Curse of the Traveller

By on Nov 11, 2015

The Curse of the Traveller


He arrived late one dusky evening, entering the smoke-filled tavern hooded and cowled. A greatsword was strapped to his back, a sword longer than anyone there had ever seen.  His boots rang on the tiled floor as he stepped in.  Two paces into the tavern he stopped, and surveyed the watchful faces; all were wary of the traveller.  He strode slowly and deliberately towards an empty corner devoid of light.  The shadows lingered as he sat down, almost drawing the darkness to him.  His cloak slipped open, revealing a weapon belt of magnificent array.  The landlord hurried over to take his order. (more…)

Poem of the Month

By on May 6, 2015

Life 2 – A Haiku

Here’s a truth, my friend,

And on that you can depend…

There will be an end.


Poem of the Month – Worry

By on Apr 15, 2015

From when I was little I worried over far too much

I worried about my toys and all the things I could not touch


I worried about my food and that my milk wouldn’t last

And I worried about my childhood disappearing so fast


I worried about my friends and what they might think of me

And about my relatives and my annoying family


I worried about being too bright in my class at school

That the other boys would pick on me for being so uncool


I worried all through my teenage years of adolescence

When it came to birthdays that I wouldn’t get any presents


When adulthood came, I found that life was no different

I worried that what I said would be taken not as I meant


I worried about the house I bought and car I would drive

Then worried I was working too much to feel fully alive


I worried about the wife I loved so desperately

I worried about our life of mutual dependency


And that we’d not be able to have the children I craved

Then I worried that the love in our marriage would start to fade


I worried every day about the kids I adored

I worried that the money I earned was not enough to hoard


Then I worried that the world was too big to be explored

I worried that life’s memories couldn’t be properly stored


I worried about politics and problems in the east

And I worried about the starving and those who had the least


I worried that life was passing by all too speedily

I worried I was approaching middle age so greedily


I worried about accidents, illness, disease and death

I worried that all too soon I would be running out of breath


I worried about religion; the God I could not find

Then worried about the life I loved and what I’d leave behind


I worried about slowing down and struggling to compete

And then I worried there was too much left for me to complete


I worried about prices and how much it all now cost

I worried about the opportunities I’d had and then lost


I worried about the fact I was running short of days

And I worried about the clarity turning into haze


I worried about time passing, the onset of old age

I worried about the peace I needed instead of my rage


I worried about the silence and the decrepitude

I worried about enforced loneliness and sad solitude


I worried if there was a future and what it would bring

I worried that when at last my time came no angel would sing


What did I learn – was I happy, sad, frustrated, sorry?

Perhaps I just wish I hadn’t spent life in ceaseless worry


I’d worried about it all and what my wisdom was worth

But then I could worry no more six feet deep under the earth


For the uneasy truth that abides with us now, my friend:

Enjoy beginning and middle – before it reaches the end.


Life – a haiku

By on Mar 4, 2015


The truth and the lie:

We’re born, we live and we die

Now I wonder why.



By on Feb 20, 2015

It had been a busy day, but that wasn’t unusual in itself.  He was often busy; work was taking up an increasing amount of time.  It was nice to be needed though.  Depended upon – you know.  And Harry was good at his job.  He travelled the same country lane to work every day and took increasingly less notice of his surroundings as he went.  Perhaps that was due to his being increasingly stressed.  Or perhaps it was that the hours he put into work were becoming longer and longer and, especially in the winter months, it was often dark as he travelled to and from his place of business.  Perhaps he had just got used to the beauty of the place and it had no real impact on him anymore.  He’d been a bit of a birdwatcher in his youth – not a twitcher, not one of those who drove hundreds of miles to witness a brown blob half a mile out on the flats, way beyond where you could walk, and tick it off a list, or even add it to a list that had been comprehensive but wasn’t anymore because of this little rarity that had been blown in from Siberia – not that kind of birdwatcher, but a proper birder – someone who delighted in feathered fauna.  And he used to notice the buzzards gliding across the fields and the hills, or been keen to glimpse a kestrel hovering over a verge, and he’d loved spotting a fast-flying sparrowhawk lancing across the road after prey or perhaps a red kite  coming down off the Chiltern Hills in search of something to scavenge.  Even in the evenings, the ghostly form of a barn owl quartering the meadows by the side of the road or the flit of the dark form of a tawny owl in the treetops as he sped through the more wooded sections of Flaunden Hill was a sight that would gladden the heart.  Perhaps he had just got used to it all and perhaps he wasn’t able to appreciate things in the way he used to.

That was a lot of perhapses, but he did his best to stem the tide.  For a while now he’d done his best to ignore anything that would cause him to think about anything other than work.  And it wasn’t just that he was needed at work – he was appreciated, valued, respected even.  And he enjoyed what he did.  It might not have been to everyone’s taste, but he was pretty much left alone – not that that meant he kept himself to himself too much.  At least, he never used to.  Actually, if he was forced to think about it, there wasn’t much activity at the office these days.  In fact, he was struggling to think of the last time he saw anyone.  But it didn’t matter, as he had a key, so he could let himself into the office and get set up and start without being bothered.  People had always told him how much they found his professional attitude and organised precision comforting.  He knew, yes he knew, just how much they thought of him.  It spurred him on, making him push himself still harder and outdo his colleagues – in the nicest possible way, of course. (more…)

Maiden Voyage

By on Jan 28, 2015

Middle-aged eyes stared keenly at the surrounding countryside out of a frail, elderly body, worn and wizened by heat and many years of constant sunshine.  The man sat in his rocking chair, gently swaying in the late afternoon breeze, waiting for the darkness of night to come.

Night no longer brought with it the refreshing odour of cooling dew, as it settled no more on the hills in front of his ramshackle hut.  It was a neat and tidy little dwelling, built solely out of wood, a one-storey, one-room building that he could call home.

The man had spent an indeterminate length of time on his own, the leaving of his fellow humans still indelibly etched on his mind.

Alone. (more…)

Dreams Part 2

By on Dec 17, 2014

Dreams – Part 2: The Crossing

So she went to work.  Bandaged up the foot as well as she could and limped in.  Truth to tell, it was limping to the bus and then sitting, so Jasmine found it ok – just.  The bus dropped off a mere twenty yards or so from the entrance to the building she worked in, so it was no big deal, really.  Her foot still bloody hurt though, if you put any real weight on it.  No-one bothered to remark upon it as she sidled in, determined to be as inconspicuous as possible.  Perhaps no-one noticed.  That would be about right, seeing as she was hardly the life and soul of the workplace.  It wasn’t that she hated her work as such, but more the fact that her work didn’t interest her.  Never had really.  She knew she had to earn money, so she got a job she could do, and with as little stress as possible.  So why she was still bloody single, she had no idea!  She tried “getting out there”, as her sister put it, but it wasn’t always as easy as that.  Dating at work was definitely a no-no, and for several big reasons. (more…)

Poem of the Month

By on Nov 19, 2014


– a study in 5 syllables

A father’s warm hand

Teardrop on soft cheek

A face proud and strong

A love full and deep


Joyful occasions

Of happiness lent

Smile of fulfilment

Time carefreely spent


New born baby cries

Born on gentle breeze

The heart stirs and leaps

Finding inner peace


Sweet and kind laughter

A beautiful face

Casts adoring glance

Beatific grace.