An old piano sits against the wall where memories remain
tucked in every time worn crevice.
The curious mob had gone onto pastures new
so fickle in their care
And yet she knew no other way to be.
This was she.
This was how it was meant to be, and
to behave any differently was impossible.
She breathed a jettison of quiet reflection
into the crisp of night.
Yes, this was how it had always been
she is the one who walks our dreams
who lives between the parting tides
of dreamscape and reality.
Some would call her Angel of the night
she leaves a celestial touch to ageing hearts
to slow them, to quieten and finally, to still
as she wanders among the halls of sleeping
haunting those who go with songs
of ancient earth and
choosing those who’ll stay with her
in trysts that last forever.
They were in no rush to die as the madness had yet to waken a mellow stillness ‘though sunshine was threatening to cut its way through the accursed bone-chilling mist.
From a distance the land appeared alive, covered as it was in a mass of mud and men all standing there, unshaven, unkempt, untidy. Such a rag-tag ruddy body and, the most unlikely army. No uniforms for them.
At their head, horses stomped the ground, impatient from their standing as she held on tight to the reins preventing the chariot wheels from spinning around their fulcrum. Eyes closed, she was listening. Heightened senses hearing every sound, every whisper, every clink and clank of weapons and men in armour she knew were waiting for them just the other side of the fog. She even heard the last leaves somewhat muted rustle as they fell to the ground in their own autumnal dying. She stifled a shudder beneath her long cloak, she must not appear weak to the men. They’d won several battles but this was no time to be smug (those subliminal messages the Gods themselves reminded) and, with the might of the Roman Empire gathering she was not gullible enough to think the ensuing battle would be an easy victory and yet… by the Gods will, what would be, would be.
After the death of her husband who’d had a treaty with Rome in AD 60-61 Boadicea (Boudica) became Queen of the Iceni tribe but in a Britain under the laws of Roman occupation, because her husband had died, this treaty became null and void. His lands and all of its peoples became the property of Rome to do with as it wished. Apparently Boadicea argued that she and her daughters were the rightful heirs but for this, she was publicly humiliated with being flogged and, her daughters raped in front of her.
This led her to raise a revolt and, uniting with other tribes, she fought the Romans and tried to drive them from British soil. She led several battles against Roman legions, even capturing the then 20 year old growing settlement of Londinium (London) burning it to the ground.
Her story became very popular during Queen Victoria’s reign and she was immortalised on Victorian pennies as Britannica.
The pictures are from the statue in London of Boadicea with her daughters in her chariot sculpted by Thomas Thornycroft I doubt if Queen Boadicea’s chariot was as grand but, who knows.
If interested you can read more about her here: Boadecia
Wolves have always been so badly maligned, hunted, killed and, mostly without good cause.
To me, they are a magnificent creature (I love most creatures) and, have always been so badly wronged by (mostly) white humans.
‘Please, please, please, please puuuleeeease! If you’re up there an’ listenin’. Winter is on its way an’ we ‘ad a ton-a-snow last night; enough for the trouble-and-strife (wife) to have to go out an’ shovel it. I promise never to go nuts again long as no-one comes an’ steals me n mine. Okayyyy?’
And there you have it… squirrels pray too 🙂
Very tongue in cheek and I’m sure the powers that be won’t mind enjoying a smile or three, goodness knows we all need them these days.
Her diamond glittered, gold shone, but that wasn’t what captured him. In one fleeting moment the fires melted away any ice he felt in his heart once he saw the spark of passion smolder in her eyes. He was oblivious to the other guests who were drinking with mindless abandon. The sky could fall silent to the ground for, in this exquisite moment nothing else mattered. There was only one person left on the planet who did and, trapped within her eyes, he gladly drowned.
It was said that the real Cleopatra was not a beautiful woman and, all too aware of this, it’s said she used whatever means she had at her disposal to win her way for Egypt, mostly using her sexuality. She had to have something special because both Julius Caesar and the Roman Politician and General Mark Antony fell in love with her. To protect Egypt she made an alliance with Caesar and when he was murdered by Brutus and the others on the Ides of March After a couple of years passed, she then met and fell in love with Mark Antony, but this passionate love between them was doomed.
A bit like an ancient version of Romeo and Juliet, I’ve always enjoyed the romance of this very famous love story. There’s several movies about it but the one I love most is the version I chose the pictures from Cleopatra made in 1963 with Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.
I think it’s because of their own real-life love story.
They were each already married to different people, but working together on this movie and because it took so long to make, the pair fell in love. Unable to stop themselves they soon divorced their (then) partners, and married. They divorced after 10 years only to re-marry again after a year apart and divorced once more after only a year of their second marriage. Richard Burton’s heavy drinking played a huge part in their marriages breaking up. He bought her the (then) world’s biggest diamond. They were true soul mates and Elizabeth Taylor is said to have remarked after his passing that if he had lived they would probably have married again. He was the true love of her life and, I suspect, she was his.
Passing strangers in the street
I catch their eye and share eternity
in that instantaneous connection.
Somehow I can feel them
behind the facade.
I’m altogether fascinated and scared
because I too, know the fear
they do not reveal.
Well heeled or, homeless
each give out the same aura.
A wave of despair
an isolated sadness.
Amid a sea of souls
am I the odd one out
as I try to find my own way
through a maze of hearts
yet show smiles to the world
they know and believe is
There are often times when I pass strangers in the street, both well-to-do or, downtrodden (there’s no distinction) that I have a sudden overwhelming rush of their emotions wash right over me. Happy or sad, the sense of their emotions is truly overwhelming. It’s as if in an instant flash I can feel their deepest sadness or fear, because I feel it too.
Crazy I know, but some friends tell me it is empathy. I just accept that it is what it is and, as I feel it coming to me from them I try to catch their eye and maybe give back a positive light in my thoughts as I do.
This expression came about from women needing to use public toilets. Seems, men never had to pay but women did! They had to put an old pre-decimal penny into a lock on the door and slide a handle across to open it. Hence the expression ‘to spend a penny’ meaning: I have to go pee.
As I remarked about this to Pat Hatt the other day in a comment on his blog, I thought I’d share it here and add a couple of pics too.
It doesn’t seem right that men didn’t have to pay to go, but apparently that’s how it was back then.
Aged 17 once I began travelling a lot of the country because of being in the army. I especially remember the Ladies toilets at Brighton Railway Station. There was always a woman attendant on duty night and day. The big brass locks were still in use and the big old style penny too. The ladies loos was a huge place where unaccompanied women could sit in comparative safety (and comfort) in armchairs or couches while waiting for their train departure times or, for one to arrive. Spending a Penny facts.
A little bit of useless information because I like knowing where quirky expressions have their origin.