It was just twelve months ago
Since my special wish was made
A wish you thought so simple
For which a fortune I’d have paid
And now it’s our first Christmas
In our first little house
But I hope the first of many
With my beautiful new spouse
This year my wish is simpler still
On this Christmas day with you
May our hearts be always filled with love
And the stockings be filled with you
When your heart
Has been broken
And stepped on
It leaves you hesitant
Reluctant to try
To give in once more
To open up to emotion
To dip your toe
Into the mire
Into the ocean
Of desire
To dip your toe
Into the ocean
Of unknown emotion
If you don’t
Enter the water
You won’t get wet
There is no danger
Of being dragged under
Should you take a chance?
On love again
Throw caution to the wind
Open yourself up to the pain
Or the pleasure
Feel the love
Washing over you
Immersing yourself
The waves washing over you
It may drown you
If you do
If you resist the temptation
You will be safe
Unharmed in your segregation
Yet a single moment spent
In the refreshing waters
Stood on the ocean floor
Is worth a lifetime
Spent safely on the shore
“Hi, I’m Hannah” the girl in
the Turquoise dress announced
“Can I borrow a screwdriver?”
Hannah had just moved into
the house next door.
Strictly speaking calling her
a girl was perhaps stretching a point.
I found out subsequently that
Hannah Knott was
forty-nine years old and had 4 grown up children but she was a girl in
comparison to me, who was knocking loudly on the door of my sixth decade.
“Of course, you can” I
replied “Come in a minute”
“Thank you” she said
“I’m Harry by the way”
She had a pleasant face, but
had sad eyes, not sad like a puppy dog, more the kind of sad that went deep and
left a tell-tale impression on her face.
She had a nice figure, even
taking into consideration the fact she was in her late-forties and had given
birth 4 times.
There was no instant mutual attraction,
no flash of lightning nor a cascade of Mantovani’s violins.
I thought she was a “fit” woman,
but I’d always needed more than just physical attraction to light my fire.
I had to know the person,
like them and preferably love them for true sexual attraction.
Apart from noticing the
obvious facts that she was very attractive and didn’t own a screwdriver I also
divined that Hannah was Jewish as she wore a gold Star of David around her
neck.
The turquoise dress in
question was a long flowing affair that fitted well around her ample bosom and
then hung loosely to the floor
This left a lot to the
imagination, which was fine because I have a very vivid imagination.
I soon ascertained what task
she was doing and what type of screwdriver she required to do it and got one
from the tool shed but after having coffee with her I volunteered to do it for
her.
I was retired and lived alone,
my wife had died two years earlier and my two sons had families of their own,
so I had time on my hands.
So, we became friends from
the first day that I helped her assembling flat pack furniture and I enjoyed it
so much that I helped her on subsequent days.
So that was how I came to
spend the summer helping her to decorate her house.
It kept me busy and made me
feel useful which gave me fresh energy and a renewed purpose.
I wasn’t aware at the time
that Hannah liked it too, but for her it was because she was lonely, she missed
her boys and felt unneeded since the youngest one left to join the army.
It had occurred to me very
early on that I had been lonely too, I just hadn’t realised it until I met her.
While we worked together, we
got to know each other and I got to find the reason for the sadness in her
eyes.
She hadn’t given birth to 4
babies as I first thought she had given birth to 5.
Her youngest child was a girl
named Ruth who at the age of 8 was struck by a hit and run driver and killed.
“My baby girl was gone” she
sobbed “my beautiful baby girl”
I didn’t know what to say,
what can you say?
What empty words can console
someone who has lost a child?
No parent should have to bury
their children.
All I could do was to take
her in my arms and let her cry on my shoulder.
I couldn’t take the pain away
or stem the flow of tears all I could do was hold her and afterwards listen
while she unburdened herself.
In addition to losing her
daughter she also lost her husband who decided he could best help his grieving
wife by shagging the next-door neighbour.
“That’s shit” I said
It was little wonder she was
sad and lonely.
As the summer wore on and we
completed room after room we were both secretly dreading finishing the job.
We had done the garden
already and the exterior painting was complete.
What would we do? What would
fill our days? What excuse would I have to be with her?
It wasn’t until the end of
the summer as it turned slowly to autumn when all the work was done, we found
that amidst the polyfilla and the paint fumes that we had fallen in love and we
realised there were ways for us to pass the time together that didn’t involve a
screwdriver or a paintbrush.
I have tried to find the words
To
tell you how I feel
The
words that will convince you
That
what I feel is real
I
know that you’ve been hurt by love
And
I’ve been wounded too
But
together we can heal the scars
Of
loves which made us blue
I
had spent some time avoiding love
With
its anguish and its pain
But
since the moment I first saw you
I’ve
learned to love again
If
you could only see with my eyes
The
beauty you would behold
And
with my heart you’d really know
The
love of which I’ve told
I
know you feel the same as I
When
in your arms I lie
I
can feel the love that’s in your heart
And
I’m yours until I die
Love
It’s such a small word
A misused word
A throw away word
Used as a panacea
Tell someone “I love you”
And everything is supposed to be forgiven
But love
Is too small a word
For what I feel
Too small for what I want to express
The love I feel
Is immeasurable, infinite
In its depth
In its quality
In time
In its all-encompassing nature
It colours everything
All I say all I do
Yet to express my feeling all I can say is
“I love you”
It’s just so inadequate
For what I want to express
My need for you
My never being parted from you
To be joined forever
In everyway
But I don’t have the word to express it
I don’t have the vocabulary
I just have love
I lie in the first light of dawn
Alone, thinking of her
Wishing her next to me
Feeling her breath
Against my skin
Her breasts
Pressed against me
In the quiet of the new day
Hearing her breathing
I ache for her touch
I long for her soft body
Against mine
In the dawns pale light
And in the darkness
I want her
But she is gone
She is mine no more
Never again will my hands
Caress her form
Never again will I hear
Her murmur and sigh in pleasure
She is mine no more
My angel of the night
Has left my side
And dwells now
With others of her kind
Alex Jackson was on the
Finchbottom Express, when a beautiful girl seductively entered his compartment and
sat down diagonally across the aisle from him, a tall willowy blonde with
outstandingly stellar legs and the first seed of his awakening attraction,
germinated, as he gave her the benefit of his silent appraisal.
She was very pretty, a
prettiness not diminished by the fact she was very aware of the fact.
The stranger adjusted her
posture under his intense gaze and she positively preened as she knew he was
admiring her legs, which she crossed and re-crossed slowly and deliberately, so
he could marvel at them further, until her manoeuvring exposed a tantalising
hint of stocking top and a glimpse of underwear and with each successive mile
of tracks the train travelled along, his attraction grew like a blooming flower.
The afternoon sun streamed
into the carriage and illuminated her, and shimmered on the white silk of her
blouse and as the train ate up the miles of track, racing headlong to their
destination.
But not their original
destination because although the train would terminate in Abbottsford, their
journey would continue to the Regents Hotel where their passions would lead
them shuddering and juddering in the climax of journeys end.
