Neighbours shunned them: Arrow Part 2

September 28, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
Neighbours shunned them, parents, grandparents, aunts, cousins, grew ragged and hungry. Work ceased, begged, friends gave food secretly: meagre rations from war time allowance. Summer, once welcomed with delight, cursed, drink scarce, and fruit, melons, quenching thirst, no longer sold to them, though they knew the fields where they grew. Men in grey uniforms: steel helmets, hard hearts, moved them on in town, their town, shouted abuse. Yellow stars, bright colour of sun’s radiance, identified them, limited where they could go, what they could do. Arrow flew closer to the town, circled small houses, fenced gardens. Palls of dust rose from cobbled roads and tracks as army vehicles trundled slowly, methodically, laden with men and guns. And flags fixed to their trucks, stiffly stretched out in black, and red and white. Arrow began to perch, rest, look around her from a small oak tree in a garden at the edge of town. Waited till dusk, flew back to her nest, slept alone. Ruth, Maria, James and Paul. Two brothers and two sisters, waited each night’s sleep to hide their hunger. Fitful, moaned and sighed. Less food each month, fewer relatives to rely upon and protect them, more soldiers in their […]

Arrow was black: deep pitch, no light black: Part 1

September 26, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  Arrow was black: deep pitch, no light black. Not yet fully winged, nor fledged, mother fed its gaping beak. High above the track, iron rails shook her home, nest built by mother and father: nurtured their eggs, three, only Arrow survived. Peaked over its eerie high, hid by leaves, insects droned and buzzed, other birds sang, smoke rose from trains beneath. In the distance, on the horizon, more smoke billowed. In her growing strength knew no time, merely the rhythm of seasons: cold sharp damp snow, of migration, of plenty, mating and young. Of circles broken by death. Arrow’s eyes clear, dark, shiny, all seeing, swivelled about, saw all around her: predators savoured her for food, likewise she scanned for her own nutrition, own food to live. Flew, cautiously at first, left her nest, rose into blueness, chirped proud, then never stopped from early to sun setting in the west. Extended her range: each day further, higher, lower: picked earth worms, ate small flies. Pecked wild forest fruit. Confident, each day wandered, soared, spied tracks, through mighty forests surrounding the iron tracks, over massive fields. Swept in circles with one eye cast over the horizon’s smoke, scanned earth for […]

If I’d ambition as a child what would it have been?

September 24, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  If I’d ambition as a child what would it have been? To follow in family footsteps? To embrace emblematically conversations daily ringing the virtues of limited horizons. Of prejudice? To adopt alien dialogues to develop them as my own story: a biography of who? Of what? Cobbled back streets? A large oasis of a house inhabited by people who knew how to survive on their terms  –  and did so with courage. All stripes, at most, but no pips. I enjoy writing, always have, though this is the first year to have been creatively published: a long term ambition, but one never revealed. Where would I? To who would I? I’ve been there: denial, fear. Embarrassment. I’m here writing: as I do and enjoy. I want to spend chunks of my time becoming a recognised writer: wanting to be further along from where I am now. The elsewhere inhabiting the future. What’s the expression: ‘the pull of the future’. Neat, eh?  

“But the truth? This hurt was worse”, ‘Coarse Silk’

September 19, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  But the truth? This hurt was worse. Eaten alive by that wouldn’t kill me like a wild animal devouring its prey. That was only another variety of meat to survive on. Nah, truth and knowledge wouldn’t kill me so easily. It would, simply, each hour, each week, keep gnawing into every part of me. Not a clean kill, that’s for sure. It would, however, take life from me. Remove what I wanted to be with a normal life. I wasn’t threatened by anything external to me: what would happen was already inside of me. What I would do with all the feelings, thoughts, knowledge, was a different matter. Some unknown, predatory force was circling my mind like a pack of steppe wolves crowding my private place, baying at my secret life. Increasingly I was fast running out of spaces to package and hide my secrets: all of them. One thing was staring me in the face. Not only what Frankie knew, but what Shelagh had unexpectedly revealed. I was able to keep my own secrets – mostly – I’d no compunction, or pressures, to reveal them. Nah, they could be battened down forever I reckon. If I wanted. But […]

Adopted Boy’s Christmas

September 09, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
    1 Labouring sweat swept path clear across Christmas depths fresh fallen flakes adults scrunched into slush misty windows peered across streets hills death’s blanket white tomb suffocation and still they came guests trickle or in noisy drunken huddles blasting along the hall way cold air hugging their bodies stung cheeks of red dampness watery flakes in their hair now tipsy their breath freshness of winter alcohol tongues loosened jaws ready to drop lips insensitive glassy eyes desperate for warmth chatter coats cast down collected in bedroom handbags littered the floor drink departed searched for food pickled belching greasy chicken tang of satsuma in mouths dry from smoking foul from spirits coloured welcome of painted skirting board the northern dour mood fleshed out with red and black doors flowery patterns on walls a warm lagoon of open hearthed fires and the greeting dog yapping 2 Kitchen chatter drinking glass clatter merry drunk voices raising crescendo 3 Sat in cold snow all around silence piled high unseeing northern climes kept my soul shed my tears kicked autumn leaves awaited Christmas merriment shivered teenage lonliness in bitter winds isolation others held my hand sun rose blue skies next day paradise chill […]

I had no idea, as I’d not made love. Not felt love.

September 05, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
  My second year at college and, in the front row of the large hall of Bromley College, and next to me: a woman. A first year for another re-take of ‘A’ levels she was never really destined to master for examination purposes. A chord, a bell, a cord, voices from heaven, the next street, another world, it mattered not. We clicked. One of those undefinable moments, attractions, when the first words spoken, like honey, a water fall, would flow easily, indefinitely as long as we exchange letters, consonants, vowels, with or without punctuation. We talked: I learnt her name and she mine. Jane, this is Richard. Richard, this is Jane. Reticence and insecurities hid my origins – not so she. Mother and father Scottish, Edinburgh. Father a top academic, her mother, with her Scottish MA – and how grand that sounded – a housewife. How antique that rings now. We talked. She, semi-co-habitating with a beard of a man and a pretentious belly full of facts, predominately political, who she sometimes shared his flat space over Mothercare in Deptford. Me, she imagined some super working class radical with a brusque Scouse accent, and who, a few years later and […]

He’d wake me every night wanting sex .. all it meant to me was abortion after abortion: Climbing Trees Backwards

September 04, 2014 by Richard Lyon in Blog 0 comments
Ruth had considerable class and flaunted it. Her father had been a well-respected tailor in the City of London who’s success paid for private tutors and a finishing school. These gave her a certain confidence, though never compensated for her profound insecurity. She was almost, but not quite, a snob; if she was she’d not have befriended me. She’d regale me with detailed stories of dining at the captain’s table crossing the English Channel to Le Tourquet’s casino when such a trip was a captured moment of old world elegance in a world fast becoming ugly, hostile and cheap. She’d lived in Brussels, married a Swiss communist and despite the opportunity of moving to his country preferred to take her chances against German bombs during the London blitz. She’d worked all her life despite or because, she’d divorced. Her Swiss husband was portrayed as feckless, and obsessed with moving home every few months. Herr Geigy and Ruth were also sexually incompatible. “He’d wake me every night wanting sex but I wasn’t interested. All it meant to me was abortion after abortion”, she told me more than once. For parents awash with money securing such private services discretely didn’t pose a […]