The Gift of Death

Pathological consumption has become so normalised that we scarcely notice it. By George Monbiot, published in the Guardian 11th December 2012 There’s nothing they need, nothing they don’t own already, …

Source: The Gift of Death


Another year in my life

Following my letter of what I have been up to there is a poem that follows.  One that I collaborated with my partner and recently found I decided to include it here.




Most people know that my partner passed March 29 2016  Although the grief has subsided a bit- only to be reminded with a memory that presses from the past.  When too many memories pass in my mind’s eye and the heart of my soul then tears flow.  My partner has put into motion the death of 11 friends.  As I was doing Christmas this year my address book was a lot lighter in people that I was sending Christmas cards to.  Just a reminder to enjoy every minute in one’s life and not take your partner for granted.  I haven’t really had a break since my partner’s death and only to be reminded how life is fragile and a reminder of all these deaths made me realize how life is short even though we think it can be long at times.

My sister is ill and she may not be with us for very long as her health is fragile.  My mother is 87 and her shelf life is beginning to expire despite her health being relatively good.

This year with a dear friend of mine were able to make sense of all the tribulations that occurred all year and still occurring in the world.  People are walking with their head in the sands and cannot see the dangers that can at any second put all humanity in grave danger.  My friend and I have made peace with it all and are able to talk openly speak about these dangers.  I am so lucky to have a friend that we can both share our thoughts on this subject.  Thanks Rita.  All we can do is send our love and I ask you to send your love, prayers, meditation, chanting and any which way that you want that can make a difference.

Not all is dire in my life.  I still have my health, my family, my friends, a roof over my head and not lacking food.  I consider myself blessed with the necessities of life.  I have more than most people and I am appreciative of what I have.  For years I have been detaching myself of material things.  The acquisition of the material objects was the thrill of the hunt.  Now the thrill of the hunt is over and I have been giving some of these items away more or less opening the gates for people who need the objects.  Keeping the flow to Spirituality.
I am able to see the good in people much more than I have in the past.  The reason I was jaded with humanity is that I was a Private Investigator and working in the security field for 7 years before I got really jaded by the events I was investigating and this soured my perception of humanity.  After those 7 years I left that job but the perception followed me with humanity.  Don’t get me wrong I still see people acting out but I am able to step back and seeing that these people need our love and not our anger as they are hurting on some level.  I see the good that a child’s laughter brings.  People holding hands still. A kind act towards another and there are many more examples one can list.  There is a lot of positive in the world if only we are able to see it.  That about sums up what has been happening for me this year.

I want to take this moment to wish you all a Merry Christmas and to others who don’t celebrate, then I wish you peace and love.  As I have been saying for years.  Be well and stay smiling.  Poem is below this last photograph.







I am a child upon the path

And you – my guide must be

For I am lost and far away,

But you my light shall set me free


Still trust me in my heart

You see

Because your child I am

And that is how I know – for me


When I have lingered in the halls

Of darkness and despair,

I shall already know within

Your life and love that shows me care


I am a child upon the path,

And you my guide have cared

In all I’ve done I walked with you

And daily you have always shared


And I still know that I’ll return

To you as when I left

I will shine as bright as I’ve become

And you have never left me bereft


T’was the night before WordPress (Parody) Different than the acrostic

This is a poem I wrote two years ago and will appear every year at Christmas time.  Enjoy!






T’was the night before Wordpress


Twas the night before Christmas, and in and around Wordpress.

All writers were writing without brain power to access.

Papers were crumpled to the floor without care.

In hopes that a masterpiece would be an ace in the pocket to share.


We were all snuggled with letters in our beds.

While visions of blogging danced in our pretty little heads.

And comments uttered, puts a feather in our cap.

And we may even try our luck writing a little bit of rap.


In the computer arose such a clatter.

I thought it was dead and my Christmas poem would not even matter.

Away to the computer I flew like a flash.

In hopes that it had not become a piece of trash.


As a writer within I need to grow.

The ink in my mind does need to flow.

When what to my wandering eyes should appear.

A working computer that allayed my fear.


To the old pen so lively and so quick.

With an eager pen that give words a kick.

Fast and furious my racing thoughts came

I whistled and wrote and hoped for some fame.


Now letters, now sentences, now paragraph and a story

Come on articles, come on sagas, give me some publishing glory.

Writer’s block that before the hurricane fly.

Letters come tumbling in our writer’s blood we can’t deny.


Off of our chairs we all flew.

Started writing again without a clue.

And then in a twinkling I heard in my head,

The formulation of a poem that has not fled.


Computer screens and keyboards galore.

Typing crazily wanting some more.

I was dressed all in fur, from head to my foot.

And my clothes were all dirty with ashes and soot.


A bundle of leaky pens sat on my desk.

This blue ink glob of a monster looked grotesque.

My eyes twinkled, some and my libations were merry.

I drank so much alcohol that my nose was red like a cherry.


Drinking and writing are the best of friends.

These endless of stories that never end.

A mistletoe hangs but there is nobody to kiss.

I will write myself some exciting and delicious bliss.


The stub of a cigar I hold tight in my teeth.

And the smoke it encircled my head like a wreath.

I rambled my blogging underneath my breath.

I will write I said right up until my death.


I wrote myself in a story as a right jolly old elf.

I looked into the mirror and laughed at myself.

Words have the power with a twist in my head.

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.


I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work.

Ideas were flying and I gave myself a smirk.

And laying my finger to the side of my nose.

And giving a nod I wrote on many pages some prose.


I grabbed my books and put them in a sleigh.

To be published at Amazon, Smashboard and others along the way.

But I did exclaim, as I am driving out of sight.

Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night.






T’was the night before Christmas (Acrostic)

This is another acrostic not to be confused with T’was the night before Christmas (Parody) which will appear soon.


T’was the night before Christmas (Acrostic)


T – was the night

W – hen all went silent

A – nd

S – anta


T – ried

H – elplessly

E – very


N – umber

I – n

G – reat and small cities

H – ollering around the world

T – o


B – irds

E – verywhere

F – orwarding

O – verbearing

R – ecorded

E – xpressive


C – alls

H – anging up

R – eadily

I – nsisting

S – entiments

T – o have a

M – erry Christmas to

A – ll and to every

S – ingle person








Silent Night (Acrostic)







**** The most common and simple form of an acrostic poem is where the first letters of each line spell out the word or phrase.


Silent Night ( Acrostic )


S – ilence is

I – nviting

L – ove

E- verywhere and

N – ever

T – aking


N – o one for granted

I – n the

G –reatest

H – our of

T – heir humble lives



A child will meet me



A child will meet me


I ask that a child would meet me when the time to become a child again is at


I walked this weary world so long in the cloak of an old soul tampered by

time unshackled from a home I once knew and forgot.

On the search to know that I am in evasiveness of knowing that I am not.

The soul grows old and the flesh but the passage of a cruelty imposed upon


The graduation has come from a mortal coil which springs into the hand of a

child that meets me in a dream that never wakes.




When mirrors speak



When mirrors speak


The siren’s whisper is heard against the waves of secrecy.

Similarly, to a driftwood graveyard that strands itself on a streak from the tails of a shooting star.

A star that has gone wayward without the confines of rules.

The book of mirrors is written eloquently with a finger of fire on glass tablets that has shed

tears of reflection.

Birds to flight bring back stories of sails with no winds in the storm of chaos.

While the chiseled wings of angels cry in the rain pinning a medallion to universe’s


The sun’s warm essence gathers brothers and sisters with eyes weighing down from the weight

of sorrow only to have them open in awareness.

Humanity became perplexed with the apocalypse of mind that has governed humanity for years

bequeathing all liberties which is a veritable aberration to the soul.

And coming out of their drunken stupor they realized the peeling off of layers of history does

shed the darkness in the light.

A view to look at which sends shivers and tremors within infinity that takes all causes for

granted and reveals a life review.

The energy becomes perplexed with the stage of actors promoting a smoke screen thinking

they could hide in the wings of the scared stage looking back at the unique thumbprint of

playing chivalry to the end.

In the attic of your mind cobwebs of life are removed and clutched in the talons of sincerity.

I ache to leave the illusion in a delicate dream of leaving home with empty places knitted in the

fabric of destinations.

The obligatory whisper of infinity releases the energy that suddenly seems lighter with a flight


While the weight of bliss wraps itself around reality realizing in a glimpse of a distorted face

lingering around the edge of insanity.

An enthralled beating sense of freedom asserts a hurried breath and invites aspersions with a

continuous aspersion back into an elevated consciousness.

All on the defensive made to look in the crystal ball of the future regurgitating a life tarnished of

our own freewill.

The water reflects distorted imagery back to you in a shimmering realistic mirror of life.

And this is when mirrors speak.