Fear Of The Dark, a serial novel.

The story so far: Robert and Julie went for a walk when someone stalked them. The person seemed to look like President Obama but when removing the rubber mask, it turned out to be a blonde woman who ran away. Later, in their Winnebago, they made love. Soon someone was rocking the van. Robert took his shot gun, caught his hand and fell and became unconscious. Julie called the police and ambulance. A policeman came, saw the gun and tried to remove it when a shot went off into the ceiling.
The constable stared at Julie. "What’s going on?"
"Someone was rocking the van," Julie snapped back.
"And this man was trying to shoot them?" asked the officer sarcastically as he pointed to Robert.
"No, but we had a problem in the park, before!"
"Excuse me!" The ambulance officer was pushing his frame through the door to examine Robert and then put an oxygen mask over Robert’s mouth and nose.
Julie pointed to Robert’s head. "I tried to stop the bleeding," she said.
"I heard a gun go off," pondered the ambulance man.
"It went off," agreed the constable.
"Why don’t you both step outside. I’ll see what I can do for this man," said the ambulance officer to Julie and the constable.
By this time, a group of policeman had gathered at the door of the van and another ambulance officer was waiting outside with a stretcher bed. From the door, a constable said, "Madam, would you please come outside."
Robert was breathing heavily as an unconscious person often does.
A moment later, Julie was standing near the police car, explaining, "We are on holiday from Sydney and went for a walk in Burnie Park where we were stalked. It turned out to be a blonde woman in a President Obama, full-head rubber mask. The woman then ran away. We came here and then the van rocked."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we were sitting on the bed and it rocked a bit..."
"Why the gun?"
"We had trouble in Sydney, that’s why we came to Tasmania. Some people didn’t like us."
"Why didn’t they?"
"A long story."
"And why the Obama mask?"
"You’ll have to ask Robert but it has something to do with America."
"What?"
"I don’t know."
An ambulance man approached them, "We’ll take him to emergency. It might be a good idea if the lady came too."
There was a moment of silence, then Julie thought that she heard the insane laughter of the blonde woman in the distance.
(To be continued)

Joe Lake’s Opinion

I had so much fun at Burnie Shines For Poetry this month,
which we held at the Burnie library,
that I’m still laughing, especially at the guy who recited his
poem with the help of a hip-hop beat. You wouldn't read about it!
(Joe Lake read his Tasmanian Tiger Ode to a fast hip-hop drum beat.)

Crosswords

My wife did crossword puzzles, which she bought by the book.
I thought they were a waste of time but now and then would look
and help out with a word or two, which sometimes was quite fun,
then I started going over the old ones that she’d done.
Some of the clues were difficult, with odd words so confusing,
they really were a challenge, some strange words they were using.
Starting off to help a bit, on puzzles she had started,
I sometimes filled in most of them, as soon as she departed.
Somehow, she didn’t want this help - although all done for her,
she went and bought a book for me, said this she would prefer.
Rather slow to start with, as just a raw beginner,
it soon became a lot of fun - her idea was a winner!
Now we have our own books, though still help out each other,
they can be very challenging, those puzzles ’neath the cover.
We keep on adding new words to our vocabulary,
though foreign ones are not much use, I rather leave them be.
But now, if she can’t find me, she knows just where to look -
eleven down and nine across, in my crossword puzzle book!
© Pete Stratford 22.4.10

Talking leaves

As I write upon this page
That was once a tree
That now I call my
"Talking leaves"
For it allows me to put
My feelings on these leaves
For all the world to see
For now "Talking leaves"
Are things of the past
For now we have the modern
"Talking leaves"
The computer of today
But for me the "Talking leaves"
Is the way to go
For I can store these leaves
Then pull out to show.
© Richard Griffiths November 2008

The Stoker

Sweat at the furnace face,
Stoker feeds hungry flame,
Skin glistens in fire reflection,
Eyes peer through wet grime,
Lungs bake in the heat,
And the engine throbs, ever needy,
Shovels clatter in the din,
Hungry, hungry, faster, faster,
Satiate the white glow,
Hatch opens to salty sting,
Cool air as boat lurches on a wave,
Soiled, damp handkerchief
mops perspiring brow, hair matted,
Hands sore, bloodied, blistered,
Knuckles gnarled,
The drone is relentless,
Time to descend to the black hole again,
And the roar of voracious inferno,
Pistons pounding steam,
And another one ascends, reaches for blue relief
while playful children squeal in delight,
Sea spray pinking their cheeks,
Oblivious as stokers toil, eternal,
The day is night in furnace storm.
© Michael Garrad October 2010

You Left, Baby

To the song of the wind
you whispered away,
Petals burst and fell,
And laid a carpet colour,
And we danced,
Breath to breath,
as the sun dazzled, decayed
upon the day,
It was the night most feared,
Fingertips rushing, then still,
A smile of eternal summer,
And boundless memory,
A heartbeat ago,
And the longest silence,
Not a leaf murmured,
Your anger against
black was beautiful!
© Michael Garrad October 2010

My View with Michael Garrad

Eager youth looks at age with disdain - perhaps scornfully, even.
Age is so far distant that it is uncool to think about it. As for memories, well, they’re a waste of space and time. Who cares?
Now is the moment and gathering years are too far off the scale to contemplate. Live it and love it.
Youth forgets (or ignores) that each day ages and cannot grasp at 18 that 60 is going to come around, all things being equal.
Age is gross! How can older people have loved and, God forbid, had sex? The notion doesn’t bear thinking about. Sex is for youth only, exclusively.
How misguided, how self-focused!
But we are, all of us, like-minded in the youngest days and nothing else matters except the next flash-second and the one after that, and...
Will Death tap us on the shoulder?