Musings from a Writers Mind

Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."

2009-09-27T07:21:00.000-07:00

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.

Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."

2009-09-27T07:18:00.000-07:00

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.

Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."

2009-09-27T07:16:00.000-07:00

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.

Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."

2009-09-27T07:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Excerpt from, "Moon Dark."

2009-09-23T11:01:00.000-07:00

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.

Excerpt from, "Keeper of the Sword."

2009-09-21T11:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-21T11:27:00.000-07:00

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.

The Light of the Midnight Star

2009-09-14T10:33:00.000-07:00

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.”

Excerpt from "Keeper of the Sword"

2009-08-07T08:47:00.000-07:00

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.

A Time of for Never Green

2009-07-31T10:01:00.000-07:00

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

We Made our Own World

2009-07-28T09:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Inner City Children

2009-07-25T06:53:00.000-07:00

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.

Memories of Tomorrow

2009-07-21T11:55:00.000-07:00

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

A Time for Decision

2009-07-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

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

The Piano Player

2009-07-16T05:41:00.000-07:00

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

A Beggar in the Canyons of Time

2009-07-14T06:03:00.000-07:00

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

Looking Glass of War

2009-07-12T08:23:00.000-07:00

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.

One Song at a Time

2009-07-09T09:30:00.001-07:00

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

Red and Grey Cobblestones

2009-07-09T09:26:00.000-07:00

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

Just an Ordinary Girl

2009-07-06T12:11:00.000-07:00

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

Why Me

2009-07-06T12:09:00.000-07:00

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

Another Young Soldier

2009-07-05T09:33:00.000-07:00

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

A Troubled Man

2009-07-04T09:32:00.000-07:00

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

The Songs our Fathers Sang

2009-07-03T05:48:00.000-07:00

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

The Streets of Chi Town

2009-07-02T14:45:00.000-07:00

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

Birds of War, Birds of Prey

2009-06-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

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

An Angel with Broken Wings

2009-06-30T07:13:00.000-07:00

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

The Poet Drank Black and Bitter Coffee

2009-06-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

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

Neda

2009-06-24T09:23:00.000-07:00

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

HURTING

2009-06-23T10:26:00.000-07:00

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

Blood on the Streets of Teheran

2009-06-22T15:52:00.000-07:00

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

Holocaust

2009-06-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

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

Midnight Train

2009-06-20T05:49:00.000-07:00

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

On the Other Side of Nowhere

2009-06-19T07:07:00.000-07:00

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

Dressed in Black Denim

2009-06-18T15:29:00.000-07:00

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

My Book of Dreams

2009-06-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

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

I Have a Black Man as my Friend

2009-06-15T13:17:00.000-07:00

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

Cold Heart Warm Heart

2009-06-13T05:17:00.000-07:00

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

Lainie Went Dancing with the Fairy Folk

2009-06-12T06:43:00.000-07:00

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

New Orleans Dream

2009-06-10T04:24:00.001-07:00

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

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 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

Ashlyn ate a Rainbow

2009-06-08T09:41:00.000-07:00

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

Freedom now has a Different Meaning

2009-06-07T08:49:00.000-07:00

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

From: My Name is Isaiah/ A Detective Ryan Telford Novel

2009-06-06T13:22:00.000-07:00

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.

Tea in the Afternoon While it rains

2009-06-06T13:21:00.000-07:00

Teapot fragrantly steaming,
Butter melting on oven warm bread,
Doughnuts counted, neatly placed,
Laughter echoes as you both try to be mother,
Grabbing the teapot at the same time,
Brown fragrant liquid spills,
Staining the white damask tablecloth,
Out side the thunder echoes,
Rolling and bouncing between the hills,
Rain drops dance and hammer on tin roof,
A few escape the wildness of the storm,
Drop silently beside you, eager to share the tea,
A fire burns brightly, in the fireplace,
Taking a bite from the damp, chill air
Hands touch, for a moment linger,
Hungry for the warmth, the closeness,
A delicate cheek blushes rosy red from shyness,
Bold eyes follow the red as it travels,
Down snowy neck then disappears,
Bold eyes linger for a moment on heaving breasts,
Then return; gaze deep in to summer sky blue eyes,
Forgotten now the tea, doughnuts, butter melting,
The rain still dances and hammers on a tin roof,
Thunder still echoes, rolling between the hills.

From my short story: Every Night is a Holiday for Death

2009-06-06T04:39:00.000-07:00

Doors slam closed. Television volumes are turned to their highest settings. Windows slam shut as screams break the cloying darkness into a thousand pieces. The shattered slivers bounce
and careen down a littered alleyway. A few shards stick to the glue like dirt, dirt that has built up over the years and turned old, weather worn bricks into nondescript ugliness. Jane street residents huddle close together and shiver in the oppressive, fear filled night.

The screams end as suddenly as they began. A death rattle is followed by the splashing of two pairs of feet racing through the garbage filled puddles. This too fades away into the endless heat. A brilliant bolt of lightning rips the darkness to shreds, tipping over a large cauldron near to overflowing with heaven’s tears.

The rain that had paused for an hour, to take a breather, starts up heavier than ever. The only sounds are the occasional cracking of distant thunder and the rain sizzling into puddles and knocking on darkened windows.

Thunder rolls, booms and bounces up Young Street. The weary, bedraggled street sleepers huddling in doorways pull soggy cardboard closer around them-selves and try to get comfortable.

No one living in this ghetto of ramshackle tenements is interested in sticking their respective noses into anyone else’s business. Screams and death rattles are nothing new to the dwellers of this drug filled war zone. Death stalks the streets day and night and it’s better to ignore it or it might be you and yours spilling guts onto mounds of rotting refuse.

Sirens wail, howl their way between rain soaked canyon walls, walls of brick, walls of stone and glass. Their haunting song of sorrow echoes long after the ambulance, long after black and white cop cars have raced past them. Rain drops hissing into fetid pools does nothing to relieve the oppressive heat of a mid August, Toronto night.
****
Detective Ryan Telford slammed the door of his non-descript grey Chevy and splashed through puddles filled with the flotsam and jetsam of life. The dank alleyway smelled rancid from three weeks worth of uncollected garbage. Telford edged his way around mounds of rotting, rat filled refuse and entered the alley.

Light from two large flashlights shimmered through raindrops and guided the detective to a half naked, headless, spread eagle body of a young woman. There was something hauntingly familiar about the broken, almost nude bit of cold human clay. “But there always is,” Ryan reminded himself.

“Hell of a night boys, just what do we have here? And for God sakes cover her up, no woman decent or not should be exposed like a sideshow.” Detective Telford bent over for a closer look. It was difficult to make out the color of her drenched, expensive, looking dress.

Ryan wasn’t an expert on women’s fashion but he had spent long hours gazing into store windows with his wife Miranda and knew quality clothes when he saw them. “That was a life time ago,” he reminded himself. The young patrolman gagged in answer. Telford shouted, “Damn it man, if you’re going to regurgitate your supper, get out of the alley to do it.”

Heavy boots splash through deep puddles. Little waves washing against grime crusted bricks do nothing to soften the years of filth.

The other patrolman looked a little green around the gills but it was hard to tell in this light. “Won’t it disturb the evidence?”

“Hell man, any evidence has been washed away.” Ryan felt like shouting so he could drown out the retching sounds coming from the corner. He sighed, “I guess you’re right. The forensic boys will give us hell if any foreign fibres are added to the body. He bent over, turned his head and pulled the dress down as far as he could.

The hammering rain gave up its useless attempt to cool the sun heated bricks and faded to a trickle and then stopped altogether. Storm clouds parted and a half crescent moon peered down onto the gruesome sight.

Windows squeak open. Sounds of life, love and anger, trapped inside tiny sweat boxes escape from behind pigeon dropping crusted window panes. Somewhere in the distance a tenor sax begins a plaintive wail, piercing the darkness. A soft voiced violin joins in, adding its two cents worth to the impromptu jam session. The haunting duet’s tune sounds familiar to Ryan. Memories long buried in little cupboards and cubby holes at the bottom of his mind surface for a stretched moment.

A vision of a star filled, moon bright night flashes across his memories eyes. Warm, jasmine scented air and the odour of a female in heat wash over him. Miranda’s sexy, throaty laughter echoes in the corridors of his mind.

Sweating, eager bodies, couple in fiery passion in a life boat on the cruise ship Sea Sprite as strains of saxophone and violin escape the ball room’s half open door.

“Detective?”

The soft feminine voice drags Telford back from his honeymoon, back from better days, back to the reality of death and a stinking alleyway.

Taste the Wind Blowing out of the Canyon

2009-06-05T17:01:00.000-07:00

Have a beer for me on Saturday night
And another for Sunday morning
If you never do anything else
I want you to pay heed to my warning
The saints will sit on the back of the bus
And tell you where you should be going
Drag yourself out of your dark bitter mind
Taste the wind blowing out of the canyon
Life can become pretty tense
And at times it will be mind blowing
All you can do is give your dreams your best shot
Don’t get caught up with pointless things
Or you will ride the train going backwards
It will take you to places you don’t want to go
Remind you of the change that is needed
When the child on the corner begs you for bread
Will you pay attention to his sad pleading
Or will you just kick him out of your way
Is more violence all we are needing
The poor cry out for their fair share
And the rich cry to keep the money they’ve earned
There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground
Please pay attention to the way the world turns
Or you’ll never know where you’re going
Not that it matters if you ever do
All destinations are the same in the morning
The sinners will walk where saints never go
And take you to pleasure filled places
But if you travel down that winding road
You’ll end up right back where you started
Have a beer for me on Saturday night
And another for Sunday morning
If you never do anything else
I want you to pay heed to my warning
The saints will sit on the back of the bus
And tell you where you should be going
Drag yourself out of your dark bitter mind
Taste the wind blowing out of the canyon

A wild day

2009-06-04T06:13:00.000-07:00

It is a wild day
Not a kite flying day
The savage brutal wind
Banishes the leaves
Leaving the naked trees
To huddle close and shiver
Their coloured coats
Are scattered,
Windblown and tattered
Becoming quickly covered
Underneath the flakes
Of the falling snow
I walk between leafy furrows
Where small mice can burrow
Feel icy winter fingers
Brush none too gently
Against my bearded face
Hearth and home are waiting
Its warmth I am contemplating
A hot toddy must be
The order of the day
It will wash away the coldness
Take the sting
From winters boldness
Calm my wild racing heart
I am enchanted and delighted
My thoughts are enlightened
By the wonder and the might
Of this brewing winter storm
I do not wish to leave it
Give in to my need for being warm
It is a wild day
Not a kite flying day
But I wish my kite were with me
I would love to see it sailing high
As the darkness begins to settle
I sill stay to test my metal
Against all that Mother Nature
Can ever throw my way
As I turn to hearth and home
I am glad I took time to roam
And take deep within the flavour
Of this wild winter day

Birds of War Birds of Prey

2009-06-04T06:10:00.000-07:00

Elusive does Creativity Flow

2009-06-03T07:02:00.000-07:00

Rembrandt screams at me
In a cornucopia
Of shapes and colours
Dead eyes watch
Follow my every move
I return their stare

Let them laugh
Deride my poor attempts
At putting pigment
On pure white canvas

I do not care
For I live, love and cry
I see their death
Reflected in each
Cracked, age worn eye

Beethoven’s pure, sweet notes
Paint pictures in my mind
And stir within me
A great creative muse

My fingers bleed
Soon worn to the bone

No matter the long hours
That I pound on yellowed ivory
The black and white keys
Follow their own selfish dream

Robbie Burn’s words
Still give me hope
That I still may achieve
Some sweet measure of greatness
Fame and fickle fortune
May at last
Knock loudly on my door

Paper, in pristine whiteness
Stares boldly back at me
Mocking, making fun
Just as Rembrandt’s people did

I laugh back in return
Because I am still alive

Cold Heart Warm Heart

2009-06-02T07:26:00.000-07:00

And thoughts shall win

When we Meet

2009-06-02T07:21:00.000-07:00

As I look at the picture

Of your beautiful angel face
I think of our first meeting
Of your first sweet kiss
You’re first tender, warm embrace
There are so many firsts now waiting
The first time we know desire
The first time i see you naked
Our first candlelight bath
The first time we quench loves fire
I want to taste your intimate places
Suck and kiss your soft, warm breasts
Know the thoughts of your very soul
Kiss away your tears if you should cry
Another first i am waiting for
Is the first time I see, the love light
Shining in your angel eyes

From Keeper of the Sword

2009-06-01T11:28:00.001-07:00

Chapter seven: A Moment of Courage
The voices above Josh and Morgan became no more than a murmur, as they stumbled along the narrow corridor, lit by the dim candle lantrn, held high in the hand of the man behind them. Josh stuffed his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans and slowed down. His young mind was in overdrive with plans for escape.

He fumbled around in his pockets looking for anything to use as a weapon. The fingers of his right hand came in contact with the old lighter and he caressed it for a moment. He wondered, “Will this do,” and started to ease it out of his pocket.

It wasn’t very heavy but perhaps if he could swing it hard enough it might stun their captor. Then all it would take was a mad dash back down the corridor, up the stairs, across the deck and then over the side. It would be a long cold swim to shore but both he and Morgan had swum longer distances before.

A deep, cold voice from behind them, intruded into his plans, “Stop right here.”

Foggy Night, Rraindrops on the Window

2009-06-01T11:18:00.000-07:00

Foggy night, raindrops on the window
Candlelight, fire burning low
Here’s to our love of yesterday
And to our dreams of tomorrow

Baby I just don’t want to go
Into the foggy night
Raindrops on the window

Thank you for the glass of wine
And thank you for talking
About the good old times
But baby
I just don’t want to go
Out into that foggy night
Raindrops on the window

You look so good, in the candle glow
I just wanted to see
If you were still doing fine
I’m sorry I took up
So much of your time
But baby, I just don’t want to go
Into that foggy night
Raindrops on the window

Foggy night, raindrops on the window
Candlelight, fire burning low
Here’s to our love of yesterday
And to our dreams of tomorrow

Baby I just don’t want to go
Into the foggy night
Raindrops on the window

No happy endings

2009-06-01T11:15:00.000-07:00

There are no happy endings
Such things do not exist
Love, life, hope and dreams
Crash and burn in bitter death
We have but this one moment
It must be savored, treasured deep
Held fast in heart and mind
Too soon comes our eternal sleep
Our now must be filled with joy
With the bitter and the sweet
A child’s laughter, a woman’s kiss
Tender moments of ecstasy and bliss
Too quickly do such wonders fade,
Become nothing more than memories dust
There are no happy endings
Such things do not exist
Love, life, hope and dreams
Crash and burn in bitter death

From: Keeper of the Sword

2009-06-01T11:10:00.000-07:00

Song of the Uniaedean

In the moonlight gleaming,
The Uniaedean rested, dreaming.
Sails furled, captain sleeping
No one is watch guard keeping.
Anchor set, gentle wind blowing,
The great black ship dreams of going,
To a mysterious, distant land,
Guided true by captain’s hand.
“Awake good ship,” loud voice calling
War drums beat, flaming arrows falling
She shudders at wounds taken.
In fear Uniaedean does awaken.
Looked long at moon light gleaming
And then returned to her dreaming

From Keeper of the Sword

2009-05-31T18:17:00.000-07:00

Uorugs will come and get you.
If you do not fall asleep,
They will open up your window,
Into your bedroom they will creep.
They will drag you to their dungeons.
Where you can only sit
And when you are quite fat enough
They will roast you on a spit.
They will grind your bones for butter.
Put your toes into their bread.
And when they have sucked out your eyes,
They will place lighted candles in your head.
So hush my little dumplings,
As you snuggle in your bed

From keeper of the Sword

2009-05-31T18:15:00.000-07:00

Appendix IV: The Lost Prince Aelle
In the fastness of the forest on a bed of leafy green, a man-child weary slept. His eyes still wet from lonely weeping. His mind was filled with pleasant dreaming.
The castle stood in sunlight gleaming. Knights in shining armor jousted. Fair maidens blushed, chose their favorites. Trumpets sounded clear and joyous. A princling watched in silent, wonder as his father won the glory.
A noble Queen hugged child tightly, whispered in his ears intently. “One day you will be strong and mighty. Win great honor in joust and tourney. You will be a King quite fearless.” She smiled and kissed child gently.
He squirmed a little in displeasure. Then kissed her cheek to show he loved her.
Into his dream sadness entered. His mother died, took quick by illness. His father then from life with drawing, leaving all but his son behind him, gave Kingdom to stewards keeping. He sailed away in early morning, sails in sunlight gleaming as he passed from land and Kingdom.
Above the princling’s bower resting, feathered folk whispered of next spring’s nesting. In the night they watched and guarded. When morning came they would bring food and tend him. Then guide him safe upon his journey.
The princling wandered lost and lonely. Feathered folk had now long left him. Their nestlings needed food and tending. They had left him safely guarded.
The old man had passed in winter’s coldness. The old woman had wept at her loosing. Then she too departed from him. He placed her deep in greenwood sheltered. Then he left to look for folks of feather. The way was strange beyond his knowing.
The prince now lay in bitter hunger. His body dry, there was no water. A passing knight heard tears took pity.
Fed him from what he could gather, gave him water to still his needing. Placed princling on steed before him, walked beside, when steed grew weary.
His wife would be glad that he did bring him. Their hearts were empty because they had no younglings. He would be they son they wanted. He would grow strong from love they gave him. When they were old he would tend them, lay them to their rest with honor.

Candle in the Wind

2009-05-30T17:24:00.000-07:00

High upon a mountain top
Gleaming through the stormy night
A small beacon dimly beckons
With a pale, flickering light

Brave words that have been spoken
Echo out across the world
A flag bearing peace, prosperity
Once again has been unfurled

Hope thought frail and faint
Once more burns deep with in
A decent, honest, audacious man
Has lit a candle in the wind

Once more we’ve been inspired
Challenged to reach out to the stars
Once again a leader has asked us
To be much better than we are

Our way is filled with sacrifice
But one day we all will stand
High upon the mountain top
And see the promised land

Perhaps our dreams are too big
Will be lost in times shifting sand
And these words will turn to dust
Yes we can, oh yes we can

City of Geodes

2009-05-29T13:35:00.000-07:00

In the magnificent city of geodes
Small toads live there very well
They come from near and far
Looking for a place to dwell

You can never go there
But you can admire from afar
The houses that sparkle like fairy dust
Under the light of the twinkling stars

After the Midnight Bell has Tolled

2009-05-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

Shall I surrender, give into my desire
To wander windswept streets
After the midnight bell has tolled

Riotous, wild laughter
Escapes when doors swing open
Music, voices spill outward
Lapping at the edges of my will
I am weakened by their calling

Flashes of bare ankles
Of swirling half naked bodies
Draw me in, seduce me with a promise

Without a second thought
I soon become one
With the gyrating, mindless crowd
Caught up in a time
After the midnight bell has tolled

When you Cross the River Jordan

2009-05-28T12:48:00.000-07:00

When you cross the river Jordan
And go home, and go home
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home
Jesus will be waiting there for you
He will take you by the hand
He will lead you to Our Father
In that promised land
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home

The water may be cold
But it will not chill your soul
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home, and go home
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home

Tears and pain will fade away
Just like the morning dew
Jesus is waiting there for you
As you cross the river Jordan
And go home
As you cross the river Jordan
And go home

Jesus will take you by the hand
He will lead you to Our Father
In that promised land
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home

A golden mansion waits for you
Upon the other shore
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home

Tears and pain will fade away
Just like the morning dew
Jesus is waiting there for you
As you cross the river Jordan
And go home
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home

A golden mansion waits for you
Upon the other shore
When you cross the river Jordan
And go home

The Fairy Time Ball

2009-05-28T06:17:00.000-07:00

Fairies have come from the butter ball trees
From the mountains of cobwebs and snow
They’ve come from fields of strawberry jam
And from lands where only stars glow

The fairy folk frolic by firefly light
It’s Princess Shaylee’s birthday today
So they will dance in the moon
And in the star light
Until all time passes away

She’s turning nine on this happy day
Nine hundred, if you really must know

Her gown is of thistledown silk
As soft as a butterfly’s wings
It’s covered in tiny pink diamonds
And other sparkly bright things
There’s a crown on her head
Fairy dust in her hair
Small golden slippers
On her feet does she wear

The musician is a harpist
With a beard down to his knees
He will play what you wish
All you do is say please
A loud achoo bursts out
Every time he eats cheese

There’s plenty to feast on
And honey water to drink
No one gets drunk
If that’s what you think

They dance through the dark
Until the dawn is new born
Then they go back to their lands
In the early light of the morn
They won’t gather again
Until the first days of fall
Perhaps you can come
To the next fairy time ball

Inauguration of Humanity

2009-05-27T05:19:00.000-07:00

Once more the fragile
Pendulum of humanity
Has swung
And a rational,
Caring mind
Has sprung forth
With words
That in all hearts
Inspire, hopes, dreams
And a new desire
To somehow
Be better than
In our small way
That we thought
We could ever be

But in this moment
Of unimaginable rapture
In this moment
That has ignited
In this dark
And most bitter hour
A spark of hope
In this moment
That has made us
Hunger in our squalor
For a sweet tomorrow
For a better world
One of caring heart
One of noble mind
We must not
We can not
Forget our long
Heroic journey
Our endless struggle
To achieve
The foothills
Of the snowy
Distant mountain top
Still hid beneath
A curtain of humanity’s
Sorrow and darkness

We rise now
Upon history’s
Cruel, unforgiving cusp
Two ways
Present them-selves
And once again
We have the right
To choose
Honour, decency, dignity
Or we can surrender
Like we have
So often done
To the bitterness
Of dark and
Desperate days
When we once looked
Upon those
Of a different color
Of a different creed
As somehow less
Than we in our
Degree of majestic
And somewhat
Ignoble splendour
Conceived ourselves
To ever be

A leader has arisen
A man of humble
But of noble roots
Has taken on
Tasks far too difficult
To ever imagine
With a promise
That together
If we but have
One heart
If we but have
One thought of mind
If for a moment
However brief in time
We at last remember
That we are of one race
Though diverse
And many coloured
That we are
Of one humanity
That began in one place
And in one distant time
We can at last
Reach out to
A destiny that
Has always beckoned
And accept
The moment
Of sweet glory
That God
In His infinite wisdom
Has set before us

I Surrender to your Love

2009-05-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

I surrender to the love
That you have wakened
I surrender to your gentle touch
I surrender to the sweetness
Of each kiss you give me

A moment without you
Is a forever eternity
A moment with you
Is sweet ecstasy

You are my dream
And my reality
Meaning to my day

My heart beats
Because of you
My now has meaning
Because of you

There is no other way for me
But to surrender to your love

Am I the Only one

2009-05-26T14:31:00.000-07:00

Am I the only one
That dares to name
Nameless things
Am I the only one
That dares to challenge
To reach out beyond
The far beyond
Reach out to where
Unknown forever
Unasked questions
Beg to be more
Than just questions
Waiting in the darkness
Waiting in the bottom
Waiting in the depths
Forever waiting in my mind
Am I the only one
That dares to wonder
When things of wonder
Beg to be wondered at
Am I to forever be
Waiting, hungry as
Eternity challenges
Forever thirsty
Forever wandering
In some deserted desert
Where shapes
Are no more than shadows
And flames are no more
Than dying embers
Giving no warmth
Giving no light
Am I the only one
That dares to shower
When there is no water
When there is no soap
When there is no hope
Am I the only one
That dares to dare

Am I the only one
That dares to beg
When I look down
From castle towers
With my belly full
Of wine, of bread
Full of cheese and beer
Am I the only one
That’s forever lost
When the worst sinner
In the depths of sin
Finds some kind
Of forgiveness
Some kind of salvation
I am I the only one
That dares to name
Nameless things

Darfur, Polotics of Genocide

2009-05-26T05:10:00.000-07:00

Dust dirt fear,
Women in bright clothing,
Wring their hands,
In despair,
Another night
When savage bodies,
Come in lust,
To thrust themselves,
Into soft, yielding
Unprotected flesh,
A young girl screams
In pain,
From destruction
Of innocence,
From despair,
Her womanhood
So brutally entered,
Then comes,
The thunder
Of roaring guns,
Is it shame
That causes these marauders
To kill not only innocence
But broken, used bodies.
No police, no soldier,
Comes to their aid
Only the bright sun
Delivers them
For a brief time
From the evil of the night,
To soon the dark returns,
As does the fear
As does the death,

Music Box Dreamer

2009-05-25T20:31:00.000-07:00

A rocking chair that had seen better days, powered by the thin legs of an old white haired lady squeaked back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth the chair went, in a sparse, stark, dingy
room.
She half slept, half dreamed and half listened to the raindrops dancing on the cracked and filthy windowpane. A solitary window, a window that was her only view to a world she had retreated from a long time ago.

She reached out with her aged worn, care worn right hand and lifted the lid on the antique music box resting on the table beside her. Two little porcelain dancers popped up as the lid was lifted. The clothes of the pair were stained by the hand of time. The small, delicate faces had little pieces chipped out of them and their once rose pink cheeks were faded into dullness.

It took all the strength of her frail, bony fingers to turn the windup key but at last it was fully wound. When it was done, the beautiful strains of the Vienna Waltz filled the small living space and seeped into every crack and crevasse. A few of the more unruly notes slipped out underneath the door and down the hall.

As she surrendered to the magic of the music, her bright sapphire eyes were filled with the large picture beside the music box.

The young man looked proud in his crisp new uniform. He had every reason to be because not only was he going to be fighting for King and country but this was his wedding day. The blushing young bride wore a dress of white silk and red slippers adorned two dainty feet. A single red rose was fastened in her sun coloured hair.

The old woman closed her eyes and let the music transport her back to another time. Back, back through the pages of many years, to a far better day. Back, far back through the mists of an ever fading memory to a different place. A place where a new love was born, burned as a bright flame for a moment of time and then died in the hell, the horror of war.

For one more sweet time she felt her Tommy boy’s strong arms around her slender body. For a sweet instant of time, she felt the heat of his body, felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt. She felt it through her wedding dress, through her brazier. She felt all of the goodness, all of the wonder pressed tight against her rising nipples.

From my short story: My Sweet Mrinida Dressed in Blue

2009-05-24T04:21:00.000-07:00

Detective Ryan Telford turned the ignition key of his non-descript, eight year old grey Chevy to the off position and opened the driver side door. The old car gave a loud burp, coughed twice, snorted once and then as if deciding that a good rest was the order of the day ceased complaining.

Ryan placed his size twelve, scuffed black shoes onto the brown cobble stone, four car wide drive-way. He eased his lanky tough as sun dried raw hide frame off of the cracked, imitation black leather seat. Telford stood up and gave the large two story house at the end of posh Garden Circle a good twice over.

Every white brick, every piece of polished smoke grey granite, every bit of black mortar oozed wealth and privilege. He mumbled half under his breath and half out loud, “Must be six thousand square feet if it’s an inch.”

“It’s seventy-two hundred, but who’s counting.”

Telford whirled around, trying to discover the owner of the soft, warm, bedroom sounding contralto voice. His first eye sweep missed the five foot four slender body, half hidden behind a dozen rose bushes.

A low, “Over here,” was all the help he needed to hone his vision in on the red haired girl, “I’ve never thought that the size of anything mattered.” An impish grin was fixed on her freckle dusted, rather plain face.

The owner of the voice stepped out from behind well trimmed bushes loaded with large scarlet blooms. Ryan sucked in a lungful of fresh air, fresher than downtown Toronto any way and averted his eyes away from the figure. She appeared to be wearing nothing more than two small blue hankies that accented her goodies more than hiding them. He focused his peppers on her dancing jade green eyes and the provocative, full of the devil smile that made her look almost pretty.

She glided over to him and stretched out a small tanned hand attached to a slender sun browned arm. “Hi, I’m Sandy and who might you be, or is it whom might you be. Never could get those things straight. Not that it matters, or does it. Well never mind who you are, if you’re selling something just jump back into your rust bucket and mosey on out of here. If you’re here about the corpse floating in our pool, well pardner just amble that there way.” The right index finger pointed to the side of the house and as if this intrusion was nothing more than a dust mite in her eye, the girl turned her back and floated away.

Telford watched the well rounded; swivelling hips for a moment and then gave him-self a hard mental kick in the rear. “You’re more than old enough to be her father, you damn idiot. Now you best get your mind back onto the business at hand.” He tore his gaze away from the bouncing buttocks and on gangly legs ambled in the indicated direction.

Old doctor Young and a blonde haired woman, dressed in a no nonsense brown tweed business suit knelt at the edge of a large kidney shaped pool. Telford was unable to make out the object held in the woman’s hand.

Fifty feet or so to the left of the sun dappled water was a group of three men. Telford recognized all three of them. The first two were Captain Thomas Mason and detective Blayne Nash, neither one of them was on his face book’s best friend list. Or ever would be if ever bowed to Mrinda’s pleading to join that online community. The third was Mayor Phillip Price.

Searching for my Dream

2009-05-22T04:47:00.000-07:00

In the back of a pickup truck
In the box car of a train
I hear the wheels a turning

I hear the wheals a turning
As I go searching for my dream

Bare feet on the roadway
Bare feet, running through fields of grain
Bare feet climbing tall mountains
Bare feet dancing in the rain

They tell me freedoms just around the corner
On the breath of the summer wind
In my mind I’m already going
To places where I’ve never been

New Year’s resolutions
Fade with the new born sun
I wish I had a magic wand
That would make me forever young

They tell me freedoms just around the corner
On the breath of the summer wind
In my mind I’m already going
To places where I’ve never been

New Year’s resolutions
Fade with the new born sun
I wish I had a magic wand
That would make me forever young

Sweet Moment of Desire

2009-05-20T15:54:00.000-07:00

Your wine sweet kisses
Burn as a fire on my lips
The softness of your skin
Seduces me with its promise
I am filled with a burning desire
To know all of you
To have you surrender
Your secrets and your desires
To my needing of you
As my hands wander
Over your secret places
As my tongue brushes gently
Across the fullness of your breasts
My hunger grows
My need for fulfilment
Becomes ever stronger
I am consumed by the moment
That has overcome me
I delight in your nakedness
As we crest upon the sea of love
My heart beats faster
The last wave of our desire
Washes us onto loves timeless shore
We rest for a moment
Wrapped in each other’s ecstasy
Wrapped in each other’s arms

Reflections

2009-05-20T04:33:00.000-07:00

When we at last
Have clawed our way
To the heights
Of our life’s desire
To the apex
To the very pinnacle
To which we
Have long aspired
We are disillusioned
For our dreams and goals
Have been hollow ones
They desert us now
In our most needy hour
Ashes and embers
Are all that now remain
Of our youthful, raging fires
All we knew
All we have ever loved
All the best of things
Have faded into the years
And have been replaced
By mounds of money
Laying useless, mouldy
Unwanted, unneeded
In some distant bank
And by creaking, shaky limbs
By empty passages of bitter time

On the Edge

2009-05-19T03:46:00.000-07:00

We were poets
Spinners of dreams
Singers of songs
And dancers on the edge
Of all things

I thought we’d be together
Until all clocks
Ceased their ticking
But life
Had its games to play

Now memories of you
Are only faint shadows
Dancing at the fringe
Of my mind

Our words of great wisdom
That we long pondered over
Are blown away
Like soft thistle down
On the breath
Of the new morning wind

Only a few grains are left
Of the hour glass sands
Only a few tears are left
In the eyes of the damned

And as the mists fade away
Like the hours of my life
I wonder how it will all end

We were poets together
Spinners of dreams
Singers of songs
And dancers on the edge
Of all things

I thought we’d be together
Until all clocks
Ceased their ticking
But life
Had its games to play

We Keep a Leprechaun in our Basement

2009-05-18T05:01:00.000-07:00

It’s true we keep a leprechaun
In our basement corner
We caught him at a rainbows end
But we didn’t find his gold
Until he tells us where it is
He’ll stay in the damp and cold

He coughs a little now and then
There is even an odd achoo
Poor fellow seems to have a cold
But what can we really do
Paw and maw need the gold
To see us the winter through

We need socks, shoes and rubber bands
As well as many other things
Paw says he wants some roller skates
And maw loves diamond rings
Me, I’d like a polar bear
And a kangaroo that knows how to sing

Sam, well that’s what we call him now
Shares meals with our kitten Bill
He doesn’t seem to like cat food much
But paw says in time he will
At times he is a friendly sort
I’m sorry that he is getting ill

If only he would give in
And take us to his gold
We’d give him cough syrup
To help him with his cold
Sam seems to be a stubborn one
Perhaps that’s why he is so old

It’s true we keep a leprechaun
In our basement corner
We caught him at a rainbows end
But we didn’t find his gold
Until he tells us where it is
He’ll stay in the damp and cold

Another Time, another Dream is coming

2009-05-17T16:56:00.000-07:00

There’s a black man in the white house
Much to the white supremacists shame
That don’t care that he’s a decent man
All they do is curse his name
Blame the liberals and the democrats
And all the other socialists that elected him

Illusions, delusions, confusions, intrusions
Run rampant through the foggy pathways
Of their closed and bitter minds
As they dream about another day that’s coming

They cling to some faint hope
That someday they will be president
But they should take a rope
And hang like an apple in the wind
Because that’s the proper justice
For these kind of men and women

Dreams and schemes of grandeur
Dominate their waking hours
And they go seeking power
From the proletariats that they’ve wounded
With their bombs and guns a blazing

The political pundits and professors
Wrap them-selves in pontificating pride
For being on the side of knowing
For once in a long, long time
Which way the political wind was blowing

The contortionists in the cemetery
Have chosen mediocre graves
And wonder where the circuses have gone
The clowns in the center ring
Shed a bitter tear as they seek applause
From the saints that have come so far to see them

All the lost souls hide on the backs of white birds
And hope that heaven will receive them
The lemming and the dodo are still your best friends
As you wander through your multi coloured dreams
You stop and listen to the bearded poets
As they spout their vitriolic, bitter rhymes
And you wonder why they do not sing of freedom

As you wander through the fields of dying
You wonder if you will ever go back home
Or will you end up as so many soldiers do
Lying in the bed that was made for you
By the visionaries that have chosen war
Can you forgive their naked lies
That have brought you from the summer fields
And given you so much pain in return

You listen to the singing birds on some back porch
Somewhere in the vague shadows of your mind
And you pray that they will again come some day
Back from the lands where they are forever young
You wish that they will bring seeds
Of hope, of peace and of bright dreams
So you can plant them on the rainy days of spring

But you know in heart and mind
That the good are born to die young
And take their dreams of optimism and change
When they crawl into their graves
With the contortionists that are waiting for them

Will the clowns still cry for you
When you surrender to
The nightmares that you are now dreaming
Or will the saints wipe away bitter tears
And tell the clowns to stop crying
As they fly away on doves of peace
Will they ever find what they died for

There’s a black man in the white house
Much to the white supremacists shame
That don’t care that he’s a decent man
All they do is curse his name
Blame the liberals and the democrats
And all the other socialists that elected him

There’s a black man in the white house
Much to the white supremacists shame
That don’t care that he’s a decent man
All they do is curse his name
Blame the liberals and the democrats
And all the other socialists that elected him

The time of Desolation is upon us

2009-05-17T05:03:00.000-07:00

There are no knights in shining armour
To chase the dragons from the sky
No noble men to sit upon a throne
All that’s ever been good and holy
Has turned to black powder smoke
And been scattered by the blowing of the wind

Candlelight can no longer pierce the darkness
Like it was always meant to do
And beckon the last weary soldier home
It doesn’t really matter anyway
Because all he’d find when he got there
Are bloody fields, filled with the dead and dying

The waking sun hides his face
Among the clouds of war
And a dark rain that burns
Is forever falling from the angry sky
Red flowers blossom on the killing grounds
As bullets and bombs fall among us

Don’t worry friend as you cower in your grave
It’s only that the time of desolation is upon us
And to our shame we have only ourselves to blame
Because we always preferred the sabre and the sword
To the man that carried an olive branch in his hand

We have honoured the soldier and his wars
Above those who would speak peaceful words
We’ve planted the seed of aggression
Among the peoples of this world
Now the harvest is ready for the taking

Blood and bones now grow
In the fields of shrivelled corn
And dead fish pollute the lily ponds
The night air is filled
With the perfume of rotting flesh
The buzzards have come for their feasting

Well the time of desolation is upon us
We’ve been well paid for our labour of greed
As you lie on your death bed dream of better days
Turn all your thoughts far away
From this time of desolation that’s upon us
Turn all your thoughts far away
From the time of desolation that’s now upon us

Notions, Potions and other Things

2009-05-16T05:00:00.000-07:00

Notions of grandeur
Of doing great things
Emotions of fear, hate
Jealousy and desire
Potions of love
Potions of dreams
Potions of hell’s fire
Witch’s cauldrons
Brew and bubble
Trouble over flowing
Steam up the midnight hour

Maidens blush,
Surrender maidenheads
In the name of love

Notions, potions, sundries
Huddle, randomly scattered
Among other unknown things
On dusty shelves
In the back corners
Of old drugstores

Sundaes on Sundays
Chocolate ice cream melting
Drops of frosty coolness
Drip delightfully off chins
Small pink tongues
Lick sticky sweetness
Off of smudged, pudgy hands
Children’s laughter
Drowns out plaintive music
Pouring out of
Cracked, aged speakers
More nickels slide into
Rusty slots of a tinny jukebox

Notions of a kiss, emotions of lust
Overcome a preacher’s teachings
A parent’s warnings ignored
Sunday’s crisp starched dresses
Wilt in sun soaked alley ways
Pristine whiteness stained with chocolate
Stained with sticky seeds of love
Are thrust with a sense of shame
Amidst clothes waiting for Mondays wash

Notions of peace, prosperity
Emotions of hope, fulfilled dreams
Potions of trust, expectation
Witches cauldrons brew and bubble
Opulence, affluence overflowing
Steam up the midnight hour

Be-whiskered old druggists
Add cherry and nut toppings
To sticky chocolate sundaes
Melting on warm Sunday evenings

Notions, potions, sundries
Haphazardly scattered
Among other unknown things
On dusty sagging shelves
Overtop piles of mouse droppings
In dark, dismal corners
Of old drug stores

Winter of my Content

2009-05-15T06:26:00.000-07:00

Pastel blue
Winter sky
Stained dark
By storm clouds
Piled deep

Winter’s breath
Paints frost feathers
On icy windows

The north wind
Gathers in its lair

I am ready
For the coldness
Ready for snow
Ready for the coming
Content to be
Content to wait

I do not give in
As others do
I do not run away
To where
Jasmine filled
South winds blow

I will not hide
I will not cower

The cruel north wind
Crouches as a lion
In its hiding place
Ready to devour

Long bereft of leaves
Trees hug themselves
Clench gnarled roots
Ready for the storm

I know it will be many days
Before winter will relent
Content in mind
Content in heart
I wait
And I watch
The pastel blue
Winter sky
Stained dark
By storm clouds
Piled deep

My warm breath
Falls upon
Icy windows
Frost feathers fade

North wind
Springs as an arrow
From some
Frozen bow

Birds flock
Huddle, shivering
In naked trees

I am eager to face
The brunt
Of the new born storm

It is my intent
To be one
With its mighty heart

Content in mind
Content in heart
I watch
The pastel blue
Winter sky
Stained dark
By storm clouds
Piled deep

Let us Lay Together

2009-05-14T07:59:00.000-07:00

Let us lay together
Wrapped in each other’s arms
As the sun goes to its rest
And when the golden moon
Smiles down upon us
Let me gaze into your eyes
And see the love you feel
For your eyes are
The window to your soul
And your soul
Is filled with passion and delight
Surrender to me
Your soft red ruby lips
Give me your wine sweet kisses
Intoxicate me with the desire
That burns within you
Let us both give into
The delight of loves
Sweet raging fire
Let us lay together
Wrapped in each other’s arms
As the sun goes to its rest
And when the golden moon
Smiles down upon us
Let me gaze into your eyes
And see the love you feel

Angel with Broken Wings

2009-05-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

Another Land

2009-05-14T07:53:00.000-07:00

In another land the poppies grow
Carefully planted row after row
They bring death as white as snow
No larks sing bravely in the sky
In crimson fields our soldiers lie
Dead eyes watch the war birds fly
Freedoms torch is passed once more
Will there ever be an end to war.
Mothers weep as their sons go
To another land where poppies grow

Excerpt from my Y/A novel Keeper of the Sword

2009-05-11T13:04:00.000-07:00

In the Beginning
Morgan Connelly’s cries for help sent icy fingers racing up fourteen-year-old Josh Cullen’s spine. They filtered through two grubby ears into his half-mad mind and pulled him back from a happy vision of home. Back to the reality of thick smoke, flames and the savage sea battle raging around him.

The image of her ghost white-face seared through his red-rimmed eyes and her screams made his stomach queasy. A crimson river flowed out of her left shoulder around the long black shaft protruding out of her dirty pink blouse. It ran down her arm and formed into a pool under her slumped body. For a minute that seemed to stretch forward into eternity, the limp figure of his best friend made Josh think that he was caught up in the middle of a nightmare.

Morgan’s sapphire eyes fluttered closed and for a long moment Josh thought she was dead. His last meal of fish and bread spurted out of his mouth, poured out his nose and mingled with the expanding red pool.

This never-ending moment of terror was too much for his young mind to comprehend and it retreated once again to the safe, secure haven of his classroom.
The events that had led him to this fateful hour of destruction flashed before his eyes. Starting with the day he discovered the ancient, leather bound volume.

Candle in the Wind

2009-05-11T08:13:00.000-07:00

High upon a mountain top
Gleaming through the stormy night
A small beacon dimly beckons
With a pale, flickering light

Brave words that have been spoken
Echo out across the world
A flag bearing peace, prosperity
Once again has been unfurled

Once more we’ve been inspired
Challenged to reach out to the stars
Once again a leader has asked us
To be much better than we are

Our way is filled with sacrifice
But one day we all will stand
High upon the mountain top
And see the promised land

Perhaps our dreams are too big
Will be lost in times shifting sand
And these words will turn to dust
Yes we can, oh yes we can

Hope thought frail and faint
Once more burns deep with in
A decent, honest, audacious man
Has lit a candle in the wind

The Fairy Time Ball

2009-05-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

Fairies have come from the butter ball trees
From the mountains of cobwebs and snow
They’ve come from fields of strawberry jam
From lands where only stars glow

The fairy folk frolic by firefly light
It’s Princess Shaylee’s birthday today
So they will dance in the moon
And in the star light
Until all time passes away

She’s turning nine on this happy day
Nine hundred, if you really must know

Her gown is of thistledown silk
As blue as a butterfly’s wings
It’s covered in tiny pink diamonds
And other sparkly bright things
There’s a crown on her head
Fairy dust in her hair
Small golden slippers
On her feet does she wear

The musician is a harpist
With a beard down to his knees
He will play what you wish
All you do is say please
A loud achoo bursts out
Every time he eats cheese

There’s plenty to feast on
And honey water to drink
No one gets drunk
If that’s what you think

They dance through the dark
Until the dawn is new born
Then they go back to their lands
In the early light of the morn
They won’t gather again
Until the first days of fall
Perhaps you can come
To the next fairy time ball

A Day of Tribulation is coming

2009-05-11T08:10:00.001-07:00

The bank president lies in a pool of blood
With a bullet in his head
Because he wouldn’t give up the combination
Over on the other side of town
A mother weeps because her baby is dead
And she only has memories left in her mind
Of watching her little child growing

The bread lines go down the street
So far that you cannot see the end
The soup kitchens turn people away
Because the kettles are empty

A mad man pushes a red button
Releasing a holocaust onto the world
He smiles at the faces of the dying
A little girl sitting on her father’s knee
Can’t stop the tears of blood she’s crying

I wake up in my sweat soaked bed
The fear of my nightmare
Still walks around in my head
As I wait for the sun to awaken
And I wonder if the morning will bring
The cold day of tribulation

A man kills his wife and his little child
Then takes his own life
Because he can’t face his dreams anymore
And reality weighs to heavy on him
As his cruel life slips away
He is glad he won’t have to face
The cold day of tribulation

The day of tribulation is coming
It’s just round the corner from you
So take all the money you can from the bank
And spend it before it is worthless
The bank president lies in a pool of blood
With a bullet in his head
Because he wouldn’t give up the combination
Over on the other side of town
A mother weeps because her baby is dead
And she only has memories left in her mind
Of watching her little child growing

A Magic Winter Moment

2009-05-11T08:08:00.000-07:00

Snow diamonds
In their millions
Shimmer, glitter
Across the sea
Of winter’s
White gold wonder

My every breath
Paints
Sky blue perfection
With puffs
Of frosty dreams

Children’s footprints
In their hundreds
Brush away
Scintillating glory
But playful laughter
Brings its own
Perfect beauty
To the new born
December morning

Wind grows crisp
Brisk gusts
Rush through
Naked branches
Nibbling for
Brief moments
At ear tips
And bare noses

No word can capture
This magic moment
I burn the images deep
Into the corridors
Of my awe filled mind

Shenandoah Dreams

2009-05-11T06:47:00.000-07:00

A new day breaks and cannons roar
Drowning out the morning praise of birds
Flying high above the battle lines

Men, brothers in blue and grey
In silence wait the orders of the day

Bayonets fixed, muskets loaded
Eyes stare out towards their foe
Each one believes that God
Will give their side victory
On this battlefield today

Drummer boys drum in perfect time
Blue and grey march in straight lines
And never glance away
From the distant, waiting goal
As comrades fall onto the bloody ground

Cannons cover the dying screams
Of mangled men that lie
Upon this green field of death

A bugler blows retreat
But such a thing must be ignored
And victory’s high price
Must be paid in blood

A new day breaks in silence
I look out upon an old battlefield
And for another moment I retreat
Back into my Shenandoah dream