Where Were You?

Where Were You?

Where Were You Where were you when Kennedy died? Can you remember when the shot got fired? I was a kid just six years old. But I remember, I remember Oswald. I remember the place, I remember the time, I remember something was lost. Where were you when Elvis left? The king is dead the radio said. I was twenty-one and newly wed. But I remember. The King is dead. I remember the place, I remember the time, I remember something was lost. Why do I remember, Death and tragedy? Why do I remember, These days so clearly? Where were you when John got shot? Shot by a fan, imagine

The McDonald’s Vampire

The McDonald’s Vampire

I have been asked numerous times why I don’t write in popular genres such as romance, paranormal, vampire, urban fantasy or stories that involve wizards and pixies. Well, the honest answer is that I am just plain hopeless at it. But in an attempt to pacify the calls, here’s a good example of why. The McDonald’s Vampire Reggie tried to stay cucumber cool, but with the prospect of his life changing moment arriving unexpectedly, he could only manage a sixteen year old, hot and eager to trot type of coolness. Agatha had taken him by surprise in accepting – over the last munches of cold MacDonald’s French fries – his

A Monologue – Of Memories

A Monologue – Of Memories

  My memory of Barry Humphries Barry Humphries has always inspired me. Better known to many all around the world as Dame Edna Everidge, it is the other talents of Humphries that I have most admired. Writer, actor and teller of tales. I wrote the following piece based on the style and my memory of a monologue I once heard him deliver in a one-man show many, many moons ago.  A Monologue – Of Memories As electric toasters go, it was a classic. All Australian mined metal and made by Aussies in blue overalls somewhere near Glebe probably. Weren’t they were the days? When Aussies made stuff for Aussies and played

The Journey

The Journey

A little bit of long forgotten poetry today. Dug out from the past. The Journey I have wandered through my life, Felt the pain of fear and strife, And had tragedies as everybody does. Some times of love and bliss, And at times with one to kiss, But the feeling, of an emptiness, never goes. At times, the bottle was a crutch, Did it help the pain? Not much, But, it numbed the parts of me that hurt. The loss of time together, with my children, Was an extra heavy burden, To numb that pain, nothing seemed to work. To run from any pain, Seemed the answer, but again, The

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