I’d always been true,
never lied,
nor pretended with him.
He wasn’t my Daddy,
but sometimes I'd wished.
The plate hit the wall,
peach slices slid
scything the custard,
golden colours blended.
I’d wanted those peaches.
He’d walked out,
I missed him,
knew, hoped, prayed he’d be back.
Not for her, for me,
always for me.
Cuddles, stories, smiles
his face strong, weathered
like the landscape. His eyes
alive to every nuance of meaning.
Nothing escaped his notice.
Men percolated through our lives
like worms burrowing, what did she see
in them.
He could calm Mama with a look
The rush of her pills, sleep, peace.
Giant hands bleated me to sleep.
Mad about lighting fires,
he'd said, to be prepared for the worst:
a knife, an axe, a first aid kit, an emergency tarp,
and sandwiches. ‘You see, he'd say, you never know
we might find someone starving and if not we can eat
them ourselves,’ so reasonable to me.
God lived on his lips, he told me
God is good, I knew that.
Rowing was her way, quietness in him
when we sledged, he was the best.
We watched CBbees together on the TV.
She'd start, he'd walk, and somehow I knew
it was the last time.
In her best moods she'd buy me anything
What do you want she'd say: Christmas, holidays,
birthdays. I said I missed Huw.
She'd go nuts, but it was for her own good,
she loved him too; deep down she wanted
him to love her the way he loved me.
He wouldn't do that,
he always remained true.
True
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Love Story
L---
california greetings.
a clear, fast moving narrative with a heart tug at the end.
I think of Hemingway's short story, My Old Man.
a boy (Joe) tells us about the father he idolized. on the final page, the father (Butler) is killed when his race horse falls on him.
a friend named Gardner takes Joe, who is crying, away from the track. As they leave, Joe overhears a man say to another, "Well, Butler got his all right." Gardner says, "Don't you listen to what those bums said, Joe. Your old man was one swell guy."
Joe is unconvinced. The story ends with these lines: "But I don't know. Seems like when they get started, they don't leave a guy nothing."[/i]
just arbitrarily cut 15 or so percent.
good action oriented open. i might try for a complete narrative sentence.
The peaches slapped
against his chest
like an army medal.
slices slid over custard,
yellow, vivid, sliding.
I wanted those peaches.
He’d walked out, came back weeks later;
I’d missed him of course, but knew he’d be back.
So many times he’d come back. I knew
it wasn’t for her, it was for me.
good details supporting and developing the narrative.
He could do anything, anything that came
up he could do, taught me the fireman’s hitch,
told me if I wanted a fast getaway to tie
the horse, then as I rushed away
to pull the other cord
and I'd would be away.
excellent details.
It never occurred to me that I didn’t have a horse
or know any bandits. I could use it on a boat
he said. It will come in useful in later
life, I accepted it all as gospel.
useful in the future.
'Let’s do judo,' he'd say, we’d roll around
on the floor, wrestling, he'd just wanted
a cuddle, it ended up with him blowing
raspberries on my tummy, I loved it.
Of all the men that'd percolated
through our lives he was the best,
the one I loved. If ever I was afraid
he would pat the chair and I would sit
beside him, so big and warm and safe.
He could calm Mama with a look
and if it got bad he'd shake her,
‘It’s got to stop, she’s only a child.’
She'd rush for her pills,
we would sit and talk
until the episode was over.
He would come upstairs and read (to me.)
tell me his boy's own, ones he had made up
about his escapades. He would rub my back
gently, his giant hand like lamb’s wool bleating
me to sleep.
He was mad about lighting fires, wherever we went
he would look around for firewood, at the beach,
in the woods, in the hills. He carried a rucksack
with kindling. He'd said, to be prepared for the worst:
a knife, an axe, a first aid kit, an emergency tarp,
and sandwiches. ‘You see, he'd say, you never know
we might find someone starving and if not we can eat
them ourselves,’ so reasonable to me.
He would tell me about animals and fishes,
talked as if he could hear them thinking
and that sounded fine, why not, he told such lovely
stories and whatever he said came to pass.
He told me there was a God, who made the world
and everything in it, He'd made us too. And since
God was our Father He wanted us to be good,
and if were good it showed we were His children.
When they had rowed again, when he had walked out
I would pray for weeks and he would come back
and everything would be fine.
The last time they rowed we’d had a lovely afternoon sledging,
we were the only ones not to overturn or go off track.
He knew how to do it, he was that sort
of man. Well we got home sat by the radiator warming,
quiet, just sitting, watching CBeebies on the 20 inch.
She started on him like she’d always done, over nothing,
and he got... his coat; I rushed out to ask him
if he was leaving and he said,
‘I’m wet and I’m hungry
and I can’t take Mama’s paranoia anymore.’ And although
I didn’t know what it meant I knew this was to be the last
time I would ever see him.
When I prayed that night I knew I had to fight for him
so whenever she was in a good moods and all over me,
whenever she asked what I wanted for a birthday,
Christmas or a holiday I would say,
‘Well I would love to see Huw again.’ She would go nuts,
but it was for her own good, she loved him too;
hated him at times, but deep down she wanted him to love
her the way he loved me.
But he wouldn’t do that you see,
he always remained true.
the poem tells a complete story, congratulations...is both vivid and fetching.
bernie
california greetings.
a clear, fast moving narrative with a heart tug at the end.
I think of Hemingway's short story, My Old Man.
a boy (Joe) tells us about the father he idolized. on the final page, the father (Butler) is killed when his race horse falls on him.
a friend named Gardner takes Joe, who is crying, away from the track. As they leave, Joe overhears a man say to another, "Well, Butler got his all right." Gardner says, "Don't you listen to what those bums said, Joe. Your old man was one swell guy."
Joe is unconvinced. The story ends with these lines: "But I don't know. Seems like when they get started, they don't leave a guy nothing."[/i]
just arbitrarily cut 15 or so percent.
good action oriented open. i might try for a complete narrative sentence.
The peaches slapped
against his chest
like an army medal.
slices slid over custard,
yellow, vivid, sliding.
I wanted those peaches.
He’d walked out, came back weeks later;
I’d missed him of course, but knew he’d be back.
So many times he’d come back. I knew
it wasn’t for her, it was for me.
good details supporting and developing the narrative.
He could do anything, anything that came
up he could do, taught me the fireman’s hitch,
told me if I wanted a fast getaway to tie
the horse, then as I rushed away
to pull the other cord
and I'd would be away.
excellent details.
It never occurred to me that I didn’t have a horse
or know any bandits. I could use it on a boat
he said. It will come in useful in later
life, I accepted it all as gospel.
useful in the future.
'Let’s do judo,' he'd say, we’d roll around
on the floor, wrestling, he'd just wanted
a cuddle, it ended up with him blowing
raspberries on my tummy, I loved it.
Of all the men that'd percolated
through our lives he was the best,
the one I loved. If ever I was afraid
he would pat the chair and I would sit
beside him, so big and warm and safe.
He could calm Mama with a look
and if it got bad he'd shake her,
‘It’s got to stop, she’s only a child.’
She'd rush for her pills,
we would sit and talk
until the episode was over.
He would come upstairs and read (to me.)
tell me his boy's own, ones he had made up
about his escapades. He would rub my back
gently, his giant hand like lamb’s wool bleating
me to sleep.
He was mad about lighting fires, wherever we went
he would look around for firewood, at the beach,
in the woods, in the hills. He carried a rucksack
with kindling. He'd said, to be prepared for the worst:
a knife, an axe, a first aid kit, an emergency tarp,
and sandwiches. ‘You see, he'd say, you never know
we might find someone starving and if not we can eat
them ourselves,’ so reasonable to me.
He would tell me about animals and fishes,
talked as if he could hear them thinking
and that sounded fine, why not, he told such lovely
stories and whatever he said came to pass.
He told me there was a God, who made the world
and everything in it, He'd made us too. And since
God was our Father He wanted us to be good,
and if were good it showed we were His children.
When they had rowed again, when he had walked out
I would pray for weeks and he would come back
and everything would be fine.
The last time they rowed we’d had a lovely afternoon sledging,
we were the only ones not to overturn or go off track.
He knew how to do it, he was that sort
of man. Well we got home sat by the radiator warming,
quiet, just sitting, watching CBeebies on the 20 inch.
She started on him like she’d always done, over nothing,
and he got... his coat; I rushed out to ask him
if he was leaving and he said,
‘I’m wet and I’m hungry
and I can’t take Mama’s paranoia anymore.’ And although
I didn’t know what it meant I knew this was to be the last
time I would ever see him.
When I prayed that night I knew I had to fight for him
so whenever she was in a good moods and all over me,
whenever she asked what I wanted for a birthday,
Christmas or a holiday I would say,
‘Well I would love to see Huw again.’ She would go nuts,
but it was for her own good, she loved him too;
hated him at times, but deep down she wanted him to love
her the way he loved me.
But he wouldn’t do that you see,
he always remained true.
the poem tells a complete story, congratulations...is both vivid and fetching.
bernie
-
Michael (MV)
- Posts: 2154
- Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Re: Love Story
Hi Frank,
through the years - and life is for learning(nurturing) not burning - I have found the conventional phrase "love story" to be contrary -
for love is not a story
only love is real
Frank, what you have written is telling; it doesn't reveal
Literature(like life & love) is exploratory not expository
Michael (MV)
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Love Story
Thanks guys
It is a weak title, I got stuck
Maybe it comes under flash fiction Michael
But, its the best I can so I'm afraid.
I will put my thinking cap on.
It is a weak title, I got stuck
Maybe it comes under flash fiction Michael
But, its the best I can so I'm afraid.
I will put my thinking cap on.
Re: Love Story
Frank---
just for fun, here's Getting Drunk On a Plane....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrM39m22jH4
a narrative story....
bernie
just for fun, here's Getting Drunk On a Plane....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrM39m22jH4
a narrative story....
bernie
-
FranktheFrank
- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Love Story
Yeah Bernie,
all the emotions: dejection, attraction, despair, hope,
music, light, reality, looming disaster, love,
fear of death, hope, love.
Enjoyed
thank you.
all the emotions: dejection, attraction, despair, hope,
music, light, reality, looming disaster, love,
fear of death, hope, love.
Enjoyed
thank you.
-
BobBradshaw
- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: True
Some strong characters...well drawn. Trimming is needed, but Bernie has already pointed that out. Keep polishing it....the emotional strength is what draws us in, and holds us.