Unmoved

She sat, head bent,

In her old, grey chair,

The blinds were pulled and drawn,

The shadows caught

In the gathering gloom,

But she moved not at all;

Her husband, stood by the old oak door

He’d cleared his throat to speak,

‘You wanted to see me, then,’ he said,

A pallor upon his cheek.

 

She knew, he thought,

She knew full well

His cheating, shiftless ways,

He’d married her more for her money

Than for her wit, her charm or grace.

She’d warned him once

She’d warned him twice,

She’d said that he made her sick,

Now he was the one who was feeling ill

As she still refused to speak.

 

‘I ’spect you want

Me gone,’ he said,

And waited for some response,

She sat, head bent in her favourite chair,

As he stood there, like a dunce.

‘I need some money,

A thousand pounds,

Will get me out of a fix.’

The way she sat, and stared at the floor

Meant: ‘No, I’ll give you nix.’

 

He mopped his forehead

With trembling hands,

The sharks were closing in,

If she didn’t come to his rescue, well,

He’d seen what they’d do to him…

‘I beg you, think

Of your own good name,’

But she wasn’t listening then,

Her face was grim, she stared at the floor,

With nothing left for him.

 

He went to a drawer

And took a gun,

Then held it up to his head,

‘I’d never have thought you could be so cruel

To the man who shares your bed.’

The air grew chill

In the silent room

As he let out a plaintive cry,

The shot rang out, but she didn’t move

As he fell to the floor, and died.

 

The doctor came,

And the police, of course,

But the wife still sat and stared,

The husband lay on the bloodstained rug

As if she’d never cared.

‘It’s very odd,’

Said the sergeant then,

But the Doctor began to laugh,

‘He’s only been dead for an hour,’ he said,

‘She’s been dead for an hour and a half.’

 

David Lewis Paget

While I Write and Breathe…

Every time

I hold this pen

I feel some moving spirit stir,

Like mist in distant valleys, pouring

Down from Snowdon’s Druid lair.

 

Down along

The deep Welsh valleys,

Through the blood of ancient cells,

Seeking, ever seeking knowledge,

Stored within the Book of Kells.    

 

Late at night

I well remember

You, hunched at your crystal ball,

Gazing ever deep at shadows,

Haunting you, from times before.

 

Born from out

The Mabinogi,

Steeped in myth and songs unsung,

Caught your whispered Celtic tales from

Taliesin’s silvered tongue.

 

Once you rose

In Aberavon,

Building fires before the dawn,

You, long weaned on dragon’s milk

Could spell each witch, or evil-born.

 

When you grew

They travelled with you,

Dreams and myths and second sight,

Gypsies turned and crossed themselves

When meeting you at past-midnight.

 

You, who taught me

How to scribe

The signs and portents of our fate,

I hold the pen, you guide my hand

And pen the words I dissipate.

 

Though you’ve gone

To roam the valleys,

Haunt the chalets of your kin,

I see you stare from out the crystal,

Every time my gaze stares in.

 

Mother, you are

Old and weathered,

Long gone from this mortal shore,

Still your blood revives my palate,

Paints your colours at my core.

 

Paints your colours,

Chants your passions

Traces all your patterns here,

You will never be forgotten

While I write and breathe, my dear!

 

David Lewis Paget

Would He Even Know Me Now?

The past is full of shades and shapes

Of people, come and gone,

‘Whatever happened to so and so,’

We say, when the mood is on;

But closer still, our parents live

In the warmth of our hearts and minds,

And my father often returns to me

To haunt my quiet times.

 

How do you deal with a love so deep

That it tears your life apart?

The day that he left, he took a piece

Of my ever caring heart,

He died, and so did I that day,

But I couldn’t even cry,

A loss so great to a fickle fate -

I wept, though my eyes were dry.

 

Though that was twenty years ago

I remember him, every way,

He’ll always be just the way he was

On that final, desperate day;

But I have changed, I’m older now

And life has never been kind,

The years have indelibly traced their path

On my face, my body and mind.

 

My father knew me way back when,

A child, a teen, young man,

I hovered around the forty mark

When he left in the Lord’s great plan;

But one thing worries my troubled mind

And it haunts my thoughts somehow,

If we were to pass on the street today

Would he even know me now?

 

David Lewis Paget

You Were Only Talking…

It’s four o’clock in the morning,

No sleep for me this night,

I sit on the cold verandah,

And watch for a chink of light;

The wind howls round about me

The moon’s not raised its head,

And you are out there walking,

Walking,

Walking,

And you are out there walking,

When you should have been in bed!

 

I’m shivering in the darkness,

It’s colder than the crypt,

The rain that passed right over

Left puddles, where it dripped

My mind sets off to wonder

Why life should be so grim…

You said that you were talking,

Talking,

Talking,

That you were only talking

When I saw you there with him.

 

I questioned you on Monday,

I questioned you, and then,

You said that he was funny,

You’d talk with him again.

I said I didn’t like it,

It wasn’t right somehow,

But you just sat there sulking

Sulking

Sulking

You sat and faced me sulking

With a crease across your brow.

 

You left the house at seven,

You said: ‘I won’t be late!’

You had to do some shopping

And be with your sister, Kate;

But when I phoned your sister

She said there was no trace,

And now the dawn is breaking

Breaking

Breaking

And now the dawn is breaking

Across my tear-lined face.

 

A sudden light at the corner,

I see he’s brought you back,

Then one last kiss of the morning

That turns my vision black,

For I am sat in the darkness

Like a statue, frozen, stone,

With a kitchen knife by the awning,

Awning

Awning,

And I think you’ll still be yawning

When I drive the handle home.

 

David Lewis Paget

Woman

Woman, Oh Woman,

Why do you try me,

Why do you shake me,

Break me

Deny me

When all that you do

Is deride and defy me?

 

Once we were young

And you painted your faces,

Pierced your tongues

And silk-stockinged your traces;

Wafted the scent of despair

And seduction,

Coloured your lips with

A hint of corruption,

Taunted and teased with your hips

As they swayed it,

Aimed at my reason;

Dismayed and waylaid it.

 

I was bemused

By your willful distraction,

Caught in your spell

And the well of attraction,

Courted and charmed

As you played ‘hard to get me’,

Turned my face from you

As much as you’d let me,

Filled you with praises

Then watched you cuckold me,

Took to another

So she could just hold me.

 

Year followed year

And your scent, it still lingers,

Once I stood tall and strong,

Now I’m all fingers,

Love came and went until

I was but sated,

Everything failed

Then you came to me, naked,

Now in the twilight

We look on and wonder   

Where are the ties that bind?

All torn asunder!

 

Woman, oh Woman,

Why do you sigh me,

Why do you shake me

Break me

And cry me

When all that you want is

To lie here beside me?

 

David Lewis Paget

Winter Comes…

Where once the spring

Shone in our faces,

Tugged at our heart-strings

Danced at our traces,

Now there are chills,

Portents inside us,

Shadows from far-off hills

Now walk beside us.

 

Love came and went,

Followed its calling,

Left us to rue the chance-glance

Of each falling,

Tears followed laughter,

Sadness brought pain,

Love flowed down gutters

With every spring rain.

 

What of the children

Laughing beside us?

Spring turned to summer

And quickly denied us;

Scorched our intentions

And scratched all our itches;

Where are the children now?

Hedgerows and ditches!

 

So much for summer, one

Long dissipation,

Autumn leaves spiral

And pile desolation,

Deep in our hearts those old

Tears are still falling,

Dark clouds are gathering

As winter comes calling.

 

David Lewis Paget