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!

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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Changing The Shape Of The Universe

 


A response to Stephen Evan's post, The Jesus of Silver Spring



English has two great forgotten words, namely 'helpmeet' which is much greater than 'lover' and 'loving-kindness' which is so much greater than even 'passion'.  Lawrence Durrell

I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in. Virginia Woolf. (Without hesitation, I would remove the 'perhaps'.)

A good poem helps to change the shape of the universe, helps to extend everyone's knowledge of himself and the world around him. Dylan Thomas (What he says of the powers of poetry, I would extend to all authentic writing and every random act of kindness.)

Who do you say that I am? Jesus Christ to St Peter.



Perhaps the last quote seems a strange inclusion in the light of Stephen's post. For me, it does sum up his musings.

Any response to the question is generally unvoiced, shadowy, hardly or never considered, but is implicit and inescapable in our attitude to being. In this mirror, we see our reflection. Through our own lens, we measure others, forever searching for an image we recognise, though we're scarcely aware of it. Meanwhile the quest for joy, for a life of fulfilment and meaning goes on.

Jesus says: I am come that they might have Life, and that they might have it more abundantly.

Abundant life! A blossoming tenderness for the whole of Creation and a compulsion to care for it.

Then all may become as it should be, by miraculous consolation, even in the dark times. Keats' 'negatitive capability' is a cosmic phenomenon and a scandal equally to logicians and doomsayers as to those who seek shelter in a shiny fools' paradise.

This is the most precious gift. This is Living. This is Love. Enjoy!

Hearts do matter!

 

Heartsease courtesy of Matthew Drollinger

Recent Comments
Stephen Evans
Durrell was right - two great and and forgotten words.
Saturday, 02 February 2019 23:34
Katherine Gregor
Helpmeet. What a beautiful word.
Sunday, 03 February 2019 17:32
Monika Schott
I love the word too. I'll have to find somewhere to use it!
Monday, 04 February 2019 03:29
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Silver And Gold Have I None...

 

 Harking back to 2012...a lifetime ago!

 

 

Febrile kindled flame
gathering energy on

deluged thoroughfares

banishing our ruined dreams

fresh vision broadcast

 

the nation focused
reminiscent spectacle

of our heritage

gone the touchstone of its soul

the flint and tinder

 

struck by our forebears
tillers of the untamed earth

servants and soldiers

merchants, miners and martyrs

bringers of quick light

 

vicarious now
the hope of saving glory

coffers overdrawn

no securities gilt-edged

faint hearts overwrought

 

seams, today seamless
our lottery's tarnished coin

spent and spent again

the lure of medals hinting

new Jerusalem

 

Seize the pick, the pen, the spade
the simple plough and harrow

bind up wounds, support the sick

life's not fair's true sportsmanship

our children's gold tomorrow!

 


 

from Mysteries of Light (collection in preparation)

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Latest Comments

Rosy Cole Tree Song
10 June 2019
I am absolutely one hundred per cent sure of that! Seriously! Just having a dog thoroughly reveals t...
Stephen Evans Tree Song
09 June 2019
Sometimes I imagine the natural world looks at us and thinks: if only they understood.
Rosy Cole Tree Song
09 June 2019
This is so engaging and so wise and so visionary and so insightful and so celebratory just because.....
Ken Hartke Travel Notes: The Great American Desert
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I'm glad you enjoyed it and I enjoy taking people along on these journeys. When I reached over twent...
Monika Schott Intimacy.
26 May 2019
Thanks Rosy. It's one of those things where everything is worthy but no one thing is important. I le...