AIRBAG

THE SHIPS by John Joy Bell

THE SHIPS For many years I’ve watched the ships a-sailing to and fro, The mighty ships, the little ships, the speedy and the slow: And many a time I’ve told myself that someday I would go Around the world that is so full of wonders. The swift and stately liners, how they run without a rest! The great three-masters, they have touched the East and told the West! The monster burden-bearers — oh, they all have plunged and pressed Around the world that is so full of wonders. The cruiser and the battleship that loom as dark as doubt, The devilish destroyer and the hateful hideous scout — These deadly things may also rush, with roar and snarl and shout, Around the world that is so full of wonders. My lord he owns a grand white yacht, most beautiful and fine, But seldom does she leave the firth lest he should fail to dine. I’d find a thousand richer feasts than his — if she were mine — Around the world that is so full of wonders. The shabby tramp that like a wedge is hammered through the seas, The little brown-sailed brigantine that traps the slightest breeze — Oh, I’d be well content to fare aboard the least of these Around the world that is so full of wonders. The things I’ve heard, the things I’ve read, the things I’ve dreamed might be, The boyish tales, the old men’s yarns, they will not pass from me. I’ve heard, I’ve read, I’ve dreamed .  .  .  . But all the time I’ve longed tosee — Around the world that is so full of wonders. So year by year I watch the ships a-sailing to and fro, The ships that come as strangers and the ships I’ve learned to know. .  .  . Folk smile to hear an old man say that some day he will go Around the world that is so full of wonders.

THE RAVEN by Edgar Allan Poe

This is a classic by 19th century American writer Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849). If you’ve never read or even heard of this poem, then I’m glad I posted it today. It’s one of those poems I find rather melodious despite it’s tragic story; the resonating rhythm and resounding rhyme,  give it a peculiar tune that reminds me of The Ships by John Joy Bell (I’ll put that up tomorrow).

It tells of a talking raven’s mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man’s slow descent into madness. The lover, often identified as being a student is lamenting the loss of his love, Lenore. Sitting on a bust of Pallas, the raven seems to further instigate his distress with its constant repetition of the word “Nevermore”. (Source: Wikipedia)

 

THE RAVEN Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “‘Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —             Only this and nothing more.”  Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —             Nameless here for evermore.  And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “‘Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; —             This it is and nothing more.”  Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you” – here I opened wide the door; —             Darkness there and nothing more.  Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” —             Merely this and nothing more.  Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore — Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—             ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”  Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —             Perched, and sat, and nothing more.  Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore — Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”             Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”  Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,             With such name as “Nevermore.”  But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”             Then the bird said “Nevermore.”  Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore — Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore             Of ‘Never – nevermore’.”  But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore             Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”  This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,             She shall press, ah, nevermore!  Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he hath sent thee Respite – respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”             Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”  “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! — Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore — Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!”             Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”  “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore — Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”             Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”  “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting — “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”             Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”  And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor             Shall be lifted – nevermore!

Picture it & Write: EYE SPY

Ermilia’s Picture it & Write.

Clutching her bag, she quickened her pace as she walked by the last street light. There was no doubt someone was following her. Perhaps a stalker or one of those weird characters who prey on women at night. She pulled the side zipper and felt around for her Mace. Why had she stayed in for that staff meeting? Everyone who could come up with an excuse had fled when the memo went around. Now there she was, afraid and alone.

She stopped suddenly and swung around to surprise her assailant, but there was no other person on the sidewalk. Puzzled, she started walking even faster than before. There wasn’t a sound to be heard except for the constant chirr of crickets. A breath of freedom filled her lungs when she saw her porch light. She walked briskly to the door and deftly unlocked it, feeling foolish for imagining all those horrible things. There was no stalker, no psycho killer, no…

“Surprise!”

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

SIX O’CLOCK

“You sure we’re heading the right way?” “Don’t argue with me, Martha. I read the map twice.” “Henry? I think I just saw a…” “Pine Woods is behind us so Abe’s Point should be dead ahead. If we stick to the path, we’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Leaves rustle close by. “Hennrrrry…” “For goodness’ sake woman. Shut up!” Growwwwwl. “Hungry again, huh? You fat cow.” Silence. “It’s a miracle! She’s quiet.” Growwwwwl! “Bear at six O’clock,” Martha whispered from behind a nearby bush. Henry turned around to face a grizzly bear. “Help,” he gasped, pee streaming down his pants.

Friday Fictioneers is a meme by Madison Woods.

Click here to know more about flash fiction.

FLY, EAGLE, FLY! – A Ghanaian Fable

When a farmer traverses the highlands and lowlands of the countryside in search of his lost calf, he returns to his village with an eagle chick.

He decides to keep the eagle among the chickens on the compound.

“The eagle is the king of the birds,” he said, “but we shall train it to be a chicken.”

So the eagle lived among the chickens, learning their ways.

One day, a friend comes over to visit the farmer…

The friend saw the bird among the chickens. “Hey! That’s not a chicken. It’s an eagle!”

The farmer smiled to him and said, “Of course it’s a chicken. Look – it walks like a chicken, it talks like a chicken, it eats like a chicken. It thinks like a chicken. Of course it’s a chicken.

Unconvinced, his friend sets out to prove to the farmer that the bird is indeed an eagle.

Fly, Eagle, Fly! is a Ghanaian fable originally told by educationist James Kwegyir Aggrey also known as “Aggrey of Africa” (October 18, 1875 – July 30, 1927). He was born during the colonial era when the greater part of modern Ghana was called the Gold Coast. Working as a pastor and educator, he toured the African continent and shared this story time and again to inspire confidence.

When Aggrey told this story, he used to end by saying,

“…don’t be content with the food of chickens! Stretch forth your wings and fly!”

At this, children would run excitedly around their playgrounds with arms outstretched like the wings of eagles.

This children’s book is an adaptation of Aggrey’s fable by Christopher Gregorowski. He wrote it for his dying daughter when he was working among the Xhosa-speaking people of Southern Africa as an Anglican Priest. He wanted it to help her understand that we are all born to be eagles that are lifted up by the might of the Spirit.

I bought a copy for my six-year-old nephew a while back, but ended up getting hooked to the story when I skimmed through it in the bookshop so I kept it for a reread to motivate myself (and yes, my nephew did get the book).

In its simplicity, the story continues to inspire me. It reminds me that I am not meant to scratch the ground and peck about like a chicken, but to soar with the rising sun to greater heights like an eagle.

Picture it & Write: REFLECTIONS

Ermilia’s Picture it & Write.

 

Amma had butterflies in her tummy even before she got out of bed. She didn’t know why, but she had a gut feeling something unusual was about to happen. What she did not expect, though, was the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Am I speaking to Amma Ansah?”

“This is she.”

“My name is Maureen, calling from Horizons. I have good news… Your mother’s lucid today.”

“What? How long?”

“A little over an hour. We wanted to be sure before calling you. Amma, these moments are rare and unpredictable so please come and spend each precious minute with her.”

“Does she remember me? Has she asked for me?”

“Yes. That’s all she’s been doing since…”

Amma hung up before the conversation stole any more time. No time to take a bath or have breakfast.  A quick change of clothes while brushing her teeth saw her to her battered Volvo in less than five minutes. Thankfully, there was little traffic on Sundays.

Twenty minutes later, she caught a glimpse of Horizons. A barrage of suppressed memories besieged her immediately. When she first moved in, Mama kept telling everyone Amma was a stranger who had kidnapped and dragged her to ‘this god-forsaken place’. The staff handled things professionally, unlike poor Amma who until barely a year ago, had never even heard of Mama’s condition. It had been embarrassing and heartbreaking at first; her mother getting hysterical every now and then, the sudden outbursts and tantrums, her forgetfulness of things and people, her confused state of mind. It all started in church a couple of years ago. They prayed for her and said she was healed. But somehow it didn’t stop. She wasn’t healed. Months of expensive medical tests led to a singular diagnosis.

“Alzheimer’s?!” Amma gasped in bewilderment at the doctor. “What’s that?”

Amma took a deep breath when she got to her mother’s door.  She wasn’t sure how this visit would go. The others had always been like her first day in grade school. Introductions, making friends afresh, trying to get this new friend to like her… Maybe this time they could catch up on all the lost time. Maybe, they could be mother and daughter again.

She took in another breath and walked in, smiling as best as she could. Mama was sitting on her bed staring at the dressing mirror, her Bible in her lap. When Amma’s shadow fell on her, she spun around quickly as if startled from a dream. She stared at Amma for a while, a blank expression on her face.

“Who are you?” Mama asked in frustration.

THE COMMENTATOR AWARD

Once again, Celestine of Reading Pleasure has nominated me for an award – The Commentator Award.

Thank you, Celestine, for the grand gesture. I am touched.

Well, as tradition demands, I have to pass on this award to 10 other bloggers (in no particular order).

So I hand over the baton to:

• Boomie Bol
• M.Selene
• Ermiliablog
• Anne Schilde
• Random Inspiration
• brainsnorts
• Miss Ayo Délé
• Reflections
• Views From Nature
• IronWoodWind

Cheers!

UPWARD BOUND

In moments cloaked by darkness bleak, when shadows shroud the things we seek. In moments ruled by hollow thought; the looming  ails ill feelings brought. We send up prayers for sunny skies and cast our hopes to a swift sunrise. When radiant rays dispel the night; when heavens send  down streaming light. The dawn that breaks with golden streams illuminates our clouded dreams. The dreams that spread out eagles’ wings  to soar in flight with rising winds.  We shed our woes on solid ground              when risen hopes are upward bound.

Friday Fictioneers is a meme by Madison Woods.

Click here to know more about flash fiction.

Picture it & Write: DANCING WITH LIGHTS

Ermilia’s Picture it & Write.

In the midst of night I call to you In song and dance And hope you come. Yet while I hope I fear the fall I may endure Without your light To guide my steps.