Gwaylin pursed his lips, “Of course father since you bid me. There is no other in this city or this land that wishes for the sword keeper to be returned and King be named as much as I do. How am I to go? I have no ship, no captain.”
Then from out of the darkest place of his dark soul a thought came unbidden to his mind. It was his deepest and never spoken of secret. A secret that had been formed long ago when he was in the house of learning, after he read the prophecy of the two for the first time. The picture was as clear as the grey bearded men in the council room.
He stood in a large green field and a plain gold crown adorned his head. The great sword was held high in his right hand. The field was filled to overflowing with all the races of the misty lands. Every one of them was on bended knee and proclaimed him their king.
Gwaylin glanced down at the table so that his thoughts of betrayal would not be seen by his father.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."
So intent were the men sitting at the King’s great round table no one looked up. If one of them had, the two dull grey eyes belonging to Drath the stable man staring down at them might have been noticed. His two dull eyes were open wide with wonder. His two dirty ears listened intently, scribing every secret word deep into the mind between them.
If there had of been silence in the council room for a moment someone might have heard him scurrying away from his secret hiding place. However there was too much noise in the chamber and so the skulking man was able to slip away unnoticed.
If there had of been silence in the council room for a moment someone might have heard him scurrying away from his secret hiding place. However there was too much noise in the chamber and so the skulking man was able to slip away unnoticed.
Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."
Ceallach began his narrative again, “This is the finding stone of Kings and it will guide our brave captain. The light will point the way. It’s written that a true King of Calcaria can look inside and see all that passes in his Kingdom. This stone has been dead since King Danain left.”
“How will this guide the ship,” Gwaylin drummed his fingers on the table again and wondered if the prophecy was true after all.
“I’ll show you,” Ceallach turned the seeing stone first to the north and then to the south.
“How will this guide the ship,” Gwaylin drummed his fingers on the table again and wondered if the prophecy was true after all.
“I’ll show you,” Ceallach turned the seeing stone first to the north and then to the south.
Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."
Adelard, Aonas, Alstrom and the rangers had left about a horoum ago. Josh knew by now that they would be hiding and waiting for Adelard’s signal. Before he left Adelard had changed the plan a little. When the cry of the silver winged night bird sounded three times, Josh was to kill Morgan’s watchers.
At first Josh’s heart had been pounding in his chest, his hands had been sweaty but now he was calm. He knew he could do this. It would be much easier than shooting fish.
TACKA, TACKA, TACKA, KRANGEE-GEE. TACKA, TACKA, TACKA, KRANGEE-GEE. TACKA, TACKA, TACKA, KRAGNEE-GEE.
The razor sharp, black feathered bolt of death sailed across the wide clearing as the last krangee-gee sounded in the stillness of the dark time. The second shaft was less than a heartbeat behind.
At first Josh’s heart had been pounding in his chest, his hands had been sweaty but now he was calm. He knew he could do this. It would be much easier than shooting fish.
TACKA, TACKA, TACKA, KRANGEE-GEE. TACKA, TACKA, TACKA, KRANGEE-GEE. TACKA, TACKA, TACKA, KRAGNEE-GEE.
The razor sharp, black feathered bolt of death sailed across the wide clearing as the last krangee-gee sounded in the stillness of the dark time. The second shaft was less than a heartbeat behind.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Excerpt from, "Moon Dark."
Dreams and Nightmares
Heavy eye lids flutter shut over sea green eyes and last angry thoughts fade into slumber. Dreams fill seventeen-year-old, Maria Martins mind. Sweet dreams, of a long ago, happy birthday.
“Go ahead dear, blow out the candles.” Renata Martin gave Maria a gentle, encouraging kiss.
The six-year-old giggled, “I’ll huff and puff until I blow the candles out. A loud, deep inhale is followed by a rush of wind. Six flames flicker out.
Madison Reed shouted, “You missed one Maria.”
Maria squealed,“No I didn’t, silly.” Two eyes opened saucer wide as the little girl stared at her double chocolate cake with pink frosting. Her best friend was right. Somehow, some way a candle had came back to life.
Another rush of wind, once again a candle is extinguished. “There, it’s out now,” but it wasn’t. She tilted her golden haired head upwards toward the laughing face of her mom and giggled. “You tricked me mommy.”
****
Dreams of happiness fade. Darkness and fear walk inside a young mind.
Maria felt the cold, rough granite gouging through her thin night dress. Blood drips around the rope, binding slender hands and feet. A long blade is raised high above the being with goat faced head, standing at her right side. Moonlight, faint and silvery flashes on the wicked looking weapon as it descended.
Terrifying screams shatter the silence of the night, “No, no, no.”
A bedroom door squeaks open, an overhead light flicks on, bathing the room with its brilliance.
“What is it girl,” the soft voice is filled with tenderness and love. “You must have had a bad dream.”
A sweat soaked, shivering teen sits up in the old brass bed and presses her tear stained face against her grandmother’s bosom. “It wasn’t a dream Nana, it was real. I was there, I was there, I was there.”
Time clicks past
on
heels of flame
until
at last
deep midnight
came.
Moon dark
in evil fullness,
is then born.
Forlorn,
sweet innocence
bound tight,
weeps
on bitter
cold
of stone.
Pagan hearts
delight
in anticipation
of
virgin blood.
Once
their hellish master
is appeased,
they will
rest
on bended knees,
awaiting
his approval
for
their gift of death.
Heavy eye lids flutter shut over sea green eyes and last angry thoughts fade into slumber. Dreams fill seventeen-year-old, Maria Martins mind. Sweet dreams, of a long ago, happy birthday.
“Go ahead dear, blow out the candles.” Renata Martin gave Maria a gentle, encouraging kiss.
The six-year-old giggled, “I’ll huff and puff until I blow the candles out. A loud, deep inhale is followed by a rush of wind. Six flames flicker out.
Madison Reed shouted, “You missed one Maria.”
Maria squealed,“No I didn’t, silly.” Two eyes opened saucer wide as the little girl stared at her double chocolate cake with pink frosting. Her best friend was right. Somehow, some way a candle had came back to life.
Another rush of wind, once again a candle is extinguished. “There, it’s out now,” but it wasn’t. She tilted her golden haired head upwards toward the laughing face of her mom and giggled. “You tricked me mommy.”
****
Dreams of happiness fade. Darkness and fear walk inside a young mind.
Maria felt the cold, rough granite gouging through her thin night dress. Blood drips around the rope, binding slender hands and feet. A long blade is raised high above the being with goat faced head, standing at her right side. Moonlight, faint and silvery flashes on the wicked looking weapon as it descended.
Terrifying screams shatter the silence of the night, “No, no, no.”
A bedroom door squeaks open, an overhead light flicks on, bathing the room with its brilliance.
“What is it girl,” the soft voice is filled with tenderness and love. “You must have had a bad dream.”
A sweat soaked, shivering teen sits up in the old brass bed and presses her tear stained face against her grandmother’s bosom. “It wasn’t a dream Nana, it was real. I was there, I was there, I was there.”
Time clicks past
on
heels of flame
until
at last
deep midnight
came.
Moon dark
in evil fullness,
is then born.
Forlorn,
sweet innocence
bound tight,
weeps
on bitter
cold
of stone.
Pagan hearts
delight
in anticipation
of
virgin blood.
Once
their hellish master
is appeased,
they will
rest
on bended knees,
awaiting
his approval
for
their gift of death.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."
CHAPTER 22: Arrows in the Afternoon
Gwanth waited until they were out of earshot before speaking in a low voice “What of these younglings, what manner be they? Be one keeper of the sword?”
Adelard shrugged his broad shoulders, “If one be sword keeper, I be not knowing this. If Breandan does, he keeps such council with him-self.”
“If one be not sword keeper, why bring them here? Why did Aonas have to die? He has long been friend,” Gwanth sounded angry.
Adelard shook his head, “These things I do not know and when I would have council with the seer his answer is always the same. They be here because of the prophecy. If all must die to spare them, then all must die because their lives have more worth than any other that dwell in these lands.”
“What manner of younglings be they? Have you knowing?” Gwanth looked deep into the ranger’s eyes.
Adelard replied in a low voice, “This I do have knowing of. When they first came to Aonas they had no courage and they behaved worse than younglings of four snows. No joy had they from anything. Josh broke oath and Morgan was always angry. They trembled when ever their shadows walked in front of them but now they have the hearts of the Catilyn people. When Aonas was killed Morgan attacked the Granth.”
Gwnth said, “That be a foolish thing.”
Adelard shook his head and frowned, “No, it wasn't foolish. It’s what you or I would do, this you know. As for the youngling male, he's becoming a mighty warrior. He’s quick with a sword, though he does not yet have a man’s full strength. He’s also deadly at throwing a dagger and none I know can equal him with the bow. The youngling female too learns the sword and to throw the dirks. Josh teaches her the bow and once this is well learned she’ll be a ranger.”
Gwanth’s laughter was so loud that Josh and Morgan who were sitting on the soft green meadow grass beside Klaine looked up. “You have seen none better than this youngling with the bow. Haven’t I always bested you?”
Adelard replied in a gentle voice, “Always.” He knew there was no shame that this tall ranger was better at the bow than he was. “I haven’t known any better and only one as good.”
Gwanth asked, “Have you seen him shoot.”
The ranger replied, “I haven’t seen him fully tested yet.”
“Then how do you know he is a better shot than I am,” Gwanth didn’t want to quarrel with Adelard. They had been friends for a long time but she was certain of her ability and had won many gold coins for her rangers.
“Aonas told me and he would not speak false of this thing. You full well know that he was equal to you.”
“Sometimes,” she looked at Adelards stern face and sighed, “He was my equal.”
Adelard spoke again, his voice rang with pride. “Aonas told me that this youngling could shoot three feathered shafts to his one and that he could split an arrow while it was still in flight.”
Gwanth snorted, “In all the days of my knowing him Aonas never spoke false but it does sound like he made the truth a bit longer than it should be. A wager then, this gold piece,” she reached into her right front pocket and pulled out a new minted coin, “Against your gold piece.”
“Does gold fall so easily into your hand,” Adelard had huge grin on his face, “That you would wager on such a thing as this?”
“It often does from you,” a quick gamin grin was followed by a deft flick of her slender thumb. A bright, spinning streak of light sailed high into the air.
Adelard reached out to grab the descending coin. Faster than a striking cobra, a slim brown hand flashed out and snatched the gold piece from between his closing fingers. The coin and hand vanished into the pocket it came from.
She grinned once more, “A wager then.”
Adelard replied, “If the youngling will shoot.”
“Will he have fear to shoot against me?” Gwanth had great pride in her skill with the bow.
The Song of the Cave Bear
Excerpt from, "The Day of the Eelf Stone."
Rufinianus crowed, “I’ve finished, I’ve finally finished my great literary work, my first opus.” The large black raven fell off of his precarious perch on the back of the old brown chair that always stood by his writing desk.
So loud was his voice that Mr. Fryday who had been contentedly curled up by the roaring blaze opened his eyes wide.
So loud was his yell that Amdy Applesauce and Amber raced in from the kitchen to see what was wrong.
So loud was the raven’s screech that Rumbletoff Radelgraff and Andavari raced up from the basement. They had been working on one of the Thantatist’s many inventions.
The four of them shouted, “What’s all the commotion about?”
Rufinianus preened his wing feathers before answering. “It’s about something marvellous, very marvellous of course. I’ve finished my first great work. All my writings have been good as you all well know, but this, this is indeed a master piece.”
“That’s what your screeching is all about. That’s why you yelled so loud that you woke me up from my wonderful dream.” Mr. Fryday was only pretending to be upset. He hadn’t been dreaming one little bit.
He just had his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the fire and reflecting on the fine, comfortable life he lived here in The Inn of the Seven Ravens. “I was dreaming about having a nice plump, juicy, roast bird for my supper.” The cat grinned, “The oddest thing though, before its feathers were off, it looked a great deal like you.”
The grin grew even wider if possible. “Now if you don’t mind being quiet, I’ll just go back to sleep and see if I can find my dream again."
Amdy touched the teen on her shoulder. “We should be getting back to work Amber dear. I don’t want the pies to burn, or the potatoes to be lumpy. I have a reputation to maintain.”
Rumbletoff ran his fingers through his beard and scratched his nose. “Come Andvari, I want to get a little more work done on my saw before supper. If it works they way it should, it will make cutting this winter’s wood much easier and faster.”
Rufinianus wailed, “But what about me?” He seemed quite put out by everyone ignoring him. There hadn’t been one, “That’s good. What’s it all about, or I can’t wait to hear it,” everyone seemed far too busy with their own things to bother with him.
“Why thank you for the offer dear Rufinianus,” Amdy beamed. “Of course you can set the table. Use the good plates, about fifteen should do. We’ll be having more guests. Don’t break any or it will come out of your pay.”
Rumbletoff added in a pleasant voice, “When you are done with that, you can come down stairs and push the logs through the saw, while Andvari and I turn the wheel.”
Mr. Fryday purred, “On your way by would you mind scratching my back. I have an itchy spot that is driving me wild, just can’t reach it myself.”
Rufinianus snorted, “Well I never,” and thought, “I have every reason to be upset. After all I’ve worked hard all day to get his story ready. I’ve lost more than a few pin feathers over this one. Do I get one little bit of encouragement?”
Amdy, Amber, Andvari, Rumbletoff and Mr. Fryday burst into laughter.
The raven managed a squeaky, “Humph,” once the laughter subsided. “I suppose you think you were being funny, well I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all.” He did not say another word, he was afraid he would burst in to laughter if he did.
“What’s the matter you old feather duster? Cat got your tongue.” This little dig from Mr. Friday caused the big common room to once more be filled with the sound of laughter.
Rufinianus said, “Humph,” again and if his beak could have turned up into a grin it would have been as wide as Mr. Fryday’s. He began “I have half a mind,” as soon as he regained his composure.
“We all know that,” the others said at once. Loud gales of laughter filled the big room again
“More like half a bird brain,” Mr. Fryday couldn’t resist getting this dig in.
Rufinianus crowed, “I’ve finished, I’ve finally finished my great literary work, my first opus.” The large black raven fell off of his precarious perch on the back of the old brown chair that always stood by his writing desk.
So loud was his voice that Mr. Fryday who had been contentedly curled up by the roaring blaze opened his eyes wide.
So loud was his yell that Amdy Applesauce and Amber raced in from the kitchen to see what was wrong.
So loud was the raven’s screech that Rumbletoff Radelgraff and Andavari raced up from the basement. They had been working on one of the Thantatist’s many inventions.
The four of them shouted, “What’s all the commotion about?”
Rufinianus preened his wing feathers before answering. “It’s about something marvellous, very marvellous of course. I’ve finished my first great work. All my writings have been good as you all well know, but this, this is indeed a master piece.”
“That’s what your screeching is all about. That’s why you yelled so loud that you woke me up from my wonderful dream.” Mr. Fryday was only pretending to be upset. He hadn’t been dreaming one little bit.
He just had his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the fire and reflecting on the fine, comfortable life he lived here in The Inn of the Seven Ravens. “I was dreaming about having a nice plump, juicy, roast bird for my supper.” The cat grinned, “The oddest thing though, before its feathers were off, it looked a great deal like you.”
The grin grew even wider if possible. “Now if you don’t mind being quiet, I’ll just go back to sleep and see if I can find my dream again."
Amdy touched the teen on her shoulder. “We should be getting back to work Amber dear. I don’t want the pies to burn, or the potatoes to be lumpy. I have a reputation to maintain.”
Rumbletoff ran his fingers through his beard and scratched his nose. “Come Andvari, I want to get a little more work done on my saw before supper. If it works they way it should, it will make cutting this winter’s wood much easier and faster.”
Rufinianus wailed, “But what about me?” He seemed quite put out by everyone ignoring him. There hadn’t been one, “That’s good. What’s it all about, or I can’t wait to hear it,” everyone seemed far too busy with their own things to bother with him.
“Why thank you for the offer dear Rufinianus,” Amdy beamed. “Of course you can set the table. Use the good plates, about fifteen should do. We’ll be having more guests. Don’t break any or it will come out of your pay.”
Rumbletoff added in a pleasant voice, “When you are done with that, you can come down stairs and push the logs through the saw, while Andvari and I turn the wheel.”
Mr. Fryday purred, “On your way by would you mind scratching my back. I have an itchy spot that is driving me wild, just can’t reach it myself.”
Rufinianus snorted, “Well I never,” and thought, “I have every reason to be upset. After all I’ve worked hard all day to get his story ready. I’ve lost more than a few pin feathers over this one. Do I get one little bit of encouragement?”
Amdy, Amber, Andvari, Rumbletoff and Mr. Fryday burst into laughter.
The raven managed a squeaky, “Humph,” once the laughter subsided. “I suppose you think you were being funny, well I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all.” He did not say another word, he was afraid he would burst in to laughter if he did.
“What’s the matter you old feather duster? Cat got your tongue.” This little dig from Mr. Friday caused the big common room to once more be filled with the sound of laughter.
Rufinianus said, “Humph,” again and if his beak could have turned up into a grin it would have been as wide as Mr. Fryday’s. He began “I have half a mind,” as soon as he regained his composure.
“We all know that,” the others said at once. Loud gales of laughter filled the big room again
“More like half a bird brain,” Mr. Fryday couldn’t resist getting this dig in.
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Light of the Midnight Star
Dr. Alec McDonald peered once more into thirteen year old Annie Wilson’s wide open mouth. He didn’t like what he saw, not one little bit. In all his thirty years at Western hospital in Alberton Prince Edward Island he had never saw anything like this.
The blonde haired teenager’s throat and tonsils were swollen and red except for a small patch of greyish white membrane near the back. He closed his coal black eyes and dredged up a memory from his life time ago medical studies.
The one word that floated through his mind sent cold shivers racing up his spine. “Diphtheria, it can’t be. It’s supposed to be eradicated from the western hemisphere.”
“What is it Doctor?” Worry lines etched themselves deeper into Susan Wilson’s forehead. The heavy dark bags under her eyes spoke of more than one sleepless night.
“Mrs. Wilson, may I please speak to you outside?” He winked at Annie and grinned, “Grown up talk, nothing serious.”
Annie frowned and croaked, “I’m not a kid.”
“Sorry, get dressed, your mom and I will be back in a minute.”
She tugged at the sleeve of his white coat as he turned away, “How’s daddy?”
Alec looked into the teenager’s blue, fear filled eyes. “I haven’t had a chance to examine him yet but I’m sure it’s nothing more than a summer cold.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” The question hung heavy in the air between Mr’s Wilson and Alec as the door of an empty examination room clicked closed.
He nodded his head, “I think its diphtheria.”
Her red painted lips opened into a big O, colour drained from her face and her body started to tremble. She managed to get out a weak, “Are you certain,” before her legs started to give way.
McDonald grabbed the woman with his strong tanned hands before she could fall and helped her into the metal and canvas chair at the foot of the examination table. “Not a hundred percent but I can’t afford to take any chances. I’m going to have to quarantine the three of you until I am. Have you or any member of your family been out of the country lately?”
Susan took a deep breath before answering, “We got back from Moscow four days ago. My husband Tom had business there, so we thought we’d make a bit of a holiday out of it. We stayed at home for a day and then flew to Charlottetown from Victoria.” There was a sudden catch in her throat, a few tears escaped her sea green eyes and rolled unnoticed down her cheeks. “What now? Is there any kind of treatment?”
Alec forced his thin lips into a smile, “There is an antitoxin. Once you get that you and your family will be as right as rain.”
Susan stopped shaking, “You have it here of course?”
McDonald rubbed the grey stubble of his beard, “No.”
Green eyes once more filled with fear and a body started to tremble again.
“I’m sure they have some at Hillsborough Hospital in Charlottetown.” The Doctor put as much reassurance into his deep voice as he could muster.
His steady, calm voice did nothing to quell the fear gnawing at her stomach. “How will anyone manage to get it here with hurricane Harry on its way?”
“It is beginning to blow a wee bit but they should still be able to get a helicopter off.” Small tendrils of doubt crept into his voice for a moment. “If they can’t bring it, I’ll go and fetch it myself. That I promise.”
The blonde haired teenager’s throat and tonsils were swollen and red except for a small patch of greyish white membrane near the back. He closed his coal black eyes and dredged up a memory from his life time ago medical studies.
The one word that floated through his mind sent cold shivers racing up his spine. “Diphtheria, it can’t be. It’s supposed to be eradicated from the western hemisphere.”
“What is it Doctor?” Worry lines etched themselves deeper into Susan Wilson’s forehead. The heavy dark bags under her eyes spoke of more than one sleepless night.
“Mrs. Wilson, may I please speak to you outside?” He winked at Annie and grinned, “Grown up talk, nothing serious.”
Annie frowned and croaked, “I’m not a kid.”
“Sorry, get dressed, your mom and I will be back in a minute.”
She tugged at the sleeve of his white coat as he turned away, “How’s daddy?”
Alec looked into the teenager’s blue, fear filled eyes. “I haven’t had a chance to examine him yet but I’m sure it’s nothing more than a summer cold.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” The question hung heavy in the air between Mr’s Wilson and Alec as the door of an empty examination room clicked closed.
He nodded his head, “I think its diphtheria.”
Her red painted lips opened into a big O, colour drained from her face and her body started to tremble. She managed to get out a weak, “Are you certain,” before her legs started to give way.
McDonald grabbed the woman with his strong tanned hands before she could fall and helped her into the metal and canvas chair at the foot of the examination table. “Not a hundred percent but I can’t afford to take any chances. I’m going to have to quarantine the three of you until I am. Have you or any member of your family been out of the country lately?”
Susan took a deep breath before answering, “We got back from Moscow four days ago. My husband Tom had business there, so we thought we’d make a bit of a holiday out of it. We stayed at home for a day and then flew to Charlottetown from Victoria.” There was a sudden catch in her throat, a few tears escaped her sea green eyes and rolled unnoticed down her cheeks. “What now? Is there any kind of treatment?”
Alec forced his thin lips into a smile, “There is an antitoxin. Once you get that you and your family will be as right as rain.”
Susan stopped shaking, “You have it here of course?”
McDonald rubbed the grey stubble of his beard, “No.”
Green eyes once more filled with fear and a body started to tremble again.
“I’m sure they have some at Hillsborough Hospital in Charlottetown.” The Doctor put as much reassurance into his deep voice as he could muster.
His steady, calm voice did nothing to quell the fear gnawing at her stomach. “How will anyone manage to get it here with hurricane Harry on its way?”
“It is beginning to blow a wee bit but they should still be able to get a helicopter off.” Small tendrils of doubt crept into his voice for a moment. “If they can’t bring it, I’ll go and fetch it myself. That I promise.”
Friday, August 7, 2009
Excerpt from "Keeper of the Sword"
Chapter six: At Sword Point
Captain Caircil let small bubbles of air escape from his mouth and sank ever deeper into the murky water. His chest hurt and he knew he would need to breathe soon. The captain was now a little lower than the clay pot containing what he hoped was the seeing stone. Just a little farther and he could let go of the heavy ballista shot that was dragging him deeper and deeper.
Caircil dropped his heavy burden and with strong, steady strokes swam towards the slowly descending clay pot. He waited underneath it, held his two large hands upwards and kicked his feet to keep him-self from going any deeper. Once the treasure was secure in his strong hands he kicked his feet hard and began going upwards, upwards towards the light. Just a few more ells and he would be able to breathe again.
A long, thick tentacle whipped around the captain’s waist and squeezed. The clay pot containing the precious finding stone dropped from Caircil tight grasp “I wish I had my sword with me.” He watched the pot containing the seeing stone sink into deeper waters and struggled to free him-self.
The tentacle that gripped him tight spun him around. Right behind Caircil, so close that he could have reached out and touched it was a large brown head. Four saucer size, jet black eyes bored into the captains green ones.
A cavernous mouth filled with several rows of long sharp teeth grinned at him. At least it looked like a grin. With a tremendous force the giant of the deep thrust the two of them up towards the surface.
Caircil took a deep breath and sucked the wonderful air into his starving lungs. He looked to his right and in another of his captor’s tentacles held tight and high above the water was the precious clay pot.
An anxious captain looked around for his ship. It was over six hundred ells away and coming to a stop. A boat was in the water heading towards him.
“Harrumph.”
Caircil thought, “What next?” and whirled around to see where the sound was coming from.
The odd creature still had a big grin on its face, if you could call it a face. “Harrumph,” the creature said again in a deep booming voice. “I am Squade, Sea King emissary. Who be you?”
“I’m,” Caircil started, “I’m Captain Caircil of the great ship Uniaedean. We’re on a voyage of great importance.”
“Caircil, Uniaedean, I have heard of you both. While great and mighty King Byorium minds not floaters on top of his Kingdom, even minds not company at his feast table. None can come until they be asked. Why be you trying to come to feast table?”
“I’m sorry I entered the great Sea King’s Kingdom,” the captain apologized, “But I lost that pot you are holding.”
“Many clay pots, why need this one, only contain junk. You like junk?”
At first the captain intended to lie to this beast from the deep but then he thought it would be best to tell the truth. “I am on a voyage to find the two from the ancient prophecy. In that pot is the seeing stone of Kings, it guides me on my journey.”
“The two from prophecy,” the voice boomed, “Sea King glad for good news. This be truth?”
“According to two great wise men Breandan and Beround it’s true. They’re the ones that sent me on my journey,” Caircil answered.
“This is good news indeed, Sea King much like to hear. Many time wise men come feast with Sea King,” the grin was wider if possible.
The sounds of rowing and of men shouting was getting closer, Caircil turned to look. Aonas was in the front of the boat his sharp sword raised above his head.
Caircil called, “Put away your sword, this is a friend. He has saved our voyage.”
The boat came along side the two in the water and Squade placed the captain into the boat and handed him the clay pot.
Squade boomed, “I look seeing stone?”
Beads of cold sweat rolled down Caircil’s face and he dumped the contents of the pot onto the bottom of the boat. He picked up the seeing stone, cleaned it off and held it up for Squade to see.
As fast as an eye blink Squade plucked the stone out of the captain’s hands. He looked at the bright blue light for a moment and then tossed it high into the air. The dweller of the deep places caught it with a large suction cup on one of its waving tentacles and handed it back. Squade shouted, “Good voyage, next time float by come feast. Sea King like, bring the two if can.” The dweller of the deep winked at the captain with two of its black eyes and disappeared beneath the waves.
Glath was the first person the captain saw when he climbed onto the deck of his ship. A deck he had thought for a while he would never see again. Caircil stormed across the deck towards him and demanded, “Why,” as he stepped in front of the shaking man. “Why did you kill Anst? He was your friend. Why did you throw the seeing stone into the deep?”
The trembling sailor’s stony black eyes stared at his captain. Glath did not know how to tell Caircil about his fear or his need to return to his wife and newborn children. Finally, gathering a little bit of courage he spoke in a frightened voice, just above a whisper. “I wanted to go home.”
Caircil roared, “If you wanted to go home all you needed to do was ask. I would have put you ashore on the Island of Teroth. Ships often stop there for water. I would still have given you some gold though not your full share. Now that you have killed one of my crew there will be no gold for you. Your share will go to the family of Anst.”
Glath’s face turned ashen grey and his body shook. “What of me now? What do you intend to do,” his voice sounded weak and his teeth chattered.
“I should kill you,” For the first time in his life the captain surrendered to fury and hate. “If spilling your blood would bring life back to Anst I would be happy to do so with my own hands. Since it won’t, I’ll put you ashore on the first island we come to. You will have food, water and weapons. Even if you were to swear an oath on the blood of your family, it would be an oath I could not trust. Until we find a place you will stay bound, you will only be unbound to eat, take him away. I can’t look at this traitor’s face any longer.” Caircil strode over to the wheel and glanced at the seeing stone, they were a long way off course.
Caircil shouted, “Unfurl all sails,” Coils of anger still looped through his body and mind. “Follow the seeing stone, guard it well. There will be four men on watch all the time and two of them will guard the seeing stone.”
With all sails set the Uniaedean once more surged forward through the waves. Before the mid-meal was ready the dark angry veils rolled back and the sun peeked out. Caircil hurried to his cabin, picked up his sailing scrolls and returned to the deck. He aimed the arrow of the ships finding wheel at the sun and noted the number that lined up with the point. The captain glanced at one of the scrolls, “More to the north Allador, we can be at the island of great stone birds by the next waking of the sun.”
As the ship changed course the blue light in the seeing stone shifted and pointed more towards the east. Aonas came on deck and walked over to where the captain was standing near the wheel and seeing stone. Furrows ploughed themselves in his brow, “Why have we changed course? We have already lost too much time.”
The captain turned his head towards the angry ranger, “I’m taking Glath to the island of great stone birds, and at times ships stop for water there. The only other choice is to kill him, he has been friend too long and has many children, therefore I will not take his life.”
“You’re the captain,” the anger that coursed through the ranger’s tense body boiled over into his voice. “If we come not to the two in time it will go evil with you.” He turned away and walked over to where the polishing stones were kept. Aonas picked one up, knelt on the deck and began to rub the stone back and forth, putting all of his weight on it.
****
The sun slept and woke again and now the Uniaedean, with all sails furled, rested at anchor close to shore inside a small bay. Glath stood on a white sandy beach and watched the boat with his captain and two other men moving away from him.
A bow, a full quiver of arrows, sword, a barrel of dried fish and one of water were on the beach beside him. Hatred surged through Glath’s rail thin body and filled his mind with bitter thoughts. He bent down and shouldered the quiver full of arrows, picked up his bow, drew an arrow from the quiver and notched it to the bow string. The sailor pulled the string and feathered shaft back to his right ear, pointed it at the captains back. The bowstring twanged loudly.
Aonas, on the deck of the Uniaedean noticed the actions of the wretched crewman and yelled to the captain, “Caircil, be wary.”
Caircil jumped into the sea as the deadly shaft whished over his head.
The tall dark skinned ranger didn’t hesitate. As swift as a hawk diving for its prey he removed the powerful bow from his back and withdrew a long black shaft from the full quiver. In a blur of motion he notched it to the bow string and without seeming to take aim released the bolt. The arrow flew true to the traitorous heart and Glath fell without making a sound. Bright red blood pooled around him and soaked into the white sand of the beach as he lay among his food and weapons.
Caircil said, “I would that this had not been done,” as he stepped onto the deck of his ship. “Glath was once good friend.”
“It would have been your life had I not loosed my arrow,” Aonas grimaced. “I need you, I don’t need him.”
Caircil commanded, “Lift anchor, set all sail and follow the seeing stone,” his voice was full of sadness.
****
Six times now had the sun woken since Glath’s death and yet there was still no sight of land. No birds flew around them, none had for two days. Still the ship surged eastward, always going where the seeing stone pointed.
The captain stood beside Aonas who guided the ship. Aonas liked how the Uniaedean felt so alive in his hands. Just a light turn of the great wheel and it responded. Every chance he had he took the helm, often taking double turn.
Caircil said, “I like not this place, or the waters here, it feels evil. No life lives beneath these waves or above them. Let me take the wheel, go break your fast.”
“In a while,” the ranger was reluctant to let go because he knew not how many more days he would have this good chance. In the days since Glath’s death Aonas’s anger had faded and he and the captain had become good friends.
Caircil laughed, he liked this tall dark skinned wood’s ranger. “Are you certain you do not wish to stay on my ship after we return to safe harbor? Go break your fast. You can have the helm back when you are done.”
“As much as I love the ship and the sea I cannot desert Adelard. Long have we been friends, saving each other’s lives a dozen times at least.” He surrendered the helm to Cairicil’s strong hands, turned and walked away.
The sun slept. Behind Aonas and Caircil a full golden moon sailed in the star filled sky and the ranger once more held the helm in steady hands. Even though the wind from the south and west was blowing strong, filling the black sails, the Uniaedean was slowing down. A dense, thick veil began to grow around them. Slower and slower the dark ship went. The veil was so thick now that they could not see more than a few ells ahead of them. Candle-lanterns were lit and hung on the deck hooks.
“What evil hand is this that slows us,” Caircil did not look at anyone as he spoke. “If it soon does not let go we will need turn make our way to safe harbor.”
“Caircil please go on as far as we can. I would not wish to go back to Adelard and tell him I failed on this most needy quest,” Aonas failed to keep the doubt he felt out of his voice.
“I too wish not to fail,” the captain smiled.
“You need not worry about your blood oath. You have done your best.”
“It is not my way to fail. We will go on until the Uniaedean can no longer go forward.”
The veil thickened, the ship slowed and just when everyone on deck believed that it would stop, the hand that held it back, if indeed it was some unseen hand let go. The Uniaedean surged forward and dropped with a loud splash.
A monstrous wave washed over the deck and knocked several sailors off of their feet. Aonas grabbed the rail with his strong right hand as the ship rolled to his right. The veil thinned and their way on the strange sea was clear.
Allador, high above the deck in the small raven’s nest called down to the captain. “Land away.”
Caircil called back, “Where?”
“To the north and east,” Allador’s voice was filled with excitement, “There’s a finger of land curving to the north. Perhaps it makes a bay on the other side.”
Anoas asked, “Will we anchor on the north or south of this finger?”
“To the north,” the captain paced back and forth in front of the ships wheel, “To the north. Turn the ship back to the west before the anchor is set. If we find the two or even if they be not here I wish the ship ready for a fast return. I like not the strangeness of this sea.”
The Uniaedean’s sails were now furled and the prow pointed westward. The black ship came to a stop. The anchor dropped towards the bottom of this unknown sea and a ships boat was lowered to the gentle waves below. The bottom of the boat touched the water and something roared overhead.
Everyone looked up into the moon bright sky to see what kind of strange bird this might be. Bright lights blinked along both sides of the featherless, large winged flying beast.
“Quickly men, I want three to come with me in the boat, Allador, Nayarth and you too Goroth.” Caircil was anxious to be away from this strange and evil land.
Captain Caircil let small bubbles of air escape from his mouth and sank ever deeper into the murky water. His chest hurt and he knew he would need to breathe soon. The captain was now a little lower than the clay pot containing what he hoped was the seeing stone. Just a little farther and he could let go of the heavy ballista shot that was dragging him deeper and deeper.
Caircil dropped his heavy burden and with strong, steady strokes swam towards the slowly descending clay pot. He waited underneath it, held his two large hands upwards and kicked his feet to keep him-self from going any deeper. Once the treasure was secure in his strong hands he kicked his feet hard and began going upwards, upwards towards the light. Just a few more ells and he would be able to breathe again.
A long, thick tentacle whipped around the captain’s waist and squeezed. The clay pot containing the precious finding stone dropped from Caircil tight grasp “I wish I had my sword with me.” He watched the pot containing the seeing stone sink into deeper waters and struggled to free him-self.
The tentacle that gripped him tight spun him around. Right behind Caircil, so close that he could have reached out and touched it was a large brown head. Four saucer size, jet black eyes bored into the captains green ones.
A cavernous mouth filled with several rows of long sharp teeth grinned at him. At least it looked like a grin. With a tremendous force the giant of the deep thrust the two of them up towards the surface.
Caircil took a deep breath and sucked the wonderful air into his starving lungs. He looked to his right and in another of his captor’s tentacles held tight and high above the water was the precious clay pot.
An anxious captain looked around for his ship. It was over six hundred ells away and coming to a stop. A boat was in the water heading towards him.
“Harrumph.”
Caircil thought, “What next?” and whirled around to see where the sound was coming from.
The odd creature still had a big grin on its face, if you could call it a face. “Harrumph,” the creature said again in a deep booming voice. “I am Squade, Sea King emissary. Who be you?”
“I’m,” Caircil started, “I’m Captain Caircil of the great ship Uniaedean. We’re on a voyage of great importance.”
“Caircil, Uniaedean, I have heard of you both. While great and mighty King Byorium minds not floaters on top of his Kingdom, even minds not company at his feast table. None can come until they be asked. Why be you trying to come to feast table?”
“I’m sorry I entered the great Sea King’s Kingdom,” the captain apologized, “But I lost that pot you are holding.”
“Many clay pots, why need this one, only contain junk. You like junk?”
At first the captain intended to lie to this beast from the deep but then he thought it would be best to tell the truth. “I am on a voyage to find the two from the ancient prophecy. In that pot is the seeing stone of Kings, it guides me on my journey.”
“The two from prophecy,” the voice boomed, “Sea King glad for good news. This be truth?”
“According to two great wise men Breandan and Beround it’s true. They’re the ones that sent me on my journey,” Caircil answered.
“This is good news indeed, Sea King much like to hear. Many time wise men come feast with Sea King,” the grin was wider if possible.
The sounds of rowing and of men shouting was getting closer, Caircil turned to look. Aonas was in the front of the boat his sharp sword raised above his head.
Caircil called, “Put away your sword, this is a friend. He has saved our voyage.”
The boat came along side the two in the water and Squade placed the captain into the boat and handed him the clay pot.
Squade boomed, “I look seeing stone?”
Beads of cold sweat rolled down Caircil’s face and he dumped the contents of the pot onto the bottom of the boat. He picked up the seeing stone, cleaned it off and held it up for Squade to see.
As fast as an eye blink Squade plucked the stone out of the captain’s hands. He looked at the bright blue light for a moment and then tossed it high into the air. The dweller of the deep places caught it with a large suction cup on one of its waving tentacles and handed it back. Squade shouted, “Good voyage, next time float by come feast. Sea King like, bring the two if can.” The dweller of the deep winked at the captain with two of its black eyes and disappeared beneath the waves.
Glath was the first person the captain saw when he climbed onto the deck of his ship. A deck he had thought for a while he would never see again. Caircil stormed across the deck towards him and demanded, “Why,” as he stepped in front of the shaking man. “Why did you kill Anst? He was your friend. Why did you throw the seeing stone into the deep?”
The trembling sailor’s stony black eyes stared at his captain. Glath did not know how to tell Caircil about his fear or his need to return to his wife and newborn children. Finally, gathering a little bit of courage he spoke in a frightened voice, just above a whisper. “I wanted to go home.”
Caircil roared, “If you wanted to go home all you needed to do was ask. I would have put you ashore on the Island of Teroth. Ships often stop there for water. I would still have given you some gold though not your full share. Now that you have killed one of my crew there will be no gold for you. Your share will go to the family of Anst.”
Glath’s face turned ashen grey and his body shook. “What of me now? What do you intend to do,” his voice sounded weak and his teeth chattered.
“I should kill you,” For the first time in his life the captain surrendered to fury and hate. “If spilling your blood would bring life back to Anst I would be happy to do so with my own hands. Since it won’t, I’ll put you ashore on the first island we come to. You will have food, water and weapons. Even if you were to swear an oath on the blood of your family, it would be an oath I could not trust. Until we find a place you will stay bound, you will only be unbound to eat, take him away. I can’t look at this traitor’s face any longer.” Caircil strode over to the wheel and glanced at the seeing stone, they were a long way off course.
Caircil shouted, “Unfurl all sails,” Coils of anger still looped through his body and mind. “Follow the seeing stone, guard it well. There will be four men on watch all the time and two of them will guard the seeing stone.”
With all sails set the Uniaedean once more surged forward through the waves. Before the mid-meal was ready the dark angry veils rolled back and the sun peeked out. Caircil hurried to his cabin, picked up his sailing scrolls and returned to the deck. He aimed the arrow of the ships finding wheel at the sun and noted the number that lined up with the point. The captain glanced at one of the scrolls, “More to the north Allador, we can be at the island of great stone birds by the next waking of the sun.”
As the ship changed course the blue light in the seeing stone shifted and pointed more towards the east. Aonas came on deck and walked over to where the captain was standing near the wheel and seeing stone. Furrows ploughed themselves in his brow, “Why have we changed course? We have already lost too much time.”
The captain turned his head towards the angry ranger, “I’m taking Glath to the island of great stone birds, and at times ships stop for water there. The only other choice is to kill him, he has been friend too long and has many children, therefore I will not take his life.”
“You’re the captain,” the anger that coursed through the ranger’s tense body boiled over into his voice. “If we come not to the two in time it will go evil with you.” He turned away and walked over to where the polishing stones were kept. Aonas picked one up, knelt on the deck and began to rub the stone back and forth, putting all of his weight on it.
****
The sun slept and woke again and now the Uniaedean, with all sails furled, rested at anchor close to shore inside a small bay. Glath stood on a white sandy beach and watched the boat with his captain and two other men moving away from him.
A bow, a full quiver of arrows, sword, a barrel of dried fish and one of water were on the beach beside him. Hatred surged through Glath’s rail thin body and filled his mind with bitter thoughts. He bent down and shouldered the quiver full of arrows, picked up his bow, drew an arrow from the quiver and notched it to the bow string. The sailor pulled the string and feathered shaft back to his right ear, pointed it at the captains back. The bowstring twanged loudly.
Aonas, on the deck of the Uniaedean noticed the actions of the wretched crewman and yelled to the captain, “Caircil, be wary.”
Caircil jumped into the sea as the deadly shaft whished over his head.
The tall dark skinned ranger didn’t hesitate. As swift as a hawk diving for its prey he removed the powerful bow from his back and withdrew a long black shaft from the full quiver. In a blur of motion he notched it to the bow string and without seeming to take aim released the bolt. The arrow flew true to the traitorous heart and Glath fell without making a sound. Bright red blood pooled around him and soaked into the white sand of the beach as he lay among his food and weapons.
Caircil said, “I would that this had not been done,” as he stepped onto the deck of his ship. “Glath was once good friend.”
“It would have been your life had I not loosed my arrow,” Aonas grimaced. “I need you, I don’t need him.”
Caircil commanded, “Lift anchor, set all sail and follow the seeing stone,” his voice was full of sadness.
****
Six times now had the sun woken since Glath’s death and yet there was still no sight of land. No birds flew around them, none had for two days. Still the ship surged eastward, always going where the seeing stone pointed.
The captain stood beside Aonas who guided the ship. Aonas liked how the Uniaedean felt so alive in his hands. Just a light turn of the great wheel and it responded. Every chance he had he took the helm, often taking double turn.
Caircil said, “I like not this place, or the waters here, it feels evil. No life lives beneath these waves or above them. Let me take the wheel, go break your fast.”
“In a while,” the ranger was reluctant to let go because he knew not how many more days he would have this good chance. In the days since Glath’s death Aonas’s anger had faded and he and the captain had become good friends.
Caircil laughed, he liked this tall dark skinned wood’s ranger. “Are you certain you do not wish to stay on my ship after we return to safe harbor? Go break your fast. You can have the helm back when you are done.”
“As much as I love the ship and the sea I cannot desert Adelard. Long have we been friends, saving each other’s lives a dozen times at least.” He surrendered the helm to Cairicil’s strong hands, turned and walked away.
The sun slept. Behind Aonas and Caircil a full golden moon sailed in the star filled sky and the ranger once more held the helm in steady hands. Even though the wind from the south and west was blowing strong, filling the black sails, the Uniaedean was slowing down. A dense, thick veil began to grow around them. Slower and slower the dark ship went. The veil was so thick now that they could not see more than a few ells ahead of them. Candle-lanterns were lit and hung on the deck hooks.
“What evil hand is this that slows us,” Caircil did not look at anyone as he spoke. “If it soon does not let go we will need turn make our way to safe harbor.”
“Caircil please go on as far as we can. I would not wish to go back to Adelard and tell him I failed on this most needy quest,” Aonas failed to keep the doubt he felt out of his voice.
“I too wish not to fail,” the captain smiled.
“You need not worry about your blood oath. You have done your best.”
“It is not my way to fail. We will go on until the Uniaedean can no longer go forward.”
The veil thickened, the ship slowed and just when everyone on deck believed that it would stop, the hand that held it back, if indeed it was some unseen hand let go. The Uniaedean surged forward and dropped with a loud splash.
A monstrous wave washed over the deck and knocked several sailors off of their feet. Aonas grabbed the rail with his strong right hand as the ship rolled to his right. The veil thinned and their way on the strange sea was clear.
Allador, high above the deck in the small raven’s nest called down to the captain. “Land away.”
Caircil called back, “Where?”
“To the north and east,” Allador’s voice was filled with excitement, “There’s a finger of land curving to the north. Perhaps it makes a bay on the other side.”
Anoas asked, “Will we anchor on the north or south of this finger?”
“To the north,” the captain paced back and forth in front of the ships wheel, “To the north. Turn the ship back to the west before the anchor is set. If we find the two or even if they be not here I wish the ship ready for a fast return. I like not the strangeness of this sea.”
The Uniaedean’s sails were now furled and the prow pointed westward. The black ship came to a stop. The anchor dropped towards the bottom of this unknown sea and a ships boat was lowered to the gentle waves below. The bottom of the boat touched the water and something roared overhead.
Everyone looked up into the moon bright sky to see what kind of strange bird this might be. Bright lights blinked along both sides of the featherless, large winged flying beast.
“Quickly men, I want three to come with me in the boat, Allador, Nayarth and you too Goroth.” Caircil was anxious to be away from this strange and evil land.
Friday, July 31, 2009
A Time of for Never Green
Once great forests filled the land
Fingers of towering, spruce, fir and pine
Stretched high, eager to receive heaven’s light
And when bright spring was new born
Mountain sides burst forth
In abundant, myriad coloured blooms
Vast meadows were planted everywhere
For all who cared to view
Filled with grass and berry bush
That well past knee high grew
Teeming with abundant, dainty life
Almost too small for naked eye to see
Our world was once upon a time
A place that was forever green
An Eden’s Garden of delight
Where man’s children in wonder played
But into this perfect, unspoiled space
That God in His great goodness gave
To be a home to all that lived
Mankind’s uncaring greed did intrude
Untamed rivers, lakes of deep sky blue
Where fish frolicked and grew fat
And little otter kitten’s played
Have vanished with the mighty oak
A dust bowl now in fullness resides
A great desert that will be for never green
A once bountiful land forever barren lies
Stretching out beyond space and time
The only thing that now sees
This land of waste and bitterness
Is the uncaring, naked eye
Of the for always burning sun
Fingers of towering, spruce, fir and pine
Stretched high, eager to receive heaven’s light
And when bright spring was new born
Mountain sides burst forth
In abundant, myriad coloured blooms
Vast meadows were planted everywhere
For all who cared to view
Filled with grass and berry bush
That well past knee high grew
Teeming with abundant, dainty life
Almost too small for naked eye to see
Our world was once upon a time
A place that was forever green
An Eden’s Garden of delight
Where man’s children in wonder played
But into this perfect, unspoiled space
That God in His great goodness gave
To be a home to all that lived
Mankind’s uncaring greed did intrude
Untamed rivers, lakes of deep sky blue
Where fish frolicked and grew fat
And little otter kitten’s played
Have vanished with the mighty oak
A dust bowl now in fullness resides
A great desert that will be for never green
A once bountiful land forever barren lies
Stretching out beyond space and time
The only thing that now sees
This land of waste and bitterness
Is the uncaring, naked eye
Of the for always burning sun
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
We Made our Own World
The tongue of the angry sea burns
as it licks away at the barren shore.
Flotsam and jetsam,
refuse of six billion people,
human waste of six billion,
poison the deep with filth.
Rotting fish turn white, sparkling sands
into a black, putrid garbage dump.
Sea birds in their thousands
flock and eat of this toxic bounty,
then add their flesh to the spoil.
Mother Nature’s forgiving nature,
can no longer nurture
the starving, devouring multitude,
with her once overflowing bounty.
Yet hopeful fishermen
still go down to the sea
in wooden sailing ships.
Still go down to the sea
in rusting iron ships.
The sea waits patiently
and gathers power in its loins.
Waves gouge at the land,
crushing all within their path,
under its unforgiving heel.
Sharp, barbed harpoons,
pierce deep into soft, quivering flesh.
A baby killer whale weeps
as it’s mother dies in agony.
Whale pods that use to sing
in the sunlight of the morning,
now scream in mourning
on this day of genocide.
Oil rendered without need,
oil rendered because of greed,
burns in ten thousand lamps
and beckons the bloody killers home.
Flabby tummies are now tucked in,
held fast in hour glass perfection,
by whalebone, torn from living things.
Ambergris, mixed with rose oil,
hides the odour of honest sweat.
Girls covered by this death guilt
announce themselves to the world.
The unending bounty of the sea
has now forever ceased to be.
A hungry, crying throng
stands upon the decaying shore.
They shake their upraised fists
into the empty, silent sky.
This ravenous, destroying multitude,
weep, weep and wonder why
trawlers, once laden
with the bounty of the deep,
once filled to overflowing
with the treasures of the sea,
come back to them no more.
as it licks away at the barren shore.
Flotsam and jetsam,
refuse of six billion people,
human waste of six billion,
poison the deep with filth.
Rotting fish turn white, sparkling sands
into a black, putrid garbage dump.
Sea birds in their thousands
flock and eat of this toxic bounty,
then add their flesh to the spoil.
Mother Nature’s forgiving nature,
can no longer nurture
the starving, devouring multitude,
with her once overflowing bounty.
Yet hopeful fishermen
still go down to the sea
in wooden sailing ships.
Still go down to the sea
in rusting iron ships.
The sea waits patiently
and gathers power in its loins.
Waves gouge at the land,
crushing all within their path,
under its unforgiving heel.
Sharp, barbed harpoons,
pierce deep into soft, quivering flesh.
A baby killer whale weeps
as it’s mother dies in agony.
Whale pods that use to sing
in the sunlight of the morning,
now scream in mourning
on this day of genocide.
Oil rendered without need,
oil rendered because of greed,
burns in ten thousand lamps
and beckons the bloody killers home.
Flabby tummies are now tucked in,
held fast in hour glass perfection,
by whalebone, torn from living things.
Ambergris, mixed with rose oil,
hides the odour of honest sweat.
Girls covered by this death guilt
announce themselves to the world.
The unending bounty of the sea
has now forever ceased to be.
A hungry, crying throng
stands upon the decaying shore.
They shake their upraised fists
into the empty, silent sky.
This ravenous, destroying multitude,
weep, weep and wonder why
trawlers, once laden
with the bounty of the deep,
once filled to overflowing
with the treasures of the sea,
come back to them no more.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Inner City Children
Everyone hurries by.
No one hears
their plaintive cry.
There is no gentle hand
to brush tears from the eyes
of the inner city children.
They grow old before their time.
But there is no reason,
there is no rhyme,
they shouldn’t have
the same chances
that other children do.
You can keep you riches
inside the bank
to mould and gather dust.
But if you spend a little
the children will start to trust
that someone really cares.
Hope me be born in the hearts
of the inner city children.
Reach out a helping hand.
Tell them that you understand
and that you’re proud
of all the things they do.
Each baby boy and girl
is worth far more
than all the money in the world.
Light a candle in your soul
for the inner city children.
No one hears
their plaintive cry.
There is no gentle hand
to brush tears from the eyes
of the inner city children.
They grow old before their time.
But there is no reason,
there is no rhyme,
they shouldn’t have
the same chances
that other children do.
You can keep you riches
inside the bank
to mould and gather dust.
But if you spend a little
the children will start to trust
that someone really cares.
Hope me be born in the hearts
of the inner city children.
Reach out a helping hand.
Tell them that you understand
and that you’re proud
of all the things they do.
Each baby boy and girl
is worth far more
than all the money in the world.
Light a candle in your soul
for the inner city children.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Memories of Tomorrow
A heart that’s been broken
Can never be mended
A love that’s been lost
Can never be found
Love is more fragile
Than a butterfly’s wings
Love is far sweeter
Than sugar plum wine
I see your smile in the midnight sky
As my tears fall on the ground like rain
I want to turn my sad world around
And go back to yesterday once again
Back to the days
When our love was new born
Back to the time
When we built our dreams
We made our own music
And danced in the moonlight
Love light was brighter than stars
In the blue of your eyes
The mountains were taller
The rivers ran deep
Time stretched out past the sun
Love was the moment
And love was tomorrow
But the world goes on turning
And the years hide our memories
Love fades like red roses
When the winter wind blows
So I listen to my heart beat
Out memories of tomorrow
I listen to my tears fall on the ground
I miss you much more
Than I would ever miss living
Memories of tomorrow are for the living
Memories of yesterday belong to the dead
Memories of tomorrow stretch out beyond me
Memories of yesterday fade with the sun
Can never be mended
A love that’s been lost
Can never be found
Love is more fragile
Than a butterfly’s wings
Love is far sweeter
Than sugar plum wine
I see your smile in the midnight sky
As my tears fall on the ground like rain
I want to turn my sad world around
And go back to yesterday once again
Back to the days
When our love was new born
Back to the time
When we built our dreams
We made our own music
And danced in the moonlight
Love light was brighter than stars
In the blue of your eyes
The mountains were taller
The rivers ran deep
Time stretched out past the sun
Love was the moment
And love was tomorrow
But the world goes on turning
And the years hide our memories
Love fades like red roses
When the winter wind blows
So I listen to my heart beat
Out memories of tomorrow
I listen to my tears fall on the ground
I miss you much more
Than I would ever miss living
Memories of tomorrow are for the living
Memories of yesterday belong to the dead
Memories of tomorrow stretch out beyond me
Memories of yesterday fade with the sun
A Time for Decision
The ballot box has been filled
With the anger of union members
Fateful hour of decision has passed by
A line has been etched
Into history’s unforgiving sands
How fast ascends the midnight hour
Men, women, resolute in their demands
Hold fast, the many picket lines
March in determination
Picket signs held proud and high
But the company holds tight
To their absolute, corrupt power
When two cultures, like titans crash
A community is caught within
The middle of this most un-winnable war
And is crushed like egg shells
Underneath boots with metal heels
Robber barons from a different land
Eager to force their ways down throats
Of the hard working, middle class
Desire to change union member’s minds
Desire to break a union’s will
Loss of things, quickly pile high
Loss of homes, of love, of dignity
Yet in some abstract way
Though shredded by a cultural war
Tattered, torn by political assault
Some remnants of self respect remain
But self respect does not buy bread
Does not put hats on small heads
When winter in its coldness eats the soul
And though there is a common thread
Among those who protest this assault
Upon living means and decent wage
Bone thin fingers are eager to point the blame
Mouths shaped by bitterness
Are all too quick to name
Each other as the sole author
For this decent into a jobless state
Perhaps at some point in distant time
Wise heads and minds will prevail
And this bitter war between two different cultures
Will end upon the point of some common ground
With the anger of union members
Fateful hour of decision has passed by
A line has been etched
Into history’s unforgiving sands
How fast ascends the midnight hour
Men, women, resolute in their demands
Hold fast, the many picket lines
March in determination
Picket signs held proud and high
But the company holds tight
To their absolute, corrupt power
When two cultures, like titans crash
A community is caught within
The middle of this most un-winnable war
And is crushed like egg shells
Underneath boots with metal heels
Robber barons from a different land
Eager to force their ways down throats
Of the hard working, middle class
Desire to change union member’s minds
Desire to break a union’s will
Loss of things, quickly pile high
Loss of homes, of love, of dignity
Yet in some abstract way
Though shredded by a cultural war
Tattered, torn by political assault
Some remnants of self respect remain
But self respect does not buy bread
Does not put hats on small heads
When winter in its coldness eats the soul
And though there is a common thread
Among those who protest this assault
Upon living means and decent wage
Bone thin fingers are eager to point the blame
Mouths shaped by bitterness
Are all too quick to name
Each other as the sole author
For this decent into a jobless state
Perhaps at some point in distant time
Wise heads and minds will prevail
And this bitter war between two different cultures
Will end upon the point of some common ground
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Piano Player
Moonbeams stream
Through dusty window panes
Gleam on ebony and ivory keys
Polished by sweat and tears
Keys of black and white
Shimmer in soft moonlight
Fingers sculptured for music
Flow across them
Each bit of wood
Each bit of bone
Compressed, depressed
In the order of the tune
Though his mind
Has forgotten
Fingers worn by time
Half remember
The naked rhythm
Half remember
Who he was
He looks backward
Through Galileo’s glass
At who he use to be
A young man
Who owned the world
Who loved the homage paid
After each flawless performance
Fingers, manicured, perfect
Flow without effort
Across ebony, ivory keys
Keys of black and white
Gleam in soft candlelight
Women sigh and surrender
Tossed aside when
The music’s done
The glass dims
Time flows
Over the waterfall
Of too many
Forgotten years
Yet still the player plays
Though the piano
Is as out of tune
As he his
Memories of his muse
Dancing in the starlight
Still seduce him
With thoughts of glory
He rises, gaunt, broken
Smiles at the applause
From the audience
Who have been enthralled
By his perfection
Reflections of them fade
To be replaced by his own
Tears of bitterness fall
By this intrusion of reality
He smiles at the image aged
Far beyond his understanding
Hairless head gleams
As moonbeams stream
Through dusty window panes
Through dusty window panes
Gleam on ebony and ivory keys
Polished by sweat and tears
Keys of black and white
Shimmer in soft moonlight
Fingers sculptured for music
Flow across them
Each bit of wood
Each bit of bone
Compressed, depressed
In the order of the tune
Though his mind
Has forgotten
Fingers worn by time
Half remember
The naked rhythm
Half remember
Who he was
He looks backward
Through Galileo’s glass
At who he use to be
A young man
Who owned the world
Who loved the homage paid
After each flawless performance
Fingers, manicured, perfect
Flow without effort
Across ebony, ivory keys
Keys of black and white
Gleam in soft candlelight
Women sigh and surrender
Tossed aside when
The music’s done
The glass dims
Time flows
Over the waterfall
Of too many
Forgotten years
Yet still the player plays
Though the piano
Is as out of tune
As he his
Memories of his muse
Dancing in the starlight
Still seduce him
With thoughts of glory
He rises, gaunt, broken
Smiles at the applause
From the audience
Who have been enthralled
By his perfection
Reflections of them fade
To be replaced by his own
Tears of bitterness fall
By this intrusion of reality
He smiles at the image aged
Far beyond his understanding
Hairless head gleams
As moonbeams stream
Through dusty window panes
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A Beggar in the Canyons of Time
I’m a beggar
In the canyons of time
A soldier without a fortune
A dreamer who never dreams
I’m a singer of songs
A poet in my own mind
A poet in my own time
When the clock ticks
Far past my knowing
I wonder if I am being
Perhaps I am no more
Than small blink
An even smaller wink
In someone’s imagination
I’m a clown without a throne
A king without a queen of my own
A sailor on a ship without sails
A captain without a crew
Minute hands hold my fate
As the second hand inches away
The day breaks into
A dark cloudy remembrance
The night holds fast to my soul
The knight polishes his armour
With the blood from my flowing wounds
And today is no more than yesterday
But better than tomorrow will be
In my thoughtless way I blunder
Back to my beginning days
Back to promises I never made
What would the hours hold for me
If I had never been born
Will I ever be more
Than a ripple in time
Will I ever be more
Than a mite in God’s eye
I’m a beggar in the canyons of time
I’m a dreamer trapped by his dreams
A soldier without any guns
But I always have a war to go to
In the canyons of time
A soldier without a fortune
A dreamer who never dreams
I’m a singer of songs
A poet in my own mind
A poet in my own time
When the clock ticks
Far past my knowing
I wonder if I am being
Perhaps I am no more
Than small blink
An even smaller wink
In someone’s imagination
I’m a clown without a throne
A king without a queen of my own
A sailor on a ship without sails
A captain without a crew
Minute hands hold my fate
As the second hand inches away
The day breaks into
A dark cloudy remembrance
The night holds fast to my soul
The knight polishes his armour
With the blood from my flowing wounds
And today is no more than yesterday
But better than tomorrow will be
In my thoughtless way I blunder
Back to my beginning days
Back to promises I never made
What would the hours hold for me
If I had never been born
Will I ever be more
Than a ripple in time
Will I ever be more
Than a mite in God’s eye
I’m a beggar in the canyons of time
I’m a dreamer trapped by his dreams
A soldier without any guns
But I always have a war to go to
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Looking Glass of War
I looked,
into the looking glass
of war.
And looking
back at me
through the misty eyes
of time,
the demented, decimated
faces of the dead.
Old soldiers,
who surrendered
their last breath,
on broken battle fields,
so many
years before.
I looked through
the looking glass
of war,
into distant
fields of green.
Into the eyes
of the young.
Young soldiers
waiting,
waiting for the call.
Do they think?
Do they dream?
Dream of
some distant glory?
Do they believe,
that a bullet
could ever
wear their name?
As they play,
on football fields,
on football fields of green.
As they play
in a time,
when tomorrow
is a thing
that’s never been.
Do they feel,
the bullet?
The thrusting
of cold
bayonet steel?
Do they feel
shrapnel from
a closely
hidden bomb?
Do they image
the medals
they will win?
Do they see
each comrade,
each brother,
each and everyone,
being welcomed
to warm wonder
of home?
Heroes of
a brilliant,
noble, victory.
Will they ever be,
ready for
the horror,
the reality?
I looked
deep, deep into
the looking glass
of war.
I looked long,
I looked intently,
until
I could look no more.
into the looking glass
of war.
And looking
back at me
through the misty eyes
of time,
the demented, decimated
faces of the dead.
Old soldiers,
who surrendered
their last breath,
on broken battle fields,
so many
years before.
I looked through
the looking glass
of war,
into distant
fields of green.
Into the eyes
of the young.
Young soldiers
waiting,
waiting for the call.
Do they think?
Do they dream?
Dream of
some distant glory?
Do they believe,
that a bullet
could ever
wear their name?
As they play,
on football fields,
on football fields of green.
As they play
in a time,
when tomorrow
is a thing
that’s never been.
Do they feel,
the bullet?
The thrusting
of cold
bayonet steel?
Do they feel
shrapnel from
a closely
hidden bomb?
Do they image
the medals
they will win?
Do they see
each comrade,
each brother,
each and everyone,
being welcomed
to warm wonder
of home?
Heroes of
a brilliant,
noble, victory.
Will they ever be,
ready for
the horror,
the reality?
I looked
deep, deep into
the looking glass
of war.
I looked long,
I looked intently,
until
I could look no more.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
One Song at a Time
You tried to make our world
Our world that we live in
A far better place
For all the human race
Especially the hungry children
You sang with all your heart
You sang with all your soul
And you tried to change the world
One song at a time
You danced into our hearts
You danced into our dreams
With the kind of moves
That we had never seen before
We called out to you
To always give us more
You gave us all your love
All you had to give
For a little while
You were worshiped and adored
Yet even when we turned away
You tried to change the world
One song at a time
We forgot that you are human too
And when we turned our backs on you
Inside you must have cried
But still you went and tried
To change our world
With one tear at a time
You blazed like a rocket
Across our summer sky
And today we cry
But tomorrow we’ll try
To change the world
One song at a time
Our world that we live in
A far better place
For all the human race
Especially the hungry children
You sang with all your heart
You sang with all your soul
And you tried to change the world
One song at a time
You danced into our hearts
You danced into our dreams
With the kind of moves
That we had never seen before
We called out to you
To always give us more
You gave us all your love
All you had to give
For a little while
You were worshiped and adored
Yet even when we turned away
You tried to change the world
One song at a time
We forgot that you are human too
And when we turned our backs on you
Inside you must have cried
But still you went and tried
To change our world
With one tear at a time
You blazed like a rocket
Across our summer sky
And today we cry
But tomorrow we’ll try
To change the world
One song at a time
Red and Grey Cobblestones
Dappled shadows of leaves
From flowering crab apple trees
Ruffled by the summer wind
Dance on red and grey
Well worn cobblestones
A street troubadour plays for pennies
On an old broken down guitar
He sings of lost love and heartbreak
To all who pass him by
The weight of the new day
Did grow heavy upon me
The weight of the world
Is a burden in my mind
The smiles of those that I meet
On the busy city street
Bring a brightness to my soul
And I listen to life around me
The streets are awash with traffic
Flowers bloom in sidewalk cafes
Little children dance to the music
Of the street troubadour as he plays
His songs turn from sad to happy
Money falls like rain in his can
Clouds fade away into sunshine
The weight of the world goes away
I stop to listen for a while
And I watch the shadows of leaves
From flowering crab apple trees
Caressed by a warm summer wind
Dance on red and grey
Well worn cobblestones
From flowering crab apple trees
Ruffled by the summer wind
Dance on red and grey
Well worn cobblestones
A street troubadour plays for pennies
On an old broken down guitar
He sings of lost love and heartbreak
To all who pass him by
The weight of the new day
Did grow heavy upon me
The weight of the world
Is a burden in my mind
The smiles of those that I meet
On the busy city street
Bring a brightness to my soul
And I listen to life around me
The streets are awash with traffic
Flowers bloom in sidewalk cafes
Little children dance to the music
Of the street troubadour as he plays
His songs turn from sad to happy
Money falls like rain in his can
Clouds fade away into sunshine
The weight of the world goes away
I stop to listen for a while
And I watch the shadows of leaves
From flowering crab apple trees
Caressed by a warm summer wind
Dance on red and grey
Well worn cobblestones
Monday, July 6, 2009
Just an Ordinary Girl
She was just an ordinary girl
Dancing naked in the garden
Dancing naked in the moonlight
Red roses added color to her hair
She sang songs of tribulation
She sang songs of desolation
There was no absolution
No songs of salvation
No words of comfort
In the cold night air
The music was the wind
And a distant mandolin
She wished for a violin
To make her voice sound better
To make her voice sound sweeter
But the violinist
Had a broken finger
And he could not play as needed
So her voice was cold and ugly
And turned the world to sadness
The night gathered darker
And her songs became sadder
And the roses wilted in her hair
Her skin was blue and faded
Her eyes were worn and jaded
And she wished she was anyplace but here
She felt like she was a prisoner
To being just an ordinary girl
She longed for things beyond her
She longed for things unknowing
She longed for someone to love her
She longed for a lover to care
She longed to be wanted
To be thought of as a beauty
But she was just an ordinary girl
The roses in the garden
Became harder than any kind of stone
The night birds stopped singing
Leaving the ordinary girl all alone
The mandolin stopped playing
The night wind blew colder
The girl was now remorseful
For the things her songs had done
She wanted to go backwards
To the time of her beginning
Before her songs turned the world around
But clocks only tick forward
Towards the end she’d wished for
Not the one her heart wanted
Not the ones that filled her every dream
Just an ordinary girl
Made a difference in the world
With her songs of tribulation
The day would have ended better
If her songs were of salvation
If she had begged for absolution
She was just an ordinary girl
Dancing naked in the garden
Dancing naked in the moonlight
Red roses added color to her hair
She sang songs of tribulation
She sang songs of desolation
There was no absolution
No songs of salvation
No words of comfort
In the cold night air
Dancing naked in the garden
Dancing naked in the moonlight
Red roses added color to her hair
She sang songs of tribulation
She sang songs of desolation
There was no absolution
No songs of salvation
No words of comfort
In the cold night air
The music was the wind
And a distant mandolin
She wished for a violin
To make her voice sound better
To make her voice sound sweeter
But the violinist
Had a broken finger
And he could not play as needed
So her voice was cold and ugly
And turned the world to sadness
The night gathered darker
And her songs became sadder
And the roses wilted in her hair
Her skin was blue and faded
Her eyes were worn and jaded
And she wished she was anyplace but here
She felt like she was a prisoner
To being just an ordinary girl
She longed for things beyond her
She longed for things unknowing
She longed for someone to love her
She longed for a lover to care
She longed to be wanted
To be thought of as a beauty
But she was just an ordinary girl
The roses in the garden
Became harder than any kind of stone
The night birds stopped singing
Leaving the ordinary girl all alone
The mandolin stopped playing
The night wind blew colder
The girl was now remorseful
For the things her songs had done
She wanted to go backwards
To the time of her beginning
Before her songs turned the world around
But clocks only tick forward
Towards the end she’d wished for
Not the one her heart wanted
Not the ones that filled her every dream
Just an ordinary girl
Made a difference in the world
With her songs of tribulation
The day would have ended better
If her songs were of salvation
If she had begged for absolution
She was just an ordinary girl
Dancing naked in the garden
Dancing naked in the moonlight
Red roses added color to her hair
She sang songs of tribulation
She sang songs of desolation
There was no absolution
No songs of salvation
No words of comfort
In the cold night air
Why Me
Why must I always be
At the bottom of the barrel
Why must my toast
Always be un-buttered
Always made from mouldy bread
Always burnt to crispness
Why am I the last
To be forever un-chosen
Why am I always picked on
And never picked upon
To take up a noble cause
Why do I never know
The knowing and seasons of others
When the whole world smiles
Why must I weep
Upon my own parade
On my own birthday clowns
On my own chocolate birthday cake
Why am I always rained upon
While the sun shines on others
Dancing in the street, two feet away
Why is my tea always cold
So un-flavoured from weak old tea bags
While others earn their burial urns
With pennies so easily found
I must dig for my richness
Among the dead, so long in smelly ground
I pick the pockets of the prophets
But they have less than I do
But why do others find the gold
That falls through the holes
Of un-holy and broken shoes
Why must I steal my words
From Wordsworth and word smiths
To paint pictures of lost birds
Who never loved or laid an egg
Why must I lay
Upon my death bed
While those older than me
Have found immortality
Why don’t my chickens lay eggs
So my family can be fat with meat
And not forever rail thin and hungry
Why must the seeds of wheat I sew
Forever fall upon un-fallow ground
Forever fall upon un-hallowed ground
I call all my questions out to the stars
Out to the moaning wind
Out to places I can never go to
But my questions return un-answered
And my dreams return un-dreamed
And my love spurned returns un-requited
At the bottom of the barrel
Why must my toast
Always be un-buttered
Always made from mouldy bread
Always burnt to crispness
Why am I the last
To be forever un-chosen
Why am I always picked on
And never picked upon
To take up a noble cause
Why do I never know
The knowing and seasons of others
When the whole world smiles
Why must I weep
Upon my own parade
On my own birthday clowns
On my own chocolate birthday cake
Why am I always rained upon
While the sun shines on others
Dancing in the street, two feet away
Why is my tea always cold
So un-flavoured from weak old tea bags
While others earn their burial urns
With pennies so easily found
I must dig for my richness
Among the dead, so long in smelly ground
I pick the pockets of the prophets
But they have less than I do
But why do others find the gold
That falls through the holes
Of un-holy and broken shoes
Why must I steal my words
From Wordsworth and word smiths
To paint pictures of lost birds
Who never loved or laid an egg
Why must I lay
Upon my death bed
While those older than me
Have found immortality
Why don’t my chickens lay eggs
So my family can be fat with meat
And not forever rail thin and hungry
Why must the seeds of wheat I sew
Forever fall upon un-fallow ground
Forever fall upon un-hallowed ground
I call all my questions out to the stars
Out to the moaning wind
Out to places I can never go to
But my questions return un-answered
And my dreams return un-dreamed
And my love spurned returns un-requited
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Another Young Soldier
Can you hear the bugle playing
As they carry you to your grave
You are just a young many of twenty
But you were always very brave
You faced down every bully
You tried to right every wrong
Your country sent you to a bloody war
And now another young man is gone
Your mother’s cried so many tears
She can’t get out of bed
Your daddy is somewhere drinking
And wishing he were dead
Can you hear the drummer playing
As they lower you into your grave
You took up your countries call
Before you even had to shave
You stood up to the oppressor
And tried to right every wrong
You went off to a needless war
Now another young man is gone
You’ll never again make love to your wife
You’ll never watch your young son grow
You’ll never see him become a man
Do you wonder if he’ll ever understand
Can you hear the bag pipe playing
As they cover you in your grave
You thought you were doing the right thing
When you went away
You stood up to the dictator
You tried to right every wrong
You fought against all the odds
And now another young man is gone
Your body and mind were broken
Before your country brought you home
They left you to die like a rabid dog
On the streets all alone
Can you hear your friends weeping
As they leave you in your lonely grave
You are just a young man of twenty years
But you always were so brave
You faced down all the bullies
You tried to right every wrong
Your country sent you to an endless war
And now another young man is gone
As they carry you to your grave
You are just a young many of twenty
But you were always very brave
You faced down every bully
You tried to right every wrong
Your country sent you to a bloody war
And now another young man is gone
Your mother’s cried so many tears
She can’t get out of bed
Your daddy is somewhere drinking
And wishing he were dead
Can you hear the drummer playing
As they lower you into your grave
You took up your countries call
Before you even had to shave
You stood up to the oppressor
And tried to right every wrong
You went off to a needless war
Now another young man is gone
You’ll never again make love to your wife
You’ll never watch your young son grow
You’ll never see him become a man
Do you wonder if he’ll ever understand
Can you hear the bag pipe playing
As they cover you in your grave
You thought you were doing the right thing
When you went away
You stood up to the dictator
You tried to right every wrong
You fought against all the odds
And now another young man is gone
Your body and mind were broken
Before your country brought you home
They left you to die like a rabid dog
On the streets all alone
Can you hear your friends weeping
As they leave you in your lonely grave
You are just a young man of twenty years
But you always were so brave
You faced down all the bullies
You tried to right every wrong
Your country sent you to an endless war
And now another young man is gone
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A Troubled Man
Troubled thoughts
In a troubled mind
Of a troubled man
In troubling times
Will he ever find
His road to redemption
Or will he wander
In a never land
Filled with empty
And lonely things
Never finding
His way
Towards freedom
His music was his laughter
His music was his tears
And he never
Thought the years
Would ever change him
His music changed the world
His music shaped the morning
Now the world is in mourning
Because his shadow faded
Caught between
Being black and white
Caught between
Wrong and right
Was shame and guilt
His undoing
Did he live his dreams
Or did his dreams live him
Did we in someway
Lift him down
To be ordinary clay
Mired in the dark
That we live in
He could have been
Our light
He should have
Changed the darkness
But he lived in a land
Where he could
Never be the man
That we wanted
He never grew
Out of a child’s world
So he framed
His destiny
The way we
Frame our wanting
In the memories
Of our minds
He’ll be forever young
And we’ll
Always hear him singing
Children will dance
To his music
That he makes anew
In the place
Where he is going
His pain and sorrow
Are all gone
But our hurt
Is just beginning
Troubled thoughts
In a troubled mind
Of a troubled man
In troubling times
Can he now
Ever find
His own salvation
In a troubled mind
Of a troubled man
In troubling times
Will he ever find
His road to redemption
Or will he wander
In a never land
Filled with empty
And lonely things
Never finding
His way
Towards freedom
His music was his laughter
His music was his tears
And he never
Thought the years
Would ever change him
His music changed the world
His music shaped the morning
Now the world is in mourning
Because his shadow faded
Caught between
Being black and white
Caught between
Wrong and right
Was shame and guilt
His undoing
Did he live his dreams
Or did his dreams live him
Did we in someway
Lift him down
To be ordinary clay
Mired in the dark
That we live in
He could have been
Our light
He should have
Changed the darkness
But he lived in a land
Where he could
Never be the man
That we wanted
He never grew
Out of a child’s world
So he framed
His destiny
The way we
Frame our wanting
In the memories
Of our minds
He’ll be forever young
And we’ll
Always hear him singing
Children will dance
To his music
That he makes anew
In the place
Where he is going
His pain and sorrow
Are all gone
But our hurt
Is just beginning
Troubled thoughts
In a troubled mind
Of a troubled man
In troubling times
Can he now
Ever find
His own salvation
Friday, July 3, 2009
The Songs our Fathers Sang
In Selma Alabama a brave woman took a stand
A young black preacher led us to the Promised Land
He preached that equality and justice belong to everyone
No matter the colour of their skin
It’s time to sing the songs that our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
Let there be an end to war and tyranny
Set all of the political prisoners free
Let love be the only word that’s heard
Let freedom be more than just another word
Let the strings of all your banjos ring
And tell all the little children to once more sing
Tell all the little children to once more sing
Sing the songs of peace that our fathers sang
From the Fraser River Valley down to the shining sea
From the snowy mountains across the prairie lands
Our beardless youth are called on to be men
When will the politicians ever learn in their hearts
That war is a bitter game no one ever wins
It’s time to sing our father’s songs of love again
It’s time to sing our father’s songs of love again
Pete Seeger’s and Woody Guthrie’s dreams go forever on
Bob Dylan’s songs of freedom are on the blowing wind
The causes are the same, even though the times have changed
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
Rainbows and dew drops fade in the light of day
The old and broken soldiers just simply fade away
And young men die on the killing fields again
Will we ever learn to pray for peace instead of war
Or will we just go on destroying life as we did before
We need to teach the children the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to teach the children the songs our fathers sang
In Selma Alabama a brave woman took a stand
A young black preacher led us to the Promised Land
He preached that equality and justice belong to everyone
No matter the colour of their skin
It’s time to sing the songs that our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
Pete Seeger’s and Woody Guthrie’s dreams go forever on
Bob Dylan’s songs of freedom are on the blowing wind
The causes are the same, even though the times have changed
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
A young black preacher led us to the Promised Land
He preached that equality and justice belong to everyone
No matter the colour of their skin
It’s time to sing the songs that our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
Let there be an end to war and tyranny
Set all of the political prisoners free
Let love be the only word that’s heard
Let freedom be more than just another word
Let the strings of all your banjos ring
And tell all the little children to once more sing
Tell all the little children to once more sing
Sing the songs of peace that our fathers sang
From the Fraser River Valley down to the shining sea
From the snowy mountains across the prairie lands
Our beardless youth are called on to be men
When will the politicians ever learn in their hearts
That war is a bitter game no one ever wins
It’s time to sing our father’s songs of love again
It’s time to sing our father’s songs of love again
Pete Seeger’s and Woody Guthrie’s dreams go forever on
Bob Dylan’s songs of freedom are on the blowing wind
The causes are the same, even though the times have changed
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
Rainbows and dew drops fade in the light of day
The old and broken soldiers just simply fade away
And young men die on the killing fields again
Will we ever learn to pray for peace instead of war
Or will we just go on destroying life as we did before
We need to teach the children the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to teach the children the songs our fathers sang
In Selma Alabama a brave woman took a stand
A young black preacher led us to the Promised Land
He preached that equality and justice belong to everyone
No matter the colour of their skin
It’s time to sing the songs that our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
Pete Seeger’s and Woody Guthrie’s dreams go forever on
Bob Dylan’s songs of freedom are on the blowing wind
The causes are the same, even though the times have changed
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
It’s time to sing the songs our fathers sang
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The Streets of Chi Town
Cocaine, death cold and snow white
Blood streams hot and rose red
Young folks are lying in the gutter dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
Callie at fourteen, is a woman grown
She use to have a man of her own
Now her man is shot and gone
Because of the bad thing he went and done
And now she has a baby on the way
A dirty ally was Callie’s wedding bed
Now she’s just another mother that’s unwed
Because she never listened to a word her mother said
And the streets of Chi Town are flowing red
With the blood of its children
Her man was just starting to shave
But now he’s lying in a cold lonely grave
Young Callie is trying the best to save
A little money for her child
Being a street walker in the night
Can never make anything right
So she deals a little of the death white
Knowing that it’s not all sweetness and light
However there is no other game to play
Her belly is growing bigger every day
Because there’s a baby on the way
She has become a ganger’s prey
In her dreams, her man is still around
Instead of lying dead like a hound
In the cold and bloody ground of Chi Town
Her man James put the blankets on his own bed
And now his lying cold and dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
After dark in Seneca park
Looks like all the cops have fled
And the streets of Chi Town
Are running bright red
With the blood of its children
The gangers own the town at night
The drugs they sell are a blight
Sapping the will of any who’ll fight
And those that stand for something right
End with an alleyway as their burial site
The ghetto streets are a war zone
A wooden box is the war lord’s throne
His warriors are less than half grown
But their faces are well known
In the ugly streets of Chi Town
Old folks huddle in the dark
Listening to guns go off in the park
And pray to make it through the night
Pray to live until the morning light
Young James was killed in a drive by
He never had a chance to say goodbye
Callie watched without a tear in her eye
She couldn’t take the time to cry
Because its dog eat dog
And only the strong survive
She knew she had to stay alive
Selling drug is hard way to survive
But that’s the only one game to play
When you have a child on the way
A young woman with child is lying dead
Two bullets in her pretty little head
And the streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
Cocaine, death cold and snow white
Blood streams hot and rose red
Young folks are lying in the gutter dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
Blood streams hot and rose red
Young folks are lying in the gutter dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
Callie at fourteen, is a woman grown
She use to have a man of her own
Now her man is shot and gone
Because of the bad thing he went and done
And now she has a baby on the way
A dirty ally was Callie’s wedding bed
Now she’s just another mother that’s unwed
Because she never listened to a word her mother said
And the streets of Chi Town are flowing red
With the blood of its children
Her man was just starting to shave
But now he’s lying in a cold lonely grave
Young Callie is trying the best to save
A little money for her child
Being a street walker in the night
Can never make anything right
So she deals a little of the death white
Knowing that it’s not all sweetness and light
However there is no other game to play
Her belly is growing bigger every day
Because there’s a baby on the way
She has become a ganger’s prey
In her dreams, her man is still around
Instead of lying dead like a hound
In the cold and bloody ground of Chi Town
Her man James put the blankets on his own bed
And now his lying cold and dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
After dark in Seneca park
Looks like all the cops have fled
And the streets of Chi Town
Are running bright red
With the blood of its children
The gangers own the town at night
The drugs they sell are a blight
Sapping the will of any who’ll fight
And those that stand for something right
End with an alleyway as their burial site
The ghetto streets are a war zone
A wooden box is the war lord’s throne
His warriors are less than half grown
But their faces are well known
In the ugly streets of Chi Town
Old folks huddle in the dark
Listening to guns go off in the park
And pray to make it through the night
Pray to live until the morning light
Young James was killed in a drive by
He never had a chance to say goodbye
Callie watched without a tear in her eye
She couldn’t take the time to cry
Because its dog eat dog
And only the strong survive
She knew she had to stay alive
Selling drug is hard way to survive
But that’s the only one game to play
When you have a child on the way
A young woman with child is lying dead
Two bullets in her pretty little head
And the streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
Cocaine, death cold and snow white
Blood streams hot and rose red
Young folks are lying in the gutter dead
The streets of Chi Town are running red
With the blood of its children
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Birds of War, Birds of Prey
Contrails of war birds
Criss-cross angrily
Polluting the summer sky
With their whiteness
Eggs full of death
Drop from their pregnant bellies
Blood, bone, flesh and sinew
Are mashed together
Women with babes in arms
Men carrying young children
Scream in fear
Scream in pain
Scream as the fire consumes them
Dark greasy spots
Are the remains
Of dog of cat
Of man of woman
Of baby of child
And above
The birds of prey circle
Looking for movement
Their bellies still half full
Still swollen with eggs of death
Criss-cross angrily
Polluting the summer sky
With their whiteness
Eggs full of death
Drop from their pregnant bellies
Blood, bone, flesh and sinew
Are mashed together
Women with babes in arms
Men carrying young children
Scream in fear
Scream in pain
Scream as the fire consumes them
Dark greasy spots
Are the remains
Of dog of cat
Of man of woman
Of baby of child
And above
The birds of prey circle
Looking for movement
Their bellies still half full
Still swollen with eggs of death
An Angel with Broken Wings
The cat is in the kitchen
Licking up spilled cream
Old dog sleeping in the corner
Is having a bad dream
The house is full of anger
Both upstairs and down
A sweet young girl is weeping
She wants to go to town
She does not know how to deal
With the pain that fills her soul
She believes that no one loves her
That she can never be quite whole
No one that is this young
Should be filled with such despair
Every time she wants a hug
No one is ever there
Her mind is overflowing
Filled with dark and bitter things
So she lies with her broken heart
And her broken angel wings
The cat is in the kitchen
Licking up spilled cream
Old dog still lies sleeping
Still having his bad dream
Licking up spilled cream
Old dog sleeping in the corner
Is having a bad dream
The house is full of anger
Both upstairs and down
A sweet young girl is weeping
She wants to go to town
She does not know how to deal
With the pain that fills her soul
She believes that no one loves her
That she can never be quite whole
No one that is this young
Should be filled with such despair
Every time she wants a hug
No one is ever there
Her mind is overflowing
Filled with dark and bitter things
So she lies with her broken heart
And her broken angel wings
The cat is in the kitchen
Licking up spilled cream
Old dog still lies sleeping
Still having his bad dream
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Poet Drank Black and Bitter Coffee
The poet drank his black bitter coffee
From a cracked blue saucer
And pondered the dark sky coming down
Coming down with all its bitterness
And the darkness of it filled his soul
It was not fully of his making
Yet he had a hand in the shaping of his world
He remembered the girl that told him
The girl that use to hold him
When his pain set fire to their world
Her words were bright forever
In the corners and the corridors
Of his smoked and broken mind
To many drugs, too much whisky
Had soaked up most of his memories
But traces of his Hilda lingered on the fringes
And her words came through the shadows
That grew forever darker with each sip
Of cold and bitter coffee that he enjoyed
Her song was of tomorrow
And it was filled with sorrow
An aching and a sadness
For their love that once consumed them
Was fading faster than a rainbow from the sky
He wished now that he had heeded
Her soft and plaintive pleadings
But the hour was now too late upon his mind
The guns outside still thundered
As the poet drank he wondered
How long before the mad ones
The hunters, the loners, the sad ones
Look inside this dirty window
And saw him sitting in the moonlight
Waiting for his last day to end
He cherished each word that he had written
To cause the masses to rise up against a tyrant
That wanted to be a ruler of the world
Now the tyrant’s brave new world order
Had came crashing down around him
Fuelled by the poet’s words of freedom
And now it lay in ashes heaped upon his soul
And the poet knew he would not escape
The tyrant’s wrath and anger
It would only be a moment until
His day and night would be shattered
And sweet Hilda would laugh and tell him
That this was all of his own doing
No bitter tears would she cry for him
Outside the guns still thundered
The crowd, looted, raped and plundered
Setting fire to those in their way
So the poet sipped cold and bitter coffee
From the cracked blue saucer in his hand
He listened for his heartbeat
But it was nowhere to be found
He listened for the footsteps
As his head rested on the damp ground
The coffee turned to blood
And Hilda still spoke inside his dying mind
The cracked blue saucer was now broken
A sad and lonely token of a better time
The poet’s words of freedom
Died and faded with him
Never to be spoken of again
The poet drank his black bitter coffee
From a cracked blue saucer
And pondered the dark sky coming down
Coming down with all its bitterness
And the darkness of it filled his soul
From a cracked blue saucer
And pondered the dark sky coming down
Coming down with all its bitterness
And the darkness of it filled his soul
It was not fully of his making
Yet he had a hand in the shaping of his world
He remembered the girl that told him
The girl that use to hold him
When his pain set fire to their world
Her words were bright forever
In the corners and the corridors
Of his smoked and broken mind
To many drugs, too much whisky
Had soaked up most of his memories
But traces of his Hilda lingered on the fringes
And her words came through the shadows
That grew forever darker with each sip
Of cold and bitter coffee that he enjoyed
Her song was of tomorrow
And it was filled with sorrow
An aching and a sadness
For their love that once consumed them
Was fading faster than a rainbow from the sky
He wished now that he had heeded
Her soft and plaintive pleadings
But the hour was now too late upon his mind
The guns outside still thundered
As the poet drank he wondered
How long before the mad ones
The hunters, the loners, the sad ones
Look inside this dirty window
And saw him sitting in the moonlight
Waiting for his last day to end
He cherished each word that he had written
To cause the masses to rise up against a tyrant
That wanted to be a ruler of the world
Now the tyrant’s brave new world order
Had came crashing down around him
Fuelled by the poet’s words of freedom
And now it lay in ashes heaped upon his soul
And the poet knew he would not escape
The tyrant’s wrath and anger
It would only be a moment until
His day and night would be shattered
And sweet Hilda would laugh and tell him
That this was all of his own doing
No bitter tears would she cry for him
Outside the guns still thundered
The crowd, looted, raped and plundered
Setting fire to those in their way
So the poet sipped cold and bitter coffee
From the cracked blue saucer in his hand
He listened for his heartbeat
But it was nowhere to be found
He listened for the footsteps
As his head rested on the damp ground
The coffee turned to blood
And Hilda still spoke inside his dying mind
The cracked blue saucer was now broken
A sad and lonely token of a better time
The poet’s words of freedom
Died and faded with him
Never to be spoken of again
The poet drank his black bitter coffee
From a cracked blue saucer
And pondered the dark sky coming down
Coming down with all its bitterness
And the darkness of it filled his soul
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Neda
One more sweet voice of freedom silenced
By those who would crush democracy
Neda’s death has ignited
A bright spark of determination
The streets are overflowing
The young, the old
And those in between
Cry out loud for freedom
From darkened, lidless windows
Flickering candles glow
For a young life that’s ended
And in the streets of blood and pain
Strong winds of freedom blow
Neda, full of innocence
Neda, full of joyful laughter
Neda’s whos soft eyes once sparkled
Now lies dying for no reason
Bright flowers now scattered
Where a young woman has fallen
White flowers now scattered
Where a young life has ended
Tears flow from the eyes of strangers
Sweet Neda, dear Neda
You will never be forgotten
When the Muezzin cries out
Calling the faithful to evening prayers
Who’s soul will the Ayatollah pray for
Will it be for the murderer
Or will it be for the murdered
That he crushed with his corrupt power
Or will it be for himself
For his soul he condemned
For being the devils hand this dark day
One more sweet voice of freedom silenced
By those who would crush democracy
Neda’s death has ignited
A bright spark of determination
A precious life is now fading
A precious life has been taken
Neda, a young vibrant woman
Now lies dead and broken
Now lies dead and bleeding
By those who would crush democracy
Neda’s death has ignited
A bright spark of determination
The streets are overflowing
The young, the old
And those in between
Cry out loud for freedom
From darkened, lidless windows
Flickering candles glow
For a young life that’s ended
And in the streets of blood and pain
Strong winds of freedom blow
Neda, full of innocence
Neda, full of joyful laughter
Neda’s whos soft eyes once sparkled
Now lies dying for no reason
Bright flowers now scattered
Where a young woman has fallen
White flowers now scattered
Where a young life has ended
Tears flow from the eyes of strangers
Sweet Neda, dear Neda
You will never be forgotten
When the Muezzin cries out
Calling the faithful to evening prayers
Who’s soul will the Ayatollah pray for
Will it be for the murderer
Or will it be for the murdered
That he crushed with his corrupt power
Or will it be for himself
For his soul he condemned
For being the devils hand this dark day
One more sweet voice of freedom silenced
By those who would crush democracy
Neda’s death has ignited
A bright spark of determination
A precious life is now fading
A precious life has been taken
Neda, a young vibrant woman
Now lies dead and broken
Now lies dead and bleeding
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
HURTING
I have written a poem that I believe all woman and girls who are or were in an abusive relationship should read. As well as any one that knows a woman like this. Please pass this poem along to as many people as you can. Perhaps your local paper will print these poems or your local radio station will read them over the air. All I ask is that my blog is mentioned.
Hurting
There is pain and sadness
There are tears of fear and sorrow
In eyes of wondrous beauty
Dark bruises lie heavy upon her
From hammering fists
From kicking, booted feet
From words of bitter anger
And all she ever wanted
Was to give her love
And to have his love in return
She never asked for dresses
She only asked for kisses
All she ever wanted
Was a little kindness
All she ever needed
Was a little tenderness
But he is her lord and master
And he knows he owns her
She is his punching bag
A thing to slake his lust in
Whatever her needing is
Whatever her desire
Whatever her wanting
Is of no importance
All that ever matters
Is the quenching of his anger
The fulfilling of his cravings
Soft beautiful skin is battered
Soft beautiful skin is trampled on
A tender heart is broken
A tender soul is shattered
There is no escaping
A pain she faces daily
Will it be death that takes her
From this world of torture
There is pain and sadness
There are tears of fear and sorrow
In eyes of wondrous beauty
Bruises lie heavy upon her
From hammering fists
From kicking, booted feet
From words of bitter anger
To you with the wounded soul
To you of the wounded heart
To you of the broken bones
Write these words
Within your mind
Say them to yourself
A hundred thousand times
It is not my fault
I am not to blame
I have no need to feel shame
I am a woman and must be free
Of this battering and of this pain
I must have my own dreams now
I deserve a far better destiny
Now look within yourself
Look beyond your darkened window
Look for the faint candle glow
The flickering flame of freedom
Walk away from hurting
Look within yourself
And you will find the courage
You will no longer heed his pleading
You will never more give in
To his cruel and savage needing
My blog http://canadianpoet2.blogspot.com/ My twitter ID canadianpoet2
Share the poem. Help to end the hurting, help to end the shame
Hurting
There is pain and sadness
There are tears of fear and sorrow
In eyes of wondrous beauty
Dark bruises lie heavy upon her
From hammering fists
From kicking, booted feet
From words of bitter anger
And all she ever wanted
Was to give her love
And to have his love in return
She never asked for dresses
She only asked for kisses
All she ever wanted
Was a little kindness
All she ever needed
Was a little tenderness
But he is her lord and master
And he knows he owns her
She is his punching bag
A thing to slake his lust in
Whatever her needing is
Whatever her desire
Whatever her wanting
Is of no importance
All that ever matters
Is the quenching of his anger
The fulfilling of his cravings
Soft beautiful skin is battered
Soft beautiful skin is trampled on
A tender heart is broken
A tender soul is shattered
There is no escaping
A pain she faces daily
Will it be death that takes her
From this world of torture
There is pain and sadness
There are tears of fear and sorrow
In eyes of wondrous beauty
Bruises lie heavy upon her
From hammering fists
From kicking, booted feet
From words of bitter anger
To you with the wounded soul
To you of the wounded heart
To you of the broken bones
Write these words
Within your mind
Say them to yourself
A hundred thousand times
It is not my fault
I am not to blame
I have no need to feel shame
I am a woman and must be free
Of this battering and of this pain
I must have my own dreams now
I deserve a far better destiny
Now look within yourself
Look beyond your darkened window
Look for the faint candle glow
The flickering flame of freedom
Walk away from hurting
Look within yourself
And you will find the courage
You will no longer heed his pleading
You will never more give in
To his cruel and savage needing
My blog http://canadianpoet2.blogspot.com/ My twitter ID canadianpoet2
Share the poem. Help to end the hurting, help to end the shame
Monday, June 22, 2009
Blood on the Streets of Teheran
There is blood on the streets of Teheran
The air is filled with the screams of the dying
The air is filled with the cry of freedom
The Ayatollah has sent in his storm troopers
There is blood on the streets of Teheran
Woman and children are dying
Dying in the name of freedom
An election was stolen
From the hands of the people
Democracy was crushed
Under the feet of a despot
Who hungers to hold on to power
The supreme leader laughs
As the people are trampled
Bullets are flying, young people are dying
But the bell of freedom will ring
Honesty and decency will prevail
On the bones of martyrs piled high
In the bloody streets of Teheran
There is blood on the streets of Teheran
The air is filled with the screams of the dying
The air is filled with the cry of freedom
The Ayatollah has sent in his storm troopers
The air is filled with the screams of the dying
The air is filled with the cry of freedom
The Ayatollah has sent in his storm troopers
There is blood on the streets of Teheran
Woman and children are dying
Dying in the name of freedom
An election was stolen
From the hands of the people
Democracy was crushed
Under the feet of a despot
Who hungers to hold on to power
The supreme leader laughs
As the people are trampled
Bullets are flying, young people are dying
But the bell of freedom will ring
Honesty and decency will prevail
On the bones of martyrs piled high
In the bloody streets of Teheran
There is blood on the streets of Teheran
The air is filled with the screams of the dying
The air is filled with the cry of freedom
The Ayatollah has sent in his storm troopers
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Holocaust
Holocaust
Six million of God’s children
Crushed under black booted feet
Crushed under jack booted feet
Maimed, beaten, tortured
Then forced into a fatal shower
The tyrant gloated in his power
Men, women, little children
Babies torn from mother’s breasts
Bones of all smashed to dust
Soft flesh, body fat rendered
Into a bitter soap
Gold capped, gleaming teeth
Torn from screaming mouths
Six million of God’s children
Cry out from forgotten graves
Cry out to be remembered
Cry to makes us feel ashamed
Cry to make us promise
That this evil thing
This curse of upon humanity
Will never take place again
Six million of God’s children
Crammed in to box cars
Crammed in by the thousands
Six million of God’s children
Jammed against each other
Jammed so tight they could not breathe
The great cities of Europe
Emptied of Judea’s children
They were taken to the camps of fear
Taken to be broken
Taken to be tortured
Taken to the chamber of death
We who now live must remember
What bigotry and oppression do
Because the next time we let a tyrant
Crush the weak beneath his heels
It might be us instead of the Jew
Who are hauled away in heavy chains
And put to a bitter, painful death
Six million of God’s children
Crushed under black booted feet
Crushed under jack booted feet
Maimed, beaten, tortured
Then forced into a fatal shower
The tyrant gloated in his power
Six million of God’s children
Crushed under black booted feet
Crushed under jack booted feet
Maimed, beaten, tortured
Then forced into a fatal shower
The tyrant gloated in his power
Men, women, little children
Babies torn from mother’s breasts
Bones of all smashed to dust
Soft flesh, body fat rendered
Into a bitter soap
Gold capped, gleaming teeth
Torn from screaming mouths
Six million of God’s children
Cry out from forgotten graves
Cry out to be remembered
Cry to makes us feel ashamed
Cry to make us promise
That this evil thing
This curse of upon humanity
Will never take place again
Six million of God’s children
Crammed in to box cars
Crammed in by the thousands
Six million of God’s children
Jammed against each other
Jammed so tight they could not breathe
The great cities of Europe
Emptied of Judea’s children
They were taken to the camps of fear
Taken to be broken
Taken to be tortured
Taken to the chamber of death
We who now live must remember
What bigotry and oppression do
Because the next time we let a tyrant
Crush the weak beneath his heels
It might be us instead of the Jew
Who are hauled away in heavy chains
And put to a bitter, painful death
Six million of God’s children
Crushed under black booted feet
Crushed under jack booted feet
Maimed, beaten, tortured
Then forced into a fatal shower
The tyrant gloated in his power
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Midnight Train
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
Carried on the west wind
Blowing from the mountains
Blowing across wide prairie lands
Midnight train calls out to me
Calls with a voice of freedom
Calls me to break my chains
Calls me to a different purpose
Calls me to a different living
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
And fills my heart with longing
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
And fills my soul with needing
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
A wild, mournful pleading
Midnight train calls out to me
And promises me my freedom
Midnight train calls out to me
Reminding me that I am captive
Captive to the sameness
Captive to my life of boredom
Captive to my wasteful wanting
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
Whispers a seductive promise
Train whistle beckons to me
From somewhere in the distance
It asks me to leave behind
My wife, my job, my children
It asks me to give up my possessions
And to follow blindly
Midnight train goes ever onwards
And I lie in silence waiting
Waiting for the morning light
Waiting for tomorrow’s burdens
Waiting for tomorrow’s love
Waiting for tomorrow’s laughter
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
Carried on the west wind
Blowing from the mountains
Blowing across wide prairie lands
Midnight train calls out to me
Calls with a voice of freedom
Calls me to break my chains
Calls me to a different purpose
Calls me to a different living
Calls to me of adventure
Carried on the west wind
Blowing from the mountains
Blowing across wide prairie lands
Midnight train calls out to me
Calls with a voice of freedom
Calls me to break my chains
Calls me to a different purpose
Calls me to a different living
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
And fills my heart with longing
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
And fills my soul with needing
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
A wild, mournful pleading
Midnight train calls out to me
And promises me my freedom
Midnight train calls out to me
Reminding me that I am captive
Captive to the sameness
Captive to my life of boredom
Captive to my wasteful wanting
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
Whispers a seductive promise
Train whistle beckons to me
From somewhere in the distance
It asks me to leave behind
My wife, my job, my children
It asks me to give up my possessions
And to follow blindly
Midnight train goes ever onwards
And I lie in silence waiting
Waiting for the morning light
Waiting for tomorrow’s burdens
Waiting for tomorrow’s love
Waiting for tomorrow’s laughter
Train whistle echoes in the darkness
Carried on the west wind
Blowing from the mountains
Blowing across wide prairie lands
Midnight train calls out to me
Calls with a voice of freedom
Calls me to break my chains
Calls me to a different purpose
Calls me to a different living
Calls to me of adventure
Friday, June 19, 2009
On the Other Side of Nowhere
On the other side of nowhere
Between yesterday and the dawn
When darkness fills a person’s soul
And their demons drag them down
A bottomless pit awaits false step
With no way forward no way back
But one must still go on
For nowhere is no place to be
Because the postal code is wrong
If false courage is the only kind
Well it will have to do
Drink deep another glass of wine
If it will help you through
There is no moon and no stars
No light of coming dawn
There is just you and you alone
So you must save yourself
Step back from the black abyss
Find some other place to be
Because the other side of nowhere
Is no place for you or me
On the other side of nowhere
When the love you had is lost
And there is only dark despair
When all friends have deserted you
And you no longer care.
Do not let your anger eat you up
Or tarnish your shining soul
For the sun still shines, the soft rain falls
Come back from where you are
Leave your demons there to dance alone
On the other side of nowhere
Between yesterday and the dawn
When darkness fills a person’s soul
And their demons drag them down
A bottomless pit awaits false step
With no way forward no way back
But one must still go on
For nowhere is no place to be
Because the postal code is wrong
If false courage is the only kind
Well it will have to do
Drink deep another glass of wine
If it will help you through
There is no moon and no stars
No light of coming dawn
There is just you and you alone
So you must save yourself
Step back from the black abyss
Find some other place to be
Because the other side of nowhere
Is no place for you or me
On the other side of nowhere
When the love you had is lost
And there is only dark despair
When all friends have deserted you
And you no longer care.
Do not let your anger eat you up
Or tarnish your shining soul
For the sun still shines, the soft rain falls
Come back from where you are
Leave your demons there to dance alone
On the other side of nowhere
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Dressed in Black Denim
She was dressed in black denim
Boots were nearly knee high
And her legs
Going up to where
I shouldn’t say
But I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
She said, stranger let’s dance
But first you can by me a beer
Well I looked around me
To see who was behind me
But no one else was there
I just like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
We have three little children
Molly’s the oldest
Jimmy is in the middle
And our baby
We call little Sue
And I still like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
She still rides her Harley
She still wears black denim
With boots nearly up to here knee
But I know within me
That this is the right woman for me
And I still like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
Boots were nearly knee high
And her legs
Going up to where
I shouldn’t say
But I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
She said, stranger let’s dance
But first you can by me a beer
Well I looked around me
To see who was behind me
But no one else was there
I just like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
We have three little children
Molly’s the oldest
Jimmy is in the middle
And our baby
We call little Sue
And I still like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
She still rides her Harley
She still wears black denim
With boots nearly up to here knee
But I know within me
That this is the right woman for me
And I still like my woman
As soft as a kitten
And as gentle
As a butterfly’s wings
I like my woman
As soft as a kitten
Just doing those feminine things
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
My Book of Dreams
The sweet strumming of a mandolin
Is joined by a soft voiced violin
And the last tip of the sun
Starts to fade away
Bringing an end to another day
And my mind is filled
With dreams of loving you
And my heart is filled
With an ache from missing you
I brush a few sad tears away
And watch the colours fade
And the sky becomes
A dark midnight blue
And my mind is filled
With dreams of loving you
You will forever be
In my book of dreams
I keep a lock of your red hair
And a happy picture is there
Memories of a sweeter day
And the last bit of sun
Slowly starts to fade away
You are in my book of dreams
A forever part of who I am
Forever a part of what I now do
The sweet strumming of a mandolin
Is joined by a soft voiced violin
And the last tip of the sun
Starts to fade away
Bringing an end to another day
You are in my book of dreams
A forever part of who I am
Forever a part of what I now do
I was a fool to walk away from you
Seeking for a better day
Looking for another rainbow
So many tears have fallen
So many years have passed away
And now all I have left
Of our loving ways
And now all I have left
Of those sweet happy days
Is my old book of dreams
The sweet strumming of a mandolin
Is joined by a soft voiced violin
And the last tip of the sun
Starts to fade away
Bringing an end to another day
And my mind is filled
With dreams of loving you
And my heart is filled
With an ache from missing you
And now all I have left
Of our loving ways
And now all I have left
Of those sweet happy days
Is my old book of dreams
Is joined by a soft voiced violin
And the last tip of the sun
Starts to fade away
Bringing an end to another day
And my mind is filled
With dreams of loving you
And my heart is filled
With an ache from missing you
I brush a few sad tears away
And watch the colours fade
And the sky becomes
A dark midnight blue
And my mind is filled
With dreams of loving you
You will forever be
In my book of dreams
I keep a lock of your red hair
And a happy picture is there
Memories of a sweeter day
And the last bit of sun
Slowly starts to fade away
You are in my book of dreams
A forever part of who I am
Forever a part of what I now do
The sweet strumming of a mandolin
Is joined by a soft voiced violin
And the last tip of the sun
Starts to fade away
Bringing an end to another day
You are in my book of dreams
A forever part of who I am
Forever a part of what I now do
I was a fool to walk away from you
Seeking for a better day
Looking for another rainbow
So many tears have fallen
So many years have passed away
And now all I have left
Of our loving ways
And now all I have left
Of those sweet happy days
Is my old book of dreams
The sweet strumming of a mandolin
Is joined by a soft voiced violin
And the last tip of the sun
Starts to fade away
Bringing an end to another day
And my mind is filled
With dreams of loving you
And my heart is filled
With an ache from missing you
And now all I have left
Of our loving ways
And now all I have left
Of those sweet happy days
Is my old book of dreams
Monday, June 15, 2009
I Have a Black Man as my Friend
I have a black man as my friend
I have a black woman as my lover
My dreams are multi-coloured
As are all my children
My peers look down on me
And wonder what I was thinking
To pollute my white, superior blood
And let it mingle with someone beneath me
So little do they know of love
So little do they know of reality
So little do they know of truth
As they go seeking power
For all blood flows crimson
All hearts beat within
The covering that is our skin
And in some distant final hour
Perhaps they will understand
The futility of their desire
For their hate will be their downfall
A black cancer in their soul
They shall be consumed by bitterness
And never achieve their goal
For such power as they seek
Is like a snowflake in their hand
It will always elude them
It will always fade away
Its place will be filled
With the hour of their accounting
With their moment of their reckoning
The darkness of their evil
Shall consume them
With its deadly flame
And their names will be forgotten
As the wheel of time
Turns past them
I have a black man as my friend
I have a black woman as my lover
My dreams are multi-coloured
As are all my children
I have a black woman as my lover
My dreams are multi-coloured
As are all my children
My peers look down on me
And wonder what I was thinking
To pollute my white, superior blood
And let it mingle with someone beneath me
So little do they know of love
So little do they know of reality
So little do they know of truth
As they go seeking power
For all blood flows crimson
All hearts beat within
The covering that is our skin
And in some distant final hour
Perhaps they will understand
The futility of their desire
For their hate will be their downfall
A black cancer in their soul
They shall be consumed by bitterness
And never achieve their goal
For such power as they seek
Is like a snowflake in their hand
It will always elude them
It will always fade away
Its place will be filled
With the hour of their accounting
With their moment of their reckoning
The darkness of their evil
Shall consume them
With its deadly flame
And their names will be forgotten
As the wheel of time
Turns past them
I have a black man as my friend
I have a black woman as my lover
My dreams are multi-coloured
As are all my children
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Cold Heart Warm Heart
Cold heart
Dark thoughts dart
Unbridled unchecked
Down the path ways
Of the mind
Anger, rage
Follow in their footsteps
And hatred walks close behind
The soul darkens
Bright eyes grow dim
The mind in turmoil
Boils over
Harsh word then spoken
Pain and tears
In loved ones eyes
The only hope for peace
Is forgiveness of the hurting
Warm hearts
Thoughts of love
Of peace
Walk down the minds
Flowered path ways
Joy and happiness
Ever at their side
Eyes bright
The soul shines
From with in
The warm smile
Brings more smiles
Words of love and kindness
Are shared
Cold heart
Warm heart
The battle rages deep with in
But when the battle ends
It is your choice
Which heartAnd thoughts shall win
Dark thoughts dart
Unbridled unchecked
Down the path ways
Of the mind
Anger, rage
Follow in their footsteps
And hatred walks close behind
The soul darkens
Bright eyes grow dim
The mind in turmoil
Boils over
Harsh word then spoken
Pain and tears
In loved ones eyes
The only hope for peace
Is forgiveness of the hurting
Warm hearts
Thoughts of love
Of peace
Walk down the minds
Flowered path ways
Joy and happiness
Ever at their side
Eyes bright
The soul shines
From with in
The warm smile
Brings more smiles
Words of love and kindness
Are shared
Cold heart
Warm heart
The battle rages deep with in
But when the battle ends
It is your choice
Which heartAnd thoughts shall win
Friday, June 12, 2009
Lainie Went Dancing with the Fairy Folk
Lainie went dancing with the fairy folk
On a mid-summer moon bright night
She didn’t ask her mother
Because she thought it would be alright
A big bull frog played a bugle
A cricket played a tambourine
Mr. Toad from down the road
Played on a big drum
Made from a washing machine
Lainie danced with a fairy prince
And even wore his crown
He told her to stop for a visit
When she came to fairy town
But like all things good
The night faded fast away
The fairy folk went to bed
Before the coming of the day
Lainie felt so very sad
Because they were no longer there
But when she woke in the morning
Fairy dust sparkled in her hair
On a mid-summer moon bright night
She didn’t ask her mother
Because she thought it would be alright
A big bull frog played a bugle
A cricket played a tambourine
Mr. Toad from down the road
Played on a big drum
Made from a washing machine
Lainie danced with a fairy prince
And even wore his crown
He told her to stop for a visit
When she came to fairy town
But like all things good
The night faded fast away
The fairy folk went to bed
Before the coming of the day
Lainie felt so very sad
Because they were no longer there
But when she woke in the morning
Fairy dust sparkled in her hair
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
New Orleans Dream
In my dreams things are the same
There was no angry wind
There was no bitter rain
There was no savage hurricane
That had Katrina for a name
No bones of houses silhouetted
Stark and rotting
Against a darkening sky
No terrifying cries for help
And no babies had to die
My dream was of a better time
Of wild parties, of flowing wine
Of a hot tenor sax
Played by a real cool cat
That wailed so sweetly
In the softness of the night
A woman sings of her lost love
Of a hurting that haunts her soul
Here smoky sexy voice
Fills the room with pain
There was no angry wind
There was no bitter rain
There was no savage hurricane
That had Katrina for a name
No bones of houses silhouetted
Stark and rotting
Against a darkening sky
No terrifying cries for help
And no babies had to die
My dream was of a better time
Of wild parties, of flowing wine
Of a hot tenor sax
Played by a real cool cat
That wailed so sweetly
In the softness of the night
A woman sings of her lost love
Of a hurting that haunts her soul
Here smoky sexy voice
Fills the room with pain
Her man went and done her wrong
But now his sorry ass is gone
And she’s found another love
Who’s promised always to be true
But she knows he’ll do the same thing to
Fragrant aromas fill the night
Old Joe’s cooking up
A Creole and Cajun delight
Cat fish browning in a greasy pan
Jambalaya and gumbo boiling on a stove
Fills the nose of every hungry man
That plays a horn on Bourbon Street
The scent of sweet jasmine
Is carried by the summer wind
Girls in sexy frilly clothes
Flirt from behind Japan fans
And dance as the trumpets play
They blush as they surrender to
Kisses from their handsome beau
And whirl until the light of day
But now his sorry ass is gone
And she’s found another love
Who’s promised always to be true
But she knows he’ll do the same thing to
Fragrant aromas fill the night
Old Joe’s cooking up
A Creole and Cajun delight
Cat fish browning in a greasy pan
Jambalaya and gumbo boiling on a stove
Fills the nose of every hungry man
That plays a horn on Bourbon Street
The scent of sweet jasmine
Is carried by the summer wind
Girls in sexy frilly clothes
Flirt from behind Japan fans
And dance as the trumpets play
They blush as they surrender to
Kisses from their handsome beau
And whirl until the light of day
But like all other sweet night dreams
Mine to fades fast away
And leaves behind in its wake
The harsh reality of the day
A lonely, tinny clarinet
Plays in sadness and in regret
For the beauty that has passed away
But like a phoenix
That has been consumed
By a bright, burning flame
New Orleans will rise again
The Big Easy shall be made a new
And a hot tenor sax
Played loudly by a real cool cat
Will once more wail
In the softness of a summer’s night
A dream will be reborn
By the sound of that golden horn
Girlish laughter will fill the air
And flirt from behind Japan fans
As they surrender without a care
To bold advances from their beau
The Big Easy calls me to come home
A call I can’t ignore
And I know on some sweet day
I’ll walk down Bourbon Street once more
In my dreams things are the same
There was no angry wind
There was no bitter rain
There was no savage hurricane
That had Katrina for a name
No bones of houses silhouetted
Stark and rotting
Against a darkening sky
No terrifying cries for help
And no babies had to die
Mine to fades fast away
And leaves behind in its wake
The harsh reality of the day
A lonely, tinny clarinet
Plays in sadness and in regret
For the beauty that has passed away
But like a phoenix
That has been consumed
By a bright, burning flame
New Orleans will rise again
The Big Easy shall be made a new
And a hot tenor sax
Played loudly by a real cool cat
Will once more wail
In the softness of a summer’s night
A dream will be reborn
By the sound of that golden horn
Girlish laughter will fill the air
And flirt from behind Japan fans
As they surrender without a care
To bold advances from their beau
The Big Easy calls me to come home
A call I can’t ignore
And I know on some sweet day
I’ll walk down Bourbon Street once more
In my dreams things are the same
There was no angry wind
There was no bitter rain
There was no savage hurricane
That had Katrina for a name
No bones of houses silhouetted
Stark and rotting
Against a darkening sky
No terrifying cries for help
And no babies had to die
Monday, June 8, 2009
Ashlyn ate a Rainbow
Ashlyn ate a rainbow
One dark and dreary day
She felt quite sad
Because her friends
Could not come and play
It tasted full of colours
And was so very yummy
It tickled just a little
As it slithered into her tummy
She burped when she was finished
But she wasn’t yet quite full
She looked around for a caterpillar
So she could eat its wool
Lainie was so upset
Because she was hungry too
All she had for lunch
Was a bowl of frog leg stew
But there was no rainbow left
Only the leprechaun and his gold
Lainie knew that if she ate them
Mummy would get mad and scold
Lainie found a baby worm
Crawling up a maple tree
She grabbed it quick
Before Ashlyn could
And said it’s all for me
Ashlyn ate a rainbow
One dark and dreary day
She felt quite sad
Because her friends
Could not come and play
It tasted full of colours
And was so very yummy
It tickled just a little
As it slithered into her tummy
She burped when she was finished
But she wasn’t yet quite full
She looked around for a caterpillar
So she could eat its wool
One dark and dreary day
She felt quite sad
Because her friends
Could not come and play
It tasted full of colours
And was so very yummy
It tickled just a little
As it slithered into her tummy
She burped when she was finished
But she wasn’t yet quite full
She looked around for a caterpillar
So she could eat its wool
Lainie was so upset
Because she was hungry too
All she had for lunch
Was a bowl of frog leg stew
But there was no rainbow left
Only the leprechaun and his gold
Lainie knew that if she ate them
Mummy would get mad and scold
Lainie found a baby worm
Crawling up a maple tree
She grabbed it quick
Before Ashlyn could
And said it’s all for me
Ashlyn ate a rainbow
One dark and dreary day
She felt quite sad
Because her friends
Could not come and play
It tasted full of colours
And was so very yummy
It tickled just a little
As it slithered into her tummy
She burped when she was finished
But she wasn’t yet quite full
She looked around for a caterpillar
So she could eat its wool
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Freedom now has a Different Meaning
The revolutionaries are now old and wizened
And they dream of causes never won
As the comb bits of left over chocolate cake
From their un-kept scraggy beards
And try to remember their songs of freedom
But the words are buried deep
Inside their foggy, fading minds
And the tunes they try to hum
Were carried far away, in a time so long ago
By the breath, of the westward blowing wind
They still remember painting pictures
As the gathered around meagre fires
Talking of the victories won this day
Fingers that pulled so often on greasy triggers
Are dipped in their screaming victims wounds
They always painted roses
Even the leaves were red and glowing
As the moon tried to hide her face in shame
The revolutionaries blame their losses
On the ones they tried to free
Instead of on the death that
They brokered with their guns
They could never quite understand
Why the men and the women
Grew tired of their little babies dying
The hate that they spouted
Still wanders in hearts and minds
But the revolutionaries are too weak
To even speak of the revulsion
That in their waning hours
Still consumes every thought
That wanders through
Each hard, cold and evil mind
They still cling to a faint hope
That the children of their loins
Will take up the bloody sword
And burn the olive branches
That they now so proudly carry
But it is a different world
And freedom now has a different meaning
The revolutionaries are now old and wizened
And they dream of causes never won
As the comb bits of left over chocolate cake
From their un-kept scraggy beards
And try to remember their songs of freedom
But the words are buried deep
Inside their foggy, fading minds
And the tunes they try to hum
Were carried far away, in a time so long ago
By the breath of the westward blowing wind
And they dream of causes never won
As the comb bits of left over chocolate cake
From their un-kept scraggy beards
And try to remember their songs of freedom
But the words are buried deep
Inside their foggy, fading minds
And the tunes they try to hum
Were carried far away, in a time so long ago
By the breath, of the westward blowing wind
They still remember painting pictures
As the gathered around meagre fires
Talking of the victories won this day
Fingers that pulled so often on greasy triggers
Are dipped in their screaming victims wounds
They always painted roses
Even the leaves were red and glowing
As the moon tried to hide her face in shame
The revolutionaries blame their losses
On the ones they tried to free
Instead of on the death that
They brokered with their guns
They could never quite understand
Why the men and the women
Grew tired of their little babies dying
The hate that they spouted
Still wanders in hearts and minds
But the revolutionaries are too weak
To even speak of the revulsion
That in their waning hours
Still consumes every thought
That wanders through
Each hard, cold and evil mind
They still cling to a faint hope
That the children of their loins
Will take up the bloody sword
And burn the olive branches
That they now so proudly carry
But it is a different world
And freedom now has a different meaning
The revolutionaries are now old and wizened
And they dream of causes never won
As the comb bits of left over chocolate cake
From their un-kept scraggy beards
And try to remember their songs of freedom
But the words are buried deep
Inside their foggy, fading minds
And the tunes they try to hum
Were carried far away, in a time so long ago
By the breath of the westward blowing wind
Saturday, June 6, 2009
From: My Name is Isaiah/ A Detective Ryan Telford Novel
My name is Isaiah
And my name is death
All of you will shake
When you see my shadow
You cannot escape me
There is no safe place to go
I will choose my prey
From among you
You cannot stop my taking
You will fear to sleep
You will tremble
Upon your waking
My name is Isaiah
And you will tremble
At my passing
I bring fear, pain and death
And when I am gone
There will be no one laughing
Chapter Fifteen: The Street Glistens from the Falling Rain
The storm that had begun to brew in the late afternoon, over Lake Ontario started inching its way landward as the evening closed in. Thunder boomed in the distance and angry looking, dark clouds were ripped by bolt after bolt of lightning. As the night grew deeper upon its self, the storm gathered more strength.
Large raindrops carried by the strong south wind chased the multitudes away from Young street. The first to go were mothers pushing baby carriages or with toddlers in tow. Loud calls of “Hurry up Susie,” and, “Stop dawdling Johnnie,” were carried away by the gusting wind the minute they were brought into existence.
Few excuse me’s or pardons were offered, as they rushed down subway steps, almost running over business men folding up umbrellas.
Other young matrons scurried towards closing street car doors, shouting “Wait up,” and “Hold the door open,” as they half dragged a screaming little Susie and a howling little Johnny by scrawny arms.
The next to rush away were the shoppers, hoping for one more bargain from the street vendors. Vendors that were trying to fold up tables and secure their wares before the angry south wind scattered them from Front Street to Avenue Road.
Waiters and waitresses, attending the numerous sidewalk cafes, shooed away still hungry diners and shoved tips that belonged in a collective pot into pockets. Gusts of wind rattled dishes and a few were blown onto the ground, shattering into hundreds of pieces.
They young were the last to leave. Lovers clutched hands and raced for shelter. The ones who were unlucky in love looked on in envy before they too left the streets to the flotsam and jetsam that called the blocks from the waterfront to Bloor Street home.
The last of the evening throng disappeared faster than ice cream on a hot July day. This made way for the homeless and the down on their luck to find shelter from the storm. A few awnings that hadn’t been taken down cracked like whips as the wind gathered force.
Ladies of the evening, bums, pimps and coke heads huddled under these meagre shelters. A few lucky ones that had managed to beg or cajole enough money from the day crowd pushed their way into crowded bars. Each one of them hoped in their heart’s that the storm would be over before the money was gone.
Detective Ryan Telford pressed himself as close to the steel barred door of the clothing store, as he could manage. Most of his body was inside the little recessed entrance way. There just wasn’t enough room to pull in the feet attached to his long, gangly legs. Telford shrugged his shoulders and resigned himself to getting the bottom part of his legs soaked.
He turned for a minute and looked at the image reflected back at him from the glass door. Light from a nearby street light gleamed on his new shaven head. Ryan grinned at his image as a thought flitted through his mind. “Hell, my own mother wouldn’t know me now.”
The detective took a deep breath and gasped as the odour of his old cloths, of his underarms and unwashed body filled his nose. The cheap perfume that a shop keeper had doused him with only accented rather than hid the foul smell. He sighed, tried to worm his body closer to the refuge and closed his eyes. He let his mind wander backwards, backwards to a happier time.
“Say pardner.”
Telford popped his tired eyes open as a soft, warm female voice penetrated the thick haze building up in his mind. He did a rude but unintended double take as the speaker became clear. For a moment Ryan thought he was dreaming about being in the middle of a Snow White movie. He turned his head away before the little woman standing at his right would notice the smirk.
And my name is death
All of you will shake
When you see my shadow
You cannot escape me
There is no safe place to go
I will choose my prey
From among you
You cannot stop my taking
You will fear to sleep
You will tremble
Upon your waking
My name is Isaiah
And you will tremble
At my passing
I bring fear, pain and death
And when I am gone
There will be no one laughing
Chapter Fifteen: The Street Glistens from the Falling Rain
The storm that had begun to brew in the late afternoon, over Lake Ontario started inching its way landward as the evening closed in. Thunder boomed in the distance and angry looking, dark clouds were ripped by bolt after bolt of lightning. As the night grew deeper upon its self, the storm gathered more strength.
Large raindrops carried by the strong south wind chased the multitudes away from Young street. The first to go were mothers pushing baby carriages or with toddlers in tow. Loud calls of “Hurry up Susie,” and, “Stop dawdling Johnnie,” were carried away by the gusting wind the minute they were brought into existence.
Few excuse me’s or pardons were offered, as they rushed down subway steps, almost running over business men folding up umbrellas.
Other young matrons scurried towards closing street car doors, shouting “Wait up,” and “Hold the door open,” as they half dragged a screaming little Susie and a howling little Johnny by scrawny arms.
The next to rush away were the shoppers, hoping for one more bargain from the street vendors. Vendors that were trying to fold up tables and secure their wares before the angry south wind scattered them from Front Street to Avenue Road.
Waiters and waitresses, attending the numerous sidewalk cafes, shooed away still hungry diners and shoved tips that belonged in a collective pot into pockets. Gusts of wind rattled dishes and a few were blown onto the ground, shattering into hundreds of pieces.
They young were the last to leave. Lovers clutched hands and raced for shelter. The ones who were unlucky in love looked on in envy before they too left the streets to the flotsam and jetsam that called the blocks from the waterfront to Bloor Street home.
The last of the evening throng disappeared faster than ice cream on a hot July day. This made way for the homeless and the down on their luck to find shelter from the storm. A few awnings that hadn’t been taken down cracked like whips as the wind gathered force.
Ladies of the evening, bums, pimps and coke heads huddled under these meagre shelters. A few lucky ones that had managed to beg or cajole enough money from the day crowd pushed their way into crowded bars. Each one of them hoped in their heart’s that the storm would be over before the money was gone.
Detective Ryan Telford pressed himself as close to the steel barred door of the clothing store, as he could manage. Most of his body was inside the little recessed entrance way. There just wasn’t enough room to pull in the feet attached to his long, gangly legs. Telford shrugged his shoulders and resigned himself to getting the bottom part of his legs soaked.
He turned for a minute and looked at the image reflected back at him from the glass door. Light from a nearby street light gleamed on his new shaven head. Ryan grinned at his image as a thought flitted through his mind. “Hell, my own mother wouldn’t know me now.”
The detective took a deep breath and gasped as the odour of his old cloths, of his underarms and unwashed body filled his nose. The cheap perfume that a shop keeper had doused him with only accented rather than hid the foul smell. He sighed, tried to worm his body closer to the refuge and closed his eyes. He let his mind wander backwards, backwards to a happier time.
“Say pardner.”
Telford popped his tired eyes open as a soft, warm female voice penetrated the thick haze building up in his mind. He did a rude but unintended double take as the speaker became clear. For a moment Ryan thought he was dreaming about being in the middle of a Snow White movie. He turned his head away before the little woman standing at his right would notice the smirk.
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