Two Knaves

The Knave of Spades digs with desperation to secure his foothold in the kingdom. He digs in the seaweed damp of the night, the blood dripping  from his hand. He is aware of the metallic cordite smell freckled to his skin and fights to ignore it along with the insistent throbbing stump of his newly missing finger, a small price to pay for duelling with that gangster, the Knave of Diamonds. Hearing of the duel, The house of Diamonds would be on his tail as light broke but he would be away with the treasure by then and they could do nothing.
Water drips from the walls of the cave as the wind stirs butterfly cobwebs, full of translucent dewdrops. The sand grits between his toes as they sink with the effort of his toil. The sweat is dripping from him and the cave once filled with moonlight becomes darker as she follows her path across the sky pulling the tide up the beach. Desperation beats loud at his heart and thrums in his ears at odds with the quiescence of the coming dawn. He urges himself on with every stroke of his spade. the shove and heave is a jolting pendulum in reverse.
He must reach the box hidden deep beneath the stalactite's point before the tide imprisons him or he will be left to sell his soul to the devil. There is no other way to escape with your life once the sea reclaims her cave.
The spade strikes the tin box, the clang of a gong a skylark ascending into the gloom and silence of the cave. He is released from poverty and servitude in an instant. There is enough power in this box full of diamonds to secure him an army. His destiny calls to him as the rush of water approaches the mouth of the cave. He will take back the throne of his father and throw the Diamonds to the dogs. There is sudden clarity to his thoughts: His fortune will change forever, the Knave of Spades will be King.


A game of cards

Seven tropical fruits glisten in their massacred translucent spill of juice and dark ambition.
The King of Diamonds stamps his foot " I said I wanted bananas."
The Ace of Diamonds descends to hell, an awkward cousin sitting at the top table on a subterranean plot and whistles into the quiescent air following the King's outburst.
The Jack of Hearts dribbles into his mead, a dew drop hanging from the end of his nose,
living dangerously before the opium ball waiting for the Queen.

Into the Woods

        Into the woods we went, the professor and I, around moss covered stones and dripping ferns to dapples of sunlight and dandelion seed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fairy folk. Would they be sitting around the fairy ring on acorn cups fashioned from stumps?
      There, beneath the dark puddles of shadow I spied a tiny wooden door in the tangled roots, handle worn smooth from being turned in anticipation by so many hopeful hands.
       "Look," I said
       "Ah, Others have passed this way then."
       "But how will we get back?"
        "That is a conundrum for later cogitation" said he, "Be content with the present. Find a way to unlock the door."
         How do you camouflage yourself from fairy folk? Maybe disguised with way-side flowers we could sneak through unseen and find a way to pass through the burrs knots and rings of time. As I consider, the professor speaks again in wonder,
        "See, on the wood pile there? The present that was never given? Unwrap it from its pretty ribbon and stiff paper and reveal what is hidden within"
I did as he asked and found a vial of golden liquid, viscous honey mead full of Puck's menace. We both drank, but I never saw him again.
I have it here still. Beware, it will transport you in a fluff and billow of confusion to another land. There you will see, as I did, the little people, the Watingers and the Woodentops, the armies of Minpins. There is a whole community in collusion with nature. Think carefully. Do you want to be beholden to them? If you take the risk and go to them what you learn must be kept secret it is their law. And they will want something in return for being seen. Security, protection, a safe haven at the bottom of your garden. If you go into the secret realm you are bound by their laws you will become a gatekeeper,as I am now, a warden for the green man. Guard it well if you go and cherish it always for a gift of love may be wrapped in many different guises.

Saints and Sinners

Part 1
     Crystals of ice glinted on the top of the frozen fish cake.
     " Well that's not a very appetising dinner" said Juniper to herself as she tapped it up and down on the edge of the worktop, "I'd rather chew on a bag of nails and the bread bin only holds a dry crust." She glanced at the clock, she'd have to be quick if she wanted to get to the Co-Op. The mantra: keys, phone, purse, running through her head, she grabbed her coat, locked the flat and headed to the high street leaving the key behind the geranium pot. The evening was strung with dust motes floating in the last rays of sunshine, miracles of light looking for their labour's rest.
     Juniper took the short cut though the church yard gloaming under the long shadow of ancient yew, startling slightly at the guttural sound of a impudent toad to her left. Her hand jumped to her heart as she muttered  a prayer, " Saints preserve us," and hoped there would be nothing else  leaping into the path. Having a good imagination was not always a good thing when you read the Tabloid papers. What with Aliens, a Panther and a Sasquatch being reported in the Black Hills, responsible for the abduction of several sheep over recent months she was almost afraid to leave the town. She decided to dip into the font on her way past the church, a little holy water was as good for protection as anything. As she clunk-creaked the door on its latch she noted the stained glass saints complete their march across the floor of the aisle then disappear as the sun finally dipped behind the horizon. The church had that distinct smell of incense, polished halos and damp wooden icons. She spied the verger balancing on a precariously placed ladder, polishing the World War honours list to those who's passing had been noted with medals of bravery that they would never see. There was a loose thread on the hem of his surplus and Juniper wondered idly who took up a needle and thread for him? Did he go to Patel's on the High Street? Or did he have a bespectacled parishioner slowly sewing her way to heaven in 'good deeds to clergy'?
        She came to from her reverie, always the daydreamer, remembering she must get to the
Co-Op before it shut. She had sat in the cool of the church without realising and now as she stood noticed the sand gravelling between her toes from the beech last weekend.
        " Cornflour! I must buy cornflour for the play school." That school of scandal,she added in her head,  thinking of the graffiti she had read and believed in the public toilet at the park. How could the headmaster and the dinner lady have been so careless as to get caught together in the delivery truck? Those doughnuts were served in the staff room for goodness sake!
       She brushed passed an errant self-seeded mint inhaling it's scent as she exited the lytch gate   And listened as the lyrics of a song she didn't recognise faded away with a speeding car, it's window down to the cooling air. Her memory was as poor as a goldfish.  She was so easily distracted.  What had she come out for? She retraced the steps in her mind: mint, holy water, Saints, toads, Co-Op. That was it, something for tea.

Part 2
        That was it, something for tea. Something else from the sea maybe?  As she entered the    Co-Op, Juniper noticed the other shoppers charging up and down the aisles like Duracell bunnies, as if their life depended on randomly filling their trolling and hastening home to their personal chaos. Their weekend would be full of small triumphs to be repeated ad nauseam, grass mowing, car washing, hedge trimming. hamsters on wheels. Not for the first time she found herself grateful for her small flat and single life. She could do as she pleased. She grabbed a basket and headed to the small fresh fish selection. Mackerel, that would do. She would have to buy two as there was no singles but she could make pâté with the other for her sandwiches in the week. She grabbed some cream cheese and some rocket and new potatoes for good measure and headed to the tills.
     The young man at the register seemed to be preparing for some fancy dress outing or maybe a charity event? His hair was shaved into harlequin diamonds and dyed as many colours. This jarred most oddly with the pink bunny-rabbit onesie he was wearing which for some unknown reason  had an inexplicably hairy tummy. What are those rabbits thought Juniper? Alpacas? No, that didn't sound right. She'd have to do an Internet search when she got home or she'd be up all night!
     She heaved the door open and headed off back down the high street with her supper. She was back at the lytch gate again when she stopped dead and shouted,
      "Cornflour! Juniper, you half wit."

The Weaver

The Weaver

      Aleida had never left the Flatlands. She had thought to live forever in this wooden shingled dwelling, paddling the pattern into her cloth and creating an architecture of threads. She knew every gnarled bump of the wall panels, every crack that needed to be stoppered come winter. The earthy smell of fungus from the damp corner by the washstand was her constant bed fellow. She carried an image of the world in her head from all the stories her Father and Brother told but she was provincial at heart and would not have wished it to change.
      When her brother, Bastiaan, had broken the news of their father's shipwreck her unexpected joy at seeing her brother home had vanished like a ghost and she had sunk to the floor and wept. She grieved not just for the loss of her father but for her future which now lay in tatters. She was not yet betrothed and had no dowry. Without her Father to represent her Aleida felt she must let all of her modest dreams slip beneath the waves along with her Father's cargo. But a month later Bastiaan had returned  with almost incomprehensible news.  By some strange turn in the sails of fortune their fathers trunk had washed ashore and been taken to the merchants guild for identification. In it had been the fine smoking jacket she had woven for him and the matching slippers. They were of such fine work that they caught the eye of the Mayor and Master of the Guild, Herr Diederick.  He was intrigued to meet any lady capable of such artistry and architecture of cloth.
      Bastiaan was glad to acknowledge his sisters skill but would not see her used. It would be easy for Herr Diederick to bring her to the city and turn her head so instead Bastiaan told him he must visit  Aleida in the country and that if he liked what he saw when he saw more of her work he could bring her to town and set her up in her own business. It was a bold move on Bastiaan's part but he was learning fast that a man must make his own luck in this world and he wanted what was best for Aleida: a secure future. If his sister was as desirable as the men of the Flatland suggested she may have a chance of marriage in town but if that was not to be at least she would have a secure business and future prospects.    
      Herr Diederick had visited just as her brother had promised.  Aleida had never seen his like before. He was dressed in a fine  linen shirt with heavily laced collar and a matching tooled leather doublet. He bowed deeply as he introduced himself and she felt awkward at the formal gesture but  curtsied to cover the blush that worked its way loose from her bodice and he seemed well satisfied as she stood again.
      Two weeks had passed since Herr Diederick had called on her  and now came the day of her departure. She wrapped her travelling cloak about her and climbed on to the dray that would transport her and her loom to their new home in the city. The daffodils that bowed to her as she passed along the road had bowed to him when he had left a week earlier to secure her use of the light North facing room on the upper floor of the guild as working premises.  Lulled by the rhythm and music created by the wheels and the hooves on the track Aleida drifted into another world as she did when she was seated with her loom. This was not the domestic life she had pictured before: a bearded Lord of the Woods and a glowing hearth in the winter with five bright faced babies competing for love,this was a future of courtly courtesies, rustling skirts and fine buildings. Maybe she would find love too. She had enjoyed her time with Herr Diederick. He was intelligent and had shared generously in conversation and laughter as well as being attentive and interested in her. There was much she would like to learn from him and much more of him she wanted to know. Could he be as interested in her as he seemed? Or was that just the manner of men in the city? There was no cost to her dreaming of what a kiss from his sweet bearded face would feel like as it brushed against her neck, or reliving the heat she had felt from his gaze as their hands grazed each other's in farewell.
        His admiration of Aleida had swelled quickly. She may have been a simple country girl but her open hospitality, creative energy and truthful conversation had  the feel of a warm summer breeze after the overcooked closeness of people in town. Next to all the silken dolls that had been flaunted at him as marriage proposals it was Aleida who seemed luminous to him however simply dressed. Since their hands had touched on parting he had never hoped to win any woman's heart so fervently. For the first time in his life he believed,with her at his side, he could weave the cloth of his life story the way he wanted.

The Star and the Satelite

       The star awoke one night shimmering with his own enchantment ready to glint in the heavens, secure in his place in the firmament.
"Look at me, here I am, night's light with my burning core. I am simmering confidance. I am suave. Watch me as I wink at you brazenly through night's curtain. I watch you when you think you are alone. I see your private moments and know you want me. I am the beauty that you wish upon."
      But on this night as he gazed about his celestial brothers and sisters he found a new prick in the firmament. A man made shimmering object that did not blink but stared with the open eye of a God. It seemed dazed, surprised at its own existence, not knowing of its own birth or creation as stars do, it's capsule form adorned with grated wings absorbing energy from the sun in osmotic ignorance.
      How could the star envy such a creature as this? He was not threatened. This object had no power of its ow. It was a parasite of the sun. It had no burning heart, no brilliance, no life force, no pride in it's time and place in the galaxies. It was an overrated ogre hanging in space, it's life abbreviated by man's changing desires and the limits of it's hardware. This Satelite was no celestial being.
     And yet, he had appeared unbidden and portentous in the sky, an extra unblinking button on Orion's Belt. Children would stare up enchanted and unknowing at the firmament wishing on this most constant of stars.
     "Daddy, what's that one? It is so bright."
     "That is a Satelite, see how it's light is constant."
Constancy, dependability: prized above all else by children craving stability in the tumultuous lives they lead. They do not know it is wrong to wish on space hard ware.
      The star is put firmly in his place. He bows in the orange light of morning to the Satelite, still shining. He knows he can have no satisfaction in duelling with one such as this and turns away chivalrously,
     "I will burn forever in the firmament but for now you have the stage."

The Light

         In space, stars collide, expand, implode. I am the light, I am truth, I am knowledge. I am held, a kernel at the centre of all things, at the molten heart of the earth. My journey begins.

         I worm my way from core to mantle  and come to rest on scorching sands beneath innumerable moons where I watch the march of stars, the paths of heaven, understanding love, truth, beauty: the eternal trilogy. 

        It was here, in the dunes, that I was found by the Jin of the dessert who was filled with wonder and fear at what he saw in me. In his limited wisdom he saw fit to hide me from the world in a gold filigree box, afraid of man turning my power to his own purpose. If his mind had not been clouded with sandstorms and desert desires I could have shown him that mankind already held me at his heart, as all matter did. Man had always been free to chose his own path. But like mankind, the Jin's mind's eye was stubbornly closed and double lidded like the camel that bore him, so he used his magic to bury me in a cavernous cathedral beneath the sands where no mischief could find me.

        I glowed quietly beneath the sand, biding my time imparting my truths to the pillars of earth. I leaked in to the soil, feeding the plants that grew from their richness and in turn to the animals that fed on them. The creatures of the earth understood by this that their was a balance to all things, a reason and a purpose for everything. 

        But then came the rise of men. Some men understood the balance, the laws of nature. Their hearts were open. They knew that from the lowliest insect to the leviathans of the sea all were equal, born of Matter and returned to Matter. They respected the path and did not seek to own or rule with a power imagined for themselves. But the others, the majority of men, sought power, land and sovereignty to inflate their vanity, believing themselves more important than the other creatures of the earth. They waged war on each other to prove their superiority, heedless of the damage. They enslaved first animals to their will and then other men. But what ever they gained they were never satisfied. Blinded by greed, not realising they were straying further from the true path they blundered on causing unimaginable destruction.

          The Jin saw. He could not hide in the shade beneath his date palm oblivious to the progression any longer. He put his head in the sand and called for me. 

        "Truth! Knowledge! Come Forth and turn the tide of men from their own destruction."  Such was the Jin's magic I could not reveal myself to him, so I whispered to him through the wind. 

        "Find a man of power to bring together the elements. Do this and the way back to me will be made clear. Bring with him another, a man of pure heart, for only he will hold the key to my 

release." The Jin did as I asked and whispered honeyed words in the ear  of the Kings Vizier and sewed a seed of desire at his breast that swelled with every greedy breath. Unknown riches would be his if only he sought the cave that held the Heart of all Matter. Imagining chests of gold and the power to manipulate all men to his own desires he wasted no time in bringing together the elements.  Finding a man of pure heart was more of a challenge to him as his mind had been poisoned by greed and manipulation for so long that he could not see that a diamond was still a diamond even in the rough, but after many days, and some help from the Jin it was accomplished. 

         Today they came to me. And the Jin whispered again to the Vizier, "Seek only the lamp and you shall prove that you are worthy of the treasure it holds."  It was a trick of course, to give the Vizier one last chance to see if he was worthy.  But he was not. 

          The elements were roused; water washed along the dry river bed for the sun to bake a dry path then the winds blew the dunes apart revealing a hidden door to enter the cave. The door was of heavy stone and carved with many cuneiform symbols. The Vizier tried many words of power and a great deal of brute strength to unlock it as the Jin looked on smiling to himself. Then the boy, curious about the symbols, laid his hand on the door  and it unlocked and swung open at his touch. At this the Vizier remembered the Jin's words and saw that the prophecy must be true. Hungry and lustful for the riches that were to come his way  the Vizier instructed the boy to fetch the lamp. The boy was simple and willing with no device or cunning and did as he was asked. He brought the lamp to the Vizier who snatched it from him throwing the boy back in to the  cave as it's door disappeared into the shifting dunes.  As the Vizier watched the door disappear the lamp turned to ash in his hand and he yelled in anger and stamped his feet upon the earth. I kept my word though, he received the unknown riches he so deserved: I unlocked the door to his deepest mind and relit the spark there. Humility, love, a thirst for knowledge, generosity, kindness and thoughtful curiosity, gifts that had been previously lost to him were all open to him once more. 

And what of the boy? My voice led him to the filigree box that I had called home all these years. I shone brightly from within it making a display of dissonant stars on the walls and roof of the cave. He picked up the box with tender curiosity and caressed the years of dust from the lid and as he did so the Jin appeared by his side.

       "You are a rare boy with an open heart.  I was afraid for mankind but I see in you a hope I could not have dreamed of. This is the light of the world, of knowledge. It can show mankind the way. I wish of you three things: take it into the world, be guided by it and let it be seen by others. Man has been lead by greed and envy for too long, he must be shown the light. Will you do this?"

        "But who will listen to me," said the boy, afraid, "I am no-one."

         "You are everything. If you carry the light,  you carry the hope of salvation with you. You are Salah al Din, righteousness of faith. Let the light shine from within you, and all who have good sense and seek truth will know this is the way. Will you be the vessel?"

         "I will try" said the boy. 

So the Jin released me from the cave of wonders to take root in the boy's heart, shine from his eyes and pour golden truths from his lips that all men could find the path of light, of truth and knowledge. I reside still in the hearts of men to show them the true path if only they will take heed. The boy, Salah al Din, returned to dust in time but his story lives on in the legend of Aladdin.

Happiness (1)

Happiness (1)

          On this day of happiness she took a long last look at the golden beach, a prayer of breath and beauty, but she could feel the song in her heart calling her home to the new green of springtime: the equinox beckoned, all spunk and spikyness.
         This trip had been a longed for hope, this time to breathe a different air away from the crinoline creases of a restricted home life. She had explored the crenellations of the old town market, the fort with a bazaar heart, it's sellers prone to fabrication and exaggeration, and been filled with the joy of it.
          Now she must leave the open air fun of it and find equal joy in a more regular pace. Look for the simple pleasures hidden within the kernel of everyday, stirring a bowl of frozen peas.
         As Bella mounted the bus for the airport the sun turned it's cloud cheek to the eclipse and she saw a crazy dog chasing it's tale. This is where I came from she thinks but I am coming through my transformation. I have shed the laces of my corset that held in all manner of harm, poisoning my core and I can return, glowing, peaceful and at one with myself. The yoga and meditation travel with me to my final destination offering a permanent sanctuary and I will become as bendable on the outside as I can be malleable on the inside. I am equal to the task and well equipped.
          Bella took her seat as the bus pulled away from the stop in a cloud of diesel, accelerating impatiently. At the back of the bus a less serene tourist dealt her fretting child a short sharp slap.

Happiness (2)

At the back of the bus a less than serene tourist dealt her fretting child a short sharp slap and Bertram Bombadier looks up from the road shocked at the sudden shrill cry of the child. The crazy dog runs into the road to avoid the bus now driving towards the precinct just as Bertrum  looks up and corrects his mistake adjusting his trajectory and jarring his wheel in a deep pothole. The bus hovers momentarily on one on axle then turns creaking onto it's side grinding along the road's surface with stubborn determination towards the pavement and the shocked by standing shoppers.
As in all such moments as these there is a moment when time seems to forget herself and stands still in a daydream state. A butterfly flaps its wings against the purple buddleia of the advertisement for the Botanic Gardens. The butterfly is unaffected by the bus's fight against gravity being airborne but it too comes to an end as Bertrum's tiffin box is dislodged from the locker above his head and guillotines one wing from the insect's body.
The diesel spilling into the road soon flares in a flint spark lighting the windows to sunset orange flowers. The clamouring passengers make their escape through windows wreathed in black fumes as Bertrum's cries at the loss of his job, his home, his wife and children. This is a catastrophe with far reaching consequences. It is then that he notices the girl with the secret smile that got on at the last stop with her carpet bag lying half in the isle, unmoving.
Having been knocked unconscious by a watermelon flung out of its place in the luggage rack the first thing Bella knows is gaining consciousness waking in a simple room with white curtains billowing gently at the open window, grogginess holding her eyelids heavy a drip in one arm trickling endlessly. She raises her aching head cautiously, looking about the room, the sunlit silver edged wings of the birds flying into inky storm clouds at the window and a letter on the desk just out of reach.  It is a German stamp and her mother's hand. Relief flooded her as she slumped back on to the White crisp sheets.
She has no recollection of how she came to be here only the sense of a morphine enduced gypsy woman dancing through her dreams in a flowing dress singing "I am serenity" to the beat of her heart loud in her ears.
A nurse entered and took her temperature, her blood pressure. Bella gestured to the letter and was told
"Florence, your sister, she is coming now from Germany. We found your address in your Passport and contacted next of kin."
Why did the nurse tell her that her sister's name was Florence? Did they think she had lost her memory? She wondered idly whether her sister still carried the stone in her shoe as penance against the sin of her unfaithfulness. Would she never forgive herself this one indiscretion? After all, it was Gregor who had cheated so many times before and he did not seem to feel the need to punish himself, nor indeed excuse his behaviour. Maybe this would be good for Florence, to get away and learn there are many ways to be faithful that having nothing to do with fidelity.
A handsome young Doctor entered the room unaware that his looks would be responsible for raising the heart rate of many of his patients. Bella sat up a little, shaking herself into better consciousness and read his name tag, John Anderson, and a small Swedish flag. She looked at him appreciating his serious face and smiling eyes. Boy would she have enjoyed a secret liaison with him. He enquires as to how she was feeling
"Did you have a good sleep? Don't worry about the swelling, it will go down in time." He had the most endearing lisp and a delicious accent that made her think of spiced warm milk for some reason. What a joy it would be to be held dear in those knowledgeable eyes, in those expert hands. What heaven would be discovered on that day of happiness.  

For Those in Peril on the Sea

         In the depths of the sea no wind can stir the silt into a tornado that greedily absorbs the colour and shape of everything and yet the surface boils with turbulence. The sea is a restless sleeper, always rolling over and back, never settling. It is dressed with flashes of colour from myriad fish and phosphorescence flares from the deep like a water born aurora. Waters flow endlessly around the earth in rhythm with the planets dance which can be rough and threatening, stealing life, drowning men, and yet she has a lullaby to sing when she is calm.
        The fishing boats ply their trade year after year and the seasoned sailors know never to turn their backs on the sea lest it turns on them in an unexpected swell, swilling them from the deck in a salt spray slide. But when their work is done they allow themselves to be soothed by her song until they stay, subdued, in her far reaching embrace for the night.
      The men on board, starved for the softness of a lover's touch dream dreams of mermaids rising on silvered tales from the depths to hold them and pull them deeply, into their rocking arms, their swollen bosom, their ripe mouths. The seasoned sailors warn them over cocoa,
       "They will come to you in vulnerable sleep, Beware the shimmering comeliness of a mermaid's beauty their welcome is not what it seems. Fish must eat too and no curlews' call can reach you beneath the waves, no wondering albatross, a year on the wing, will see your path and send rescue. You are at the mercy of bliss. Should you give in to your desires and kiss the sea witch in return you are sure to taste salt tears. The dream would fold in on itself, collapse,a shout for help would bring you no aid. You are beneath the waves. Open your mouth and shout " I am in need of help" and you are doomed. There is no ladder back to the stars and you will be called forever to the billowy kelp gardens in the deep-dark. No. Better to enjoy the gifts of the dream and leave when they are done toying with you following bubbles to surface from sleep. Ask no more of the silken purse of nights' velvet sky but to deliver you safe to the 'morrow. There are too many connotations to the incantations of the sea, enchanting though they may seem. Do not trust the softness of the mermaids in your dreams it is insubstantial as a cloud. A man? A man can afford to be completely shameless in his dreams, he is blameless and can return to shore unsullied to enjoy his palpable pleasures."
       Wave farewell to the mermaid then as she flicks foam with her tail and slides from her rock at dawn  disappearing into the crest of a folding wave. They are freed now of the uncertainty of dreams.
      "Shake of the night and let loose the nets one more time, men. Let's fill the hold with the sea's  bounty and make our way home to the protective strong arms of the harbour to find a softer bed. The trestle tables are waiting to be laden with our treasure, dressed in their finest white damask gowns.