Image by Pixabay.com



I touched the sky and found it haunted

A million souls held my hand

My mind raced through their lifetimes

The sad, the lonely, stuck between worlds

The minds of great philosophers

When I retract my hand

Will my mind retain their thoughts?

There is one above all that haunts me

Da Vinci, pleading for more life

I have more to give

His words echo in my heart

I wanted to tell him that life

Is right there waiting

to bite you in the arse

Like a junk yard dog…


Polishing a Turd…

Stevie Turner

My blogging friend Phil Huston, in his own inimitable style, gave me the inspiration for a blog today when he left the comment below on my Open Book Blog Hop earlier this week:

Man I could polish a turd until you could shave in it.  I see something and I go, “Oh, shit.  That could be so much better.”  

I mentioned in this week’s Open Book that unless I can think of a great subject for a book, then I won’t write a thing.  What’s the point?  Readers will know if I’ve written something just for the sake of it.  I tend to sit back until inspiration strikes, and that could be many weeks or months before the right topic comes along.

So… here’s the question:

Do you feel that you need to keep writing even when you know what you’re writing is shite?  We tell ourselves…

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#writephoto — The Fool on the Hill

This, That, and The Other

AC40970F-B894-48C5-A7FA-ABE5222E1C15Day after day, the man on the hill slowly walks alone with his walking staff in hand. Nobody knows who he is, or why he walks the hill day in and day out. He walks there all day long until the sun goes down, watching as the world spins around and around.

Most of the townsfolk refer to him as the fool on the hill. Some of them have tried to talk to him, but he never listens to them and he never has an answer to their questions. In fact, he never even seems to notice them. He just smiles with what they call his foolish grin. Hence, nobody wants to join him.

He knows that they don’t like him and they really don’t want to know him. They think he is just a fool with his head in the clouds. But he doesn’t care about them. He actually feels sorry…

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Sounds of the night


Darkness has fallen,
Night has come,
Sleep will claim me soon.
The ticking of the clock,
The rhythmic breathing of those I love
Serenade me to slumber.
The wind whispers against my window,
Hushed by glass and fabric,
A moth dusts its wings to dance
Against the gentle light of the lamp.
Secure I am in my world
As they are who share it,
United we are one
Each a living part of the other,
Looking out for,
Caring, loving, being.
Darkness has fallen,
Night comes calling,
And sleep will claim me.
But tomorrow I will wake
To share another day,
To smile as the sun kisses my face
And the air fills with birdsong.
So wonderful to simply ‘be’.

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Riddle You Too…

France & Vincent



…The Irish are particularly fond of the riddle and of the consciousness, which underpins its use.

When living in the village of Saughall on the border of Chester and Wales my brother-in-law and I were frequent visitors to the village pub which boasted two stouts: Guinness and Murphy’s.

We prided ourselves on being able to tell the difference and would often buy one of each in order to discern which particular brew had been ‘kept best’.

Upon joining a couple of Irish chaps at their table one night they must have observed our traditional ritual with some amusement and challenged us to ascertain what they were drinking.

“You are both drinking Guinness,” we said after taking a sip of their drinks.

“I am drinking Guinness,” said one, “but that is Murphy’s” and then pointed at his friends drink.

“You are both drinking the same stout and it is Guinness,”…

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THE WRITER… a silly poem

Kevin Parish

Why the writer fell

No one will ever know

Perhaps the quips and snips he wrote

Were too much of a show

Maybe his plots were way too deep

Or, perhaps not deep enough

If he hadn’t written with crayon, yeah

It might have been good stuff

toddler holding assorted-color Crayola lot

But no, he fell

All the way down

Now, he needs to write himself out

For when you are two

With nothing else to do

Crayons are good in the mouth

Image credit

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I’m really good at this wheelchair thing

A Crack in the Pavement

Before I start

I have been extremely poor with visiting your blogs. There is no excuse for this. You are just as busy, or more, than me. I am picking up my game in the time manage area and by doing so I will become a familiar face in your blogging world. I miss your world and I thank you for being a part of mine. As you can see, this has been bugging me. 

On with the show

Below is me hanging on for dear life on a London Subway. Oh the fun!!!!

20190712_204840I wasn’t sure what I was getting into when I agreed to this trip but I knew I would have had major regrets had I stayed home. I had never traveled in a wheelchair before but sometimes you have to roll the dice and take a chance.

I knew I had made the right decision when…

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