Ophelia's Nun

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  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Judith Neave ran her right index finger, panning left to right, along the third shelf of blue and grey cloth bound books in the case set in the alcove of the living room. White clouded afternoon light, from the back garden behind her shoulder, streamed through the closed French windows upon her forearm and hand as she played the tops of the books like piano keys. Each book reverberated a different memory. The old secondhand Oxford edition of Wordsworth, blue cloth with browning gilt, brought to mind Jeffrey standing clad only in a towel after a bath, on the landing at the first house they bought in Duke Street, reading aloud Maud in a mock parson's drone as she heard her laugh rebound around the bathroom tiles, she happy to take his water for her own wash. They'd been young students together, married, and had got that house when Jeff had accepted his first teaching post at the new Comprehensive. Ha! Yes, she used to scour the market in town for poetry books for him, she never forgot him. Stacks and stacks, he really did read them all, he devoured them. That was long before they could afford to move here. And then there was that time when she was on maternity leave from the University after Jill was born. She'd take the baby into town and buy old collections of Donne or early English translations of Zola, and surprise him with them when he returned from work in the evening. There they were on the shelves, those memories. And look: That original Faber of Eliot, with Prufrock, which he quoted to her by heart that first holiday together, their honeymoon out by the bright dunes at Southwold, snuggled on a red tartan blanket with rather warm Chardonnay, with the cloud perpetually threatening rain and wind blowing her straw hat down to the sea. Oh, that was a touch of realism in the moment of romance! How did it happen, now? Oh yes! There he was in his cream linen shirt and trousers, all sandy, his eyes closed, whispering, she in her pink dress, her breast sighing. all the time watching his lips, "Do I dare?" Then the wind caught that hat she'd left beside her and it blew it up over their heads right up in the air, spinning it round and down to the sea, with the tide coming in for teatime, showering sprays of foam on the glistening sand ...

    Peter and Margaret were the last of the guests to go home. They'd said to Judith if she needed anything, just to call. Jill had been but had now gone to her boyfriend's: She'd said she couldn't take it being here, surrounded by memories, so soon afterwards. Judith was still in the black outfit. It wasn't right to change so soon, was it? The fabric itched a little. She touched an unfamiliar edition of Proust with her fingertips. Then she felt a warm light upon the side of her face. She blinked, turned, and opened the French windows, to let the afternoon sounds of a busy high street resound over her garden wall, through her garden and into the still living room. Flies poured in on the speared cocktail sausages and limp ham sandwiches from the wake, before now untouched on their plates on the table. Judith turned her eyes once again to the strange copy of Proust, "The Remembrance of Things Past", plucked the volume from the shelf and opened it in her palm, the soft dust jacket sensuous against her flesh. Then she saw her husband's name etched in someone else's extravagant hand, a Loop on the J, a flourish on the Y. And just as the sun blinded, she read the dedication.
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    i sincerely believe that fins is working on a novel,
    written in the classic tradition of the english language,
    replete with a descriptive passage of his garden,
    rest, his fields of vegetables grown wild,
    his command and vocabulary of the written word
    is indeed impressive, as is his apparent mastery of horticulture..

    thank you mr fins for your great prose and metre
    your contributions to the "challenge"
    your references to mythology
    are inspiring me to return
    with a mature focus
    to read more

    write on fins and keep on thinking free..

    btw .. you have also inspired me to read, with leisure this time, the great novel by (ms.) george eliot title middlemarch..

    when i first read the novel, it was required, therefore i only got the parts i needed (i confess to getting by) to regurge to my prof..

    i believe that the modern tv sitcom may owe it's existence to that novel..

    thanks again mate and have a pint on me!!
    Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
    As she slams the door in his drunken face
    And now he stands outside
    And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
    He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
    What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
    Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
    And his tears fall and burn the garden green
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I shall enjoy that pint, olderman. Thank you Sir. :) Have one on me in return, my friend.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I know now those long shadows on the shore
    of seaward gulls like arrows on the sand
    and on the surf's green shallows came before
    my first walk on this shattered ocean band.
    I know those shadows fell upon the trail
    of my proud fathers as they looked beyond
    the racking waters, dreaming of a sail
    to free them from the famine of the land.
    Now I, with them, will build my ship and go
    and leave my shadowed ground once and for all
    to pass where sunpulse motions make the flow
    of gently rippling guidings to the call
    of one beyond the wave, a woman true
    and beautiful, a life revealed and new.
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots
    I know now those long shadows on the shore
    of seaward gulls like arrows on the sand
    and on the surf's green shallows came before
    my first walk on this shattered ocean band.
    I know those shadows fell upon the trail
    of my proud fathers as they looked beyond
    the racking waters, dreaming of a sail
    to free them from the famine of the land.
    Now I, with them, will build my ship and go
    and leave my shadowed ground once and for all
    to pass where sunpulse motions make the flow
    of gently rippling guidings to the call
    of one beyond the wave, a woman true
    and beautiful, a life revealed and new.

    jeez fins.. i'm pasting this one to the challenge.. hope you don't mind.. i promise to write a good one for ophelia, 'neath the window..
    Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
    As she slams the door in his drunken face
    And now he stands outside
    And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
    He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
    What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
    Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
    And his tears fall and burn the garden green
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    i walked upon the eastern shore with sand
    hot between my toes as the salt filled air
    consume my senses, strokes me with her hand
    her touch was soft like dream whipped cream tis fair
    she sang of love and weather in love's grasp
    neither hides amongst rocks along the reef
    nor washes to shore in clumps of sea grass
    yet must be found for these are my belief -

    while love's box is replete - songs of merry days,
    the beach is a good walk for remembrance
    of love in the past, so much is sweet lust
    bring on the surf and the sharp sting of rays
    from the jelly fish, whose transluscence
    invades my senses, yet, for now, i trust
    Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
    As she slams the door in his drunken face
    And now he stands outside
    And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
    He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
    What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
    Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
    And his tears fall and burn the garden green
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by olderman
    i walked upon the eastern shore with sand
    hot between my toes as the salt filled air
    filled my senses, consumed me with her hand
    her touch was soft like dream whipped cream tis fair
    she sang of love and weather in love's grasp
    neither hides amongst rocks along the reef
    nor washes to shore in clumps of sea grass
    yet must be found for these are my belief -

    while love's box is replete - songs of merry days,
    the beach is a good walk for remembrance
    of love in the past, so much is sweet lust
    bring on the surf and the sharp sting of rays
    from the jelly fish, whose transluscence
    invades my senses, yet, for now, i trust

    Thank you! :)
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    A sigh, a little drop of blood, a touch
    upon a vase of orchids. Window breath.
    An echoed wonder. "Love, you would do much."
    A close of blinds. A still. A peace. A death.
  • olderman
    olderman Posts: 1,765
    the still silent morning,
    filtered sunlight in a dusty room,
    an apparition of her form,
    intimates to be here to bid us a final farewell

    the dry wooden floors with madras rugs
    are as quiet moments
    paint us with sorrow
    as the canvas of still life
    lives on
    Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
    As she slams the door in his drunken face
    And now he stands outside
    And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
    He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
    What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
    Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
    And his tears fall and burn the garden green
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    To kill and be a thing of nothing kinged,
    You fought on muddy ground and felt black rain
    pummelling your back and on your singed
    lightning struck brow. Through a flooded drain
    you'd plough a hollowness with sodden claws
    of marshland victims scratching at the earth,
    blood grey, to force your master's faithless cause:
    dead land, his monument to hopeless dearth.

    But there has been embayment here, in time.
    I've seen what seven miles of orchards yield:
    emeraldic olives, trees of lime.
    I've piled high sugarcane upon a field.
    You killed for nothing, soaking death in grey.
    I'll taste an orange, fruited of the bay.
  • anOmis
    anOmis Posts: 223
    As she stood there breathing with difficulty
    lost in her black sorrow
    dancing wild dances and reading her epitaphy

    Far from the world where her spirit fought
    trying to build a paradise in her meters..
    Living in the edge... but...
    dying every sunshine with the poets...

    In her eyes a diffrent world
    a sea for all the dolphins
    In her heart a diffrent word
    love the food of nymphes

    Even in her last hour
    she never left the poem
    escape her lips

    because she knew..
    this world wasnt made for hers
    but now she is going
    to a paradise build in her meters....
    ~~dont mind yer make up, just make up yer mind~~

    ~~its better to be hated for who you are than be loved for who you are not~~

    F.ZAPPA
  • exhale
    exhale Posts: 185
    Originally posted by anOmis
    As she stood there breathing with difficulty
    lost in her black sorrow
    dancing wild dances and reading her epitaphy

    Far from the world where her spirit fought
    trying to build a paradise in her meters..
    Living in the edge... but...
    dying every sunshine with the poets...

    In her eyes a diffrent world
    a sea for all the dolphins
    In her heart a diffrent word
    love the food of nymphes

    Even in her last hour
    she never left the poem
    escape her lips

    because she knew..
    this world wasnt made for hers
    but now she is going
    to a paradise build in her meters....

    I will keep this one for my daughter

    (one day)

    You´ve named her Rain.
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    It's such a lovely poem, anOmis. Thank you.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Above Slievemore, there, there becomes a cloud
    undershone by dying sun, feint red,
    now deeper, oh, so deep! Am I allowed
    to cry, now that the Doona tide is bled
    tonight of sorrows, healing into peace
    wherein shall come the darling of my heart,
    'O let these skying fires fall and cease
    that once kept earth and ocean apart'?
    To cry, 'Let moonrise come upon the bay
    and let my lover greet me in the sound
    of gentle crashing waves that lightly play
    the air that makes the lonegull turn around
    to catch its whispered, delicious song'?
    Yes, I shall cry upon these waves in throng.
  • exhale
    exhale Posts: 185
    Hello, prof. Fins! :D

    What an inspiring day today, isn´t it?
    It makes one dance across the room and and scream, after being
    hit by the overdose of love and happiness. :)

    lovely creation for your butterfly again :)
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    It is, it is. My butterfly sent me
    a birthday parcel! It arrived today,
    First thing this morning! But, you see,
    It's not my birthday until Wednesday
    so my darling Julie's written "Not
    To Open Until On the Very Day"
    seven times upon the box! I've got
    to make sure that I'm patient. I must say
    I'm tempted just to have a little peek
    inside to see my prezzies! But I shan't.
    Even if my birthday was a week
    away, I'd wait, in spite of happy want.
    My butterfly, oh yes, she does inspire
    This big old Finsbury, real name McGuire.

    :)
  • exhale
    exhale Posts: 185
    hahahahah :D:D:D

    wonderful!!!

    wednesday, you say. good to know ;)

    so simply your words again have composed another melody
    to soothe my ghost.

    what would this world be like without your genius?

    loads of smiles :D
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • ISN
    ISN Posts: 1,700
    FinsburyParkCarrots McGuire.....thou shallt not peek into thy birthday prezzie.....or thou shallt have transgressed the first rule of international prezzie giving......

    Rule No. 1....

    and God said unto Moses.....

    do not peek into thy birthday presents prematurely....

    hehehehehehe :D
    ....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I shall obey. :D
  • i am the 700th. this is insane. stop while we can still get out!

    :)
    If there was a chair in which I could comprehend, I would stand always and embrace the path