Nav Logan's Blog, page 22
January 25, 2015
The Awakening
13th December
I lost my virginity today.
I hope this doesn’t mean that I’m pregnant now.
I should have paid more attention in the sex education classes, but Miss McWilliams sultry Donegal accent was such a distraction, it was hard to take it in. It was a lot more complicated than when Mommy tried to explain it. There wasn’t any birds or bees at all.
My dreams had been filled by the sounds of Miss McWilliams, her lavender scent, and her soft hand as it brushed against my own.
Suddenly, I’d woken up with a warm glow in my pyjamas.
I lost my virginity today.
I hope this doesn’t mean that I’m pregnant now.
I should have paid more attention in the sex education classes, but Miss McWilliams sultry Donegal accent was such a distraction, it was hard to take it in. It was a lot more complicated than when Mommy tried to explain it. There wasn’t any birds or bees at all.
My dreams had been filled by the sounds of Miss McWilliams, her lavender scent, and her soft hand as it brushed against my own.
Suddenly, I’d woken up with a warm glow in my pyjamas.
January 21, 2015
Summer Storms
The sun blazed intensely in the sky, making the heat so oppressive that we would scuttle into the shade and lie like a pool of vomit, all wet and sticky. It was too hot to move, too hot to think, almost too hot to breathe.
Finally, the storm would erupt, with thunder that would shake the very house. It would build and get closer, as we hid in one of the bedrooms and counted the seconds between the loud crashes of thunder and the awesome flashes of lightning.
The braver children would stand by the window and watch the dark clouds approach. I especially loved the patterns when the lightning streaked. It was like a daytime fireworks display.
Eventually, the time between the house shaking and the flashes of lightning came so close together that we knew that the storm was directly overhead. Even the brave ones hid then, such was the cacophony of noise as the God of Thunder roared his wrath down at us.
Hearts beat like humming birds, eyes wide with fright, our breaths held as we waited to see if he would pass us by, or tear the house apart in his anger.
And then he would slip noisily away, to terrorise other small children, other household pets.
In his wake, we would find relief from the summer heat. The warm rains would come and soak the parched concrete, running into the cracks in the burned yellowed ground that had once been our garden before the hose ban had been put into place.
We would run outside and squeal with delight, getting soaked, but caring not. The oppressive atmosphere would vanish, at least for a few days, and we would go out during the summer days and play again. Our arms and backs would burn like lobsters, and then we would start the slow tedious shedding process, but we didn’t mind the smell of calamine lotion too much. It was just good to be able to go outside again, to ride our bikes or kick around a ball.
On the news, they talked about the coming of a new ice age, and the doom of the end of the world, but we were just glad that the storm had come.
Finally, the storm would erupt, with thunder that would shake the very house. It would build and get closer, as we hid in one of the bedrooms and counted the seconds between the loud crashes of thunder and the awesome flashes of lightning.
The braver children would stand by the window and watch the dark clouds approach. I especially loved the patterns when the lightning streaked. It was like a daytime fireworks display.
Eventually, the time between the house shaking and the flashes of lightning came so close together that we knew that the storm was directly overhead. Even the brave ones hid then, such was the cacophony of noise as the God of Thunder roared his wrath down at us.
Hearts beat like humming birds, eyes wide with fright, our breaths held as we waited to see if he would pass us by, or tear the house apart in his anger.
And then he would slip noisily away, to terrorise other small children, other household pets.
In his wake, we would find relief from the summer heat. The warm rains would come and soak the parched concrete, running into the cracks in the burned yellowed ground that had once been our garden before the hose ban had been put into place.
We would run outside and squeal with delight, getting soaked, but caring not. The oppressive atmosphere would vanish, at least for a few days, and we would go out during the summer days and play again. Our arms and backs would burn like lobsters, and then we would start the slow tedious shedding process, but we didn’t mind the smell of calamine lotion too much. It was just good to be able to go outside again, to ride our bikes or kick around a ball.
On the news, they talked about the coming of a new ice age, and the doom of the end of the world, but we were just glad that the storm had come.
January 20, 2015
Carousel Madness
Around and around, up and down.
Their manes flying in the still air.
Screams of joy as riders take their turns,
Squealing with delight as the horses quicken their pace,
To the sound of the maniacal mechanical organ grinder.
Wooden hearts in wooden chests.
Carved out saddles, worn with use.
Golden swirling spires ascend to the heavens,
Impales in horse flesh,
Holding the gallopers in place,
Lest they try to escape.
Hand painted eyes gaze longingly at the grass beyond the fairground.
Imprisoned in the bright flashing lights.
Their mad gallop ends, if only for a moment,
And children climb down,
Leaving sticky, candyfloss handprints on the worn-out leather reins.
Others quickly take their place and the headlong race begins again …
And again…
Until bedtime calls the latecomers.
Finally, the wooden horses can stop their race.
One day,
There will be no more children,
Queuing eagerly for their turn.
No more races yet to run.
And the horses will finally be put out to grass.
They dream of a happy hunting ground,
Where children never go,
Where the wind blows the grass like an ocean,
Wave upon wave.
Sadly,
Their fate is the knackers yard,
Just like the other horses,
Or left to rot in some sad warehouse,
Waiting to be dismantled,
But nobody had the heart to complete the job,
And put them out of their misery.
Their manes flying in the still air.
Screams of joy as riders take their turns,
Squealing with delight as the horses quicken their pace,
To the sound of the maniacal mechanical organ grinder.
Wooden hearts in wooden chests.
Carved out saddles, worn with use.
Golden swirling spires ascend to the heavens,
Impales in horse flesh,
Holding the gallopers in place,
Lest they try to escape.
Hand painted eyes gaze longingly at the grass beyond the fairground.
Imprisoned in the bright flashing lights.
Their mad gallop ends, if only for a moment,
And children climb down,
Leaving sticky, candyfloss handprints on the worn-out leather reins.
Others quickly take their place and the headlong race begins again …
And again…
Until bedtime calls the latecomers.
Finally, the wooden horses can stop their race.
One day,
There will be no more children,
Queuing eagerly for their turn.
No more races yet to run.
And the horses will finally be put out to grass.
They dream of a happy hunting ground,
Where children never go,
Where the wind blows the grass like an ocean,
Wave upon wave.
Sadly,
Their fate is the knackers yard,
Just like the other horses,
Or left to rot in some sad warehouse,
Waiting to be dismantled,
But nobody had the heart to complete the job,
And put them out of their misery.
January 15, 2015
The Crossing
It’s strange how a moment can change everything. One minute you’re no one, a rookie on his first week on the job, and then your life changes.
It was only by chance that I even had my gear with me at the time to record the incident for posterity. I couldn’t believe my eyes at first and nearly missed my shot. Boy, I’d never have lived that down!
Luckily, the joint was wearing off with the rush of adrenalin.
Whipping off the lens cap, I took the shot as they walked out of Abbey Studios and strolled across the road.
It was only by chance that I even had my gear with me at the time to record the incident for posterity. I couldn’t believe my eyes at first and nearly missed my shot. Boy, I’d never have lived that down!
Luckily, the joint was wearing off with the rush of adrenalin.
Whipping off the lens cap, I took the shot as they walked out of Abbey Studios and strolled across the road.
January 14, 2015
Starting Afresh
This is dedicated to Rick Haynes, who inspired me with a wonderful piece of prose,
Starting Afresh
Today is a new day and the future beckons. The birds declare the beauty of the morning and banish yesterday’s sorrows. .. and that's exactly what Gloria Huntingford decided to do ... well at least after two boxes of Kleenex, a large tub of Ben and Jerry's, and a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
The very next morning; once she'd removed the burned memories of her previous lover, she decided to put her past life behind her and start afresh.
When the police burst into her flat with a warrant for her arrest, her past life came back to haunt her
Starting Afresh
Today is a new day and the future beckons. The birds declare the beauty of the morning and banish yesterday’s sorrows. .. and that's exactly what Gloria Huntingford decided to do ... well at least after two boxes of Kleenex, a large tub of Ben and Jerry's, and a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
The very next morning; once she'd removed the burned memories of her previous lover, she decided to put her past life behind her and start afresh.
When the police burst into her flat with a warrant for her arrest, her past life came back to haunt her
January 13, 2015
Living in his shadows
Sometimes, the one who shouts the loudest is really the one who loses the argument....
Living In His Shadows
He was big, strong and cast a long shadow on the wall, while she silently endured her life in his shadow, as if browbeaten into submission. His voice was always the loudest, his opinions, the ones to be taken seriously.
For years they co-habited, side by side; her constantly living within his shadows, letting him take the lion’s share of everything.
Eventually the day came when all hell broke loose, a storm of epic proportions.
The oak failed to bend to the massive winds and shattered into pieces, while the gentle willow bent to the gusts and survived the hurricane.
Living In His Shadows
He was big, strong and cast a long shadow on the wall, while she silently endured her life in his shadow, as if browbeaten into submission. His voice was always the loudest, his opinions, the ones to be taken seriously.
For years they co-habited, side by side; her constantly living within his shadows, letting him take the lion’s share of everything.
Eventually the day came when all hell broke loose, a storm of epic proportions.
The oak failed to bend to the massive winds and shattered into pieces, while the gentle willow bent to the gusts and survived the hurricane.
January 12, 2015
Warm Up Stretches
The plan is to stop lounging about and get into shape for the New Year. Simple. All I need to do is focus on the end goal.
Yep, got that.
Next step. Don’t handle anything too big until you’ve properly prepared. Train to reach your goal. Start with something small and work your way towads the BIG ONE!
Keeping all this advice in mind, I plan ahead.
Week One: Write a drabble.
Week Two: Write Two Drabbles and maybe fit a poem in, if I don’t ache too much.
Week Three. A Short Story.
Finally, I’ll begin on Chapter One.
Yep, got that.
Next step. Don’t handle anything too big until you’ve properly prepared. Train to reach your goal. Start with something small and work your way towads the BIG ONE!
Keeping all this advice in mind, I plan ahead.
Week One: Write a drabble.
Week Two: Write Two Drabbles and maybe fit a poem in, if I don’t ache too much.
Week Three. A Short Story.
Finally, I’ll begin on Chapter One.
January 10, 2015
Love’s Bitter Rejection
She watched him pass every day, and dreamed of being held in his strong arms, his lips pressing against her own. She’d tried everything to catch his attention. She had worn the most fashionable outfits. She’d even worn a sexy baby-doll nightie, but he never noticed her.
He walked past as if she wasn’t there.
Was she really that ugly?
She’d read and re-read the fashion magazines that were left out for clients. She’d followed all of their helpful tips on how to win over a man, but nothing seemed to work.
Each night, the manikin wept herself to sleep.
He walked past as if she wasn’t there.
Was she really that ugly?
She’d read and re-read the fashion magazines that were left out for clients. She’d followed all of their helpful tips on how to win over a man, but nothing seemed to work.
Each night, the manikin wept herself to sleep.
January 9, 2015
The Earthquake
I was lounging in the pool when the tremors began. At first I thought nothing off it, but they became more powerful with each passing moment and before I knew it, the waters of my pool drained away.
I started to panic, clinging desperately on as my world shook violently. I was being sucked down into the abyss and fighting a losing battle against the forces of nature.
By now, the shockwaves were more frequent, like a storm getting closer.
Immense steel jaws clamped onto my head and dragged me unwillingly into the light. Screaming in terror, I was born.
I started to panic, clinging desperately on as my world shook violently. I was being sucked down into the abyss and fighting a losing battle against the forces of nature.
By now, the shockwaves were more frequent, like a storm getting closer.
Immense steel jaws clamped onto my head and dragged me unwillingly into the light. Screaming in terror, I was born.
January 5, 2015
A Close Call
BANG!! The sound ricochets around in my head and a searing pain consumes my skull. I struggle to remain conscious. My life flashes before me.
Vaguely, I can hear people talking, but their voices are muted like a television that’s been turned down.
Stunned, I slip away until eventually the pain drags me back.
I can see flickering blue lights in the darkness and the loud wails of sirens torment me.
My head is still ringing as I return from the dead.
“Lie still. We’ll have you out soon, sir.”
Confused, I look blankly at the deflated airbag before me.
Vaguely, I can hear people talking, but their voices are muted like a television that’s been turned down.
Stunned, I slip away until eventually the pain drags me back.
I can see flickering blue lights in the darkness and the loud wails of sirens torment me.
My head is still ringing as I return from the dead.
“Lie still. We’ll have you out soon, sir.”
Confused, I look blankly at the deflated airbag before me.
