Kaleidoscope
Chapter One
I will go down with this ship
No white flag
No surrender.
Dido.
Does she speak true words?
Yeah, sure she does.
How do I know?
Because I've lived my life …
I've loved,
I've been in love …
but never been loved.
And sure,
Just as Dido says,
Always will be.
The beat of – Kaleidescope
A myriad voices strumming
An uncontrollable hen party.
Raucous laughter,
Abundant happiness,
Seductive fun.
A solitary girl.
Forlorn.
Wondering whether she will ever
have a hen party …
She's pretty!
She doesn't see it!
She’s non-plussed,
She’s trying her best …
Just let go love!
Live your life!!
Sod all of ‘em!!!
Be yourself!
Do what you want to do.
Your life is what you want …
Not what your parents want.
Be thankful you live here,
not in Syria.
Be thankful you don't have
arranged marriages,
or telling people you trust
who then ‘welsh’ on you;
or have to leave the country,
or have the stomach pump,
if you're lucky!
Chapter Two
The Pumphouse throbs tonights.
Doormen busy.
Oh yeah! My fave … …
My first
My last
My everything
Barry White
Yes! Hear that?
That's you mate!
You’ll always be that to me.
There’s only one like you.
There’s no way there's two of you!
He let the smoke coil above their heads.
Bit quieter here.
On the deck. Water lapping below them.
The throbbing band now pulsating
up through their feet, reaching knees.
What would he give
to give him Monty.
To see them both together.
What would he give to know
what it's like
to be in love like Dido.
What would he give to tell that
fool down south …
Sexuality is whole.
He imagined his line …
It’s fools like you who slice
through the whole.
The apple is suddenly two.
Sexuality suddenly divided
neatly codified
one is right
one is wrong
one is natural
thus the other must be unnatural.
Let the killing begin.
Does he really have to go down with the ship?
Back inside
in the maelstrom of dance-floor, spilled beer and bodies,
I don't want to,
but I don't know what to do
he ponders to his empty glass.
Chapter Three
Hey, it’s my round.
Bloody well stay here, mate!
And he was gone
into a heaving thriving mass
blue red blue black black black …
He leaned back
the thin elbow height shelf
running the wall’s length,
the perfect anchor point.
Two standing an inch or two
spilling drinks,
dancing knockabouts;
One cupped the other’s ear
and shouted above the music.
There's a basement you know
It's a great place
Where I chill out
Where I don't have people hounding me
Yeah! That’s right. Manchester.
Where I can be myself
Where I can be normal
Where I am safe
It's a great place too …
Coffee, biscuits, good conversation too;
Or just milling about
feeling wanted,
being wanted.
It’s where I saw the film Mrs Brown
Really? Nice one, dude!
Yeah. I’ve seen other good films there too
Bel Ami
La Strada
Euro crème, like,
Prowler Boys and
Millivres too!
You should try it.
Let it all go.
Live life in the minute.
Refuse to kowtow.
The cupped hand is disarmed
Surprised at revelation
Both banged their glasses!
Come on. There’s a gap at the bar.
Quick. Go for it.
And they were gone
into a heaving thriving mass
blue red blue black black black …
Chapter Four
The train glides through the countryside,
Charlotte peers from the carriage,
Will she ever see her flight lieutenant again?
The fields race by
the speed blurring telegraph wires;
rape seed and lavender.
Earlier times, the poppy of Flanders fields.
Now it is the lavender of Avignon.
Will he be there after all this time?
Am I really walking up this track again to the Château?
Is this really the gate?
On a ladder, peacetime,
clearing the guttering
No sound. Only of sense of …
Julien turned …
Her features are as beautiful
as the day he first saw her
She saw death
She saw executions
She survived
She saved the boys but lost them in the end
She wroter their parents’ final letter`
She ran
She stuffed it through the grinding cattle truck
Eyes upon eyes
He took the letter
She screamed …
The speed of vicious Nazism
throuwing her face down in shingle and iron track
But she had the victory.
She lived.
They died.
Now, she sees her first love.
He is beautiful.
His eyes are alight
inflamed with desire.
Outwardly calm,
the muscle in his cheek
belies his inner turmoil … …
She came back for me after all.
She was ‘oh, so glad!’
he summarily executed that Quisling.
"My name is Charlotte Gray".
Chapter Five
The gun emplacement on Folkestone promenade.
An explosion of desire.
The taste of a gun.
But not sulphur.
The shimmering lights of France.
The warm night air.
His beauty,
His warmth.
His caress,
His care.
His gentleness,
His humour.
His tenderness,
His lips.
His tongue.
The smoothness of his skin.
His long blonde hair
flowing over hands.
His halcyon eyes.
For that is the only way I can describe them.
Well, okay, heavenly too.
Do we like meat?
Sure, we do.
Will we meet?
Sure we will.
When?
Tomorrow.
Come down again next Friday, Ken.
Let's have dinner again at La Scala too.
I liked it there.
You made me feel like I was special.
And I think I've not met anyone like you before!
But why are you alone?
Why haven't you been snapped up?
Why have you missed the boat, Ken?
I don't like it when you talk of Dido;
I hate it.
Look what happened the last time you did …
What?
Newcastle, that's what, mate!
Oh.
Don't ‘oh’ it out of existence, Ken!
For chrissake, stop it!
You're a life.
You're a person.
You have a purpose to fulfil
and you can't gainsay Him
.
You know that as well as I do.
But get rid of all that
f…ing religious mumbo-jumbo.
I hear you.
Maybe you’re right.
But maybe I'm fed up with His games.
No mate.
You're wrong.
He doesn't play games.
He never has and never will.
He’s enjoyed exactly what we enjoy
since time began. Period.
What?
Sex mate!
Only skewed minds would
write a load of trash
telling us the opposite.
And you’re a bloody fool
to listen to ‘em!
I know. … and you know what?
What, Ken?
I’m fast coming round!
God above!
There’s a tiny chink of light, yet!
End
1 December 2021
All Rights Reserved
© 2023 Kenneth Thomas Webb
Composed Summer 2006
First Published in Idle Thoughts An Anthology of Poetry and Prose (softback) by Spiderwize in September 2009 under a different title, and brought fully up-to-date in November 2021
Ken Webb is a writer and proofreader. His website, kennwebb.com, showcases his work as a writer, blogger and podcaster, resting on his successive careers as a police officer, progressing to a junior lawyer in succession and trusts as a Fellow of the Institute of Legal Executives, a retired officer with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, and latterly, for three years, the owner and editor of two lifestyle magazines in Liverpool.
He also just handed over a successful two year chairmanship in Gloucestershire with Cheltenham Regency Probus.
Pandemic aside, he spends his time equally between his city, Liverpool, and the county of his birth, Gloucestershire.
In this fast-paced present age, proof-reading is essential. And this skill also occasionally leads to copy-editing writers’ manuscripts for submission to publishers and also student and post graduate dissertations.
