There is no picture . . .

There is no picture today,
Because the picture selecting feature has
Been temporarily disabled.
The picture enjoying feature has
Developed a fault in its
Algorithm, and is awaiting a bug fix.
The picture taking feature was
Rendered partially inoperative
Some months ago when two
New add-ons were installed,
As these have proved to be resource-hungry,
And have left the operator
Short of time to reactivate the
Picture-taking feature.
There is also no sense today
And a feeing of doom due to
Too much late-night thinking
About what is wrong just now
And not enough solutions
To apply to the problems.
It is to be hoped that some
Level of more useful
Functionality will be
Resumed in the near future.

(c) 2ndwitch, 13/04/17

Warm Embrace

Today I have seen the words that tell the tale
Today I have listened to the song that serenaded your going
And today I have looked back in time at the
Memories that are swirling, some bright,
Some faded into soft colour, some mono
And some greying into moonlit silver.
And today I feel again the knife that
Cut me to the soul, that took from
Heart of me all that I am, and laid
It bare before me, to see and realise
The pointlessness of it all, the lack of
Anything of point or purpose.
Your death took from me the hope of a new
Day, and it showed to the world that I
Am worthless and without substance.
Today I have revisited that day, and once again
I can see the entrails of a life wasted
Spread at my feet, to be kicked
And buried into the dust and detritus of
Other people's more worthwhile lives.
Today I have remembered the songs that cut
To the bone, the pictures sung that dance
In my darkest dreams and people my
Nightmares, today I recalled the truth of
The knowing that it is not for me, and that
There is no tomorrow, just yet another
And another and another yesterday.
Today I have remembered the
Yesterday that I cannot forget.

(c)2ndwitch, 04/12/16

The Survivor

And sometimes the feelings are more than words
The time that you thought was yours
Stretches and ebbs and flows
Until there is no shape or form, and your
Head and heart are feeling so full and
You feel as though you are drowning in
The black velvet of not understanding.
Sometimes it is like that, and other times
You know that there is no point in continuing
And no point in trying to fight on and
Take that next step, you want to sink
Into a grey and beige void of nothing,
Where you cannot hear or see or feel
Anything at all, where you exist in nothing.
And then sometimes you reach out and
Try to touch, you want to connect but
There are iron bands on your arms and
However hard you try you cannot make
Your fingers brush with another.
And those times there is only ever music,
And other times there is also music.
Never forget, there is music.

(c) 2ndwitch, 03/12/16

Hiraeth

A single word hangs, shimmering, in the late afternoon light.
A note, sung softly, chimes like a bell calling the faithful
To worship and revere a god that lives between dry pages.
A dust mote dances, and invites the watcher to join it in
A reel to the music of time.
And all the time, there is no time, but there is all time,
And time is measured by breaths, longer for the ones
Not taken, and the soft sigh of the falling dusk echoes
Across the faded gilt of the sunset's dregs.
No waves can carry back to the shore the hopes
That were cast overboard, no swift flowing tide can
Recapture the dreams that spun and wove a
Delicate web of promise.
Only the land is eternal, and yet it is not,
Only the seas can hold the tears that are cried
And yet they cannot, for all that is infinite is
Truly finite, and is held in the palm of my hand.

(c) 2ndwitch, 28/10/16

Moonbeam and red wine

And as the day is dying,
Fading slowly into night
The red wine caresses the sorrows
And soothes them into a dull pain,
Making them feel more bearable
And at the same time
Harder to bear.
Memories, swirl and eddy in the
Wine glass in my hand.
The music changes to something
Sad and melancholy,
And the words echo in the
Wine glass in my hand.
And the day is dying,
Fading slowly into the
Dark hours of night, the hours
Populated with demons
And ghouls, and memories
The haunt and taunt
And pass their frozen fingers
Slowly down the spine, all
Shivering in ice and the
Wine glass in my hand.
Peace shatters, and shards of
Pain are sent flying into the
Softest flesh of remembrance,
Whilst the day is slowly dying,
And its grief is dissolved in the
Wine glass in my hand.
And there is born a desire,
A wish that will not retreat,
To scream and cry, and most
Of all to lash out and slap
Those whose insensitive words
Belittle the pain that is held in the
Wine glass in my hand.

© 2ndwitch, 23/10/15

There will be no snowdrops in the rain.

So many times, the same words,
Round your empty head, echoing
And ringing with a hollow tone,
Each note a stiletto in your heart.
Dark, the friend of the aching mind,
Is oppressing the aching soul
And the clammy wind winds
Its tendrils round your sanity.
The snowdrops dance, the breeze
Teases them, and the rain caresses
Their petals, but no matter, no matter
They shed no tears, they are no
Sign of hope.
There is no comfort from
Snowdrops in the rain.

© 2ndwitch, 15/06/15

There is a reference to a song here, but as it is not really very complimentary in nature, I will not name the singer / writer, and merely acknowledge that the reference is there - if anyone is concerned by this, please contact me and I will give further information. Please note that it is the specific song that I dislike, not the person who wrote or sings it.

Forget-me-not.

A slow walk, paced step by step, to the floating notes
Of a mournful slow air, in a minor key,
That keens with the wind.
Looking round, and everywhere there are people
In two, hand in hand, or side by side.
People arguing, laughing, sharing comments
And glances, complete, a circle that cannot
Be broken.
And the slow walk, alone, paced neatly, mind
And heart fixed on anything but the obvious.
"Wouldn't you rather be dancing,
When there's a chance of romancing?"
And which of us wouldn't, really.
Which of us, the silent lonely ones would
Not love to feel an arm round our shoulders
Sometimes?
Which of us does not wish that someone would
Tell us "You got my number"
And hope that we call?
The world is smaller when you are on your own.
You are dependent, and that causes problems,
It causes all sorts of problems, and it makes
The keeping of friends harder and harder.
For they do not understand.
Or are content together.
The world is designed for couples.
If you are not a couple, then you do not fit.
If you do not fit, then the world rejects you.
Condemned to a life of people watching.
And a slow walk, to the music of time,
Beating slow and with a death march sound,
Keening condemnation in a minor key.

© 2ndwitch, 26/02/15

(I suppose I ought to apologise for the photo that accompanies this - not to the general reader, but to the guys who are part of the band pictured - so I kinda do. I won't name the band, but I will say that one of the quotes used above is from one of their songs, which is why I used this photo. I could not choose the singer of the other quote, as I have never taken his photo - yet!)

Reflecting.

The light of snow-cloud and rainbow-sun danced
Across the wind-tossed waves, and touched the trees
On the far shore.
Silver-grey plated hills deigned to stoop
And kiss the winter-watered loch.
And a robin darted and bobbed on the barren branches.

Memories of summer days hovered, just out of reach,
And the ghosts of evenings round the campfire
Sang soundless songs to the winter air.

A phantom sunrise taunts the winter afternoon,
And promises that this day too will pass.

And this day too will pass.

© 2ndwitch, 21/02/15

Not that yesterday ...

Ice inching snow slipping
And a wind that whistles
Round the hanging leaves.
Grey and brown against stark white
And black in the shadows.
A whirring and winging
Of birds, gathered greedily
On the feeders.
A soft song of sadness
From the trees
As they wave at the
Snow-leaded skies,
Hoping for a glimpse of
Summer's sun.
As the afternoon passes,
The echoes of days gone
Linger in the watcher's ear,
And give answer to the
Simple question,
Yes,
Yes, you are getting older.

© 2ndwitch, 16/01/14

Jonny, or Jimmy perhaps?

Feather-frosted tendrils reach their insistent fingers
Into all the nooks and crannies, and slowly and gently
Siphon away all the warmth, leaving behind an empty
Blue chill, a lack of colour and golden light, and
Replacing it with a silver sliver, a razor-like
Blade of cold, of ice and crystal-flowers, and
Welcoming lazily the wandering snowflakes as they
Swirl and drift in the wind.
As the seconds go by, the ticking clock measures
The inch-built-snowdrift, and the world
Fades into a muted soundtrack, muffled
And dull, the passing tyres caressed
And carried on the white carpeted road.

And do you remember, you, sat by your fire?
You, with a beer by your side, and your
Cigarettes ready rolled in a tin?
Do you remember the man you walked
Past, today, at the bus station?
Do you? Do you wonder where he is now?
Is he huddled in a doorway, or lying,
Past shivering or caring on a bench
Somewhere?
Because we all forget. And we should never forget.

© 2ndwitch, 13/01/15

Written as a sort of memorial to someone I read about, and to express a contrast that often strikes me. It is not the very rich, secure and immune to the pain of those with nothing, that provide the harshest contrast - but it is the working man, the working woman, who are only a few steps from the doorway themselves, it is he or she who present the contrast to me.

Time

Small things, a passing word, a smile, the way the sun
Catches on the raindrop'd leaf, small things
Are all it takes to bring the vagrant memory
To mind, and slowly, perhaps, some part of one
Of those memories creeps out from between
Closed eyelids, and slides quietly down
The weathered and aged skin, and pauses,
Suspended between the inward void and the
Infinite outside world, before being swept away
By an impatient hand.
And embarrassed, friends stand by, and
Utter bland and hopeless words, designed to
Comfort or suppress, which is not clear,
But always the words that are meaningless
Chatter and fight, the cacophony hiding the
Soft whisper of treasured remembrance.
That, my friend, is the truth of the rain that
Stands on the snowdrop.

© 2ndwitch, 26/11/14

Silver and gold.

There is no use for my body,
It is broken, and flabby, and
lacks the smooth grace that is
Demanded of it. I have failed
At the basic requirement of woman.

There is no use for my soul,
For, with a body that repels, how
Can the soul be heard to sing?
How can the sun that lurks behind
The steel-grey cloud of rain penetrate
And impregnate the silence of voice?

(2) 2ndwitch, 03/10/14

(My thanks to Drever McCusker Woomble, whose song 'Silver and Gold' inspired this poem. I do not have a url for them, but see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wtg-k8zj03c for the song.)

Stan Rogers

A few words, a glance, such simple things
That can mean so much, that
Allow the sun to shine when the clouds
Are weeping rain on your world.
So many songs, so many pleas, so many
People for whom love is a reality,
And yet, and yet . .
For so many people that is a dream,
A longing, a pain and a hole that no
Transient pleasure can fill.
Sometimes we have something so
Precious that we are dazzled to the
Meaning and beauty of it,
And we carelessly cast it aside,
And trample it underfoot.
But I am glad he lived.

© 2ndwitch, 15/09/14

Thoughts

I knew you as a friend so long ago,
I knew your smile, and the words that you
Whispered in my ear.
I knew your laughter, and the raised eyebrow,
That said so much without saying anything at all.
I knew you as a friend so long ago.

I knew you as a friend so long ago,
I knew your words, the messages you'd send,
And I knew when something
Might upset you, and cause you to stop still,
To pause and take stock.
I knew you as a friend so long ago.

I knew you as a friend so long ago,
I knew that I could call you, I knew
You would be there.
I knew your voice, and the soft touch of
Your hand on my arm.
I knew you as a friend so long ago.

Today I look around me, and I see you are not here.
No longer is your smile just round the corner.
I look to read your words, they no longer
Speak to me, I cannot call on you now
If I am lost or without hope. I knew you then,
But I do not know you now. Sometimes.
Sometimes. Sometimes I think of you, when
I hear the notes of a tune, or the soft indrawn breath
Of the morning's child. And often I think of you
As the sun sinks into its nighttime bed, and the world
Fades from gold to deep blue. Then,
And always then, I think of you.

You are legion, you are dead, you are alive,
Just born, and nearing the end.
You are everyman, and I have lost you.
But I will always think of you.

© 2ndwitch, 12/09/14

In memory of what we were.

The world continues, the sun shines, the rain falls,
Cars drive past, but inside all is grey, and the colour
Is imaginary, a meeting that never happens, an
Encounter on a train, a dream, a longing that cannot
Be fulfilled. In dreams there is perfection, faults
Vanish like snow in June, smiles abound,
And no-one cries with the pain of rejection.
Why cannot life be a dream?
Why do the small things take on a life
And meaning alien to their intent, why
Do we dream instead of living a reality
That is humdrum and grey? Why, that is why,
Of course we dream, but sometimes the dream
Becomes like reality, and then we drift and
Float and are no longer there. We want
To be who we are not, and what we are not.
I am not what I am, but I wish I was what I am not.

© 2ndwitch, 08/09/14

The armour is not shining.

Raindrops, relentless and dripping, sleel-shod and silky,
Slipping and sliding down the window, the window through
Which the light softly creeps and sidles into the waiting room.
The window, and the room, together, they look at the rain, and
Ask it whence it came and why? They ask it if it stays, the sky
Fall tears, weeping from the carousing clouds, wine-sodden on
Summer mead, and bellicose with bee-bumbled memory.
Over again, the conversation ambles back and forth, forth and back
And forth and back again. Why? Who? Where? When?
When will I see you again?

© 2ndwitch

Anticlimax

Soft lips caress, and fingers drift, slowly and in meditative mood,
Up and down the arching spine.
Breathing deepens and speeds, there is sense of urgency, a sense
Of no return, a coming together that has been
Long waited for. And then, and then.
Suddenly.
It is all over.
A flash fiction of a story, swift and concluded,
A breathless headlong rush to climax,
And then nothing, emptiness.
And the turning over to a blank page.

In the dark they lie, close, but a million miles
Apart. Each cocooned in a darkened velvet
Cocoon, hidden and silent.
Is this the end?
Is this what it has all come to?
Is there nothing more?
And slowly, in the dark, eyes close,
And sleep beckons as the paling moon
Sweeps her silvered glance across the room,
And weeps a silver star of tears for the loss
Of love, and of hope.

© 2ndwitch, 14/05/14