Stones

She  skip round the lonely stones She’s looking round the lone grey stones Livein’ the dream now She steps on confetti  Damp from the night before Sadly bright some how some how Was yesterday she took her vow Many years away From confetti falling falling day Where has she been She lives in a dream Waits at the window A woman who keeps her face in a jar And waits for the man in his bright red car Where does she come from? All the lonely people Where do they all belong? Nobody knows Where is she going Where the wind blows Blows blows she knows the blows So what does she care? Swirling confetti is bright It is bright But not in the darkness Not in the night And yet in the morning he says its alright she walks in the door not keeping score She dances around the stone - the stone She dances around the standing stone And plays a game of ‘not alone’ Heart beating and breaking Mending and making The word spins around Confetti is falling Swirling and spinning As she whirls around The world spins around...
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Orphans

Sometimes I think mum loves O’Mally more than Dad She’s so down on Dad. I just can’t work out why. I hear them shouting in the night. I think she maybe hates him.  At Sunday school they say to love mum and dad.  But I don’t see dad much he’s always off on jobs.  Some Sundays he lets me sit in the drivers seat and work the wheel when he’s mending the car.  I look at all the dials and numbers and stuff and work the nob stick back and forth.  He whistles tunes while he’s fixing the underneath. In the side mirror I see his legs sticking out. He lets me look under the bonnet sometimes too.  I love the workshop mix of smells. I sniff the cans when he’s not looking. ‘They don’t make them like this anymore’ he says. I wonder why they don’t and who ‘they’ are. But I don’t dare ask him. Mum keeps having accidents. Getting bashed by a kitchen cupboard door and giving herself...
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Phone

40 Return to the Orphanage I am doing a behind the counter stint afternoon at Hassocks and Cassocks shop. Nobody has entered the shop in the last two hours. I flick a large fly off my hand written accounts note book. I find myself beginning to worry about the orphanage consignment. It should have arrived for pick up by now. I ring the container shipment guy who tells me there were hold ups in the Gulf but the offload is expected in Mombasa any time soon.  Reaching for the counter phone I ring our van man JonB to put him on standby. He is our go-to delivery guy who picks up our Far East consignments from the docks in Kilindini Harbour. His wife makes a living running up sets robes for the numerous charismatic churches in Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda. We use her for making some of our more targeted stuff for the East African market.  Much of the rest comes as standard...
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Grandma’s House

When the Supa arrives in Kampala he decides to go to take a look at the old family house. He strides out of Kampala station with a purposeful air. The childhood memories of the house on the wide track off Bukasa South come thick and fast.  He smiles as he remembers playing in his grandmas colourful garden with his cousins running and tagging around the banana trees. His little cousin Caffetti with her shining eyes and huge watermelon smile. The Supa frowns as he realised he has lost touch with his cousins and knows that no one was left to ask where in the world they were now. As he rounds the corner the Supa is shocked to see several army vehicles that are parked against the homestead fences. He looks over the fence of the old house and sees it has been cleared into a small parade ground. A group of soldiers lounge on the veranda, their guns propped against grandmas...
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Uriel Name

Sculpting our inner Life  Only the light within our soul can be with God - all that is not light - the rest - will drop away. What is not spiritual light cannot reach the heavenly realm - love in all it’s forms is the material  with which we create the our spiritual selves. It is a soul sculpture because all else drops away - only the pure light form of our spiritual selves can be with God. ——————————————————— O’Mallys voice booms out over the dark heads of his congregation. His tiered pulpit towers above them. O’Mally loves sermonising best of all. ‘This week we have been celebrating Michaelmas. The Feast of All Angels also known as Michaelmas Includes Gods special angels Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and of course Uriel  Thus begins O’Mally’s old hat  —tick box Michaelmas sermon. A sermon which he transplants on the same Sunday every year of his priesthood. Starting with his early parish life in Shropshire to his church in the centre of...
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The lunatic Line

The Supa’s family have a tale passed down through the generations of a very great great and venerable Grampa who helped build the railway along the Rift Vally escarpment. It is said that he was sleeping he was pulled out of a railway box car by lions one night and was never seen again. The boy never forgot the goose bumps he felt as his grandpa told the tale around the camp fire in the relative safety of their small Kampala garden. There is no doubt that from that time onwards the Supa loved trains. The Lunatic Line Poem written out by his Grandma was nailed to his bedroom wall. When he is quite young she takes him on the two night trip down to Mombassa. He remembers her laughter when he asks  ‘Why the windows have EAR written on them.Grandma?’ She tells him about an artist who cut off his ear.and sent it to a friend.  ‘I think he did it because...
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Lines of Blood -the cheque

I get a message to pick up a registered letter from the central Nairobi postal service in Kenyatta Square. I decide to walk. As I turn into the main street my senses turn cartwheels as I encounter the riot of colour, noise and dusty aroma of down town Nairobi. The post office is ‘manned’ by a small woman in blue uniform. She is in a visibly padlocked kiosk surrounded by lockers. I give her the number and after a few minutes she returns with the registered envelope with Bishop Raith’s impressive bishops mitre logo on the front. ‘We don’t handle  many of these, sir.’ Her mouth splits into an impossibly wide white teeth smile. Kenyan  ‘Thank you’ I reply with a smile as I try to fit the larger than average vellum envelope into my jacket pocket. ‘Neither do I,’I reply with a nod and a slight wink. I suddenly worry if this is inappropriate these days but she keeps smiling. Luckily most Kenyan...
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Uziel & the poetry prize

'Uziel means God is my power and my strength.' Uziel         When at assembly the head master announces I’ve won the school poetry prize my blood runs cold.   How did that happen? I feel confused. Is it the poem Mrs Stevenson asked me to write out neatly on some card she gave me? She put it up with our Autumn Project display outside our class room. I didn’t write my name on it. Being singled out can get you a lot of kicks under the lunch table and trip ups in corridors. Now I’ll have to read it out on Parents Assembly and Father O’Mally will be there watching me.  I feel like my secret vestry shame will somehow become visible.  Bertram Boyd calls me a ‘cissy poet’ in the playground at break time. He trips me up as we go back inside. I come home with scraped knees. Mother makes a fuss. I don’t tell her what happened. I don’t tell her about the poem. I...
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Pandora

Pandora’s name and purpose was All Giver she created Eden here on earth the Jealous Gods revamped her as a sinner and changed her story - put it in reverse Headline She let out all Ills Earths people now take bitter pills! BUT Invert the pythos  - beat that drum  and something else will always come some say a truth withheld from us so long both gods and man take certain pride in doing wrong maybe Pandoras husband did what he should not and opened up the secret pot perhaps the world was told a lie that blamed his wife that sowed historic seeds of misery and strife  the twist spun by the gods may last forever although the human world can be quite clever We know the fact that Hope was left is proof  of good seed in the mix Pandora loosed Kindness and Compassion were what she released much Joy and Laughter too- Goodwill and Peace   Pandora even though she’s much maligned  maintains her Gifts to earth - though she’s not blind She feeds earth’s bounty that the seasons bring as through...
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Lines of Blood Chapter 38

38 Cafe has a nasty head gash on her head. She is conscious now and tells us not to worry each time she wakes. Her son and I are taking turns at her bedside. She seems very tearful at times as if her confidence has taken a dive. The doctors are keeping her under observation for a day or two. In the little hospital garden we sit together in bougainvillea shade. On the night in my flat, late in the night, she had rested her head on my shoulder. Nothing more intimate has passed between us. Now she is recovering I ask her a question that I am burning to ask her. I reach out and put my hand on hers. She does not withdraw it. ‘Cafe, I hope you don’t mind me asking this but why were you crying in your tent before the storm? Did I do something to upset you?’ Two large tears spill from her eyes. ‘No it was not you. It...
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