The Ancient
Grains numbed by sea sprite
Bound endless in mire
Tales to tell
How long does granny watch
Her eyes twinkle in her smooth face
Black the gleaming tears
Palest pink every crevice
In circle she stands tall
Her days are slated
Wisdom waits
As days turn centuries
And the infants climb her skirts
Tarn and pots her trade in stock
Great wastelands empty her belly
Devoured of coal and tree
Great Cathedral sown in grannies smile
Wind grabs at her mantle
As granny crumbles and rubbles
Time whips at her faces
And she waits no more
How long does granny watch?
Craggy and unsure
Tales to tell
Till the infants climb no more.
The Hospital and the Recital
Shadows raced about the walls twisting and fumbling around. Outside the moon was full and talking to the voices in my head. I stared at the hospital walls as an Indian shadow puppet show filled the room. Demons had leaped from wall to wall chasing the moonlight canvas, jumping and diving in and out, and off the floor. A host of shadows gathered only to dissolve into the ether and disappear into the floor under the bed. It may have been minutes or an hour I don't remember how long I stared at that bare wall.
Then my name was called and I pushed my feet into slippers and opened the door. I walked out to the corridor to the medication trolley. Three pills and a small paper cup of water were pressed to my hand. Then I presented my tongue as instructed and walked back to my room.
As I got back into the bed out of the corner of an eye, there was a grey flicker, a shadow darting under the bed Outside the moon shone brightly, shrouded in black clouds it hung in the sky like a beacon
In my room the whispering began, the laughter and seductive comment, the angry male voices and the tinkling laughter of a female one. Then the thick blanket of forgetful unconsciousness as the sleeping pill hit its mark.
It was the middle of the night when I woke, should I say was rudely awoken? There was an elderly woman in the next room, shouting incoherently at an imaginary God and his minions. The night staff had been sat reading a book as if nothing mattered. Outside my window the moon was half hidden behind the roof tops .My mind began to race back to the shadows, were they under the bed?
A chill ran down along the curve of my spine, everywhere was dark and strange in the moonlight. Over the rooftops came a Banshee, floating, screaming as her dark hair flowed over the roof and the white veil of a fluid dress fell about her form. She came right up to the crack of my open window, only to float out over the hospital roof again. Shaking I got out of bed to spill a circle of water on the floor, ghosts wont cross water I told myself.
The old woman was still shouting as a grey shape of a shadow had come flying from under the bed and flew under her door. She began protesting that her name had been mistaken and that she wasn't the one that they were looking for. Terrified I sank back into the bed,not moving, not daring to go to her aid. Then she began to scream of the Tower of Babble and that she had been possessed . Footsteps descended along the corridoor ,a doctor had arrived with the night staff. They opened the door to see the old woman huddled in a corner screaming and gnashing her teeth at them. I got out of bed and went to peep into the room, my mistake! As the nurses struggled with the snapping and snarling woman the doctor grabbed my thumb and presented it to her. Then I screamed as she sunk her sharp dentures into the flesh and bone .I pulled my hand away and headed back to my bed . I sank back into the warm bed, nursing my poor thumb.
Songs of comfort danced in and out of my head, gentle lullabyes and hymns. Slowly I drifted off to sleep. The next morning there was a voice from the doorway that disturbed my sleep, "Get up Breakfast is here". I got out of bed, my head was still buzzing with ideas, I was having conversations with myself as I walked along the corridoor to the dining hall. There a pile of buttered toast lay on a trolley and a great metal teapot full of utility tea. I hate tea .In a daze I took a piece of toast. The dining room was full of people but to me it was as if it were empty .I was so deep in my world, a world of spirits and creatures and God, that food wasn't important .IIn the distance amongst the clouds, He was calling ,a gentle soft male voice saying "Why would I not love you?" I ate my daily bread .Then I began to cry ,a sadness washed over me that seemed as though it would never stop, it lingered for days, at least it appeared too. The nurses came to comfort me, "Lets take one day at a time "My back burned from their touch and from the marks where their hands had rubbed, my wings began to unfold. That was the day when the shadows had crept under my bed and the voices whispered evil thoughts into my head. I had murdered my baby, There was no such thing as a miscarriage if you use contraception, I had murdered it. I cried some more and then some more. The next pill round, my pills were changed, then there was a red one too, poison! The staff had handed me the tablets and the paper cup and I stuck out my tongue. Back in my room I stared at the dirty yellow walls. Then a host of demons bowed down before me, bubbling over the grime covered floor before disappearing into the tiles. I straightened the dingy pink duvet cover and sat on the edge of the bed. My thumb hurt, there were bite marks on it. For a while I was lost in the pain of it. I slept some more.
When I awoke there was a young girl outside my room sitting with her back to me. She was crying and her arms and legs were covered in bandages. Some of the staff were unwrapping her legs, they were covered in brightly coloured cartoon characters. Some of the skin was bare, they were experimenting on her, I had thought, this was a burns hospital after all, they were practicing plastic surgery. Tattoo removal, the poor girl was covered in them. After a while and a few fresh bandages the girl vanished to the dark pit called the smoking room . I preferred my own company. I headed for the day room, a lounge with easy chairs and clinical tables. It was like an orthopedics waiting room. In a corner there was a scrabble set. So I sat down and pulled out a handful of tiles. I used them like runes, they spelled out messages, each hand full made perfect sense .Then as a shape shifted under the grey door, a member of staff arrived and switched on the T.V. "Dinner's up" She said. I made my way to the dining room, chased by a grey ghost. On the trolley there was some food , if you could call it that , an unappetizing mess of greasy rubber omelettes, potato balls and tinned spaghetti. I was hungry, I was still being chased by the grey ghost, but suddenly food wasn't important. I headed for the safety of my room and the shape dissolved around me, sending me into inner panic.
In the room I straightened the duvet and sat staring at the wall, the wall had been a major source of entertainment. I couldn't say how long I sat there staring at the play of light and shade but it wasn't long before the medication trolley came along again. I endured the same routine of pills, paper cup and stick out your tongue. Later I had heard the staff moving around the ward it appeared that Tea was up. It was Good Friday and there was cardboard fish cut to shape in its greasy batter wrapper and reshaped chips. I ate them and regretted it as soon as I had eaten The room was full of people, some had been zombified in my head or was it a chemical cosh, it had been hard to tell the difference. A hymn sang defiant silently in my head.. .There is a Green hill far away, I longed for that hill as I felt my wings begin to unfold again. Along the corridor my room beckoned and I began my solitary vigil for the light show. Some bright spark thought it a good idea to play music in the P.A. system, so it wasn't long before the Time warp was stuck on a loop. The old woman went mad, summoning demons from every quarter They were tall, taller than the shadows and moving about the corridor as if they'd been caught in strobe lighting. They jumped from one end of the corridor to another with the old woman gnashing and snarling after them. Staff appeared, it was time to get changed for visitors soon. Who would come angels or aliens, shaking I had pulled on some clothes not seeing what I was wearing ."Angela you have visitors "said one of the staff.
I made my way back to the dining room. There the disgusting repast had vanished and now I sat at my prison table. Formica, tatty, with plastic chairs and on the insipid yellow walls, a poster, "Life is like Garlic bread." Don't ask me why but I still haven't worked that out. My visitors had arrived, I recognised who they were but then I didn't know them, There were a man and a younger man sat at my table, no aliens then, I just don't remember the conversation, just lots of looking across the table how long would I have been sat there? A bag had been produced with snacks and clothes and a c.d. player. I opened my mouth and spewed out the greasy fish and unpalatable chips, yes I was sick, violently sick. Nurses arrived to hurriedly clear the mess and I walked back to my room carrying the bag, visitors forgotten, there were no goodbyes, they just left.
Another medication trolley came and went with the same routine, pills, paper cup and tongue out. Then came the tea trolley, I hate tea, milky, vapid, tasteless, wet liquid in its giant teapot.
I got undressed again and got back into bed. When I awoke in the middle of the night the moon was full and shining through the window, hovering over the bed, a golden angel sang. She flowed like the Banshee, in her golden robes with great wings flapping gently in the air. My back began to burn again and I felt the buds of my own wings unfold. In the corner of the room, the tree of life grew and gleamed, silvered in the moonlight. "Get back in bed" someone barked from the doorway. I lay still, hidden under the covers. A Philippine member of staff came over and turned on a night light. "You, want bath? I rob you hair" I had long hair why would she rob my hair, the demons must be in her hands, I said nothing.
It was then, I was told to eat some toast. Apparently I hadn't been eating and I was on medication for diabetes. So why was the food so awful! I ate my daily bread in the form of toast and a hymn sang silently in my head. Oh when the Saints...came marching in, I chanted at the demons of the night.
The days that followed had been pretty much the same, I took the medication, I ate the toast and I snacked on fruit and crisps. I didn't eat the food, the vile hospital food unfit for human consumption .I began to faint, my blood sugars ran low and I was ill. The demons had grown wild whispering in corners, scratching at my face and arms and stalking my waking hours. The ward lights flickered from light to shade as they raced up and down the corridoor dissolving into the floor and under the chairs .The world was being eaten alive by demons and only I could see them, I stayed quiet trapped in their conspiracy. The shadows began to change they formed images of my loved ones typing away at the desktop as they ran along the ground to attack . The medication trolley creaked along the corridor and shortly after I stuck out my tongue. Days rolled by and soon I was pronounced well or at least they'd had me there for long enough. The voices still whispered, the demons still chased but I was pronounced well enough to go home with the strangers who had visited me.
At home everything mocked me, the human beans I ate, were bubbling in the pan screaming "don't eat me" as I put in the spoon. I still ate my daily bread, toasted granary with butter, delicious. The sweet and sour ribs from the local chip shop were human ribs and I knew it. My partner had been cloned from one of those ribs while I was in hospital I knew that too because his eyes kept changing colour from green to aqua. At home we communicated very little it was like walking on eggshells, thoughts' formed conversations with themselves in my head. Then my partner announced that we were going out to Theatre Clwydd to see Brian Pattern, a favourite treat. I liked poetry. The journey in the car was filled with armies of angels riding golden dragons and heading out in a jet stream around the car and I had been elated. The miles on the motorway had sped by and soon I was drinking coffee in the Foyer waiting for the show. The theatre was full when we took to our seats, I had no sooner sat down than the house lights went out and Brian came to the Stage. As he weaved his poetical stories and I had watched as the ghosts of Brian came out of his body, white ghosts with tortured faces, happy ghosts drawn with laughter lines, then I saw them. In 3D solid dark shapes on two legs that ran along the stage. Black, heartless creatures, devouring the laughter and the tears, drawing nurishment from the emotions of the crowd .In silence ,I had watched with fear a lump in my throat .Then the lights went up and it was time to go. I don't recall the poetry or the questions raised by the audience, just the glorious spectacle .My partner never spoke and there had been nothing said, I was deep in my world. There were no angels or golden glories on the way home, only the silence of the long journey home to England. Home there had been little conversation and medication was forced into my hand as I went to bed, only to dream of dragons and angels.
In the middle of the night I awoke, my son got up and followed me as I descended the stairs, he had looked tired.
We had had a row, he said that did I not care what I was doing to the family and that they were all sick of me being crazy. I had to get well .I was driving them all nuts! My world had begun to crack, the golden angels hung their heads in shame .He had gone back to bed while I stared at an old grandfather clock, the remains of a meal on the table ,an empty room and an empty T.V. screen. I recall that a red devil's beckoning face swam before me on the blank screen, egging me on, I was useless, worthless. The demons had clamoured around the room calling for me to give in.
And I had succumbed I gave up the fight. I held the medication boxes in my hand and emptied the three boxes I had a glass of water and began to swallow, one after another. Thats where it all stops I had told myself as I stuck out my tongue for one final time. The buds of my wings had begun to unfold and I floated like the pale screaming Banshee above the stillness of my body. A red coloured snake circled around the white flesh of my leg, writhed upward till it reached my neck and I was in the arms of my many laughing demons ………
said the petal to the bud the silence echoed on the breeze as winter drifted in thorns grew sharp on her tongue the stems twisted in November cold green the leaf and branch roses roots withered under the bud golden leaves glided to the ground as the willow let down her tresses she'd wept in the coat of summer and wept naked against the autumn wind soft the snow dressed the branches As the catkin dipped in furs of spring May knots scented in heavenly almonds to the roar of a mad March wind June lent her heat to the scented rose A bush in bloom and tiny bud Rose danced her skirts full and wild then whispered to the little child please help me I'm falling said the petal to the bud sailing on a summer bluster trails of Turkish delight in her dying tale |
