Rosy Cole

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Rosy Cole was born and educated in the Shires of England. Her writing career started in her teens. Four apprentice works eventually led to publication of two novels. Life intervened, but she returned to authorship in 2004. She has worked as a Press Officer and Publisher's Reader. Among widespread interests, she lists history, opera, musicals, jazz, the arts, drawing and painting, gemmology, homoeopathy and alternative therapies. Theology also is an abiding interest. As a singer, she's performed alongside many renowned musicians and has run a music agency which specialised in themed 'words-and-music' programmes, bringing her two greatest passions together. Rosy's first book of poetry, THE TWAIN, Poems of Earth and Ether, was published in April 2012, National Poetry Month, and two other collections are in preparation. As well as the First and Second Books in the Berkeley Series, she has written several other historical titles and one of literary fiction. She is currently working on the Third Book in the Berkeley Series. All her books are now published under the New Eve imprint. Rosy lives in West Sussex with her son, Chris, and her Springador, Jack, who keeps a firm paw on the work-and-walkies schedule!

Mirror Moon

 

Image courtesy of the Academy of Classical Design, Glendale Springs 

 

Mystic moon,
riding voiles of dusk
earth hangs deathly still
in the light of your
seed of honesty
you calibrate years
in bakers' dozens
turning tides within
and oceans onshore
never begotten
though not for want of
moonshine and wishing

Mirror moon,
you hide the far side
while the world reflects
in your rear view glass
craving salvation
O moon, is it time?

 

 Image courtesy of David Vickery, Courthouse Gallery, Ellsworth, Maine

 

 

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Lift Thine Eyes

 

Bridal Procession on Hardanger Fiord - Hans Gude (with a little assistance from Adolph Tidemand).

 

 

Lift thine eyes, O lift thine eyes,
behold the mountain's crown,
heed not a frailty of craft,
rough rocks and storms that drown

Above the tumult of blind strife,
there lies a clearer sphere,
where angels weave a tapestry
from sunlit shadows here

That's from whence our help shall come,
a guide through life's defiles
to heaven's Revelation,
the Hope of misty miles

 

 

Into the Light - Hans Gude (with a little assistance from Adolph Tidemand).

Verses based on Psalm 121

Art: Hans Gude, Norwegian Romantic landscape painter, March 13, 1825 - August 17, 1903

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Ruining The Negative

 

 

At Independence Pass
perched on the scythe edge
of a predicament
did you discover
the landscape
formed a route
to Independence?

Or did you Pass?

Steady the lens
keep focused on the peaks
that way
the abyss
cannot exist
lean, and it will
become God's foothold.

 

 

Images courtesy of Trey McCarley

Poem from...


 

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A Postcard From Dystopia

 

 

A vignette...

 

A couple of times a year, Jamie's grandparents would brace themselves to take him on a trip to a theme park or adventure playground and made a great show of having fun. He couldn’t make out where they were coming from because they were normally quite humourless. Above Jamie’s head, they would bicker about what children liked and what disciplines were called for, each claiming a superior interpretation of scriptural wisdom.

After these outings, he’d have bizarre dreams in which his grandparents were cast as 2-D comic Disney characters, pulling and twisting with the immanent velocity of the plot. It was funny, but sort of scary too, like those supermarket promotions where a big, furry cereal monster greeted you at the door looking friendly and benign, but you knew there was an unknowable being inside the costume.

On one occasion, they’d taken him to a Safari Park and monkeys had clambered all over Grandpa’s newly waxed Vauxhall and torn off the windscreen wipers as if they were stripping bamboo. He had made believe they were mischievous tykes and grunted with grisly laughter, but Grandma’s face was menacing with indignation. All day, even over their corned beef picnic, she talked of recompense, insurance. It was no use Grandpa pointing out the notice disclaiming indemnity against such risks. She didn’t blench at the sight of the lions and tigers lunching on blood-smeared carcasses, but turned pale and uptight when he depressed the accelerator hard to show Jamie how the car could whizz along ‘to give the pipes a good blow’.

“Edwin! You’re over the limit! Don’t expect to be kept safe! It’s not me speaking, it’s God!

With the penetrating and uncluttered intuition of a child, Jamie knew that his Grandpa’s mastery of the machine was the one aspect of performance in which he could excel and have Grandma at his mercy.

When she went off to the Ladies, Grandpa told Jamie about an awful dream he kept having.

He was riding a tiger. He was sitting precariously upon its bare back and could see the muscles rippling through the striped sheen of its fur. The tiger repeatedly turned its head and snarled. A hollow rumble was coming from its jaws. Every time hanging foliage whipped against Grandpa's face, he had to concentrate hard to keep his balance. If he fell off, he would be devoured in seconds.

Jamie listened agog. Disappointment at the open ending of the story was stilled by a dull relief.

Then Grandpa said: “You know, don’t you, James, that Grandma’s got native blood? Pirates from the Barbary coast!"

Jamie had only the haziest grasp of what this might mean. He was inherently blind to shades of skin. His best chum's father was from Nairobi. It was not a good time to probe such matters because Grandma was coming back wearing her usual sour expression. She appeared for all the world to be sucking lemons.

“Right then!” said Grandpa. “There’s enough wind to fly a kite today! What do you say, James?”

Evermore, James was to associate kite-flying with the dream. The trouble with kites was that if you let go, they took off in a demented whirl, up and away, before a nosedive over some entangling wood, or plumb into the middle of dark, deep waters where they sank without trace.

 

 

Images courtesy of Nancy Tillman, children's illustrator.

 

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
Wonderfully thought-provoking.
Sunday, 17 February 2019 18:44
Rosy Cole
Thank you so much, Katia. It's helpful to know you found it so. The passage is from Entertaining Angels, a novel I wrote twenty ye... Read More
Monday, 18 February 2019 12:05
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2 Comments

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