Writers

They were there tonight
white lines over the moon..

Soft cloudy streaks and glistening planes..
Glinting moments in the sky..

A second of someone's time..
A life time within the second.

I love to watch the gliding reflective birds...
I settle in the silence of distant journeys.

I stand still.
For now.
My moment.
As I watch the journeys across gentle skies.

©Prettyintelligentprincess

Hi all...

No not getting despondant...tired today....but was just one of my friends posted something I thought a reply was neccessary.

We are all getting older (and wiser) but sometimes that 'mirror' catches us all out.

Here is what I posted as a reply...

There is a mirror by the front door that passes images akin to many...Another in the bathroom showing a 'nymph' with long flowing hair so white that when the sun catches it the strands of silver gleam to give an aura, a halo of mystery. But there is not a trace of silver when she looks....just pure white hair, so white it could be snow, pure untrodden virgin snow on the ground.

The eyes....they look sad...lonely even. They mirror the thoughts of days gone by. The good times of youth, the times of children, family. Did this women ever know happiness?

She looks to the mirrow and adjusts the few strands that have strayed from a 'band' in her hair...her phone rings...her daughter...she smiles. he has been remembered for today..But what for tomorrow?

As a disabled person this is something that I have to face on a day to day basis, but by now you may be thinking that this person writing this is a wheelchair user and you would be correct in your thinking.

What you may be thinking is why do I am putting up with this and not doing something about it or why don’t I just shut and stop moaning. The fact is that I don’t because if more people like me didn’t make an effort to bring change then there would be no point in laying the pressure on and bringing change. This is something that does not happen overnight, but it is not an excuse for not doing anything about it.

Yes you’re going to say and I can here you say, but isn’t there the legislation out there to protect disabled people, yes but this is not effective, because the current administration (government) did not bring this in as one complete act, even the current 2006 addition is useless, because I have quoted this at the rail companies and get short shrift and a standard fobbing off, which will not do.

In any case we now have the Disability Equality Duty, which I have been told the government would like to ditch, because there have been too many cases, which possibly cause them great embarrassment.

Disabled access is not just about providing ramps, lifts, but it is about making places accessible, this means the design of your buildings, the design of your railway carriages, the design of railway stations even buildings. This shouldn’t just be about physical disability it should include all types of disability, even the hidden ones.

As a Managing Director and Diversity Consultant of Lifestages UK I am appalled at the way in which we are treated by the rail companies and treated as if something the cat brought in. This is constantly happening to me at Stratford (London) especially when I have been trying to get home from meetings I have had to attend in London.

The problem is that as a disabled rail passenger you have to book your assistance within 24 hours, not a problem as I do this at least 36 or more hours in advance so that if there is a problem they can telephone me to find sort out any queries, but often they don’t and this is where the problems start and this can be extremely irritating if there is no ramp for you at your destination, such as Liverpool Street.

The excuse is that they were coming to get you off 10 minutes after the train has arrived; this is not good enough and shows disrespect for the disabled traveller. This then gets you very angry and you show your anger by telling the person to his face, sorry I can’t wait as I have a meeting to get to and tell them to their face – “not good enough”!

By this time you wonder why you bother, yes people are very helpful when it comes to getting you off the train, but this shouldn’t be happening in this day and age should it!

When it happens like this you wonder what else you’re going to be let in for.

This last week I just happened to go to London twice this week, however on the second day I was in effect told off, because my train that I was on came in on the wrong platform and this annoyed the platform staff at Stratford, because they were messing me around, I told them to get a move on as I had a meeting to get to in Southwark and it is funny how quickly a ramp turns up.

I just wonder if anyone else has suffered the indignity of abuse. My company’s website is www.lifestagesuk.co.uk

There is a long mirror in the hall way. I pass it on my way to the front door. Every time I do a strange woman looks out at me. An old woman, lines on her face, overweight, tired looking. Cann't understand it. The mirror came from my mother's house. Not her but there are some simularities. The small figure the curves, something about the eyes.I don't believe in ghosts. Mother died 6 years ago.
Perhaps its a parallel universe someone who looks the way I would look if I were old. A scary thought. Trinny and Susannah were horrified when they imagined themselves as old women. Me ! I'm in my prime, I know what day it is, Sunday. who the Prime Minister is Gordon Brown. [Ah the Credit Crunch ] I'm on line with the message. I read my e-mails, mostly from Amazon and Tom, Dick and Harry wanting to sell me cheap prescription drugs. What do they know ? I get my prescriptions free. I can talk the talk, walk the walk, as long as its not uphill.
So much to do. 2 Grown up sons neither fully independent. The empty nest, chance would be a fine thing. I'm still waiting for my work to be broadcast on radio 4. Its all been such a rush, what was I doing as the years sped by. But best get on must catch the bus into town, multi-tasking don't ya know.

I was reading a post from another here about a day out and it set me thinking....

Will there ever be again such a 'thing' as a COUNTRY? in the future.....even Continents will fade from memory the WORLD will be a 'Melting Pot' as in the song from the 1980 (Culture Club) ...I am sure there was a version before their's????

I have no discrimination on integration but....I do think we are all losing our identity as people, as Countries, as Nations...will it at sometime be that even the EARTH will have a long forgotton heritage?

How long did it take for the Native American culture to die?

On Wednesday I went to town with Significant Other, alright husband. We have lived in the same house for so long we're included as historic ruins. Caught the bus as usual, packed as usual. Called in at the bank, sent some flowers to sister for a recent kindness. Walking through the shopping centre a group of teenagers caught my eye. Five lively girls enjoying ridiculously expensive coffee chatting animatedly. There was only one thing which struck me they were all wearing headscarves. In cities like London, Birmingham, Bradford and Manchester these little scene would be so commonplace as to be quite unremarkable. In the small county town where I live it is a much more recent development. Lots of changes have taken place in the last 25years. More people , more houses, schools and cars. the roads are always busy. It used to be on Wednesday afternoon the town was closed. All the shops were closed for half a day. In todays 24/7 society it seems the shops are never closed. There is much more going on,theatre, music, restaurants, cafes, hotels, I like this, lets face it before the place could be well dull. some of the people have come from other countries Africa, China,India, Pakistan, Poland,Romania and many others. In a primary school in a nearby port the children speak 35 different languages. How exciting and difficult is that? Life will be more exciting and varied and hopefully peaceful. The Global Village is here now. Peace and love.

Just hoping I don't get chucked off again for posting this....

Have you all tried Helium is a great site for many topics. I have not posted for about a year..when I did was mainly under food and drink. But they hold competitions for publications. It is worth taking a look...

Oh yes and you get paid..(pennies) for articles

HELIUM

Pressing the pen on my paper, hard, I pour my heart out.
I tell a story about love, hate, pancakes and war.
Each paragraph has its song song to sing, each line is a sonata in the celebration of the sun and the moon.
Each word is a silent trill in the blackness of the night.
Each full stop is the end of a life and when I start writing a new line, the world is born again.
When I write my world goes wild, my imagination runs away.
In front of me I see everything I want to see and everything I don't want to see.
I'd see people falling in love.
I'd see a soldier die for his country.
I'd see flowers blossom and birds sing when the sun was shining and the sweet dew drops from the night were still resting silently against the leaves of the powerful oak tree.
Pressing the pen on my paper, softly now, I pour my heart out.
I tell a story about friendship, hard times, the future and the past.
Each paragraph is a soft brush against the skin, each line a warm feeling of love.
Each word is a quite adornment of the most important person in your life.
Each full stop is a plague that destroys everything in its path and when I start writing again, everything slowly comes back to life.
When I write my world slows down and my imagination sleeps on clouds.
In front of me I see rainbows and the rain goddess crying.
But today when pressing the pen on my paper, only just to lift it off again, I don't pour my heart out.
I don't tell a story about love, friendship, hate and war.
Each paragraph doesn't have a song to sing, each line isn't a warm feeling of love.
Each word isn't a silent trill in the blackness of the night.
Each full stop isn't a plague that destroys everything in its path and when I start writing a new line, the world isn't born again.
Today my world stays still and my imagination sits in one place.
I see nothing in front of me. I don't see unicorns or people falling in love or birds singing.
My page is a sea of bitterness where a boat floats in the vast emptiness of the ocean.
The ink has ran about the page like a group of sharks, waiting to eat the little boat, and finally they bite into it, leaving nothing but the hard outer shell of a feeling.

Hatrid in a Haven
By: Me

Chapter 1:
The Underground Background

Many, Many years ago, nekos were everywhere. People with cat ears and tails were the norm. In the year 1977, one by one, people called Tsumis apeared. They hated nekos. They eventually formed groups. Then they told every one that they were hybrid freaks, and were bent on taking over the world. The Tsumis became teachers of their own nekohating religion. They taught in schools and had rallys, people were turned even against their own family and friends. It got so bad even people were against anyone who were for nekos'. Eventually a war broke out. The people that were normal had a choise hate the nekos', get brain washed if caught, or die trying to help. The Nekos' that were love and adored once were now hated and hunted. The Neko Population plumeted. A few Nekos and people who supported them excaped they hid in a place caled the tokyo underground.
Twelve years later people and nekos alike tryed to sneak out a few were caught. A Neko, Kikari Sumi,and her boyfriend Edgar(a normal person) snuckout. One year later they broke up and went seperate ways. In 1992 shefound love with a man, Pete. Two years later her husband, Said he had big plan to become president of the USA. He ran with the best political slogan and honesty he could. He won by a land slide. The Same year they had two beautiful girls. Twins born 2 minutes apart. Their names were Ichigo and Sakura.
They were normal... they thought...

NOTES:
1- the first ladie is disguised
2- does this move to fast
3- this is just the in tro, the main story is about the girls
4- I have cosidered all ur coments and thankx
5-whadda think now?

I've cracked e-zines, in fact I've had a fair bit of success there. Print magazines are a different matter, though.
I started by sending short stories I'd written to what I thought were suitable magazines.
Rejection, rejection, rejection.
So I've started writing specifically for a particular magazine whenever I sit down to create something.
'We like what you've written', 'this is really good', 'you clearly have talent'...'but it's not for us I'm afraid. Thank you and please try us again.'
Talk about frustration.
Bang head here > 0

(written during an exceedingly hot and dry day)

Rain...
Please come again
Please pour down upon the earth
Please pour down upon me
Wash away the dust and dirt on the overheated roads
Wash away the dust and the pains lingering on me
Bring life back to the dry deserted fields
Bring life back to the dying heart of me

Rain...
Please stop by again
Ask the big gray clouds to stay
Don't let them just pass and swirl away
For the sun is burning too cruelly here
Melting down ice poles, boiling away waters
Evaporating tired and exhausted souls
The thick clouds bringing you with could be a fine momentary shelter
And the drops of you would quench the thirst of those dry yellow leaves
that are dying to regain their greens

Rain...
Don't leave now, please stay longer
Remain light for the earth
Remain light for me
Don't turn harsh, don't turn into storms
And never allow the floods to come along
For if you do so I'll be surely hating you
And very soon I'll be missing the blazing sun again

Hatrid in a Haven
By: Me

Chapter 1:
The Underground Background

Many, Many years ago, nekos were everywhere. People with cat ears and tails were the norm. In the year 1977, people called Tsumis apeared. They hated nekos. Then they told every one that they were hybrid freaks bent on taking over the world. Eventually a war broke out. The Neko Population plumeted. A few Nekos excaped they hid in a place caled the tokyo underground.
Twelve years later, a Neko, Kikari Sumi, snuckout. In 1992 she found love and married, two years later her husband, Pete, became president of the USA. The Same year they had two beautiful girls. Their names were Ichigo and Sakura.
They were normal... they thought...

“You think too much”
No shit.
I fight against reading
Between the lines,
Seeing meanings that
Just aren’t there.
Trying to convince myself
That you mean what you say
And that you haven’t found
Someone prettier, slimmer, smarter;
That when you say it’s fine
That’s what you mean
And not “You’re boring, fat, ugly,
And I don’t want to see you again.”
Telling myself not to text
Or call or pester or ask
“Do you like me?”
Even though eventually I will.
The saboteur in me always wins.

Dear Life,
You know, sometimes
When we asked to do this - or that
Or be somewhere without
Well, anyone?
Those times are times when I begin to feel
That all the things I’ve done are being judged
And that I have been delivered to this place
This co-ordinate of time
To feel something.
To realise
That sometimes all we have is sand,
And all we are is sand,
And out there
Just beyond the things we can see and those we love and all the things we own
beyond that
is The Sea
And The Sea is big - and always

At the start of my travelling-pioneering life, in 1962, the first collection, a monumental edition, of The Letters of Oscar Wilde were published. I was far too busy at the time dealing with 9 subjects in Ontario’s grade 13 curriculum, with my burgeoning erotic inclinations, my incipient bipolar disorder, the nature and direction of the new religio-political commitment I had recently been socialized into over the years 1953 to 19621 and, in October of that same year, a socio-historical event that took our global society as close as it has yet been to a nuclear war.2 –Ron Price: refer to 1the Baha’i Faith and 2 the Cuban Missile Crisis.

That edition of his letters went out of print
but, when I was working in the Northern
Territory of Australia, a new edition became
available. I was still too busy and there was
so much else going on in my life at that time:
work, family, a new Baha’i community, just
getting through the day....and so it was that it
was not until I retired from full-time, part-time
and casual work that I had any idea of your
brilliance, Oscar. Your life was inseparable
from your work; indeed, until that retirement
in my own life, my writing was by far the less
important part of my life, too, by far. I became
like you, Oscar, my own public relations expert,
inventing and reinventing myself, perfecting ads
all over the place. I’ve got to hand it to you, dear
Oscar, you were a clever dude with those words.

You said: I was a problem for which there was
no solution; I can resist everything except, of
course, temptation; if you want to tell people the
truth, make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you;
and, man is least himself when he talks in his own
person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the
truth1-------and on and on you went evolving, as a
conscious process of your self-expression and your
self-dramatization, discovering the artistic context
which best matched your temperament and character,
devoting your career to investigating the most elusive
subject matter: the self, creating an expressive medium
for your findings, for your many voices, many personae
and your wide range of tones and masks....Me, too,
Oscar, me too on the long, stony and tortuous road.

1 Oscar Wilde Quotes, “The Quotations Page,” www.quotationspage.com.

Ron Price
12 June 2009

Tonight I walked across a bridge
Upon which the sound of cars made waves
Above the silent water
From there
I came to here.
From then - to now.
The sunset beach exposed
Against a tide-line of roofs, cranes and treetop fears
In which rock pools of light
Host tiny creatures,
Blinking in their haste
To pull the seaweed curtains.
There is no point in time
That we can say is ‘now’, or ‘then’
There is no point.

In time we come to understand
How we regress
To become the silhouettes.
That peer from behind themselves,
Watching me across the bridge.
They pick at food
Throw away all that which is good
Taking time only because it’s there
And does not belong to them.
I could so much have used that moment better
But it is gone
Invisible among the lights
Upon the water
To be washed up on some other shore
And lived again
By someone else.

What is not music
This name?
Haunting and pierced
Penetrating and haunting
Without ghosts
Yet no more real
Than everything else that happens
Repeated over
And over until it becomes unfamiliar
Different only from before because of
the time that has passed
Since anxiety
Since Golgotha
and whatever dreams have flown
since Annie sang
That which is not song
Her voice
Rising and fallen
Collapsing and risen again

Along came a spider
In the darkness
beside her...

As he watched
a voyeur
in the seeping shadows
behind her.

Brunette and black dress
flittering and skittering
upon her skin

her web.
An invisible
answer, a tangible desire

scattering all eight answers
before her.

© Prettyintelligentprincess

PROLOGUE.

The two figures, unheading of the downpour, continued their animated discussion as they walked towards The Platform. Their long shadows reflecting from the wet cobbles. Their tread careful so as to avoid the plentiful puddles. Their raised voices echoing from the town walls.
They had no reason to suppose that they were being overheard or observed, but yet they were.
A slight hooded figure watched from a recess in the wall of God's House Tower as the discussion became animated to the point of virulence. The hooded figure smiled at this and shook the rain from the cape's dripping hood, thus obtaining a better view of the two sodden figures, as unalike as ever a pair of men could be.
The taller of the two figures, lean and spare like a newly released prisoner, was now jabbing his bony finger into the shoulder of the shorter rounder fellow, whom surely had partook of the table a few times too often. He in his turn was prodding his cohort in the lower chest. His short pudgy arms being unable to reach any higher. No distinct words could be heard above the hissing of the rain as it bounced of the cobbles but disharmony was evident.
The hooded figure had seen enough and rummaging under the heavy, sodden cloak found a steel tipped bodkin which was at once notched into the drawstring of the stout longbow that had previously remained unseen.
The light was poor and the aim was made much worse by the rain which now resembled stair rods more than anything else, but the archer took careful aim. At a distance of only fifty yards a hit was certain and the twang, as the arrow was released, was heard by no-one, leastways not by the target or his erstwhile companion.
The tall figure gave a yelp and fell to the ground as the arrow found its target. Writhing in the mud and filth that was a feature of outside of the town walls and yelling that he was dying, evinced no great effect on his porcine companion other than an amount of jigging about as though he was unsure as to what to do, but, as sure as he was covered in his friend's blood that arced from a severed artery, his sole certainty, having witness such wounds on the field of battle was that death was upon his friend and so to avoid any embarassing questions by the watch, he beat a hasty retreat the way he had come, forgetting, in his haste the storm lantern he was so proud of having the foresight to bring only minutes earlier.
The shot was not a good shot as good shots go. The archer had been aiming for the tall fellow's heart and missed by a country mile, but it was most assuredly not a good shot for the victim whose femoral artery had been severed by the yard long arrow which, after doing its deadly deed had exited the leg, skittered off the cobbles and had ended up somewhere in the town ditch.
Unable to retrieve the steel tipped arrow in the darkness, as had been the plan, the archer unstrung the bow so that it looked no more than a stout aid to walking and requiring no aids to walking, youth being what it was, skipped homeward with the newly aquired storm lantern to a warm hearth and the certainty of a cup of mulled wine.
A thin reedy voice could just be heard in the distance, “..tis two o'clock of the morning and all's well”
It was two o'clock of the morning of all fools day, April the first in the year seventeen hundred and ninety-two, and all was well.

She called to me
Half her, half fish
Rippling light cries
Of pleasure, rising from the sea

At the bank, I stand
Then lay down, playing with the sand
Hugging tightly the shore
As I think of the days of yore

Sensual caresses of your breeze
....steal me
Soul enchantress, from the deep
Sereia, will you not let me be?

She calls to me, as she always does
Enticingly, breaking the laws
Between myths and us
She calls to me...at the seas' shores

_____________________________________________________________________
Author's note: Sereia is mermaid in Portuguese
this is an entry for the La-Spice competition

It was lovely,
tonight,
alone outside in the still stillness,
as the birds sang and wove the threads of their tunes around the quiet of me..

She shone so brightly-
So loudly-
She sang too.
Silently

as the bat swooped and swerved across the deep blueness of darkness
that covered my sky.
Brightly ebbing she was...the moon,
that covered my head,
that wrapped and
fed
my mind with the pictures
I needed
to write the words I do,
unheeded.

'Go look at the moon,' she said.
'Trying to sleep,'he said.

Yet she is still illuminated.

© Prettyintelligentprincess

It's the rumble of the train beneath the ground.

It's the brightness of sunlight.

It's the heaviness of the curtains.

It's the height of the mirror!

It's the silence of his footsteps.

It's the study of his gaze.

It's the sound of his voice.

It's the art of translation.

It's the peace of sleep.

It's the warmth of pleasure.

It's the smell of awakening bodies.

It's the feeling of him touching my skin.

It's the sound of his patience.

His patience and me

© Prettyintelligentprincess