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
Saturday 20 November 2010
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
Tuesday 9 November 2010
The Will
From the day Colin had received the letter from the solicitor telling him of his aunts death and that a substantial sum of money and her old house had been left to him in her will, he had dreaded this moment. He made the long journey to the small town solicitor to be handed a set of old worn keys, signed the documents making everything legal and now here he stood, outside a worn out, old and shuttered up old house.
Colin had not been here since his childhood and his memories of the house were not what he would ever call warm and welcoming, the house had always scared him, as did his now departed aunt. She was strict; never letting him play with any of the toys his mother said he could take on his yearly visits. This aunt was his mothers’ only living relative. The sisters were the only living relatives after an unspoken about incident had taken place before his birth. Colin had never known his father and his mother and a scary old aunt had been his entire family. His mother had insisted on the childhood visits but they had stopped before his teens and he had not seen or heard from his aunt since, that was twenty years ago!
Colin stood on the porch, not wanting to enter; his mother never came on those yearly visits. Now standing on the porch to his aunts old house he was wishing his mother was still alive so that she to would be standing on the lonely porch with him. The garden was unkempt, it had not seen a fork in years and the grass stood high even the path leading up to the house was overgrown as if it had not been walked on in years.
Finally, he put the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door. Standing on the threshold memories of his old aunt came flooding back. The smell of cooked vegetables strong as ever, why do old peoples houses smell of cooked vegetables he asked himself as he took that first step into the hallway. He closed the door and walked slowly to the kitchen, it was the one room apart from his bedroom that he had known intimately. He had never been allowed in any other room on his childhood visits. The kitchen had not changed in the preceding twenty years, everything had a place and in its place it was put. Neat cup hooks with neat rows of cups hanging, a picture of wild deer hanging on the wall over the kitchen table, all just as he had remembered from his childhood visits.
Then with horror memories came flooding back of one visit in particular. He had become adventurous on this visit, which also turned out to be his last. He remembered going into another bedroom and in that bedroom had been nothing but another door on the far side of the room. Standing thinking about it he remembered his aunt coming in shrieking at him to get out. Never to go in that room, being almost dragged down the stairs to sit in the kitchen whilst his aunt gathered his few things together then calling his mother to come and pick him up.
His mother had been furious on her arrival, she had bundled him into her car, throwing his bag of toys and clothes in with him and not talking on the journey back to her apartment in the big city. His mother had scalded him so severely when they arrived home that the memory of it made him want to leave this old house and never return. Perhaps it was better his mother was not with him now, she would be telling him to just sell the house and leave.
Colin still stood alone in the kitchen, looking back into the hallway where the staircase led to the bedrooms, the old and faded sofa pushed against a wall in the hallway had letters and newspapers thrown onto it. Probably from a visit by the solicitor at some earlier date, his aunt would never have allowed such tardiness. He had to go and look in that room now; he had no choice, after all these years, the fuss over his entering that room all those years ago. It had been empty he was sure.
Up the stairs he climbed, he could still hear his aunts’ shrieks in his ear as he reached the top, the room he was looking for was now straight in front of him, and the door became an imposing barrier to a long forgotten memory. The door opened with the slightest of squeaks and on entry it was just as he remembered, empty apart from another door on the far side of the room. He walked across the room expecting to find nothing more than an empty cupboard behind the door. The door was locked.
Colin got the set of old keys from his pocket, there were only two keys on it, the front door key and what he had assumed would be a back door key. He tried the key he had not used to gain entry to the house assuming incorrectly that it would unlock the door. What now he thought, he then tried the front door key and to his surprise the key turned and the door creaked open. His heart now pounded, the door opening at the turn of the key had made him jump back, he now wished he had not bothered but he had come this far, what could be behind the door, it had opened as if something was leaning against it. He took the step required to reach the door and flung it open. Nothing fell out at him and Colin took a deep relieved breath and looked inside.
To his utter amazement there was another staircase, it looked as if it led into the roof of the house. Colin never remembered seeing windows in the roof from outside, but then he had never really been allowed to explore outside and he had no real memories of the back garden because of this. He went up the winding staircase, light coming in from skylights in the roof. As he climbed Colin could smell decay, not that the rest of the house smelt much different but this was a different sort of decay smell, mouldy decay.
Colin reached the top of the stairs and wretched at the scene before him, the room was decorated with old and tattered party decorations, cobwebs where everywhere. In the middle of the room was a large table, set out as if for a banquet, eight chairs surrounded the table and in those chairs sat eight skeletons dressed in formal suits and dresses, now slumped into the mould encrusted, festered food that adorned the table. The hair on the skeletons had grown into the food and mice, rats, maggots and any other pests that had obviously found the food and bodies lay dead all over the floor.
The knock at the door surprised Colin; he had been off work since his discovery a few weeks before. Colin answered the door to find a smartly dressed young man flashing a police badge at him. Colin invited him in and led him to his kitchen where the smell of coffee was strong but fresh. After offering coffee to his guest Colin invited him to sit and joined him at the table.
“First of all I hope you feel a bit better Mr Goff” said the young officer. “It appears that you stumbled on a mass poisoning of your whole family”.
“Pardon?” replied Colin, stunned.
“It appears that everyone in the loft room was murdered by your aunt, she must have administered poison to them in the food. Our forensics people have found high concentrations of aconite in the remains of the food and in DNA samples taken from the human remains.”
Colin sat looking into his coffee, unable to comprehend what he had just been told.
“Aconite is an ancient and deadly poison, perhaps better known as wolfsbane, it can kill within minutes of ingestion” the officer continued “Once ingested the victims feels numbness and could be dead within minutes, which appears to be the case here”
The officer went to say more but Colin put his hand up as a gesture for the officer to stop; he did not want to hear anymore and sat silently trying to absorb what he had been told. Then it dawned on him, his mother had known!
“Mr Goff” the officer intruded on his thoughts, “Mr Goff, there is something we need from you.”
“Yes, what is it?” Colin was now swimming in his emotions.
“We need a sample of blood from you. All of the remains found in the room appear to be from people over the age of fifty at the time of their deaths but one is of a young man, in his twenties”
©2009 Trevor Litchfield
Colin had not been here since his childhood and his memories of the house were not what he would ever call warm and welcoming, the house had always scared him, as did his now departed aunt. She was strict; never letting him play with any of the toys his mother said he could take on his yearly visits. This aunt was his mothers’ only living relative. The sisters were the only living relatives after an unspoken about incident had taken place before his birth. Colin had never known his father and his mother and a scary old aunt had been his entire family. His mother had insisted on the childhood visits but they had stopped before his teens and he had not seen or heard from his aunt since, that was twenty years ago!
Colin stood on the porch, not wanting to enter; his mother never came on those yearly visits. Now standing on the porch to his aunts old house he was wishing his mother was still alive so that she to would be standing on the lonely porch with him. The garden was unkempt, it had not seen a fork in years and the grass stood high even the path leading up to the house was overgrown as if it had not been walked on in years.
Finally, he put the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door. Standing on the threshold memories of his old aunt came flooding back. The smell of cooked vegetables strong as ever, why do old peoples houses smell of cooked vegetables he asked himself as he took that first step into the hallway. He closed the door and walked slowly to the kitchen, it was the one room apart from his bedroom that he had known intimately. He had never been allowed in any other room on his childhood visits. The kitchen had not changed in the preceding twenty years, everything had a place and in its place it was put. Neat cup hooks with neat rows of cups hanging, a picture of wild deer hanging on the wall over the kitchen table, all just as he had remembered from his childhood visits.
Then with horror memories came flooding back of one visit in particular. He had become adventurous on this visit, which also turned out to be his last. He remembered going into another bedroom and in that bedroom had been nothing but another door on the far side of the room. Standing thinking about it he remembered his aunt coming in shrieking at him to get out. Never to go in that room, being almost dragged down the stairs to sit in the kitchen whilst his aunt gathered his few things together then calling his mother to come and pick him up.
His mother had been furious on her arrival, she had bundled him into her car, throwing his bag of toys and clothes in with him and not talking on the journey back to her apartment in the big city. His mother had scalded him so severely when they arrived home that the memory of it made him want to leave this old house and never return. Perhaps it was better his mother was not with him now, she would be telling him to just sell the house and leave.
Colin still stood alone in the kitchen, looking back into the hallway where the staircase led to the bedrooms, the old and faded sofa pushed against a wall in the hallway had letters and newspapers thrown onto it. Probably from a visit by the solicitor at some earlier date, his aunt would never have allowed such tardiness. He had to go and look in that room now; he had no choice, after all these years, the fuss over his entering that room all those years ago. It had been empty he was sure.
Up the stairs he climbed, he could still hear his aunts’ shrieks in his ear as he reached the top, the room he was looking for was now straight in front of him, and the door became an imposing barrier to a long forgotten memory. The door opened with the slightest of squeaks and on entry it was just as he remembered, empty apart from another door on the far side of the room. He walked across the room expecting to find nothing more than an empty cupboard behind the door. The door was locked.
Colin got the set of old keys from his pocket, there were only two keys on it, the front door key and what he had assumed would be a back door key. He tried the key he had not used to gain entry to the house assuming incorrectly that it would unlock the door. What now he thought, he then tried the front door key and to his surprise the key turned and the door creaked open. His heart now pounded, the door opening at the turn of the key had made him jump back, he now wished he had not bothered but he had come this far, what could be behind the door, it had opened as if something was leaning against it. He took the step required to reach the door and flung it open. Nothing fell out at him and Colin took a deep relieved breath and looked inside.
To his utter amazement there was another staircase, it looked as if it led into the roof of the house. Colin never remembered seeing windows in the roof from outside, but then he had never really been allowed to explore outside and he had no real memories of the back garden because of this. He went up the winding staircase, light coming in from skylights in the roof. As he climbed Colin could smell decay, not that the rest of the house smelt much different but this was a different sort of decay smell, mouldy decay.
Colin reached the top of the stairs and wretched at the scene before him, the room was decorated with old and tattered party decorations, cobwebs where everywhere. In the middle of the room was a large table, set out as if for a banquet, eight chairs surrounded the table and in those chairs sat eight skeletons dressed in formal suits and dresses, now slumped into the mould encrusted, festered food that adorned the table. The hair on the skeletons had grown into the food and mice, rats, maggots and any other pests that had obviously found the food and bodies lay dead all over the floor.
The knock at the door surprised Colin; he had been off work since his discovery a few weeks before. Colin answered the door to find a smartly dressed young man flashing a police badge at him. Colin invited him in and led him to his kitchen where the smell of coffee was strong but fresh. After offering coffee to his guest Colin invited him to sit and joined him at the table.
“First of all I hope you feel a bit better Mr Goff” said the young officer. “It appears that you stumbled on a mass poisoning of your whole family”.
“Pardon?” replied Colin, stunned.
“It appears that everyone in the loft room was murdered by your aunt, she must have administered poison to them in the food. Our forensics people have found high concentrations of aconite in the remains of the food and in DNA samples taken from the human remains.”
Colin sat looking into his coffee, unable to comprehend what he had just been told.
“Aconite is an ancient and deadly poison, perhaps better known as wolfsbane, it can kill within minutes of ingestion” the officer continued “Once ingested the victims feels numbness and could be dead within minutes, which appears to be the case here”
The officer went to say more but Colin put his hand up as a gesture for the officer to stop; he did not want to hear anymore and sat silently trying to absorb what he had been told. Then it dawned on him, his mother had known!
“Mr Goff” the officer intruded on his thoughts, “Mr Goff, there is something we need from you.”
“Yes, what is it?” Colin was now swimming in his emotions.
“We need a sample of blood from you. All of the remains found in the room appear to be from people over the age of fifty at the time of their deaths but one is of a young man, in his twenties”
©2009 Trevor Litchfield
The Will
From the day Colin had received the letter from the solicitor telling him of his aunts death and that a substantial sum of money and her old house had been left to him in her will, he had dreaded this moment. He made the long journey to the small town solicitor to be handed a set of old worn keys, signed the documents making everything legal and now here he stood, outside a worn out, old and shuttered up old house.
Colin had not been here since his childhood and his memories of the house were not what he would ever call warm and welcoming, the house had always scared him, as did his now departed aunt. She was strict; never letting him play with any of the toys his mother said he could take on his yearly visits. This aunt was his mothers’ only living relative. The sisters were the only living relatives after an unspoken about incident had taken place before his birth. Colin had never known his father and his mother and a scary old aunt had been his entire family. His mother had insisted on the childhood visits but they had stopped before his teens and he had not seen or heard from his aunt since, that was twenty years ago!
Colin stood on the porch, not wanting to enter; his mother never came on those yearly visits. Now standing on the porch to his aunts old house he was wishing his mother was still alive so that she to would be standing on the lonely porch with him. The garden was unkempt, it had not seen a fork in years and the grass stood high even the path leading up to the house was overgrown as if it had not been walked on in years.
Finally, he put the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door. Standing on the threshold memories of his old aunt came flooding back. The smell of cooked vegetables strong as ever, why do old peoples houses smell of cooked vegetables he asked himself as he took that first step into the hallway. He closed the door and walked slowly to the kitchen, it was the one room apart from his bedroom that he had known intimately. He had never been allowed in any other room on his childhood visits. The kitchen had not changed in the preceding twenty years, everything had a place and in its place it was put. Neat cup hooks with neat rows of cups hanging, a picture of wild deer hanging on the wall over the kitchen table, all just as he had remembered from his childhood visits.
Then with horror memories came flooding back of one visit in particular. He had become adventurous on this visit, which also turned out to be his last. He remembered going into another bedroom and in that bedroom had been nothing but another door on the far side of the room. Standing thinking about it he remembered his aunt coming in shrieking at him to get out. Never to go in that room, being almost dragged down the stairs to sit in the kitchen whilst his aunt gathered his few things together then calling his mother to come and pick him up.
His mother had been furious on her arrival, she had bundled him into her car, throwing his bag of toys and clothes in with him and not talking on the journey back to her apartment in the big city. His mother had scalded him so severely when they arrived home that the memory of it made him want to leave this old house and never return. Perhaps it was better his mother was not with him now, she would be telling him to just sell the house and leave.
Colin still stood alone in the kitchen, looking back into the hallway where the staircase led to the bedrooms, the old and faded sofa pushed against a wall in the hallway had letters and newspapers thrown onto it. Probably from a visit by the solicitor at some earlier date, his aunt would never have allowed such tardiness. He had to go and look in that room now; he had no choice, after all these years, the fuss over his entering that room all those years ago. It had been empty he was sure.
Up the stairs he climbed, he could still hear his aunts’ shrieks in his ear as he reached the top, the room he was looking for was now straight in front of him, and the door became an imposing barrier to a long forgotten memory. The door opened with the slightest of squeaks and on entry it was just as he remembered, empty apart from another door on the far side of the room. He walked across the room expecting to find nothing more than an empty cupboard behind the door. The door was locked.
Colin got the set of old keys from his pocket, there were only two keys on it, the front door key and what he had assumed would be a back door key. He tried the key he had not used to gain entry to the house assuming incorrectly that it would unlock the door. What now he thought, he then tried the front door key and to his surprise the key turned and the door creaked open. His heart now pounded, the door opening at the turn of the key had made him jump back, he now wished he had not bothered but he had come this far, what could be behind the door, it had opened as if something was leaning against it. He took the step required to reach the door and flung it open. Nothing fell out at him and Colin took a deep relieved breath and looked inside.
To his utter amazement there was another staircase, it looked as if it led into the roof of the house. Colin never remembered seeing windows in the roof from outside, but then he had never really been allowed to explore outside and he had no real memories of the back garden because of this. He went up the winding staircase, light coming in from skylights in the roof. As he climbed Colin could smell decay, not that the rest of the house smelt much different but this was a different sort of decay smell, mouldy decay.
Colin reached the top of the stairs and wretched at the scene before him, the room was decorated with old and tattered party decorations, cobwebs where everywhere. In the middle of the room was a large table, set out as if for a banquet, eight chairs surrounded the table and in those chairs sat eight skeletons dressed in formal suits and dresses, now slumped into the mould encrusted, festered food that adorned the table. The hair on the skeletons had grown into the food and mice, rats, maggots and any other pests that had obviously found the food and bodies lay dead all over the floor.
The knock at the door surprised Colin; he had been off work since his discovery a few weeks before. Colin answered the door to find a smartly dressed young man flashing a police badge at him. Colin invited him in and led him to his kitchen where the smell of coffee was strong but fresh. After offering coffee to his guest Colin invited him to sit and joined him at the table.
“First of all I hope you feel a bit better Mr Goff” said the young officer. “It appears that you stumbled on a mass poisoning of your whole family”.
“Pardon?” replied Colin, stunned.
“It appears that everyone in the loft room was murdered by your aunt, she must have administered poison to them in the food. Our forensics people have found high concentrations of aconite in the remains of the food and in DNA samples taken from the human remains.”
Colin sat looking into his coffee, unable to comprehend what he had just been told.
“Aconite is an ancient and deadly poison, perhaps better known as wolfsbane, it can kill within minutes of ingestion” the officer continued “Once ingested the victims feels numbness and could be dead within minutes, which appears to be the case here”
The officer went to say more but Colin put his hand up as a gesture for the officer to stop; he did not want to hear anymore and sat silently trying to absorb what he had been told. Then it dawned on him, his mother had known!
“Mr Goff” the officer intruded on his thoughts, “Mr Goff, there is something we need from you.”
“Yes, what is it?” Colin was now swimming in his emotions.
“We need a sample of blood from you. All of the remains found in the room appear to be from people over the age of fifty at the time of their deaths but one is of a young man, in his twenties”
©2009 Trevor Litchfield
Colin had not been here since his childhood and his memories of the house were not what he would ever call warm and welcoming, the house had always scared him, as did his now departed aunt. She was strict; never letting him play with any of the toys his mother said he could take on his yearly visits. This aunt was his mothers’ only living relative. The sisters were the only living relatives after an unspoken about incident had taken place before his birth. Colin had never known his father and his mother and a scary old aunt had been his entire family. His mother had insisted on the childhood visits but they had stopped before his teens and he had not seen or heard from his aunt since, that was twenty years ago!
Colin stood on the porch, not wanting to enter; his mother never came on those yearly visits. Now standing on the porch to his aunts old house he was wishing his mother was still alive so that she to would be standing on the lonely porch with him. The garden was unkempt, it had not seen a fork in years and the grass stood high even the path leading up to the house was overgrown as if it had not been walked on in years.
Finally, he put the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door. Standing on the threshold memories of his old aunt came flooding back. The smell of cooked vegetables strong as ever, why do old peoples houses smell of cooked vegetables he asked himself as he took that first step into the hallway. He closed the door and walked slowly to the kitchen, it was the one room apart from his bedroom that he had known intimately. He had never been allowed in any other room on his childhood visits. The kitchen had not changed in the preceding twenty years, everything had a place and in its place it was put. Neat cup hooks with neat rows of cups hanging, a picture of wild deer hanging on the wall over the kitchen table, all just as he had remembered from his childhood visits.
Then with horror memories came flooding back of one visit in particular. He had become adventurous on this visit, which also turned out to be his last. He remembered going into another bedroom and in that bedroom had been nothing but another door on the far side of the room. Standing thinking about it he remembered his aunt coming in shrieking at him to get out. Never to go in that room, being almost dragged down the stairs to sit in the kitchen whilst his aunt gathered his few things together then calling his mother to come and pick him up.
His mother had been furious on her arrival, she had bundled him into her car, throwing his bag of toys and clothes in with him and not talking on the journey back to her apartment in the big city. His mother had scalded him so severely when they arrived home that the memory of it made him want to leave this old house and never return. Perhaps it was better his mother was not with him now, she would be telling him to just sell the house and leave.
Colin still stood alone in the kitchen, looking back into the hallway where the staircase led to the bedrooms, the old and faded sofa pushed against a wall in the hallway had letters and newspapers thrown onto it. Probably from a visit by the solicitor at some earlier date, his aunt would never have allowed such tardiness. He had to go and look in that room now; he had no choice, after all these years, the fuss over his entering that room all those years ago. It had been empty he was sure.
Up the stairs he climbed, he could still hear his aunts’ shrieks in his ear as he reached the top, the room he was looking for was now straight in front of him, and the door became an imposing barrier to a long forgotten memory. The door opened with the slightest of squeaks and on entry it was just as he remembered, empty apart from another door on the far side of the room. He walked across the room expecting to find nothing more than an empty cupboard behind the door. The door was locked.
Colin got the set of old keys from his pocket, there were only two keys on it, the front door key and what he had assumed would be a back door key. He tried the key he had not used to gain entry to the house assuming incorrectly that it would unlock the door. What now he thought, he then tried the front door key and to his surprise the key turned and the door creaked open. His heart now pounded, the door opening at the turn of the key had made him jump back, he now wished he had not bothered but he had come this far, what could be behind the door, it had opened as if something was leaning against it. He took the step required to reach the door and flung it open. Nothing fell out at him and Colin took a deep relieved breath and looked inside.
To his utter amazement there was another staircase, it looked as if it led into the roof of the house. Colin never remembered seeing windows in the roof from outside, but then he had never really been allowed to explore outside and he had no real memories of the back garden because of this. He went up the winding staircase, light coming in from skylights in the roof. As he climbed Colin could smell decay, not that the rest of the house smelt much different but this was a different sort of decay smell, mouldy decay.
Colin reached the top of the stairs and wretched at the scene before him, the room was decorated with old and tattered party decorations, cobwebs where everywhere. In the middle of the room was a large table, set out as if for a banquet, eight chairs surrounded the table and in those chairs sat eight skeletons dressed in formal suits and dresses, now slumped into the mould encrusted, festered food that adorned the table. The hair on the skeletons had grown into the food and mice, rats, maggots and any other pests that had obviously found the food and bodies lay dead all over the floor.
The knock at the door surprised Colin; he had been off work since his discovery a few weeks before. Colin answered the door to find a smartly dressed young man flashing a police badge at him. Colin invited him in and led him to his kitchen where the smell of coffee was strong but fresh. After offering coffee to his guest Colin invited him to sit and joined him at the table.
“First of all I hope you feel a bit better Mr Goff” said the young officer. “It appears that you stumbled on a mass poisoning of your whole family”.
“Pardon?” replied Colin, stunned.
“It appears that everyone in the loft room was murdered by your aunt, she must have administered poison to them in the food. Our forensics people have found high concentrations of aconite in the remains of the food and in DNA samples taken from the human remains.”
Colin sat looking into his coffee, unable to comprehend what he had just been told.
“Aconite is an ancient and deadly poison, perhaps better known as wolfsbane, it can kill within minutes of ingestion” the officer continued “Once ingested the victims feels numbness and could be dead within minutes, which appears to be the case here”
The officer went to say more but Colin put his hand up as a gesture for the officer to stop; he did not want to hear anymore and sat silently trying to absorb what he had been told. Then it dawned on him, his mother had known!
“Mr Goff” the officer intruded on his thoughts, “Mr Goff, there is something we need from you.”
“Yes, what is it?” Colin was now swimming in his emotions.
“We need a sample of blood from you. All of the remains found in the room appear to be from people over the age of fifty at the time of their deaths but one is of a young man, in his twenties”
©2009 Trevor Litchfield
Monday 8 November 2010
The window that opened
He went out through the window once, counting the paces to the fence. Eight steps it is, he remembers how many paces because he counted them on the way back as well. He only went out the window once, the day they first put him here, the big window has not been open in years. He stares out of the window everyday. When he went out there that one time he could not reach the wooden fence, there is a wire fence inside the high wooden fence. The wire fence is also very high and it has barbed wire running along the top of it, you could not climb over the wire fence and all that barbed wire to get to the wooden fence but the the wooden fence is only a few inches away from the wire fence. He wants to know what is the other side of that big high wooden fence.
There are holes in the big high wooden fence, cracks that he could see through, he remembers from that one look he had a long time ago. He could not see anything beyond the trees. He can see the trees from his chair, in his room behind the window, the one that opened so long ago, the one you can walk through. He looks at the trees every day, they sway in the wind. The leaves grow, change colour and fall to the ground. He cannot remember how many times the leaves have grown, changed colour and then fallen to the ground. He prefers the trees when the leaves are nice and new and green.
He can see the sky through the trees, he sits and looks at the sky through the trees every day after he has looked at the trees with their leaves for long enough. The sky is a different colour almost every day. He has no preference for the colour of the sky, he just notices the changes without emotion.
There are birds in the trees, he looks for the birds after he has looked at the sky through the trees for long enough. They, those that put him in the room with the chair in front the window that opened once, gave him a book with pictures of birds in once. The pictures of the birds also had the names of the birds alongside the pictures. He knows that names of the birds he sees every day, they are called pigeon, sparrow, blackbird, starling, crow, blue tit and collared dove. The birds sit on the branches in the trees and on top of the high wooden fence and even the barbed wire on top of the high wire fence. He notices that the birds do not mind the barbs on the barbed wire, they do not seem to care. The birds know what is beyond the trees the other side of that high wooden fence. He sometimes wishes he was a bird then he would know what is beyond the high wooden fence too.
He sometimes see a grey squirrel walking along the high wooden fence. He does not look for it every day but he notices it if it walks along the high wooden fence when he is looking for the birds. The grey squirrel also climbs into the trees and walks along the branches. He thinks he is not sure if he wants to be a grey squirrel, they might not know what is beyond the trees behind the high wooden fence. He thinks the grey squirrel is in the trees looking for nuts. The trees are not nut trees so he wonders why the grey squirrel looks in the trees for nuts. He does not really like the grey squirrel.
When he has looked at the trees and the sky and the birds for long enough, he simply stares out of the window, sitting in the chair, waiting for the sky to go dark when he cannot see the trees with their leaves or the birds anymore. Then they come and close the blinds so that he cannot even see the window that opened once.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
There are holes in the big high wooden fence, cracks that he could see through, he remembers from that one look he had a long time ago. He could not see anything beyond the trees. He can see the trees from his chair, in his room behind the window, the one that opened so long ago, the one you can walk through. He looks at the trees every day, they sway in the wind. The leaves grow, change colour and fall to the ground. He cannot remember how many times the leaves have grown, changed colour and then fallen to the ground. He prefers the trees when the leaves are nice and new and green.
He can see the sky through the trees, he sits and looks at the sky through the trees every day after he has looked at the trees with their leaves for long enough. The sky is a different colour almost every day. He has no preference for the colour of the sky, he just notices the changes without emotion.
There are birds in the trees, he looks for the birds after he has looked at the sky through the trees for long enough. They, those that put him in the room with the chair in front the window that opened once, gave him a book with pictures of birds in once. The pictures of the birds also had the names of the birds alongside the pictures. He knows that names of the birds he sees every day, they are called pigeon, sparrow, blackbird, starling, crow, blue tit and collared dove. The birds sit on the branches in the trees and on top of the high wooden fence and even the barbed wire on top of the high wire fence. He notices that the birds do not mind the barbs on the barbed wire, they do not seem to care. The birds know what is beyond the trees the other side of that high wooden fence. He sometimes wishes he was a bird then he would know what is beyond the high wooden fence too.
He sometimes see a grey squirrel walking along the high wooden fence. He does not look for it every day but he notices it if it walks along the high wooden fence when he is looking for the birds. The grey squirrel also climbs into the trees and walks along the branches. He thinks he is not sure if he wants to be a grey squirrel, they might not know what is beyond the trees behind the high wooden fence. He thinks the grey squirrel is in the trees looking for nuts. The trees are not nut trees so he wonders why the grey squirrel looks in the trees for nuts. He does not really like the grey squirrel.
When he has looked at the trees and the sky and the birds for long enough, he simply stares out of the window, sitting in the chair, waiting for the sky to go dark when he cannot see the trees with their leaves or the birds anymore. Then they come and close the blinds so that he cannot even see the window that opened once.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
The window that opened
He went out through the window once, counting the paces to the fence. Eight steps it is, he remembers how many paces because he counted them on the way back as well. He only went out the window once, the day they first put him here, the big window has not been open in years. He stares out of the window everyday. When he went out there that one time he could not reach the wooden fence, there is a wire fence inside the high wooden fence. The wire fence is also very high and it has barbed wire running along the top of it, you could not climb over the wire fence and all that barbed wire to get to the wooden fence but the the wooden fence is only a few inches away from the wire fence. He wants to know what is the other side of that big high wooden fence.
There are holes in the big high wooden fence, cracks that he could see through, he remembers from that one look he had a long time ago. He could not see anything beyond the trees. He can see the trees from his chair, in his room behind the window, the one that opened so long ago, the one you can walk through. He looks at the trees every day, they sway in the wind. The leaves grow, change colour and fall to the ground. He cannot remember how many times the leaves have grown, changed colour and then fallen to the ground. He prefers the trees when the leaves are nice and new and green.
He can see the sky through the trees, he sits and looks at the sky through the trees every day after he has looked at the trees with their leaves for long enough. The sky is a different colour almost every day. He has no preference for the colour of the sky, he just notices the changes without emotion.
There are birds in the trees, he looks for the birds after he has looked at the sky through the trees for long enough. They, those that put him in the room with the chair in front the window that opened once, gave him a book with pictures of birds in once. The pictures of the birds also had the names of the birds alongside the pictures. He knows that names of the birds he sees every day, they are called pigeon, sparrow, blackbird, starling, crow, blue tit and collared dove. The birds sit on the branches in the trees and on top of the high wooden fence and even the barbed wire on top of the high wire fence. He notices that the birds do not mind the barbs on the barbed wire, they do not seem to care. The birds know what is beyond the trees the other side of that high wooden fence. He sometimes wishes he was a bird then he would know what is beyond the high wooden fence too.
He sometimes see a grey squirrel walking along the high wooden fence. He does not look for it every day but he notices it if it walks along the high wooden fence when he is looking for the birds. The grey squirrel also climbs into the trees and walks along the branches. He thinks he is not sure if he wants to be a grey squirrel, they might not know what is beyond the trees behind the high wooden fence. He thinks the grey squirrel is in the trees looking for nuts. The trees are not nut trees so he wonders why the grey squirrel looks in the trees for nuts. He does not really like the grey squirrel.
When he has looked at the trees and the sky and the birds for long enough, he simply stares out of the window, sitting in the chair, waiting for the sky to go dark when he cannot see the trees with their leaves or the birds anymore. Then they come and close the blinds so that he cannot even see the window that opened once.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
There are holes in the big high wooden fence, cracks that he could see through, he remembers from that one look he had a long time ago. He could not see anything beyond the trees. He can see the trees from his chair, in his room behind the window, the one that opened so long ago, the one you can walk through. He looks at the trees every day, they sway in the wind. The leaves grow, change colour and fall to the ground. He cannot remember how many times the leaves have grown, changed colour and then fallen to the ground. He prefers the trees when the leaves are nice and new and green.
He can see the sky through the trees, he sits and looks at the sky through the trees every day after he has looked at the trees with their leaves for long enough. The sky is a different colour almost every day. He has no preference for the colour of the sky, he just notices the changes without emotion.
There are birds in the trees, he looks for the birds after he has looked at the sky through the trees for long enough. They, those that put him in the room with the chair in front the window that opened once, gave him a book with pictures of birds in once. The pictures of the birds also had the names of the birds alongside the pictures. He knows that names of the birds he sees every day, they are called pigeon, sparrow, blackbird, starling, crow, blue tit and collared dove. The birds sit on the branches in the trees and on top of the high wooden fence and even the barbed wire on top of the high wire fence. He notices that the birds do not mind the barbs on the barbed wire, they do not seem to care. The birds know what is beyond the trees the other side of that high wooden fence. He sometimes wishes he was a bird then he would know what is beyond the high wooden fence too.
He sometimes see a grey squirrel walking along the high wooden fence. He does not look for it every day but he notices it if it walks along the high wooden fence when he is looking for the birds. The grey squirrel also climbs into the trees and walks along the branches. He thinks he is not sure if he wants to be a grey squirrel, they might not know what is beyond the trees behind the high wooden fence. He thinks the grey squirrel is in the trees looking for nuts. The trees are not nut trees so he wonders why the grey squirrel looks in the trees for nuts. He does not really like the grey squirrel.
When he has looked at the trees and the sky and the birds for long enough, he simply stares out of the window, sitting in the chair, waiting for the sky to go dark when he cannot see the trees with their leaves or the birds anymore. Then they come and close the blinds so that he cannot even see the window that opened once.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Road To Somewhere
We travel this road all our lives with a vision dreamed in our youth.
At intervals crossroads approach, offering us alternate destinations.
One way threatens arduous toil or maybe health and contentment.
The alternate offers less labour, perhaps heartbreak or damnation.
Unknowing which road would lead to a more desirable conclusion.
We take our choice through faith, or is it fate we follow blindly?
Demands made by cherished take precedence over our own desires.
We travel this highway, our choices made and filed for posterity.
We reach the end of our journey taking time to evaluate our path.
Mind and body worn, preparing for the everlasting rest that ensues.
We will be remembered for our choices by those that treasured us.
Just ease our earthly presence to rest, perpetual peace we are due.
At intervals crossroads approach, offering us alternate destinations.
One way threatens arduous toil or maybe health and contentment.
The alternate offers less labour, perhaps heartbreak or damnation.
Unknowing which road would lead to a more desirable conclusion.
We take our choice through faith, or is it fate we follow blindly?
Demands made by cherished take precedence over our own desires.
We travel this highway, our choices made and filed for posterity.
We reach the end of our journey taking time to evaluate our path.
Mind and body worn, preparing for the everlasting rest that ensues.
We will be remembered for our choices by those that treasured us.
Just ease our earthly presence to rest, perpetual peace we are due.
©2010Trevor Litchfield
Death of a Child
Another child of our mother crashes to the ground,
millions die in the death throws of one giant.
Birds circle in a space they once roosted,
searching for their young in a place they thought safe
Surviving mammals limp from the wreckage,
many more crushed under the massive carcass.
Insects by the million scurry amongst the debris,
some finding sanctuary among broken boughs.
The machines descend upon their fallen prey,
cutting and biting and gnawing the unwanted.
Leaving behind great mounds of boughs,
removing the irreplaceable, that was once a home.
Millions more die in this two minute dance,
death dealt quickly by blade or crusher.
Where once dwelt nature in her raw beauty,
you will see pyres and the ashes of the dead.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
millions die in the death throws of one giant.
Birds circle in a space they once roosted,
searching for their young in a place they thought safe
Surviving mammals limp from the wreckage,
many more crushed under the massive carcass.
Insects by the million scurry amongst the debris,
some finding sanctuary among broken boughs.
The machines descend upon their fallen prey,
cutting and biting and gnawing the unwanted.
Leaving behind great mounds of boughs,
removing the irreplaceable, that was once a home.
Millions more die in this two minute dance,
death dealt quickly by blade or crusher.
Where once dwelt nature in her raw beauty,
you will see pyres and the ashes of the dead.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Poem (no title)
The sun rises over the still sleeping city,
Early birds pecking at dew laden grass.
High clouds drift with the morning breeze,
Thundering trucks delivering early goods.
Buses come alive, humanity begins to stir,
Dog walkers and joggers enter the parks,
Cyclists filling the tracks and paths.
Scattering the early morning feeders.
The sounds of the day begin to build,
Until at last the day reaches full volume.
Once again the city comes to life,
Full of dreams and desires started anew.
Money is earned and spent even quicker,
Someone laughs, another one cries,
New lives found and old ones lost.
Where do I belong amongst it all?
©Trevor Litchfield
Early birds pecking at dew laden grass.
High clouds drift with the morning breeze,
Thundering trucks delivering early goods.
Buses come alive, humanity begins to stir,
Dog walkers and joggers enter the parks,
Cyclists filling the tracks and paths.
Scattering the early morning feeders.
The sounds of the day begin to build,
Until at last the day reaches full volume.
Once again the city comes to life,
Full of dreams and desires started anew.
Money is earned and spent even quicker,
Someone laughs, another one cries,
New lives found and old ones lost.
Where do I belong amongst it all?
©Trevor Litchfield
Sunday 7 November 2010
Room For Rent
Mark had seen the highlife, lived the highlife. His banking job in the city had been the highlife; then the crash came. His bank had gone before the crash; his bank had been the reason for the crash. Greedy traders, greedy investors all looking for that extra percentage point. It was a great life.
Now Mark lived in an east end basement flat, one room that served as living area and bedroom, a kitchenette and a shower cum toilet room was his entire world. First his girlfriend had left him taking most of the expensive furniture with her as she flounced out of his life. A few weeks later the bailiffs where at the door taking everything else including his beloved Porsche 911 that he had bought with his first ever bonus. Handing over the apartment keys to the bailiffs as they laughed in his face; entering the lift to go down to the ground floor where his life had descended to this one roomed basement flat.
He had phoned his father from the payphone at the base of his old apartment block informing his father how his world had crashed around his ears. His father reminding him of how he had treated family and friends on his way up had told him to get on with it; no one wanted him back in the family home anymore. How he wished he still had his mobile, all his numbers were on that phone but the bailiffs had spotted it in his pocket, demanding he hand it over.
The pallid sunlight of a winters day crept into his dull and dank world through the small dirty barred windows. He had found this room whilst he walked the streets. He had walked for two days, hardly stopping; not eating. His only possessions were a plastic carrier bag with a few old clothes that the bailiffs let him keep and his wallet. His wallet he had thought, it still had a credit card tucked way inside. He found a cash till and pushed his card in expecting it to be chewed up; instead it offered him £300 which he took gladly, not caring what happened afterwards.
He had seen the sign “Room For Rent” written by hand in black marker pen on a piece of tattered cardboard in the window of an old low and scruffy block of flats earlier in the day. He had gone back and gladly handed over the £160 deposit plus £80 week in advance rent asked for by the shabbily dressed, gap toothed old man who was the landlord.
That was two days ago. He had gone back to the cash till each morning, still finding he could withdraw his daily maximum allowance of £300. He had put all of the cash in an old writing desk that had been the only furniture when he first entered the room, apart from a small amount that he kept in his pockets. He had walked the area spotting several skips that contained old furniture; he now had a mattress on the floor and a battered armchair in which to sit. An old battery powered radio, covered in paint had also been salvaged; it worked without the need for new batteries and now sat atop the writing desk.
His only purchases other than food had been a thick and warm sleeping bag, a couple of towels and some cheap toiletries. The radiators in the room did come on and almost got warm but that seemed to be the extent of any heating in the block. Today he would be looking for some warmer clothes, or at least more clothes. He would again walk the streets looking for skips, trawling through their contents looking for anything useful but first he would try the cash till once again. Perhaps a different one today, he had used the other one three times now; he had been leaving a trail that anyone could follow. He wanted to disappear until his life turned in his favour again, which it surely must.
His credit card disappeared into the slot; he entered his pin code and heard the dreaded crunching as his card was reclaimed by the credit card provider. Mark found a warm café, ordered tea and toast and then reflected on his situation. He had four weeks rent, maybe six weeks if he starved a little; ate little more than one meal a day; he had to find work. He stared out of the café window, seeing his reflection in the dirty glass he didn’t recognise the tired young blonde haired, green eyed man looking back at him. Just six months ago that young man had the world at his feet, banks chasing his money, now, well now he had managed to get a roof over his head and something warm to sleep in and was safe from the twilight world lived by others on the outside.
He did the calculations in his head again, six weeks rent left him little more than £150 to survive on; he had to earn some money. He asked the café owner if he knew of anyone looking for workers; anything would do. The burly café owner looked Mark up and down; he could see that Mark had never worked an ‘honest’ job, his hands though grubby looked soft like a desk workers hands.
“Can you was dishes?”
Mark confirmed that he could do anything if shown where to do it.
“Come back tomorrow, six in the morning when I open up”.
Mark smiled at the owner
“Don’t you go smiling, you aint done a day yet!”
Mark finished his now cold tea, he had to get an alarm clock; more unnecessary spending but he had a job. He just hoped the café owner paid him cash.
Mark walked the streets looking for a charity shop which had a used alarm clock for sale. He ended up having to buy a new one which he hated doing but it was a necessity. Back in the room he set the clock and placed it on the floor near the mattress. His life was already looking better; he would look for more clothes tomorrow.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Now Mark lived in an east end basement flat, one room that served as living area and bedroom, a kitchenette and a shower cum toilet room was his entire world. First his girlfriend had left him taking most of the expensive furniture with her as she flounced out of his life. A few weeks later the bailiffs where at the door taking everything else including his beloved Porsche 911 that he had bought with his first ever bonus. Handing over the apartment keys to the bailiffs as they laughed in his face; entering the lift to go down to the ground floor where his life had descended to this one roomed basement flat.
He had phoned his father from the payphone at the base of his old apartment block informing his father how his world had crashed around his ears. His father reminding him of how he had treated family and friends on his way up had told him to get on with it; no one wanted him back in the family home anymore. How he wished he still had his mobile, all his numbers were on that phone but the bailiffs had spotted it in his pocket, demanding he hand it over.
The pallid sunlight of a winters day crept into his dull and dank world through the small dirty barred windows. He had found this room whilst he walked the streets. He had walked for two days, hardly stopping; not eating. His only possessions were a plastic carrier bag with a few old clothes that the bailiffs let him keep and his wallet. His wallet he had thought, it still had a credit card tucked way inside. He found a cash till and pushed his card in expecting it to be chewed up; instead it offered him £300 which he took gladly, not caring what happened afterwards.
He had seen the sign “Room For Rent” written by hand in black marker pen on a piece of tattered cardboard in the window of an old low and scruffy block of flats earlier in the day. He had gone back and gladly handed over the £160 deposit plus £80 week in advance rent asked for by the shabbily dressed, gap toothed old man who was the landlord.
That was two days ago. He had gone back to the cash till each morning, still finding he could withdraw his daily maximum allowance of £300. He had put all of the cash in an old writing desk that had been the only furniture when he first entered the room, apart from a small amount that he kept in his pockets. He had walked the area spotting several skips that contained old furniture; he now had a mattress on the floor and a battered armchair in which to sit. An old battery powered radio, covered in paint had also been salvaged; it worked without the need for new batteries and now sat atop the writing desk.
His only purchases other than food had been a thick and warm sleeping bag, a couple of towels and some cheap toiletries. The radiators in the room did come on and almost got warm but that seemed to be the extent of any heating in the block. Today he would be looking for some warmer clothes, or at least more clothes. He would again walk the streets looking for skips, trawling through their contents looking for anything useful but first he would try the cash till once again. Perhaps a different one today, he had used the other one three times now; he had been leaving a trail that anyone could follow. He wanted to disappear until his life turned in his favour again, which it surely must.
His credit card disappeared into the slot; he entered his pin code and heard the dreaded crunching as his card was reclaimed by the credit card provider. Mark found a warm café, ordered tea and toast and then reflected on his situation. He had four weeks rent, maybe six weeks if he starved a little; ate little more than one meal a day; he had to find work. He stared out of the café window, seeing his reflection in the dirty glass he didn’t recognise the tired young blonde haired, green eyed man looking back at him. Just six months ago that young man had the world at his feet, banks chasing his money, now, well now he had managed to get a roof over his head and something warm to sleep in and was safe from the twilight world lived by others on the outside.
He did the calculations in his head again, six weeks rent left him little more than £150 to survive on; he had to earn some money. He asked the café owner if he knew of anyone looking for workers; anything would do. The burly café owner looked Mark up and down; he could see that Mark had never worked an ‘honest’ job, his hands though grubby looked soft like a desk workers hands.
“Can you was dishes?”
Mark confirmed that he could do anything if shown where to do it.
“Come back tomorrow, six in the morning when I open up”.
Mark smiled at the owner
“Don’t you go smiling, you aint done a day yet!”
Mark finished his now cold tea, he had to get an alarm clock; more unnecessary spending but he had a job. He just hoped the café owner paid him cash.
Mark walked the streets looking for a charity shop which had a used alarm clock for sale. He ended up having to buy a new one which he hated doing but it was a necessity. Back in the room he set the clock and placed it on the floor near the mattress. His life was already looking better; he would look for more clothes tomorrow.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Room For Rent
Mark had seen the highlife, lived the highlife. His banking job in the city had been the highlife; then the crash came. His bank had gone before the crash; his bank had been the reason for the crash. Greedy traders, greedy investors all looking for that extra percentage point. It was a great life.
Now Mark lived in an east end basement flat, one room that served as living area and bedroom, a kitchenette and a shower cum toilet room was his entire world. First his girlfriend had left him taking most of the expensive furniture with her as she flounced out of his life. A few weeks later the bailiffs where at the door taking everything else including his beloved Porsche 911 that he had bought with his first ever bonus. Handing over the apartment keys to the bailiffs as they laughed in his face; entering the lift to go down to the ground floor where his life had descended to this one roomed basement flat.
He had phoned his father from the payphone at the base of his old apartment block informing his father how his world had crashed around his ears. His father reminding him of how he had treated family and friends on his way up had told him to get on with it; no one wanted him back in the family home anymore. How he wished he still had his mobile, all his numbers were on that phone but the bailiffs had spotted it in his pocket, demanding he hand it over.
The pallid sunlight of a winters day crept into his dull and dank world through the small dirty barred windows. He had found this room whilst he walked the streets. He had walked for two days, hardly stopping; not eating. His only possessions were a plastic carrier bag with a few old clothes that the bailiffs let him keep and his wallet. His wallet he had thought, it still had a credit card tucked way inside. He found a cash till and pushed his card in expecting it to be chewed up; instead it offered him £300 which he took gladly, not caring what happened afterwards.
He had seen the sign “Room For Rent” written by hand in black marker pen on a piece of tattered cardboard in the window of an old low and scruffy block of flats earlier in the day. He had gone back and gladly handed over the £160 deposit plus £80 week in advance rent asked for by the shabbily dressed, gap toothed old man who was the landlord.
That was two days ago. He had gone back to the cash till each morning, still finding he could withdraw his daily maximum allowance of £300. He had put all of the cash in an old writing desk that had been the only furniture when he first entered the room, apart from a small amount that he kept in his pockets. He had walked the area spotting several skips that contained old furniture; he now had a mattress on the floor and a battered armchair in which to sit. An old battery powered radio, covered in paint had also been salvaged; it worked without the need for new batteries and now sat atop the writing desk.
His only purchases other than food had been a thick and warm sleeping bag, a couple of towels and some cheap toiletries. The radiators in the room did come on and almost got warm but that seemed to be the extent of any heating in the block. Today he would be looking for some warmer clothes, or at least more clothes. He would again walk the streets looking for skips, trawling through their contents looking for anything useful but first he would try the cash till once again. Perhaps a different one today, he had used the other one three times now; he had been leaving a trail that anyone could follow. He wanted to disappear until his life turned in his favour again, which it surely must.
His credit card disappeared into the slot; he entered his pin code and heard the dreaded crunching as his card was reclaimed by the credit card provider. Mark found a warm café, ordered tea and toast and then reflected on his situation. He had four weeks rent, maybe six weeks if he starved a little; ate little more than one meal a day; he had to find work. He stared out of the café window, seeing his reflection in the dirty glass he didn’t recognise the tired young blonde haired, green eyed man looking back at him. Just six months ago that young man had the world at his feet, banks chasing his money, now, well now he had managed to get a roof over his head and something warm to sleep in and was safe from the twilight world lived by others on the outside.
He did the calculations in his head again, six weeks rent left him little more than £150 to survive on; he had to earn some money. He asked the café owner if he knew of anyone looking for workers; anything would do. The burly café owner looked Mark up and down; he could see that Mark had never worked an ‘honest’ job, his hands though grubby looked soft like a desk workers hands.
“Can you was dishes?”
Mark confirmed that he could do anything if shown where to do it.
“Come back tomorrow, six in the morning when I open up”.
Mark smiled at the owner
“Don’t you go smiling, you aint done a day yet!”
Mark finished his now cold tea, he had to get an alarm clock; more unnecessary spending but he had a job. He just hoped the café owner paid him cash.
Mark walked the streets looking for a charity shop which had a used alarm clock for sale. He ended up having to buy a new one which he hated doing but it was a necessity. Back in the room he set the clock and placed it on the floor near the mattress. His life was already looking better; he would look for more clothes tomorrow.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Now Mark lived in an east end basement flat, one room that served as living area and bedroom, a kitchenette and a shower cum toilet room was his entire world. First his girlfriend had left him taking most of the expensive furniture with her as she flounced out of his life. A few weeks later the bailiffs where at the door taking everything else including his beloved Porsche 911 that he had bought with his first ever bonus. Handing over the apartment keys to the bailiffs as they laughed in his face; entering the lift to go down to the ground floor where his life had descended to this one roomed basement flat.
He had phoned his father from the payphone at the base of his old apartment block informing his father how his world had crashed around his ears. His father reminding him of how he had treated family and friends on his way up had told him to get on with it; no one wanted him back in the family home anymore. How he wished he still had his mobile, all his numbers were on that phone but the bailiffs had spotted it in his pocket, demanding he hand it over.
The pallid sunlight of a winters day crept into his dull and dank world through the small dirty barred windows. He had found this room whilst he walked the streets. He had walked for two days, hardly stopping; not eating. His only possessions were a plastic carrier bag with a few old clothes that the bailiffs let him keep and his wallet. His wallet he had thought, it still had a credit card tucked way inside. He found a cash till and pushed his card in expecting it to be chewed up; instead it offered him £300 which he took gladly, not caring what happened afterwards.
He had seen the sign “Room For Rent” written by hand in black marker pen on a piece of tattered cardboard in the window of an old low and scruffy block of flats earlier in the day. He had gone back and gladly handed over the £160 deposit plus £80 week in advance rent asked for by the shabbily dressed, gap toothed old man who was the landlord.
That was two days ago. He had gone back to the cash till each morning, still finding he could withdraw his daily maximum allowance of £300. He had put all of the cash in an old writing desk that had been the only furniture when he first entered the room, apart from a small amount that he kept in his pockets. He had walked the area spotting several skips that contained old furniture; he now had a mattress on the floor and a battered armchair in which to sit. An old battery powered radio, covered in paint had also been salvaged; it worked without the need for new batteries and now sat atop the writing desk.
His only purchases other than food had been a thick and warm sleeping bag, a couple of towels and some cheap toiletries. The radiators in the room did come on and almost got warm but that seemed to be the extent of any heating in the block. Today he would be looking for some warmer clothes, or at least more clothes. He would again walk the streets looking for skips, trawling through their contents looking for anything useful but first he would try the cash till once again. Perhaps a different one today, he had used the other one three times now; he had been leaving a trail that anyone could follow. He wanted to disappear until his life turned in his favour again, which it surely must.
His credit card disappeared into the slot; he entered his pin code and heard the dreaded crunching as his card was reclaimed by the credit card provider. Mark found a warm café, ordered tea and toast and then reflected on his situation. He had four weeks rent, maybe six weeks if he starved a little; ate little more than one meal a day; he had to find work. He stared out of the café window, seeing his reflection in the dirty glass he didn’t recognise the tired young blonde haired, green eyed man looking back at him. Just six months ago that young man had the world at his feet, banks chasing his money, now, well now he had managed to get a roof over his head and something warm to sleep in and was safe from the twilight world lived by others on the outside.
He did the calculations in his head again, six weeks rent left him little more than £150 to survive on; he had to earn some money. He asked the café owner if he knew of anyone looking for workers; anything would do. The burly café owner looked Mark up and down; he could see that Mark had never worked an ‘honest’ job, his hands though grubby looked soft like a desk workers hands.
“Can you was dishes?”
Mark confirmed that he could do anything if shown where to do it.
“Come back tomorrow, six in the morning when I open up”.
Mark smiled at the owner
“Don’t you go smiling, you aint done a day yet!”
Mark finished his now cold tea, he had to get an alarm clock; more unnecessary spending but he had a job. He just hoped the café owner paid him cash.
Mark walked the streets looking for a charity shop which had a used alarm clock for sale. He ended up having to buy a new one which he hated doing but it was a necessity. Back in the room he set the clock and placed it on the floor near the mattress. His life was already looking better; he would look for more clothes tomorrow.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Housework!
Give me the vacuum cleaner and I’ll vacuum where ever you want.
Give me a pile of washing and it will be laundered and piled neatly for you.
Give me a shopping list and the larder will be full when you come home.
I’ll even cook it for you to enjoy.
I’ll clean windows,
Fix shelves,
Decorate rooms,
Clean the bath,
And yes even the toilet!
In fact I’ll do anything you ask but I hate the washing up!
Dirty dishes pots and pans all staring from their grease and grime.
They are piled up to the ceiling telling of a great meal enjoyed by all.
How I hate the washing up, dirty greasy cutlery slipping through my fingers.
The smell of food makes me hungry.
Is it lunchtime yet?
Spag boll or ravioli,
Shepherds pie,
Toad in the hole,
Even a sandwich would be great!
In fact I’d cook anything to get out of doing the washing up!
Give me a pile of washing and it will be laundered and piled neatly for you.
Give me a shopping list and the larder will be full when you come home.
I’ll even cook it for you to enjoy.
I’ll clean windows,
Fix shelves,
Decorate rooms,
Clean the bath,
And yes even the toilet!
In fact I’ll do anything you ask but I hate the washing up!
Dirty dishes pots and pans all staring from their grease and grime.
They are piled up to the ceiling telling of a great meal enjoyed by all.
How I hate the washing up, dirty greasy cutlery slipping through my fingers.
The smell of food makes me hungry.
Is it lunchtime yet?
Spag boll or ravioli,
Shepherds pie,
Toad in the hole,
Even a sandwich would be great!
In fact I’d cook anything to get out of doing the washing up!
©Trevor Litchfield
New job, new life
Oh jeez, the taxi will be here in an hour and I still have so much to do! I should have packed yesterday, now I’m in such a mess, why oh why didn’t I pack yesterday?
I couldn’t believe it when I pulled the letter from my mailbox last Friday morning saying I’d got the job, could I be in their head offices by Tuesday? I never expected to get the job. In truth I never expected them to come all the way from the city to give me an interview in that office they rented. Surely they interviewed more candidates in the area, they would never have hired it just to interview little old me? Now the taxi is coming to whisk me off to a new job, new life, new everything and I’m still packing!
What an opportunity! Big company, big salary, my own department and my own secretary; I had only applied because the job looked to good to be true. Two weeks later I’m on my way to a world I have only dreamed of. I can’t believe they are renting an apartment for me, rent free until I find somewhere I like. I bet I love the apartment, I bet I won’t be able to afford it. They sent me the brochure, new apartments overlooking the river. Oh the views in the brochure.
Come on, pull your finger out, the taxi will be here soon. I arranged with my current landlord to have all my furniture shipped to my new apartment. He was really good saying that the job was an opportunity of a lifetime and sure, he would see that everything was handled carefully. Not that I have much furniture, I rented this apartment furnished, it’ll only be my ‘things’ that need shipping. The shippers are coming later today; they said leave everything to us, you just get on your way. So I’m still packing what I think I need.
When I first saw the date they wanted me to start, I thought to myself why Tuesday? Then realised it is the first of the month. I phoned the coffee shop where I had been scrapping a living, telling them that I had to leave. They were good to me saying that my paycheque would be ready Monday morning. Oh jeez, I’ve got to pick that up on the way to the airport; did I leave enough time to do everything?
Thirty minutes and the taxi will be here. Did I phone everyone I needed to? Remember god-damn-it remember. Yes I phoned the utilities; yes I called the cable company; yes I even called my landlord to check he would be here when I leave; he will be here in ten minutes. I feel sick now, excited but sick. Do I need these shoes? Have I got room in my one and only suitcase for them? I better take shoes, leave the trainers to the shippers; what a mess!
Five minutes to the taxi; oh no, I have to pee; do I have the time to pee? Well, I’d better make time otherwise I’ll pee myself in the taxi, go and have a pee! My landlord is helping tidy up the place a bit, my clothes are everywhere; I think I got everything I need; time to pee.
The taxi is outside and I really do feel sick now. My suitcase is still open on my bed, clothes still all over the bed; close the suitcase and go. Do I need that grey suit or that blue suit? Hurry, this is it, make your mind up. Close the suitcase and lock it. My landlord is offering his hand; I smile nervously and shake it. The taxi honks its horn. Time to go, time to go; I bet I forgot something; where’s my phone? Scrambling about searching for my phone; there it is on the coffee table.
I’m running; running to a taxi and a new life that I’m already late for.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
I couldn’t believe it when I pulled the letter from my mailbox last Friday morning saying I’d got the job, could I be in their head offices by Tuesday? I never expected to get the job. In truth I never expected them to come all the way from the city to give me an interview in that office they rented. Surely they interviewed more candidates in the area, they would never have hired it just to interview little old me? Now the taxi is coming to whisk me off to a new job, new life, new everything and I’m still packing!
What an opportunity! Big company, big salary, my own department and my own secretary; I had only applied because the job looked to good to be true. Two weeks later I’m on my way to a world I have only dreamed of. I can’t believe they are renting an apartment for me, rent free until I find somewhere I like. I bet I love the apartment, I bet I won’t be able to afford it. They sent me the brochure, new apartments overlooking the river. Oh the views in the brochure.
Come on, pull your finger out, the taxi will be here soon. I arranged with my current landlord to have all my furniture shipped to my new apartment. He was really good saying that the job was an opportunity of a lifetime and sure, he would see that everything was handled carefully. Not that I have much furniture, I rented this apartment furnished, it’ll only be my ‘things’ that need shipping. The shippers are coming later today; they said leave everything to us, you just get on your way. So I’m still packing what I think I need.
When I first saw the date they wanted me to start, I thought to myself why Tuesday? Then realised it is the first of the month. I phoned the coffee shop where I had been scrapping a living, telling them that I had to leave. They were good to me saying that my paycheque would be ready Monday morning. Oh jeez, I’ve got to pick that up on the way to the airport; did I leave enough time to do everything?
Thirty minutes and the taxi will be here. Did I phone everyone I needed to? Remember god-damn-it remember. Yes I phoned the utilities; yes I called the cable company; yes I even called my landlord to check he would be here when I leave; he will be here in ten minutes. I feel sick now, excited but sick. Do I need these shoes? Have I got room in my one and only suitcase for them? I better take shoes, leave the trainers to the shippers; what a mess!
Five minutes to the taxi; oh no, I have to pee; do I have the time to pee? Well, I’d better make time otherwise I’ll pee myself in the taxi, go and have a pee! My landlord is helping tidy up the place a bit, my clothes are everywhere; I think I got everything I need; time to pee.
The taxi is outside and I really do feel sick now. My suitcase is still open on my bed, clothes still all over the bed; close the suitcase and go. Do I need that grey suit or that blue suit? Hurry, this is it, make your mind up. Close the suitcase and lock it. My landlord is offering his hand; I smile nervously and shake it. The taxi honks its horn. Time to go, time to go; I bet I forgot something; where’s my phone? Scrambling about searching for my phone; there it is on the coffee table.
I’m running; running to a taxi and a new life that I’m already late for.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
New job, new life
Oh jeez, the taxi will be here in an hour and I still have so much to do! I should have packed yesterday, now I’m in such a mess, why oh why didn’t I pack yesterday?
I couldn’t believe it when I pulled the letter from my mailbox last Friday morning saying I’d got the job, could I be in their head offices by Tuesday? I never expected to get the job. In truth I never expected them to come all the way from the city to give me an interview in that office they rented. Surely they interviewed more candidates in the area, they would never have hired it just to interview little old me? Now the taxi is coming to whisk me off to a new job, new life, new everything and I’m still packing!
What an opportunity! Big company, big salary, my own department and my own secretary; I had only applied because the job looked to good to be true. Two weeks later I’m on my way to a world I have only dreamed of. I can’t believe they are renting an apartment for me, rent free until I find somewhere I like. I bet I love the apartment, I bet I won’t be able to afford it. They sent me the brochure, new apartments overlooking the river. Oh the views in the brochure.
Come on, pull your finger out, the taxi will be here soon. I arranged with my current landlord to have all my furniture shipped to my new apartment. He was really good saying that the job was an opportunity of a lifetime and sure, he would see that everything was handled carefully. Not that I have much furniture, I rented this apartment furnished, it’ll only be my ‘things’ that need shipping. The shippers are coming later today; they said leave everything to us, you just get on your way. So I’m still packing what I think I need.
When I first saw the date they wanted me to start, I thought to myself why Tuesday? Then realised it is the first of the month. I phoned the coffee shop where I had been scrapping a living, telling them that I had to leave. They were good to me saying that my paycheque would be ready Monday morning. Oh jeez, I’ve got to pick that up on the way to the airport; did I leave enough time to do everything?
Thirty minutes and the taxi will be here. Did I phone everyone I needed to? Remember god-damn-it remember. Yes I phoned the utilities; yes I called the cable company; yes I even called my landlord to check he would be here when I leave; he will be here in ten minutes. I feel sick now, excited but sick. Do I need these shoes? Have I got room in my one and only suitcase for them? I better take shoes, leave the trainers to the shippers; what a mess!
Five minutes to the taxi; oh no, I have to pee; do I have the time to pee? Well, I’d better make time otherwise I’ll pee myself in the taxi, go and have a pee! My landlord is helping tidy up the place a bit, my clothes are everywhere; I think I got everything I need; time to pee.
The taxi is outside and I really do feel sick now. My suitcase is still open on my bed, clothes still all over the bed; close the suitcase and go. Do I need that grey suit or that blue suit? Hurry, this is it, make your mind up. Close the suitcase and lock it. My landlord is offering his hand; I smile nervously and shake it. The taxi honks its horn. Time to go, time to go; I bet I forgot something; where’s my phone? Scrambling about searching for my phone; there it is on the coffee table.
I’m running; running to a taxi and a new life that I’m already late for.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
I couldn’t believe it when I pulled the letter from my mailbox last Friday morning saying I’d got the job, could I be in their head offices by Tuesday? I never expected to get the job. In truth I never expected them to come all the way from the city to give me an interview in that office they rented. Surely they interviewed more candidates in the area, they would never have hired it just to interview little old me? Now the taxi is coming to whisk me off to a new job, new life, new everything and I’m still packing!
What an opportunity! Big company, big salary, my own department and my own secretary; I had only applied because the job looked to good to be true. Two weeks later I’m on my way to a world I have only dreamed of. I can’t believe they are renting an apartment for me, rent free until I find somewhere I like. I bet I love the apartment, I bet I won’t be able to afford it. They sent me the brochure, new apartments overlooking the river. Oh the views in the brochure.
Come on, pull your finger out, the taxi will be here soon. I arranged with my current landlord to have all my furniture shipped to my new apartment. He was really good saying that the job was an opportunity of a lifetime and sure, he would see that everything was handled carefully. Not that I have much furniture, I rented this apartment furnished, it’ll only be my ‘things’ that need shipping. The shippers are coming later today; they said leave everything to us, you just get on your way. So I’m still packing what I think I need.
When I first saw the date they wanted me to start, I thought to myself why Tuesday? Then realised it is the first of the month. I phoned the coffee shop where I had been scrapping a living, telling them that I had to leave. They were good to me saying that my paycheque would be ready Monday morning. Oh jeez, I’ve got to pick that up on the way to the airport; did I leave enough time to do everything?
Thirty minutes and the taxi will be here. Did I phone everyone I needed to? Remember god-damn-it remember. Yes I phoned the utilities; yes I called the cable company; yes I even called my landlord to check he would be here when I leave; he will be here in ten minutes. I feel sick now, excited but sick. Do I need these shoes? Have I got room in my one and only suitcase for them? I better take shoes, leave the trainers to the shippers; what a mess!
Five minutes to the taxi; oh no, I have to pee; do I have the time to pee? Well, I’d better make time otherwise I’ll pee myself in the taxi, go and have a pee! My landlord is helping tidy up the place a bit, my clothes are everywhere; I think I got everything I need; time to pee.
The taxi is outside and I really do feel sick now. My suitcase is still open on my bed, clothes still all over the bed; close the suitcase and go. Do I need that grey suit or that blue suit? Hurry, this is it, make your mind up. Close the suitcase and lock it. My landlord is offering his hand; I smile nervously and shake it. The taxi honks its horn. Time to go, time to go; I bet I forgot something; where’s my phone? Scrambling about searching for my phone; there it is on the coffee table.
I’m running; running to a taxi and a new life that I’m already late for.
©2010 Trevor Litchfield
Wet and Cold
There’s a hole in my shoe, my socks are wet
My feet are cold, I have to keep walking
If I keep walking it will help keep me warm
My coat is dripping, clothes underneath damp
My feet are cold, I have to keep walking
If I keep walking it will help keep me warm
My coat is dripping, clothes underneath damp
Soon I will be shivering but I’ll keep walking
My trousers are soaked, drips from my coat
My legs are cold, drips getting down my back
I have to keep walking to generate some heat
I am now so cold, I shiver as I walk, keep walking
My legs are cold, drips getting down my back
I have to keep walking to generate some heat
I am now so cold, I shiver as I walk, keep walking
When will I get there, will it be warm and dry?
I can only think about the cold and the wet
I must keep walking, I can’t stop now
My feet are so cold; I can barely feel my toes
My coat is getting heavy, the water coming through
I am so cold! I have to keep walking
I must keep walking, I can’t stop now
My feet are so cold; I can barely feel my toes
My coat is getting heavy, the water coming through
I am so cold! I have to keep walking
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