Posts by Katalin Kennedy

Fear

Fear She used to love old black and white films: especially the horror ones, produced in the late thirties and forties. By the time they were released for television, the sound was slow and eerie and the character movements were jerky and mechanical. The most intriguing, scary aspect of these films was the interaction among the various ranges of the colour spectrum – from white to grey to black. All these traits were precisely part of the attraction. When the production worked most effectively, with hovering, menacing shadows and piercing shrieks that penetrated her entire nervous system, she would grab
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

Wandering

Wandering   The climb through meandering rocky paths In open sandals for forty days ˗ Who does that? And why? I ask siting in his rose patterned wing back chair, Now my chair. Here, I expect messages of consolation. The dark nights of the soul on sunny mornings Are incongruous. Can’t get beyond the desolate brown hills Without greenery – Even my green walls give a sense of serenity But the image on the projector screen in the bare church hall, Of the Wanderer, Does not give comfort – only questioning….   Oh, these days we are far more enlightened
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Categories: Poetry.

March Snow

March Snow   White cotton clumps clung on the tree branches beside Her new place, in her new life. The snow had come ˗ again ˗ Unexpected Just as he had come ˗ the evening before, With only the words: and so it goes, And ready for bed …. Not their long bed at the other place But a normal length one in this her place His feet dangling at the base ˗ His lingering arms wrapped round her until she slept ˗ Only woken to the affable aromas: Of eggs sizzling in the blue porcelain-lined frying pan, Of rosemary
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Categories: Poetry.

Birth and Anniversary Dates

Birth and Anniversary Dates  It was Sunday, February 24th, 2001.  My father had just turned 70 years of age at the end of January. In many ways, that was a remarkable triumph, considering how difficult his life had been: being imprisoned in Hungary for 7 years, escaping from Hungary during the 1956 uprising, and starting his life all over again in a new country Canada – all the while suffering from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis which he acquired during his confinement in dark and dank prisons. Husband and I had just moved into our first house. As was my custom I
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Categories: Musings.

Why Canada is Important to me

Why Canada is Important to me We stepped off the ship in Saint John, New Brunswick on Easter, April 22, 1957. We were at last in Canada – our new home! I had turned nine years of age, while waiting to be processed in various Austrian refugee camps, since that Christmas. My father had chosen this country as our destination: the land of freedom. Canada had opened its doors to thousands of Hungarians following the October 1956 uprising there against tyranny, and the subsequent escapes. My family was among them. Father had been a political prisoner for nearly seven years,
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Categories: Musings.

Written in the Stars

Written in the Stars She had tried to reach him for days. In fact, she had already warned him two months before. He hadn’t listened then, and apparently, he was shutting her out now. Several years before, she had unearthed interesting information about him. Although these might have been well kept secrets, they were not as deeply tucked away as they have since become. For example, it was never discussed that his first wife held serious superstitions. No surprise. People from Eastern Europe are still very much enmeshed in ancient folk lore, fantasy and ritual. Add to this, his own
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

That which lies within

That which lies within She doesn’t know my secret name; nor therefore, the power of its magical spell. I told her once, shortly after I came to her, in this my sixth life. Sometimes when she stares deep into my eyes though, I sense that she knows. For a minute-second of intense concentration I grasp that she connects to the magic. But then it is gone. I came into existence in my natural form, from somewhere long ago. Then I was revered. I was worshiped by Pharaohs. Even when they buried me in the far-reaching caverns of their tombs, my
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

The Clock of Time

The Clock of Time How many rotations to turn back the clock – to halcyon days? And once there, how long could that time be maintained? A day, a week, a month – maybe forever? It was a house warming gift – way back when at the old house – where the afternoon sunshine glowed onto the wall-clock’s round face, from the wide picture window. The noise of each tick-tock was noticeable at first, until the sound became one with the rhythm of family life. Sometimes it was drowned-out by the young boy practicing on his chanter. Other times, it was
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Categories: Musings.

In Celebration

In Celebration He was sometimes known by the name Rapha Olam. No one knew when he was born. No one knew where he was born. What is known, is that he leaves with us a mark of timeless remembrance which no one will ever be able to match. Those who recall his early days speak of him being exceptionally idealistic; others saw him as far too naïve. He unconditionally accepted  that everyone could be a perfect human being and could exist in a state of absolute harmony. With time his optimism shifted. As many young men, he joined the military.
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Categories: Musings.

How wide is your world?

How wide is your world? Sometimes my world includes only my house and my cat. Sometimes it includes my neighbours: the man who mows my lawn; the one who shovels my driveway; and the others who keep my house safe. Sometimes, it opens out to my church, my club and my college. Sometimes it moves farther out to the country, to the farms of friends. Sometimes, it spreads even further, to the city ‒ to all the people I’ve known and to all the places where I spent most of my adult life. Sometimes, on rare occasions, my world stretches
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Categories: Musings.