Candle Burning Bright (inspired by a piece of writing from one of my Creative Writing students)

I am writer,
biter, wounded fighter.
I am revolution,
language solution -
with no elecution.
I am rock, eroded,
secret coded;
I am writer, fighter -
the candle burning brighter...
scroll on paper, caper after caper;
poetry shaper.

Beauty

My heart is on full speed ahead; left foot agitated. Already surging with more energy than I can handle.
I make my way up the old stone steps, hearing each footfall echo all around. Glad now to just be on the move.
'You alright?' asks the suited Miss Price, smiling at me reassuringly, through her professional superiority.
I catch a glimpse of myself,wish I had not, hair askew, inside the glass door she pushed open; Lipstick bitten off, creased blouse.
The door slips from sideways view, and I follow her patent heels along the tall windowed old building.
'In here.' She ushers me, opening a wooden classroom door.
The room is empty, interactive whiteboard blinking expectantly at the brand new pimple on my chin.
I take a deep breath and pushed my arms slowly down.
Muffled laughter and curious voices, sudden choir of shoes and chatter, about to become my next half hour.
"Hello year 9. I'm Mrs Askew...er...er...Agnew...I'm going to be doing a half hour introductory lesson with you on first world war poetry."
Every face is looking at me, questioning, not yet convinced.
'Sorry we're late.' More appear in the doorway.
"First we're going to play with some words...what could this poem be about?"
Time slows, becomes critical. I am outside, inside, forgetting myself, too aware of myself.
I am heart beat singing iambic pentameter, climbing into words that can't describe the surreal.I am gathering wind on dancing branches that play with the light through the arched, leaded window. I am a sonnet, already downstairs in the Parlour, waiting for the verdict. At home, awaiting a call. A mother praying that this telegraph is not for her...
"If we had another half an hour - we would start to annotate the poem - with some of the articulate ideas you've had about themes and structure. I've really enjoyed teaching you, thank you very much and well done."
I am back. I smile into eyes and watch me leave.
The adrenaline plays with the static in my hair, seeking a way out, demanding a decision, response, conclusion.
Returning to the Parlour I indicate good luck to the next candidate that Miss Price guides to the awaiting throng. The wind has reached a whining pitch and ferocious branch battle. I watch as a bare branch hangs, drops, is swept away. I lean against the window ledge, gaze, wonderingly at the green sports field and neatly slotted carpark beyond. The open fire warms my now shivering right side, invites me to sit down, relax, await the panel interview.
But I know.
I feel the calm wash over me, bathe me, acknowledge and lift me.
I have never been surer.
The door clicks and it's time again.
I leave my opponent to wait, once more; can see he is aware of waiting - as I am brought into interview. I hear myself speak, without assumption; on the edge of my leather seat. Determined not to ramble, answer too quickly. Examples, examples...there is laughter, I lean back, open the water and drink.
"Thank you for answering some hard questions both articulately and thoughtfully." The headmaster smiles, stands shakes my hand firmly.
I return to the parlour, indicate good luck to the next candidate, tired of waiting. I'm only happy now to be on the move.
"I'm sure we'll see you soon." Smiles Miss Price.
The grey tarmac is damp, but the trees now are still, listening, as though I have a secret to tell.
"I'm sure I'll see you again soon." I whisper, they nod and wave their arms.
I catch myself, through the water droplets of the right wing mirror. Cheeks rosy with colour, hair windblown and natural looking, faint touch of glitter on my plump, lips, sparkiling eyes.
I am beauty.

The Big Plan ( Sunday scribbling prompt)

"You're going to have two children. A boy and a girl." Elsie told me confidently.
I didn't question it. Apart from the fact it was my homework she was doing.
I wasn't patient enough to sew as intricately as she did.
I was going to be a postmodern expressionist. I wouldn't need sewing skills.
"Every couple should have someone who can mend and sew, that's what makes a happy marriage." My mum told us, bringing in our supper tray.
Elsie stopped the thread from turning above my palm and carried on sewing her clown circles.
Hot chocolate filling our nostrils, as it cooled by the chair.
The night before Elsie had made me laugh so much - just as I'd taken a mouthful of the chocolatey liquid - and the specks of it were still all over my pajamas.
"They'll last you just one more night." Mum had said "Til I do the next wash."
"What about you?" I asked Elsie,she sat with her skinny legs curled under her nightie, blonde hair tied back tight in a pony tail. "How many are you having?"
She shrugged.
"Doesn't work on yourself. The needle didn't move anyway."

I turn away from the rain splattered window, and the cemetry beyond.The car sighs into ignition and I turn carefullly out of the driveway.
There aren't many people around. I often wondered what would happen if everyone decided to visit their loved ones at the same time, crowding round the graves to discuss their own mislaid plans. As I had mine today.
Looking for the advise I had always relied on her for.
Mum had said that plans were fine in principle, but you should be ready to throw them out of the window the minute labour started.
I'd had to do that twice.
I guessed the same principle could be applied to anything.Things always took you by surprise,like Pete. I had trusted him.
But things happened for a reason. He was so impractical.
Nothing actually changed after he'd gone.I missed the idea and convenience of having a partner, rather than the actuality of it.
I flicked the right indicator on, with heightened awareness of the minutae of the day.
Cars seemed to glide by in slow motion and I saw the faces inside them; gestures and expressions. I noticed the tiny flecks of sun rays climbing out of the clouds and hitting the top most point of the iron gate, winking, winking.
The puddles on the gravelled drive and tarmac road glistened with jewels, then went dull again.
We'd never got married.
I'd waited too long for him to ask me.I guess he was never going to.
I wondered what mattered when you were lying in the grave.
I went over the text again,in my head,feeling the swirling of blood inside, like a slowly gathering wave, unsure of direction.

Was gr8 2 c u this morn. U looked stunning in summer dress with hair up. Think Charmaine's mum noticed I couldn't take my I's off u.x

I turned left, flick, flick, flick, into Yewtree Crescent.
I was early picking up George and Lainie, but I'd wait for a while outside school. Decide how I'd react when I saw her.
She'd been late recently, or used the other gate. I'd thought it was strange, how she didn't wait for me anymore. How she had hung her dark head down, looking at her patterned tights and cut off denimns.
I thought she'd begun to smell of wine. There'd been a bottle open the last tme I went round for a coffee at 10.30 a.m.
Were there two glasses?


She had trained to be a cardiologist.
Her house was not clinical, but immaculate, tasteful, full of children. She'd been telling me for a while she wasn't happy with Jason. They'd had problems since his car accident. She'd found it too much to cope with.We were the only couple at school she'd invited to her 40th birthday party.To say thank you, she'd said, for all our support.
But I didn't see hide nor hair when Pete left, not of her anyway.She'd become gradually more distant.
Jason began picking up the children from school, though she didn't work. I thought he was a good husband, indulging her, trying to do all he could to get back on his feet. He did everything around the house - the mending, the repairing.I couldn't understand the way she treated him.She was always complaining about him.

After the first text she'd forwarded she'd sent me several more.
Of course, she must have realised,I had already read them several times before.

'I think you've got it all wrong.I haven't loved her for a long time - it's u. Pls can we meet.xx'

My heart stopped after that one. No matter how many times I read it.
It brought back the paranoia, the guilt and the futility of those early days.
I'd always stayed clear of other peoples' dramas until now. Always planned for a peaceful life.

The rain had stopped completely now, the sun blinding my wing mirror as I glanced to see who had pulled up behind me.It was a familair grey Yaris.
The swirling and tugging in my stomach started again.
Angry, I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the newly laid pavement. The roadworks of which had kept us in turmoil for parking, these last few weeks, leaving smuges of whitened cement across the pavestones, now flattened and like an iron had steamed out all the cracks and creases.
I waited by the car, trying to look neutral, my goose-pricked fresh completely alert.

We fell into silent step, heads bowed and watching eachothers' feet, as we entered the black, wrought iron gates of the school. Not wanting to draw attention to ourselves.
"Have you been to see your mum today?" He asked.
"Laid her down some yellow roses."I smiled. "I always used to buy them for her birthday." I exhaled , puffing out my cheeks and slipping my mobile out of my pocket.
"What do you know about these?" I asked him.
I showed him the texts I'd been forwarded, scrolling through, them one by one, watching his face failing to register a change.
"She's taken my mobile." Was all he said.
'So, what's the plan?' I asked eventually.
I allowed his fingers to brush my palm and hand, lightly.
Only Charmaine's mum, always first to arrive, waiting outside the classroom, folded black brolly in hand. She looked at us, smiling uncertainly before looking to some spot beyond us in mock oblivion.
I didn't feel guilty. I knew I could look after him better. I knew he would treat me better than Pete.
I had told Elsie that morning.
"They've been split for a while haven't they?" She asked me, over her steaming cup of hot chocolate, blowing the rising smoke toward me.
"She left him six months ago - but I think she's been planning to go back to him." I sighed.

"Am I making a fool of myself?"I asked him softly, daring to glance just slightly too long at his rugged profile. Wondering what would happen now.
It had been a year since Pete had been gone.
I wasn't one for surreptitious romances, sneaky moments - trying not to arouse suspicion.
He turned to me fully then. Parents beginning to arrive and fill up the playground.
"I'm in it for the long term.Rachel and I have been over for a long time."He smiled. "If you'll have me."
"That all depends."I smiled, taking his rough hand into my shaking palm and wrapping it up tight.
"On what?" He frowned lightly.
"Can you sew?"

Human Perspective - ( inspired by SundayScribblings)

I see her from the corner of my eye. She's smaller than the top segment of my thumb. I walk straight, confident, swishing my hips and hair. Trotting closer to my mare. Someone that small cannot pose a threat.
She begins to move, in duplicate, across the grass, opposite the school. I see the class has been dismissed too and wave, pointing to daddy beside me, trying to distract him. He begins to run, the look of delight undeniable. I know he's seen her. Not sure who has told the truth.
She's getting bigger, soon she'll be almost the same size as me.
I've put things in perspective. Know that everything will be fine, if I reach the black, rusty gates before the next car passes me.
I begin to canter, gently. No more fibs. Covering up for eachother.
"What's the hurry?" He asks, laughing.Taking everything in his stride.
I wonder why he hadn't come right out and said it straight away. If he had it would be innocent. Easy to forget about, laugh about like an old joke.
It was because he got caught out he had to think, on the spot.
I knew he loved me, I'd never doubt that. But I was starting to know how he felt about her too.
I thought she was a friend. But if he was innocent, why had she lied?
She was behind us now, slightly distanced. I could feel her eyes on my back, her awkwardness no match to my assuredness, as I took his hand, knowing he'd smile at me that way, as he always did.
"Mummy,I didn't play with Jessica today."
"Didn't you Sweetheart?"I try to sound casual. Feel her brush past me.
I look now and we lock eyes. Her steely blue ones on my muddy green.
"Hi Jessica." He says, voice full of syrup. I turn to see the expression on his dreamy face, feeling my heart drop, like a hot brick.
She's been off poorly, I assume - or too embarrassed to face the consequences.
I wondered if we'd ever know who left the class hamster's cage door open.
They certainly aren't going to tell - but I have my suspicions.

archways

I can feel my adrenaline tapping me, like a hand pulling constantly at my sleeve. The air around me shared by too many goldfish, with the same amount of memory. We stared open mouthed at eachother, blankly.

Now something else was tapping my shoulder. Tap, tap, tap.

Breathe. I waved goodbye, dropping exercise books in a puddle near my car. Hearing tomorrows voices of disdain at my lack of care.

'Shit.'

See if I could be home in twenty minutes. If the road wasn't too jammed with eager escapees, tapping, tapping, tapping on their wheels and dashboard. Oh, sunshine. The weather couldn't make up its mind. Be back by 4.15, latest. Gratitude to mother-in-law, five minutes for daily gossip and who she bumped into in town today. Children in car, drama club for 5 '0'clock. Dinner ready by 6.0 and bedtimes for 7.0. Should let them go later now really, but head starts hitting books by 9.0. Marking takes so much longer in slow motion, with narcolepsy. Two hours tonight, tops. Lunch boxes and school bags checked for screwed up letters and invitations. Breathe. bed.

No time for a relationship. Husband has to make appointments like anyone else. I've Saturday morning free. Three days away. Is it really only the beginning of the week?

80 miles an hour down the A46. Therapy. Windblown hair like a rushed poem.

Rude gear box noises in front of the house.

'Excuse me.'

Shall I rebel and leave everything in the car tonight? Strut onto my drive like a carefree dayworker. Enter my life like a loaded credit card. Leave all my worries behind.

A small hand at the window,outside,desperate to draw my attention.

'Look Mummy, a rainbow!'

I get out of the car,turn, look up. Stand still and stare like a child.

A momentary archway to freedom.

Visualise

'Let Go' whispers the breeze, like a cool stream
down my spine. It's trickling down my throat. Hope.
Bare foot meadows and clear blue skies.'Visualise'.
Words, like kite tails, free and absurd. I heard
fluttering wings and petals fall, smelt the
nectar of dreams and the promise of pure
sun. Innocence. Starting again, like the
blank verse we rehearse; star kissed and golden
as mist. I am weightless as clouds and calm
as rain, running against the green veins and
shoots. Drops like parachutes of poetic
dance. Entranced. Drip, drop, never stop. 'Let go'.

http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com

Snow Hope

Snow day. Second day in just as long.
Heaviest snowfall since 1991. Snowmen, snow balls, igloos and sledges. Someone skiied to The Spa to shop.
Ben is like Jekyll and Hyde. I can't keep up.
Sliding down hill fast.
Spent four hours building a snowman this morning, that looked like it'd been to weight watches. He was six foot tall.
Had to reach up on tiptoes to put his hat on.
"Not sure it qualifies." Says Dave next door.
Little bit of snow and we're all experts.
The children had disappeared - neighbours, MSN. Contracted to finish, while they got on with their own things.
"Haven't seen any children building snowmen." The Liverpuddlian Postman observes.
"Only the adults."
Sign of the times.
They haven't a clue what to do with all this white stuff.
Walked round to the shop later and got pelted by a group of year 9s, on the traffic island, with hard hitting snowballs. Maybe they do know.
The cars were hit like scabs, daring to go to work, or venture further than their own driveway.
I'm hoping for something magical.
I expect it.
The snow comes and the world grinds to a halt.
And everything falls into place in the pause.
Ben says he'sthe only one to care about finances. But I'm more optimistic.
I'm thankful for the break before it comes.
I'm confirming it's there - snowboarding it's way to me through the drifts of snow hope.

Tantrums of Duty

You've put a bit of weight on in the last
few years. Hiding behind defences,stop.
Bombarded by the adult world; like a
new recruit thrown straight into the trenches.
Stop. You weren't prepared. Stop. Coping with the
crossfire. Well, it's time to grow up. You've seen
too much. Stop. Need to focus. Stop.On the
living. Can you can see it? This isn't what
You expected. Stop. No glory in the parade.
Take care of yourself and stop
waiting for someone else to do it. Stop waiting for
the world to give you what you feel you're owed.
You need to help yourself move forward. You've

become a bit selfish and self indulgent.
You've become lazy and preoccupied.
You need to draw a line under yourself,
Tear gas eyes. It's all lies.Stop wasting time
feeling around blindly. Feeling sorry
for yourself.There's more than you going on
out there. It's the big picture, the over
view. Don't get busy tripping up over
grenades of detail, stumbling through the gases
of criticism and judgement. You're good
at putting others before yourself.
Don't expect others to do the same.There's
no instruction leaflet, no law. Take
care of yourself, your own health. Stop these
tantrums of duty; stand up and count
for something. Put your ego aside.Stop

Taking Notice

She stepped, gingerly, into the cluttered buzz.
The volume seemed to disperse in places; die down as she arrived.
Her antisocial desk faced the wall.
She could see why it was the one given to her. The only desk not attached to another. The only desk free of clutter - organised and colour coded to the smallest item.
She was a teaching freak.
'We've decided we're going to mess that up when you're not here. Can't have that!' The head of department had told her in the first week.
She enjoyed teaching.
But something inside her had got lost. Was this it. The amount of her that was drained and left grey to return home.
Noone said good morning.
She tried to catch someones' eye, smiling falteringly, at the male Asian teacher who looked up from his laptop briefly; after whispering and giggling to the blonde,whose desk area he shared.
She was ready, prepared for faces to turn, a greeting, a hand gesture.
Anything to convince her to stay.
She was semi-opaque, a transluscent sheet ready for OHP use.
Highlighting imperfections and weaknesses.
'Don't put baby in the corner.'
She wondered what people would say if she got up and randomly danced her way out of the room. Behaviour preserved for home. Comfortable working conditions.
She had never not wanted to go into work. She'd said it before, but never really meant it.
She hadn't stopped, half way there, paralysed by irrational forces pushing against her in the opposite direction.
She'd never experienced the vulnerbility, diluted authority, in lessons where students were peers.
Asked to criticise, empowered to bully, laugh and argue in a false sense of power. Misplaced. Wrong.
IT was her duty to nurture respect. the school's duty to empower her to nurture.
There was no hierarchy. Except amoung the staff.

Her absense, the mouse in the corner - missing, had been noted. Not tolerated. No questions asked.
She had nothing to lose.
She did not fit. She felt like Alice, swallowed by her own tears.
It was becoming harder.

But today was a little different.
She had a secret that she had noone to tell.
She smiled, felt others smile, reluctantly, back.
Her glow was evident.
This morning was different from all the other mornings. When she had forced herself to come in. Against every atom of her.
She was handing in her notice.