Goodbye my friend

Goodbye my friend, I said

As we kissed our last goodbye.

Your lips were cold, your soul was gone

You didn’t see me cry

I touched your skin, I stroked you hair, I cut a lock to keep,

I kept your ashes in an urn, by my bedside where I sleep.

I ached inside, I raged outside, for what would never be,

Would what was left just send me mad? with what would never be?

Would this pain inside of me, ever go away

or get any easier to bear?

I asked myself this question every day.

As I tried to feel, to touch, to care.

But what’s to find, there’s nothing there.

Nothing left to give,

Just a hole, a place in time, in which my hurt will live.

They say time heals, which is true in part.

It heals the mind, but not so soon the heart.

My love goes with you my friend,

but believe me, this is not the end.

Until we meet again.

The tryst

I watch the child pressing her face up against the window of the cake shop.  She’s been there for a while now. Nobody seems to notice her and nobody collects her. There’s a chill in the air, but the child is dressed warmly and seems well cared for. I watch her for a while longer and go back to what I’m doing.

I wrap my own coat around me a little tighter and tuck my hands into my pockets for a moment. The child is none of my business. What is my business is to notice things, notice people, what they are doing and where they are going. I’m distracted by the child momentarily, that’s all. Part of my training.

I’ve seen all kinds of things in my line of work and I have a million stories.  I’ve become accustomed to seeing people at their worst. My emotions became disengaged a long time ago.

I turn my attention back to the man sitting at the table at the cafe next door. He’s still reading his paper.  Every now and then he glances at his watch and looks around. I make my notes behind my magazine. He’s been coming here for days. I follow him from his house, as instructed, and report on his activities.

Right on cue she appears. A middle-aged, non-descript portly woman. Not the type I would consider worthy of a betrayal or any kind of conspiracy. But you never can tell. As I said, I’ve seen all kinds of things. I continue to make notes as they talk and exchange bits and pieces of paper.

The waiter appears with their order. As she has only just arrived, I assume he has ordered for her once again.  He either knows what she likes or just assumes she will like anything he orders. Does this mean some level of intimacy? According to my source, my current client, this woman is the current interest – although I would hesitate to call her a ‘love interest.’ She had to be at least twenty years older than the man I was tailing. I skim over my notes of the last few days. Nothing to indicate a sexually orientated liaison. It was exactly the opposite, warm, but courteous and respectful.

The woman reaches over and touches the man’s shoulder. He looks at her, shaking his head while he reaches for her hand, clasping it in his own. He bends his head slightly, kissing her fingers, softly, tenderly. I’m close enough to see the tears glistening on her cheeks as she pulls away and rummages through her handbag. She hands him what appears to be a photograph. They look at it and smile. As he puts it in his coat pocket, she reaches up and rustles his hair, and he pulls away like a child. They both look around and she blushes, looking down into her coffee cup.

I lean forward slightly. This is a new twist. Even more intimate, yet tinged with a sadness and softness I can’t quite fathom. This is not a normal tryst, if it is at all. I try not to let feelings override my scribbling. This is just a job. I only have  a few hours to go, and then it will be over.

Then the woman drops her handbag, and it’s contents scatter onto the ground. People stare at them above their designer sunglasses as pieces of paper fly in all directions, wafting away in the breeze and out of reach. Their faces are momentarily obscured as they both dive under the table to retrieve her belongings. I strain to see what has been dropped that can be so important, until they both look up frantically in my direction. I sink further into my magazine. Have they seen me? They don’t even know who I am. 

He moves sharply, but she shakes her head and pulls him back into his seat. They settle for a moment, while she smooths down her jacket and dries her eyes. A waiter appears from nowhere and points to the pieces of paper,  now miraculously moving in my direction. I turn my head in the other way, pretending an interest in a pair of swans at the lake’s edge, keeping an eye on them behind my sunglasses. The man shakes his head while handing the waiter a few bills and placing a few more on the collection plate. The waiter smiles broadly, attention so obviously diverted, and disappears back into the doorway. My mind is racing. Opportunity is knocking as the papers blow into the bushes around me, and along the water’s edge. I don’t move. I wait and watch as they stand up and watch me. And they are watching me now, possibly waiting for me to move away. The papers are so close I can almost touch them. I decide to sit for awhile to see what happens. What could possibly be so important in these few pieces of paper that they don’t even want a waiter see?

Who is me?

I look around me

and sometimes I see

A glimpse of something new ahead

but mostly I see nothing – I am dead

My mind is racing, rampant erratic thoughts

of things long past, and things not done,

waiting for something, am I the only one?

that feels this way, day after day.

Be patient, they say,

time will heal, fear will pass

and you will feel

much better, normal, like everybody else.

What is normal? How do they know my mind, when they speak.

Perhaps it’s normal to be a freak.

The Dog’s Tale

Part One

I opened the back door and squinted into the sunlight. ‘Oh geez!’ I hadn’t counted on this. Mum was going to kill me.

 The clothes-line was hanging on its side with bits of my brother’s jeans hanging off the other end. And that was only one end. There were clothes everywhere. It looked like a helicopter crash I’d seen in a movie. Except it had no blood, and no bodies. Just a great big dog lying in the middle of it all with a pair of mum’s lacy nickers hanging out of his mouth. My stomach started to flip like when I was sick that time in the boat. I was supposed to be watching him, not watching the television.

  Mum had almost had a heart attack when she spotted me trying to sneak him down the side of the house.

  ‘You take that dog back to Mrs Green’s.’ She paused for effect and wagged her finger at me. ‘Do it now Michael. And no Playstation.’ Mum jingled the car keys in my face and huffed off down the driveway towards the car. She turned and frowned at me and the dog. ‘I’ll be back in an hour….maybe less.’

  I nodded my head, like I always did. Mum never gave me an exact time, just to keep me guessing, and hopefully out of trouble. This was her logic, although Dad reckoned it hadn’t worked very well so far.

   Well, it was working this time. My legs felt like jelly as my stomach twisted into knots. I looked at my watch. How long did I have? I thought my brain was going to explode. What could be worse? Mum finding her undies chewed and slobbered on in Butch’s mouth, or my brother dunking my head in the toilet over his ratty pair of jeans?

  Bits of mud and dog saliva stuck to my fingers as I stuffed the clothes into the washing machine. I pressed a few random buttoms and started to breathe again as the lights came on and the machine hummed. I’d heated up a few pizzas in the microwave, how hard could it be? I stuffed my brother’s jeans behind the cupboard. I’d have to think about them later.

 The clothes-line made a loud pinging noise, but slowly creaked back into place as I pushed all my weight down on the high end. It looked ok, even if it wobbled a bit when I rotated it a couple of times. I looked at Butch and frowned. Maybe a Great Dane had been a bit too ambitious. Mrs Green had better find somebody else to dogsit. No amount of extra pocket money was worth this. I threw and old peg at him and swore under my breath. He stopped rolling around in the dirt and looked up at me. He eyed the peg, yawned and started licking himself. Great. He was either too stupid to know what he’d done wrong, or he knew that size mattered, no matter what. Either way, he wasn’t used to being told what to do. I needed to get him out of here and back to Mrs Green’s before he realised that he was bigger than our back fence.

To be continued….

Kids stuff

Here I will have a go at putting together some short, or longish tales for kids. Some stories may be short and humourous, short and non-humourous, longer with continuations for next instalments (just so’s I can think up a bit more stuff and exercise my creativity a little..not just to keep you hanging on).

I like writing kids stories. I was reasonably good at writing stories when I was a kid, and I like to look at things from a kid’s perspective. Although the world has changed a bit since then, my childhood was filled with fun and adventure, and probably more trouble than you could poke a stick at. I was a curious kid, and a magnet for mayhem under any possible circumstance. I tend to draw upon some of my more legendary accomplishments for a bit of interesting fodder in the makings of a good story.

Hope you can join me along the way.

My pets

I’m a dog lover. I will admit it. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had a pet or two. I have also grown up with a bunch of dog lovers, and dog spoilers. There’s not much I don’t know about the world of dog pampering and doggy accessories. I even have a little business as a professional pet artist, and a matching website to promote my talents.

In the following pet posts I will give you an insight of my life with my pets. What it was like to grow up with them, love them, and of course, eventually lose them. I have a new brood running my home at present, most of the time supplying great fodder for a story or two. My husband has a learned a great level of tolerance over the years.

Welcome

Welcome to my writing blog. I will have a go at almost anything within reason, and will attempt to entertain the masses (?) with my stylish written wit. I am not a professional writer….in other words..I haven’t been paid for my efforts, if you don’t include a few sparse publications in the local paper and on the ABC website a couple of years ago.

Nevertheless, I have studied various styles of writing and done a few online writing courses. I have attended university and obtained a degree in multimedia and communications. As many famous writers will say, and some not so famous..you must write, write and write to gain any experience in writing at all. You must read, read and read some more..and enjoy it, and you must accept constructive criticism.

So here on these pages, I shall attempt to write, write and write some more. I will try different genres and perhaps different techniques. Feedback and participation would be appreciated. I am alway open to honesty, although not downright abuse..:o

So get ready to come on a ride of experimentation, humour, wit, drama, fantasy, even poetry and complete rubbish, and hopefully enjoy it as much as I do.