Circles

By d.W. Whitfield

This is a mixture of styles and subject matter exploring all aspects of society in a serious and not-so-serious point of view.

Alone I sit in solitude, awash from the sounds of day, who knocks, who listens?

Only silence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546290698

d.W. Whitfield

The author’s second novel originally from N. East England now resides permanently in Mid-West France enjoying the beauty of the countryside. His other full time occupation is that of an artist exhibiting paintings throughout Europe and being published in art books and periodicals.

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© 2018 D W Whitfield. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  03/30/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9070-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9071-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9069-8 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

A Day In The Life

A Kind Of Music

A Point Of Honour

A Small Friend

Always A Bargain

And Now

Circling

Cold

Colours

Conviction

Do Not Sleep

Drift In The Wind

Final Cut

Forgery

Fruit

Growing Pains

How Far

Last Call

Mirror

Next Stop

No Room

On Reflection

One Day I Left

Party Hat

Play The Game

Portrait Gallery

Queue

Reason

Rebel

Rooms

Say Goodnight

Scarred Ash

Shadowed Reflection

Silence

Sleep

Snow Flame

Space Time Continuum

Stones

The Bed

The Oak

The Short Crossing

The Turtle

The Waiting Room

Time Around Time

Time For A Drink

To Be Continued

Tomorrow’s Past

Visitor’s

Walking With Jsb

Work

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I sit here alone as usual

devoid of conversation

but with whom to communicate being alone

there is no one I am able to converse with

other than myself

and without being too over cautiously modest

I am undoubtedly a good listener

I sit and without movement concentrate upon

the discourse which is presented without rancour

towards the audience which is

that is to say myself

who else may be able to sustain so high

an intellectual discourse with coolness of

articulation and arbitration of erudition as I

propose this point of dispute to myself

I ponder some time to pause and reflect upon

this disposition and so accordingly with a

signaled nuance I at once dispatched from

myself to acquire a certain robust vintage

from within the know from darkened depths

of my cave to help aid in the request of

information pertaining to the ongoing dicussion

between myself

and of course myself

such intervals of articulation interspersed with numerous

humorous anecdotes transversed the hours gaining

ground throughout the evening

and still at some rate into the yawning night itself now

pertaining to some sluggishness as a result of an over

sensitive palate and so

suffering indulgence from a smooth rubied interloper

who with a gentle shyness of soothing tomes contributed

in no small way to this delightful drift into

somnambulant solipsism

I sit here alone as usual

devoid of company who else

would keep these hours

some tried and let drift

before they followed another

this life in living is a continuous thing not to be

compartmentalized there is no let up

only a change of pace the searching continuous

there could be no let up no reprieve only a pause

a slower question but still needing a quicker answer

questions questions always

and if an answer found begs another question to be

answered that eludes yet another answered question

why am I here rather than there

yet in both from a point of view

fate or chance or definition or laziness or both

or all in relative terms I am here and there

because

I am here and there

another cup of tea or the first of the nectarous delight

to satisfy the wrinkled eye and tender to the tongue

in sublimity of satisfaction

and in that moment of interaction hides the delayed effect

of head ached infinity

not so he thought downing the glass in lied satisfaction

he brushed his teeth and walked into town

enjoying the pleasant sunny day sheltering into a pub

to watch on TV the world destroying itself

while platitudinal politicians waffled endlessly in mouthed

emptiness ignoring sense and questioned ability

another world

he called over to a solitary man nursing

a pint attempting some social conversation

the reply being rather colourful he thought better than to

pursue the matter me neither he replied

and finished his pint

on the street he watched people and walked on through

windows through walls flew over roof tops read the minds

of those waiting at the bus stop

but he couldn’t read his own

he made love to a girl who begged him to stay

he smiled I have to be on my way

he married another and divorced the next day

he lost himself in a bookstore with books to live

a hundred years then cried like a baby who was lost

take me home he wailed

before jumping over a fence laughing into the nearest pub

it’s no laughing matter wherever I am

he put money into a charity box picket a pocket

and gave the money to an old lady at the bus stop for a taxi

bought a take away and gave it to a tramp checking a window

reflection making sure it wasn’t himself

then walked home to find his house on fire

rushing in to save his shoes he realised it was next door

so watched the local drunk weave his stuttering roll up the street

don’t breath on the flames

the whole street will be alive with heat

looking into the mirror to check

he whirled in his armchair and alighting

at the first stop to put on a record of water music listening

to the firemen singing as they doused the flames in foaming

cream another drink

good health

the day now stilled but lingering on

in orange peeled grinning smiles

before the nights’steely hand

takes grip

then grasped in iced fingering sweats

teases shadowed nightmares

into tormented grins

A KIND OF MUSIC

the door swung open

allowing him to enter unannounced

his dark clothing instantly blending into the

ill lit bar as he maneuvered chess wise toward

the counter in a side stepping move

few eyes bothered to follow him

concentration was centered toward a small jazz trio

fitted tightly into a corner their delicate intricacies

hummed questions into gently nodding heads

donkey like of those that populate oil fields

follow quickly or tarry the while and lose

the thread and be then lost

and left only with the crutch

the piper has gone but the wise Theseus

holds tight in the threaded labyrinth

and follows the path

to the exit

he sat down at a small table a drink in both hands

tight and rhythmic melodic notes woven into concentrated

surprises sharpened imagination taking a journey

where even the musicians were unsure

of the next step

his whole body unknotted and eased into relief

emptied of irritating emotion to slide into oblivion

the music teased and caressed through veils of transported

covered delights no easy passage here

but what are the cares to compare with the promised treasure within

no movement announced the grouped audience now as one

with the alchemists’ of sound unhurried in their gentle intricate

weave an enticement into the subway a subterranean world

mythology turns to reality but beware the cloven hoof

that follows always into tragedy into the climactic

or withered to despair and regret

make merry of tiny scars

tis the great journey that shouts the delight

and savours the warmth into the wrinkled cold

as to turn the night from isolation and cold cynicism

into a soft jewelled pleasure

another nudge you can’t stay here

move it come on

the body moved slowly in the doorway

a push another push and before the next

it turned rapidly to face the voice with a glaring ferocity

the other backed off the arrogance drained suddenly

stepping away obvious fear showed in the spiteful face

he continued the glare to walk slowly away

the frowned annoyance giving way immediately

to a half smiled chuckling self

here where is here that I can’t be

you have to be somewhere but today

there is nowhere to be

where am I where is here

here now is different from the here of ten minutes ago

so can I be here

as long as you keep moving

to constantly change the here

to stay in a more permanent here you have to pay

people fight over a piece of here

countries go to war over claims for here

usually someone wants all of here and won’t share

then trouble

they even want the here that is in your head

but what if you won’t give it

wherein lies then the nudge

who is the instigator

why the decision to leave

from lack of interest or pushed away

by lack of admission to enter inside the here

a failure of admittance

would obviate their reluctance to remain

so eventual departure

your fault

interest divided and goals undecided there fault

incompatibility always the given reason

from all sides to take to change to alter

the rose in bloom of delicate perfume

clasps the assassin with a long nailed fist

a smile unknown received from an unknown

pushed into deceit let not the self lapse into pity

poke not the eye from spiteful jealousy

accept another path and spit out the wrath

jump and jump again into the deep

it may float you ashore

back where you began

what was he doing

at two o’clock in the morning walking

he never walked

walking toward home in the rain which lay

miles ahead in the black wet night the rain felt black

falling onto his head in sharp stinging stabs then running

snake like under his collar to soak his back

to soak his spirit

what was he doing

another path going nowhere one left behind

one in front both a waste

he strode on one squelching foot after another

down another blind cul-de-sac in the rain

on and on with mechanical strides

just moving from here to there

going no where

gradually the rain eased then ceased altogether

after the initial coldness of wet clothing the walking

warmed and dried him like a drip dry shirt

miles later in sore feet back home he stripped

and fell exhausted and bewildered onto the bed

what a stupid mess of a life a complete waste of time

he was standing no where lead by the nose

the sacrificial meat spiked in sport

chanced into endless worded avenues

the queens fool until boredom

then another game with higher stakes

run the pot until dry

snigger in silence

behind the bladdered fool

until the joke runs cold

be not aware in arrogance of conceit

of the fool when tired of such chill may

burst the bladder for his own delight

surprised then that fools also laugh

unending unforgiving of no known distance

of no known length the lived life of it’s own is its own

to be holding only to……..

to what to nothing

to exist only in a memory an interpretation

an enrichment an insight and part of the unknown

so desperate to be known

everything was dumped his decision

people belongings the flat his job

his strung out emotional involvement and vocal pretentious

apologies were all lies anyway

this new land wavered and disappeared dissolving

into shimmering heat waves that caused difficulty in breathing

his lungs filled with hot air

in standing still he almost slept

such sapping power to remove strength

sweat poured through every pore

his lips cracked his skin burnt

he was awed by the land untouched and stretched out beyond

the sight of his eye and farther still to challenge the vastness

of the sky

that was all there was the sky the land the heat and absolute

silence untarnished uncorrupted to smother and engulf the

unending space with confidence to shout it’s presence within

it’s subterfuge it was itself complete just being there

uncomplaining I exist I am

no barriers existed here

no signs to warn to want to take to stop

no walls no fences to halt to enclose to trap

no hardness of hail to sting the ear

no sharpened barbs to sink and wound

only the air scoffs to blow as it pleases

only the heat dares a crackling sting

only the night warns of danger

this was land to be not to own not to take not to use

to be part of to respect to feel humility

to learn to even enjoy it’s challenge

to be at one with it to walk it

he continued the journey the direction dictated

by a curiosity a whim or fate

that curiosity of lifes compass

held in esteem or scoffed as superstition

strange are the twists and turns

that lead and guide or push and pull

by chance of some quirk doth events

take over the paths of a life the choice stands

leave it or take it

the result hangs as a question

the wandering savoured as a fine wine

echoes of experience tasted into memories

it was the time of the harlequins dance

to make merry for himself for himself

the grandiose court moved its postured sham

forgotten out of sight to play another

here was not the place of bored pettiness

such inane squabbles here left bleached remains to dust

where even the gods hesitated to play games their voices

drowned in the ovened silence no one dared a game here

still in a walk he continued until the time

it was another time yet to arrive but to be planned

now to be ready to shape it and not be manipulated

the arena left bare

no longer to wander the labyrinth but awareness guards

against the bull the thread grasped once more

he knew of the exit

or was it the entrance

the door swung open

then quietly smoothly closed behind him

a barely perceptual smile eased across his face

this room small and intimate

stretched inside his mind no more the pettiness

of selfish want held him bound

space was everywhere still expanding in a clarity

of perception

masks stripped bare through layers of falsity

his own included

the horizon still lay beyond his reach

that was the adventure

the door closed behind him

another opened in front

this was his kind of music freedom of improvisation

no noise only melodies of air blowing mysteries

around boundless space

no walls no nudges to move

no sarcasm

a sip of

his drink a wry smile

this was his kind of music

A POINT OF HONOUR

a splendid spring morning

he rose at a leisurely pace bathed donned his gown

ate a full breakfast finishing off with toast

and marmalade another toast and english tea

perusing the newspaper he noted with much distate of

some report outlining the distasteful arrogant behaviour

yet again by some of the local politicians

muttering about those who get above themselves

he dressed in the manner of a gentleman

a three piece suit spats bowler hat of course the cane

his button hole a crisp carnation

addressing his appearance to the mirror he did admit

to a certain satisfaction of the image displayed

one must maintain standards

in a somewhat jaunty gait he stepped forth into the

balmy sunshine sauntering at a gentle pace toward

the park for a morning constitutional tipping his hat

to the elderly as etiquette proscribes

but especially to those small groups of shy gentle folk

the ladies also enjoying a sunny stroll smiling and

giggling in their lovely beauty accompanied by a sterner

faced chaperone

a smile a tilt of the head a slight raise of the hat in true

gentlemanley manner before in some consternation a

hesitant frown darkened his countenance for at some

distance hence a burly figure seemingly headed toward him

no doubt partaking the air as with the rest of the public but the

appearance of this particular gentleman of ungainly gait

further furrowed the brow for as they both drew closer

there was no doubt that he of clownish gait twas he of the

aforementioned newspaper article pertaining to the behaviour

of certain local officials and their lack of public accountability

so outraged was he that as they drew near he at once

confronted this nee’r do well of supposed rank of gentleman

who’s astonished expression gave way to alarm as before him

a complete stranger