Nightmare

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I’m on the edge, free-falling, the wind around me, through me.

It’s terrifying.

I can’t breathe despite the air rushing past.

Sometimes the sky is blue.

Other times it’s black as the ace of spades.

In the daylight, I see land rushing to break me.

At night, the buildings with their lit widows drag me close.

So close I feel the hardness of the walls.

I clutch at open space, frantic to find something to grasp.

There is nothing.

My hands, and brain, are numb.

Fumbling, I pull the cord.

I am flung upward toward – what?

For now, I am safe.

But the time is coming.

I have to face this.

©ChristineNedahlJanuary2018

Read and Vote Weekly eBook https://t.co/1xdccGKXMK via @AdHocFiction Nightmare on page 20 is mine – please take a look and vote if you like it. Thank you.

Lady of…

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Pencil thin skimpy black second skin

brassy zipper neck to thigh

raven hair alabaster face

rucksack leering skull

diamante cheeks ruby eyes

plastic chair uneven ground

fingers fly active interface

eyes dart screen road back

darkness creeps silent vehicle

hard voice orders snapped

door slams empty space

tomorrow begin again.

©ChristineNedahlJanuary2018

Only So Much

‘Where the hell is she?’

‘D’know.’

Dad’s hand smacked into my cheek.

Tears stung. I stood my ground.

‘This’ll kill your mother.’

I couldn’t stop the twitch on my lips.

‘Bloody funny, is it? I don’t think so.’

His fist sent me reeling and I fell against the kitchen unit. He knocked me senseless. I don’t know how long I was out but I came round to his grotesque face in mine. Gasping he managed ‘bloody loser’ before he slumped over me.

I heaved him away.

His eyes stared lifelessly, dead as the hearts he’d always abused.

I managed a laugh.

‘You’ve lost this one.’

©ChristineNedahlJanuary10th.2018

Read and Vote Weekly eBook https://t.co/1xdccGKXMK via @AdHocFiction Only So Much on page 3 is mine – please take a look and vote if you like it. Thank you.

Uneasy Shade

Tree

Roots wrap round blanched bones

branches stark vent the air

howls and screams of despair

speak of how I am entrenched

in twisted frame of creeping death

no leaf nor bud shall grow again

as from ancient roots deep

my ice blood does slowly seep

loosened from this writhing tree

my spirit still may wander free

to haunt the man who cast the stone

and turned my precious flesh to bone.

 

©ChristineNedahl

The Walk (in companionship)

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Shoulders hunched against the wind,

hands clasped behind.

Heads nod, bodies sway,

words snatched on the air,

raised over the breaking ocean.

Palm leaves wave high

above greying heads.

The talk, of times old, and new –

football, bowls and a myriad pursuits-

now just onlookers.

Opinions pass, one to another,

welcome food for thought

in minds more active than bodies.

The paseo ends,

you turn, homeward bound.

Comrades in retirement – easy companionship.

 

©ChristineNedahl

Onboard the Rangitoto

How could I not have seen you

in the sea of a thousand faces?

Why did you not reach out to me

from the throng of swaying bodies?

Weeks the Rangitoto ploughed the ocean,

Southampton to the Antipodes

and our eyes never met.

I watched Wellington draw near

while with shaded eyes you viewed the dock.

Faces swam before me,

semaphore hands spelt welcome

but not for me, lone traveller.

Smiles lit the quayside,

shouts assaulted ears.

No-one called out to you.

Orderly fashion, the stampede began –

new land, new life.

Hands brushed, eyes locked, we smiled together.

New love.

 

©Chris Nedahl 2012DSCF0169

Aleppo

After the last bomb

who will remember past pride?

Who will be told stories of greatness?

Young men are dead,

or fled, their ears deaf

to old men’s memories.

Rippling ribbons weave

along cratered roads.

Women, children, searching –

for anything…

Magnificent once, a city crumbled

beneath their feet.

Headless men, flesh and stone,

testament to unspeakable

demons of devastation.

Ancient history violated

never to be revived –

today a stain

never to be wiped away.

In memory of the fallen,

rise phoenix-like,

hope, your standard

borne high, defiant

against vile enemies.

 

©christinenedahljanuary2nd2017

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Washerwoman

Rough hands

red with cold

pinch wood

to waxed cord.

Cotton

dripping

straining

‘gainst harsh wind.

Damp cheeks

eyes pressed tight

tears suppressed.

 

©ChristineNedahl2016

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Time

Do not abide in the past,

it destroys the now.

Do not assume the future,

it denies the present.

Heart lingering,

future questing,

rejecting happiness

gifted for today.

Depression, doom,

a kismet of failure,

life’s lot

to wallow in the gloom.

Live the moment,

blessed new dawn,

history buried,

future unwritten.

Yesterday cannot be altered,

tomorrow not fashioned.

Today is yours –

shape, embrace,

breathe.

 

© ChrisNedahlDecember2015DSCF7132.JPG

The Picnic

On afternoons of drowsy calm,

languid limbs on grassy knoll.

Wicker, set on chequered cloth,

remnant crumbs, fruity pips.

Yawn, stretch,

arm cradles warmth.

Summer love,

easy as the drowsy calm.