Today I thought I would explore the deep issues around a sadly underdeveloped ego. I think we are all products of our upbringing and the polishing and influence of those around us as we grow up. I came up with this interesting character and wrote this Villanelle poem. Look out for the story later.
I was curious to find an unexpected visitor on my doorstep when I returned from work today. I encountered a man who looked about ten years older than me leaning up against the doorpost. He had long fair hair, with striking green eyes. His eyes were noticeable as he had a permanent squint and he wore a pair of rather large plastic spectacles. He was over six feet tall and towered above me as he gave an impudent grin and said, ‘Hi! Pleased to meet you. I’m Damion, your long lost step brother.’
These words were delivered with a broad West Country accent. I was taken aback and I looked up at him and replied, ‘Are you mad? I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Get out of here before I call the police and have you removed.’
‘Hear me out and I will explain, I promise you we’re brothers, we have the same father, George Alexander. I was born in Somerset, where our father had set up a second home with my mother. I was the product of that relationship.’ This was said with the same impertinent grin.
I responded angrily, ‘You’re obviously mistaken Damion! You look nothing like me and I don’t believe a word of your story. Now get out of here before I call the police.’
He nonchalantly grinned and pulled a large envelope from his pocket and withdrew some photographs.
We are surrounded by words and phrases that neatly and conveniently mask or cover-up something much more deep seated, challenging or complex; real issues and fundamental concerns, that become more palatable, easier to distance ourselves from and ignore or live with, when parcelled up in a neat, sometimes glib or euphemistic, word or phrase.
As I have almost completed ten years of living as a septuagenarian and I see the ominous deadline when I will officially become an octogenarian approaching, I feel I can safely sit and ponder on words that seem to be particularly significant.
EQUILIBRIUM
Welcome aboard the good ship Equilibrium
Often tossed and shattered by the storms of life,
Battered by waves of discontent or sadness.
Sometimes sailing fair in a calm sweet wind
Sailing smoothly through life on an even keel.
Guided by warm breezes with a steady wheel.
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
–
The delicate balance of the Equilibrium
Can be altered or adjusted to reflect a whim.
Remove a comforter from a baby’s mouth
Equilibrium is instantly noisily shattered.
With howls and tears and eyes that are wet
The comfort-zone, considerably upset.
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
–
Does the Equilibrium adjust as the body ages
Altering, reshaping to take in new parameters?
When we are young we fall deeply in love
The mind is soaring, love is all that matters.
With hearts beating faster and eyes dilated
The world has more colour, almost recreated.
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
–
How do you measure Equilibrium, always changing?
In youth Equilibrium is dynamic, always rearranging.
A senior citizen, a new direction, becoming a retiree.
The time when Equilibrium becomes shaky and weak
With many falls, hands shaking and joints that ache.
For today’s prompt, write a last poem. The poem itself does not (and hopefully is not) have to be THE last poem ever written. But it could be the last poem for a person, or the a poem about the last day of school or work. Heck, it could be a poem about eating the last piece of pie (or discovering someone beat you to it).
LAST WORDS
(A last poem)
The funeral was a formal venerable occasion,
People attended from near and far.
A well-respected member of our local community
Had passed onward to a shining star.
~
The family gathered to hear a trusted lawyer
Solemnly intone the final wishes
Of the late mysterious solitary Ebeneezer
A man who kept secrets of his wealth and riches.
~
A confirmed bachelor all his lifelong days
As the eldest of nine, brothers and sisters
His spread-out family with many nephews and nieces
Hearing these last words provoked many shocked whispers.
~
‘I leave my entire fortune to the member of my family
Hereditary roots are important to some, as they frantically haunt online heritage sites avidly searching for people with the slightest tenuous link to a version of their family name. Seeking perhaps, long lost connections to the aristocratic families of the distant past. An obvious linkage to a wealthy forgotten branch of their family with the chances of a long lost inheritance.
Personally I prefer to forget the past and let sleeping dogs remain fast asleep in the pages of tenuous rumour and mystery. I certainly understand the view and outlook of my imaginary friend Henry in this poem.
This is a response to a writing prompt provided by WordPress.
PROMPT ~ Memories for sale
On a weekend road trip, far away from home, you stumble upon a garage sale in a neighborhood you’re passing through. Astonished, you find an object among the belong- ings for sale that you recognize. Tell us about it.
Image courtesy of etsy.com
MEMORIES FOR SALE
by John Yeo
How much value could I place on a distant memory?
It shocked me to the core to find your favourite cloak
I knew at once it had been your favourite accessory.
To find it for sale here brought an emotional reverie.
~
To discover this treasure brought a lump to my throat
How much value could I place on a distant memory?
A world away from your home roots it was rudimentary
The likelihood of misidentification was sadly remote.
~
I recognised it at once as your favourite accessory.
All those years ago my life took a different trajectory
My past clouded swiftly behind a veil of smoke.
How much value could I place on a distant memory?
~
I left it where the memories lie in the past to soak
I knew at once it was your favourite accessory.
The feel of soft purple mohair still affected me.
How much value could I place on a distant memory?
~
The price of lost memories is immeasurably costly.
I walked away fast leaving the past with a finality
Allowing heartfelt memories to die yet evoke,
I knew at once it had been your favourite accessory.
My photograph shows some of the remaining blooms on our Camelia shrub in the foreground. This has been a wonderful year for this shrub, with a dazzling, continuous array of beautiful blooms. It is unusual to see blooms remaining on the branches at this time of the year. In the background, looking exquisite, is one of our two Tree Peony shrubs. These are in flower a little later than usual but happily just as brilliant and luxurious as ever. Fronted by some Forget-me-nots and bright yellow Wallflowers.
I was busy mowing our lawn this afternoon and I was privileged to have this chirpy little Robin as a companion.
DAMION
johnandmargaret1607 