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A Christmas Tale [part one of three]
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A Christmas Tale [part one of three] |
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U K Hero Member
since 1999-08-08
Posts 266England |
PART ONE OF THREE A Christmas Tale On the Eve of Christmas in a world tottering on the edge of merry making, at a time of year when families and lovers are rejoicing together, there lies a cottage sadly void of both. In a small hamlet in England called Littleworth here stands that small but quaint thatched cottage. Some say that a house can have character and even feelings towards the owner. If true, then this house would wail a sorrowful lament… With walls adorned with climbing ivory To meet its well groomed hair Its mouth and eyes are smiling wide To mask the sorrow there, It hides the pride that lies inside The cry’s of woe and worry With wooden grin of thoughts within It calls to winter’s flurry, On Christmas Eve a joy of joys It begs some help from him It smiles again at northern wind Through chimney it sneaks it in! Blow hard north wind Breathe true and harder still For tonight, together We’ll dislodge this lonesome ill. And the north wind blew… An old man resides within, known to the locals within the village as stumbling Archie a cruel jest for one so blighted. Inside the cottage and at the end of the narrow and barren corridor lies the living room, an odd name as it’s almost void of life. Very little decorates this room save for a few token gestures dotted along the top of the mantle piece, an old gramophone looking forlorn in the corner and a single picture hanging grimly on the wall. If you look closer you’ll notice that the picture is the only item within the room that’s not coated in a thick layer of dust. Now the picture must be very important to the man, although it hangs slightly offset on the wall, you can tell it’s been handled many times by the mass of finger smudges which adorn the glass. You can also assertion that the picture depicts a loving couple, the fact that it’s a black and white photograph mealy adds to its charm, to the lower right of the picture and written in pencil are the words; May we never marry Except to one another And if we part Then in solitude we tally To pen our locality in paper. Archie + Melanie France 1940 A fire, the centrepiece of the room crackles at odd occasions to break the stillness of that empty room but in the corner a ruffle, there is life! He sits astride a crumpled chair Like him both ageing and worn, He’s waited alone with many a tear Some fifty years and then one score To see his Parisian flare! He gazes endlessly- At the picture upon the wall He never married He waited patiently Each summer Each winter Each fall, He never understood the meaning Doesn’t read much Doesn’t care He can only touch its feeling! A cruel life, at times- Too much to bear; He hobbles to the Gramophone To play his favourite tune He sits and thinks when all alone One wish In Paris In June, Then melts away to the melody To a place they call Paris’ To a time when he was younger And true love was Melanie. The wind did blow and the fire did crack… O’ how they danced- In clubs and bars Through streets laden with wishing stares A silly game like kids they played In grounds of love we heard them say Idyllic things and hints of rings, A jest at leisure to test their sway. Stupidity or crazy to fall so insanely- On the eve of warring turmoil! Blind to all And blind he’s still One bomb One flash One kill. He remembers the hospital The blackness and smell He recalls the visit, a picture And scent he know well, He felt pain and remorse The annoying bitter recourse The words he said, “I hate you” Never meant It was the pain in his head, His frustration and fear A hand and a tear He wished it would go all away, And she did… Blind he is, and blind he’ll stay. …. And the fire cracked… Through pain of eyes all bandaged tight He called in haste to impute his sight- To she who visited, but never replied, His sense did flounder when most relied. …. The wind blew harder and the fire cracked louder… On hands and knees he bends down in front of the fire to stoke the dying embers; unable to see the glow he tests the distance with a waving hand, he can feel its dying warmth. He should have stoked the fire a long time ago, such is the analogy of his life. He fumbles for a pile of papers just to the left of the fireplace and leisurely selects the uppermost from the pile, as he begins to roll it into the shape of a funnel clearly seen on the outside edge of the paper are the words; (THE TIMES Dec 24th 1949, personal column) Searching for a man called Archie A man who’s never married Last seen in summer of forty Forever as one we agreed. In hope I search for love Since we parted in gay Paris’ In silence I wait for him! In darkness he waits for me… Shame he can not see it… The flash from that bomb killed his eyesight. It was one of the first to fall on the eve of the Second World War. After a short spell in hospital he returned to England a bitter and twisted man. He was too quick to lay the blame on Melanie it wasn’t her fault, too late now. He had seen a number of specialists and each one said the same, “It’s just in your mind give it time.” He never listened, he was blind to their advice and his life darker because of it. They say non-are as blind as those that will not see for Archie how poignant these words ring true… End of Part One By UK Hero and the very Talented Caroline |
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caroline Senior Member
since 1999-08-16
Posts 1218http://members.xoom.com/belladona123/index.htm |
Very funny Mr. UKHero!!  It's not the love you fear, but the fall from the height~Edwin McCain |
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Nan
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-20
Posts 21191Cape Cod Massachusetts USA |
UK..um...OK .... I'm readin'... I'm readin'....  up to 1949 now..... |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Wonderful!  |
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Dark Angel Member Patricius
since 1999-08-04
Posts 10095 |
Terrific! What comes from the heart goes to the heart. Samuel Coleridge |
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Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
I have just found this DELIGHTFUL piece ... fragmented pieces thrice ... I want you to know that I believe it is a classic. What absolute joy to read and to sigh deeply over. Much, much pleasure .... UK Hero and Caroline ... this lovely piece did not get the read it should be enjoying .... please find a way to share it with others. It's just too, too enchanting. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ noles1@totcon.com |
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