Voices on the Wind

 

What if the wind
Was the collective voice
Of every loved one who
Ever passed?

Endless voices of sorrow
Trying their simple best
To answer every question
Ever asked.

I’d listen contentedly
To all of things they’ve seen
And done since they were here
with me last.

© Aarron Mondello
24/2/2018

Weekend children

By Aarron Mondello

6/2/2018

The weekend is here
The kids are home
There’s laughter in the air
Nope. That’s screaming
And siblings fighting
Yelling “Hey that’s just not fair!”

The Little One
Starts acting up
For him it’s just no fun
When the others all
Shut their doors
And leave him on his own

So he packs it in
And chucks a fit
Then drops down on his bum
Starts to cry
And scream out loud
That he just wants his mum

But she’s at work
And he’s not happy
Neither is the Eldest Girl
His screaming fit
Outside her room
Is ruining her whole world

The middle two
Come out and ask
“Hey dad, what’s wrong with him?”
“Well ya buggered off
And shut your door
And will not let him in”

Miss Princess
Kneels down
But Little One is pissed
He takes a swipe
At her face
I’m so glad he missed

She starts to shout
But he turns around
“Oh dad I need wee wee”
But it’s too late
For as he stands
It’s running down his knees

The Oldest Boy
Looks disgusted
So far he’s stood there quiet
Now he snaps
At the Little One
“You should have used the toilet!”

Now there’s a puddle
I must clean
In the carpeted Hall
While all around me
All four are demanding
No wonder I’m going bald

I get it done
Now they’re all fighting
I decide its movie time
I put one on
Turn off the light
Now to get my bottle of wine

©Aarron Mondello
6/2/2018


Image Fry from Futurama

Angel Baby

By Aarron Mondello

1/2/2018

Good morning Angel Baby
I see you sitting there
Far above me in the heavens
In a rainbow rocking chair

I miss you Angel Baby
I wish that you were home
There’s been a hole in my heart
From the moment you were gone

I still hold you Angel Baby
Every moment in my heart
Can you feel my embrace
From your home among the stars

I still love you Angel Baby
With every breath I take
Some days I feel the emptiness
Is more than I can face

Can I see you Angel Baby
Sometimes I can it seems
In photographs all around
And always in my dreams

Where you are Angel Baby
I pray you’re not alone
One day I’ll come there to you
On that day I’m coming home

©Aarron Mondello
1/2/2018


Image

https://www.trekearth.com/gallery/North_America/United_States/West/Oregon/Lincoln_City/photo352622.htm

Lonely Roads of Galdenya: ch1

By Aarron Mondello

PENNED BY THE HAND OF FREGOR LANDSON, WANDERING SCRIBE AND POET.

I have spent a good portion of my many years traversing the back and forgotten roads of Galdenya, away from the cities of man.

A long and tiresome journey it has been yet I have relished in the discovery of it.

From the edge of The Frozen Wastes in the south and into the trees that make the beginning of the Taltyri Forrest many months travel to the north. Around to the Great Ocean in the east and through to the Mountains of La’Tail in the west, that no man in recorded history has seen beyond.

Many times I have made this journey via differing paths and routes and I would not be at all surprised to find that I have seen more of my beloved Galdenya than any who came before me.

I was much surprised to find, during my last visit to the Frozen Waste that there was water lapping the white shores proceeding the ice. Indeed, it appeared as though the ice is, for the first time in living memory, thawing. Though I could still see the blue expanse of it beginning a bare stones throw away from where I stood. But that is not a tale for the here and now.

Here in these pages I will attempt to organise and arrange my findings and adventures as I travelled the Lonely Roads of Galdenya.

 

FIRST STEPS

I was born to a small farming family just about two hours walk to the east of Galdawn, the shining sun of Galdenya and capital of the land.

From a young age I was “taken by flights of fancy and had not a head for the land”, as my da was fond of saying.

He loved me dearly, as did mama, but I was not built for farm life and caused them plenty of grief with my imaginative ways.

So much so that when came my 14th birthday and I announced to them, my two sisters and my four brothers that I wished to seek apprenticeship with the librarians in Galdawn they heartily agreed that would be for the best.

A week later came the day I would make the trip to the city and beg my place amongst the apprentices.

There were tears from mama, firm handshakes from da and my brothers and teasing from my sisters who believed I would return in less than a month with my tail between my legs.

They were very wrong.

I spent the customary three day period begging the Masters of Lore to allow me to join their ranks as apprentice.

On the third evening, as night fell, so too did my final hope. I would have to try again next year, but unless some accident or ill fortune culled the apprentices, I would not be accepted then either.

The sun was just a golden line above the horizon, the masters and Beggars alike had all left save for me. I stayed in the street on my knees and cursed my bad luck.

With barely a half of an hour  remaining before night fell and my time was up I became aware of a presence standing behind me.

I turned and was surprised to see an old man bent heavily over a walking cane with wisps of white hair clinging to his scalp. The real surprise was the silver chain around his neck with a thin thread of gold running up to his earlobe and joining a crystal stud pierced there.

This proclaimed him a Lore Master, but the poor cut of his white robes showed he did not fair well in his trade.

I began to stand, already deciding I would prefer the life of a farmer over serving a failed master in his dotage.

“Kneel boy!” he snapped in a tone that commanded obedience at once and I fell heavily back to my knees.

I stared up at him and he smiled down at me.

“Much better,” his voice had softened to something much more kindly. “What do you Beg here?”

“A-a-apprenticeship, Master,” I stammered, “with the the Lore Masters, the librarians.”

“Very well, apprenticeship you shall have. And your first task will be to help me home. My body tires and I’m not entirely certain I can make it unaided. Indeed, I almost missed the Begging due to this old body.”

“Forgive me master, but I wish apprenticeship with the libraries.”

“And so you shall have it, if you quit your prattling and follow, though maybe not in the library you choose.”

And with that he turned away and began to hobble up the road.

I stayed where I was, stunned and unsure what to do.

He made no more than a dozen steps when he tottered and fell hard on his bottom.

I leaped up and ran to him. He was laughing quietly when I reached him.

“There see, I knew you would listen, though slow to start. We’ll get that out of you yet,” he chuckled as I helped him to his feet.

There followed the longest walk I ever had. It felt longer even than all the miles I traversed alone through Galdenya in following years.

We made our way slowly through the streets of Galdawn. Fast emptying now the sun had set on the city. Which was to my liking. Helping the old man was a task in itself, crowds would only make it worse jostling us about as they no doubt would.

After more than an hour of frequent stops to let him rest and more than one occasion of him losing his balance and nearly falling we came finally to a large building of white marble. Unadorned in any way save for the great bronze door carved to look like a book and fashioned so expertly that when opened it appeared as though a large book was indeed being opened for a giant to read.

This I knew, by descriptions I had heard, was the Royal Library. The place where all matters pertaining to the royal bloodline were stored.

I feared the sanity of the old man was gone and opened my mouth to speak. Before I could the door was flung open and tall, stern faced woman came striding out.

Her dark hair hung loose about her shoulders and bobbed with each step. She stopped before the bent old man and inclined her head. He bowed as deeply as he could manage and then scowled at me when I didn’t follow his example.

Too late I noticed the royal crown embroidered down her sleeves and across the collar of her extravagant cold and blue gown.

“Master Gayle,” she spoke in a voice accustomed to command. “The hour is late and long have I waited here for your return.” She raised an eyebrow at me and I hastily fetched a bow, remaining bent in the hopes of undoing any offence I had caused.

“You highness, my queen, had I known you sought me I would have left a message. But as today was the last day of the Begging I had need to be in the city. My services are now at your disposal, highness.” Master Gayle spoke in a way that suggested he was familiar with the queen and she with him.

“Nay, I have found what I sought. I am glad to see you are unharmed, friend.”

“Unharmed save for the ravages of time, my lady,” Master Gayle chuckled, “and with an apprentice to boot!”

I felt the queen turn her gaze on me and quailed under her scrutiny.

“That is well, and past time. You do not grow younger Gayle,”

To my surprise she bent then and kissed the old man on his wrinkled forehead before sweeping past us followed by guards I had not noticed as they stood within library’s vast door.

Master Gayle turned to me and smiled, “Come lad. We shall get acquainted, you and I,” and he shuffled unaided into the cool interior of the Royal Library.

Here I shall skip many months that remain vivid in my memory and heart, though they do not bare over much on the tale of my travels. It was one full year and a half that I served under Master Gayle in the Royal Library, and many strange tales I read there.

Tales of creation and the Vor’Dalee, that fabled race who held the favour of the gods and yet were, in the end, spurned by them.

The tale of the Upstart Prince who murdered his father to claim a throne and then one day inexplicably denounced his claim and fled the kingdom. That one, according to dates, happened not many years before my birth and is a true accounting that I will not tell in full here. And many more besides.

Master Gayle and I became fast friends and even, forgive me da, built a relationship not unlike the closeness of father and son.

Many nights we spent awake till early hours, sitting by the fireplace and talking. Mostly I listened as he taught me the ways of the library or told me tales I had not yet read.

I grew to love the old Master and I am certain he loved me too.

Then, at the end of my first year under him, he fell very ill. He developed a fever one night though he showed no signs of sickness leading up to it. For 9 days I tended him until the fever broke and he spoke to me then of his family and the home he left in favour of the library. The scorn of a wife for leaving and fellow apprentices for being so much older than they, and a brother who disowned him and cared for Master Gayle’s family in his absence.

He spoke of his childhood and we laughed as it was revealed that his life was very much like mine.

The weight fell off his body and within two months he could no longer rise from bed.

I went to check on him one morning, half a year after his fever and found him sitting up in bed, a lap table laid across his knees holding quill, ink, parchment and a small vial of sand.

“Fregor,” he spoke to me in a hoarse whisper, “I will leave this life soon. I feel it in every bone, in every aching muscle. My time is coming.”

“Master Gayle,” I began but he cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I wish I had not wasted my life away with these books of dead men and their tales.  This library cost me everything.”

“I thought you loved the library, Master Gayle,” I said to him.

“I do, lad. But now I am at the end of my days and see it was poorly traded when I took these books and scrolls over all the things I loved and could have loved, had I given myself the life to experience them.”

I did not know how to respond to that and so we sat in silence for a time. Eventually he dipped his quill and began to write, I took my leave.

Three days later, before midday, as I was organising my writing equipment in my pack there came a knock at my door.

“Come,” I called out and a woman named Elis opened my door.

Her eyes were puffy and red and she held a linen handkerchief bunched in one hand.

“Fregor, Master Gayle has passed,” straight to the point and it was a point that rocked me.

The world spun and I believe I blacked out for I have no recollection of how I came to be on my bed or where Elis had gone.

My mind was blank and my heart was sore.

I’m not entirely sure how but before lunch had come I was outside the city standing on the west bound highway.

I think even then I knew I would seek out Master Gayle’s estranged family.

 


This is a work on progress and a very rough draft, though I hope you enjoy it despite its (probable) many mistakes, bad grammar and poor layout. I would love to know your thoughts. 

Welcome to Galdenya.


Image

https://www.google.com.au/amp/s/breakingmuscle.com/amp/healthy-eating/down-in-the-dirt-series-part-3-a-local-farm-and-the-city-slickers-who-run-it

My Thoughts While I Eat My Pie.

By Aarron Mondello

I wrote this little one a few weeks ago when I was away from home and missing my special lady. 

Sitting by the beach
Eating a hot pie
Staring out to sea
Where the ocean meets the sky
A small bird flying fast
Across the ocean blue
A fishing line is cast
And I think of you
Ripples on the surface
As the gentle breeze blows
Speed boat coming near us
Gradually it slows
By my side another car
Next to that another few
Today you feel so far
So I only think of you
And here a single man
Walking along barefoot
Slowly up the sand
While a lady reads her book
Two friends siting near
Discussing what to do
I’m close to enough hear
Yet I only think of you
Yellow buoys bobbing
Someone freestyle swimming
And my mind is throbbing
With thoughts of you this evening

©Aarron Mondello2017


Image is my own photo

Christmas Morning

By Aarron Mondello

24/12/2017

It’s the morning of Christmas
And all through the house
Children were waking
With a calamitous shout

Like stampeding elephants
The run down the hall
Nearly trampling the toddler
When unbalanced he falls

Into the lounge room
And up to the tree
They all go a sprinting
Squealing with glee

There’s a rustle of paper
Then sharp tearing sounds
All voices are silent
While they see what they have found

From Mum and Dads room
There came a great roar
“We’ve not got our coffee
Best open no more”

Collectively they groan
As though with one voice
They back away from the presents
Knowing they’ve got no choice

Big Sister then says
“We’d best fix them a drink
Or trick them with water
In a mug. Do you think?”

They all heard Mums voice
All knowing and smug
“We know the sound
Of cold water in a mug.”

Dejected rejected
They head for the kitchen
All except for the toddler
Who waited expectant

The coffee was made
Finally done
So Big Sis called out
“Come Dad and come Mum.”

Mere moments had passed
They went back to see
Mr Four Year Old Brother
Unwrapped all under the tree

There followed tears and tantrums
Crying and fights
None were as happy
As on Christmas Eve night

I’ll finish this tale
By telling you true
They all had a great Christmas
I hope you do too.

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image

Waddington’s Limited Edition Christmas Puzzles

My Christmas Poem

By Aarron Mondello

24/12/2017

The tiny tree
On the table
Silently awaits
December’s fable
Sparkling baubles
Figurines
Most days go
Largely unseen
Until the magic
Comes that night
And bathes the children
In Christmas light
Excitement bubbles
In the air
Wide eyed with wonder
They stand and stare
Until one shouts
“This one’s yours
And look it says
From Santa Claus”

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image found on Pinterest

Too Late

By Aarron Mondello

21/12/2017

It’s too late for the rain to fall
Down on a child’s tomb
Like tears wetting heavens floor
Soak into her earthen womb

It’s too late for the moon to light
The path for its nighttime kin
For here he sits in his room alone
Fresh cuts upon his skin

It’s too late for the sun to shine
Down on an old man’s face
Confused, scared and alone
He does not recall this place

It’s too late for the wind to blow
The hair of a sickly mother
One last time she closes her eyes
On this world and flies to another

But it’s not too late for those who are left
Behind to mend their hearts
For though the soul is now bereft
They remain forever in the hearts.

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image https://www.deviantart.com/art/Too-Little-Too-Late-106576553

Her

By Aarron MONDELLO

12/12/2017

This little bit popped into my head while my lovely lady was reading fan fiction and I was gazing at her. It’s not much, but I hope you enjoy it.


Her

The quiet laid on thick
Like a winter woolen rug
Not the least bit uncomfortable
When silence is shared in love
I glance over and see her
My angel across the room
Balm for all my heart ache
Bane of all my woes
She sits and stares intently
At the story she is reading
I don’t think she sees me silently
Gazing and at her, peeking
The words of the world she’s reading
Play across her glasses lens
Will she look up at me and smile
When the next paragraph ends?
Probably
For she’s the one who always smiles
Even when she feels she’s can’t
Although sometimes she needs a little help
To locate her little laugh
Now she yawns she’s tired
Most likely off to bed
Where like usual till morning comes
She’ll sleep just like the dead.

Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image is apparently a wallpaper. I couldn’t find the original source.

Memories of a place

By Aarron Mondello

6/12/2017

It’s funny how a place
Can bring clarity of the mind
Sent across the ages
From a Once Upon A Time

Walking through this place
I’m assaulted by the past
Some memories I wish would fade
Some I’m glad still last

As the winds blow up a song
A ode to yesteryear
I realise I no longer belong
In any space around here

Familiar faces seen
Staring right through me
I’ve outgrown this place
And it’s moved on from me

And where once I thought
Coming here would leave me
Anxious and distraught
I am feeling light and free

For in this place of the past
My heart no longer rests
And while my memories here will last
I like my hearts new home the best.

©Aarron Mondello2017


Featured image Bussleton Jetty, western Australia