Moses Blue

Moses gets the Blues

 

Fifteen, sixteen whatever age, whatever the reason, we plan for it, but seemingly do nothing about it, repeated year after year, while the suicide rates among children soar, and nobody seems to notice, just more calls for volunteers, as if the situation is expected to worsen, as it is, any wisdom out there, it does not appear so. Children more vulnerable to adult vices that ever before, copying what they see, have you ever seen a small one learn, how fast they cotton on, we all have, and what do we all say, that’s a smart child, they are all smart children, they don’t all learn at the same speed. As with wine, some get better as they get older, most in fact, provided they have the right start. There was a time when children were considered a Godsend, a blessing, more love to give, that was long ago. Now we have a list of explanations for the child and the role of the adult and society etc etc, and the rights of children

etc.. and hosts of other things, etc etc, all relating to the rearing and well-being of the child. A child just wants to be esteemed and loved, with a little encouragement they’ll work things out.

Solomon met a lot of big children lately, and the still had to recover from their childhood,

Tight Squeeze

maybe, she twirls, the dress does not look right, the mirror is full length, she stands there, head left head right, head up head down, doesn’t feel right, damn, she marches to the bedroom, a bundle of clothes on the bed, she reaches into the press, what now she sighs, four to choose from, she’s a size eight, wants to be a seven, grabs the navy jump suit, quickly changes, returns to the mirror, half an hour later, she makes up her mind. A pout of the lips, cool she smiles, on her way to an awards ceremony, wants to look her best. Whats the hurry, in traffic, taxi driver watches her reaction in the mirror, hyped up chick or what, she is hopping, can’t this bus go faster, is getting nervous, the delay is killing her.  what’s the rush!.

famine chick, in her small tent, the aid convoy hasn’t arrived yet, was promised a week ago, will it hurry up, her child is cramping with the hunger, the water milk diet not sustaining enough. She doesn’t mind, it’s her child she worries about.

I’d like to announce the winner of the new female singer of the year, and the winner is, she bursts in the door, the audience turns around, the noise she makes would scatter a flock of birds. her day is made, she arrived on the stroke of recognition, the fuss with the make up and stuff worth the wait.

She pulls her hair, ringlets, cutie, she fawns for the audience, opens her mouth the way all the bright teeth people do, pauses. i would like to dedicate my award to the ..

The child is crying, she is fraught with anxiety, she holds the baby, one eye on the door, a miracle she pleads, how can i stop the suffering of my little child. She shakes the baby, talking to the wee one all the time, she’d feed him from her breast, but they are hard and tight, no milk in there, she needs to feed to provide for the young one.

i’d like to thank my agent, and my family for getting me this far, without them i would have got nowhere.  She bursts out crying, the emotions too much, success has come at last.

Without food there was nothing she could do. The dead bundle is cold, she sits on the floor, wailing.

Anyone for canapes!

The Old Bishop

 

Scandal is a word, a condition of the mind, the fear we have of others, the behaviour of those we mind, the old man with a young heart, competing with the old men with no hearts, so it seems. They remember the expensive wine, the beautiful young woman, and how they fell in love, how did that happen, what a scandal they fumed.

Solomon was recalling an old warrior, who had passed to the next world, Eamon Casey is his name, a bishop who enjoyed good wine, rich company and a smile. He was sure God was welcoming him home, if only they were more humane he sighed, amen.