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Glass Mountain Writers - Dean Akrill
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Dean Akrill is part-time poet and neglectful novelist who attempts to create myths out of the everday and draw heaven out of the ordinary.
Wet Wednesday Teatime
He remembers…
…her leg, big toe brushing thigh,
how far should he go?
That moment of en-trepidation,
brushing leg, making his way,
now they just,
make their way.
Make their way, slowly,
slowly, she sits, hand grasping,
And he remembers, how once she sat,
like Doris Day, sat on lap, hand on thigh,
innocence in the grasp of hand,
in the grasp of protruding years.
Now, grasp hand,
and bring drink to quivering lip,
and spill, where once, he spilled
and drink lands…
…wet,
where, he was, once, wet.
But now, once more,
wet, as he leaves, magazine in hand,
soaked flat cap in drizzling daze,
as dazed, he stumbles home,
cheeks soaked, heart soaked,
as he strokes rain speckled paper.
Evergreen
Evergreen,
if I were to cut you down,
and count your rings
you’d run rings round me,
evergreen.
Your rings encircle
time,
time to put your roots down,
or to dye your roots
the colour of fine oak,
makes a change from silver birch!
But silvered stories
encircle your rings,
and if I were to cut you in half
your years would sing,
I could never escape their song,
I would be the one
uprooted.
An extract from an idea for a book I’m working on-
“God reveals to Job the vastness of the universe”
“The Blue Whale has as many living cells as there are people in the world; imagine that, a whole planet inside of a Whale! Oooh, it makes me feel all goosepimply just thinking about it! Did you know Jonah? He got swallowed by a Whale, the silly; I wonder if he felt claustrophobic or agoraphobic? Both I imagine, isn’t that always the way? Martini, Darling?
God, she took my breath away when she spoke, she was like a ditzy blonde and a sensible maiden aunt all tied up in the same package. Who was it that she reminded me of?
“Martini, Darling?
Ah yes that was it, Marilyn Monroe, and Doris Day, and Mary Poppins. God I can’t stand Mary Poppins…
“Pardon me for interrupting what was obviously a vitally important conversation
with yourself, but most gentlemen think it polite to answer a lady when she very kindly offers a drink. Martini Darling?”
“Erm, sorry, no thanks, I’m okay, thank you, weren’t we talking about you?
She went all giggly again; “What about little old me? I’ve got so many cells, I’m practically a universe! Come dance with me…”
“No, I, er, don’t dance…”
“You do you know, you silly thing, you do, you really do, whether you know it or not. I’ve seen you doing that funny lopsided walk thing you do- I’ve seen you in your underpants! I know what you do at night...”
I could feel myself getting redder by the second as I stumbled for my words, not to mention my underpants; “You’re not backwards in coming forwards are you?”
“Really Sweetie? That’s so nice of you to say so, it really is. But it’s a bit of a minority opinion you know”
“Really?”
“Really- you’d be surprised what people think of me! Here am I chatting with you nineteen to the dozen, you wouldn’t think I was the quiet, elusive type would you? Come; say you will dance with me…”
With this, she took my hand and at once I realised how Jonah must have felt when he was trapped; swallowed up whole.. How once he had swam in a salt sea ocean like mine, only to be taken whole within her belly, consumed by creation, and left in a cramped universe, dizzying in its vastness.
“I’ve got so many cells, I’m practically a universe!”
She seemed to change form, as she danced in the midst of the ocean with me stumbling behind her, doing that odd lopsided walk thing I do. She skipped back to a time in the murky depths when she was Aditi, her legs parted, as she gave birth to herself. And she swam as a single cell until she reached land and crawled, and walked and flew, and flowered and blossomed, and blossomed…
She was here now, a blossom in my arms, cradling me, her kisses like the wind on my face, sweeping through the earth. In my coat pocket she placed a photograph.
The photo lay beside my Guinness on the beer soaked table; all I could do was stare at it, not quite taking it in. The usual pub noises surrounded me, Cyril was ordering his pint; “Ah don’t drink you knaw, only have a Cider every now and again” And I just sat there staring at the stained photograph, and thinking ‘God, she’s seen me in my underpants’.
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