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