Submissions by Lozzamus
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I compare poetry to painting, believing that I lack any drawing/painting skills but believing my imagination and training in writing has enabled me to transfer my love of visual art to the written word
The Custody Battle
He sees it all over again:
himself a boy of nine,
a prisoner in the lonely big house,
searching through the paperwork in the bedroom,
eventually finding the phone number hidden in a big white envelope at the bottom of a drawer.
Freedom. He planned to sneak out to the phone box opposite the sweetshop and call the number.
Then he froze.
He stood with the slip of paper in his hand, turning cold with fear.
The staircase creaked,
Footsteps came to a stop outside the bedroom door.
No!
The door burst opened and the woman...
himself a boy of nine,
a prisoner in the lonely big house,
searching through the paperwork in the bedroom,
eventually finding the phone number hidden in a big white envelope at the bottom of a drawer.
Freedom. He planned to sneak out to the phone box opposite the sweetshop and call the number.
Then he froze.
He stood with the slip of paper in his hand, turning cold with fear.
The staircase creaked,
Footsteps came to a stop outside the bedroom door.
No!
The door burst opened and the woman...
#breakup
#memories
#manipulation
290 reads
6 Comments
Tormented At Night
I sleep badly, coming to often in the dark to the sound of banging pipes behind the walls and the night wind. Mrs Winters' words to me at the house on Headersleigh Bridge replay each time I drift off, disturbing me again. I won't be angry if you hurt Craig by accident, but you've got to tell me what you did to him.
I wander over to the sink for a glass of water and switch on the television, leaving the volume on silent to avoid disturbing Robert. I sit and watch the twenty-four hour news, wrapped in an old jacket, shivering from a mixture of the cold and post-trauma nerves. I...
I wander over to the sink for a glass of water and switch on the television, leaving the volume on silent to avoid disturbing Robert. I sit and watch the twenty-four hour news, wrapped in an old jacket, shivering from a mixture of the cold and post-trauma nerves. I...
#memories
#mystery
376 reads
10 Comments
The Good Old Days
at the rear of the house stands a box room
the room contains a bookshelf full of creased books,
a desk that my pal Bill and I built together more than twenty years ago,
a filing cabinet and an Amstrad computer that still works,
some old school briefcases, the sort that pre-date briefcases with the combination code locks.
the box room, admittedly tatty, functions as a type of sanctuary for me, enabling me to gather my thoughts in quiet.
once a trio of old mates came over
we spent the entire night cramped in this tiny room, sharing a...
the room contains a bookshelf full of creased books,
a desk that my pal Bill and I built together more than twenty years ago,
a filing cabinet and an Amstrad computer that still works,
some old school briefcases, the sort that pre-date briefcases with the combination code locks.
the box room, admittedly tatty, functions as a type of sanctuary for me, enabling me to gather my thoughts in quiet.
once a trio of old mates came over
we spent the entire night cramped in this tiny room, sharing a...
#friendship
#memories
363 reads
8 Comments
Orchard House, And The Taxi Ride
I sat on a bench near a rock garden, listening to seagulls in the distance, plaintive and minute.
The air tasted of salt and sand and the freshness of approaching autumn,
The tide was out, leaving a carpet of sand.
The sea appeared calm, all ripples of blue and grey and green.
Further along a line of cliffs stretched eastwards, overlooking a drop by the sea.
That’s where Sylvie Bannister lived.
In a cottage on one of the cliffs.
But I didn’t know anything about Sylvie Bannister then.
Or that her family had once owned Orchard House. ...
The air tasted of salt and sand and the freshness of approaching autumn,
The tide was out, leaving a carpet of sand.
The sea appeared calm, all ripples of blue and grey and green.
Further along a line of cliffs stretched eastwards, overlooking a drop by the sea.
That’s where Sylvie Bannister lived.
In a cottage on one of the cliffs.
But I didn’t know anything about Sylvie Bannister then.
Or that her family had once owned Orchard House. ...
#memories
#mystery
#risk
331 reads
6 Comments
A Meeting With Her Uncle
They chose a secluded spot at the foot of the cliff near a pile of rocks, placed a couple of towels on the sand and opened the picnic hamper Bill had brought.
French bread and Parma ham. Ginger beer and chilled wine that they drank from plastic glasses. Salad with plum tomatoes. The wine and heat made her heady.
They exchanged bits of news, then sat in companionable silence, watching a boat on the water.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Bill said, hand rolling a cigarette. The tobacco smelt rich. For some reason, it reminded her of chocolate.
...
French bread and Parma ham. Ginger beer and chilled wine that they drank from plastic glasses. Salad with plum tomatoes. The wine and heat made her heady.
They exchanged bits of news, then sat in companionable silence, watching a boat on the water.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Bill said, hand rolling a cigarette. The tobacco smelt rich. For some reason, it reminded her of chocolate.
...
#loneliness
#family
#mystery
299 reads
4 Comments
The Calm Before The Storm
lulled by silence
a hint of sunshine
traces of spring
the cemetery is silent
the flowers still
the solitary mourners perched by gravestones
alone in their grief
the village stands empty now
its buldings abandoned
each person swallowed into silence
the seasons pass
spring, summer, autumn, winter
new mourners visit each day
to place flowers on the graves
a hint of sunshine
traces of spring
the cemetery is silent
the flowers still
the solitary mourners perched by gravestones
alone in their grief
the village stands empty now
its buldings abandoned
each person swallowed into silence
the seasons pass
spring, summer, autumn, winter
new mourners visit each day
to place flowers on the graves
#sadness
#countryside
#LifeCycle #pandemic
#LifeCycle #pandemic
324 reads
13 Comments
Divided By Tragedy
The din in the next room gets louder. Music blares from the jukebox. A group of girls in their early or mid twenties stream into the room where we are sitting, with bottles of wine. They call out hello, then make their way back out to the main area of the pub, giggling among themselves. One of the girls turns round and blows a kiss at Gordon.
Suddenly, I feel strange, as though someone has just thrown cold water over me. Memories swamp me, memories of home and childhood. The moors in the distance stretching against the skyline, bleak and rainy most of the time. The park by...
Suddenly, I feel strange, as though someone has just thrown cold water over me. Memories swamp me, memories of home and childhood. The moors in the distance stretching against the skyline, bleak and rainy most of the time. The park by...
#sadness
#friendship
#mystery
288 reads
8 Comments
Sat 18 August
Muggy weather, heavy and oppressive.
After a quick coffee in town, I spend most of the morning at the hotel, suffering with stomach cramp - a result of the body struggling to cope without cigarettes.
After lunch, my host and I take a walk through the town, stopping outside the home of a family friend who has since died.
More than two decades earlier, we attended a big celebration in this bungalow. The family used to have a piano and I loved running my fingers along the keys and pretending I could play.
I was a little boy then, at primary school,...
After a quick coffee in town, I spend most of the morning at the hotel, suffering with stomach cramp - a result of the body struggling to cope without cigarettes.
After lunch, my host and I take a walk through the town, stopping outside the home of a family friend who has since died.
More than two decades earlier, we attended a big celebration in this bungalow. The family used to have a piano and I loved running my fingers along the keys and pretending I could play.
I was a little boy then, at primary school,...
#childhood
#memories
#nostalgia
285 reads
10 Comments
Friday 17 August
Friday 17 August 2012
A Month After Giving Up Smoking
I arrive after a long train journey that includes a wait at Preston. I think the Government have banned smoking in public places, but I definitely detected cigarette smoke while I waited for my connecting train and I moved away from the source of the smell, keen to avoid triggers.
I step off the train, into a tiny station that has only one rail track. Out in the town, I strain for echoes of childhood. For the Bucket and Spade shop I vaguely recall and the sand dunes and the unmistakable scent of seaside...
A Month After Giving Up Smoking
I arrive after a long train journey that includes a wait at Preston. I think the Government have banned smoking in public places, but I definitely detected cigarette smoke while I waited for my connecting train and I moved away from the source of the smell, keen to avoid triggers.
I step off the train, into a tiny station that has only one rail track. Out in the town, I strain for echoes of childhood. For the Bucket and Spade shop I vaguely recall and the sand dunes and the unmistakable scent of seaside...
#tobacco
#memories
658 reads
11 Comments
The Bleak Night
a deserted road with abandoned shops
the rubbish piled high
rain splatters in the dark
soaking mould-filled boxes
nearby a cat screeches
primitive cries of fear, loneliness or hunger
the unseen cat wails again
and still the rain falls
the rubbish piled high
rain splatters in the dark
soaking mould-filled boxes
nearby a cat screeches
primitive cries of fear, loneliness or hunger
the unseen cat wails again
and still the rain falls
#loneliness
#rejection
383 reads
10 Comments
The Return
The sky darkens when the bus gets closer to the coast and the temperature drops for May, reminding me of swooping seagulls and sand blowing about in the wind, the grits getting into my eyes.
A large sign reads: Lyme House, 1 Mile. The driver takes a left, away from the road to the House.
Lyme House, where I first met her. A mile inland, tucked away in a private driveway hidden by trees and hedges. Mostly rich kids attended, but I got there on a scholarship, meals provided. From the start, I couldn’t understand why our hosts had chosen such a dismal town when they’d...
A large sign reads: Lyme House, 1 Mile. The driver takes a left, away from the road to the House.
Lyme House, where I first met her. A mile inland, tucked away in a private driveway hidden by trees and hedges. Mostly rich kids attended, but I got there on a scholarship, meals provided. From the start, I couldn’t understand why our hosts had chosen such a dismal town when they’d...
#love
#mystery
#risk
328 reads
11 Comments
A Fight On Yom Kippur
One other incident sticks in my mind. It happened on Yom Kippur, the most solemn day of the Jewish Year. Yom Kippur falls in September or October, its exact timing determined by the lunar calendar.
The Central Synagogue (or Shul) was packed and hot that particular day. The caretaker, a non-Jew, came in at regular intervals with a fragranced water spray to freshen the air to prevent people from fainting from the heat or ongoing hunger. In the background, less devout men discussed food or football while the Chazzan (or Cantor) continued to chant away on the Bimah (platform). ...
The Central Synagogue (or Shul) was packed and hot that particular day. The caretaker, a non-Jew, came in at regular intervals with a fragranced water spray to freshen the air to prevent people from fainting from the heat or ongoing hunger. In the background, less devout men discussed food or football while the Chazzan (or Cantor) continued to chant away on the Bimah (platform). ...
#religion
#memories
294 reads
9 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Lozzamus