Treking, trudging ever onward
The mind numbing trek of endless days, weeks, even years
Of soulless meanderings among the mundane memories of former selves
Of past guilt and moments of self abasing shame.
Many storms have come and gone melting into misty memory
Strangers, fellow travelers, met and for a brief spell,
Intertwined like vines, ever reaching, onward, upward, striving.
Some leaving a sweet residue of honey drizzled dreams,
Others a heart deep stiletto strike of pain,
Now but a pin prick in the scheme of things.
A warm, spreading afterglow of passions spent,
Hard won moments of glory, minutes of fame
Fading now in light of more important dreams.
Even though the road has wound in tight knit coils
Of toils and trials and tribulations,
Risen upward into seemingly unscalable heights
Where good intentions ricocheted among the echoing peaks,
And then plummeted into the bleakness of the bottomless
Abyss, striking ice cold splinters into the bravest of my inspirations
The shadows still lengthen, twilight falls, night spreads her ebony cloak
And as always a new day dawns fresh and clean,
Sparkling with the dew of undreamed dreams and undiminished hope,
Of possibilities unclaimed of places unvisited and of friends as yet unloved.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Short Story
The Other Woman.
For the second time that day she tearfully surveyed herself in the mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. The sun shone through the window behind her giving her an aura of molten gold. She knew she was beautiful, she had seen it reflected in the appraising eyes of countless men as she moved through the world. This was undisputable, a given fact of her existence. She had always felt secure in the knowledge that men wanted her and would go to any lengths to posses her. There had never been a moment when she had had to worry about anything; everything came easily to the truly beautiful. She had finally chosen Karloff for her husband, he was rich, handsome and intelligent, her top three criteria in the husband choosing game.
She had been married to Karloff for eleven years now, had given him a son, Gregorio, her heart string, and had wanted for nothing that the material world could offer. She could wander the austere rooms of their Moscow house, pad barefoot through their sun dappled villa in the Bahamas or lie in their penthouse and listen to the distant, bustling hum that was Kiev. As she looked back over the years of her marriage, she realized, with a faint shimmering of alarm, that she had very few actual memories. All she could bring to mind were vague vignettes of moments spent passing through life, never seeming to actually stand still and absorb anything of where she was or who she was talking to. It was as if she were watching a movie of someone else’s life that had become uninteresting and disjointed. The strangest part was that she always seemed to be alone in these fleeting moments of memory. When she thought about it she realized that this was actually the case. It had been a very long time since she and Karloff had done anything as a couple. Even in the early days of their marriage, before he could use the, “I’ll stay and look after Gregorio, you go’” excuse, he had preferred to stay and work on his computer, and quite happily let her go alone. When she thought of him now, it was the back of his head she saw first in her mind’s eye, his slight shoulders hunched forward, a stray lock of hair tucked behind one ear, the flickering light from his computer illuminating his face and reflecting on his spectacles as he peered intently at the screen. She remembered his grunts of affirmation whenever she held a conversation with him, his eyes never for one second leaving the screen. He would sit like that well into the night, sometimes dawn would be breaking when he finally came to bed, and then he would sleep well past noon, his eyes flickering under his eyelids as though still at work.
In the early days they had always made a point of having dinner together every evening. She couldn’t quite remember when the hasty sandwich or a piece of fruit sitting in front of the computer had become his evening meal. The computer was his life, it took all of his attention, even when she got mad and he would swivel around to face her, she could feel his attention ebbing backwards drop by drop until she had lost him again. When she complained he would become defensive, didn’t she know that that was how he made the money she so loved to spend? This was how he kept his finger on the pulse of world economics; this was how he communicated, and so it went on night after night until she felt so lonely she could taste it. If it had been another woman that had stolen him so completely away from her, she would know just what to do. She could squash her with one exquisitely manicured finger, or step on her with one finely arched, Gucci clad foot, but a computer, how could anyone compete with that? She turned her attention back to her reflection. Of course she could take a lover, there were a whole slew of prospects, but somehow everything seemed so pointless and hollow. No, what she really needed was to find a way of getting through to him, a way to capture his attention, to draw him away from his obsession once and for all.
Suddenly an almost shy smile played across her lips, she dabbed at her wet eyes with a tissue as she made her way to the kitchen. There was coffee already in the coffee maker and it was still hot. She poured some into a large mug, adding sugar and cream, and stirring energetically. She walked slowly and sedately into his office, taking care not to spill any of the liquid as she went. There was no glimmer of recognition that she had entered the room, and she knew from experience that even if she went up to him and planted a loving kiss on the nape of his neck, he would just swat at her as if she were some annoying fly. No kisses tonight, she thought to herself sadly.
He must have sensed something because he half turned towards her as she came to a stop by his side, but it wasn't until she emptied the mug of steaming hot coffee carefully over his laptop that she finally got his complete and undivided attention.
For the second time that day she tearfully surveyed herself in the mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door. The sun shone through the window behind her giving her an aura of molten gold. She knew she was beautiful, she had seen it reflected in the appraising eyes of countless men as she moved through the world. This was undisputable, a given fact of her existence. She had always felt secure in the knowledge that men wanted her and would go to any lengths to posses her. There had never been a moment when she had had to worry about anything; everything came easily to the truly beautiful. She had finally chosen Karloff for her husband, he was rich, handsome and intelligent, her top three criteria in the husband choosing game.
She had been married to Karloff for eleven years now, had given him a son, Gregorio, her heart string, and had wanted for nothing that the material world could offer. She could wander the austere rooms of their Moscow house, pad barefoot through their sun dappled villa in the Bahamas or lie in their penthouse and listen to the distant, bustling hum that was Kiev. As she looked back over the years of her marriage, she realized, with a faint shimmering of alarm, that she had very few actual memories. All she could bring to mind were vague vignettes of moments spent passing through life, never seeming to actually stand still and absorb anything of where she was or who she was talking to. It was as if she were watching a movie of someone else’s life that had become uninteresting and disjointed. The strangest part was that she always seemed to be alone in these fleeting moments of memory. When she thought about it she realized that this was actually the case. It had been a very long time since she and Karloff had done anything as a couple. Even in the early days of their marriage, before he could use the, “I’ll stay and look after Gregorio, you go’” excuse, he had preferred to stay and work on his computer, and quite happily let her go alone. When she thought of him now, it was the back of his head she saw first in her mind’s eye, his slight shoulders hunched forward, a stray lock of hair tucked behind one ear, the flickering light from his computer illuminating his face and reflecting on his spectacles as he peered intently at the screen. She remembered his grunts of affirmation whenever she held a conversation with him, his eyes never for one second leaving the screen. He would sit like that well into the night, sometimes dawn would be breaking when he finally came to bed, and then he would sleep well past noon, his eyes flickering under his eyelids as though still at work.
In the early days they had always made a point of having dinner together every evening. She couldn’t quite remember when the hasty sandwich or a piece of fruit sitting in front of the computer had become his evening meal. The computer was his life, it took all of his attention, even when she got mad and he would swivel around to face her, she could feel his attention ebbing backwards drop by drop until she had lost him again. When she complained he would become defensive, didn’t she know that that was how he made the money she so loved to spend? This was how he kept his finger on the pulse of world economics; this was how he communicated, and so it went on night after night until she felt so lonely she could taste it. If it had been another woman that had stolen him so completely away from her, she would know just what to do. She could squash her with one exquisitely manicured finger, or step on her with one finely arched, Gucci clad foot, but a computer, how could anyone compete with that? She turned her attention back to her reflection. Of course she could take a lover, there were a whole slew of prospects, but somehow everything seemed so pointless and hollow. No, what she really needed was to find a way of getting through to him, a way to capture his attention, to draw him away from his obsession once and for all.
Suddenly an almost shy smile played across her lips, she dabbed at her wet eyes with a tissue as she made her way to the kitchen. There was coffee already in the coffee maker and it was still hot. She poured some into a large mug, adding sugar and cream, and stirring energetically. She walked slowly and sedately into his office, taking care not to spill any of the liquid as she went. There was no glimmer of recognition that she had entered the room, and she knew from experience that even if she went up to him and planted a loving kiss on the nape of his neck, he would just swat at her as if she were some annoying fly. No kisses tonight, she thought to herself sadly.
He must have sensed something because he half turned towards her as she came to a stop by his side, but it wasn't until she emptied the mug of steaming hot coffee carefully over his laptop that she finally got his complete and undivided attention.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
New Place
Here, I am unknown, unnoticed, unimportant.
I move as though a low flying cloud, floating, a vapor.
Everything passes through me and I through it, unscathed.
I am just an essence, a ghost, a spirit.
Apart and yet a part of life, belonging yet longing to be free,
to be gone where I am known and loved.
Like a specter spectating, a mirage, a figment of someone's imagination,
a speck in some unsuspecting eye.
As a ship in the night I pass by, unrecognised and alone.
I move as though a low flying cloud, floating, a vapor.
Everything passes through me and I through it, unscathed.
I am just an essence, a ghost, a spirit.
Apart and yet a part of life, belonging yet longing to be free,
to be gone where I am known and loved.
Like a specter spectating, a mirage, a figment of someone's imagination,
a speck in some unsuspecting eye.
As a ship in the night I pass by, unrecognised and alone.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Swan Song
My dream has always been to make my living as a writer ( some dream when you look at all the starving writers there are around!) I only really feel truly alive when I am writing, its like I suddenly sprout wings and the possibilities take flight. Whatever wordly stuff is going on in my life I can always transcend it when my fingers come into contact with the keyboard.It doesn't matter whether I'm composing soul deep poetry or trying to spice up a dry article on mortgages, I somehow feel as though I have some sort of power trip going on, must be "the pen is mightier than the sword" syndrome or something.Language is such a fascinating medium, the choice of each word is so important,one little word can change the whole mood or rhythm of a piece. Like music really, one note can make it or break it. In these days of texting and instant messaging, our language seems to be curling up and giving up the ghost.It's so sad that something so evocative of emotion is dying. Is this maybe why compassion and empathy are also on the way out? Why illiteracy is on the way in? Language is about sharing, isn't a sunset all the more poignant when shared, a story more vivid, a sad experience less painfull? It is more common nowadays to see hoardes of people communicating with a cellphone in a crowded place than with each other, so sad.I read today that the sales of video games outnumbers the sales of books 100 to 1, imagine that.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Article Five
Take Time to Make Time.
In this busy world we live in its sometimes easy to lose track of our identity, to become just another face in the crowd It’s even harder for us ladies to keep track because we have to be so much to so many for so long; We are the dutiful daughter, finding time and often resources, to help out Mom or Dad when they need us. We are the sensible sister, always there for our siblings, ready with helpful advice and comfort on demand. We are the adored aunt, babysitter extraordinaire, confidante and go between in family feuds. We are the magnificent Mom, juggling work and home like a circus performer and still finding time to listen to our offspring’s woes and complaints. We are the sexy spouse, taking pains to keep our husbands happy and at home. We are the Cordon Bleu chef, serving up tantalizing delicacies for the delectation of our friends and family. We are the accomplished and efficient personal assistant to the blah, blah, blah de blah!
O.K., but who are we REALLY? Deep down inside there lurks another entity, one only you really, really know. It’s the one whose hopes and dreams are on hold just until---- the kids are older, your husband gets his promotion, your Mom has her operation, your sister moves into her new house, etc .etc. etc. Maybe one day you’ll actually get to fulfill them, that’s if you’re not too old by then, of course!
Why not now? If you can make time to cram in the one thousand menial every day chores, then you can make time for YOU. Just get up one morning and decide that this is THE day. The day that you begin living your life as the real you. You will write the first chapter of your novel, take your first piano lesson, learn to ride a horse, take Spanish classes or you will just take an hour out of your day to sip on your favorite drink, be it herbal tea or fine wine, while perusing your favorite magazine or novel! You will be amazed at how different you feel right from day one. The real you has finally surfaced, keep it up!.
In this busy world we live in its sometimes easy to lose track of our identity, to become just another face in the crowd It’s even harder for us ladies to keep track because we have to be so much to so many for so long; We are the dutiful daughter, finding time and often resources, to help out Mom or Dad when they need us. We are the sensible sister, always there for our siblings, ready with helpful advice and comfort on demand. We are the adored aunt, babysitter extraordinaire, confidante and go between in family feuds. We are the magnificent Mom, juggling work and home like a circus performer and still finding time to listen to our offspring’s woes and complaints. We are the sexy spouse, taking pains to keep our husbands happy and at home. We are the Cordon Bleu chef, serving up tantalizing delicacies for the delectation of our friends and family. We are the accomplished and efficient personal assistant to the blah, blah, blah de blah!
O.K., but who are we REALLY? Deep down inside there lurks another entity, one only you really, really know. It’s the one whose hopes and dreams are on hold just until---- the kids are older, your husband gets his promotion, your Mom has her operation, your sister moves into her new house, etc .etc. etc. Maybe one day you’ll actually get to fulfill them, that’s if you’re not too old by then, of course!
Why not now? If you can make time to cram in the one thousand menial every day chores, then you can make time for YOU. Just get up one morning and decide that this is THE day. The day that you begin living your life as the real you. You will write the first chapter of your novel, take your first piano lesson, learn to ride a horse, take Spanish classes or you will just take an hour out of your day to sip on your favorite drink, be it herbal tea or fine wine, while perusing your favorite magazine or novel! You will be amazed at how different you feel right from day one. The real you has finally surfaced, keep it up!.
Article Four
We are the World We are the Women-----
In society far too little credit is given to women’s achievements in everyday life. Somehow we have become our own worst enemies in that we quietly and efficiently go about our business in such a way that everyone just takes it for granted and forgets what an enormous contribution we make to society. Somewhere along the line we have made it all look way too easy and now there is no going back! So maybe it’s up to us to take stock of our role in the scheme of things, making sure that we are being true to ourselves in the process, and just get on with it.
Let’s face it; we only have to look around at our children and know what a miracle has been perpetrated through us. We have the future in our hands here; we have the power to give shape to our dreams of a better world. The way in which we bring up our children is the key to the future. If we instill the now almost extinct virtues into our children from the very beginning and insist on honesty, respect, loyalty, integrity, and accountability, surely the world will be a brighter place with these types of people leading us.
We have so much power and yet if we don’t use it wisely it can turn out to be just the opposite. A mother, who insists on doing everything for her son, long after he is capable of taking care of himself, is making a candidate for Male Chauvinism, and we women know how counterproductive that can be! The Mother who defends her children even when she knows they are in the wrong, is not helping them to face up to life, she is encouraging their dishonesty. By not setting boundaries to their behavior, she is creating human beings who feel that the world owes them something and take rather than give and feel no compassion for others.
Women let’s not bemoan our fate, but rather work together in strength and unity and use this power that we have been given to improve the quality of life, if not for ourselves then for our children.
In society far too little credit is given to women’s achievements in everyday life. Somehow we have become our own worst enemies in that we quietly and efficiently go about our business in such a way that everyone just takes it for granted and forgets what an enormous contribution we make to society. Somewhere along the line we have made it all look way too easy and now there is no going back! So maybe it’s up to us to take stock of our role in the scheme of things, making sure that we are being true to ourselves in the process, and just get on with it.
Let’s face it; we only have to look around at our children and know what a miracle has been perpetrated through us. We have the future in our hands here; we have the power to give shape to our dreams of a better world. The way in which we bring up our children is the key to the future. If we instill the now almost extinct virtues into our children from the very beginning and insist on honesty, respect, loyalty, integrity, and accountability, surely the world will be a brighter place with these types of people leading us.
We have so much power and yet if we don’t use it wisely it can turn out to be just the opposite. A mother, who insists on doing everything for her son, long after he is capable of taking care of himself, is making a candidate for Male Chauvinism, and we women know how counterproductive that can be! The Mother who defends her children even when she knows they are in the wrong, is not helping them to face up to life, she is encouraging their dishonesty. By not setting boundaries to their behavior, she is creating human beings who feel that the world owes them something and take rather than give and feel no compassion for others.
Women let’s not bemoan our fate, but rather work together in strength and unity and use this power that we have been given to improve the quality of life, if not for ourselves then for our children.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
About My Books!
STORY CONCEPT: What if you could just dive into the crystal clear, turquoise ocean or run along the pristine, white sand beaches of the Bahamas and experience first hand all the amazing adventures that lie in store for you there? What if a brave and fearless heroine wth an insatiable appetite for adventure was your guide?
STORY SYNOPSIS:
Who Let The Dog Out???” This is no ordinary “doggie” story, it is the story of Dottie, a V.I.P. [a Very Insatiable Puppy] from the very beginning. Born into a world of tropical splendour on a tiny Bahamian island, Dottie’s life is one long adventure. Not content to stick around her eight sisters and one brother, she sets off to discover the wonders of the world, and discover them she does! From head on clashes with a viscious Pitbull puppy and a giant Loggerhead Turtle, to single handedly surviving a Category Four hurricane, Dottie races from adventure to adventure. The story flows along gaining momentum with each chapter, until the final and greatest adventure of all leaves the reader gasping for more!
“Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot!!!” Dottie, the spottie Dalmatian dog is off on the road to adventure again!!Now quite at ease in her new home on Grand Bahama Island, she finds lots of new and exciting adventures to keep her very busy! She discovers first hand just what a jetski is all about, bravely saves the life of an abandoned puppy and almost gets roasted alive in an enormous bush fire! As usual Dottie triumphs over adversity and is once again the heroine of the hour. Join Dottie on her Bahamian adventures and get a taste of island life with Dottie as your guide.
“My Island In The Sun” [Work in progress.] Theodore Seamus O’Sullivan is a debonaire Dalmatian about town. He hails from New York and is convinced that the best things in life are far from free. When he inadvertently gets locked in the landscaping trailer in the gardens of his owner’s mansion in Palm Beach, Florida, and is taken far from home, he discovers that there is a big bad world out there.
When he eventually shows up in the Bahamas, full of anger and frustration, Dottie and her Owner have a big job ahead of them convincing him that there is more to life than material possessions. After a disasterous start , the magic of the Bahamas begins to work on him and with Dottie’s help, he eventually realizes that the best things in life really are free after all!
STORY SYNOPSIS:
Who Let The Dog Out???” This is no ordinary “doggie” story, it is the story of Dottie, a V.I.P. [a Very Insatiable Puppy] from the very beginning. Born into a world of tropical splendour on a tiny Bahamian island, Dottie’s life is one long adventure. Not content to stick around her eight sisters and one brother, she sets off to discover the wonders of the world, and discover them she does! From head on clashes with a viscious Pitbull puppy and a giant Loggerhead Turtle, to single handedly surviving a Category Four hurricane, Dottie races from adventure to adventure. The story flows along gaining momentum with each chapter, until the final and greatest adventure of all leaves the reader gasping for more!
“Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot!!!” Dottie, the spottie Dalmatian dog is off on the road to adventure again!!Now quite at ease in her new home on Grand Bahama Island, she finds lots of new and exciting adventures to keep her very busy! She discovers first hand just what a jetski is all about, bravely saves the life of an abandoned puppy and almost gets roasted alive in an enormous bush fire! As usual Dottie triumphs over adversity and is once again the heroine of the hour. Join Dottie on her Bahamian adventures and get a taste of island life with Dottie as your guide.
“My Island In The Sun” [Work in progress.] Theodore Seamus O’Sullivan is a debonaire Dalmatian about town. He hails from New York and is convinced that the best things in life are far from free. When he inadvertently gets locked in the landscaping trailer in the gardens of his owner’s mansion in Palm Beach, Florida, and is taken far from home, he discovers that there is a big bad world out there.
When he eventually shows up in the Bahamas, full of anger and frustration, Dottie and her Owner have a big job ahead of them convincing him that there is more to life than material possessions. After a disasterous start , the magic of the Bahamas begins to work on him and with Dottie’s help, he eventually realizes that the best things in life really are free after all!
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