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Excerpts from In the Shadow of Amiantus
Foreword
Hello. I don’t know you from Adam, but thanks for opening the cover, and getting this far. Obviously something must have tempted you to peek within, before simply putting this book to the side, and moving onto something else. If I was to put myself in your shoes right now, I’d imagine that you would be asking a few questions, which may include, is it interesting enough? Will I enjoy it? Is it worth the price? Will it be an easy
read? I would obviously answer yes to all those questions, because I wrote the stuff. But perhaps that still wouldn’t convince you, and why should you believe what I tell you anyway?
If you enjoy poetry that is unpretentious, short stories which make you think, or biographical episodes which will make you laugh and cry, then you will enjoy the book.
If you have ever been in a position, of having to stand by and watch, whilst the person you love most, dies from an incurable and painful cancer, then you will understand some of the feelings expressed. Even if you have not experienced something as dreadful as this, then it will give you an insight on the stuff, sometimes both bizarre and banal, that goes through the helpless watchers mind when bad things happen to good people. It’s at times like this when sensible thinking doesn’t matter a toss, and when your perspective on what is important in life takes on a new meaning.
But before you finally make up your mind....................
“I told you I was unique”
She said, as he sat there, open mouthed, looking at
her.
Her eyes touched his soul.
Then he asked the man with glasses and grey hair,
“Would you say that again?”
The man repeated it.
It still didn’t sink in.
The room had once been painted white, but now the
walls were sort of dirty yellow. The air smelled of
antiseptic. There was silence.
She said;
“Sounds like a Greek holiday resort,” then asking
the question,
“Do I look like a pipe lagger?”
Welcome to “In the Shadow of Amiantus” – a selection of contemporary poetry, short stories and early life episodes from my formative years.
Most of the poetry actually contains words and phrases that rhyme. Although there are a few attempts at free verse, there is nothing complicated. I do not write to impress, but in the hope that you will enjoy the words used, and the stories told, especially when I am being disrespectful to those in authority, and those who annoy me.
The order of the book is important, but not vital. You could certainly jump in and out as you please, but believe me when I say that it does flow, from Part 1 through to Part 3, where some of the poetry is expanded upon, and perhaps explained fuller. I love it when I can understand a poem.
Part 1
A compilation of 40 poems, entitled ParkBench Diaries.
Musings from hours spent watching the world from a park bench. I try to bring to life some of the more interesting characters and places I have experienced and read about. The people written about are real people. Some are still alive. There is humour and sadness, history and nature, (including some fruit), courage and selfishness, and lots of other stuff. The poems are a truly personal journey, which will also provide an
insight into how I think.
Where appropriate, there is a short note to a poem, simply to provide some context and background. Additional explanatory notes to poems are also included, at the end of this section.
Part 2
Jugglers Storybox. 10 short stories, based on true characters and events.
Part 3
And then there was me. This tells you about my early life, what made me as a person, certainly no fiction here. It is about a time of innocence, brought to a sudden end when I was 15 years old. It should make you laugh a bit, and perhaps shed a tear or two. And here we are again, with history repeating itself, some 40 years later.
So it’s over to you........................
Excerpt from Part 1 – The Poem - The Moon is Weeping in Another Room
Darkness
The light is gone
My candle waits alone
The moon lights up another room
Waiting
Silence
Music is dead
IPOD beside the bed
Where you left it crying...alone
No charge
Lonely
No gentle touch
My senses play mind games
The moon waits in another room
For me
Silence
No pottering
No singing anymore
The moon sings in another room
For me
Excerpt from Part 2 – The Short Story entitled Mercy
Gary tried to turn the wheel; the Sea Dwarf struggled against the greyness foaming around her. Her bow moved up, almost endlessly into the greyness above, then dipped downwards violently. Gary cursed out loud. Kate was being sick, throwing up all over the small deck toward the stern. Tom rushed forward to help Gary with the wheel, it seemed stuck fast. Then it turned violently and caught Tom’s arm, knocking him back onto the deck floor. He yelled in pain. The foam raged over on top of them all, soaking them to thecore. It was so cold.
The greyness surrounded them, howling, pouring her wrath. The sky moved faster and turned to black. But they heard the rattling spluttering noise all the same. And they knew instinctively what was happening to the Sea Dwarf. “Try the radio” screamed Maggie. “Try the radio”, she screamed again. Gary pushed the button, handset in hand, it crackled…..”mayday, mayday, mayday….we need help. This is the Sea Dwarf, we can see the point ahead of us now, mayday….help us please, God help us, engine...!” That was as far as he got. The thing crackled again, weakly, and then fell silent. Gary tried again, nothing. The radio was dead. “The gun, the flare gun,” yelled Gary. This was lodged just inside the roof of the small cabin. Maggie fell forward, as the Sea Dwarf spun and dived again. She grabbed the gun, raised it above her head, and fired it…..shwooosh….the light from the gun soared upwards and upwards into the blackness.
Excerpt from Part 3 - And then there was me – Chapter 3 Penances
When I was 7, I became an altar boy. I think this was expected of me. At Craiglockhart convent, in Edinburgh, I was taught Latin prayers by the nuns. Initially I was given instruction through a metal grill, which was covered by a purple cloth. I was not allowed to see the nuns who were teaching me, but I knew them as Sister Mary and Sister Margaret. I saw their hands though, as they passed the prayer books through to me. They would give me texts to read and I would recite back, in Latin, what I heard them say.
I didn’t really know what the words meant, but they sounded beautiful. All I could see of the nuns was their outlines behind the grill. They both sounded young, and their hands looked young. But then Mother Mary Power, who I thought was about 100, taught me
Mass Latin, and how to serve at the Tridentine Mass. She showed me how to pour the water and wine for the priest, how to put the incense into the thurible, where to put the cruet set, and all the other things I had to do to serve at Mass. I was a whiz in this, and would perform regularly and faultlessly every Sunday morning, at 7am, in front of about 100 Nuns. I could easily recite the Pater Noster, Gloria, Credo, and all the other prayers. I could deliver the water and wine, and the incense, along with lots of other stuff, well before I was 8. I was saintly looking in my bright white surplus and black cassock. I even had a holy smile, and saintly looking haircut.
David W Wood © 2009 all rights reserved
Paperback: 210 pages
Publisher: CheckPoint Press (October 31, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1906628130
ISBN-13: 978-1906628130
Product Dimensions: 9 x 6 x 0.5 inches
Ordinary Lives -
Extraordinary Circumstances