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Tag Archives: age
Minced Lies
Original image from AgeUK
I’m sure there’s a dusting of icing
in the saliva resting on my chin.
You’re looking at it, aren’t you?
It’s ok, nurse can brush it away
if you don’t’ want to touch my skin.
You look a little warm,
your face all rosy and good to see,
with a smile
unaccustomed to lethargy
manifesting under blanketed knees
that feel the cold so keenly.
No, it’s a smile too wide,
it has all to hide,
so wide it might tear your face in two.
“Two weeks ago”, you sigh,
“it’s just flying by;
long office hours and the builders are in..”
But you see,
time hasn’t clipped it’s wings for me
and I’m sure it wasn’t two weeks ago
but four, maybe three.
You said you’d come and here you are,
“Just a short stop because
Christmas shopping is never done;
the dog’s home alone with…
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Minced Lies
Original image from AgeUK
I’m sure there’s a dusting of icing
in the saliva resting on my chin
You’re looking at it, aren’t you?
It’s ok, nurse can brush it away
if you don’t’ want to touch my skin
You look a little warm,
your face all rosy and good to see
with a smile
unaccustomed to lethargy
manifesting under blanketed knees
No, it’s a smile too wide
it has all to hide
so wide it might tear your face in two
“Two weeks ago”, you sigh
“it’s just flying by;
long office hours and the builders are in..”
But you see
time hasn’t clipped it’s wings for me
and I’m sure it wasn’t two weeks ago
but four, maybe three
You said you’d come and here you are
“Just a short stop because
Christmas shopping is never done
the dog’s home alone with the cat…”
you pause
“…it’s a shame we don’t have long to chat.”
Giving the gift of minced lies
crafted for the good and hopeful child
who thinks a Bogeyman waits around a corner
that Santa’s footprints left some grime
that Tooth Fairy swapped the dirty molar
and we go to Heaven when it is our time
© Anna Ghislena 2014
Rumpled Silk Skin
Image from a collection of illusion art at http://www.alef.net
The Queen regarded herself closely in the mirror.  Deep lines cut cruelly across traces of beauty as the Botox wore off again.
Gazing bitterly at cold creams and serums before her, she feared that rich men chose to marry younger women, like her only beautiful daughter.
The dead King had played away his fortune of gold thread, just as her father had gambled with her life.
It was time to make a bargain.
“What is the cost this time?” she asked, afraid.
The little man stood there, fingering rings into his chin hair.
“I think we said your firstborn child?”
By Anna Ghislena
In celebration of World Book Day this week the 100 Word Challenge here was prompted by the idea of giving alternative endings to traditional fairy tales. Â Click to take part yourself!
Backseat Driver
A photograph by David Kozlowski
When I am old I shall drive a Fiat Punto
and keep a rug and basket on the back seat
with a flask and biscuits, for emergencies.
Time will be mine without you my dear;
my second pair of eyes in left hand command.
I shall be regal and heads will turn
at my rinse, set and finish so trim, and
I shall cruise, at twenty two, down the main road through town,
with an entourage processing behind.
I shall signal well before left or right is in sight and
turn with due diligence and care.
I shall reverse or nose dive at an angle when parking;
a precise ninety degree demonstration.
Yes, time will be mine without you my dear,
to gauge our distance and schedule.
No kids to taxi and no nine to five rush hour.
No trains or planes to dash for.
The engine won’t squeal with a foot to the floor, it will purr and function serenely.
The flask will stay in its place, all the way,
to the library, bowls or the doctor.
Yes, time will be mine, without you my dear and
I’ll tune into classical radio.
My hair still regal; not a grey out of place,
I shan’t break too hard or too late.
Yes, time will be mine without you my dear
but I would miss you, my dear, with you not here.
So before I am old, with my hair all regal, driving my Fiat Punto,
let’s jump the lights and turn up the volume,
greet the wind in our faces and hair.
Love me again on the old squeaky backseat;
sleep out, when we should be at home.
Guitars all blazing with a foot to the floor and
thundering drums keeping time with the revs.
“I am, truly sorry, Officer, Sir,
I had no idea of the speed limit in place.”
Yes, time should be ours, my love, my dear,
To witness sunrise through the mirror’s rear view;
the seats all sticky with the times of yesterday,
my hair not regal, and all out of place.
© Anna Ghislena 2014.
