I owe most of these words to a friend of mine who wrote them 40 odd years ago and has probably forgotten about them. I am not sure how well I remember them either.
I’m a bopper of a copper
And I really dig the rhythm and blues
With my bright red socks
And my regulation blue suede shoes
My name is Jo-Jo Friday
And I’m always looking round for clues
You can see me chewing gum in the interview
After the news
I’m a cracker, not a hacker
A position I refuse to abuse.
I owe thanks to my sensitive friend Stoner who gave birth to the idea of a message in the sand for me. I doubt that I do the idea justice.
I wrote a message for you in the sand when the tide was low.
Knowing that it would be erased, like memory, with the passage of time.
Speaking to you of things that could not be spoken
and yet I wondered if you might somehow hear it carried by the sea breeze that passed overhead on the endless journey towards the centre of everything.
Whispering.
I watched as the waves completed the relentless voyage across the oceans. Each with a message of its own.
Forever. Forever. Forever.
Every advance still closer before retreating, exhausted, back into the void.
The gentle invasion eventually eroding my carefully chosen words.
Letter by letter.
Until all was as it had been.
The grains carefully rearranged to conceal their secret.
Word of the Day – Emphatically
It was late in the afternoon and we lay together on a blanket spread out by the bank of the river. A young mother stood to our left with her son, both of them pointing excitedly at a family of ducks that had ventured out in fleet-like formation from the protective hideaway of the reeds. We could hear the little voice of the child as he carefully counted each duckling.
Other than that we were alone. A gentle breeze brought with it the first of the evening chill pressing light clothing against her skin. The sun, in the mood for seduction, made its way through the cotton of her dress and purposefully traced the lines of her body. Time, for a moment, stood still.
She smiled as I poured the last of the champagne into her glass and I could feel her eyes as she looked carefully towards me as if scrutinising my face for flaws.
“Brutus,” she whispered at last, “do you love me?”
It was a pivotal moment and one to be respected. It was a question to which the answer would remain forever etched into personal history. And so I paused momentarily and attempted to convey a look of romantic intoxication whilst I dug deep into my emotional stocks for a worthy reply.
“Absolutely emphatically,” I told told her with tenderness.
She sat up suddenly and pulled away from me. These were not, evidently, the kind of words she had been fishing for. I wondered, for a moment, if there may have been something wrong with my pronunciation. Something important that had gone missing in translation.
“What did you say?”
“Emphatically,” I repeated, “absolutely.”
I recognised my mistake in the shape of her eyes. She had been looking for something more spontaneous, more instinctual, more animalistic.
Not only her eyes, but her whole body had turned against me with contempt.
“What are you,” she hissed, “A fucking librarian?”
I jotted down these few words in response to Lizardin who, I must say, sounds about as cheerful as I do. But it is (I hope obviously) not directed at her and I’m not even sure if this is what she is talking about. So I post it on its own.
****
I didn’t drop by for a chat
For platitudes of this and that
*
I didn’t need to hear you cry
Or reminisce of days gone by
Or hear you speak of matters trite
Or tell of dreams you had last night
*
I didn’t need to touch your skin
Or what it is you hide within
I didn’t need to hear your call
I’ve never needed you at all
*
Don’t think that I am judging you
Not that I’m bothered if you do
For that is why I am not there
The fact is that I just don’t care
*
So kindly do not think me rude
If I prefer my solitude
