The Mill Pond
The Mill Pond -prose/poem
Extract Page 1
Walking along the gritty path, kicking up the dust, dirty and grey.
Looking along the black and shiny ,twisty past the beaver hat shop.
Drizzle wets his hair.cottages down below, puff out dinner smells
along the Beaver Row.
Slipping past the house on the hill, a farmer with no farm looks down
and wonders who he is,this man in long black coat and trilby hat,
the man without a face,without a smile,without a frown but with a tear for all.
On up the hill to the hump back bridge where the number eleven bus takes off
and little children scream making the driver laugh as he bounces up and down.
Thompsons shop comes into view,he is near his destination,he has nearly reached his goal.
Hurry,hurry ,hurry along he is so very close,the sweat glistens on his face.
Quickly past the bally bank,
up beside the shop looking over his shoulder,
Startled by a cock that is crowing to welcome in the dawn from below the shop that is never open,
Up past the side of Thompsons the mud splashes on his coat tails and turns his black shoes brown.
About the author
I was born on the 26th of December in a home for unmarried mothers in county Wicklow and adopted by Captain John and Viney Syms.My dad was a Master mariner who had been a deck officer on the Artic convoys to Murmansk and Archangel during the war and also convoys to Malta and North Africa.He was with Irish shipping and I went around the world with him and my mother from west to east going through both canals.I went to New Orleans and Texas on the next trip and finally Canada.My dad died in 1962.I went to an orphan school from the age of ten to nearly fifteen and was abused there,I have an ongoing action against the people responsible for the school so can say little,
I married very young and the marriage produced two daughters it lasted six years.I have been married to Bernie thirty years and have one daughter living in Brisbane who I am going to see with Bernie in Feburary for my sixtieth as it is to hot for me in December as I have emphysema.
I started writing when I was ten and had poems and short stories published in magazines during my teens.I was also a fairly handy rugby forward until the only injury I got put a stop to it although I did make several attempts to come back but had no success.
I bought a newsagents shop and ran it or rather it ran me for eight years and due to constant robberies I had to take another job because the insurance had stopped paying.That led me to the Security Industry where I did everything from standing at a shop door[ironic]to cash in transit.i ended up employing eighty people and was a Director of the Security Institute of Ireland and lectured on their courses.In nineteen ninety four my moter died and my business went bust during the second recession I had been through.I had given up writing in my twenties and when I lost everything I was lucky to get a job as a Sexton in a Church of Ireland church in Skibbereen Co Cork[I was the last one}.
I trained as a Disocian Reader and took services all over Cork and indeed ran the parish I came to as sexton for eighteen months on a day to day basis,I had moved to Baltimore at this time where I still live.
While a reader I started to write sometimes based on my sermons and sometimes just on a piece of the bible.I was asked in two thousand and four to put these reflections into book form to raise money for StFinnbarres Cathedral in Cork which I did West Cork Pilgrim which sold nine hundred of the thousand copies printed.
I became very disillusioned at my inability to be ordained so became a Baptist Minister where one of the first things I did was go on a hunger strike during lent to protest the in equality of sentencing in the Irish courts where people were be sent to prison for non payment of television licences and non payment of tax which got a man six years on the same day as someone who was found guilty of several cases of child abuse got the same sentence as did a man found guilty of manslaughter.I stayed on hunger strike for four weeks and got national coverage in the press and on radio.This became strangely, the beginning of my loss of faith as I received no support from any clergy from any church.Within a year I left as Baptist Minister no longer a Christian and now if pushed would say I am Jewish in outlook and belief.But I think I am rather a believer in God and prayer and nothing else.
I started writing again about the year two thousand and twelve and the collection Anger that I have on Kindle would have had me defrocked,perhaps The Church of Ireland were right.It is a collection of poems free verse about many aspects of anger.My second work from this year is a prose/poem of about eleven thousand words about loss and abuse and loneliness perhaps madness in the leafy suburbs of south Dublin among the middle classes.
My friend Graham Knuttel who is an artist loves it and he never says much about anything I send him but is raving about this piece to anyone who listens.I have also published a children s story I told my daughter when young but I published it for her and no other reason.
ANGER byDavid Syms.
Anger by Dave J. Syms
Waiting but for what?
Waiting but for who?
People cross the road,
They don’t look at him,
They don’t look at all.
Are the avoiding him?
Is he a threat to them?
Nothing is as it seems,
The full picture is not seen.
There is no need to worry,
As they wait for buses,
Going different ways.
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