Friday 6 January 2012

Double acrosstic

first and last letters of each line spell the key phrase

Tom, wayward boy, filled money belt
(His father’s promised wealth);
Enjoyed wild living, food and wine.

Pour, o’erflowing cup!

Overspent, now broke – aggro!

‘Look, his hired men eat so well…’

Smarter course was homewards;
‘Oh, my boy! – bring shoes, ring, too!
Now, slice a calf we chose to fatten!’

Deserting friends all gone. Now lad

Rebellious, sinful, growing poor

Is tending pigs (safari?)
Gross slop seems appealing
At once he thought of dear Papa

Thursday 5 January 2012

Interior monologue

Reflecting James Joyce’s Ulysses, and among others

Asked P for cash, all in pocket, full. This road to DC, dusty, steep in parts, enjoying myself. Potato I have [1]Attractive girl, girl, jolly fellows, girls, see show, laugh, drink, eat, gamble, experience, girls, another show, new clothes – transfer wad to new pockets; also potato. Restaurant, drinking, tip, kiss, laughter, new friends, I love freedom to be generous. Food, show, kissing, gamble, drink. Wad reduced, it’s the same for all of us. All gone, friends also, no girls, no food, but spud is present. Generally, also without. Pigs stink, unclean, sick-looking; pods shockingly blemished, strangely appealing… Doesn’t have to be like this. Father’s men (Silas, Jud, Lemuel, big Jake – hands, grey tunic, tear in the sleeve, scar – sweating effort, weekly wages-day, queueing ‘Thank you, sir, thank you sir’, father…) meals, I could go back, ask, he’ll be okay, probably, ask to work for him, not a son, dinner, much better than pods, feeling inspired, sensible? best option not worthy son they’ll call me waster but survival not sure will try go walk tired hot sandal flapping hungry coat torn hill walk someone running chase me away? shouts angry or… why would Pa run? pleased to see him tell ‘unworthy’ not listening! servants shoes welcome ring hug coat kiss greeting happy hungry well-fed calf roast spit flames cooked plate of carved beef grease chin smile villagers party celebrate dancing dad (great mood brother not so much) lost dead found alive potato

[1] Stephen Dedalus' talisman, representing Odysseus' Moly, a medicinal herb

Wednesday 4 January 2012

Time shift


in which the narrative flits between flashback/present/flashforward in ways which could be described as chrono-illogical

He had stared, glum, hungry, lonely, miserable, hard-up, ashamed, filled with regret. His unseeing gaze did not see any thin pigs rootling through the mouldy, rotting pods, seeking any green bits from which to take nourishment.

But the feel of these lips is so welcome, as similar attention had been so many times before, but from such very different people and contrastingly motivated.

Neither did he notice the pig-farm owner, checking to see if he had stayed all night. Instead, he saw his wasted opportunity, the glittering of a spinning roulette wheel, the gleam in Georgette’s eyes, the resigned concern on his father’s face, the glint of moisture on Charlene’s lip as she savoured her champagne, the need in the faces of the beggars who were lining the streets, and the distant memory of the sparkle of early morning sunlight on the lake beyond Big Field on his father’s homestead.

Many years later he stood in his long-deceased father’s favourite spot on the farmstead rooftop, wrapped in his treasured coat, and described this season of his life as ‘reckless youth’ and himself as ‘having been a selfish fool’. But back at the start he’d been quick to seek his father’s money, very quick to take it and leave when the opportunity arose and even quicker to gather friends by a conspicuous display of prodigious wealth.

It was almost as generous as his father will soon demonstrate now he’s returned, laying on a fabulous spread of cooked meat, pastries, salads, vegetables, rice dishes, alcohol, fruit, puddings and trifles for the villagers, who will be invited to celebrate the boy’s return. ‘My son was lost, but is found; he was dead but is alive!’ the father will say if all goes according to plan, reflecting on the many days he had stood on his rooftop waiting, hoping, expecting, fearful… until this one day, while the boy is still a long way off, his son, who had encountered dancing girls, fancy restaurant dinners, casinos, famine, hunger and desertion by his new-found, soon-lost friends, stood in amazement as his father ran, undignified, to greet him.

His father will imminently order the servants to fetch a ring, a coat and shoes for his feet.

 ‘I am no longer worthy to be called your son,’ is what he planned to say, just after saying ‘Father, make me one of your hired men.’ He had come to his senses in the sty a few days previously (although he had been given the money some considerable time before), but is now being kissed, which is making his oft-rehearsed speech an irrelevance.

Tuesday 3 January 2012

Aporia


indecision or uncertainty, or maybe not

– I don’t know if I should give him the cash. He might take it and leave me here without liquid assets and in financial distress. I doubt I’ll be able to pay my bills. And he might go and gets himself into trouble. What if he spends it all? He may waste it quickly and then find that life is tougher than I have taught him. I’m starting to wonder if I brought him up properly, as he ought to have found out that life is tougher out there than it has been for him while he’s been here. I fear I may not have trained him wisely. Perhaps I did something wrong that he came to me, effectively wishing me prematurely dead, and demanding his inheritance.

– Should I go today? I could stay wherever I like once I have the cash! Now I need to decide where to go. All the way to Dissipation City? I could stay in an hotel, or a guest house. Meat and two veg or full á la carte? It’s difficult to decide which of these girls I prefer. Or do I really need to make a choice, as all three seem willing…? I can place a bet on every horse in the race, and on each number at the roulette table. These chums may or may not like me for who I am, or perhaps just for my money. I’m having so much fun that I’m not sure I am all that bothered.

– The economy, driven by agriculture, will perhaps let us all down. My friends seem to have let me down, rather for some reason, and perhaps everyone is as hungry as I.

– Perhaps these unclean animals are not so bad… Yet they are practically starving, too, I think. Their food is probably unfit for consumption, and yet, strangely, I have been considering gnawing at the diseased pods myself, so great is this feeling within which may be hunger and may be worse than that – I just can’t decide.

– Oh, for how long will you run from the love of your father? For many days you have teetered on the brink of starvation, while unrelated farmhands toil at your father’s behest and eat joyfully every day at his table. Are you so filled with pride that you cannot return? You should probably arise and seek his forgiveness.

– Leaving the pig farm was perhaps the best decision, but this road is hard and the end will be humbling. How can I address the old man, whose early death I effectively wished upon him? I might say ‘I am so foolish,’ or I might say ‘I am not othy to be called your son.’ But I will probably finish with ‘please make me one of your hired men.’ I think. Unless he throws me out of the village, which he has every right to do, and may very well feel that way inclined.

– Could today be the day I stop waiting and hoping and decide to get on with the hard life here on the farm? I shall probably stay here on the roof for the morning, and then join the hired men working in the field over here (or perhaps the field over there instead), unless I go and examine the calf we’ve been foolishly giving extra portions of grain, when the famine we hear reported may be coming our way and so we should probably be husbanding our resources more pessimistically. But what is that figure on the distant horizon? Not my son, that’s for sure. Or… Does he walk like that? Only when his shoes are practically falling off his feet, and he wouldn’t be… But then it might be. It’s hard to know for certain. Oh, if only I could be sure!

– Who’s this chump running wildly? Dad wouldn’t be so undignified, so it can’t be him. Perhaps it’s someone coming to tell me to go away, as I feared. But he sounds like he’s happy, and he isn’t waving a stick… Could it be dad? I think it might be! He’s still running, and I think he might be happy…

– My son! My son! It’s hard to see you in this state, starved, footsore, weary. And are you returning?

– Father, make me an hired man, for I am no longer…

– Servants, have we any new shoes in his size? I think there may be some in my wardrobe – please check, and bring brown ones – no, black. No, both, and then he can choose.. And fetch a winter coat for him. One with a lining. No, a waterproof… or perhaps a short jacket. You might look to see if there are any with a hood. And it must have pockets. At least two, plus one on the inside, on the left. No, one inside pocket on each side would be better, probably. Meanwhile, tell Jed (or Nathan, if you can’t find Jed, as he may have gone into town for supplies – or Darius, if Nathan’s out on top field today, which I think he is, unless he’s working with the others who are checking out the threshing machine, I hope, ready for next week’s harvest – unless we do it over the weekend, as I’m wondering if it would be better to take advantage of the sunshine, as I think the weather might change – do you think it might change? Although the wind and clouds have dispersed over the last few hours, so perhaps not…) Anyway, get someone – anyone – (well, someone who knows what he’s doing, so don’t get Joshua or Caleb) to take – oh, or Thaddeus – to take the long sharp knife (it’s probably on the kitchen window ledge, unless it’s on the shelf by the bags of stud nuts or in the big red tool box – actually I might have left it in the brown one) and slay the fatted calf, and we should probably set a fire to roast it. Now, son, which finger is best for this family ring? Rejoice, everyone, either inside the farmhouse or here in the yard, for this my son was either lost or dead, yet now he’s found and alive! Have some more meat, do. Or vegetables if you prefer. Or not, if you’ve had sufficient.

Monday 2 January 2012

Sestina

Classic poetic form with strict mathematical algorithm [1]

The farm boy might have said ‘I wish you dead!
Just share your wealth with me and let me go…’
His father, sad, observed his course. Soon the lad
Was drinking, rashly gambling with the cash
False friends flocked keenly grasping and consumed
Such grand, top-classy and exclusive food.

In hotel bars and restaurants, fine food
Enjoyed, but soon all GDP was dead!
And everyone found nought to be consumed.
His friends all rapidly decide to go;
Thus he was left bereft of any cash.
Or company or hope, this hard-up lad.

Work tending pigs was low – he was not glad
To watch them chow down on such awful food –
Their rotting pods… but how else to earn cash?
His thoughts turned to his pa, no more wished dead
I’ll humbly seek work there, so now I’ll go
Dad’s hired men lunch famously consumed…

His mem’ry soon with family consumed
My actions have been wasteful, mulled the lad
So time has come for me to up and go
Where I’ll find love, I hope, as well as food –
Deserve rejection? Yes! But here I’m dead
Forsaking heritage for meagre cash.

This journey – long – used up residual cash:
Both sandals wore to nothing (trudge-consumed).
His coat was also torn and hopes near dead.
While still a long way off… Dad saw the lad
And rushed to greet him, ordering roast food
Plus ring and coat and shoes. Complaints forego!

His servants ran (he ordered them to go
To fetch). Now fat-calf’s throat gets knifely gash
And tables laden bounteously with food.
The villagers throng in; all is consumed
While father shows his joy to see the lad
‘This is my son – the one we thought was dead!’

‘He set by his ego; let’s consume!
And though he spends my cash, I greet my lad
Back from the dead! Oh neighbours, eat this food!’

[1] End-words repeat: ABCDEF, FAEBDC, CFDABE, ECBFAD, 
DEACFB, BDFECA, with an envoi of half-lines BE/DC/FA