I´LL BE THERE:

You say you will miss me when I am gone,

But I´ll be here in dawn´s blackbird´s song,

I´ll be the ripple of red in your glass of wine,

The intoxicating liquor will be a kiss of mine.

You say you will weep when I´m no longer here,

But I shall be the raindrop within your sad tear,

I shall be the sunny smile, in the rays of gold sun,

In beams of moons & in eyes of children having fun.

You say you´ll forget my face in nightmare´s dreams,

But I´ll be the reflections, in the cold forest´s streams,

I´ll be drifting leaf, falling star & floating soft feather,

In blood-red rose, magnolia cream & in lilac heather.

You say you shall feel alone, when I´m gone & dead,

But I will be here, in every thought within your head,

I shall be all around, in-out-& forever here, I shall stay,

Because within your broken heart, I shall never go away.

SHE WORE A FRANGIPANI IN HER HAIR:

As a baby, her mama put a frangipani in her hair,

In baby curls of ebony, nestled gold creamy bloom,

Everyone knew where baby was, by fragrance in the air,

Childhood outgrew the petals & time flew by too soon.

She became a real beauty & upon the maid´s first waltzing,

Mama put a frangipani in her braid, within a loving twist,

“Off you go my pretty, to enjoy your first close dancing”,

And the scent soft wafted, around her very first real kiss.

Upon the bride´s sleek chignon, lay frangipani´s coronet,

Placed upon her head by her mama, with a happy tear,

“With this tiny creamy flower, your marriage path is set,

And with its friendly perfume, you will never feel fear”.

With the scent of frangipanis, the years went rushing by,

Taking with its petals, the babe, child, maid & mother,

And as a Crone of wrinkled groove & of milky opal eye,

Within her bun of silver thread, frangipani & no other.

When she closed her eyes & reached for Angel´s arms,

Her daughter combed her hair, so silvery, long & fine,

Placing frangipani in her hair, to compliment her charms,

Soft fragrance of her life, now dancing through halls of time.

LA TIENDA DE MANOLO-(MANOLO´S SHOP)

It is an early December morning in Puerto De La Cruz, on the Island of Tenerife. The air is crisp; the sun shining & pushing the temperatures up to 30 degrees, even though it´s only 8.am on a winter morning. The sky is bright blue & the Teide volcano is completely covered in thick white snow. The small cobbled meandering streets are garbed in a carnival of colours, fuchsias, oranges, scarlets, golden yellows & greens of emeralds & olives. The vegetation is vivid; the flora is tropical & so very lush. The little town looked dressed for the ball.

Christmas being just a week away, only added to the gaiety & garlanded colour.  Tropical birds vied with the buskers on the streets, kettle-drums, guitars, flamenco, flutes & sitars, Afro-beat, fusion, Mozart & Christmas carols. The scents were intoxicating, drifting onto the street from the bakeries, bistros & restaurants.               Hot buttery croissants, aromatic coffee, spices & salty fresh fish & as I turned unexpected corners, aromas of orange blossoms, lemon zest & frangipanis.

The cold turquoise Atlantic, crashing against the black volcanic rocks, spraying me with its icy creamy spume, refreshes my sun-kissed face but also makes me thirsty, so I go looking for a shop where I can buy a bottle of water. Tiptoeing around the trunks of tall orange-dated palms, I come across a little shop with the hand-painted sign above an old wooden door that says- “La Tienda de Manolo” ( Manolo´s shop).

I enter through the dim cavernous doorway & when my eyes had adjusted to the cool dark interior after the bright Island sunlight outside, I realized that by entering into Manolo´s shop, I had gone back in time & to another world completely removed from the world I had left, beyond those heavy wooden doors.

Walking around the big high wooden counter, I sauntered through the aisles which are divided by old hand-made wooden shelves, filled to bursting with goods of every kind & description imaginable, similar to the old far western general stores of yesteryear, a far cry from today´s super malls.

Sanitary wear next to cured ham haunches, hammers with baby´s bottles, tins & cans of everything that can be canned & tinned, alcohol, juice, milk, big glass jars of homemade jams, farm honey, pickles, olives, green, black, big & shiny, etc & on it went, shelf after shelf, aisle after aisle, everything next to everything else, piled high & higgledy-piggledy. From the high wooden rafters hung strings of green, yellow & scarlet chillies, peppers, huge onions, plaited necklaces of big creamy garlics, spicy chorizos & various dried  meats, bunches of herbs & spices, all lending pungent aromas to the saline breezes wafting into the shop from the sea across the small cobbled street.

I found a small bottle of water tucked between the knitting yarns & a pile of saffron strands in a beautiful woven basket & I made my way to the counter to pay. There was a pretty dark Spanish señorita behind the old rusty till & she was shouting over my head to folk entering the shop through the big wooden doorway. She asked an old lady if her son had arrived from afar to spend Christmas with her. To an old man she asked how he felt & what had his doctor said to him. To a small kiddy she offered a lollipop & all the while smiling, laughing, joking, a kind word here & there. I exchanged some sunny words with her, paid for my water & walked through the big wooden doorway, out of the shop & into the warm Island sunshine, into another world.

Outside under the shop´s striped awning, there was a display of beautiful fresh tropical fruit & vegetables, locally grown, vibrant colours & scents. A man was spraying the display with cold water to keep them fresh & cool & a soft breeze wafted over me from an overhanging tamarind tree on the pavement.

La Tienda de Manolo was an experience to gladden the heart & warm the soul & it is not a tourist attraction, it is a way of life for the local Islanders & it made me wish I was one of them.

STREET TALK:

On the cobbled streets of old hobbled kerbs,

Dogs on leads, flying leaves & strutting birds,

Ladies in finery, scarves & heels in pretty hues,

Paint-box young, old man on corner, singing blues,

Old beggars begging, young hippies strumming,

Toned lycra bodies sweating & pass us running,

The Rasta locked & the old blue rinsed grannies,

Saucy maidens in minis, showing their fannies,

Bongo-drums, sitar, Beethoven & Bach from afar,

Side-walk cafés, sunny bistros & warm local bars,

World-wide lingoes chittering & go by chattering,

Whizz-passed skateboards & high-heels pattering,

Mama´s raised voices & their babe´s higher screams,

Daddies’ sullen faces, munch chips & lick ice-creams,

The sun comes shining through, then goes away again,

Black clouds get heavier & then down falls cold rain,

The busy day slowly morphs into dark vibrant night,

When sinning takes over & the lights become bright,

Now, very different languages & very different signs,

As the kicked tin turns, dawn appears & the sun shines,

And born is the new day, in the life of urban street talk,

As pigeons strut, wheels roll, words & feet plod & walk.

NEW YEAR´S WISHES:

For all of you who may drop in & pass this way,

May you find lots of smiles, laughter & time to play,

In January, I wish you, jammy smiles & juniper jollity,

In February, I bestow on you fun, fidelity & frivolity,

In March, I give you melodies of music, moody & merry,

In April, apple blossoms & skies of rose & apricot jelly,

In May, I bestow upon you mayflies & melting moons,

In June, I´ll send you jewels & songs of jay´s sweet tunes,

In July, you shall sup from juice of juleps & laughter jolly,

In August, with amapollas & anemones the colour of lollies,

In September, garbed in silver & sunny sun-flowered smiles,

In October, You´ll sit beneath old oaks & travel many miles,

In November, New dreams, yours in flocks, crowds & droves,

In December, You´ll shelter from cold within old olive groves,

To you who drop by this way, every man, woman, girl & boy,

May you find all that is good, happiness, - & be filled with joy.