Member Poem

Hilda my partner turned in her bed as the early morning train hurtled by at breakneck speed sending tremors round our dwelling.
A very tangible impact to which we both had become immune.
Although I baulk at the prospect of appearing blase.
Proximity  is a crystal with many faces and indeed just as many axis.
Twists, turns, rotations.
Hilda, would surely agree as those long flowing tresses clasp  the shafts of first light so enthusiastically.
An otherworldly compass point  we somehow lived in teetering on the green tufts of dew-soaked ambience near the railway tracks.
Clumps of moss also intersperse with the wildest flora and cowl shape vegetation surrounding us.
A slope strewn with perilous azure coloured stones and slime clad granites etched in silty canvass underpin this natural world vista for both Martin and hilda’s chosen fields.
Supportive  frameworks for such creative pursuits can be extremely difficult to locate on any map.
For us at least it was quite a tortuous quest bearing in mind the parameters set down by us both.

Burgundy red and cinnamon recess timbre boards conjunct the wall carvings and portraits that Hilda creates.
Yet our Garapa decking was a pride and joy to behold
as we strolled outside arm in arm.
“We seem transfixed by this place.”  Martin, her lover archly.
“A decent living can be earned, but what happens if we become famous, Martin?”
Hilda interjects with  swirling rapidity  as unfolding denouement.
“See those folk waving at us.
They seem strangely happy.”  Hilda this time.
One must never underestimate the role distance can play and the havoc it wreak with regard to observation.
This cannot be gainsaid or denied.
The characters in my novels and short stories  like Hilda’s paintings were prone to overlap while at the same time filling lacunae.
Of late we noticed this synchronicity of the most surreptitious kind.
Uncanny as it may seem for two people with an enormous amount in common not to expect such often inexplicable events.
Beguiling repeat coincidences will somehow always lurk.
“There are certain patterns.
Where we live is appearing more often in each other’s pieces.”  Hilda reflected.
“In one sense.”
Martin replies.
One had to be cautious and appear not to be overly agreeable or indeed go to the other extreme.
Hilda and myself had this robust relationship where honest exchanges only buttressed our fondness for each other.
There was a spring shower outside.
Typical in so many, many, ways for the season.
Blossoming and blooming without curb or any remote sign of being hemmed in.
Symbolism of growth could be detected without any strain.
The bounty of this time of  year a luxuriant spur to both my partner and I.
It enhanced that commitment to our most  unusual pursuits.
But we were both mindful of the fact that each day, night, and dawn had a rich metaphorical slant.
The four seasons would be no exception in that regard.
“I love the way the characters in your book segue into people’s faces like my images.
Once can sense a pressurised belonging.”
Hilda muses.
“I truly value that remark, Hilda. Your spot on precision has no match.
Can you imagine how fruitful insights become when we enter each others zone?”
Martin smartly observed.

“Would a trip into town interest you?
We can leave our car behind  and dash across the nearby bridge to the train station.”
Martin flicks the ashes of his cigar which he left awkwardly on an ashtray by one of his novels  and hilda’s sketch absentmindedly.
Not such a bad suggestion all things taken into account as they invariably should be.
A change of scene even for some brief instance could be that mood elevator one often hankers after.
Facing a splendid Saturday together they lock all access points.
The usual last minute checks against an impulse to spread their wings and fly away.
A narrow path leading from their cabin to the aforementioned connecting bridge had the usual hard clay craters and blackberry mist hedge rows.
They seemed an eerie  diversion.
Hilda and Martin didn’t have the usual interlude at their disposal.
In the past a gawk and gaze on our  part even of a temporary on the spot engagement  would prove a prolific source for our epic agenda..

Shortly after we were part of the exodus  frequently envied though at this point active participation was its own remunerative upshot.
We  as enthusiastic partners
cherished departures from routine.
Today wasn’t going to be anyway an exception at all.
An uneasy feeling descends on Martin as he watches their cabin from the train.
Those sudden fearful pangs that suddenly intrude.
What were those startling thoughts his imagination couldn’t shed?
“Is there something troubling you, Martin?”
Hilda anxiously.
“Oh it’s nothing ….really.”
Martin with caution.

Their journey was short,  all things considered.
They alight from a packed train and into a busy town they went at speed.
There were those usual gourmet markets, stands and specialist shops as people throng like flies in an amorphous buzz.
Martin and Hilda browsed windows of different furniture stores.
Certain additions were being set in train.
“It’s something of an alternative  for us I suppose.”
Hilda opined.
Martin silently concurring.
“It will probably take another trip to fully organise ourselves.
Maybe next week.”  Hilda suggests.
“Yes, but of course the finances, and the catalogues...everything.”
Martin sombrely.
Between visits to various cafes and amusement parks, places of interest it was quite late.
In fact 10.30pm  and the last train home had just departed.
“Horrors.  What now I ask?”
Martin shaking.
“Not to worry.  I know a friend who’ll accommodate us.
You met her last year.
She has this haunting place.”
Hilda mystically.
“We’ll miss that log cabin, won’t we?  But it’s only for a night.”  She continued.
“We will.”   Martin lost in thought.
“You still have that worried look. What’s wrong?”
Hilda probing deeper again.
“Oh it’s just a passing flicker.”
Martin speaking.
At that point back in the log cabin Martin’s cigar burns ominously beside Hilda’s drawing and his novel