Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

When I was born I crighed. I didn’t know how to spell. When I went to school the big bang was a twinkle in my teacher’s eye. Eternity like the sun would last forever. Electrons and other stuff we couldn’t see didn’t exist except in pictures and never in two places at once especially not in far Australia. A boson was a misspelled shipmate not a particle darkly hidden. Homo Saps was the apex of creation, the cleverest creature on the planet yet. When I went to work I sighed. It made me feel unwell. The humans were buried in computers while tooled-up machines corrected and consumed the Earth by purpose and mistake. Back home, I watch TV. Damn! Eternity no longer means forever. Do we lack the will to save all from destruction, the dumbest creature on the planet yet?

Oh, there you are!   I have been waiting for you.   I thought you’d never return. But, at last, you are here again and I am pleased. When you are gone, I cannot answer their questions.   I don’t know where I am.   I hardly know what to do. You bring me to life.     I miss you when you’re not here.     Have you brought everything back with you?   All of the scenes, the images and the colours.   All of the sounds, of voices and music and laughter.   Yes, the sounds of laughter.   Have you brought all of the feelings back?   The good ones, I mean.   You can leave the bad feelings behind, if you want to – leave them in the place you go to when you’re not here.   But I hope you have brought the warm, happy, contented feelings back.   Please say you have. Let me look at what you have brought to me. Let me see those summer holidays, way back.   The walks with my dad along the sea front to fetch the morning paper, listening to his “Good Morning”s to everyone along the way

(See post of 18 th January 2016 for Part one) Gilou was more than familiar with the dangers of being seized from the streets. Maybe he’d developed a sixth sense, giving him that split second warning. The alley was dark and puddled. He could feel the water seeping through his badly-worn leather boots, hear the scuttling of rodents and smell the night soil, but he stood stock still, breathing as lightly as he could. Something brushed against his knee and it was all he could do to stifle a cry. Moving his hand gingerly down his leg he traced the outline. Of course – it was the Englishman’s dog, another with a sixth sense. They followed the alley deeper into the darkness. A candle stood in a window, illuminating a small room, poorly furnished, a young woman holding a baby wrapped in a dirty shawl. Gilou moved silently past the window, the stench in his nostrils becoming harder to bear, the dog staying close at heel. He moved cautiously as the alley opened into a narrow st

  We sing to you Our little ones As you hang from the trees Cocooned in slings.   We sing to you Our precious babies As we plant the seeds Of the paddy fields. We take it in turns To send melodious rhythms Across the land and Into your tiny ears.   Our lullabies soothe you And let us work at dusk Safe in the knowledge That you are content.   We send ancient vibrations As old as time Energy medicine to Calm and heal.   Our spiritual sound waves Relax and comfort you Lulling you to sleep While we bend and toil.   Meditative tones nourish you And connect our souls As we plant the seeds Of a lifetime of loving. This poem was inspired by a piece in the Huddersfield Examiner (12th January 2016) 'Cultural conference to help businesses' which mentioned the work of Manasamitra, a Dewsbury based arts, dance and musical organisation.  Manasamitra Ar