SHORT STORIES • POETRY & RHYME • FLASH FICTION • PHOTOS • VIDEOS • LINKS TO NOVELS
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Jack of all trades, master of some. That's my own assessment of a life where I've tried many things, done well in a few, failed in a few, but generally kept my head above water in this fast flowing river of life.
Now, I'm in calmer waters, having joined that band of retirees who can choose when to get up in the morning. Most days, anyway.
This website showcases some of my writing and some of my images and is a fluid selection, changed at the occasional whim to provide new works or older, but previously unseen material.
So, more may be added, a few items may disappear and maybe the style will change as it grows organically; for that's the serendipitous way I tend to do things.
I hope you enjoy what you find.
As for my background, click the button below for a brief resumé.
As a consequence, all three lives are threatened before a disastrous finale exposes the truth.
A dark plot, but a light read.
She didn’t expect the kind of interest his introduction would arouse – or that a train of events among her new acquaintances would lead to such tragic consequences.
For those who like a good page-turner.
Whichever your point of view, this compilation provides a varied collection of prose, poetry and rhyme to match many a mood.
A book that you can dip into at random.
Coming later this year:
THE SPIDER MAN
A new thriller for those of you who like intrigue, danger and suspense.
Where's the blog gone?
My verbal ramblings have run their course and I have removed the relevant page. Any comment I choose to make in the future will appear on this page.
For a short while, archived 'Verbal Ramblings' will be available here.
A poem out of tune with summer, but a reminder of reality.
War is abhorrent. Justification is rare, yet heroes are lauded and medals awarded amid both moral and physical destruction, especially where the perpetrators are religiously motivated.
Colour of Death
What colour is death?
Some would say a sombre, mourning, black,
others a funereal purple, deep with respect;
yet more the bright white glow of happy release
and joyous recollections,
or the rainbow colours of a mirthful wake.
For me, it is the fiery orange of the furnace,
for I have slain many men: women and children, too.
I’ve laid waste their homes and raped their land,
destroyed their every hope
and sent them fleeing to foreign shores.
And I’ve been cheered upon my way,
as I carve great rifts through village and city,
medals and ribbons upon my chest.
I hear the adoration of a hero’s welcome,
yet my heart sears with pain for what is done.
My heart is blackened now, my soul no longer white,
I have completed my mission on this path of life,
with memories that burn my inward eye,
that carve my downward spiralling destiny,
on the back of the beast that is war.
I am the colour of death.
Now, something to lighten the mood,
before you venture further into
the words and images on this website.
around the door,
then I spy,
a twinkling eye,
and now comes through.
a little ball of stripey fur.
Do I hear a quiet purr?
Then it races ’round the room,
faster than a toy car, vroom!
Stops as suddenly by the chair,
and quietly sits beside me, there,
peering up as if to say,
now I’m here, please may I stay?