girl

MILKA'S MOODS.

The trouble I had
getting out
this morning
Milka said

 

as she met you
by the bridge
her bicycle
resting

 

against the hedge
her hair unkempt 
her eyes ablaze 
the jeans

 

and bright red top
hands on hips
cigarette hanging
from her lower lip

 

she(her mother)
giving me
the 3rd degree
where was I going

 

and why?
and O
I could have
pulled my hair out

 

and stuffed it
here she paused
and breathed in deep
and said

 

good to see you
she added
blowing out
and trying on

 

a smile for size
hi
you said
not been

 

a good start then
no
she said
had to rush around

 

like a blue arsed fly
to get the chores
done in time
and then I had

 

to creep out
before she knew
I'd gone
and my brothers

 

didn't help
they knew
I was meeting you
but still they

 

egged her on
you smiled
yes that's what
brothers do

 

I guess
not funny
she said
seeing you smile

 

I wanted to see you
and after the last time
and well
that parting kiss

 

left a lot
to be desired
you stopped smiling
and put on an

 

I’m sorry I smiled
kind of face
and yes I should have
left with a better kiss

 

kind of look
so where
are we going then?
you said

 

not the cinema
sitting in the dark
watching others smooch
while we sit there

 

like dummies
eating popcorn
or ice creams
wasting

 

valuable time
she said
OK
you said

 

what about we ride
to the big river
and sit beside it
and catch up

 

on some
serious kissing
and talking
and stuff

 

stuff?
she said frowning
stuff?
you know

 

cuddling and such
she pulled a face
and then went
and got her bike

 

and you both rode
along the lane
to the main road
then rode further

 

until you came
to the big river
and dismounted
and walked along side

 

the river bank
pushing the bikes
she still silent
the air fresh

 

birds in the trees
and flying
now and then
across

 

the wide river
and she laid
her bike down
and sat

 

on the grass
by the river bank
the bushes
giving shelter

 

the river running
at a steady pace
you sat beside her
taking in

 

her stare
her silence
like the grave
her hands

 

on her knees
her knees together
you ever fished here?
you asked

 

no
she said
not here
the smaller river

 

with my brothers
when I was younger
she looked at you
her eyes

 

scanning you
it's not you
I’m angry with
its her

 

(her mother)
all this
where are you going
and why stuff 

 

makes me so boiling
so I could bite
my arm
kind of thing

 

she said
then smiled
and you smiled too
yes I guess

 

people get you
that way at times
and she sighed
and looked out

 

at the water
the air breathed in
and you looking
at the sky

 

said
it's going
to be a good day
and kissed her shoulder

 

and she turned
and kissed your lips
and the whole
my mother

 

doesn't understand me
and I could stuff
my pulled out hair
up her arse

 

kind of thought
drifted away
on the kissing lips
and eyes closed

 

and hands resting
and hugging each other
you smelling
her perfume

 

(her mother's borrowed)
and she forgetting
and forgiving
her mother.

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UNDER SHELTER.

She'd run
from the shelter
of the old

 

corrugated shed
to the shelter
of the trees

 

you followed
seeing her ahead
happy to be away

 

from school
a job lined up 
and you too

 

glad to be away
from the brain washing
and having that job

 

at the garage
to begin
and she ran

 

through the narrow rides
of the wood
knowing you

 

were behind her
looking back
at you as

 

she ran
and past
the small pond

 

and she stood there
looking at it
the pond water

 

discoloured
by cast away tins
and rubbish

 

and she said
not what it used to be
and you stood

 

beside her looking
at the still pond
the brown water

 

and she said
I used to come here
as a little girl

 

and bathe here
with my sister
wish I'd known

 

you said
before you came
she said

 

anyway
we were only 8 or 9
as were you

 

so it wouldn’t have
amounted to much
depressing seeing it

 

like this
she added

let's go elsewhere

 

you said
go to the our lake

she smiled

 

yes you remember
our name
for the large pond 

 

so you both
walked on
and over

 

the wooden fences
and across the field
by cows

 

avoiding cow pats
and over
by the lake

 

where she sat
on the grass
gazing

 

at the clear water
the ducks swimming there
fish under

 

the water's skin
just visible
do you remember

 

when we first
came here?
she asked

 

you nodded
we were so
shy together

 

we just about
found words
to speak

 

and our fingers
nearly touched
and I blushed

 

and it was
so innocent
so white

 

and silky
and that first kiss
that was so magical

 

so non-sexual
and she laughed
and you sat beside her

 

and said
are all first kisses
like that

 

do you think?
ours was
she said

 

you thought on it
so unexpected
so unplanned

 

under
a full moon
lips warming

 

softly wet
and she turned
to you there

 

sitting by the lake
and gave another kiss
deeper

 

longer
more tongue
and warmth

 

more sexual
and sensual
and the ducks

 

and fish
beneath
the water's skin

 

cared not
if it was love
or lust

 

or grace
or sin.

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NO PLACE TO GO SHE SAID

 

There was no place to go,

she knew that, the school

was a complete wash out,

no place at all there, except

 

the gym, and that was almost

always occupied. She couldn't

take him home in their lunch

hour because her sour mother

 

was there, mooching around

like some miserable sick cow.

The sports field was too visible,

the small area of wood was no

 

good, too many prefects, spying

the grounds, doing their rounds.

She could have the occasional

grab with him for a quick peck,

 

in some dark nook in the corridor,

but it was all too much of a smash

and grab affair, not the kind of

kiss to make a tremor through

 

her hair, or stiffen her small tits

with excitement kind of kiss, she

thought sitting in the class room,

as the teacher rabbited on about

 

some king who'd lost his head

or something. She scribbled down

the name and date and what had

happened and why and where,

 

giving the male teacher the, I

couldn't care less stare. If only

Benedict was there, standing

where the teacher stood, his

 

hazel eyes, his quiff of hair,

ready for a kiss, and embrace,

lips to lips, face to face, hot kiss.

Benedict lived too far away;

 

a school bus trip, an hour or so

away from where she lived and

the school. She'd seen him briefly,

in the passageway, on her way

 

to biology; he smiled, waved,

then was gone, off with another

boy, towards the science labs,

his quiff dancing as he walked.

 

She'd not kissed him all day,

no chance had permitted, the

wet grounds had ruled out going

on the sports field to wander

 

and smooch, the recreation

grounds were out of bounds,

the gym too busy, too crowded

with sports loving girls, doing

 

their indoor netball or what

have you, and all she wanted,

needed, sitting there giving

the teacher I’m bored stare,

 

was a gentle kiss and cuddle ,

not this regurgitated history

and brain soaked boring muddle.

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BUTTERFLY LANDING KISS.

All through the woodwork lesson
and through a double dose of maths,
he thinks of her, the kiss on the sports
field, the brushing of his lips on hers.

 

He'd almost cut his finger on a saw,

being preoccupied with thoughts of
her, her eyes through glasses, the
innocence of lilies about her, the way

 

she looked so surprised, he having

kissed her.  Not planned, no he didn’t
plan the kiss, he was just going to talk
with her, get to know her more and

 

better, when the impulse to kiss, over

came him, as if some rarely seen fish
of the sea had drawn him into depths
he'd not known. He sits on the school

 

bus, got on before she had, looks out

the window, shy of seeing her, now
wondering what she'd day after that
kiss, her reaction. Trevor says softly

 

something about the Frump, he doesn't

turn, looks at the kids waiting to get
on the bus, excited, engaged in their
conversations, laughing. He is aware,

 

that she may be on the bus now, he is

so self obsessed, he can hear his heart
beat, thump through his chest. Trevor
next to him, talking across the aisle,

 

says something about her, but he isn’t

listening, stares out. He feels as if he's
under a microscope, eyes gawking at
him, words around him. Maybe others

 

saw the kiss? He didn’t think about that,

never gave it thought. The radio is on,
the music blares, some one is singing
about love and missing her. He relaxes

 

as the bus move off, senses no one is

aware of the kiss, no talk, or chatter
of it. Even Trevor, who is the vanguard
of gossip, says nothing about that at all.

 

John is aware she sits across the aisle,

a little bit back. He could possibly see
her, if he glanced over the top of his seat,
but he doesn't, he looks at the passing

 

scene, trees, hedges, fields, cottages.

He tries to calm his beating heart, the
thump seems almost audible, as if
the whole bus can hear its thump.  

 

He closes his eyes and thinks of her,

the lips kissed, the eyes behind her
spectacles, her mouth, the way her
words were stilled by his kiss, were

 

drenched in her virgin mouth; he had

touched her, too. His hand had soft
touched her arm, drew her body closer
to him. She smelt of countryside, air,

 

and hay and fields. Her lips there were

feather soft; he could have slept there,
lay there, brushed the lips, as if a red  
butterfly had landed, sought refreshment.

 

He reruns the kiss, in his head, plays

it over and over. She is there just across
the way; he can almost sense her eyes
on him, like feelers reaching over the

 

seats to touch him. He opens his eyes,

Trevor has football cards in his inky
hands, he talks of this player and that,
that football team and this, but all John
can think on is the butterfly landing kiss.

 

 

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UNCAGED BIRD

Shalom
you said
but Fay's father

 

ignored you
on the stairs
of the block of flats

 

you were only trying
to make peace with him
because of Fay

 

but he wasn't
buying into any Jewism
as he termed it

 

forgetting that
his Jesus said head
of his Catholic Church

 

was a Jew himself
but that was
another matter

 

so you let him go
on his way
up the stairs

 

humming some
Latin hymn to himself
later seeing Fay

 

on the way
to the grocer's shop
through the Square

 

she said her father
had forbidden her
to even talk with you

 

(the Jew Boy
he had said)
but she knew it was 

 

impossible even
if she wanted to
which she didn't

 

despite the risk
she ran in seeing you
or talking with you

 

I only said shalom to him
you said
she frowned

 

it means peace
you said
I could have said

 

something else to him
less friendly
she smiled weakly

 

best say nothing
she said
o.k

 

you said
so you walked with her
to the grocer's shop

 

across the road
and along to the grocer's shop
by the newspaper shop

 

where they had
The Three Musketeers book
in the window

 

which you wanted
to buy at sometime
and you showed her

 

the book and the cover
with a picture
of three musketeers

 

sword fighting
and you walked on
to the grocers

 

and she bought
what was on her list
and you got

 

what your mother
had written
on a small scrap of paper

 

and afterwards you said
how about a penny drink
at the Penny shop?

 

and she looked anxious
and said
not sure Dad  said

 

not to linger around
well don't linger
you said

 

but have a drink
and we can sit
by the wall outside

 

and see the world go by
and sip our drinks
she hesitated

 

but then said
o.k
so you took her

to the Penny shop
and bought two bottles
of penny pop

 

and sat outside
by the wall
your shopping bags

 

beside you
the morning sun
blessing your heads

 

and she talked
of the nuns
at her school

 

how strict they were
but one she said
was kind

 

and taught her
the Credo in Latin
word by word

 

and you sat
listening to her
and she sitting there

 

momentarily free
like an uncaged
song bird.

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THE BEGINNING OF NIGHT.

Once school was done
and after your tea
of beans on toast
you went with Janice

 

to the narrow passages
behind the ABC cinema
evening creeping in
she next to you

 

getting the jitters
street lights
here and there
casting shadows

 

making pretend giants
and you'd pick up
dog-ends
from the ground

 

and put them
in your pocket
what do you want
them for?

 

she asked
make myself
a cigarette later
you said

 

cigarette?
she said disapprovingly
you mustn't
that's horrible

 

and those
left over cigarette butts
have got
people's spit in them

 

but they make
good cigarettes
you said
her face grimaced

 

you took in
her red beret
to the side
of her fair hair

 

her blue eyes
on fire
if I did that
Gran'd spank me

 

well and truly
Janice said
trick is
not to be caught

 

you said
a rat ran by
and she screamed
a rat ran by

 

my foot
she stepped back
and grabbed your arm
yes you get them here

 

at this time
of an evening
you said
I shouldn't be here

 

she said quietly
Gran thinks
I'm in the park
well as far she knows

 

you still are
you said
but that's lying
she said

 

no it is being
careful with the truth
you said
you walked along

 

the passageway
and came out
on to the New Kent Road
and at the front

 

of the cinema
with its big billboards
and little photos
of the film being shown

 

and what was
to be shown
you peered
at the photographs

 

Janice beside you
how about
I bring you here
on Saturday?

 

you said
she peered
at the photographs
then at you

 

it's a cowboy film
she said
yes and its got
good gunfights in it

 

and I can practice
how they do it
she frowned
not sure

 

if Gran'd let me
she said
say you're with me
and she will

 

you said
she didn't look
convinced
bit her lip

 

treat you
to an ice cream too
you said
how much will it cost?

 

she asked
1/-3d
you said
but don't worry

 

my old man will pay
he usually does
she bit her lip
a little more

 

have to ask Gran
she said
ok
you said

 

then you walked
along the road
past some shops
then stopped

 

at the fish and chips shop
smell that
you said and sniffed
she sniffed

 

isn't that good
you said
she sniffed again
smells of vinegar

 

she said
and fish and chips
you said
she looked at you

 

her blue eyes
lit up
by the light
from the shop

 

want some chips?
you asked
I've no money
she said

 

I've got 6d
that'll get us
a bag to share
she nodded

 

so you both
went into the shop
and the warmth
and the smell 

 

and the noise
from some radio
blasting out
a Bill Haley song

 

and ordered a 6d
bag of chips
and added
salt and vinegar

 

and walked out
and across the road
and down Meadow Row
the moonlight bright

 

lighting up
the beginning of night.

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DATE FOR THE PARK

Having washed her doll
Battered Betty in the baby
bath, Helen dries it in an
old towel her mother gave

 

her, rubbing it with her
childish motherly attention
to detail. That done, she
dresses Betty in some doll's

 

clothes her father brought
home from a  junk shop
on his way home one Friday.
She wraps Betty in a fading

 

shawl, and goes to the front
door. Where you off to? her
mother asks. Taking Betty
out for a walk, she replies.

 

Where abouts? probably
to Jail Park, Helen says.
Watch out for strange men,
her mother says. I'm with

 

Benedict, Helen says. O,
well that's OK then, her
mother says, relieved,
pushing damp hair from

 

her lined forehead. Helen
goes out the front door
and walks along to the
railway bridge next to the

 

Duke of Wellington pub
where Benedict said to
met him. She pats the doll's
back as she walks, tightens

 

the shawl to keep the doll
warm. Benedict is waiting
by the pub wall; his cowboy
hat is pushed back, 6 shooter

 

gun is tucked in the belt
of his short trousers. Helen
sees him before he sees her,
she prepares herself: licks

 

fingers to dampen down her
hair, straightens her thick
lens spectacles, wipes her
nose on the back of her hand.

 

Am I late? she says as she
approaches him. He pushes
himself from the wall, his 6
shooter quickly out of the belt,

 

he blows the end. No, he says,
just thinking of the Billy-the-Kid
I saw at the cinema the other day.
Got shot. Died. I wouldn’t have

 

done that, I'd not have turned my
back on the marshal whatever
his name was. Helen rocks Betty
in her small arms. Given Betty

 

a bath, she says, nice and clean now.  
Benedict gives the doll a glance,
puts his gun away in the belt.
Good, he says, can't have our

 

kid dirty. Helen smiles, no, we
can't, can we, she says. Mum
says to look out for strange men,
she adds as an after thought.

 

Benedict pats his gun, no strange
man will get to you or Betty,
he says determinedly. Just as
Mum says, Helen says quietly,

 

looking at the cowboy beside
her, his hat now pushed forward,
his hazel eyes focusing, on her
and the doll. Let's go walk, he

 

says, I'll give you and Betty
a push on the swings and
roundabout. So they walk up
Bath Terrace, she telling him

 

about a boy at school calling
her four eyes, and he musing
of putting a couple of slugs in
the kid's head: BANG BANG,

 

the caps will go, just smoke,
no holes, no death, or if he chose,
maybe a good sock in the nose.

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LIZBETH'S THIRD VISIT

Lizbeth's hand
is on the metal ring handle
to the church door.
The hand twists.

 

Hard to move,
jerks, pushes.
The door gives
and they are in.

 

Smell of oldness
and damp.
He closes the door
behind them, his

 

hand giving gentle push.
It clicks, holds firm.
Small and old,
the walls a fading white.

 

Old beams, pews,
altar table clothed
in white a cloth.
She looks around,

 

eyes scanning,
hands by her side,
fingers of one hand
holding her blue dress.

 

He follows, footsteps
after hers, scans her
before him, the walls,
the old wood pews.

 

They stop and turn
and look back
at the smallness
of the church.

 

Here will do,
she says,
pointing to a pew.
He shakes his head,

 

we can't, not here,
people may come.
No one comes here,
except on the monthly

 

Sunday or the odd
visitor or tourist.
He scans the pew,
old wood, wood knots.

 

Who's to know?
She asks. He walks
down the aisle
touching pew tops.

 

She watches him,
his reluctance,
his hesitation.
Some boys would

 

jump at the chance,
she says. But not
here, he says, turning
to face her, not in

 

a church, on a pew.
Some might, she says,
running a hand
over the pew top.

 

They had parked
their cycles outside,
at the back
of the church wall.

 

The sun shines through
the glass windows.
What if someone
comes and finds us?

 

She smiles. Moves
towards him.
Touches his face.
Imagine their faces,

 

she says. No, I can't,
he says, not here.
He stares at her,
her smile, her eyes

 

focusing on him,
her red hair loose,
about her shoulders,
her blue dress,

 

knee length,
white ankle socks,
brown sandals.
We're only 13,

 

he says, shouldn't
even be thinking
of such things,
let alone doing them.

 

His body language
tells the same.
She gazes at him,
his short hair,

 

his eyes wide
with anxiety,
his grey shirt,
jeans, old shoes.

 

We'd always
remember it,
she says, here
on a pew, me

 

and you, this
small church.
We could come back
years later

 

and view
our love scene.
No, he says,
not here, not

 

anywhere.
He looks at
the walls,
the roof,

 

the pews,
the altar table,
white cloth,
brass crucifix.

 

She sighs, looks
at the pew,
imagines the place,
the area of pew.

 

He and she.
But it is just
imagination,
mere thought,

 

she has not so far,
nor he, just an
impulse on her part,
an urge, a hot

 

compulsion to
experience,
experiment.
Let's go, he says.

 

Wait, she says,
let's just sit
in the pew,
just sit.

 

He studies her,
her eyes lowered,
her smile gone.
Ok, he says,

 

and they enter
a pew and sit.
The sunlight
warms them.

 

He looks at
the high windows,
at sunlight.
She sits and looks

 

at the brass crucifix,
the distorted Christ,
the head to one side.
She wonders how

 

they would have done it,
he and she, here,
on this pew.
She is unfocused.

 

She feels the sun
on her. Blessed,
she thinks, maybe.
He feels a sense

 

of gain and loss.
He has stepped
to an edge,
stepped back,

 

gazed into
a dark abyss.
She turns to him,
leans to him,

 

thank you,
she says.
They close eyes,
lips kiss.

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Dead Girl

Folder: 
Cthulhu Mythos

A father took a silver platter,

Full of delicious foods

And brought it to the cellar,

To feed its dead girl thereof.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mythos poem.

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