Price of Wisdom

The queen of Sheba, meets Solomon, she recognizes wisdom when she hears it, can see how others misused it, is horrified, what she cries, are they all demons she wondered, those she thought she could trust, playing with the truth, using her to gain riches. Solomon sighed, it’s the year 2020, over three thousand years since the original words were written. The chaos and destruction she was told about, it had to happen she was told, until she listened to the words of wisdom; imagine what she thought of those around her.

There is a general panic, many made genetics becomes a monster in the making; progress she sighed. She recalls the efforts of Darwin to twist the reality of creation, the possibility of a perfect human race, that led to the attempt to wipe out the Jewish people. progress, more like pride she sighed, as men tried to out do each other. What about the 25 trillion stored off shore; what use was it now, what good would it do them. Then Solomon told her; God tests his people, and when put to the test, they stand firm, and overcome. She smiles; the demon and his army of angels must be feeling closer to extinction tonight. Amen, Solomon prayed yes they are.

Big Reputation

What others think of me, that’s all that matters, God Most High listens, to the inner ramblings of the mind, with the assistance of wisdom, who can read everybody. Bling, flesh, a Brazilian,  nice lines, an inner drive, an energy that needs to get out, high octane. Bob Dylan cringes, why can’t I write those words, another screams, wish I could have stole them, words.

The arena is empty, the tour is on hold, the cocaine has to be paid for, no surprise, the big dealers are inn trouble, the market has dried up, and those further up the chain, doing a clean up, no customers to supply, courtesy of the Virus, how Ironic, what is invisible, has such a weighty influence, how strange is that, and the churches closing their doors, what are they doing, to the reputation of God, well, what is faith, amen.

The Residue

Leftovers on the table, he eyes the last two roast potatoes, if they are all ignoring it, that means none of them wants it, they taste great, he scans the plates on either side, all he can see is the conversations going on, the lick of gravy on the side of the mouth, clean it will you, it’s sticking out, across the table, a fork in the air, moving left and right, almost with the skill of an orchestral director, still he has his eyes on the prize, those last two golden crisp potatoes. Will I be brave and reach out.

What are you waiting for William she says, catching his eye, he dips his head, a smile on his face, he slowly reaches in, got you he thinks, he has one of the potatoes on the big spoon, he is moving it carefully to his docking station, his plate. No one said a thing, will he be brave enough to take the other, go for it he tells himself. Eight years old, it’s awhile before you learn about the etiquette of eating in a group. She gives him a re assuring nod, the second potato is on the spoon. You are not eating both of them another diner calls out, as he drops it onto the messiest part of the plate, where old flecks of gravy and a white sauce have mixed into a brown mulch, he does it deliberately, no one will ask for the potato back now, too late, all that residue.

Solomon sighed, we learn hopefully, we lean on the past, we see how nationalism becomes a movement of hatred, the wars across the world, home led, the same causes, repeated again and again, too much power in the same closet, time to get angry, time to get rich, we will sort them boy. The world had enough of all that argument, it was well past it’s sell by date, same as those religions, who intentionally miss quoted the old words, in order to divide opinion, and what was their residue; the incitement of hatred.

Surely they believe in God he hoped, and as such, put their efforts into rising spirits, rather than renovating old organisations.

Flying Spirit

Te Amo, she turns her head, she hasn’t heard that in awhile, she’s a migrant worker, and an illegal, she is waitressing,  the cook is flirting with her again, she smiles. Meanwhile there are three tables that need to be cleared and three other girls like her, vulnerable, waiting to take her job, no slip ups. She passes a table, two men in suits, are they immigration, she pretends not to look, we ordered two coffee’s one says. She nods, rushes to the table, her eye on the two men, are they there to spy on her. Being an illegal is hard work, she has moved every six months, trying to keep ahead of the posse. She possess’s a secret, one she can’t explain, not in the normal meaning of the word; she carries the Holy Spirit inside her. Remain calm, she repeats this to herself daily, evening, before sleep, calm, you live inside me she explains. It’s as if she carries a special child inside her.

Our coffee, she passes the table, makes a nod, coming she says. It’s lunchtime, the busy period, but she doesn’t mind, there are other young girls like her, who are not that lucky. One of them dances the tables, and smiles at leering men all day, it’s a job, provides shelter, things can get worse.

She fills the cups, makes for the two men, sorry she says, setting  down the two cups. His jacket slides to the side, as if he is reaching for something, she spots the handle of a gun, law enforcement he says, sorry if I upset you, she smiles nervously. He nods. He wears a brown belt, he fingers the clasp, a sign, they are on my side, she sighs…..

World Slows Down

Can’t sound it, sound, action to her, affects inner harmony, will I get up, she glances at her I-phone. To others it seems extravagant, to her its a diagnostic tool, she’s a trainee. Irritating, will I. Her shift starts in, she dips her eyes on the phone, she is precise, a trainee surgeon, doing the steps. Her fingers are long and graceful. Where they have been; last evening, inside the chest of an elderly man, noise disappears, music again, continues reading. She lives in a three room, ignoring the bathroom; everyone has one of those, as vital as a healthy rectum, a healthy mind, the article she is reading.

She reads the reports, everything medical is her news, her life is being donated to helping others, if lucky she will have a family along the way. The Corona Virus, she had been reading about it; a virus that doesn’t react to conventional drugs. She thinks of Marie Curie, all the other scientists, who spent their entire lives researching the future; few of them had any interest in patents. Planes have slowed, people are staying away from crowded places, some wear masks, they’ve been doing that in Hong Kong for ages; some call it the the last plague. She sighs; as a woman, she wants to be seen as a mother in the making, a precious human being; she is tired of the way they trivialized the flesh, could they not have learned to love a little more. She takes a deep breath, the operation she has in front of her is her first full heart transplant, she assisting. Calm, slow, her hands are so important.

In an office, a whiz kid press’s the buttons, moves funds from the Cayman’s to Cypress. He loves it when it”s uncertain, so many to take advantage of.

A Child is Born to the world….

I could be watching TV. Well TV is what he heard these last six weeks. A break from the rattle tattle of the office printer he was used to night and day. too warm to move, cosy and wrapped, fed continuously, room was getting tighter, Pushy was getting anxious. Due to make his first official appearance onto the world stage, he’d been holding off this last week, on account of the weather forecast. Cold and icy for the next three weeks announced the weather forecaster a week earlier, just as pushy was ready to make his big entrance. Pushy decided to remain a tummy baby, yet to be born, but like all great actors, waited for the right moment to enter the fray. She’s eating burgers again, washed down with orange juice, pushy liked orange juice, burped inside her tummy, forcing him to shake a leg.

I can feel him moving” smiled Mary. Other friends laughed loudly. Pushy wiggled around trying to get his ear into position. What are they saying, I’m not even born yet and they are making plans for me. Did they ever hear about free will.

Like sliding about, be a baby inside a tummy. Pushy was rolling around in his mother’s tummy. She was on her feet again. She’s eating again, what this time wondered pushy. Smelled okay, he wondered if it was a Chinese, hopefully not. Beef, fresh Irish beef, yummy smiled pushy who was being fed through his mother. The rich smell of Tipperary beef, probably the best beef on the planet. Well, when you have the freshest water in Europe to cook with, to grow with, the outcome is usually wholesome, and good for pushy who could only think of himself.

Do they all speak with that accent wondered pushy, the theme tune to a familiar soap opera waking him up after a short nap. They didn’t speak like mammy figured pushy trying to work out the plot line, moving himself around, trying to get his best ear to the action. The doorbell rang. Shit sighed pushy, he’d never know if they had the affair. New shit tomorrow.

any news yet” asked Jennifer, a friend of mammy’s.

if it doesn’t move soon I don’t know what I’ll do” replied mammy, back on the couch.

This is really bugging me, they are pushing me too far. I’ll surprise them.

More food, spicy shit, this is unbelievable fumed pushy trying to move around his tummy room. Makes you fart, burst even. Dirty tricks department, they are trying to move me. Wait till I get out of here, just you wait. She stopped eating, god that was close. The door closed. It was time for bed. The bump the bump, four more bumps and we’d be on the bed. He liked the way mammy massaged him while they were in bed lying down. He could swim up and down across and for as long as he wanted, unimpeded too. she’s getting fast sighed pushy, not realising that is was he who was growing fastest. I used to be able to stretch, not so much now.

Soft music put him in a trance. She played him frank Sinatra in bed. Good taste, a real smoocher, our frank Nuts, I don’t believe it, not even normal nuts, spicy nuts. She’s trying to do my head in sighed pushy kicking out in disgust. Mary smiled, patted her tummy. Who loves you she said. Pushy listened with rage, how could she eat spicy so late at night. Down there, he often wondered what was down there, never went down there, felt safer up here. He could rest up here, down there and he’d nothing to hold onto. His foot slipped all of a sudden, got caught on a ledge. Pushy held on for dear life. Twisted around, head first, if I go down there I’ll never come back, I’ll lose my comfort zone. Where’s the water gone. Mammy was on her feet. I hear her on the fone. I’m stuck, I’m stuck. Jennifer is at the door. Mammy mammy, it’s an earthquake shouts pushy, does anyone ever listen. What am I supposed to do. Stuck in the black hole, I’m dead I’m dead, ah, ah, I see light, light, god I’m alive, I’m alive, ah mammy, mammy screams pushy, tears in his eyes, tears in her eyes as well.

Lights everywhere, the place smells horrible, voices I never heard all around me, I’m not putting up with this. Pushy cleared his throat and screamed for all his worth. A minute later he was lying with mammy. She’s my mother smiled pushy….