Writers

Danny boy met the man,
Crash course for disaster,
Fired up, snow white tan,
Whacked up, faster and faster.

Danny boy died a pauper’s death,
Friends deserted, family unknown,
Wasted life on crystal meth,
Sufferings set the tone.

Danny boy, oh Danny Boy,
Lovers and fools rejoice,
Come together, share the joy,
One more lost, one less voice.

Danny boy, I shed a tear,
One more lost, one less voice,
Death looms, for you I fear
Crystal meth, your wicked choice.

powerless
my capacity for movement
opine loneliness
your techniques are droid like
devastatingly cold.

no surrender now
as i pack away
my sun side kindness
the constant resolute support
see, i am already vanishing!

from your eyes
nothing is gleamed
a breeding ground for assumptions
the distance becomes exponential
macabre as twilight

"Where is Mr Brown?"
Asked the Queen, perturbed.
"He should have been down
by six fifteen." She demurred.

The First Lord, sat
not wanting to be disturbed.
"Primus inter pares! Crap!
I'd swap Darling for his bird."

========
Already posted some place else, but I'd welcome any comments from those who visit here who don't visit there.

Toodle pip, Hektor.

He’s just a little angel he wouldn’t hurt a fly
He is just the perfect child, but then you know just why
He‘s laying fast asleep just now serene and angel like
But in a flash he’s up and out and crashing on his bike

One day he is a soldier a sailor and a spy
He sometimes flies off out in space but no one asks him why
He goes to stars so far away he even built a rocket
And all the space rocks that he finds will be shoved in his pockets

The school day is a trying time. You get him clean and spruce
But 10 yards down the road he goes and starts crawling in a bush
Spider’s, hedgehog’s, birds and mice he searches ditches too
And back from school he then turns up covered in some goo!!

He smiles at you, a cheeky grin that always melts your heart
But then he sits right next to you a does a silent fart
He giggles loads and chuckles hard His face is lit with glee
It’s then he turns and says to you “is it time for tea”

And then its girls, sport more girls and then perhaps some cars
You know that soon he will go out, drinking in some bars
And then one night he’ll stagger in tipsy if not drunk
You’ll be mad!! He’ll wake up bad and smelling like a skunk!!

He grows so fast and soon he’ll leave adventures all to have
You’ll smile at him and hug him hard but know that you’ll feel sad
He may think that he’s all grown up and on his own two feet
But he’ll just be your little boy as long as your heart beats

Dear Friends,

iam nandini from Kerala, India. Iam the new joining of this site. i am expecting you will accept me.

i lost you when i was eleven and i felt i needed you most,
i remember coming into the cottage with my brother's and sister's, and the place was busy with officer's and airmen,
everyone telling us how sorry they were for our loss.
i didn't understand, what was happening? why were they here?
that's when i saw her, my mother, sitting by the fire, my six month old brother in her arm's.
i went to speak to her but saw in her eye's that she was not really there. she was lost to all this comotion, emotionless and vacant.
that's when i realized dad wasn't coming home to us again.

At the time,
she was not, the President's wife.
And, at the time,
he was not, the President.

The lens clicked and captured,
candidly, a moment.
The picture: a place
in time, forever stands.

At that time,
X-Corp's stock was trading, at ten dollars, ninety-four.
And, at that time,
Commodities were trading lightly.

Shares fell. Then, increasingly,
the markets tumbled.
The things, on which
"real" value can be placed, stand.

Today,
She is the President's wife.
Today,
X-Corp's stock trades at a dollar, twenty-five.

"Sold!" The auctioneer's gavel crashes.
And so, into the night, with hands barely
covering her modesty, motionless
walks the President's wife.

Today in the newspaper I read this piece about this guy named Erik Weihenmayer, he happens to be the first blind man to reach the 29,035-foot summit of Mount Everest and also climb the seven summits of the world. He has also guided six blind Tibetan teenagers towards the 23,000-foot summit of Lhakpa Ri.
I found this news not only fascinating, awe-inspiring but also thought evoking.
I remember that when I was a child I was very scared of this blind salesman who used to sell Incense. His gait as he walked through the lanes during late evening and his way of advertising his product by screaming in a particular tone would have me scamper towards my mother. Well with time my fear was replaced by kindness or may be I should be honest and call it pity.
Much later in life I saw this film called ‘Sparsh’ (The Touch) directed by a lovely lady called 'Sai Paranjpe', which actually touched my heart and helped me to distinguish between sympathy and empathy.
Today I don’t consider blindness to be a handicap at all, no I don’t think it’s a boon but I feel it’s a different way to live your life. It helps one to have a better and deeper understanding of the same.
The world is filled with too much of visuals at present; we see music instead of listening to it. Most of us would rather see a classic than read it, (I happen to be one of those people), observe similar lives on the television rather than introspect our own.
Nothing much is left to imagination, and with time and experience I have realized how important and powerful imaginations can be.
I remember imagining how Eskimos lived when I was a child (I didn’t have access to national geographic) or how did an igloo or an Anaconda look? Somehow today I feel that my imaginations were much more stronger and vivid than the real images. Yes I could be wrong but just a thought.
So no I don’t consider blindness to be a handicap any more. What do you think?

Hi

I'm author of a couple of novels published in the UK and the US. I've just started blogging and there's a bit about my 'process' if that doesn't sound too uppity. I'm just doing final edit on book 3 which comes out this summer with Penguin. I'm trying to give a glance into a writer's mind and life and to be honest. There's humour, sex and in the last post a morality tale about dog vomit. Please do take a look.

www.louisedean.com

regards

Louise

A new recruit to the local ambulance service was, on occasion, too enthusiastic for his own good. Despite being told to calm down and think before acting, his natural exuberance for the job sometimes propelled him forward at breakneck spead, only to be pulled back by some, more experienced, member of staff.
One day, whilst trying to attend an accident on a busy motorway, we were being held up by the traffic behind the scene. As we tried to force our way forward along the hard shoulder, the newman became more and more agitated. Finally, as the scene of the accident came into view and the weckage of the cars involved could be clearly seen, he could take it no longer. Grabbing a first aid kit and flinging the cab door open he leapt into space and disappeared from view, only to reappear moments later, shamefaced and embarrased, his enthusiasm cut short when he found himself waist deep in a rain filled drainage ditch.

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today
good friday
we spent sleeping in
a lazy dip in the pool
hot cross buns and brewed coffee
in the shady cool...
then we pondered house plans
for the new block of land

this evening - fish - salmon grilled and spiced
a nice day this friday
very good
very nice

I'm tempted to feel guilty
but no, I decline
a prayer for others will have to do
cause it's my turn this time....??

Sigh
nope, it doesn't work
I still feel guilty

HAPPY EASTER

Love is death,
Love is hate,
Love is pity,
Love is fear,
Love is greed,
Love is fake,
Love is me,
Love is you,
Love is stupid,
Love is blind,
Love is crime,
Love is peace,
Love is rich,
Love is poor,
Love is drugs,
Love is alcohol,
Love is clean,
Love is dirty,
Love is chic,
Love is dated,
Love is new,
Love is old,
Love is hot,
Love is cold,
Love is good,
Love is bad,
Love is happy,
Love is sad,
Love is fun,
Love is dull,
Love is in,
Love is out,
Love is all i need,
Love is all i want.

------------------------------------------------------------
For more, check my blog.

i have made this a private post and put it in my own blog

hi i like too write childres stories i will post one soon

once again this has been posted into my blog and it is a private post

My Father was the greatest man I ever knew and loved He never judged me, never scorned me and never held a grudge If I grow old being half the man that taught me all I knew Then I would lie down in my grave amongst a privileged few

Here's some poems I want to share with all you lovely lovely people.

A Little Poem About the Shoe-Boat Man

There once was a man who lived in a boot
It was covered in plastic and filled up with loot
It was warm in the winter and cool in the Sun
He’d take it anywhere so he could have fun.
One weekend in summer when the weather was hot
He took his house boot and went to the dock.
Looking into the shimmering sea
He had an idea and jumped off the quay.
With barely a splash and not one thing getting wet
The boot floated gently just where it was set.
“Aha!” said the man “I must make a note!”
“This can be a house, but also a boat!”
With that he started a business idea
“I’ll start making house boots from off of the pier.”
From that day forward he moved to Spain
And never lived on dry land again.
---------------------------------

A Poem about Words

Wibble wobble bellow round
These are words I like the sound
Say them with me one, two, three
Limpet, Bucket, Chemistry.
Congregations, you know the coo
I’ve heard you saying words like ‘shoe’
Letting them roll round your mouth
Tasting them then let them out
Consonants are great to use
And vowels are ready to abuse
So don’t hold back and say a word
I like them when they’re more absurd.
---------------------------------

I Sat on Pat (slightly rude)

I had a jolly mattress, and its name was Pat
He fell upon my bed one day and killed my lovely cat
Using it for sleeping on seemed the correct choice
But when I started scratching I could hear a little voice
"Oh Dominic" quoth this object of bed related fun
"I do not mind you nodding off but your blanket stinks of cum.
Your arsehole is a plethora of bits and pieces rare
And the look of your genitles would cause a bio-scare."
"Shut up you batty crease!" cried I feeling somewhat bold
"This collection of synthetic fibres stops me getting cold.
Besides I think it rather rude for you to just turn up
Then start making small demands without even a 'sup?'"
With that I laid on Patrick with all my weighty might
And slept all over his cuboid body all throughout the night.
-------------------------------------

This is the exciting part. I am sitting at my desk this morning, near the window that overlooks the gate, waiting for a courier to turn up with the proofs from the publisher.

A lot of writers believe that the hard work is the actual writing - which is partly true, but there is other stuff that needs our attention too. One of these is checking through the proofs - a last chance for us to make sure that we don't leave in a wrong vowel that transforms 'shut' to a rude word, and we don't don't double up any words or phrases.

What the proofs are not however, is a chance to rewrite. There are still a lot of writers out there who believe that you can get all creative with the proofs. Believe me, the time to get creative is before you post off your manuscript, not afterwards. So my advice for anyone thinking of submitting work to a publisher is to make sure the copy is as good as you can make it, before rushing out to the post office.

People talk about love as though it is something you can give like an armful of flowers.  A lot of people give love like that, just dump it on top of you, a useless strong scented burden.  I don't think it is anything that you can give.
Love is a force in you that enables you to give other things.  It motivates, it enables you to give strength and power and freedom and peace to another person.
It is not a result, it is a cause.  It is a power like money or steam or electricity.  It is valueless unless you can give something else by means of it.

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If love, like a lizards tail
would grow back when the last did fail
then the length of my tail would be all for you
and like sunrise at the break of day would rise anew

And if then, my love like a wizards wand
had the necessary magic to keep you fond
i would shower you, with spell after spell
to cleanse the past until all was well

I don't know about you but when I was a child
I was always seeking out or
dreaming about
secret places
cubbies I could call my own
as a female and
oldest of five children I was
perhaps in dire need of space
a place to call my own
with clear boundaries
on all sides
to hide
and not be found
to be safe
on solid ground
amid the hubub of crying babies, frazzled parents and
demanding siblings
I'd make a treehouse in the lemon tree - till the ants disagreed
or dug a hole down the side of the house and covered it with a roof
it stunk a damp dank dusty smell - not the hideaway I deserved
then it was the chook house (after they'd met their fate in the pot)
but that was too exposed, to known and accessible to those
I sought refuge from

Ah yes but the best places of all were the fantasy places
I dreamt up a magical world full of treasures, toys and gifts
all that my heart desired
in the top shelf of my wardrobe
I climbed in and took fabulous refuge in the illuminated
luxury of gold and sparkling jewels, roller skates and gorgeous clothes

Then there was the whole room that existed beneath my bed
a subterranean cave lined with coloured curtains and velvet bedcovers
In my dreams I'd slither out of bed down a small trapdoor near the window
down a slipery dip into this secret exotic chamber
where I was attended by a very proper butler called James

this particular fantasy still has a place in my imagination!!!

Yellow rectangle of light behind her..door open..open and rectangular.
Above a plane a huge noisy plane lifts almost vertical...
She misses it..yet again....
Streets and houses and roofs and intensity...closing in.
She needs to leave.
She needs to get back.
There is a garden, a pond....and strange creatures; moving and turning and swimming and disappearing.

Forests in the distance and a steep descent into the comfort of the valley and then the steepness of the escape...that never happens..

Again the plane.
Again she needs to leave.
She cannot get through...she is stopped and blocked and silenced and halted.
Her feet cannot move.

Invisibilty closes in....powerless and suffocating.

n everyones life - there was one moment of change - one grand, undeniable moment of change - that was so indisputable and consequential it never stopped mattering.
Mine came one evening on a windswept beach in North Wales whilst reading Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach.

it is very painful to love someone and believe you can never be with them...

These are lines from a book called Shadow Song by Terry Kay.

Sometimes art does mirror life.

• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:49:27)
night
• Ferryman • says: (23:50:05)
empty glasses, wiping tables
• Ferryman • says: (23:50:16)
smiles and turns the sign
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:50:33)
smiles and slides into taxi
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:50:39)
looking back
• Ferryman • says: (23:50:45)
trips over stool
• Ferryman • says: (23:51:20)
b*gger it!
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:51:52)
sighs and wonders when it's safe to return
• Ferryman • says: (23:52:08)
*CLOSED*
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:52:13)
she's almost home now...fumbling for change
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:52:29)
taxi pulls up
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:52:35)
she pays
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:52:45)
totters through front door
• Ferryman • says: (23:52:47)
Inside, there's a phone ringing
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:52:50)
falls into bed
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:06)
she manages to find phone
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:12)
picks it up
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:16)
hello
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:24)
hey you
• Ferryman • says: (23:53:28)
Say madam, I think I have one of your shoes
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:30)
out there in the cold
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:37)
oopps
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:40)
shit
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:53:57)
realises she is in bed with one shoe on
• Ferryman • says: (23:54:12)
If I hadn't fallen over the bastard chair I wouldn't have seen it. You were sittin by the window, right?
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:54:14)
ermmm...I may have to collect it tomorrow she slurs
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:54:42)
mmm, yes I was the girl by the window she murmured
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:54:51)
you hurt?
• Ferryman • says: (23:54:58)
Sure. Well it might be an idea to hide the other one in the meantime.
No problem. It'll be here for ya. Take it easy kid
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:55:09)
and..how come you have my phone number?
• Ferryman • says: (23:55:19)
Click, click, buzzzzzzz....
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:55:51)
she stumbles out of bed...falls against wardrobe as she attempts to balance taking off her single shoe
• Miss Hudson Boo • says: (23:56:04)
she fails

TO BE CONTINUED

If only I were twenty one and know what I know now.
For wisdom is the only thing advancing years endow.
It's something that we only get whatever our excuse.
When we're too old and it's too late to be of any use

"It’s ok, I wasn’t particularly fond of my kneecaps anyway" I think but dare not say in fantastically British manner. I’m sitting on a nine hour coach journey from Sharm-el-Sheikh to Cairo surrounded by the most miserable collection of people I’ve ever met, which isn’t surprising as its also the most Russians I’ve ever met. The particular Russian grump sat on the seat in front decides he wants to recline a little at the expense of my kneecaps without even so much as a polite warning glance. But what can you expect, he clearly hadn’t had the British middle-class suburban upbringing I had. Even if I had be asked to give up 6 inches of my space for the benefit of his comfort all I would have done is smile and cheerfully remark “yeah, no worries” as though his request had been overly polite for my liking. At least that way I would have felt like the leg numbing pain was partly a result of my own actions.

Etiquette is often such a pointless concept usually dreamt up by the middle-classes to distinguish themselves from any subordinate class. It even fails to do this these days with any Tom, Dick, or Harry who’s seen Titanic knowing the order cutlery usage - start on the outside and work your way in, according to Leo. The trouble is they’re all unbearably old-fashioned; with the exception of the occasional Hyacinth Bucket, who gives a shit how you hold your knife and fork?

What etiquette needs is a modern overhaul which focuses on the precise things that actually affect us like the reclining of coach and plane seats. It could specify where its appropriate to sit on an almost empty bus, a general public transport etiquette would be perfect. Just the other day I was one of two sat on a bus when a third party came and took the seat next to me, I was livid, seething, turning red with rage why would he commit such a social faux pas? Doesn’t he know the rules? I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t my place. But had he known the disruption he had caused to my day…well… I shouldn’t expect he would have slept well at all that night. And all this could have been avoided by some kind of public transport finishing school, I think its time to put pen to paper and get Gordon Brown on board with my idea, or at the very least see if Channel 4 would be interested in it as a reality TV show.

Annoyingly, the worse thing about those damn reclining seats is that reclining your own chair makes bugger all difference to your comfort, it seems the single aim of the reclining seat is to piss off your foreign neighbour to the rear…on second thoughts it not such a bad idea.

If you constantly compare yourself with others, you may become either unhappy or boastfully proud, for there will always be people greater or lesser than you. Remember that your mediocre gifts may contribute more toward the success of some project than the extraordinary talents of another. Believe in the worthiness of what you can do and be content in doing the best you can.

There is truth
And there are rooms in empty houses


There is water
And there are paintings in dark colours

There are memories
And there are fields of black sheep

There is music
And there is the chanson