Photo by Evan Dennis on Unsplash.

This was torture. This was cruel. Tantalizing, and teasing. She’s in the forest. That was all the message said. They along with the detectives looking after them rushed to the scene, to be greeted by this.

They searched among the trees, with the cruel question marks. They searched by the lakeside, but to little avail. The birds in the trees above giving the forest a semblance of peacefulness. Again they wept. She could take no more, and turned to her husband for sustenance and support. But he too was hurting, and incapable of helping her.
The police officers who accompanied them, offered what physical and mental sustenance that they could, grateful that it was not their own child who had been taken. Intent of holding their own children tight, and loving them that bit more when they returned home later that evening.

He watched smiling from afar. This was revenge pure and simple. Some say revenge is a forlorn and pointless exercise to indulge in. But can they not understand the joy and pleasure it affords one. To watch the perpetrators of unsavory deeds and acts get whats due to them, it’s only right. He was undecided how long he would keep her in the cabin or if he would ever let her go. His main concern was which was the best way to inflict as much human pain and suffering onto her loving parents. To continue with this teasing and tantalizing method, raising their hopes and then dashing their hopes. Or perhaps to dispose of the child once and for all.

But he too was a reluctant victim of an unjust world. Of a corrupt society, and a fraudulent  legal system. Where favours and deals were conducted out of sight, among the well to do of the old boy network.
Where was the justice for his loss. Where was the care and compassion for his sadness. Why were the police so lackluster in their investigations. These and other questions ran through his mind. Enough justification for his actions.
He along with many others, would always remember her for her diligence and tenacity. Her absolute determination, to see right be done. She like many others could see the injustice of the International Co-operations refusing to play fair. Making billions of profits in sales, and paying little if any tax on it. Hiding their profits in tax havens, guided by highly paid knowledgeable financial professionals. While at the same time, these duplicitous co-operations claiming their innocence and honesty. Blatantly lying to the public, trying to deceive the masses.  Do they take us for fool’s. While normal people suffered, and struggled to pay the tax they were forced to pay, by their governments, or face possible imprisonment and large fines.

Outraged by such injustice she used the power’s of her office to work her way through these large deceitful co-operations, one by one, and with other’s intent on bringing them to justice, and making them pay financially. He remembered her, with her paper’s spread out over the kitchen table. The scent of her fragrance so alluring. With forthright indignation. He watched her stern face and body held tight with anger, as she explained to him what had being going on, and what she was going to do about it. Her frustration at her colleagues in the seats of power in the Government,  of her own country, and other countries. In an attempt to calm public outrage, the swiftly convened government committees  and public inquiries that quizzed the executives of the deceitful, dishonorable co-operations. Before the government ministers and officials, in front of the TV cameras, again the executives lied. Bewildered and disillusioned by politics and it’s dishonesty. Many of her colleagues had called for reparations and promised changes in the law. But what had it come to, nothing. Promises made but soon forgotten. With the public temporarily calmed, and philosophical about political ineptitude, once again big business had won out. She slammed the kitchen table hard, in frustration. Public services so badly in need of funds were to be denied once again. Overcrowded hospitals lacking equipment. Overworked Doctors, exhausted. Children playgroups disbanded. Psychological counselling services for the disturbed, curtailed. Had her government colleagues succumbed to the backhanded gifts of luxurious holidays, share options, mortgages quietly forgotten and much else besides. He watched and silently admired the power of her outrage, the disillusionment and unleashed anger that drove her. He loved her the more for it. Here was a woman, he would never leave. Where was the justice, she asked quietly. Who was to blame. She explained to him how they would be made to pay for it, in financial terms, and public humiliation. Justice for the people.

Neither realized just how powerful and to what lengths these business would go to. Hard to believe in this day and age. This was not a fast paced thriller movie. This was real life. In the quiet street, he watched as her hand was roughly torn away from his, and her lifeless sweet body was launched into the darkness of the wet night. He barely glimpsed  or noticed the speeding Mercedes, as he stood transfixed. Taken in by the sickening sounds of bones being crushed by the fast moving metal and glass weapon. Of human flesh and cartilage being ripped apart, never to be repaired. Watching in slow motion, the surreal, impossible event unfolding before him. His consciousness vacated his body, as he watched. A moment later, it returned to his physical body. His frame shook, as he wept quietly as he held her in his arms. She moaned gently in distress. Her breathing labored, and growing weaker with each inhalation. Her eyes turning grey, and her once luscious lips, a light bluish shade. Her precious blood covering her clear skin, and expensive clothing, she took such care with. His stomach swirled at the vision, and the rising contents of his intestines, were expunged from his body, with great force, onto the empty street. He longed to hold her gently, and make it not so. To chastise her, and tell her to let the corrupt and deceitful go. What does it matter. There would always be others of the same ilk. He cried aloud to God when her spirit left her body, but God did not answer.
He sat in austere courtroom. A place devoid of much emotion. Functional, that’s what it was. He watched the proceddings with disbelief and gripped the bench, to steady himself. As he watched and listebed, his face became red, and perspiring. His breathing rapid, and short. The veins in his arms, his neck, were held so tightly, to bursting point. His legs started to shake with the surge of adrenaline moving through his rigid body. He stood and repeatedly swore loudly at the judge, using language he did not realize he had at his disposal. The violence and venom in his loud raging voice, filled the courtroom, and suprized himself. The judge released the culprit with nothing more, than a meaningless and ineffectual slap on the wrist. An empty punishment. More evidence, if any was needed, of the hidden corruption, that affords freedom, to those in the know, with helpful connections.

The Judge and his family would be the first of the many who would feel the wrath of his revenge. He had much work to do.

Written in response to  photo prompt seen here: https://creativewriting.ie/writing-prompts/




Photo by Maxime Lelièvre on Unsplash


She was a stunner. No doubt. Men’s heads turned as she passed, and watched as she sashayed down the street. Other women, wanted to kill, well maybe at least injure her. For they too could see her beauty. The flawless skin. The near perfect pearlescent teeth. That oh so confident walk. Husbands, boyfriends at a loss to explain their partners sudden unexplained anger, as she passed. Envy and jealousy is ugly, and hard to deal with, even more so when it is seemingly unexplained.

To add to her beauty, she had a down to earth , warm and engaging personality. Was that not yet another good reason to hate her. A wish to destroy and take her down, from her elated position. But beyond the beauty that was bestowed upon her, not that she had even asked for it. Just the luck of the draw. In the quietness of the night, where she lay alone, and yearned for deep and meaningful warmth and friendship from others. Be they men or women. No one sought to see beyond her beauty and assumed she had the perfect life. So many other’s took for granted her fabulous  lifestyle. Their envy was misplaced. Not for her the glamorous lifestyle many had perceived. She was just just like them, but much better looking with the same issues as they had. The financial worries. The career stress. That inability to get along with other’s at times. The fear of dying, that we all share.

The fear of being alone. Of never finding true love. Of going through this life alone, when she so very much, yearned to share her loving ways, it on a deep level, with someone she felt in harmony with . A true soul mate. Someone she understood, on a deep level, and someone who understood her, in return.

Those who looked at her as she walked down the street and made many mainly negative assumptions about her fabulous life were so very wrong. Concocted imaging of  Hollywood type life style, were so far from the true reality. How could they. What gave them the right to after a brief envious glance assume they knew her life story. Little did they know or care, about her never ending  empty and lonely nights. Those nights where she had seriously contemplated ending her life, out of despair. The pointlessness she saw ahead of a future, she dared not even like to contemplate. If only they knew.

She tried to be understanding and compassionate of others ways. Even if at times, they left much to be desired. Other’s looked at her outer appearance, and judged. But few knew of her inner tortured life. Even fewer cared when she left this life alone. Few bothered to investigate the reasons why. The emptiness, despair and pointlessness of her life, was not something they could connect with her unnecessary passing in such a manner. They, the ignorant, low on self esteem and non-compassionate people saw it a blessing. One less competitor to deal with it. No more than she deserved, was the general consensus, of the ignorant and ill informed. But what did they really know, if they knew anything at all.


Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash


‘Is it safe ?’, that’s all she wanted to know.
‘Of course it’s safe,’

His voice, calm and reassuring. He looked into her eye’s, and held her gaze. She gazed into his grey eye’s, and believed what he said. But he like many other’s was only guessing. He did not know. He himself had never tried it. This was an experiment they were to try together.
He grasped her hand, and they entered the new age shop together, just as the last customers were leaving. The always strange, and it seemed damaged people who frequented such places. Similar to crafts and antique fairs, and health shops. Staff and customers alike. As odd and peculiar as two left feet.
They were ushered upstairs by the strange looking woman behind the counter, who was decked out in a necklace made of quartz crystals, and strange leather wrist bands with feathers. This situation was many miles away from her corporate job at the International bank. She was only actually here to please him. He was soo different from any other man she had met previously. He had a way of speaking, and looking at her that roused emotions in her, that made her feel alive. As if, he fully understood her.
He spoke to her of her dreams and passions. Of travels enjoyed. Of laughter, and friendship. Of happiness from the most simple aspects of life. From siting in silence, to watching the sky, to listening to birdsong in the early morning, as he held her closely.

To her he was soo much more interesting than the usual men she met, who liked to boast of their achievements in the corporate world. The successful financial deals they had been involved with. The new properties recently purchased. The newly upgraded car. The foreign holidays. These men spoke of their achievements in an attempt to impress her, so she would like them, and hopefully become their partner, at least for a time. Or until they at least got her into bed, and unleashed their lust.
But she felt very little for men such as these. Men who used women for their own gain, and pleasure. Until they moved onto to their next conquest. A never ending journey, of  empty short term relationships and one night stands. Boring repeative conversations. All these men seemed like clones of each other. Just with different faces.  They looked the same, dressed similar. Same attitudes. Same blah….!

But he was different. With the long flowing locks of black hair. The confident eye’s. The forever wide open shirt. The beaded necklace. The ever present waistcoat. He quiet easily could have being mistaken for a modern day poet. He certainly had a way with words. She watched as he spoke and many women were enthralled by him. His way of speaking. How he was able to ignite their dreams, their passions, and imaginations. Women were drawn to him easily, and he had a choice of many. But he had chosen her, and for that she was ever grateful. But she was less that enthralled by the prospect of this evenings adventure.
As she looked around the darkened room, and the small audience slowly gathering. As weird and peculiar as to be expected. Beads, waistcoats, feathers, moccasins. Night people. Rarely seen during daylight hours. Drums and rattle stick being played in the background. In the candle lit room, some of the participant’s were moved enough by the music to spontaneously  begin to move, in some type of strange rhyme to the hypnotic drumbeat, and the rattle sticks.
In the her business suit, she felt very much out of place. He sensed her unease, held her hand and smiled at her. They sat and waited for the leader, and in the hushed silence he entered. A white bearded man, with a calming presence and aura. The drumming stopped as did the others dancing.
His energy was certainly fully in the present moment. In the here and now. In the silence and darkness he turned to the small audience.

‘Tonite is a great night. Now is the time we can release our souls, and travel to the outer reaches of the universe. Explore new worlds’,
‘Is this beginning to sound like an episode of Star Treck ?’ he smiled, and the assembled group laughed.

‘It is more than that. Tonite we have the opportunity to get in touch with the great spirit’s that rule our world. To meet with them. Ask for and receive guidance. To get in touch with the greatest of universal powers. To be nourished on a very deep spiritual and emotional level, like nothing you have ever experienced before’.

‘Let us begin’.

The drumming and the rattles slowly started again, in the darkness. Some people began to move spontaneously to the rhytme. He began to move. The white bearded man called the group forward, to from a circle around him. He began to speak in a language she had never heard. Perhaps he was speaking in tounges, she guessed. The group began to sway together as one, and she joined in. The atmosphere one of warmth, excitement and adventure. The drums and rattles became louder, peole moved faster to the hypnotic sounds, in a europhic trance like state. She too was drawn into the trance like state. He directed their eye’s to the orange and red oracle that lay by his feet, and began to chant. The group answered his chant, repetitively, over and over. The tone starting softly and growing louder and louder. The drums and rattles increasing in strength, to help guide the group to ecstasy. People swayed together. The speed and tempo of the group increased. The leaders chanting became louder and louder, as did the response of the group. Many danced feverishly, moved by the drums  and rattles. The bearded one lifted the oracle above his head and smashed it on the ground. The drums and rattles stopped. In the candle lit darkness she watched as his soul lift from his body and travelled upward and outward, and skyward. She glanced round the darkened room, and watched other’s souls raise from their phyisical bodies and travel outwards and skywards. She glanced down and saw her own body on the floor, as she travelled upward and outword into the dark sky with the other souls.  Never had she felt so free. So unencumbered. So at peace.

Be Here Now.

peter-hershey-112797-unsplash (1)
Photo by 
Peter Hershey on Unsplash


Be here now, that’s what they say
These people in the know
Eckhart Tolle. Deepak ‘Bloody’ Chopra
That Eckhart Tolle fella, lived on a bench for thirteen years
Until one day he awoke vibrating with happiness, or was that with the cold
Are you going take advice from someone like that
But anyways, your problems will disappear, they maintain
You’ll be happy beyond belief. This is so.

Well I don’t agree. I’ve tried it
Don’t work, see
Try being in the present, when your standing in the rain
Waiting for that bus, that you saw once, but may never see again
When your standing face to face, with that angry commuter
Whom you see every morning, and have come to hate
As you all struggle on overcrowded, dirty trains
Rushing to jobs many despise, just to avoid looking at clear skies at night
So as to keep that roof over there heads
When your queueing in the takeaway, after a night out on the town
With the last vestiges of society, spilling their guts, and fighting all around
Drunken women screaming, husbands and boyfriends pleading
‘There was no affair, I never even kissed her, I swear, I swear, I swear’
The last place you’d want to be is here

Try being present in the unemployment line
See how that helps your mind
Or as you attend the funeral of someone you love, so very dear
Or maybe as you lay in bed at night, and yearn for a love partner to hold tight
See if being present there, helps your head, your soul, and happiness
Try as you might, I doubt it
It’s at times like these, we would want to set our minds free
To be anywhere but here. Let your imagination take flight
Even if not true, most probably make you feel alright

Imagine that loving partner, bank account looking right
Visualize that select restaurant, where you take your partner for the night
Picture a better life, if you’re in the unemployment line
Don’t that make you feel better, maybe help remove that frown
I think what Eckhart and Deepak ment to say was to
It’s easy to be present in the moment, when you’re having a hell of a day
In other situations not to your taste, visualize, imagine and picture
How you’d like to see it be. If nothing else it should keep your mind on an even keel
Who knows, one day if life works in your favor. That’s just how it might be.

Really ? (Part 1)


Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash


‘ Do you really need it ? Is one not enough. There are so many televisions you can watch. So many cars you can drive at any one time. Only so many clothes and shoes you can actually wear, at any one time ‘.
It was the beginnings of yet another shouting match. She was just about adept at understanding the accent. Another draining, exhausting,  no win all out argument. Just one more reason to hate and detest her. Just one more reason to run as far away as was humanly possible. She knew it was pointless to argue. For no matter what she said, it would as usual be twisted, and turned, into words and meanings that were not true, or even uttered, in the slightest.

‘ You do know of course, your Grand Father will never stand for it. I will certainly tell him. He will ground you for at least two weeks. I’m sure of it. I’ll make damn sure he does ‘.
She marched off at speed, the high heels clattering, throughout the glass and marbled temple, that was masquerading as a shopping mall. Glamorous handbag, gripped tightly under her arm.

She had no choice but to follow. Her head low. Staring at the floor. Wishing by some miracle it would swallow her up. Hoping against hope, that none of her school friends had witnessed yet another of the skirmishes she had with her new step mother. People nearby had noticed. Stopped and stared. Slightly shaken by the loud, overly loud foreign voice. Discretion not one of her traits. Being center of attention. Now that she enjoyed. She was hard to miss. An incredibly elegant walk. Striking blond hair. Clear, yet perfect skin. Light grey, clear, healthy eys. Cat like. A proud posture, made her stand out wherever she went. It’s how they were brought up in the Ukraine. To be a proud people. Whether they were rich or poor. Even if it was very embarrassing for her step daughter. She didn’t care. Didn’t even like her. She was only an impossible encumbrance. Taking her newly found husbands attention, and funds away from her.
She needed those funds. Her overly large family and various relatives back home, in the mainly poverty stricken streets of that small village in the Ukraine, badly needed her assistance. She was glamorous beyond a doubt. As many women from that part of the world are. Tall, slim, and very pretty. High cheekbones. Knowing how to dress to impress the foolish Western men who came looking for Russian brides. They may not have being considered wealthy men by Western European standards. But to the improvised females in the Ukraine, they were, in comparison, millionaires of great stature. The competition to capture one of these men was intense. Bitchiness ruled among the contending women. It did not reached the stage of hair pulling and female wrestling. But came more than close of more than a few occasions. Only for the intervention of the interpreters and tour reps, the assembled group of women would have looked quiet differently, when they meet the coachload of possible husbands, at the nightclub, that early Saturday evening.

He of course was too old, by far. Wrinkled forehead and skin. A tanned and leathery face, and not just because of all those days outside in the Californian sunshine. He dressed way too young for his age. All in black. Large gold cross dangling from his chicken like neck on a chain. Like an older, but more tanned version of Johnny Cash, the country singer, who could not really sing at all. He quiet possibly would have being a cause of much mirth and laughter, back home. But here in the Ukraine, he was out to impress. To capture a striking woman’s heart, and take her back to America, and make her his wife. He had the funds. The big house. The successful business. The only slight barrier, may be his grand daughter, whom he was forced, well coerced to look after. It was written into her will before she died. If he wanted ownership of the vineyard, which he did. He had to agree to look after his grand daughter, until she was twenty one years old, and to set her up financially for life. He knew that had he reneged on that signed agreement. That her Rottweiler of a lawyer would see to it, he would loses the vineyard, and all the wealth associated with it.  The vineyard that had being in her family for generations, since her grandparents arrived from Italy all those years ago, now. It was too healthy a business to let go.
Had any back home known he was here in the Ukraine on a wife hunting mission. How they would have laughed. Well perhaps behind his back. Why Ukraine, why now. He had tired of American, Western women, and there insatiable never ending demands. Outspoken, career driven women. Women with attitudes and strong views, he could well do without. What he wanted was a poverty stricken, desperate, stunning woman, to become his wife. Quiet and submissive. An easy life into his old age. That’s what he came searching for. He stood out from the other misfits, or should I say travelers. Appearing halfway normal. Confident, and well travelled.
By and large the rest of the group were sad and comical in the extreme. Socially inadequate and awkward.  The tour guides and interpreters happy to take their money. Secretly laughing at their desperation. Their failure to meet a woman by normal means. Rather meeting there possible prospective wives at what amounted to cattle calls in the local nightclubs of the towns and villages they visited. As they perused the females paraded in front of them. As if viewing possible purchases at an animal market in the west. It was excruciating, embarrassing, and cringe making for the women. Not so much for the men. For they could not see it for what it was.

It was eight months since she had arrived in America, and settled into her position at the ranch. She attended to her wifely duties, with obvious distaste, with the wretched elderly man she called her husband. A price she was willing to pay, for a short time. She slipped easily into the position of the wealthy wife. Something she believed she was born for. The shopping sprees. The lavish dinners. The constant sunshine. The new found friends. Such a lifetime, a world away from her previous life. America was turning out just as she had always dreamed and wished for, aside that is from, that annoying young grand daughter.
She was not of course in love with him. It was for both a marriage of convenience. Both got what they wanted.

He wasn’t really fond of his grand daughter, Chloe. She was his ticket to a comfortable life. All he had to do was look after her and see she was financially set. When they did speak, which was not that often, he struggled to be civil. She was an unwanted, but necessary milestone around his neck. He encouraged her to study at a University far away. She had expressed an interest in the law, and he encouraged her interest. Anything to get her away from the ranch. He did not need an interfering family member getting any idea of what he was planning.
Chloe had often watched them from afar as they walked together, arm in arm, examining the vine in the comfortable heat. She in that light colored dress she worn to please him. He dressed as usual in the slightly worn cream colored shirt and khaki and light grey sunhat. She never took to her, from the day she arrived. An interloper, an outsider. A damn foreigner, from a country she did not even know.
As they walked around the vineyard. Tatiana  had plans for the future. Which did not include her aging mealticket, well husband. But her husband also had plans. Being fickle. His tastes and desires changed fairly quickly. He had fulfilled his desire for a pretty eastern European wife, but had now began to tire of her. Her lavish spending, which was a price he was willing to pay initially. His inability to hold a intellectual conversation with a woman who could not be bothered to improve her language skills. That was frustrating in the extreme. Tatiana preferring the social company of others, similar to her. Some would call them foreign gold diggers. Out for a better, more abundant life in America. Those who spoke her own language, when they met, and laughed at the foolishness of the American men who believed they had purchased a foreign wife, like one purchases a commodity.
The physical manifestations of her violent anger, that he had seen and come to dread, when he refused one of her many ongoing requests. She was turning into a liability, and an expensive one at that. Her increasing vitriolic demands that he sponsor and pay for some of her aging relatives to America. Of course looking back he should have listened to his lawyer, who cautioned against rushing into marriage. Especially without the benefit of a pre nuptial agreement. But in his fear, lust and excitement, Alex ran headlong into a marriage he believed would last through to the end of his days. Of course he should have invested her background more thoroughly. Learned more about her, and her sleazy relatives. Had he known…..

He had come to resent her withholding sexual affection, well any affection whatsoever. To compound it all, he had employed that quiet, brooding Mexican, as a ranch hand, at Tatina’s request, and cajoling. He was the complete opposite of Alex. Young, muscular, dark skinned. Black slicked back hair. Alex referred to him, as a slime ball in his own mind. He had the aura of un-trustworthiness, and dis-honesty about him. Not to mention, a seething violence surrounding him. Unspoken, but tangible, palatable. He was beginning to be suspicious of a burgeoning affair between the Mexican ranch hand and his Russian wife. His life was slowly becoming a war zone. Aside from the now infrequent times when he and his wife got along. She of course only being nice to him, to gain whatever happened to be her wishes at the time. A brief interlude, from there ongoing increasingly bitter war. She was beginning to turn out as predicted by the few friends he had told, about how they had met. A self seeking, selfish, manipulative woman. Temperamental, and abusive in the extreme, and untrustworthy. Using her beauty to manipulate and use other’s for her own ends.

He was trapped like an animal. A possible looming expensive divorce on the horizon. Possibly the loss of the ranch. He knew she would never file for divorce, but could see her plan. To make their marriage and his life intolerable, so eventually he would file for divorce, and she would reap the financial rewards. With a smart lawyer to portray her as the simple, innocent victim, from a foreign land. Easy,… right.
Sickened by all unpleasantness, he went to the ranch stable, in the early morning sunshine and ordered the young Spanish boy working their to saddle up his horse. It was one of the few pleasures he now enjoyed. Where he could ride in freedom. Clear his mind. The young boy helped the old man onto the horse, and led him out of the stables. The slime ball Mexican smiled as he watched, from the darkness of the stables. The horse carried Alex away. He gently took the horse out among the fields, and from then into the sparely wooded area, by the lake. It was his favorite place. The lake. Quiet, peaceful and reflective. He sat by the lake for approx an hour, listening to the silence. Finding some peace of mind, before he prepared to return to the war zone, as he now referred to his marriage.
He untied his horse from the tree, and led it to some nearby rocks, so as to mount it. Grabbing the saddle with one hand, he put in boot the strippup and pulled himself up. At the same time he fell backwards as the leather saddle came loose from the horse. The crunching sound as his head hit the moss covered rocks, ricocheted around the empty woodland.

( Part 2 ).
At the ranch, Tataina was becoming increasingly impatient. She marched up and down the outside patio, in the late morning sunshine. Her high heals clanking loudly on the Italian tiles. Deeply inhaling on her cigarette. Her face twisted in a demented scowl. No more the pretty woman. She needed him to show up now. She did not have time to waste.

At last. She exhaled strongly.

‘Well, did you do it, is it done ?’
‘No, I did not do, and yes it is done’.
‘What do you mean ?’, the irritation evident in her harsh voice.

She did not have time to play games. This was business. This was freedom.

‘I followed him this morning when he went to the stables, and was looking for an opportunity, any opportunity. Slight perspiration formed on his forehead. He too inhaled deeply on the newly lit cigarette. ‘As I waited, she came in’. He glanced at the framed photo that hung on the wall. Her eye’s followed his to the photo,’ and cut through one of the saddle straps almost completely. Enough to ensure it would soon fail with some heavy riding. She then slipped away’.

She smiled. Now she had a hold over her. A way to blackmail her, or report her. In any case, she now had a method to either get rid of her, or keep her quiet for evermore. To add to her joy, they watched as his horse sauntered through the ranch gates, minus the saddle. The stable boy ran to the perspiring horse and patted its nose and shoulders, glanced at the couple on the patio and smiled. He led the horse back to the stable, and patted the $100 in his pocket, he had been given to look the other way.
Chloe lay on her bed in her room, and waited for news. Any news. Preferably bad. She knew it would not take that long for him to be missed and searched for. Hopefully she had done enough. If not she would certainly try again. He had, and was going to pay. Maybe his wealth and connections had allowed him to escape justice in the past. But she would see to it, he would be made to pay the price.
The loud knock on the door startled her. She quickly opened the door to be met by a surprisingly smiling Tatina.

‘Well, well well, ain’t you full of surprises’. The voice strong, triumphant and victorious.
‘What do you mean’.
‘What I mean is that you were seen this morning in the stables, shall we say ‘adjusting’ your grandfathers saddle. Now he’s nowhere to be seen. Possibly laying injured, or dying out there somewhere’, gesturing towards the thousands of acres of land they owned.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about. I’ve been in here all morning’.
‘You were seen. We know what you did, and I have yet to decide what to do with that knowledge. But whatever I choose to do. You are now mine. I control your future. Whether that be in prison, or elsewhere. It’s whatever I decide to do with you’.

With that she slammed the door, and glided downstairs triumphantly.

Chloe layed back onto her bed. Her initial fantasizing oh him meeting his maker, now perhaps not the best result she could hope for. Her body drained of energy, she lay on the bed, and considered her future. If she now had a future to speak of.  Whatever that would now be.

Tantanina was on the porch, defilty playing the dramatically traumatized wife.

‘ We must send out a search party. We must ‘. Played with enough gusto to persuade the watching ranch hands, and her kitchen staff, that she was indeed, the caring, worried , and loving wife. A search party, consisting of men on horseback and some in pickups, heading out the ranch gate at speed, to the different corners of the vast expanse of land the ranch covered. Those on horseback headed towards the lake, knowing his favoured spot. It did not take long for him to be found. Still unconscious and by now straing to breath. A pick was summoned and he was quickly taken aboard, and back to the ranch.

Tataina tried her best to portray her happiness and joy at her husband been found alive, and called for an ambulance. which duly arrived and transported the still unconscious husband to hospital.
( to be continued..)

Poetry, Words not flowing ?


Photo by David Klein on Unsplash

Are you struggling to get the words flowing in your poetry. Is frustration driving you mad ? Do you sit and stare at the computer, and wonder, what the bloody hell can I write about. Yeah, #me too. Why, oh why, ain’t the word flowing, and what can I do ?
Some write random obscure, and unconnected sentences, that to my mind make little sense, or have little rhyme, and call it poetry. Some reading that, get into the throes of ecstasy. Some consider that to be deep, thoughtful and meaningful, and occasionally it is. But generally I just understand that kind of poetry. That to my mind ain’t poetry. I don’t know what that is, but I would not call it poetry.

The solution I found, that’s works for myself, is to get the words at the end of some of the sentences to rhyme. I would not make all the sentences rhyme, as that don’t look right either. Not all words at the end of sentences can be made to rhyme, but many can.
A technique I learned from an English teacher, many years ago in school. Who used to get quiet frustrated at our attempts at poetry. He suggested, at the end of every other sentence, get the words to rhyme if possible. I find it works, most of the time. Help’s to get you moving, when you are stuck. Then just write what’s in your mind, regarding the subject. You may well be surprised how easily the words will flow. It take’s a bit of practice of course. But stick with it, and you may well surprise yourself. As an example. Take a subject matter, like teaching someone to write engaging poetry.

What the hell, can I write here
I am bewildered and quiet unclear
Am I a failure, a fool, for trying to teach
To reach other’s who are struggling too
Will other’s take on board
The knowledge I’m willing to impart
Will they consider, I am some guy trying to be overly smart, clever and here, watch this
Am I wasting my time here, is my advise going to go amiss
Maybe I should not have started. To hell with all this.


Try to get your thoughts / story line in the poem into some type of logical sequence.

For example, if the subject was a new car. Firstly identify the issue.

Here am I walking everyday, wearing out my feet
Rain, snow, cold and wind
Am I suffering here for my sin’s

Then the resolution.

At last I have peace of mind
Comfort, joy, and quiet
No more crowded bus, dirty trains
As I manoeuvre my brand new car, in the streets, as it rains.

That’s the short version.

Obiviously read a lot, of everything. Even a thesaurus. All helps improve your word power, and grow one’s volcalubury.

Try it, let us know how you get on.

All The Best.





Photo by Clark Young on Unsplash


What’s this happening to my brain, is it that I going insane
Where’s my inspiration, where’s my food for thought
I ain’t got nothing, my well is running dry
I’m getting real upset, but don’t think I will cry
I’m too big a man for that

Is it that I can’t write no more, no flashes of insight coming through
Should I leave this writing class and head out the damn door
I’ve written about events that mattered to me
Alcoholism, pedophilia, and being lost at sea, religious abuse, and too much juice

People who are cruel and unkind intentionally
People who strive to cut and bring you down, so that they themselves don’t drown
Those whose words cut deep like a knife, caustic cutting and corrosive
Words they use to undermine, destroy and wreck your fragile soul

People who carry on like that deserve to be the dole
To suffer and have their souls blackened for evermore
In the burning red lit fires of hell

But this ain’t solving the predicament I find myself in
I can’t really write at present
Should I go out and commit some sin, to give me food for thought
Lord knows what the answer is, when the well has run out

I think I’ll have to get a more interesting, and varied life
Perhaps an inspiring woman to shake up my life
Love making, arguments, dinners and romance, and more
The inevitable falling out, I’d have something to write about then for sure

Perhaps a holiday, a more interesting life
To add some variety and texture to my empty days
I want more from life, before I sail away into the sunset for evermore
See I can’t even finish this poem, I’ve run out of whatever to say
Seems like my brain is closing down, is all I’ll be left with is an immovable frown