a small glass, they said he could not have an ashtray. He had just sat, not eating their horrid food, not drinking their horrid tea, not anything. He had even refused to be taken to that horrid clean toilet, he wet and soiled himself in the chair!
One day he was brought to his chair in front of the window and there was the little table next to the chair with a whiskey bottle on it and the small glass. He looked at them, not speaking. Still he did not eat, still he did not drink, not even his whiskey. How could he drink whiskey from the small glass without smoking one of his own rolled cigarettes? They insisted he could not have tobacco!
The next day they brought him to the chair and he noticed all the other chairs in the room had gone. The room had just his chair with the little table beside it, the bottle of whiskey and the small glass were on the little table. Beside the bottle of whiskey was a pouch of tobacco, a packet of cigarette rolling papers, a lighter and an ashtray. He felt full of happiness inside to see these things. He let them help him into his chair and sat and rolled a cigarette as they watched him, he then opened the bottle of whiskey and poured some into the small glass. He lit the cigarette with the lighter and puffed so deeply he nearly coughed. He did not let the cough escape, he drank whiskey from the small glass savouring the taste of the fluid on his tongue.
Now he would eat their horrid food, drink their horrid tea, he put whiskey in the tea as he thought it made it taste better. He would let them take him to the horrid clean toilet, he had all he needed. He still would not do other things. They did try and talk to him, he just sat drinking his whiskey from the small glass and smoking his own rolled cigarettes and flicking the ash from his own rolled cigarettes into the clear glass ashtray. He ignored them. He looked out the window that once opened.
He had spent countless days looking through the window, the one that opened, the one he had gone through just the once. The people that had brought him here from a life before tried every day to get him to do other things, things he did not want to do, things he had never done, he hated doing other things!
All he wanted was the chair in front of the window, the one with the little table beside it and with his bottle of whiskey and a small glass into which he could pour the whiskey, the small glass that he drank from. The little table that had his tobacco on, he loved smoking and made his own cigarettes to smoke when he drank his whiskey from the small glass. The little table that had a lighter to light his own rolled cigarettes with. The little table that had cigarette papers to make his own rolled cigarettes. The little table that had the ashtray on it, the one he flicked the ash into from his own rolled cigarettes when he was drinking whiskey from the small glass.
The small glass and the ashtray are not the ones he used to have, he wished he had the old ashtray and small glass. He liked the patterns on the ashtray he used to have. The small glass he used to have also had patterns on it, they were different from the patterns on his old ashtray but he liked the different patterns. The ones they gave him, the they that brought him here to the chair in front of the window. Those ones are plain, plain glass ashtray, plain small glass, no patterns on anything! He still used them but did not really like them much.
When they first brought him here, they said he could not have his whiskey, they said he could not have his tobacco, they said he could not have a small glass, they said he could not have an ashtray. He had just sat, not eating their horrid food, not drinking their horrid tea, not anything. He had even refused to be taken to that horrid clean toilet, he wet and soiled himself in the chair!
One day he was brought to his chair in front of the window and there was the little table next to the chair with a whiskey bottle on it and the small glass. He looked at them, not speaking. Still he did not eat, still he did not drink, not even his whiskey. How could he drink whiskey from the small glass without smoking one of his own rolled cigarettes? They insisted he could not have tobacco!
The next day they brought him to the chair and he noticed all the other chairs in the room had gone. The room had just his chair with the little table beside it, the bottle of whiskey and the small glass were on the little table. Beside the bottle of whiskey was a pouch of tobacco, a packet of cigarette rolling papers, a lighter and an ashtray. He felt full of happiness inside to see these things. He let them help him into his chair and sat and rolled a cigarette as they watched him, he then opened the bottle of whiskey and poured some into the small glass. He lit the cigarette with the lighter and puffed so deeply he nearly coughed. He did not let the cough escape, he drank whiskey from the small glass savouring the taste of the fluid on his tongue.
Now he would eat their horrid food, drink their horrid tea, he put whiskey in the tea as he thought it made it taste better. He would let them take him to the horrid clean toilet, he had all he needed. He still would not do other things. They did try and talk to him, he just sat drinking his whiskey from the small glass and smoking his own rolled cigarettes and flicking the ash from his own rolled cigarettes into the clear glass ashtray. He ignored them. He looked out the window that once opened.
©Trevor Litchfield
The window that opened Pt II
The window that opened Pt I
He had spent countless days looking through the window, the one that opened, the one he had gone through just the once. The people that had brought him here from a life before tried every day to get him to do other things, things he did not want to do, things he had never done, he hated doing other things!
All he wanted was the chair in front of the window, the one with the little table beside it and with his bottle of whiskey and a small glass into which he could pour the whiskey, the small glass that he drank from. The little table that had his tobacco on, he loved smoking and made his own cigarettes to smoke when he drank his whiskey from the small glass. The little table that had a lighter to light his own rolled cigarettes with. The little table that had cigarette papers to make his own rolled cigarettes. The little table that had the ashtray on it, the one he flicked the ash into from his own rolled cigarettes when he was drinking whiskey from the small glass.
The small glass and the ashtray are not the ones he used to have, he wished he had the old ashtray and small glass. He liked the patterns on the ashtray he used to have. The small glass he used to have also had patterns on it, they were different from the patterns on his old ashtray but he liked the different patterns. The ones they gave him, the they that brought him here to the chair in front of the window. Those ones are plain, plain glass ashtray, plain small glass, no patterns on anything! He still used them but did not really like them much.
When they first brought him here, they said he could not have his whiskey, they said he could not have his tobacco, they said he could not have a small glass, they said he could not have an ashtray. He had just sat, not eating their horrid food, not drinking their horrid tea, not anything. He had even refused to be taken to that horrid clean toilet, he wet and soiled himself in the chair!
One day he was brought to his chair in front of the window and there was the little table next to the chair with a whiskey bottle on it and the small glass. He looked at them, not speaking. Still he did not eat, still he did not drink, not even his whiskey. How could he drink whiskey from the small glass without smoking one of his own rolled cigarettes? They insisted he could not have tobacco!
The next day they brought him to the chair and he noticed all the other chairs in the room had gone. The room had just his chair with the little table beside it, the bottle of whiskey and the small glass were on the little table. Beside the bottle of whiskey was a pouch of tobacco, a packet of cigarette rolling papers, a lighter and an ashtray. He felt full of happiness inside to see these things. He let them help him into his chair and sat and rolled a cigarette as they watched him, he then opened the bottle of whiskey and poured some into the small glass. He lit the cigarette with the lighter and puffed so deeply he nearly coughed. He did not let the cough escape, he drank whiskey from the small glass savouring the taste of the fluid on his tongue.
Now he would eat their horrid food, drink their horrid tea, he put whiskey in the tea as he thought it made it taste better. He would let them take him to the horrid clean toilet, he had all he needed. He still would not do other things. They did try and talk to him, he just sat drinking his whiskey from the small glass and smoking his own rolled cigarettes and flicking the ash from his own rolled cigarettes into the clear glass ashtray. He ignored them. He looked out the window that once opened.
He had spent countless days looking through the window, the one that opened, the one he had gone through just the once. The people that had brought him here from a life before tried every day to get him to do other things, things he did not want to do, things he had never done, he hated doing other things!
All he wanted was the chair in front of the window, the one with the little table beside it and with his bottle of whiskey and a small glass into which he could pour the whiskey, the small glass that he drank from. The little table that had his tobacco on, he loved smoking and made his own cigarettes to smoke when he drank his whiskey from the small glass. The little table that had a lighter to light his own rolled cigarettes with. The little table that had cigarette papers to make his own rolled cigarettes. The little table that had the ashtray on it, the one he flicked the ash into from his own rolled cigarettes when he was drinking whiskey from the small glass.
The small glass and the ashtray are not the ones he used to have, he wished he had the old ashtray and small glass. He liked the patterns on the ashtray he used to have. The small glass he used to have also had patterns on it, they were different from the patterns on his old ashtray but he liked the different patterns. The ones they gave him, the they that brought him here to the chair in front of the window. Those ones are plain, plain glass ashtray, plain small glass, no patterns on anything! He still used them but did not really like them much.
When they first brought him here, they said he could not have his whiskey, they said he could not have his tobacco, they said he could not have a small glass, they said he could not have an ashtray. He had just sat, not eating their horrid food, not drinking their horrid tea, not anything. He had even refused to be taken to that horrid clean toilet, he wet and soiled himself in the chair!
One day he was brought to his chair in front of the window and there was the little table next to the chair with a whiskey bottle on it and the small glass. He looked at them, not speaking. Still he did not eat, still he did not drink, not even his whiskey. How could he drink whiskey from the small glass without smoking one of his own rolled cigarettes? They insisted he could not have tobacco!
The next day they brought him to the chair and he noticed all the other chairs in the room had gone. The room had just his chair with the little table beside it, the bottle of whiskey and the small glass were on the little table. Beside the bottle of whiskey was a pouch of tobacco, a packet of cigarette rolling papers, a lighter and an ashtray. He felt full of happiness inside to see these things. He let them help him into his chair and sat and rolled a cigarette as they watched him, he then opened the bottle of whiskey and poured some into the small glass. He lit the cigarette with the lighter and puffed so deeply he nearly coughed. He did not let the cough escape, he drank whiskey from the small glass savouring the taste of the fluid on his tongue.
Now he would eat their horrid food, drink their horrid tea, he put whiskey in the tea as he thought it made it taste better. He would let them take him to the horrid clean toilet, he had all he needed. He still would not do other things. They did try and talk to him, he just sat drinking his whiskey from the small glass and smoking his own rolled cigarettes and flicking the ash from his own rolled cigarettes into the clear glass ashtray. He ignored them. He looked out the window that once opened.
©Trevor Litchfield
Sunday 12 December 2010
I am,
I am,
often depressed,
asthmatic,
pessimistic,
starting from scratch.
I feel,
often lonely,
sometimes scared,
creative,
there is more to come.
I want,
peace of mind,
a companion,
something better,
to walk in the fields.
I see,
the trees,
wasted lives,
human hate,
no answers.
I like,
music,
to write,
the smell of books,
to learn new things.
I love,
the beach,
to walk,
to read,
to laugh.
I hate,
the pills,
confrontation,
celebrity,
shaving.
I am,
me,
all that you see,
all that you read,
all that you sense.
often depressed,
asthmatic,
pessimistic,
starting from scratch.
I feel,
often lonely,
sometimes scared,
creative,
there is more to come.
I want,
peace of mind,
a companion,
something better,
to walk in the fields.
I see,
the trees,
wasted lives,
human hate,
no answers.
I like,
music,
to write,
the smell of books,
to learn new things.
I love,
the beach,
to walk,
to read,
to laugh.
I hate,
the pills,
confrontation,
celebrity,
shaving.
I am,
me,
all that you see,
all that you read,
all that you sense.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Saturday 11 December 2010
Late for Work
“Late again Litchfield!” came the by now familiar shout across the office.
My manager is a real tough nut when it comes to turning up late for work but if you can come up with a good enough excuse or the most outlandish reason then he will go away smiling to himself and forget all about you being late. This was the third time this week I had rolled up in the office late and I was running out of stories, these cold mornings just leave me hitting the snooze button more often than I should.
“Yes Mr Smith, sorry” I meekly said back to him
“I hope you have a good reason for this tardiness, it’s the third time this week!”
“I have …….”
“In my office please Mr Litchfield”
Off I go, my mind doing overtime thinking about what I could tell him today.
Mr Smith sat in his chair behind the uncluttered desk in his uncluttered office, he hated mess of any kind and here I was unshaven (again) and looking much the worse for the night out with the lads I had the night before.
“Well?” he looked at me severely.
“It’s like this Mr Smith, my brother called me in the night to say he was locked out.” I started “I have his spare key, so I had to drive over to give him his spare key” What the devil am I talking about, brother?
“That took all night did it Litchfield?” said Mr Smith looking at me expectantly.
“Thing is my brother lives in Manchester” just about as far as I could think of and get back in time to be just late for work.
“So you drove from London to Manchester to give your brother his door key? Isn’t he married or anything?”
“Yes he is but his wife is out of town on business” I’m thinking on my feet again “and she was being entertained by new clients and my brother didn’t want to disturb her”
“OK! I’ll buy the drive to Manchester and back, eight hours round trip, maybe nine with a coffee break. What time did your brother call?”
“It was about five-ish”
“So you got home at four this morning, you could have slept four hours and still been here on time!”
“But when I got to his house, I’d forgotten the key” I looked pleadingly at Mr Smith, now feigning the tiredness I should be showing if I had been up all night “So I had to drive back, get the key and go back to Manchester again.”
“I’m sure you did Litchfield, I’m sure you did!”
I stood looking at him for confirmation of his forgiveness quickly doing the mental calculations for the hours I should have been driving. I’m back in London two hours before I could possibly be.
“Why didn’t your brother come back with you, stay over then go back today WITH the spare key?”
“Coz he’d be late for work if he did that Mr Smith.”
©2010Trevor Litchfield
My manager is a real tough nut when it comes to turning up late for work but if you can come up with a good enough excuse or the most outlandish reason then he will go away smiling to himself and forget all about you being late. This was the third time this week I had rolled up in the office late and I was running out of stories, these cold mornings just leave me hitting the snooze button more often than I should.
“Yes Mr Smith, sorry” I meekly said back to him
“I hope you have a good reason for this tardiness, it’s the third time this week!”
“I have …….”
“In my office please Mr Litchfield”
Off I go, my mind doing overtime thinking about what I could tell him today.
Mr Smith sat in his chair behind the uncluttered desk in his uncluttered office, he hated mess of any kind and here I was unshaven (again) and looking much the worse for the night out with the lads I had the night before.
“Well?” he looked at me severely.
“It’s like this Mr Smith, my brother called me in the night to say he was locked out.” I started “I have his spare key, so I had to drive over to give him his spare key” What the devil am I talking about, brother?
“That took all night did it Litchfield?” said Mr Smith looking at me expectantly.
“Thing is my brother lives in Manchester” just about as far as I could think of and get back in time to be just late for work.
“So you drove from London to Manchester to give your brother his door key? Isn’t he married or anything?”
“Yes he is but his wife is out of town on business” I’m thinking on my feet again “and she was being entertained by new clients and my brother didn’t want to disturb her”
“OK! I’ll buy the drive to Manchester and back, eight hours round trip, maybe nine with a coffee break. What time did your brother call?”
“It was about five-ish”
“So you got home at four this morning, you could have slept four hours and still been here on time!”
“But when I got to his house, I’d forgotten the key” I looked pleadingly at Mr Smith, now feigning the tiredness I should be showing if I had been up all night “So I had to drive back, get the key and go back to Manchester again.”
“I’m sure you did Litchfield, I’m sure you did!”
I stood looking at him for confirmation of his forgiveness quickly doing the mental calculations for the hours I should have been driving. I’m back in London two hours before I could possibly be.
“Why didn’t your brother come back with you, stay over then go back today WITH the spare key?”
“Coz he’d be late for work if he did that Mr Smith.”
©2010Trevor Litchfield
Late for Work
“Late again Litchfield!” came the by now familiar shout across the office.
My manager is a real tough nut when it comes to turning up late for work but if you can come up with a good enough excuse or the most outlandish reason then he will go away smiling to himself and forget all about you being late. This was the third time this week I had rolled up in the office late and I was running out of stories, these cold mornings just leave me hitting the snooze button more often than I should.
“Yes Mr Smith, sorry” I meekly said back to him
“I hope you have a good reason for this tardiness, it’s the third time this week!”
“I have …….”
“In my office please Mr Litchfield”
Off I go, my mind doing overtime thinking about what I could tell him today.
Mr Smith sat in his chair behind the uncluttered desk in his uncluttered office, he hated mess of any kind and here I was unshaven (again) and looking much the worse for the night out with the lads I had the night before.
“Well?” he looked at me severely.
“It’s like this Mr Smith, my brother called me in the night to say he was locked out.” I started “I have his spare key, so I had to drive over to give him his spare key” What the devil am I talking about, brother?
“That took all night did it Litchfield?” said Mr Smith looking at me expectantly.
“Thing is my brother lives in Manchester” just about as far as I could think of and get back in time to be just late for work.
“So you drove from London to Manchester to give your brother his door key? Isn’t he married or anything?”
“Yes he is but his wife is out of town on business” I’m thinking on my feet again “and she was being entertained by new clients and my brother didn’t want to disturb her”
“OK! I’ll buy the drive to Manchester and back, eight hours round trip, maybe nine with a coffee break. What time did your brother call?”
“It was about five-ish”
“So you got home at four this morning, you could have slept four hours and still been here on time!”
“But when I got to his house, I’d forgotten the key” I looked pleadingly at Mr Smith, now feigning the tiredness I should be showing if I had been up all night “So I had to drive back, get the key and go back to Manchester again.”
“I’m sure you did Litchfield, I’m sure you did!”
I stood looking at him for confirmation of his forgiveness quickly doing the mental calculations for the hours I should have been driving. I’m back in London two hours before I could possibly be.
“Why didn’t your brother come back with you, stay over then go back today WITH the spare key?”
“Coz he’d be late for work if he did that Mr Smith.”
©2010Trevor Litchfield
My manager is a real tough nut when it comes to turning up late for work but if you can come up with a good enough excuse or the most outlandish reason then he will go away smiling to himself and forget all about you being late. This was the third time this week I had rolled up in the office late and I was running out of stories, these cold mornings just leave me hitting the snooze button more often than I should.
“Yes Mr Smith, sorry” I meekly said back to him
“I hope you have a good reason for this tardiness, it’s the third time this week!”
“I have …….”
“In my office please Mr Litchfield”
Off I go, my mind doing overtime thinking about what I could tell him today.
Mr Smith sat in his chair behind the uncluttered desk in his uncluttered office, he hated mess of any kind and here I was unshaven (again) and looking much the worse for the night out with the lads I had the night before.
“Well?” he looked at me severely.
“It’s like this Mr Smith, my brother called me in the night to say he was locked out.” I started “I have his spare key, so I had to drive over to give him his spare key” What the devil am I talking about, brother?
“That took all night did it Litchfield?” said Mr Smith looking at me expectantly.
“Thing is my brother lives in Manchester” just about as far as I could think of and get back in time to be just late for work.
“So you drove from London to Manchester to give your brother his door key? Isn’t he married or anything?”
“Yes he is but his wife is out of town on business” I’m thinking on my feet again “and she was being entertained by new clients and my brother didn’t want to disturb her”
“OK! I’ll buy the drive to Manchester and back, eight hours round trip, maybe nine with a coffee break. What time did your brother call?”
“It was about five-ish”
“So you got home at four this morning, you could have slept four hours and still been here on time!”
“But when I got to his house, I’d forgotten the key” I looked pleadingly at Mr Smith, now feigning the tiredness I should be showing if I had been up all night “So I had to drive back, get the key and go back to Manchester again.”
“I’m sure you did Litchfield, I’m sure you did!”
I stood looking at him for confirmation of his forgiveness quickly doing the mental calculations for the hours I should have been driving. I’m back in London two hours before I could possibly be.
“Why didn’t your brother come back with you, stay over then go back today WITH the spare key?”
“Coz he’d be late for work if he did that Mr Smith.”
©2010Trevor Litchfield
Leaf Litter
Leaf litter on the ground,
birled by winters breath.
Everything underfoot damp,
relinquishing life hard won.
Discarded by seasons life,
replenishing the consumed.
Damming rivulets journeys,
to lazy wide rivers regret.
Water tracing paths anew,
soaking through past lives.
Crystalline strands pullulate,
with each days abbreviated light.
Icy breezes halt waters progress,
interim defeat of rivers desire.
Leaf and water attain new focus,
sculptures in nature for all to view.
Ice crystals holding leaf enslaved,
’till season aspires to new themes.
When springs warm sighs return,
and rivers thirsty desires are met.
©2010Trevor Litchfield
birled by winters breath.
Everything underfoot damp,
relinquishing life hard won.
Discarded by seasons life,
replenishing the consumed.
Damming rivulets journeys,
to lazy wide rivers regret.
Water tracing paths anew,
soaking through past lives.
Crystalline strands pullulate,
with each days abbreviated light.
Icy breezes halt waters progress,
interim defeat of rivers desire.
Leaf and water attain new focus,
sculptures in nature for all to view.
Ice crystals holding leaf enslaved,
’till season aspires to new themes.
When springs warm sighs return,
and rivers thirsty desires are met.
©2010Trevor Litchfield
Thursday 9 December 2010
Homeless
Jo could not remember how she ended up living in the squat. It was yet another freezing cold morning as she lay huddled up in the smelly sleeping bag thrown over a rotting mattress on the floor.
Was it the way she had flounced out on her parents that prevented her from going, cap in hand, back to Suburbia and the family home her parents had worked so hard to pay for all their lives? Was it that arsehole Steve, the way he had ripped her off? Taking all the money from their joint account, all their furniture and the car that awful Saturday morning. She had lost her job in the supermarket because of that bloody car, or lack of it. Soon after followed eviction from the rented flat and now here she was, stuck in some godforsaken backwater of a long forgotten Victorian seaside town with no money, no home, no friends, with less than nothing in the way of prospects.
Steve had sure picked a great time to jump ship. Things were OK but not great while he was there, they argued constantly but bills were getting paid. The landlord had just sent the renewal of their shorthold tenancy, all it needed was signing and they would have a roof over their heads for another year. Steve had said he would sort it, instead he had emptied her life of everything that mattered to her and left her behind.
Jo stirred, trying to find some warmth in the tattered sleeping bag. It was definitely colder this morning, she did not want to leave what warmth she found in the sleeping bag behind but she had promised herself that her life must change today. It was her birthday, 20th December, she was now twenty four years old.
She had found the squat in that late summer by walking the backstreet’s of this once jolly seaside town looking for an empty house. The town was now faded and rotting because the tourists did not come here anymore. Even what few tearooms there were closed in September because this was no place to come if the sun was not shining. Where she slept was barely four walls, it had part of a roof over two dilapidated old rooms, no electricity, no running water, no heat other than the small fire she sometimes lit in one corner of the decrepit room she slept in.
Other homeless people, mainly men, had offered her somewhere to sleep in other squats but she knew what that would mean, right now she certainly did not want the attentions of any man, let alone other homeless men. She considered herself to be different from other homeless people, she did not do drugs, she did not drink to excess like they did, she did not even smoke tobacco like just about all the other homeless people she had encountered. How could they afford the tobacco or all those other things they seem to have?
She could barely afford food some days, begging was mostly a waste of time in the centre of town though just occasionally she got given a few coins which she eagerly accepted. It was on days she got given money that she lit her fire, she always bought food that she could heat up, tinned soup or anything in a tin that she could balance precariously over her little fire. Extracting hot food from a scalding hot tin with your fingers was not ideal but the hot food contained within was more than welcome on a day like today.
Jo poked her head over the top of her sleeping bag, searching to see if she needed to go scavenging for something to burn on her fire. On good days she would scavenge all day, building up reserves to burn on cold days, the activity also warmed her up. She sighed to herself, she would have to scavenge today if she wanted any warmth from her fire and she had no tins left with no money to buy anymore. Suburbia seemed such a long time ago, as did her flat in Uxbridge. Why had she come to this godforsaken town in late summer, just three months ago anyway? She had used the last of her money, the money Steve had not found in her purse, on that bus ticket. What had she been thinking?
She snuggled herself back into the sleeping bag, closed her eyes hoping to find some more sleep, hoping the day would warm up. Jo drifted off into a semi-sleep, that hazy sort you get when you do not want to get out of bed and have no reason to either. She dreamt of a visit to this seaside town she and Steve had taken just over sixteen months ago. The hot sun on her back as she lay topless on the deserted beach, Steve laughing and joking as he applied the sun protection lotion to her skin. That had been a glorious day, where had they gone?
Snow started to fall from the leaden sky, covering all in a beautiful layered white blanket. The snow kept on falling, temperatures making records as they reached new lows. Dog walkers often used this quite backwater of the town during the day where all the houses were either derelict or empty. The ambulance parked outside the partially roofed old bungalow was a rare sight on this street, no one lived in this street anymore.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Was it the way she had flounced out on her parents that prevented her from going, cap in hand, back to Suburbia and the family home her parents had worked so hard to pay for all their lives? Was it that arsehole Steve, the way he had ripped her off? Taking all the money from their joint account, all their furniture and the car that awful Saturday morning. She had lost her job in the supermarket because of that bloody car, or lack of it. Soon after followed eviction from the rented flat and now here she was, stuck in some godforsaken backwater of a long forgotten Victorian seaside town with no money, no home, no friends, with less than nothing in the way of prospects.
Steve had sure picked a great time to jump ship. Things were OK but not great while he was there, they argued constantly but bills were getting paid. The landlord had just sent the renewal of their shorthold tenancy, all it needed was signing and they would have a roof over their heads for another year. Steve had said he would sort it, instead he had emptied her life of everything that mattered to her and left her behind.
Jo stirred, trying to find some warmth in the tattered sleeping bag. It was definitely colder this morning, she did not want to leave what warmth she found in the sleeping bag behind but she had promised herself that her life must change today. It was her birthday, 20th December, she was now twenty four years old.
She had found the squat in that late summer by walking the backstreet’s of this once jolly seaside town looking for an empty house. The town was now faded and rotting because the tourists did not come here anymore. Even what few tearooms there were closed in September because this was no place to come if the sun was not shining. Where she slept was barely four walls, it had part of a roof over two dilapidated old rooms, no electricity, no running water, no heat other than the small fire she sometimes lit in one corner of the decrepit room she slept in.
Other homeless people, mainly men, had offered her somewhere to sleep in other squats but she knew what that would mean, right now she certainly did not want the attentions of any man, let alone other homeless men. She considered herself to be different from other homeless people, she did not do drugs, she did not drink to excess like they did, she did not even smoke tobacco like just about all the other homeless people she had encountered. How could they afford the tobacco or all those other things they seem to have?
She could barely afford food some days, begging was mostly a waste of time in the centre of town though just occasionally she got given a few coins which she eagerly accepted. It was on days she got given money that she lit her fire, she always bought food that she could heat up, tinned soup or anything in a tin that she could balance precariously over her little fire. Extracting hot food from a scalding hot tin with your fingers was not ideal but the hot food contained within was more than welcome on a day like today.
Jo poked her head over the top of her sleeping bag, searching to see if she needed to go scavenging for something to burn on her fire. On good days she would scavenge all day, building up reserves to burn on cold days, the activity also warmed her up. She sighed to herself, she would have to scavenge today if she wanted any warmth from her fire and she had no tins left with no money to buy anymore. Suburbia seemed such a long time ago, as did her flat in Uxbridge. Why had she come to this godforsaken town in late summer, just three months ago anyway? She had used the last of her money, the money Steve had not found in her purse, on that bus ticket. What had she been thinking?
She snuggled herself back into the sleeping bag, closed her eyes hoping to find some more sleep, hoping the day would warm up. Jo drifted off into a semi-sleep, that hazy sort you get when you do not want to get out of bed and have no reason to either. She dreamt of a visit to this seaside town she and Steve had taken just over sixteen months ago. The hot sun on her back as she lay topless on the deserted beach, Steve laughing and joking as he applied the sun protection lotion to her skin. That had been a glorious day, where had they gone?
Snow started to fall from the leaden sky, covering all in a beautiful layered white blanket. The snow kept on falling, temperatures making records as they reached new lows. Dog walkers often used this quite backwater of the town during the day where all the houses were either derelict or empty. The ambulance parked outside the partially roofed old bungalow was a rare sight on this street, no one lived in this street anymore.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Homeless
Jo could not remember how she ended up living in the squat. It was yet another freezing cold morning as she lay huddled up in the smelly sleeping bag thrown over a rotting mattress on the floor.
Was it the way she had flounced out on her parents that prevented her from going, cap in hand, back to Suburbia and the family home her parents had worked so hard to pay for all their lives? Was it that arsehole Steve, the way he had ripped her off? Taking all the money from their joint account, all their furniture and the car that awful Saturday morning. She had lost her job in the supermarket because of that bloody car, or lack of it. Soon after followed eviction from the rented flat and now here she was, stuck in some godforsaken backwater of a long forgotten Victorian seaside town with no money, no home, no friends, with less than nothing in the way of prospects.
Steve had sure picked a great time to jump ship. Things were OK but not great while he was there, they argued constantly but bills were getting paid. The landlord had just sent the renewal of their shorthold tenancy, all it needed was signing and they would have a roof over their heads for another year. Steve had said he would sort it, instead he had emptied her life of everything that mattered to her and left her behind.
Jo stirred, trying to find some warmth in the tattered sleeping bag. It was definitely colder this morning, she did not want to leave what warmth she found in the sleeping bag behind but she had promised herself that her life must change today. It was her birthday, 20th December, she was now twenty four years old.
She had found the squat in that late summer by walking the backstreet’s of this once jolly seaside town looking for an empty house. The town was now faded and rotting because the tourists did not come here anymore. Even what few tearooms there were closed in September because this was no place to come if the sun was not shining. Where she slept was barely four walls, it had part of a roof over two dilapidated old rooms, no electricity, no running water, no heat other than the small fire she sometimes lit in one corner of the decrepit room she slept in.
Other homeless people, mainly men, had offered her somewhere to sleep in other squats but she knew what that would mean, right now she certainly did not want the attentions of any man, let alone other homeless men. She considered herself to be different from other homeless people, she did not do drugs, she did not drink to excess like they did, she did not even smoke tobacco like just about all the other homeless people she had encountered. How could they afford the tobacco or all those other things they seem to have?
She could barely afford food some days, begging was mostly a waste of time in the centre of town though just occasionally she got given a few coins which she eagerly accepted. It was on days she got given money that she lit her fire, she always bought food that she could heat up, tinned soup or anything in a tin that she could balance precariously over her little fire. Extracting hot food from a scalding hot tin with your fingers was not ideal but the hot food contained within was more than welcome on a day like today.
Jo poked her head over the top of her sleeping bag, searching to see if she needed to go scavenging for something to burn on her fire. On good days she would scavenge all day, building up reserves to burn on cold days, the activity also warmed her up. She sighed to herself, she would have to scavenge today if she wanted any warmth from her fire and she had no tins left with no money to buy anymore. Suburbia seemed such a long time ago, as did her flat in Uxbridge. Why had she come to this godforsaken town in late summer, just three months ago anyway? She had used the last of her money, the money Steve had not found in her purse, on that bus ticket. What had she been thinking?
She snuggled herself back into the sleeping bag, closed her eyes hoping to find some more sleep, hoping the day would warm up. Jo drifted off into a semi-sleep, that hazy sort you get when you do not want to get out of bed and have no reason to either. She dreamt of a visit to this seaside town she and Steve had taken just over sixteen months ago. The hot sun on her back as she lay topless on the deserted beach, Steve laughing and joking as he applied the sun protection lotion to her skin. That had been a glorious day, where had they gone?
Snow started to fall from the leaden sky, covering all in a beautiful layered white blanket. The snow kept on falling, temperatures making records as they reached new lows. Dog walkers often used this quite backwater of the town during the day where all the houses were either derelict or empty. The ambulance parked outside the partially roofed old bungalow was a rare sight on this street, no one lived in this street anymore.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Was it the way she had flounced out on her parents that prevented her from going, cap in hand, back to Suburbia and the family home her parents had worked so hard to pay for all their lives? Was it that arsehole Steve, the way he had ripped her off? Taking all the money from their joint account, all their furniture and the car that awful Saturday morning. She had lost her job in the supermarket because of that bloody car, or lack of it. Soon after followed eviction from the rented flat and now here she was, stuck in some godforsaken backwater of a long forgotten Victorian seaside town with no money, no home, no friends, with less than nothing in the way of prospects.
Steve had sure picked a great time to jump ship. Things were OK but not great while he was there, they argued constantly but bills were getting paid. The landlord had just sent the renewal of their shorthold tenancy, all it needed was signing and they would have a roof over their heads for another year. Steve had said he would sort it, instead he had emptied her life of everything that mattered to her and left her behind.
Jo stirred, trying to find some warmth in the tattered sleeping bag. It was definitely colder this morning, she did not want to leave what warmth she found in the sleeping bag behind but she had promised herself that her life must change today. It was her birthday, 20th December, she was now twenty four years old.
She had found the squat in that late summer by walking the backstreet’s of this once jolly seaside town looking for an empty house. The town was now faded and rotting because the tourists did not come here anymore. Even what few tearooms there were closed in September because this was no place to come if the sun was not shining. Where she slept was barely four walls, it had part of a roof over two dilapidated old rooms, no electricity, no running water, no heat other than the small fire she sometimes lit in one corner of the decrepit room she slept in.
Other homeless people, mainly men, had offered her somewhere to sleep in other squats but she knew what that would mean, right now she certainly did not want the attentions of any man, let alone other homeless men. She considered herself to be different from other homeless people, she did not do drugs, she did not drink to excess like they did, she did not even smoke tobacco like just about all the other homeless people she had encountered. How could they afford the tobacco or all those other things they seem to have?
She could barely afford food some days, begging was mostly a waste of time in the centre of town though just occasionally she got given a few coins which she eagerly accepted. It was on days she got given money that she lit her fire, she always bought food that she could heat up, tinned soup or anything in a tin that she could balance precariously over her little fire. Extracting hot food from a scalding hot tin with your fingers was not ideal but the hot food contained within was more than welcome on a day like today.
Jo poked her head over the top of her sleeping bag, searching to see if she needed to go scavenging for something to burn on her fire. On good days she would scavenge all day, building up reserves to burn on cold days, the activity also warmed her up. She sighed to herself, she would have to scavenge today if she wanted any warmth from her fire and she had no tins left with no money to buy anymore. Suburbia seemed such a long time ago, as did her flat in Uxbridge. Why had she come to this godforsaken town in late summer, just three months ago anyway? She had used the last of her money, the money Steve had not found in her purse, on that bus ticket. What had she been thinking?
She snuggled herself back into the sleeping bag, closed her eyes hoping to find some more sleep, hoping the day would warm up. Jo drifted off into a semi-sleep, that hazy sort you get when you do not want to get out of bed and have no reason to either. She dreamt of a visit to this seaside town she and Steve had taken just over sixteen months ago. The hot sun on her back as she lay topless on the deserted beach, Steve laughing and joking as he applied the sun protection lotion to her skin. That had been a glorious day, where had they gone?
Snow started to fall from the leaden sky, covering all in a beautiful layered white blanket. The snow kept on falling, temperatures making records as they reached new lows. Dog walkers often used this quite backwater of the town during the day where all the houses were either derelict or empty. The ambulance parked outside the partially roofed old bungalow was a rare sight on this street, no one lived in this street anymore.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Wednesday 8 December 2010
For we are the earth, stars and moon, we are the sun
Have you ever swum naked in the deep blue oceans?
Feeling the thrill of warm waters soothing embrace
That sensuous fluid movement, as warm as lotions
How I long for those days, memories to retrace
Have you ever walked naked with your feet in the stream?
Underfoot cool pebbles and thick carpets of moss
Finding that small pool, relaxed as if in a dream
I hold this memory dear, detailed without loss
Have you ever run naked through a sunlit draped glade?
Scents and gentle perfumes ravishing the senses
Lying beneath the canopy, skin a dappled brocade
I’ve done this forever, memories of adolescences
Have you ever lain naked beneath that big blue sky?
Great sun burning above as you soak in it’s heat
Deep grass provides comfort no body can deny
I well remember we may have been indiscreet
Have you ever been naked with the one you desired?
In all these places, seed sown, a new life begun
We did this together, our love making inspired
For we are the earth, stars and moon, we are the sun
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Feeling the thrill of warm waters soothing embrace
That sensuous fluid movement, as warm as lotions
How I long for those days, memories to retrace
Have you ever walked naked with your feet in the stream?
Underfoot cool pebbles and thick carpets of moss
Finding that small pool, relaxed as if in a dream
I hold this memory dear, detailed without loss
Have you ever run naked through a sunlit draped glade?
Scents and gentle perfumes ravishing the senses
Lying beneath the canopy, skin a dappled brocade
I’ve done this forever, memories of adolescences
Have you ever lain naked beneath that big blue sky?
Great sun burning above as you soak in it’s heat
Deep grass provides comfort no body can deny
I well remember we may have been indiscreet
Have you ever been naked with the one you desired?
In all these places, seed sown, a new life begun
We did this together, our love making inspired
For we are the earth, stars and moon, we are the sun
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
What This Soul Needs
Might it be a summers heat
offering warmth to my back?
Is it the soft and gentle breeze
taking all my thoughts from me?
Could it be springs sparkling rain
promising new growth from old?
Is it the feel of a hand in mine
soft gentle fingers entwined?
Or might it be a gentle caress
lips touching mine so tenderly?
Could it be deep searching eyes
finding depths I cannot see?
To be at peace within this life
my soul needs to find new fruits
I need more than life’s intimacies
to give this soul a life renewed.
What this soul is searching for
is peace within body and soul.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
offering warmth to my back?
Is it the soft and gentle breeze
taking all my thoughts from me?
Could it be springs sparkling rain
promising new growth from old?
Is it the feel of a hand in mine
soft gentle fingers entwined?
Or might it be a gentle caress
lips touching mine so tenderly?
Could it be deep searching eyes
finding depths I cannot see?
To be at peace within this life
my soul needs to find new fruits
I need more than life’s intimacies
to give this soul a life renewed.
What this soul is searching for
is peace within body and soul.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Sunday 5 December 2010
‘Chased By Dogs’
Joe stumbled and fell into the clearing, tired and exhausted. He lay on the frozen ground panting, his breath making mist clouds in the chill air. He knew he had to get up and keep moving he could hear the dogs once again; they were not far away. He had hoped that throwing his coat into that river might put the dogs of his scent for a while, give him a chance to get some distance between himself and the dogs so he could rest up somewhere.
Joe surveyed his surroundings, he was lying in a small clearing in the forest, frost and shallow snow drifts all around then the dark foreboding forest beyond that in all directions. He had a compass, he knew which direction he had to travel and he knew his goal. If he could reach that goal in the next twenty four hours he would be a free man. He looked up, staring at the trees, nothing stirred apart from the incessant barking of the dogs getting ever closer.
Joe stood up to his full and lean six foot frame, his matted dark brown hair falling into his grey eyes. Joe did not care; he checked his compass and started north-east once again. Twigs slashed at his pale skinned face and now bare arms leaving welt marks as he ran through the forest. Run Joe run, he thought.
After another twenty minutes Joe came out of the forest beside a river, his bare skin and face covered in welts. He did not remember this river from the map they showed him. Joe halted, head bowed, thinking hard; where was he? Joe looked at the river, frozen but not frozen enough to cross without the ice breaking, which way? Joe checked his compass, he would have to travel almost due east along the river bank until he found somewhere to cross, he did not want to go west, he knew what lay in that direction if he travelled far enough, it had to be east. Until now Joe had not noticed the silence, even the dogs where quiet. Had they lost his scent?
To save much needed energy, Joe walked along the riverbank but without his coat and only a T-shirt and jeans for clothing, his sweat soon started to freeze to his body, he had to find some dry warmer clothes. Joe looked down the river and in the distance he could see buildings alongside the river. Joe started to jog to try to get some heat circulating in his body again but he was already shivering.
He reached what looked like an abandoned barn with an old watermill alongside. Both looked deserted as Joe scouted for signs of life. While at the back of the barn, Joe noticed that a window had been smashed. It also looked like the only way into the barn without smashing in doors as the only door to the barn was at the front and locked with a heavy brass padlock. Joe climbed in through the window into the almost total darkness of the barn.
The audience was going wild, placing bets with the interactive betting agents as they flashed their prices across the viewing screens. Joe had found something no other freedom chaser had found; this was something new to the viewers of the most watched TV show in modern history. Of course the audience did not know that the production company had built this new feature into the set after falling viewer and betting income figures had spurred them into new ideas. Everything now rested on Joe, would he find the items planted in the barn and watermill? Finding the right items would mean certain freedom, finding the wrong items; well that was why ‘Chased By Dogs’ was the most popular TV show in modern history.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Joe surveyed his surroundings, he was lying in a small clearing in the forest, frost and shallow snow drifts all around then the dark foreboding forest beyond that in all directions. He had a compass, he knew which direction he had to travel and he knew his goal. If he could reach that goal in the next twenty four hours he would be a free man. He looked up, staring at the trees, nothing stirred apart from the incessant barking of the dogs getting ever closer.
Joe stood up to his full and lean six foot frame, his matted dark brown hair falling into his grey eyes. Joe did not care; he checked his compass and started north-east once again. Twigs slashed at his pale skinned face and now bare arms leaving welt marks as he ran through the forest. Run Joe run, he thought.
After another twenty minutes Joe came out of the forest beside a river, his bare skin and face covered in welts. He did not remember this river from the map they showed him. Joe halted, head bowed, thinking hard; where was he? Joe looked at the river, frozen but not frozen enough to cross without the ice breaking, which way? Joe checked his compass, he would have to travel almost due east along the river bank until he found somewhere to cross, he did not want to go west, he knew what lay in that direction if he travelled far enough, it had to be east. Until now Joe had not noticed the silence, even the dogs where quiet. Had they lost his scent?
To save much needed energy, Joe walked along the riverbank but without his coat and only a T-shirt and jeans for clothing, his sweat soon started to freeze to his body, he had to find some dry warmer clothes. Joe looked down the river and in the distance he could see buildings alongside the river. Joe started to jog to try to get some heat circulating in his body again but he was already shivering.
He reached what looked like an abandoned barn with an old watermill alongside. Both looked deserted as Joe scouted for signs of life. While at the back of the barn, Joe noticed that a window had been smashed. It also looked like the only way into the barn without smashing in doors as the only door to the barn was at the front and locked with a heavy brass padlock. Joe climbed in through the window into the almost total darkness of the barn.
The audience was going wild, placing bets with the interactive betting agents as they flashed their prices across the viewing screens. Joe had found something no other freedom chaser had found; this was something new to the viewers of the most watched TV show in modern history. Of course the audience did not know that the production company had built this new feature into the set after falling viewer and betting income figures had spurred them into new ideas. Everything now rested on Joe, would he find the items planted in the barn and watermill? Finding the right items would mean certain freedom, finding the wrong items; well that was why ‘Chased By Dogs’ was the most popular TV show in modern history.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
‘Chased By Dogs’
Joe stumbled and fell into the clearing, tired and exhausted. He lay on the frozen ground panting, his breath making mist clouds in the chill air. He knew he had to get up and keep moving he could hear the dogs once again; they were not far away. He had hoped that throwing his coat into that river might put the dogs of his scent for a while, give him a chance to get some distance between himself and the dogs so he could rest up somewhere.
Joe surveyed his surroundings, he was lying in a small clearing in the forest, frost and shallow snow drifts all around then the dark foreboding forest beyond that in all directions. He had a compass, he knew which direction he had to travel and he knew his goal. If he could reach that goal in the next twenty four hours he would be a free man. He looked up, staring at the trees, nothing stirred apart from the incessant barking of the dogs getting ever closer.
Joe stood up to his full and lean six foot frame, his matted dark brown hair falling into his grey eyes. Joe did not care; he checked his compass and started north-east once again. Twigs slashed at his pale skinned face and now bare arms leaving welt marks as he ran through the forest. Run Joe run, he thought.
After another twenty minutes Joe came out of the forest beside a river, his bare skin and face covered in welts. He did not remember this river from the map they showed him. Joe halted, head bowed, thinking hard; where was he? Joe looked at the river, frozen but not frozen enough to cross without the ice breaking, which way? Joe checked his compass, he would have to travel almost due east along the river bank until he found somewhere to cross, he did not want to go west, he knew what lay in that direction if he travelled far enough, it had to be east. Until now Joe had not noticed the silence, even the dogs where quiet. Had they lost his scent?
To save much needed energy, Joe walked along the riverbank but without his coat and only a T-shirt and jeans for clothing, his sweat soon started to freeze to his body, he had to find some dry warmer clothes. Joe looked down the river and in the distance he could see buildings alongside the river. Joe started to jog to try to get some heat circulating in his body again but he was already shivering.
He reached what looked like an abandoned barn with an old watermill alongside. Both looked deserted as Joe scouted for signs of life. While at the back of the barn, Joe noticed that a window had been smashed. It also looked like the only way into the barn without smashing in doors as the only door to the barn was at the front and locked with a heavy brass padlock. Joe climbed in through the window into the almost total darkness of the barn.
The audience was going wild, placing bets with the interactive betting agents as they flashed their prices across the viewing screens. Joe had found something no other freedom chaser had found; this was something new to the viewers of the most watched TV show in modern history. Of course the audience did not know that the production company had built this new feature into the set after falling viewer and betting income figures had spurred them into new ideas. Everything now rested on Joe, would he find the items planted in the barn and watermill? Finding the right items would mean certain freedom, finding the wrong items; well that was why ‘Chased By Dogs’ was the most popular TV show in modern history.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Joe surveyed his surroundings, he was lying in a small clearing in the forest, frost and shallow snow drifts all around then the dark foreboding forest beyond that in all directions. He had a compass, he knew which direction he had to travel and he knew his goal. If he could reach that goal in the next twenty four hours he would be a free man. He looked up, staring at the trees, nothing stirred apart from the incessant barking of the dogs getting ever closer.
Joe stood up to his full and lean six foot frame, his matted dark brown hair falling into his grey eyes. Joe did not care; he checked his compass and started north-east once again. Twigs slashed at his pale skinned face and now bare arms leaving welt marks as he ran through the forest. Run Joe run, he thought.
After another twenty minutes Joe came out of the forest beside a river, his bare skin and face covered in welts. He did not remember this river from the map they showed him. Joe halted, head bowed, thinking hard; where was he? Joe looked at the river, frozen but not frozen enough to cross without the ice breaking, which way? Joe checked his compass, he would have to travel almost due east along the river bank until he found somewhere to cross, he did not want to go west, he knew what lay in that direction if he travelled far enough, it had to be east. Until now Joe had not noticed the silence, even the dogs where quiet. Had they lost his scent?
To save much needed energy, Joe walked along the riverbank but without his coat and only a T-shirt and jeans for clothing, his sweat soon started to freeze to his body, he had to find some dry warmer clothes. Joe looked down the river and in the distance he could see buildings alongside the river. Joe started to jog to try to get some heat circulating in his body again but he was already shivering.
He reached what looked like an abandoned barn with an old watermill alongside. Both looked deserted as Joe scouted for signs of life. While at the back of the barn, Joe noticed that a window had been smashed. It also looked like the only way into the barn without smashing in doors as the only door to the barn was at the front and locked with a heavy brass padlock. Joe climbed in through the window into the almost total darkness of the barn.
The audience was going wild, placing bets with the interactive betting agents as they flashed their prices across the viewing screens. Joe had found something no other freedom chaser had found; this was something new to the viewers of the most watched TV show in modern history. Of course the audience did not know that the production company had built this new feature into the set after falling viewer and betting income figures had spurred them into new ideas. Everything now rested on Joe, would he find the items planted in the barn and watermill? Finding the right items would mean certain freedom, finding the wrong items; well that was why ‘Chased By Dogs’ was the most popular TV show in modern history.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Thursday 2 December 2010
Looking For You
I used to look for your face every day
amongst the crowds milling around the city.
I desperately wanted to see that smile,
the one that always made my heart skip a beat.
You never knew how much that smile meant,
it lit my world every time you smiled at me.
I know I wanted to kiss you so tenderly,
your brown eyes searching mine, pupils dilate.
Did you want to reciprocate that kiss?
Maybe if I had been brave enough, just once,
my life would be with you, but I’m alone.
Now the desires are gone, but there are days
when I still search the faces of the city, looking for you
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
amongst the crowds milling around the city.
I desperately wanted to see that smile,
the one that always made my heart skip a beat.
You never knew how much that smile meant,
it lit my world every time you smiled at me.
I know I wanted to kiss you so tenderly,
your brown eyes searching mine, pupils dilate.
Did you want to reciprocate that kiss?
Maybe if I had been brave enough, just once,
my life would be with you, but I’m alone.
Now the desires are gone, but there are days
when I still search the faces of the city, looking for you
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Saturday 20 November 2010
In Winter
Shadows creep around the buildings,
deep darkness hides in the corners.
Light scatters itself over the hills,
birds roosting, appear like mourners.
Night finally descends upon us,
candles showing through closed shutters.
Cold air comes in from the east,
freezing water to hang from gutters.
All things are barren in deep winter,
stark is the night in this cold landscape.
Come to me when you feel it’s cold bite,
I will warm you within this wool cape.
I know not who you are my lady,
we had separate paths from the start.
Willing the night to be warm and tender,
may it be aeon’s before we depart.
Winter is long, our hair shades of white,
this life only starting at summers end.
In winter not all things are barren,
we bloomed together, my winter friend.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
deep darkness hides in the corners.
Light scatters itself over the hills,
birds roosting, appear like mourners.
Night finally descends upon us,
candles showing through closed shutters.
Cold air comes in from the east,
freezing water to hang from gutters.
All things are barren in deep winter,
stark is the night in this cold landscape.
Come to me when you feel it’s cold bite,
I will warm you within this wool cape.
I know not who you are my lady,
we had separate paths from the start.
Willing the night to be warm and tender,
may it be aeon’s before we depart.
Winter is long, our hair shades of white,
this life only starting at summers end.
In winter not all things are barren,
we bloomed together, my winter friend.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Wednesday 17 November 2010
Notes To Self
When life’s getting heavy,
go for a walk and enjoy natures wonders.
When life drags you down,
sit by the river watching nature pass by.
When you can’t face the world,
sit amongst the trees listening to natures song.
When you don’t know where to turn,
commune with yourself, there is always an answer.
When you need some space,
try to remember others need space too.
When everything annoys you,
they are but fleeting and will soon pass.
When you feel like shouting,
write, talk, relax, do anything that helps.
When all seems lost,
a new life came into this world, take heart.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
go for a walk and enjoy natures wonders.
When life drags you down,
sit by the river watching nature pass by.
When you can’t face the world,
sit amongst the trees listening to natures song.
When you don’t know where to turn,
commune with yourself, there is always an answer.
When you need some space,
try to remember others need space too.
When everything annoys you,
they are but fleeting and will soon pass.
When you feel like shouting,
write, talk, relax, do anything that helps.
When all seems lost,
a new life came into this world, take heart.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Thursday 11 November 2010
Remberance
Not published anywhere else, I've hidden this on here though, it is something of a personal poem
Can you see what I see, can you? Do you want to look?
There is no light, is it dark? There must be something!
I can see shapes, I can’t see you! Can you see yet?
There was something, now it’s gone, there were shapes!
Are you still there? It is dark! There is no light
I could see shapes, not movement, where are you?
You said you would look! You can’t see at all!
You wanted to see what I see; now you’re gone!
Can you feel what I feel, can you? Do you want to touch?
It is soft, I’m sure it is, what is it that I feel?
There is hair, it must be hair, is that your head?
It is so soft and long, why don’t you feel it to?
You must feel it; I had it in my hand! I know I did
Where has it gone, it was there! Why don’t you touch?
You said you would touch! You can’t feel at all!
You wanted to feel what I feel; now you’re gone!
Can you hear what I hear, can you? Do you want to listen?
It is soft and gentle, I can hear water. Surely you hear it to
Water in the stream, flowing over pebbles and reeds
You can’t hear it can you? I know you can’t, you’re not there
I wish you could hear it, listen to the water like I do
But it has gone and so have you, why don’t you listen?
You said you would listen but you never listened to me
You wanted to hear what I hear and now I’m on my own.
Remberance
Can you see what I see, can you? Do you want to look?
There is no light, is it dark? There must be something!
I can see shapes, I can’t see you! Can you see yet?
There was something, now it’s gone, there were shapes!
Are you still there? It is dark! There is no light
I could see shapes, not movement, where are you?
You said you would look! You can’t see at all!
You wanted to see what I see; now you’re gone!
Can you feel what I feel, can you? Do you want to touch?
It is soft, I’m sure it is, what is it that I feel?
There is hair, it must be hair, is that your head?
It is so soft and long, why don’t you feel it to?
You must feel it; I had it in my hand! I know I did
Where has it gone, it was there! Why don’t you touch?
You said you would touch! You can’t feel at all!
You wanted to feel what I feel; now you’re gone!
Can you hear what I hear, can you? Do you want to listen?
It is soft and gentle, I can hear water. Surely you hear it to
Water in the stream, flowing over pebbles and reeds
You can’t hear it can you? I know you can’t, you’re not there
I wish you could hear it, listen to the water like I do
But it has gone and so have you, why don’t you listen?
You said you would listen but you never listened to me
You wanted to hear what I hear and now I’m on my own.
©Trevor Litchfield
Wednesday 10 November 2010
Starting Again
Something I wrote a long time ago and I’m not entirely sure how much longer it will remain published where it currently resides so: This was first published in 2002
The man walked along the deserted beach, his hair being ruffled by the sea breeze. His dog running to and fro, chasing sea birds as they whirled overhead, teasing the animal and seeming to enjoy the game as much as the dog. The sky was getting darker and rain clouds made the horizon look very bleak, it would soon be time to return home to that lonely house. A house that had been lonely for a year or so now, in fact since his wife had left him. The reasons for her leaving still baffled him but she had left, taking items of furniture and ornaments that she felt she couldn’t live without. It didn’t seem to matter that he was attached to a few of those items too, almost everything of value had been taken.
His life since then had been pretty lonely, his dog staying ever faithful when it seemed the world around him just wanted to forget about him. The marriage had been childless, although they were still young and if they wanted, could find new partners. The marriage hadn’t lasted very long either, five years, but it had felt like a lifetime, and when the door had shut, he was on his own with only his dog for company.
His employers had understood to start with, and knew that he had needed time to readjust his life, finances, travel arrangements; the car had carried the ornaments that his wife had taken. Replacing the car had been easy, the local papers were full of second hand cars, but he needed something reliable, and the local garage dealer saw him inspecting a car and had arranged to get him a half decent one at a good a price. True to his word an excellent little car had turned up a week or so later, not one he would have chosen, and it didn’t have any of the comforts he had become accustomed to, but it made the trip to work and back without dramatic daily incident. All this had taken three months to achieve and now his bank balance was as precarious as his job prospects. His employers had begun to take a dim view of his unreliability and the bank had refused to extend his overdraft, so things were tight for the next six months.
He knew that he’d need to work a lot of extra hours to get back in with the bank and his employers, which would leave very little time for anything other than eating and sleeping, and the dog didn’t walk along the beach and the gulls found new dogs to play with, but eventually the bank statement that he had been waiting for dropped onto his doormat. His employers where again talking of a supervisory position, one that he could have had six months previously if he had shown a little more conviction at the time. Now things had sorted themselves out a little he wasn’t sure that he wanted the responsibility any more, once, a lifetime ago he would have accepted the position gladly, now he could earn enough to pay the bills comfortably, have a quiet beer in the bar when he fancied one, but most of all the dog had his playmates again.
His future looked bleak though, like the coming rainstorm he had no destination in life, he just wandered from day to day and wherever life wanted to go, he seemed to follow. Other than a birthday card, he had lost touch completely with his wife. There had been no return address on the envelope and the postmark was smudged, though it appeared to be posted in his wife’s birth town from what he could read of it. He had visited his parents a couple of times and all they could talk about was how sad it all was and would he ever be getting back together with her? What had he done to make her leave like that? All his answers seemed to wash over them or they just didn’t listen. He too would have liked answers to the same questions. He found it hard to talk to the women in his local bar even though they were making the moves; he had started to frequent different bars in an attempt to keep them at bay, until at least he was ready for a new friendship or relationship. He would bypass the bar tonight, he hadn’t thought that he would need a coat and he had left the house in quite light clothing, not the sort to be getting rained on even if it was summer.
He made it indoors just as the first drops of rain had began to fall, but the house offered no real sanctuary to the loneliness that had started to seep into his life. While at first, money had been an issue in his life, he had had something to think about, and take the hours from him, but now that the bank where happy with him again, money became another burden that began to pile up. He couldn’t let it happen though, if his wife asked for a divorce he knew that a lot of money in their remaining joint account would become a target for any solicitor, money under the bed wasn’t his style though, a new account in some back street building society would be a prudent move. He was sure that she would need her share of the house eventually, but he wanted to keep the house. He liked living so close to the dunes and the sea, a nest egg hidden away would be necessary to buy her half of the house, or at least refinance it. Life had found another purpose for him.
He put the kettle on and made sure the dog had some water to drink and a snack or two in its bowl. Then he settled down and watched the late news on TV while he drank his tea and then afterwards, went to bed.
‘Ah, who needs to worry while you’re around,’ he stated, and laughed as his dog snuggled up against him.
©2002 Trevor Litchfield
Starting Again
The man walked along the deserted beach, his hair being ruffled by the sea breeze. His dog running to and fro, chasing sea birds as they whirled overhead, teasing the animal and seeming to enjoy the game as much as the dog. The sky was getting darker and rain clouds made the horizon look very bleak, it would soon be time to return home to that lonely house. A house that had been lonely for a year or so now, in fact since his wife had left him. The reasons for her leaving still baffled him but she had left, taking items of furniture and ornaments that she felt she couldn’t live without. It didn’t seem to matter that he was attached to a few of those items too, almost everything of value had been taken.
His life since then had been pretty lonely, his dog staying ever faithful when it seemed the world around him just wanted to forget about him. The marriage had been childless, although they were still young and if they wanted, could find new partners. The marriage hadn’t lasted very long either, five years, but it had felt like a lifetime, and when the door had shut, he was on his own with only his dog for company.
His employers had understood to start with, and knew that he had needed time to readjust his life, finances, travel arrangements; the car had carried the ornaments that his wife had taken. Replacing the car had been easy, the local papers were full of second hand cars, but he needed something reliable, and the local garage dealer saw him inspecting a car and had arranged to get him a half decent one at a good a price. True to his word an excellent little car had turned up a week or so later, not one he would have chosen, and it didn’t have any of the comforts he had become accustomed to, but it made the trip to work and back without dramatic daily incident. All this had taken three months to achieve and now his bank balance was as precarious as his job prospects. His employers had begun to take a dim view of his unreliability and the bank had refused to extend his overdraft, so things were tight for the next six months.
He knew that he’d need to work a lot of extra hours to get back in with the bank and his employers, which would leave very little time for anything other than eating and sleeping, and the dog didn’t walk along the beach and the gulls found new dogs to play with, but eventually the bank statement that he had been waiting for dropped onto his doormat. His employers where again talking of a supervisory position, one that he could have had six months previously if he had shown a little more conviction at the time. Now things had sorted themselves out a little he wasn’t sure that he wanted the responsibility any more, once, a lifetime ago he would have accepted the position gladly, now he could earn enough to pay the bills comfortably, have a quiet beer in the bar when he fancied one, but most of all the dog had his playmates again.
His future looked bleak though, like the coming rainstorm he had no destination in life, he just wandered from day to day and wherever life wanted to go, he seemed to follow. Other than a birthday card, he had lost touch completely with his wife. There had been no return address on the envelope and the postmark was smudged, though it appeared to be posted in his wife’s birth town from what he could read of it. He had visited his parents a couple of times and all they could talk about was how sad it all was and would he ever be getting back together with her? What had he done to make her leave like that? All his answers seemed to wash over them or they just didn’t listen. He too would have liked answers to the same questions. He found it hard to talk to the women in his local bar even though they were making the moves; he had started to frequent different bars in an attempt to keep them at bay, until at least he was ready for a new friendship or relationship. He would bypass the bar tonight, he hadn’t thought that he would need a coat and he had left the house in quite light clothing, not the sort to be getting rained on even if it was summer.
He made it indoors just as the first drops of rain had began to fall, but the house offered no real sanctuary to the loneliness that had started to seep into his life. While at first, money had been an issue in his life, he had had something to think about, and take the hours from him, but now that the bank where happy with him again, money became another burden that began to pile up. He couldn’t let it happen though, if his wife asked for a divorce he knew that a lot of money in their remaining joint account would become a target for any solicitor, money under the bed wasn’t his style though, a new account in some back street building society would be a prudent move. He was sure that she would need her share of the house eventually, but he wanted to keep the house. He liked living so close to the dunes and the sea, a nest egg hidden away would be necessary to buy her half of the house, or at least refinance it. Life had found another purpose for him.
He put the kettle on and made sure the dog had some water to drink and a snack or two in its bowl. Then he settled down and watched the late news on TV while he drank his tea and then afterwards, went to bed.
‘Ah, who needs to worry while you’re around,’ he stated, and laughed as his dog snuggled up against him.
©2002 Trevor Litchfield
Starting Again
Something I wrote a long time ago and I’m not entirely sure how much longer it will remain published where it currently resides so: This was first published in 2002
The man walked along the deserted beach, his hair being ruffled by the sea breeze. His dog running to and fro, chasing sea birds as they whirled overhead, teasing the animal and seeming to enjoy the game as much as the dog. The sky was getting darker and rain clouds made the horizon look very bleak, it would soon be time to return home to that lonely house. A house that had been lonely for a year or so now, in fact since his wife had left him. The reasons for her leaving still baffled him but she had left, taking items of furniture and ornaments that she felt she couldn’t live without. It didn’t seem to matter that he was attached to a few of those items too, almost everything of value had been taken.
His life since then had been pretty lonely, his dog staying ever faithful when it seemed the world around him just wanted to forget about him. The marriage had been childless, although they were still young and if they wanted, could find new partners. The marriage hadn’t lasted very long either, five years, but it had felt like a lifetime, and when the door had shut, he was on his own with only his dog for company.
His employers had understood to start with, and knew that he had needed time to readjust his life, finances, travel arrangements; the car had carried the ornaments that his wife had taken. Replacing the car had been easy, the local papers were full of second hand cars, but he needed something reliable, and the local garage dealer saw him inspecting a car and had arranged to get him a half decent one at a good a price. True to his word an excellent little car had turned up a week or so later, not one he would have chosen, and it didn’t have any of the comforts he had become accustomed to, but it made the trip to work and back without dramatic daily incident. All this had taken three months to achieve and now his bank balance was as precarious as his job prospects. His employers had begun to take a dim view of his unreliability and the bank had refused to extend his overdraft, so things were tight for the next six months.
He knew that he’d need to work a lot of extra hours to get back in with the bank and his employers, which would leave very little time for anything other than eating and sleeping, and the dog didn’t walk along the beach and the gulls found new dogs to play with, but eventually the bank statement that he had been waiting for dropped onto his doormat. His employers where again talking of a supervisory position, one that he could have had six months previously if he had shown a little more conviction at the time. Now things had sorted themselves out a little he wasn’t sure that he wanted the responsibility any more, once, a lifetime ago he would have accepted the position gladly, now he could earn enough to pay the bills comfortably, have a quiet beer in the bar when he fancied one, but most of all the dog had his playmates again.
His future looked bleak though, like the coming rainstorm he had no destination in life, he just wandered from day to day and wherever life wanted to go, he seemed to follow. Other than a birthday card, he had lost touch completely with his wife. There had been no return address on the envelope and the postmark was smudged, though it appeared to be posted in his wife’s birth town from what he could read of it. He had visited his parents a couple of times and all they could talk about was how sad it all was and would he ever be getting back together with her? What had he done to make her leave like that? All his answers seemed to wash over them or they just didn’t listen. He too would have liked answers to the same questions. He found it hard to talk to the women in his local bar even though they were making the moves; he had started to frequent different bars in an attempt to keep them at bay, until at least he was ready for a new friendship or relationship. He would bypass the bar tonight, he hadn’t thought that he would need a coat and he had left the house in quite light clothing, not the sort to be getting rained on even if it was summer.
He made it indoors just as the first drops of rain had began to fall, but the house offered no real sanctuary to the loneliness that had started to seep into his life. While at first, money had been an issue in his life, he had had something to think about, and take the hours from him, but now that the bank where happy with him again, money became another burden that began to pile up. He couldn’t let it happen though, if his wife asked for a divorce he knew that a lot of money in their remaining joint account would become a target for any solicitor, money under the bed wasn’t his style though, a new account in some back street building society would be a prudent move. He was sure that she would need her share of the house eventually, but he wanted to keep the house. He liked living so close to the dunes and the sea, a nest egg hidden away would be necessary to buy her half of the house, or at least refinance it. Life had found another purpose for him.
He put the kettle on and made sure the dog had some water to drink and a snack or two in its bowl. Then he settled down and watched the late news on TV while he drank his tea and then afterwards, went to bed.
‘Ah, who needs to worry while you’re around,’ he stated, and laughed as his dog snuggled up against him.
©2002 Trevor Litchfield
Starting Again
The man walked along the deserted beach, his hair being ruffled by the sea breeze. His dog running to and fro, chasing sea birds as they whirled overhead, teasing the animal and seeming to enjoy the game as much as the dog. The sky was getting darker and rain clouds made the horizon look very bleak, it would soon be time to return home to that lonely house. A house that had been lonely for a year or so now, in fact since his wife had left him. The reasons for her leaving still baffled him but she had left, taking items of furniture and ornaments that she felt she couldn’t live without. It didn’t seem to matter that he was attached to a few of those items too, almost everything of value had been taken.
His life since then had been pretty lonely, his dog staying ever faithful when it seemed the world around him just wanted to forget about him. The marriage had been childless, although they were still young and if they wanted, could find new partners. The marriage hadn’t lasted very long either, five years, but it had felt like a lifetime, and when the door had shut, he was on his own with only his dog for company.
His employers had understood to start with, and knew that he had needed time to readjust his life, finances, travel arrangements; the car had carried the ornaments that his wife had taken. Replacing the car had been easy, the local papers were full of second hand cars, but he needed something reliable, and the local garage dealer saw him inspecting a car and had arranged to get him a half decent one at a good a price. True to his word an excellent little car had turned up a week or so later, not one he would have chosen, and it didn’t have any of the comforts he had become accustomed to, but it made the trip to work and back without dramatic daily incident. All this had taken three months to achieve and now his bank balance was as precarious as his job prospects. His employers had begun to take a dim view of his unreliability and the bank had refused to extend his overdraft, so things were tight for the next six months.
He knew that he’d need to work a lot of extra hours to get back in with the bank and his employers, which would leave very little time for anything other than eating and sleeping, and the dog didn’t walk along the beach and the gulls found new dogs to play with, but eventually the bank statement that he had been waiting for dropped onto his doormat. His employers where again talking of a supervisory position, one that he could have had six months previously if he had shown a little more conviction at the time. Now things had sorted themselves out a little he wasn’t sure that he wanted the responsibility any more, once, a lifetime ago he would have accepted the position gladly, now he could earn enough to pay the bills comfortably, have a quiet beer in the bar when he fancied one, but most of all the dog had his playmates again.
His future looked bleak though, like the coming rainstorm he had no destination in life, he just wandered from day to day and wherever life wanted to go, he seemed to follow. Other than a birthday card, he had lost touch completely with his wife. There had been no return address on the envelope and the postmark was smudged, though it appeared to be posted in his wife’s birth town from what he could read of it. He had visited his parents a couple of times and all they could talk about was how sad it all was and would he ever be getting back together with her? What had he done to make her leave like that? All his answers seemed to wash over them or they just didn’t listen. He too would have liked answers to the same questions. He found it hard to talk to the women in his local bar even though they were making the moves; he had started to frequent different bars in an attempt to keep them at bay, until at least he was ready for a new friendship or relationship. He would bypass the bar tonight, he hadn’t thought that he would need a coat and he had left the house in quite light clothing, not the sort to be getting rained on even if it was summer.
He made it indoors just as the first drops of rain had began to fall, but the house offered no real sanctuary to the loneliness that had started to seep into his life. While at first, money had been an issue in his life, he had had something to think about, and take the hours from him, but now that the bank where happy with him again, money became another burden that began to pile up. He couldn’t let it happen though, if his wife asked for a divorce he knew that a lot of money in their remaining joint account would become a target for any solicitor, money under the bed wasn’t his style though, a new account in some back street building society would be a prudent move. He was sure that she would need her share of the house eventually, but he wanted to keep the house. He liked living so close to the dunes and the sea, a nest egg hidden away would be necessary to buy her half of the house, or at least refinance it. Life had found another purpose for him.
He put the kettle on and made sure the dog had some water to drink and a snack or two in its bowl. Then he settled down and watched the late news on TV while he drank his tea and then afterwards, went to bed.
‘Ah, who needs to worry while you’re around,’ he stated, and laughed as his dog snuggled up against him.
©2002 Trevor Litchfield
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