Personal

The Steps of Brixham

From early childhood to the 1960’s, either to get to school, or visit my Gran’s house, meet with friends or get to the heaths and beaches at Fishcombe, I and my family had to climb the many, many steps and hills on this side of Brixham.

And there are a lot of very steep flights of steps, plus several long winding steep hills, to reach the hidden roads and old houses that link the town and harbour together.

My Dad worked at Upham’s Yard, close to Berryhead road. He took me with him often, on Saturday mornings, when he worked half days. I watched the men use the old hand tools such as Adze and saws, or caulking the planks , watching rope being made, and many other crafts used in the building of the ship “Mayflower 11” .

Having just re-visited Brixham, and made the effort to climb most of these steps, I am amazed just how many times we must have skipped, ran and jumped up and down these incredibly ancient ways that make up a large part of the Town I knew and loved.

Words: Hazel Brown; Vid: Ian Nisbet

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The Cat Can Wait

This is one – a vid – I made earlier (about 3 years ago)

It’s about time it got blogged.

A rather long vid of cut up cats relentlessly waiting to, or mercilessly about to, pounce on their dinner.

With Keith Jarrett relentlessly pouncing and pounding away from behind as rhythmical accompaniment.

Vid: Ian Nisbet; Music: Keith Jarrett

PS (or SOS): It’s probably best not to know, or see, what happened to that helpless calf at the end. I don’t (and didn’t)

Bye for Now!

Bye for now!

As your last smiled-kissing lips, sighing body fusses
To leave the house in fast-flustered— missing buses,
Echoes of those last- passing paths of unsaid words declare…..?
To drift… On the air and fall on un-made bed and chair.

I gather up cup and plate, taking time to contemplate
Our loving, coupling-lip-kissing Sunday to Friday date
And know, now, over time, your body has woven into mine
With fine spun threads of spit and twine…..a Chrysalis

Wound ’round an energy as divine as joy, with blisses
Unbounded. Our bodies bond in liquid spiralling kisses
spinning us up! And out—-around, around and around!
Each golden chakra full- filled, flung upward without sound!

Into a white-bright…white-light of breathless Peace!

– Hazel Brown 19 Feb 2017

Meet Mr Whippy

Meet Mr Whippy, a Chinese weatherloach. A very fascinating chap.

Feeds on the bottom. Feeds on the top. Gets right underneath. Gets all around the sides.

Will poke head out of the water and frisk the air with his whiskery barbs.
Sometimes he hides.

Apparently, he will tell me when a storm is coming; by frantically whizzing around, jumping and splashing, getting extremely agitated.

Sometimes Mr Whippy will lie there, very still, waiting and watching, witnessing and wondering, lost in seemingly deep cogitation: What effect will Bexit have on the British economy? Will the price of fishflakes go up? Is Donald Trump a parodic inversion of Vladimir Putin? Are the both of them a pair of psychopaths?

Who is that bald biped staring at me through the glass? When’s he going to get his finger out and lob in some supper? Etc etc.

Mr Whippy is half fish and half something else. Like a seal crossed with an eel.
One day he’s going to jump right out of that bowl.

Words & Vid: Ian Nisbet

The Echo of your Breath (rebreathed)

A rebreathing of a little poem Haze wrote in May 2015

The echo of your breath
Is here in my room.
Light liquid tenderness flows
Through my heart

The touch of your fingers
Snowflake ..frosted
Breaks upon my skin

Threads of honeyed kisses
Will fly on the cold night air
From my soft lips to yours

Your soul has woven itself
Into my hair.

the-echo-of-your-breath-2-edit

Poem & Picture: Hazel Brown (4 Dec 2016)

‘I heard the blackbird sing. I have lived’

‘I heard the blackbird sing. I have lived’.

So wrote Henning Mankell. He was keeping a cancer diary of what would be his last year on earth. Read this final farewell published on The Guardian in January this year. He’d already died (October 2015)

It got me thinking what I might write to say I’d lived.

So I’ve come up with these few pithy sentences. Meant to be humorously, and not too seriously, saying truthful things about the last couple of years I’ve lived, and shared my life, with Miss Hazel Brown.

I picked those autumn berries. I have lived.
I chucked away my telly. I have lived.
I worked when necessary. I have lived.
I never had a penny. I have lived.
I was made for not making merry. I have lived.
I chugged along rock steady. I have lived.

I wasn’t rude like Geoffrey. I have lived.
I hoola hooped so many. I have lived.
I hogged down pud aplenty. I have lived.
I smelt the unmade coffee. I have lived.
I bloodied every bleddy. I have lived.
I charged up ever ready. I have lived.
I wasn’t wildly hairy. I have lived.

I flew with a golden faerie. I have lived.
I mooned around her belly. I have lived.
I split her swollen cherry. I have lived.
I made her tremor very. I have lived
I flickered with her gently. I have lived.

I exquisited so heavenly. I have lived.

I cherish every memory. I have lived.

To be continued……

Words & Reflections: Ian Nisbet