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

A Horse Thief’s Tryst

By Aarron Mondello

26/12/2017

He came to town for a bit of a tryst
Behind the saloon they cuddled and kissed
Meeting secretly in the bars shadow
He left his hat when it was time to go
He mounted his horse and rode out East
Rejoicing in the feel of the powerful beast
She stood there alone and silently wept
Coveting his hat, a secret kept
Twelve days passed and she saw no sign
Of her lovers lips so supple and fine
The thirteenth day brought events unexpected
When she heard her lover had today been arrested
She fetched his hat and left her house
To bring it to him like a dutiful spouse
She reached the gaol around ten o’clock
And stood outside trying to straighten her frock
She took a deep breath and strode on in
Cast aside fears of their hidden sin
The news she heard warred with her belief
He was to be hung as a rotten horse thief
Four days later, in the town square
Gallows erected, everybody was there
They brought him out with a hood on his head
Ten minutes later her was hung and dead
Now she wears no frock, instead chaps and a vest
And stole a strong horse to ride out west.

©Aarron Mondello2017

Image found

http://www.connectstatesboro.com/news/article/11048/

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

Locked In A Walk-in Robe

By Aarron Mondello

22/12/2017

You kept me locked in a walk-in robe
For a year, maybe more
While you lived in a prison of your own
Shamed and chained to the lounge room floor

The bolt on the inside was silent
If I was quick and quiet enough
With a soft little SNICK I’d slide it home
When the nights got, as you said, rough

Many nights I spent in there
Alone amongst the shoes
With dresses hanging above my head
Dresses that smelled of you

I’d cry myself to sleep most nights
Cradled by the dark
Then I’d sneak out like a mouse
The next morning to find you marked

I heard all of your excuses
All the lies that you told
I recognized them for what they were
Though I was just six years old

In the evening we’d hear the car
Coming down the road
I’d beg you to lock yourself
With me in the walk-in robe

Your eyes would fill with fear
As the storm blew down our door
And off I’d sneak, I felt weak
As I hid in the dark once more

I’d cringe when I heard the slaps
Bite my knuckles to keep silent
But there was nothing I could do
To save you from the violence

Sometimes I wasn’t quick enough
Those nights I’d feel the pain
And I’d also feel it was my own fault
That I was dragged into this game

I keep myself locked in a walk-in robe
Though the storm long since blew away
Many years I’ve lived in here
I’ll unlock the door some day

Featured image found

https://depositphotos.com/5235712/stock-photo-sad-boy-hiding-in-the.html

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

Little Darklings

By Aarron Mondello

17/12/2017

“What is a Darkling?”
I hear you ask
Well it’s a little shadow-child
Wearing a little shadow-mask
Flitting running
Through the trees
Blending in
Barely seen
Tittering laughter
Follows behind
These little imp-wraiths
As they hide
From all who come
Near to them
For Darklings everything
Holds fear for them
“Are they evil?”
You enquire
No more evil
Than burning fire
They have a power
In their heart
A power some will
Seek to covert
“So they have magic?”
You seem confused
“They ARE magic”
I say, amused
Their very shifting
Shadow form
The essence from which
Magic is born
They have no use
Of their own
For the power set
Within their bones
A cup of water
Can’t drink itself
As the Darklings
Can cast no spells
“So they are good?”
How to explain
Would you put alignment
To a flame?
Neither nice
Or evil things
They just are
Little Darklings
“Are they real”
Your voice goes soft
Not any more
I scoffed
People hungered
For their power
And hunted them
To their final hour
Now no more
Do they flitter
Through the Shadows
Running thither
Their end was long
Brutal and violent
Their old homes
Now lay ever silent
Beautiful shadows
Always laughing
Their only downfall
Was being Darklings.

©Aarron Mondello2017

Featured image: A Rustle and a Murmur by moppaa

https://www.deviantart.com/art/A-Rustle-and-Murmur-442059115

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/silent/”>Silent</a>

The Empty House

By Aarron Mondello

13/12/2017

There’s a quiet street in suburbia
Where all the houses look the same
Except this one large empty place
Squatting at the end of a lane

The yard is grown six foot tall
With grass and prickly weeds
The wood is flaking the walls are cracking
Along their every seem

It sits so morbidly peaceful
Empty in the sun
Dirty windows like clouded eyes
Watching everyone

One day I pushed open the squealing gate
And walked down the broken path
Towards the clouded eye-windows
That stared out from the house

I walked around until I found a window
Not too high and slightly clean
Pressed my curious face against the glass
To see what might be seen

Dust motes danced in a bar of sunlight
Like tiny golden fairies
Intricate twirls to and unheard tune
Kaleidoscopic entities

Shifting dancing dapple shadows
Moved along the walls
A constant flux of colourless runes
Penned in shifting scrawls

An old rocking chair leaned like a drunk
In one corner gone all dusty
Faded flowers and vines marched up
The edge of cushions mildew and musty

I could not see the wallpaper print
It was torn and yellowed and stained
With black patches of growing mould
Dotting what remained

The door in the room was shut
So beyond I couldn’t peer
But the feeling I had from the abandoned room
Is not even mice came here

Muffled sound echoed through the house
To where I stood outside the room
Not carried well on still, dead air
Like air within a tomb

I gazed a moment longer
Through the dirty glass
And tried to imagine I saw walking
Reflections of the past

I walked away from the dirty window
My heart was racing fast
The house loomed large behind me
Alive, lonely and vast

I looked back when I reached the gate
And thought it all surreal
That such a large and empty house
Felt altogether unreal

Still today that house stands empty
Down a lane in a cul-de-sac
With its clouded window-eyes stands sentry
Silently guarding our backs.

Featured image is a wallpaper, I couldn’t find an original artist

http://www.wallpapermania.eu/wallpaper/sunlight-through-the-broken-windows-old-house

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.

Lies

By Aarron Mondello

12/12/2017

They lie to protect your feelings
They lie to save their own
They lie to keep their dealings
Secret and unknown

He lies because he’s too scared
To admit to himself his flaws
He lies to try and keep his skeletons
Locked safe behind the closet doors

She lies because she’s ashamed
Of the memories in her head
She lies to keep them from finding
The monsters she hid in her bed

They lie keep the belief alive
That the magic still runs wild and free
They lie to have the children love
The myth of Santa’s Christmas tree

Some lie to gain control
Of a desired situation
Some lie to keep you on a leash
Through ill truth and manipulations

Still others will lie with pure intent
To support and help strengthen spirit
But if you speak with me cage the lies please
Honestly, I’ll respect you for it.

Featured image found in Time Magazine

https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/76086793/posts/1695598326