Theresa’s Writing

There is timber on the beachlogs like beached sausagesbleached white by the sunroots with twisted gargoyle faceswashed up with the tidein the eveningthe locals comewith cool boxesfold up chairsbabies in blanketsbeer and basketsfires are litcustard yellow sweetcornhisses and spitsover the burning embers

There is no windas the sun goes downsea striped silverlike a mackerela heron stands motionlesson a rockthe silence brokenby the barkingof the sea lionsfar out in the bay

The guardgrunted as we climbed aboardthe train heading to SofiaThere were fields of sunflowersand dusty bulrushesalong the river banka stork, brilliant whiteagainst the azure skylike a shirt hanging out to dryperches on a rockwaiting for a fishwe passed rusty ships scrapyards piled highwith carsDacias, Skodas, pick up trucksrotting in the metal graveyardbehind the chimneysevery now…

There used to be peonies out back by the terraceand a piano in the hallsomeone once had recordswe found some on the flooralong with yellowed paperso bleached it turned to dustwhen touched (Written after a visit to NG’s derelict farmhouse in Bulgaria)

Coming  into view through the treesat the top of the hill a concrete spaceship in elephant grey stark against the cornflower skya forgotten monument to past triumphs  there is nothing leftinside this empty shell where hundreds once gathered to celebratethat splendid timetheir glorious voices echoing across the valleynow only graffiti and rubble remain amidst piles of rusty metal where…

My knees are your tablebalancing wine and dipshummus breath, garlic kisssnap of breadsticksSauna’s hisssecrets whispered stories sharedmint and myrtle leaves preparedsweaty backs and steam curled hairtip up the bucket if you dare|outside a smokehouse aged and greenwith hams and sausages hung from the beamswaiting for the sun and the promise of Spring Written after going…

I’ll sing you a song in a voice so silky of a strange young fellow named Willy Milky with huge flapping ears beneath his trilby and you never really know if he won’t, or will be if his glass is very full, or just half empty is he over 65 or under twenty? are elasticated…

It would have been very hard not to notice over the last two months that I have taken possession of a camper van, (unless perhaps you live in a cave, abroad, or sensibly do not take the slightest notice of social media). I apologise for being Mrs Let’s talk about vans and can only hope…

Last week my old chum J turned up with some startling and extremely upsetting news. Twinings have stopped making Lapsang Souchong. What was even more astonishing was when I was relating this shocking tit bit to a younger friend, she said she hadn’t even heard of it. Never heard of it? What is this younger…

I inherited Elvis the cat about three years or so ago when B and T upped sticks and went to live in Berlin. Seeing as our dear old family cat Gollum is no longer with us ( plus we have a cat flap and a garden) this seemed like a perfectly good idea, so he…