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HINCKLEY'S VERY OWN WRITERS WORKSHOP
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THE PASS-OVER
Part one
The dreamer lay on his back in the boat, his heels resting on the edge in the cool breeze of the midsummer night. Without knowing, Richard had floated into the deeper recesses of the Ashwood forest.
Upon waking from his pleasant dream of a time gone by of knights and fair maidens of horses and chivalry, an owl's hooting echoed through the trees, and darkness had took over the sky. Grabbing the oars Richard turned the boat around and making good stride through the water, he continued for half an hour before realising that he was back where he started.
The owl hooted again with a chilling effect that shook his spine with a cold shiver slivering its way down his spine. Determined he picked up the oars once more and started off in a different direction, this time taking mental notes of the positioning of the stars to try and map his way back to the boathouse of where he had started off from earlier this afternoon.
The sun had been high in the sky and all he wanted was a break from his ailing marriage and failing business to have some time alone to think away from the pressure. Upon hearing the owl hoot again, Richard knew he was back to where he started again.
"What do I do now" He muttered to himself in a desperate voice of abandonment.
"Nothing you can do really" A deep bellowing voice hollowed from out of the darkness.
"Who are you" Richard nimbly spoke out!
"I am your dreams and I am your nightmares rolled into one! What can I do for you?"
"Well you could start by pointing me to the boathouse please! I seem to be going round and round in circles here".
"Well I am sorry but the boathouse no longer exists on this plane! I am afraid you are now on a different plane of existence".
"But what about my wife! My children! I will never see them again, do you mean I am dead?"
"I think the term we prefer to use here is in limbo it is a much more apt word I think. You have unresolved matters that need mending before you can pass over to the other side."
"Are you real matter, can I see you or touch you?"
"I am but a mirror image of you, your alter-ego of consciousness, your waking image of reality, your unknown passion of real life."
by W.J.Ridgway
And once again,
A hole is cleft with a slipping blade.
This chink:
A warm hue of Kingdom sunset,
Glows rubied mirror eyes at the suggestion:
Bad. Again.
My beads, rising to garland me
With a studded, once latent, beauty.
Now see this punctuation:
As from your world,
I draw you into mine
Impaled for your comfort
Until you find and make a trophy of this pain.
Holding it to until it falters,
suffocated under a gauzy pillow.
Though still hinting the suggestion
with a berry stained, tarty pout
Through a porcelain pink visor of life and love.
Out there,
needs a fitful cat,
Claws that beg a manicure.
Or a prickly rose bush:
pruning and a glass globe
will suffice to deny her thorns of their life
and to make this lot peaceful again.
The wings you promised, gracious Lord,
They were made of "non-sterile" steel
And yours, treading through wood and life.
But now,
the green light recedes,
Must you falter?
my stretching had been eased from this indulgent fantasy of jewels;
a Queen enthroned,
in your lap.
Who will bear it now?
Will I reach out again,
And let swim those proud jewels in their sea of life?
by S.S
Empty and sparse,
A place without soul
Finds solace in the greenhouse:
Glass and cold.
The broom is getting nearer,
The rustling fills my ears
Inscribing the death of autumn - yes, I hear
Your muffled voices:
The tabernacle has been painted over,
Peace at last.
Beard clippings and six bikes:
I still have a garage key,
Green stopped bottle on the shelf
I am coming to thee.
by S.S