h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Day and Night Embrace


Winter sunlight ebbs,
projecting pink and gold clouds,
mirrored sky building
reflects prism patterned space,
transparent skyline.

Reclining day leans
into night's embrace, falling
slowly then quickly,
enveloped within black space
city lights spark, defy dark.

In lengthening day,
magic hour day dissolve,
day and night merge at dusk
night holds day with gentle kiss,
storms cannot blot day's bliss:

So may I arise,
each dawn spreading light from night,
embracing, embraced.



Annie Bien

Lucky he who dies of love.


Saskia and I became friends. She lived near the school and she often took me home with her. I loved having lunch there because they had the most delicious things like smoked ham, oude Leidse kaas or salted beef to have on their bread.
I was supposed to make sandwiches in the mornings to take to school but I rarely did, because I was trying to get thinner. It meant I was always starving.

Saskia’s mother was a tired looking woman, and like Anja’s mother, she wore an apron. She had a way of making me feel welcome and at home without doing or saying very much. When we walked into the room there would be a place set for me at the table. She soon knew which were my favourite things and always made sure I had some on my plate.

After lunch we would go up to Saskia’s room. She, like me, loved French music and she had a wonderful record by Jean Ferrat, which we played endlessly.
Her grandmother lived with them and occupied the room next to Saskia. If we had our music too loud she banged on the wall with her stick. I didn’t like her very much and I got the impression Saskia’s mother didn’t either. She also used her stick to let Saskia’s mother know when she wanted something, coffee, tea or a snack, by knocking with it on the floor, so she was always up and down the stairs with trays.

Saskia had two older brothers. Her father was a classics teacher at the gymnasium. Saskia was his favourite and they were very close. He liked buying her presents like French records and books. They had a small black dog, called Skipio. He was very friendly and stroking him made me long so much for Minou.
All of them soon accepted me as part of the family.

Saskia opened her window wide so that we could blow our smoke outside. We sang with Ferrat “Heureux est lui qui meurt d’aimer!”
Our favourite subject was love. Saskia knew everything of what happened between Maarten and me, right to the finest detail. She didn’t have a boyfriend but was in love with one of her brother Jeroen’s friends. It was unrequited love, he didn’t even notice her and we were endlessly thinking of schemes of making him do so. I suggested walking naked into Jeroen’s room when he was there, or bumping into him on the stairs wearing her bikini. But Saskia wanted to catch his attention in more sophisticated ways, like playing the most amazing solo on her flute or singing Schubert’s “Erlkonig”, accompanying herself on the piano.
“Why don’t you combine the two? Play the flute naked and sing in your bikini. If that doesn’t grab him nothing will!”

The chansons of Ferrat, Becaud, Aznavour and Barbara somehow echoed all our yearnings and longings. They gave voice to that sweet pain of being alive, that sense of a tree growing right in the centre of me, its roots burrowing deep in the earth, its leafy branches reaching up to an infinite sky.

When it was time to go, I cycled home along the Scheveningse weg.



milkstone

Sky Rune


I wish upon a shooting star, clasped hands,
Within this magic moon of mind, my dreams
Upon imaginary cliffs sift sands,
Where dunes hold secret messages, known themes.

Shaping cryptic semaphores, smoke symbols,
Express heart shifts in whispers to the sky:
"O Vast Expanse, unheard thoughts do gambol,
Here I, miniscule child of Earth do cry,

I wish that those I love know they are loved,
That those who hurt inside hold peaceful doves,
That those who hate and hold to jealousy,
Will see that hate will never set one free,"

I wish upon a shooting star, clasped hands,
Within this magic moon of mind, my dreams,
A shooting star streaks sky from cloud to sea,
Its tail a rune of secret signs for thee.


Annie Bien

The Fugitive.


Who am I now, can I be seen?

Is that me, but where have I been?

Yet, where am I going, perhaps there’s new scenes!

The land of dreams was not what it seems.

To try to be real, I must make a deal.

To get it just right, a new mind I must steal.

A flash of light another fright.

As off they rush into the night.

A mocking laugh that lingers still.

For Maxine,

another taste of that bitter pill.



LMScott
ã Harold Philbin.

Those Times That Time Forgot.

It may be too early in the day to read this little gem, perhaps it is really too early to attempt to write it, but I will if you draw up a comfy chair by the fire, grab a piece of toast and a pot of tea while I struggle on with the tale.

I know that you are lost already, especially if you have never had a bit fun on a hearth rug, so how can you possibly appreciate the superb delights of a pile of hot buttered toast, fresh off the toasting fork, without a television or any electrical gadgets whatsoever?

This was the time of the sparking clogs, when the kids played safely in the streets because the policeman was there, bang a dustbin with a stick during the silence of the night and he would appear, also because he was there.

There was no need to lock front doors, because there was nothing of value to steal really, and if you saw someone coming out of your house, they had just taken something in.

Later came the war and work was plentiful, and despite the hard times, lack of some foods from abroad, and the blackout, the sparking clogs were clearly demonstrated by contented happy kids with a smile on their faces most of the time, and there was usually not a penny in their pockets.

If they did manage to appropriate two pennies, that was enough for a seat at the local cinema, and another penny would purchase two ounces of sweets as well. This was the time when the country was occupied by foreign troops and soldiers of the British Empire from all over the world.

They had travelled to the United Kingdom to fight for their King and Queen, and when the National Anthem was played at the end of a performance, any lad who was not sharp enough to have got away before the lights came on and was still sitting down, was likely to receive a clip round the ear, from a more patriotic customer.

The Royal Princesses were a regular feature on the newsreels, and most lads really fancied Princess Margaret, she was pretty then and and grew up to be a real beauty, but in a class society like ours, there is no chance of meeting any of them at all. Times and circumstances can change, but surely not that much, or can they?

With the good old days flashing by, and by now the proud owner of my very first old motorbike and a decent pedigree dog, it was off to see a great city for the first time in my life. London 1950’s style, and finally Cruft’s Dog Show at Olympia and what a debut this turned out be.

The first incident of note was while I was standing on the balcony by the rail, and trying to look down at the main ring where my dog was being shown. There was a long table by the edge of the balcony and standing on it were a group of about eight men, they had a great view of the judging for Best In Show, but it was difficult for anyone else to see the main ring.

A little girl of about ten years of age said to her father, “ Dad I can’t see the dogs.” Being a helpful Lancashire lad and not knowing the very strange ways of city dwellers at this time, a situation to be corrected in the very near future. I just leaned down, effortlessly picked her up, and placed her firmly on the table.

Well! you would not believe it, but perhaps you will, especially when I tell you. One of these b*****s looked me straight in the eye and then he deliberately trod on my fingers as hard as he could.

Well! being of a similar temperament to our friend Badgrammer, I just reached up with my free hand, grabbed his immaculate old school tie and pulled him down towards me, and as he was falling and still in mid air, clipped him hard on the chin, and he slumped silently to the floor.

Noticing the look of amazement and gratitude on the face of the girl’s father which only made two of us in favour, and a healthy seven in opposition, I decided to leave the area as quickly as possible.

A little while later, having won best of breed with our Lhasa Apso dog, I was introduced to the great Sherpa Tenzing conqueror of Everest, and eventually invited to an evening meal at the home of the Hendersons, who had previously owned a tea plantation in Sikkim.

They were fantastic people with two lovely daughters, both of them had recently been sent to London to study medicine, but, it was actually to get them out of the reach of the Maharajah, who had a roaming eye, hands to match, and divine rights.

At dinner I was seated between a pretty nineteen-year-old girl on my left and a more mature lady on my right, She, had a gin and whatever in her right hand, but her left one kept sliding down to touch the top of my leg, while her foot for some reason kept drifting about under the table.

I decided to move nearer to the pretty one and she responded quite nicely by closing up the small gap between us even more, and I thought “ooh cracked it here.”

After dinner, which until now I had presumed to be about dinner time, not late evening, the drinks were being consumed faster than ever and everyone seemed to be getting a bit merry, all except the pretty one, she, had become a little bit bored, I could see that quite clearly.

On the opposite side of the room was a very beautiful woman of about twenty five years old, it does not happen very often, nor does it happen to everyone, but the static electricity flew right across that large room and it hit me right between the eyes, and of course I wandered across for a better look.

She very quickly made a space for me to sit by her side, and then it happened, two rather large body guards moved right behind her, and one of them indicated that it was time for me to go, and I had not said a b**dy word.

At the same time the pretty girl who had missed nothing at all, just leaned forward and looked me straight in the eye too, but she also crooked her forefinger in my direction, and beckoned me back across the room, of course not being one to ignore such an open invitation I went to her.

Actually she was not very pleased, I could tell that by the way she said, “ You can take me home now!” Of course we had only been married for six months at that time.

Ooh! I nearly forgot to tell you in case you were wondering, the beautiful stranger, she was one of The Maharajah’s daughters, yes a real "Princess," and even my wife will still tell you “she really was very beautiful.

Hi H,

Only one's suitable, i have already got and were Annie's 'Sky Rune' and your own piece, 'The Fugitive', if you consider achane in the last line.

Of course you may submit something fresh if you want, and if you do - hopefully at the very latest on this thread by 6pm Sunday.

Thanks,

Jen

No it is fine jen, I trust your judgement, make it fit, I gave you a free hand.

Cheers H.