Thursday, July 7, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Fear Of Darkness
Fear Of Darkness
A serial novel by Joe Lake.
(So far: Julie’s husband has an accident and is taken to the hospital where Julie finds that he has disappeared; so has their campervan when she returns to it. At the police station, they at first don’t believe when she is told to book into a motel where in the night, a kidnapper demands money on the telephone. When she waits at the police station, in the two-way mirror over the counter, she sees the door as it opens by itself and when she looks, a young couple enter. “Vampires,” she thinks.)
She looks away pretending that she hasn’t seen. She knows her second sight and has seen ghosts before but hopes that she is wrong and other explanations may seem possible. But if what she has seen is true, what is happening in Burnie? She will confront these two.
The young couple walk straight up to the reception window and ring the bell, as a moment later the policewoman re-appears. The man then slides a piece of paper up to her and says, “I am reporting.” The officer takes the paper and nods. She seems to know him. “Next week,” the man says and the two leave through the front door.
When Julie lifts her head towards the mirror, there is no one there as the door opens and shuts by itself.
“I have spoken to detectives,” the officer says to Julie. “Someone will come. Please take a seat.” She points to the benches.
“I’ll wait.”
“Been in Burnie long?”
“Since yesterday before all this happened to us, the shooting and the ambulance, and then my husband’s disappearance.”
“He’ll be back,” the policewoman said. “They mostly do.”
Julie sits down and covers her face with her hands, as she takes a deep breath. She shakes her head, then lifts up her eyes and speaks to the officer, “Those two people who were here just a minute ago had no reflections in the mirror.”
“It’s the glare of the morning sun, as the door faces east,” the officer says.
Julie shakes her head.
(To be continued next month.)
A serial novel by Joe Lake.
(So far: Julie’s husband has an accident and is taken to the hospital where Julie finds that he has disappeared; so has their campervan when she returns to it. At the police station, they at first don’t believe when she is told to book into a motel where in the night, a kidnapper demands money on the telephone. When she waits at the police station, in the two-way mirror over the counter, she sees the door as it opens by itself and when she looks, a young couple enter. “Vampires,” she thinks.)
She looks away pretending that she hasn’t seen. She knows her second sight and has seen ghosts before but hopes that she is wrong and other explanations may seem possible. But if what she has seen is true, what is happening in Burnie? She will confront these two.
The young couple walk straight up to the reception window and ring the bell, as a moment later the policewoman re-appears. The man then slides a piece of paper up to her and says, “I am reporting.” The officer takes the paper and nods. She seems to know him. “Next week,” the man says and the two leave through the front door.
When Julie lifts her head towards the mirror, there is no one there as the door opens and shuts by itself.
“I have spoken to detectives,” the officer says to Julie. “Someone will come. Please take a seat.” She points to the benches.
“I’ll wait.”
“Been in Burnie long?”
“Since yesterday before all this happened to us, the shooting and the ambulance, and then my husband’s disappearance.”
“He’ll be back,” the policewoman said. “They mostly do.”
Julie sits down and covers her face with her hands, as she takes a deep breath. She shakes her head, then lifts up her eyes and speaks to the officer, “Those two people who were here just a minute ago had no reflections in the mirror.”
“It’s the glare of the morning sun, as the door faces east,” the officer says.
Julie shakes her head.
(To be continued next month.)
The Best Creations
The Best Creations
The best creations rise from deep within
As truths may be elusive and obscure.
The poet tries to guess where life has been
And shows the reader how one can endure
With sceptic ear and tongue, and open sense
And so create a feeling with control;
And then to banish it and make it dance
With tales and stories which one can enrol.
But poems may be loved or deeply feared
Where words begin the stumble towards death;
So don’t refuse them even though they’re jeered,
We let them float where they may teach and bless.
All past and present futures are as one
Where software speaks, as life, when it is done.
© Joe Lake
(From Songs Of Poetry, Contemplative Sonnets)
The best creations rise from deep within
As truths may be elusive and obscure.
The poet tries to guess where life has been
And shows the reader how one can endure
With sceptic ear and tongue, and open sense
And so create a feeling with control;
And then to banish it and make it dance
With tales and stories which one can enrol.
But poems may be loved or deeply feared
Where words begin the stumble towards death;
So don’t refuse them even though they’re jeered,
We let them float where they may teach and bless.
All past and present futures are as one
Where software speaks, as life, when it is done.
© Joe Lake
(From Songs Of Poetry, Contemplative Sonnets)
Joe Lake's View
I have taken up bridge and although I find it difficult, I enjoy playing it. We have quite an active club in Burnie that meets in the softball hall at Acton.
I think I’ve told you that I’m about to publish Songs Of Science, Songs Of Religion and now that I am at it, I have started Songs of Poetry and Songs Of Happiness. They are all publications of contemplative sonnets. I’ve also just finished and started the
re-write and editing of my novel, Escape, which is about two people contemplating suicide after they discover that they both have terminal cancer. The story is about a reason for living that the reader can undertake with them.
Listening to the ABC Classic FM, I heard of a survey of the most popular modern poet and it turned out to be the Chilean, Neruda. He’s not quite as heavy as Shakespare but just as rewarding.
In July we are holding the Burnie Gold Pot at the Burnie Library. Anyone can participate in the competition. We choose six judges from the audience who give each competitor a score out of 20 and the poet with the highest score gets the pot, which contains all the gold coins collected on the night. Please come and join us.
I think I’ve told you that I’m about to publish Songs Of Science, Songs Of Religion and now that I am at it, I have started Songs of Poetry and Songs Of Happiness. They are all publications of contemplative sonnets. I’ve also just finished and started the
re-write and editing of my novel, Escape, which is about two people contemplating suicide after they discover that they both have terminal cancer. The story is about a reason for living that the reader can undertake with them.
Listening to the ABC Classic FM, I heard of a survey of the most popular modern poet and it turned out to be the Chilean, Neruda. He’s not quite as heavy as Shakespare but just as rewarding.
In July we are holding the Burnie Gold Pot at the Burnie Library. Anyone can participate in the competition. We choose six judges from the audience who give each competitor a score out of 20 and the poet with the highest score gets the pot, which contains all the gold coins collected on the night. Please come and join us.
In The Tube
In The Tube
Overground, Underground,
Chatter and clatter,
Sky, high,
Dark, stark,
Lumbering, thundering
to a hundred destinations,
Lurching, searching
on the District Line,
Another platform, another stop,
People out, people in,
Zombies, sluggish early,
Swaying carriages,
A few might lunch at Claridges
(Most will eat a Wimpey),
On and on,
Train clutters past
dank semi-detached,
(nowhere a cottage, thatched),
Limp washing on plastic cord
in backyards, bored,
Pale, chill sun,
Riders all as one,
Journey ends, one begins,
The Piccadilly Line,
The Tube burrowing like
a glow worm into black,
Frightful clickity-clack,
Deeper, deeper,
Silky bellow into stations,
Passengers gorged, disgorged
in the crowded feast,
Echo and pandemonium in
garish, artificial light,
(Standing room only,
Hold on tight!),
Next stop in the loop,
(The Circle Line?)
Every day they fly the coop,
This morning’s just begun,
Overground and Underground,
Oh, what fun!
Electrification, specification,
Crackle and spark,
All change, please!
Green Park -
Metropolitan Line, Jubilee,
Victoria, Bakerloo,
To name a few,
And the Northern, Central,
And Hammersmith, and City,
Dammit, missed connection,
What a pity!
© Michael Garrad May 2011
Overground, Underground,
Chatter and clatter,
Sky, high,
Dark, stark,
Lumbering, thundering
to a hundred destinations,
Lurching, searching
on the District Line,
Another platform, another stop,
People out, people in,
Zombies, sluggish early,
Swaying carriages,
A few might lunch at Claridges
(Most will eat a Wimpey),
On and on,
Train clutters past
dank semi-detached,
(nowhere a cottage, thatched),
Limp washing on plastic cord
in backyards, bored,
Pale, chill sun,
Riders all as one,
Journey ends, one begins,
The Piccadilly Line,
The Tube burrowing like
a glow worm into black,
Frightful clickity-clack,
Deeper, deeper,
Silky bellow into stations,
Passengers gorged, disgorged
in the crowded feast,
Echo and pandemonium in
garish, artificial light,
(Standing room only,
Hold on tight!),
Next stop in the loop,
(The Circle Line?)
Every day they fly the coop,
This morning’s just begun,
Overground and Underground,
Oh, what fun!
Electrification, specification,
Crackle and spark,
All change, please!
Green Park -
Metropolitan Line, Jubilee,
Victoria, Bakerloo,
To name a few,
And the Northern, Central,
And Hammersmith, and City,
Dammit, missed connection,
What a pity!
© Michael Garrad May 2011
Michael Garrad's View
So you enjoy a cigarette - you know it can cause cancer.
You like a glass of amber with your smoke - well, now we know, according to the latest research, any kind of alcoholic drink can also cause cancer.
So that’s that then - no more convivials.
Hey, you like processed foods. Forget it! Bad for the digestive system. Well, dairy products - yum! No, just think of your cholesterol. Chicken, red meat - is it hormone-free? Grain-fed or not? Okay, what about some fish - nope, it can contain toxic levels of mercury, which is very bad for you.
How about bread, the staple diet? After all, Jesus broke bread, didn’t He? (And served a wine, too!) Sorry, too much of a good thing is unwise - all that salt, for a start!
Takeaways? We all know about fast foods. Definitely a no-no - saturated fats etc etc and eventually obesity and high risk of bowl cancer.
So where does that leave us? Fresh vegetables? Well...not quite! Mass-produced, they could contain elements of chemicals used in spraying. Ingest that lot and death waits around the next cabbage patch!
What’s left? Coffee? No, caffeine headaches. Tea? No, too much tannic acid. There’s water but, depending on your point of view, it contains dangerously high amounts of fluoride.
I think I might live on multi-vitamins! But then...
You like a glass of amber with your smoke - well, now we know, according to the latest research, any kind of alcoholic drink can also cause cancer.
So that’s that then - no more convivials.
Hey, you like processed foods. Forget it! Bad for the digestive system. Well, dairy products - yum! No, just think of your cholesterol. Chicken, red meat - is it hormone-free? Grain-fed or not? Okay, what about some fish - nope, it can contain toxic levels of mercury, which is very bad for you.
How about bread, the staple diet? After all, Jesus broke bread, didn’t He? (And served a wine, too!) Sorry, too much of a good thing is unwise - all that salt, for a start!
Takeaways? We all know about fast foods. Definitely a no-no - saturated fats etc etc and eventually obesity and high risk of bowl cancer.
So where does that leave us? Fresh vegetables? Well...not quite! Mass-produced, they could contain elements of chemicals used in spraying. Ingest that lot and death waits around the next cabbage patch!
What’s left? Coffee? No, caffeine headaches. Tea? No, too much tannic acid. There’s water but, depending on your point of view, it contains dangerously high amounts of fluoride.
I think I might live on multi-vitamins! But then...
Send-Off
Send-Off
Ancient kings and queens were buried with
amulets, icons, beads,
Bracelets and everything gold - for protection against evil
And to see them safely off into the after-life.
But in the world of today, when we die, we have a church service,
A few hymns, some words of praise (true or false!)
And lie in our boxes - probably naked as the day we were born.
Why can’t the things we love most,
And have spent a lifetime accumulating, be sent off with us?
How are we going to feel comfortable in the
after-life?
Of course, if we aren’t put in the earth in a box, we go up in smoke -
And nothing goes with us, not even a shroud
Or our Sunday best - what a choice!
I want at least to leave with my favourite gold
necklace and earrings!
As well, I’d like to go with my white gloves, cocktail hat and stilettos -
All saved from the 1950s, my favourite decade,
And - oh, of course, my cocktail dress!
I must arrange it before it’s too late!
© June Maureen Hitchcock February 2011
Ancient kings and queens were buried with
amulets, icons, beads,
Bracelets and everything gold - for protection against evil
And to see them safely off into the after-life.
But in the world of today, when we die, we have a church service,
A few hymns, some words of praise (true or false!)
And lie in our boxes - probably naked as the day we were born.
Why can’t the things we love most,
And have spent a lifetime accumulating, be sent off with us?
How are we going to feel comfortable in the
after-life?
Of course, if we aren’t put in the earth in a box, we go up in smoke -
And nothing goes with us, not even a shroud
Or our Sunday best - what a choice!
I want at least to leave with my favourite gold
necklace and earrings!
As well, I’d like to go with my white gloves, cocktail hat and stilettos -
All saved from the 1950s, my favourite decade,
And - oh, of course, my cocktail dress!
I must arrange it before it’s too late!
© June Maureen Hitchcock February 2011
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