moonwoman

moonwoman

they saw a light where there had only been the dark

they saw a shadow where there had not been a soul

they heard a song where there had been only silence

they saw smoke where there had not been a fire

they saw a chain of geese

they saw the door ajar in the night and the day, it was never bolted but for the time of the dark moon… no light then and no shadows, the birds had flown and the shutters were closed….but they still heard the singing, more like a humming then and a keening on those very dark nights.

someone said they saw her catching moonbeams

someone said they saw her weaving them into a gown they said they saw her naked by the water

she had laid out the gown on the hard sand

and

walked into the sea

and

her body cleansed as in baptism of the Gods around her she put on her glowing gown and waited still until the birds came gliding to her in a chain…

…and…

… they called to her and she called back, sang the song of the sea to them and of the wind and they carried her into the night towards the crescent of the waxing moon…

they turned their silver over, turned over their gold

they hurried on by

but saw her fold up her gown

and saw also just how old she had grown

said she told them to dance to her singing

to sway in the wind and the song of the sea

and youth’s promise theirs forever would be…

…and every night they saw her dancing by the water

chanting and singing

she folded her fading gown on the hard sand

and

she drew a circle, stood quite still within…

she raised her arms and lifted her face which grew young once more as the moon kissed her cheek

her body lovely again in the light around her…

…that bound her…

the wind and the waves of the receding tide swallowed her words but still they heard…

I am the Mother of all things,

My love is poured  upon the earth.

I drink you with my perfect love,

Be cleansed,

Be healed.

Be changed….

Be healed

Be cleansed

I drink you with my perfect love,

Which pours upon the earth.

I am the Mother of all things….

and every night they ran away

and the next night they would return,

such power had her spell of love…

such yearning in their souls…

they watched her catching moonbeams

they watched her putting on her gown when she was done, to take them home to weave on the dark moon when  the nights were black…

it was hard work for her to weave her gown as in this time she wearied and grew old, her fingers gnarled and stiffened but it was for her to do to bless the earth, to bless all creatures of the earth and she knew that youth would be restored to her again when she laid aside the gown that she had worn to cleanse the sea and she would again walk into the water and put on the new gown she had woven…when she would once more draw the circle in the sand with the ebbing of the tide waiting for her chain of birds…to take her to her moon….

and

the shutters let in the light once more

they heard her song

they saw her shadow

they saw light

and they were safe

and reassured

that all was as it was

that all was well

and 

what they had grown to know….

not war!

I won’t write about war

I won’t write about killing and fears

I won’t tell about anguish and screaming

about losses and tears

march onward somewhere

carry guns, ammunition

a fork and grenades

a rope and a torch and a blade

for the soldier on foot

and

I will not write to say...

that it’s all for the good...

and

boots leaving prints in the sand...

proof we were here on new earth,

foreign land...

and

my comrade falls at my side

reaching up to my hand

there’s nowhere to hide

I have to go on

the war machine’s son

I just meet his eyes

and the light therein dies

...must walk on with the others

and cover the ground

because I am bound

to kill sons of mothers

I’ll come back for you

for my friend so true

but

march with the living

revenge in my heart

I’ll get even for you....

I won’t talk about anguish and screaming

I won’t write about killing and war

but

I will write about love, about peace and the hope in us all,

I will tell about the setting sun and the moon rising as I hear the distant lapping of the waves, gentle rustling of the leaves of spring and an owl calling...a chill in the air, about morning dew and a mist caressing the meadow, I will write about your sweet song as you rock the cradle I had built...

...rock-a-bye baby...

...rock-a-bye baby...

...in the tree top...owl calling...rustling leaves...moon rising...ocean roaring...

and

a rocket screams overhead....

...I cannot come for you my friend...

...I too am down...

...my blood is spilt...

...rock-a-bye baby...

love sweet love

love sweet love

I cooked your dinner for you,

didn’t I?

I made your favourite for you,

I did...

...that proved that I love you! No need to come out with all that claptrap… and say it out loud! For heaven’s sake, what is the world coming to, wine’ve got storms to worry about…

we’ve got floods and houses under water

farmers crying

cattle dying

trees snapping

water lapping

sewage in the garden and sewage through the door, raw  on the floor...

and

you want to play Valentine?!!

I made your favourite

I did...

...that shows that I love you! All this nonsense you want, the hugs and the kisses, no need for that  rubbish, I say, for goodness sake, what’s wrong with you,

...there’s animals to think about, old Ethel to look out for, take care of her cat, it’s as simple as that... as her lane is like a river...

sends a shiver down my back...

water seeping

lambs are bleating

kids are scowling

winds are howling

roof tiles crashing through the air, sleet and snow and lightning flashing...

and

you want me to be your Valentine?!!

...I’m wet and I’m cold, the dog needs to pee, the shop in the village is shut... under water...there’s sandbags to lay, one on top of the other and they’re cold, they’re so heavy and I watch the water rising...

but

...I long for my bed, and feel snug and warm, want for a hug with my man, sweet, tender words, sleepy time talk and drift slowly and safe into the world where we dream, where we snore and we sigh, long belly rumbles, slow tummy grumbles, contentment driven and we mumble in dreaming till morning to wake to the sunrise...blue morning sky, to birds announcing the coming of spring in the apple blossom outside the window, a gentle mist with dew drop rainbows on the lawn...the sound of the sea as the pebbles rattle on the incoming tide...

...a nice day out  would be nice, just what I wish for, just the two of us, and nobody else, coffee at Jacko’s and a glass of red later for dinner at the Bistro, a posh little place with only eight tables laid with crisp damask and the waiter, black trousers, white shirt, just the right distance away asking me what I’d like...Madame...a steak would be nice, I would tell you, done to a turn...you would say, just a hint of pink in the middle, the same thing for me but quite rare and tiny green beans on the side glistening with butter and specks of black pepper and a choc squirty line zigzagging over the plate, an artist’s touch, papaya sorbet to follow to clear our palettes and then a fresh plump peach for dessert for us to cut with a little silver knife, a praline of bitter, dark chocolate on the side...a cocoa liqueur for me when we finish and a Remy for you, he knows what we want, it’s always the same, and we want plenty of time to relax, be in the moment we say and look out at the sunset over the bar where the white of the waves has turned the colour of roses...for the memory we did this...

... as on the day we were wed...a little gift for you and a little gift for me...a red rose perhaps, handmade chocolates or maybe Chanel?  English Fern for you, that I do know, Penhaligon’s best...with a pretty red bow in my bag...just something small, just something special, just a little I love you to remember the day and to remember for better for worse....

but

it’s not really like that now, is it?...

...bad news to contend with, politics and plebs, bonuses, tax, children eaten by dogs and sweethearts axed...

looting and stealing and martyrs at large...

and

you want lovey dovey Valentine?

...the tempests that rage, one storm after another...

waves smashing the houses and barns...straw bales are rotting...no feed and no seed...

..can’t go on anymore, my fingers are bleeding through the tips of my gloves...

what’s the matter with you!

can’t you see?...

that

...my hands are so sore, stiff hands from holding the water at bay...

...but I go on with the others...

...we work, come what may...

...I made you your favourite dinner...

...that’s quite enough love...

...have you nothing to tell me or say?

...he patted his belly...

...contented and full...

...he stretched...

...smiled awry...

...ate it all my dear love...I did...didn’t I?...

                                                                                                                   

Between the tides and times

…it was no one's fault, really…

…it simply just happened…

…fate’s what it was…

…it was how it was…

…and…

…no one could help…

Tilly was the youngest, loved by us all though our Dad was a bit gruff with her sometimes but then he loved her the most, was protecting her, he said, she was young for her age, keep her safe from all harm…from boys…from what he thought their ploys and their charm…we could all see that and we really did not mind. After all, she was the youngest, he said, bright and pretty, the last in the nest… our cottage was the last in the row on the edge of the estate, not large but comfy and winterwarm and we all fitted in…just…the cottage seemed to expand when the next one arrived and as our Mum shrank…There was a pine table with a deep drawer in the middle, a slate floor covered with straw matting in front of the hearth, a basket of  firewood beside the range where Mum cooked our supper every night. At night the walls were noisy…little scratching sounds, scrabbling, up and down…everyone had to have a home somewhere, Mum said, and where better than in the thatch that we lived under…

…Tilly never went to school and it was high time for her to start something, Mum said, anything, rather than drawing flowers all day and watching the the clouds make pictures in the sky…is what Mum said…she was growing up so fast and she had to be directed…is what Mum told us…the big house had been empty for a very long time, shutters drawn but the grounds were kept in order still, old William pushing his barrow with hunched shoulders now… but he kept it nice clipped the roses, slow work with the pain in his hands, along the drive. His cottage was right near the little church by the house we went to on Sundays…Mum wanted better things for Tilly than what she had had. Mum wanted Tilly to be a lady…is what she thought and she kept it in her heart, shared it with no one but her maker…

…and…

…then one day a motor purred up the drive and a tall woman emerged, the palest pink dress to her ankles and a hat with ostrich feathers, elbow length, soft nappa gloves with tiny buttons and shoes to match, a chain of pearls around her throat…Myrtle had opened the shutters…looked in awe at such beauty… Myrtle had always kept house, the keys around her middle laid on the dresser now and she still lived in. She descended the steps, built like a fan, as fast as her knees would allow her, casting quick downward glances to gauge every step so as not to trip or to fall…to meet this lady with a curtsy and a  smile as her welcome…‘Welcome Madame’ she said in her soft Devon speak, ‘welcome to Annery House’, William will bring in your luggage, I’ll show you your room…Myrtle was not old,  ageing perhaps just a liltle, you could see she still stood proud when she had to but now with a tiny bend of her shoulders, grey streaks hidden under her cap…

...you heard the sea roar when the wind was from the west. The beach was a tiny cove, safe and secluded, a private bay and no one knew it was there, no one ever went there, the steps down no longer in good order, little point to keep them up when no one went down now…Madame de Florian was taking the house for the summer and her staff would arrive shortly. There would be parties and dances and picnics as well… oh yes! something to look forward to in these drab times…

… and would she not be wanting for a Lady’s maid? She would surely be wanting a Lady’s maid, is what Mum said, woman in her position, someone from these parts would be best who knew all the ins and out of the others, understood her own like nobody else…to share their secrets with her Lady and the intrigues, not that she gossipped but Madame had to know…and she would keep her in the comfort she was used to…

…I’ll go and ask, Mum said, I’ll go and see, because our Tilly was just right for the job, and she imagined how beautiful her daughter would look in her own long black dress, laying out her Lady’s clothes, her day and night dresses and combing her hair to gleaming black tresses until Madame would smile when she was ready for sleep…and Tilly would go fetch her night tea to steep…to sip slowly…to put a very busy day to rest for the while…

…Tilly came home after church together with them on a Sunday, three hours she had while her Lady would be reading or rest, till just after tea, when she told them stories as they were gathered round the table in Mum’s kitchen…she told of chandeliers hanging from carved beams, family crests with lions and bears, of silver scent bottles and candle sticks that Myrtle had shined, of candle light breakfasts, gold shimmering cloths called brocade and white table linen initialled, fine stitching, in corners... huge pewter platters and china with roses in windowed dressers, pink Persian rugs with fern fronds and mums, paintings of ships in full sail and glorious sunsets just as she watched when she clambered down to the bay before she was needed to care again for Madame …to put away in their boxes the rings she had worn for the day and the pearls on her ivory throat, and down she would go, sometimes with nothing but brambles to hold on to when the going was tough…

…Luc taught her to read, speak proper and French and Madame would play the piano when Tilly and Luc would dance while the candles flickered in the gentle breeze of the summer evenings. Madame had given her dresses she no longer needed, altered to fit and Tilly felt like a princess. She never thought that all would have to end very soon…until Luc and Madame would visit again the following summer…

…Tilly was no longer withdrawn into her sketching, she ran along the beach with Luc…is where he first kissed her, is what Mum told…impertinent… is what she said, did Madame never notice her gone?   Or William and Myrtle to keep a close eye?…Tilly wanted for nothing and Madame was only too glad that her son was so well entertained when she had no need of her maid…

…we all noticed the changes in her over the summer… Tilly was accomplished now…is what  Mum said, rightly blossomed, she even learned to play the piano a bit…she could read now and write and sing a fine tune, she knew how to dance a waltz and a polka,  her hands where soft and pure white. Tilly grew breasts that were firm and round, her young womanhood a real pleasure and Dad often so gruff, said that he found her the handsomest young girl abound…


 …Tilly said that it was lovely to come home every Sunday but life at the big house agreed with her well, she was so happy to be there, to be learning and earning for them to help out to buy all the things and the extras they’d all done without…she liked it a lot…and they liked her there…this summer was good to them all because Mum had made it happen for them when when the car drove in through the bluebell wood. She had found it within herself to ask right away and so it was set in motion what was to be good for them all… 

…but Tilly grew pale, is what Mum said and she saw that her face was quite drawn, shadows under her eyes and she had become quiet, too quiet for Tilly, is what Mum thought. She came home less often…perhaps they worked her too hard? Perhaps she missed the close banter at the end of the day, when they were all weary from their day’s work and the fire died down, the last embers crackled and cottage was sleepy, held them all safe together, cocoa and a digestive they had before bed…or sometimes a crust cut with butter from Mum’s home made bread…

…she wanted to draw by the sea, Tilly said, hear the wind in the cove, the call of the gulls on the wing as the tide turned, watch the ships pass on the horizon before they fell off and she smiled to herself at this childhood thought. She wanted to see the sun setting …

…and…

…then came a visit from  Myrtle and William, a curtsy from Myrtle when Mum clicked open the latch on the door. William bowed , doffed his cap for respect… they came to say…Madame had departed with Luc as winter was coming, that they would return to their home in the south where it was warm and the air smelled of Thyme and Sweet Basil, scent in the air of Mimosa in bloom, where the hummingbirds delighted the senses with shimmering colours as they flitted from flower to flower, they said…and not a sighting of Tilly to say their good byes…

…the wind howled and the waves crashed into the cove, the  rain drove inland relentless…is where they found her, caught up in some tree roots in a little hollow that the sea had made…quite still she lay there with sand in her hair that had left streak lines as the tide had receded, ebbing waves had dragged her skirts under the sand and she had her arms about the gentle rise of her body that no one had seen…

…it’s how it was…

…is what they said…

…it was fate…

…it just happened…

…now…

…no one could help her…

…no one at all…

...and then there was one...

...and then there was one...

I am old now

there is no one but me

the last of a long line

I am

my family.

Mummy was an Irish beauty Daddy fell for. She had a voice like honey, she had dark blue smiling eyes and her skin was like alabaster. Mummy had a quick manner and a ready laugh, the giggle that became famous in our family. Mummy came from county Cork, Daddy was an Englishman to die for, tall and slender strong and a face that showed early where the laugh lines would be one day. Daddy was in the army, proud in his khakis and we moved to the east coast of England when he was posted  there.  We soon settled into our house by the river...huge with high ceilings, a grand piano in the music room and we all sensed that something had forever changed…childhood had come to an end somehow when we left Granny and Grandpapa behind…and now we would be formally educated and finished…at home…I was not interested in the lessons but for the piano…I paid attention there and made good progress but when it came to maths I sat up very straight to show I was paying attention but really it was the crown glass in the windows that caught my interest…I loved the distortions looking through . A bird could fly by twice all in the same moment...when I moved my head it was gone...a face with three eyes  might look at me with a never ending mouth that split it in two...

we were seven children

we had a governess

we also had special tutors who came

We had our own running track and tennis court. We all loved tennis and we dressed for it, Robert looked the smartest in his whites and stripey blazer…

Tilly’s boyfriend came and played

Josie’s young man liked to watch and call. He was the umpire

Millie was engaged to be married but not until she was twenty one…she and her betrothed would sit apart and talk and dream but clapped when a point was well earned…

Sylvie and her friend played well, they played the best

and

Emily liked to play with me because she would always win…

We played croquet on the lawn and took tea under the hanging branches of the willow tree,  Cook brought sweet muffins with jam and cream or toast and fruitcake that Mummy loved so much...We were six girls and everyone adored our brother...and it was he who decided  on the tea...thin sandwiches with wafer thin cucumber slices on anchovy paste, egg and cress or roast beef and horseradish sauce...the youngest drank chamomile tea or mint, Mummy drank Earl Grey and sometimes Daddy would arrive early and take tea with us. Sharp in his khaki uniform, he never sat down, always stood up and held his porcelain cup and saucer...proud father of seven  and he and Mummy loved each other as on the first day, you could see, only we did the talking, they did the listening bit...

Funny, how it all went, really...you could not imagine just how it would be when everyone moved  into their own lives away from Mummy and Daddy...fledged the nest, as they say...we never imagined that they might be lonely...they had so much to do...we still visited a lot, of course, every day for those who lived close by but it was never quite the same except for Christmas when we all got together and Millie and James came home from India...Millie had learned all sorts of exotic things to do with the left over turkey for us all with curry leaves and garlic and hot chilly peppers...she had a boy out there for the hard work and a cook and would tell of elephants and tigers, of ancient forts and palaces, huge bats that flew over the lake at night  and peacocks displaying iridescent feathers on her dew dappled lawn announcing dawn with haunting cries as the sun would rise...

Christmas with all of us gathered together in the house by the river, fires roaring and our childhood decorations on the tree was such fun for us all, memorable as we all caught up with one another...Daddy not so steady on his feet but he would still light the Christmas Pudding, Mummy not so slender now and a little bent...she would still play our ring game with gusto, the ring game we played as children as we did now and this she loved the best...we all sat in a circle and held the string in cupped hands concealing the ring...we shuffled the ring and laughter rang out as the one in the middle tried to guess where it was...we were children that moment and we loved how it bound us together once more...

...and when the war came all was changed forever...Josie's husband fell early...Emily became a war widow too, half orphans then, cousins Charlie and John...but the famous family giggle never left us though but a melancholy was often quick to cast a shadow in these hard times...no one starved thank God, the ration books held out, porridge was our staple, with or without sugar and Daddy took salt only so as to share his sugar ration for the sweet tooth...and that was usually me...

Tilly never left home. She was quite poorly often.She became very frail with deep, purple circles framing he eyes that often seemed to glitter with a fever

...and then Tilly died...sad...slowly from TB...Nanny had TB...Nanny died too...

...and then Josie died...Josie had a stroke...she lived on for a bit but could not talk anymore and that was hard for Josie. Josie liked to talk...so the end was a blessing...

...and then Millie died...Millie and her husband had lived in India too long...too many cocktails...something wrong with her liver...

...and then our Robert died...Robert just got weak and died...he left a lovely record collection...

...and then Sylvie died...Sylvie was in the kitchen when she died...she was standing up when she died...her heart gave out when she was cooking eggs and she just sank to the floor...

...and then Emily died...her lungs collapsed...she got too cold one day...went out with her golden hair still wet....got very ill and died from the fever...

...and now it's my turn next...but not yet... awhile, things to do don't you know...things to remember and to write down for someone to read...

...Mummy died and Daddy too...he had cancer...Mummy just worn out, they said that Granny died too soon...all the husbands died...but my brother's wife is still around and sometimes telephones.. though I can't hear her, I have become quite deaf...

...we had a happy time when we were young ...

we were seven children

in our family

there is no one now but me

and

I am old

I

am

very

old…

the hacker

the hacker

…beware of me

I am not good

I am the hacker

I hack lives…

I hack

right

into lives…

…but…

you love what I do,

really,

you love the sweet surrendering,

you love it

because

you think there is something in it for you….

You have no idea what I am thinking, I look like you, with a face like your face, with hair and eyes and nose and ears like you have and a mouth that moves like yours when I talk to you. I have a body. I have a beautiful body. I walk, I laugh, make love and then there is all the other stuff we all have to do in order to survive…shop, I love shopping, I clean and I cook…no…I do not have a wife…or a husband…I do not have a cleaner…I do it all myself…I am the sweet bachelor who lives at number one…not the marrying kind they say, he loves his computers the best…pity really, but there you are… …he loves his workshop,  theatre clean, makes chips for things, very clever, is what they say… little tiny, tiny chips that you can hardly see…

…I love to cook for my friends and dinner parties are my speciality. Everyone always comes when invited, I serve them the very best wine and the very best food that money can buy….I am not short of money. But the best thing I do are my little tete a tetes….just two of us, candle light tete a tetes, man or woman, it does not really matter. I am an all round lover, versed in all things, create the right mood with the right music and feed you tit bits that I have so lovingly prepared. We feast on quail’s eggs with caviar, Colchester mussels where we find tiny, tiny pearls as we eat, mini blinis with prawns,  so delicious, with finely chopped dill, mint frosted sherbet  over honeydew melon balls  and chocolate truffles which I pop into your mouth to wash down with golden bubbles of iced Bollinger in glasses that throw prisms of rainbows into the candle light…you are happy…and…you don’t know that you are paying the price with a smile for your own vanity and also your sincerity as you fall in love with me….

…you have been hacked and you don’t know it…the chip went down in a truffle,  with kiss and  a smile…

…beware of me

I may be clever

I may be all that you want

just now

but

I am not good…

I hack into your soul

I hack into your brain…

…and I learn all that is there…..

…all your secrets…

…all you love and all you hate…

I offer you my love and all that I possess and there is lots to be had because all I need is you…

and

you love everything I have and give you…

you do everything I want…

…and…

when I have hacked you I can send you over a cliff or under a car, I can make you jump out of a window when I’m done with you…I might send you walk-about and you won’t remember who you are…but not before you have  fulfilled my dreams and I tire of you…

…suicide they say…lost her mind…everybody loved her and she will be sorely missed by all…

…but…

…not by me…though I do have to pretend just for a bit…

…they put a stone on her grave, fashioned like a heart and someone had painted a message on it which read:  you are captured in our hearts and you will live forever there…you are the sun in our day and the laughter in our lives…

…that’s how it works…

…the next one always turns up…

…all by themselves…

…at the graveside…

…usually..

 …it’s just how it works…

I will court you, I will love you, feed you and you will feel special and wanted and learn to do my bidding and when you have swallowed the tiny chip I will control you, control your every move. You will give yourself to me unconditionally, happily, joyfully, because I wish it, and when I am tired of you I will send you over the edge…laughing…and I will cry so all can see my tears…big tears…sadness will surround me as I dress for mourning, sadness rolling down my cheeks, sincerity and sorrow for your loss and while we all mourn I have my eyes on the next you…so I might sate my hunger and survive…

you love what I do

you do love me

I make it so

I am a hacker

I hack into your soul

I am not nice

I am not good…

…be aware of me….

…beware…

copyright©