sum total

image

that sad laughter
shock in their eyes
that silence that asks
where are you?
where did you go?
that person
we once used to know?

that moment
of cold understanding
a stranger in your own home
speaking in a voice still known
cracking tired jokes
stealing away for another smoke
yet there’s still hope
that it’s all a really bad hoax
a stupid prank, a circus trick gone wrong.

only it’s not
it’s happening
too real, too clear
the scuttling despair
stunned, confused
indignant, silenced
by so much tranquility
all without special effects,
sudden hates, or hollywood flare.

of lives kept whole
through trials, tribulations
by effort, hard work
perseverance, devotion
and that little bothersome pea
piled deep under a comforting surface
that unrelenting pebble: decency,
the artist formerly known as morals.

but these are all unknown words
to the fugitive at the gates
searching for hasty rest
in nests and labyrinths
of snippets and illusions
of a life once spent
in anger and blissful contentment
which the patient forebearing eyes
start to suspect
was never the actual truth
but something close
interwoven with delusions and lies.

and yet, the shock, the surprise
that fortunes could be so drastic
so completely opposite
to everything hoped for, expected
but all eyes remain dry
some calamities are obvious
rising, growing, ominous
like darkness towering in the skies.

as to the moral of the shambles
of the hastily-told story:
it sneaks up on you, life.
it just happens
and suddenly, almost abruptly
a quarter of a hundred’s over
and the happy would-be wasp,
all flash and excitement,
knew not how
while the boring bees
went ahead and led
quiet industrious lives
buzzing away in their prosperous hives
bothering no one
generous with their produce
(what sweetness, what honey
what gold!)
seeing studiously to themselves and their own.

so make sure your life’s truly your own
and not borrowed, dictated,
delusional or loaned;
we are all bees of the same stock
human, from foot to forelock
(which needs no tugging, mind you)
we’re all working away
building, expressing
making, creating
with our personal pollen
in our private honeycombs
filling the expanse
hand to mouth, ear to heart, earth to sky
all that will combine, comprise
the sum total of our lives.

© 2015 threegoodwords

alma mater

image

strange to retrace
the steps you once took
eagerly expecting an eduction
and getting more, way more
than you first expected

not just the books bought
and the papers written
but the friends and heartbreak
the clandestine lovers
breaking up in furious tears and shouting
once discussed and inevitably discovered
yes, you two, I know who you are…

the novelties found
the loyalties broken
the real friends made
those many words said
and unspoken
in between and all around
the hours sitting, pouring, agonizing
studying, practicing, memorising
and finally, finally, understanding
all those things you’ll actually
– I guarantee you –
really need later on
in the big bad rest of the world
with its sharp fangs and cold snout

that wide open place where suddenly
being clueless is a country of its own
which you have a permanent visa for
coz it doesn’t get better, does it?
oh no, it gets so much more
like an effing sitcom

where time and again
you’re made to understand
the connection between bat excrement (urgh)
and fucking crazy, excuse my French
(why French anyway?)

and you know youth is not wasted on the young
it’s exactly what’s needed to get through it all
and not end up neurotic, eccentric,
not to mention unnecessarily high strung

oh, wait…
naw, it’s all good
it’s the simple fact that
now, years later
you’re no longer either one
or the other
you’re who you are:
still a kid and genuinely grown up.

© 2015 threegoodwords

never thus

candles

…and gone is the time
when I was nothing more than mine
to have and hold
for there is no price
in what is nigh
high up on clouds
fluffed in quartets, symphonies
numbered nine

*

On crested hills
laughter spills
slowly into the warmth
that holds and keeps
out
a darkness that is not night.

It seeps, warmly
past hardened walls
turns all ice into joy,
waiting, hoping
blushing young, untouched
so coy
resting in that hardened shell
all spikes and swords
all banners flying
stepping aside to let this,
a miracle,
come and sit by the fire
kindled brightly, lively
inside.

*

And in the soft sun
caught with silk and sight
there lies waiting
a smile
open, wide
in shining gladness like newborn light
where what was lost
was never thus
but hidden, hiding
until a look, a light
enabled that tender newborn:
a joyful, content life.

© 2014 threegoodwords

winter in paris

 paris winter 9 paris winter 1

Snow is falling while Madeleine walks down a cobble-stoned street. Strangers pass her by, rushing home. Madeleine takes her time. She has a hat on, newly bought. She really likes it. It fits her coat, red with black buttons, covering her warmly from her neck to her knees. Her boots are dusted with powdery white, the snow is cascading down past the windows and walls, filling the curb, the sills, the street. tour eiffelMadeleine catches a glimpse of herself in a shop window. The red of her coat is shockingly bright, like Red Riding Hood walking through the forest. All she needs is a basket with pastries, but her grandmére lives in Lyon.

*

Sophie likes to look out of windows when it snows, just like now, her chin in her hand, and a book lying open next to her. She’s waiting for the water to boil for a cup of tea. The snow is falling gently from a heavy sky, dark and filled with winter storms. Down below a young woman walks by in a bright red coat. Sophie wonders where she got it from. The kettle clicks, the water’s done. Sophie moves away from the window, happy that winter has finally come.

*

Luc is tall and dark, with a lightning smile. He likes wearing dark sweaters over light shirts. He has to bend down to open doors, his legs are long like a runner’s. Madeleine likes to throw herself into his arms. He chuckles then. They meet at a café they both like, Madeleine orders a citrón, Luc a coffee. He asks her how her day was, she smiles and asks if he likes her hat. Luc always thought women were crazy about shoes, but Madeleine is always buying hats. He asks again, ‘How was your day?’ and Madeleine sighs without answering. Luc frowns, ‘That bad?’ Madeleine shrugs and looks out the window, the snow is falling thickly now, covering cars and lamps. Luc reaches out and holds Madeleine’s hand, she turns and tries to smile. He can see the frustration in her eyes that she won’t allow to spread. He wishes he could do something, help somehow, but Madeleine insists on finishing the internship.

paris winter 4 She will not be cowed. So he says, ‘It’s just three more weeks.’ Madeleine nods, sadly. Luc can see she is trying not to cry.

‘Madeleine, you really don’t have to do this. There are other places -‘
‘No. I won’t let them win. And Margarite told me twice I do my job well.’
‘And you do do it well.’
‘Yes. I know. I know I get things done. They know that and can’t stand it -‘

Madeleine takes a deep breath and exhales. The waiter comes with the citrón and the coffee. They drink in silence, Luc watching Madeleine. He would like to tell her about his promotion, the confirmation came in today. He would like to tell her about the holiday they could take next year. He would like to say something to make her smile again, but Madeleine is watching the snow again and looks at peace. Luc doesn’t want to disturb that just yet.

*

It’s past seven, dark as night, and Sophie is waiting. Waiting for Etienne, Etienne who is about to come in a taxi, all wrapped in a coat. He already sent her text, the flight was ok, de Gaulle was hell, he couldn’t wait to see her again. Sophie spent the last hour making dinner. The table is set, the candals lit, the wine decanted, the good one from the Périgord. It’s still snowing outside, so Sophie fought with the wood in the fireplace until it accepted the fire. Finally, the taxi arrives, stopping busily in the street. Sophie rushes to the window and sees Etienne step out. The driver pops the boot, and Etienne takes out a suitcase and his shoulder bag heavy with his notebook and papers. He taps the roof of the cab twice, nods to the driver and the cab is gone. Sophie watches Etienne walk towards the house, patting down his front. She knows he’s searching for his keys. She leans closer to the window, and waves. Etienne looks up, startled. Sophie smiles and waves again. Etienne smiles back, relieved. He’s been gone for two weeks.

*

Luc wraps an arm around Madeleine’s shoulders when they leave the house. He has a long coat on and looks like the businessman he is, but Madeleine likes to think of him as a poet. When he’s in the shower, he likes to sing in a low baritone, songs she usually only hears on the radio. When they cross streets, Luc stretches out a hand as if he’s about to lose Madeleine in a crowd. Madeleine is scared of cars. She was hit by one once when she was a child, three weeks with deep bruises. Luckily no more. She sometimes hears the screeching tires. She always hesitates at the curb. Luc then steps out into the street, turns around and stretches out a hand. paris winter 5Madeleine only runs to him because she is afraid he will stand too long and be hit, drivers are crazy in this city. She would rather be hit with him than be left in this cold world, alone.

*

Sophie closes her eyes when Etienne kisses her hello. They’re standing in the narrow hallway, Etienne still in his snow-covered coat, suitcase and shoulder bag on the floor. Sophie doesn’t feel the chill from the open door. She feels warm, so warm, winter could be a myth told by someone unknown. They part, Etienne closes the door, smells the air and smiles, ‘Is that your gratin?’ Sophie nods, yes, she thought he might want something warm. She still has to make the medallions. Etienne kisses her again and says he’ll take a shower first. While he’s in the bathroom, Sophie puts the pan on the stove, happy to hear the shower run. Her heart glows at the memory of Etienne’s relief to be home. It makes her smile, their love is yet so young. She wishes to keep it this young, innocent in its joy, just happy to be. She wishes it would not grow to an obstinate little thing, a disillusioned adult after years as a pouty teen. She does not want their love to grow old. She wants it to stay like this, to always know the simple joy of being together again after being separated for so many days, they became weeks.

*

Luc is watching Madeleine drink tea. She doesn’t like coffee. She doesn’t like colourless nails either. They always have to be painted. Maybe it has to do with her work, she always wakes up an hour early and prepares herself meticulously before she leaves. He doesn’t like the transformation. The Madeleine who leaves the house in the morning is not the Madeleine he knows. The one in the morning is curt and concentrated, saying little to nothing at all. The Madeleine he knows laughs a lot. She doesn’t mind being a little disorganised and she takes her time. Morning Madeleine has everything planned out, and leaves the house at seven thirty sharp. Sometimes Luc tries to slow her down with breakfast, tea, brioche, an omelette, but Morning Madeleine has no time for that and rushes out at 7:30, terrified she might be a nanosecond late. Luc can’t wait until she’s finished with that internship. Then he’ll take her somewhere nice, like Florence. They’ve never been to Florence. He already booked the tickets and a nice hotel. paris winter 7He wants them to have the perfect weekend, far away from everything, especially the snow. Luc knows winter is inevitable in this city, but he could really live without the cold.

*

Sophie turns on her front and looks out the window. Etienne is quiet next to her, pleasantly tired. His hand on her back is warm, and she enjoys how he strokes her skin. After a while he asks what’s wrong and Sophie shakes her head smiling,

‘Nothing.’
‘What are you looking at?’
‘The snow.’

He glances over his shoulder and sighs,

‘It’s still hasn’t stopped?’
‘Why would you want it to stop?’
‘It clogged up all the runways. We couldn’t land for half an hour.’

Sophie looks at the snowflakes trickling down from the sky. They look so harmless, tiny puffs of white. Tiny ballerinas running to the stage, gathering on the sill. She sees a cool blue light bloom next to her and turns. Etienne is scrolling through something on his phone.

‘Your boss?’
‘No. It won’t stop till Tuesday.’
‘What won’t stop?’
‘The snow. The streets are going to be a mess.’
‘You checked?’

‘Yeah,’ Etienne says as if that was perfectly normal, now, in this moment, with the tiny ballerinas fluttering to their stage, both of them lying next to each other under the sheets after such a wonderful time naked together. Sometimes Etienne is far too pragmatic for Sophie’s taste. But then he puts away his phone, turns to her, kisses her shoulder and says,

‘You’ll have to tell me what you want for Christmas.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want to make a mess of it again,’ and Sophie can’t help it, she laughs a little.

It was this silly game of theirs, of who could give the other the more ingenious present, Christmas, birthdays, even Easter. It didn’t have to be expensive, just something that was truly theirs, and for that Sophie was simply grateful.

*

It’s Saturday evening and Luc and Madeleine are invited at friends for dinner. They take their time to prepare themselves, talking about the friends they are going to meet, Sophie and Etienne, and everyone else who are part of their circle. It will be a long evening, but that is good. Sophie, who trained to be a chef before managing that excellent little brasserie, Sophie will have made something wonderful, and Etienne will have many stories to tell again. The company he works for sends him everywhere to inspect the respective teams, and something strange always happens once he’s there. paris winter 11Madeleine often wonders how it is to work with people who know they have to make you like them. She often wishes Etienne would come and inspect everyone at her internship, but this is not the time to think of that. They’re dressed and ready to go, and walk down the stairs. Outside, Luc opens his umbrella, it is large enough for two. Snow falls on the black, a soft susurrus filling the dark street. Madeleine smiles when she sees the snow, joins Luc under the umbrella. They talk quietly to each other, anticipating a pleasant evening as they walk quickly through the snow, holding hands happily in the cold.

© 2014 threegoodwords

in love and war

compass stencil 1

I will not
I refuse
to sell my integrity
for mere minutes
of another’s pleasure

I will not
I refuse
to compromise that which is holy
that which is mine
yes, truly
so very Me,
Moi-même

I will not
I refuse
for I have rallied my troops
and put on my armour
all my colours rolled from the ramparts
my sword honed, my shield ready
lances raised high
all my banners flying.

For my soul is my life
and my life is my soul,
it is mine to know and honour
and hold in that respect
I know I own.

It is what I am and what I was,
it is all that I may be:
my intimate circle
my private round table,
my personal holy grail,

Me.

© 2014 threegoodwords

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