Tuesday, 28 April 2015

I want to write about you but I can't...



It's so tempting, isn't it? Like sharing a delicious piece of gossip, writing about people you know is both satisfying and dangerous. You want to spread the news, you want to give other people the delight of knowing the strangely exotic workings of this person's life and yet you know if you do that they might find out and hunt you down.

Okay, maybe not hunt you down but surely there will be consequences. You can't share the intimate details of someone's adult temper tantrum and then expect them to not have another when they realise it has been immortalised in the written word (assuming you haven't also taken pictures).

You really, really want to include the best eccentric episode from that certain person and yet, exactly because it is so wonderful, it is also identifiable. Anyone reading it would think you made it up, except for the person themselves.

Frankly, if I trusted the internet more than I do, I would probably have an anonymous blog where I could vent it all: recreate those moments from the week which deserve special mention but would also deserve special punishment if I was to share them.

People might make very entertaining subjects but they do tend to get aeriated if they think you made their faux pas public, especially if you have a tendency to elaborate and embroider.

So, for now I have to bide my time and hope I don't forget all the good stuff before I use it. I'm hoping with enough time in between those lovely subjects will fail to recognise themselves in my works of fiction.

Honestly, it's fiction, right?

No, that's not about you! I even forgot you did that!

No, I don't remember you saying those exact words!

Here, have a signed copy. Tell all your friends.

No, that's not a picture of you on the inside cover...


Amanda


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Saturday, 18 April 2015

The quiet air of summer




Quiet air sighing over the waters,
close enough to see land on the other side.
Where were we when we spoke of this?
I remember words of dreamy pasts,
half-seen in the gloaming midsummer air,
windless, hot enough for talk of summer weddings
and lost loves.

Then looking to where the earth we knew was hidden by warm mists,
the sense that your world and mine could come together,
your youth and mine be there in the same moment.
I wanted to know you then,
to be friends alike and grow up together.
Dream-times, spoken in whispers as we imagined the past,
one you saw, one I felt.

Short laughter, gathering up the whole of it, brought us back.
We stood and moved away,
your arm linking mine so you wouldn't stumble,
girls together, separated only by time
and the thin sleeves of summer.

©Amanda J Harrington 2015

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Sunday, 5 April 2015

There is a room without a door




There is a room without a door
where my grandfather still waits for visitors.
I dream it, walk past it, pause outside
and wonder if I should go in.

All those years of wondering, trying to smell the atmosphere
and know if it was a good day
to say hello.

The sound of the TV masked nothing,
his deafness never stopped him
knowing you were there.
Hesitate too long,
his head turned to see
which one it was
and whether he smiled.

A bitter-sweet love borne of endless hours roaming in magical places,
finding togetherness over old railway bridges,
his enormous hand on mine.
Years of stopping before I spoke,
watching, examining the scene before me
as we played out a long, no-win poker game
where the smallest blink, a twitch, a look, gave you away.

Somewhere the door is open
as if he always wanted visitors,
as if in welcome,
his face turned to the TV,
his whole body listening to see who came now.

A deal of love goes round and round and stops sometimes
so we can see what we have,
watching, waiting,
feeling the air as we play,
looking to see if today is a good day
to say hello.

Some days it's just railway bridges and the smell of autumn,
the sun going down over the hill
as we make our way home.

©Amanda J Harrington 2015

My books on Amazon
My own website for books and tuition
Find me on Facebook and Twitter!
Read my Aspergers blog

A story somewhere