The Fisherman

Sitting on the beach watching the fisherman
casting their nets, hoping for a catch of the day.
Dreaming of a time when I am ready
to buy my own boat and nets to go fishing.
Equipment is important, as is experience out at sea,
you cannot hope to catch a fish without either.
I spend my days researching the best boats and nets,
watching the fishermen everyday, learning their skills.

The time eventually came when I bought a boat,
my nets were second-hand but in good order.
I spent my days dreaming of that big catch,
casting my nets to no avail, going hungry.
Still I dreamt of the good times ahead,
catching the one that would sustain my life.
Then out of the deep blue sea I caught my fish,
it came in easily, bringing much needed life.

After such a fine catch, I considered myself complete.
I forgot about my boat and nets, not thinking of the future.
They lay abandoned on the beach, bleaching in the sun
as I gorged myself on this wondrous bounty I had snared.
I thought this fish would last me a lifetime,
never thinking that the sustenance would run out.
Run out it did, now I find myself back on the beach,
repairing my nets, patching holes in my boat.

As I carry out my repairs, I look out to sea
watching the fishermen casting their nets once again.
I realise I am still so inexperienced as a fisherman,
having caught just one fish in all my life.
Needing to learn to cast my nets more efficiently,
spending more time assessing the other fishermen’s tactics.
Some seem careless, casting their nets hither and thither,
others seem more careful, waiting for tide and light.

Once again I am ready to go fishing,
to catch the fish of my dreams, sustain myself.
Will I do the same as before? Catch my fish,
abandoning my boat and nets, probably!
Greedy is not how I would describe myself,
one fish at a time is ample sustenance for me.
I do not fish for more when I have fish in my basket,
so I’ll sit in my boat, casting my nets, dreaming.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Boy On Step

 

Dad said we would go today,
we would visit mum today.
Dad promised we would go yesterday too.
We didn’t go!
Dad sits crying but he wont tell me why.
He has sat crying for three days.
Everyday he says we’ll go and see mum.

Friends come round, sitting with dad,
they all give him a hug
and I get one too.
They all leave with tears in their eyes
looking at me,
ladies giving me big sloppy kisses.
I just want my mum!

Dad says we might not see mum anymore!
Where is she?
She was in hospital the other day,
she laughed and joked with me
but she was crying.
I asked her why she was crying
and dad brought me home.

Three days since I saw my mum.
She cooks better than dad.
He doesn’t bake cakes or anything!
I’m just going to sit on this step
until mum comes home!
I love my dad but,
I want my mum.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

The Café

“Just look at all that metal” thought the old man as he sat waiting for his meal. He sat and thought most of the time now that his beloved wife had departed this world two years ago this week. He came to the same café, sat at the same table, ordered the same meal, the same coffee, everything was the same as yesterday and the day before. Nothing changed apart from the thoughts in his head, though just lately even they had been on only two or three topics,

He could remember a time when traffic on this road was a rare event, maybe once or twice a week a car would travel up the street. Horse and cart being the main transport back then. Now it was clogged with cars, buses and lorries from early morning to late evening.

He had come in this café the day of the funeral. He had been on his own at the funeral apart from a couple of nurses who had attended his wife in the final weeks. When it was all over he had walked into this café and ordered a meal, this was her wake and he attended it on his own. They had had friends in their early days but as those friends had kids and growing families, he and his wife had slowly been ostracised for not having the normal family, in the end it had been just the two of them. They walked together, they talked about everything under the sun, they read the same books and lived in total harmony, without the need for outside entertainment or friends to live their lives.

Ever since they had been married they had come to this café every Sunday to have a cooked breakfast. He loved being able to treat her to this one day off from looking after the house and the gardens she was so proud of. After breakfast they would walk the mile or so to the river, sometimes walking alongside the river, sometimes getting on the river boat that went down stream on a day trip. Sundays were special to both of them, a time to get away from the work that had to be done. Time to talk about everything other than housework, the plants or his work as a solicitor.

So now he sat here at this table every day, waiting for his meal and coffee. Other regulars to the café would nod or smile at him. Staff would ask him how he was and go through the motions of giving him the menu yet they all knew what he wanted. In return he would politely look at the menu without reading it then place his order.

It was the same meal he had had on the day of the funeral, roast beef with all the trimmings and black coffee. He cannot even remember why he had ordered it on that day. He didn’t really enjoy beef or black coffee but he had become accustomed to it these last two years and felt that it would be wrong to change his order now. Some days he actually did look at the menu, there were several fish dishes that he really liked the look of but he always ordered the beef. One day perhaps he would change his order and surprise them all, but not today.

He looked out of the window once again, watching all humanity pass by. This area had once been a small town on the outskirts of the city, now it felt like it was the heart of the city. High office blocks blotted out the sun, vehicles of all sorts filled the air with their fumes and people rushed everywhere never taking a moment to look at the monstrosity the small town had become a part of. He could not even walk the river banks anymore! Smart flats and offices had been built on the open fields that were once the playground of youth. The land now being classed as private property where once footpaths had led for miles alongside the river. The riverboat had gone never to be replaced so now he never went down to the river, it had become just another trading artery within the big city. There was little pleasure left by the river now.

He ate his meal, not really enjoying it, tipping the waitress his usual ten percent and left the café. Even though a café had stood on this piece of ground all his life it had changed beyond recognition from the first Sunday he and his wife had entered for Sunday breakfast. Then it was just a small, single story building housing the café and not much else. Now it was a tall office block with shops either side of the café which itself was a new building and not the small beautiful little café he once knew. It was still owned and run by the same family though, nowadays it was the grandchildren that ran it but he felt he knew them all and was happy to bring his custom to them after all this time.

Standing on the footpath, he looked down the street towards where the river had once run freely, sighed and then turned to walk the other way, back home to tend the beautiful gardens his wife had worked so hard on all her life.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Lonely People

 

People sitting alone on the bus,
in the park, in the cinema, at home.
They wait for a life to arrive,
alone with no one to think of them.
Why are so many people alone,
when they could be sharing their life?

Some are alone through choice,
healing from a relationship breakdown.
Some are ready to start anew,
looking for that perfect someone.
Some are waiting for that first love,
with all the excitement that entails
Some are simply alone,
living a life, not prepared to share.

Others are where they are
through no choice of their own.
A partner passed away
through illness, accident, age.
Left behind to pick up the pieces
of two lives tragically become one.

You see these faces every day,
some searching faces for a sign.
You see a yearning in their eyes,
a yearning that perhaps, they see the one
We all do it, looking into lonely eyes,
searching for a smile in return.
We are alone in our bodies, always.
We have the desire to share the worldly.

We may have been hurt,
abandoned by our previous love.
We all have it within us to love,
or love again if necessary.
To share your life is such a gift,
bringing hope and laughter as you share.

So be brave when eyes are searching yours,
smile back with your best smile.
Eyes glinting in the sunlight
may bring something more than love.
Respect, friendship, companionship
are just as important, if not more.
The next time I see your eyes,
I will smile, hoping you smile back.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Grit Of Sand

Canned Heat blaring out the stereo, ‘On The Road Again’ seems apt as I drive along the road. Running, or more accurately, driving away from a past that I no longer wish to live, hoping to find a destination worth finding.

The miles get chewed up as the sun beats down. White lines flash by, counting the seconds to my destination; from my departure.

I am leaving behind everything I thought I wanted, everything a man could desire, for what? New challenges are around every corner and sweep of the road and for now I am taking them in my stride, enjoying the curves as they sweep past. Hedgerows full of life watch my passing, my passing of little interest to those inhabiting the hedgerow apart from the sudden shattering of peace my passing brings.

My mind wanders to where I’ve just come from. The people I knew and loved. What must they be thinking now?

I left because it was time to leave. I knew in my bones I had to move on, I needed to find something new. Those people will soon forget as they get on with their lives. There are people I could regret leaving behind but I will soon get past this regret when I find new people to get to know and love.

They could never know my reasons, no one must know my reasons. I will find a new town, a new job and new people then in a few years it will be time to move on before anyone finds out. I enjoy my secret but I must take care when someone gets to close, bedroom close, not to speak about why I came, why I move on. I cannot become embroiled in a family with its responsibilities and then the certain knowledge of knowing and passing it on to another.

I remember the days when horses where the way to travel. I remember how good it felt to be out in the wilderness on horseback with the wind in my hair. Now I drive the latest car with a tiny nuclear power pack at it’s heart. The music rarely changes though, always loud and raucous but now it travels with me as it has done for over a century when on horseback it was in my head alone.

I look ahead into the distance as the clouds take on familiar shapes, this happens every time I hit the road. The world is my oyster and I am it’s grit of sand waiting to be captured.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

The Hunter

 

He stalks after dark,
prowling in the shadows.
Creeping through the undergrowth,
slinking up the alleys.
Stalking his prey,
he creeps up, silent.
The faintest sound is heard
as he attacks!
His timing perfect,
his prey trapped by the throat.
He goes in for the kill!
The crunch of bone
as the hunted dies quickly.
Rats squeal in the alley.
Purring to himself,
he sits to eat his late night meal.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

It Floated By

"York Minster in the Fog" by Karli Watson (Flickr)

They had been rowing the boat for a few hours. Semi-submerged trees being their main obstacle but occasionally they came across buildings that barely broke out of the water, these had become especially numerous and dangerous in the last half an hour.

Evening was now drawing in and they were becoming desperate to sight dry land. The three men in the boat had heard the stories as children but never really believed them until today. They had been told of houses under the sea. Whole towns and cities had disappeared under the climate change floods along with the thousands of people that once lived here.

Mist began to form all around them and very soon they were rowing almost blindly through the water and mist. One of the men had to keep a spare oar out front of the small boat to protect it in case of collision and the rowers themselves had to row with extreme caution.

The mist thickened further and the men became very quiet as did all nature around them; evening began to draw in and nightfall was at best only an hour away.

All of a sudden the lookout shouted out, scared out of his wits at the sight he now saw. Floating out of the mist they saw this huge building sailing towards them. The last of the sun hitting the higher parts of the building caused the mist to radiate an aura of light in the air, the likes of which none of the men had ever seen before. They heard the movement of water, it was loud, much louder than when their boat moved through the water, yet there was very little wake, the small boat barely rocked.

What was this building? How was it floating?

The building floated by, or did they float by the building? None of them were really sure of what they saw that day, they could barely describe their experience to each other let alone those they met after.

They never did find dry land, they slept in the small boat after having secured it to a submerged and dying tree. The boat was rocked gently by the ebb and flow of the water. They rowed for several hours the following day to find this huge building again but they never found it yet they found the tops of the houses they remembered from the day before.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Sleep!

Sleep!

Where are you on this long dark night?
I lay here waiting for your arrival.
My body needs you to help aid it’s recovery,
my mind in desperate need of rest, whirls!

I toss and turn, thinking how tired I am,
minutes tick by, lasting hours.
I hate nights like this, they come in sequences
which means I’ll have more restless nights to come.

Now I sit here, asking in words, where are you?
I need to find your blissful state.
Perhaps now these words are on the page,
you’ll come and put my mind at rest.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Kitchen at Parties

We all know the song, yeah, of course we do! Here I am, another party, another kitchen! This one is all new and sparkly with bright new appliances, bright new cookware and so on. I was in my usual place in the corner, can of beer in my hand and basically trying to look like I was having a good time.

I tag along with my friends to these parties, nowadays these are house warming events of newly wed friends or acquaintances. Not so long ago they were the after the pub gatherings where we would be half drunk before we ever reached the house. Many things went on at these parties, things I seemed to be excluded from. I still used to go, what else was I to do?

Now my friends are all getting married , often I am the only one in the pub on a Friday evening, the only one of a once burgeoning group of young twenty somethings.

These house warming parties are often the last time I see these old friends. Until the next party, the next married couple invite all the other married couples to their parties. I often feel I get invited out of habit. I once belonged to their group. Now we have different priorities, different lives.

The kitchen is warm. Why do singles always elevate to the kitchen at parties? Is it because we have no one to cuddle up to? Is it because we are scared to enjoy ourselves? Is it because it’s where the beer is stored?

Music thumps away in the background as the evening drags on. This party, this couple leave me as the last single person of our old gang.

This evening does not end as happily for me as it does in the song. I go home alone and wait to be in another kitchen at another party.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

The Path

Lined by forest trees, as if on guard,
the path leads ever on into the distance.
Sunlight only between the noon hours,
else dappled is the light that falls.
Shadows follow every footstep, every mile.
Sounds of nature all around, creatures unseen.

The track is a well trodden trough,
worn deep by those that went before.
On either side long grass offers resting places
for the weary travellers who chose this way.
Yet rarely is the grass flattened
by those that took up this resplendent offer.

Phantoms of travellers that went before,
drifting by as if carried on the air.
Their faces turned toward their goal,
walking silently, heads held high.
Those that decide to walk this way,
walk alone, no aid or comfort carried.

They do not walk on a pilgrimage,
this way is a choice for life, taken freely.
Discarded are the burdens of wealth,
replaced by the freedoms of choice.
Free from the troubles of man
and his religions, loves and hates.

Anyone can take the path if they so choose,
there are no restrictions, rules of entry.
To walk freely without woes,
to be free of unkindness, cruelty.
Be consumed by one overwhelming passion,
to never reach the end, and walk forever.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Time

And so life continues,

the seconds tick by turning into minutes,

hours and days never losing their rhythm.

Time is an odd sensation,

we cannot touch it, drink it or eat it,

yet still it marches on

whether we watch the clock or not.

Our only visual signs of times passage,

day turning to night,

back to day once again.

The travels of our sun and moon,

stars at night floating through the black.

The clock ticking on the wall,

a man-made device to show it's passing.

Man's need to count the days means little

when you think of how many days there are.

No man will ever see them all,

nor count to include the final one.

We name the days, give them numbers,

all meaningless in the passage of time.

One day none of us will be here

to recollect this passage through time.

It will be someone else’s turn

to ponder the meaning of times rhythm

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Happy?

To think, all I ever wanted was to be happy.

Not one for fast cars (or fast women),

that happy-go-lucky fella with a smile on his face.

Endeavouring to be a good friend to those

that accept my friendship, expecting little in return.

Happily cooking for you, entertaining you,

the butt of your jokes with a smile on my face.

All I ever wanted was to make you happy!

Where did it all go wrong for me?

I was the one looking for happiness,

now it's you I'm trying to please!

When did I stop thinking about me

and start trying to please you?

Why have I stopped caring about me?

Questions start running through my mind,

creating turmoil as they bounce around my skull.

After all these years I finally stopped to think!

Why did I stop?

What do I think?

Where does all this thinking take me now?

It is not a case of stopping my life while I think,

I have to get on, life is passing me by!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Tomorrow is a new day (Beginning)

Tomorrow is a new day,

the beginning of the unknown.

The people we meet and talk to,

are looking for something new in us.

Whether it be words or ideas,

we need to fulfil this desire,

if only for ourselves to say that we achieved it

and take pride in our small achievement.

During this new beginning,

we might meet someone new.

Offering new words or ideas,

making us look in a new way.

Joined thinking offers exciting horizons,

it could be family or professional.

We must accept these new approaches,

we may never see them again.

As the door on the old day finally closes,

freeing the way for the new door to open.

So should we accept this new challenge,

with fortitude and grace.

Our lives will become meaningful,

our experiences will be refreshed, renewed.

Do not despair at the ending of today,

for tomorrow is the next beginning.

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Waiting

The appointed time had arrived,

I stood waiting.

Would I recognise you from the photo,

people passed by.

There you were, walking towards me,

not recognising me.

My photo must either be very bad,

or not representative.

Holding my breath, I walk towards you,

saying your name as I close in.

You look to me, smiling, grateful to see me,

you were not stood up.

We talk hurriedly, where should we go?

A café around the corner.

Our chatter slows down, we scrutinise,

giving each other a once over.

We walk towards the café, talking nothings,

are you as nervous as me?

We enter, find a table and get served our coffees,

we look at each other.

The talking starts, we talk and talk,

like long lost friends.

Our hour passes all to quickly,

I want more.

We leave the café agreeing to contact,

swapping numbers.

Now here I sit, do I call you so soon?

It was only this morning.

I want to talk and talk like we did today,

already I miss you.

I email you, now I await your reply,

waiting!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Inspired by the latest Oxfam Campaign

Here are four poems I recently composed, they are all inspired by the latest Oxfam Campaign about food shortages, highlighting climate change and generally the wrongs in the system.
To read about the Oxfam campaign, visit here Oxfam

 

Climate Change

Seasons change,

as they always have.

Something is wrong,

the seasons don't match

their previous paths

Dry when it should be wet.

Wet when it should be dry.

Floods wash away crops.

Drought kills crops.

Winds wreck crops.

Food that should feed,

dies as the farmer watches.

Helpless.

Families suffer.

Children starve.

Livestock falters,

Children die!

We may not be able to alter

the damage we have done.

Let's feed those that suffer,

because of our avarice.

They did not cause this nightmare,

they are paying the consequences.

It's time to think differently,

The System's Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Land Grabs.

Can you imagine how it must feel,

to have the land you need to survive,

the land you call home, taken away?

You live on a smallholding,

farming enough to survive,

enough to feed your family.

Along comes this man,

he says you must leave your home,

go away, at the point of a gun!

This is done in the name of progress,

you starve to make others rich.

Others starve alongside you.

The man gets rich on your loss,

the land goes to waste, fallow.

Nothing grows where once stood crops.

How do you feel now?

It’s time to think differently,

The System’s Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Food Price Hikes

How is running a car

more important than eating?

This is a question you would ask,

if you were starving!

How can it be right,

that people starve whilst food rots?

Warehouses full of grain,

rats having the time of their lives.

Think about Africa or India,

continents that daily go without.

Start to think of Europe, the Americas.

Look down your street,

who is going hungry tonight?

Children cry themselves to sleep,

through hunger!

Parents foregoing meals!

Now how do you feel about fuelling your car,

with that biofuel you bought today?

Do you even think of the food waste

that ends up in your bin?

Look in your fridge, what will you eat?

What will be thrown away without regard?

It's time to think differently,

The System's Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield

Intensive Farming

You can see for miles,

the big sky, blue overhead.

The flatness of the land,

villages lost in the haze.

Far off church spires

glisten in the sunlight.

Water towers dot the skyline,

even from a distance, dominating.

This is Fenland,

This is Farmland!

Giant machines crawl over the land,

no hedgerows hide their progress,

no trees offering welcome shade.

Irrigation ditches the half-hidden landlines

that cut the land deeply, dividing.

Mile after mile of fertile soil

worked until it can produce no more.

Grain, fruit and vegetables,

destined for western tables,

and ultimately western bins.

Gone are the days when

farming was a way of life.

Living off the land,

selling the surpluses.

We now measure our surplus

by the value tied up in it.

Not in how many mouths it could feed,

not by thinking who will eat tonight?

It's time to think differently,

The System's Bust!

©2011 Trevor Litchfield.