Call of the Wolf

 Snow flakes floated like confetti to cover the landscape.

Stars twinkled in the darkness above.

Moon shadows danced across the snow.

A wolf howled in the distance calling his mates. Calling the pack to arms.

The burning wood crackled in the fireplace. Sparks floated up the chimney to escape into the chilled night air.

Warmth from the flames spread around the lounge room to keep out the cold wind creeping through the walls.

Clay snuggled under the rug on the reclining chair, waiting. Waiting like he did this time every year. He waited for Susan.

A very excited Susan rang home, earlier. “I have good news. I can't wait to return home to be with you, my love.”

“What have you found to buy this trip,” he asked.

“I haven't spent a cent of your hard earned money, darling.”

“Can you give me a hint. Will I like the surprise?”

“I hope you will be ecstatic.”

I can't wait. Drive carefully, my love.”

Clay sat penning words of love to hand to Susan when she arrived home. He struggled to find the right words to express his love for her.

Love-

green eyes

flash fire

so hot

voice of silk

trickles over body

melting honey

of passion flows

scorches body

his finger stroke

feather light caresses

stoke roaring sensations

we breathe as one

tangled in sheets

legs twined together

we reach the pinnacle

misty clouds surrounded

heights of passion escalate

balloon explodes

holding tight we free fall

return with a thud

passion spent

lust or love-

Clay placed the last stroke of the pen to paper when the phone ring interrupted his thoughts. He looked at the clock above the mantle. Time had passed while he had been engrossed in his thoughts of love.

Susan should have been home over an hour ago, flashed through his thoughts.

“Susan. Where are you,” asked Clay, on picking up the phone.

“Clay. Sergeant Cook.”

“Sergeant. How can I help you?”

“I'm sorry, Clay. Susan...”

“Where is Susan. Has her car broken down?”

“Susan has had an accident. Your wife is dead.”

“She can't be. I spoke to her a couple of hours ago. I'm coming...”

“Stay where you are, Clay. The roads are closed. We don't want you having an accident. I'll send someone to collect you when the road is cleared.” The line went dead.

The wolf cry on that horrendous winter told of his loss. Man, and beast, called, in their own way, for the loss of a mate. A mate who was to spend the rest of their life together.

Clay was handed Susan's purse when her arrived at the police station after notifying her body. He found the scan showing the new life due to arrive in the future. He had suffered a double loss.

Now. Each winter. Clay sits in front of the fireplace listening for the call of the wolf. Tonight. No call echoed his sorrow.

Travelling Salesman

Bang.

The lights went out.

No. There wasn't no light circuit blow out.

A garbage truck couldn't stop when the traffic lights changed to red. The truck crashed into the car Wayne Bligh was driving. He went to make a right hand turn to try to escape the grid lock of the busy city.

Wayne Bligh didn't wake all the time the firemen worked to cut him free of the tangled mess. When he had been finally cut from the car the ambulance rushed him to the hospital. There were a few abrasions which needed to be stitched. His body was covered in bruises.

A couple of hours later Wayne woke to find he was in bed in a hospital. His body sore and his head ached. The last thing he remembered he had been turning right at an intersection, then nothing.

“So. You have decided to join us. How are you feeling?” The nurse moved to the side of the bed to pick up his wrist to check his pulse.

“What am I doing here. Where is here?” His head groggy from the bang on the head.

“You are in City Hospital. You had a fight with a runaway truck. You are luck to have a few stitches, and plenty of bruising. Anyone you'd like us to call?”

“My wife. Can I have a phone?” The nurse left the room to go to get a phone. She brought it back and plugged it into a socket. “Dial nine to be given an outside line.” She left Wayne to make his call in private.

When she returned to the room the bed was empty. His hospital clothes scattered on the bed. The rest of his belongings were still in the cupboard. She rushed out to the nurses station to report the patient had absconded.

Wayne began to feel the effects of the accident. He had another hour to travel to reach his home. No radio in the car to listen to. The long straight road was boring. Not much traffic. Wayne pulled to the side of the road to limp around in the fresh air to wake up, then he headed off once again.

A little further along the road, Wayne stopped to pick up a hitch-hiker dressed in jeans, a checked shirt, cowboy hat, and boots. He didn't think this person would be any trouble. What would another hit on the head, today. His wonderful had crashed.

“Thanks for stopping. I'm Doug Farley.”

“Geoff Stone,” replied Wayne, not wanting to give his real name.

Doug Farley rambled on telling Wayne he was on his way to surprise his woman friend. He couldn't wait to see her. She was beautiful. An angel. The raving had begun to get on Wayne's frazzled nerves but at least Doug was keeping him awake. Even though the raving made his rage rise high on the Richter scale. The pressure had moved from six to eight when his eyes focused on the handwriting on the envelope in the top pocket of Doug's shirt.

“Where would you like to be left off?” Wayne forced the question through his clenched jaws, when they entered the outskirts of the town. “Any where near Clayton?”

“Treetop Street in Clayton,” replied Doug, unaware of the trouble to come.

Doug swung into the driveway of his rented home. Doug got out of the car not realising he hadn't told Wayne the number of the street. Wayne stepped from the car to follow.

“Shh. Don't slam the car door,” whispered Wayne. “You want to surprise her.”

The both men walked toward the front door of the house without making a sound. Slowly, Doug turned the handle of the door to silently open it.

There were female voices coming from the lounge room.

“Ah. Lola ma cheri. Your body is so beau-ti-ful. So so-ft to the touch. Smooth like silk.”

“Bridget, my darling. You are such a wonderful lover. You set my body on fire,” purred Lola in an erotic voice Wayne had never heard from his wife when they had made love.

Both men stopped at the doorway to the lounge room to watch the two woman on the white fluffy rug making love unaware they had an audience. Wayne had never seen his wife so involved in the art of making love. So alive. Enjoying what she, and her lover, were doing. Why hadn't she acted like that with him. Jealousy helped to bring his rage higher to the point of eruption. He couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing.

Lola, and Bridget, didn't know what fate had in store for the both of them.

Wayne's rage exploded into burning flames, and molten lava. A red mist covered his eyes when he moved like a panther on the prowl for prey. Stalking the beast it intended to kill for a meal. Before knew what he was going to do he grabbed the bronze statue from off the coffee table.

Once the shock of what had happened before his eyes, Doug rushed into the room to see if there was anything he could do to help the women.

He rushed to the phone to call for assistance. There wasn't a think to do because both women were dead. One forceful blow had done the job.

Doug Farley was taken away for questioning.

His finger prints were on the statue from where he had placed it on the table. The car, in which Doug had arrived in had been reported stolen. He was charged with both the murders.

The police tracked Wayne through his accident. When they arrived at the hospital to tell him of his wife's murder, they were told he was missing. Everyone had been searching for him.

Later, Wayne was found wondering around the streets not far from the hospital in a daze. The police rushed him back to the hospital because he didn't know who he was. When told about his wife, he replied, “I don't have a wife.”

Thought this picture would suit the story. Another one I have rehashed from my file.

Charity Rugs

Treasure Trove

I sent the parcel, would you believe,

it should arrive Monday, if you please,

the postie called, he knocked on my door,

ironing can wait, I'm coming I called,

the parcel was large, not quite a barge,

thanked the postie, then slammed the door,

raced up the steps, muscles resist,

steady up, please give me a break,

I reached the top, a decision. What do I do?

Finish the ironing. Take a peak what's inside,

work had to be done, the surprise could wait,

Later I opened the package, my eyes opened wide,

opened the envelope, there stood my dream man,

ripped off the paper, I found a bag of immense proportions,

red was the color, not much more to be said,

unzipped the bag, more presents I did find,

Italian words did meet the eye, heaven greeted me,

nougat with nuts, I nearly died,

I searched some more, red greeted my eyes,

a laptop bag, just what I wanted,

at the bottom, I found a box,

red slippers, just what I needed,

thanks for the presents, they were great,

my birthday, Easter, Mother's day,

will never be the same, I thank you once again.

At Rest

This is a story about a young man called Fred

who should have been home safe in bed,

but he was out driving his flashy new car,

he decided to stop at the bar,

on closing time he staggered out the door,

he started the car, put his foot to the floor,

burning rubber fouled the air

shot forward like a two bob lair,

the car took the corner with squeal of tyres,

sheer bliss shone from his tired eyes,

on coming car lights did blind him

smashing of metal caused such a din,

sparks like fireworks lit up the dark

as the car rolled and rolled toward the park,

luckily there were no children at play

the homeless guy on the bench won't see another day,

parents wait at home for son who did roam,

screams split the nigh when told Fred won't be home,

tears did flow as wide as the river

Fred was lost to them forever,

here lays Fred who thought he was clever

his life cut short for his endeavour,

he didn't handle the speed under the bonnet

people will remember him when hearing this sonnet,

will remember families who still grieve

when their children aim to deceive,

Saint Peter waits by the Heavenly gate

for Fred to arrive with his note on a silver plate.

“Where am I? How did I come to be here?”

“Heaven. Speed can kill, did you hear?”

“I thought I could control the car.”

“Your first mistake was to walk into the bar,

then to get behind the wheel. Think you were God.”

“Are you going to let me pass, you rotten sod?”

“I'm sorry but you'll have to wait in line

because you arrived here well ahead of your time,”

Fred banged his fists on the gate. He wanted to go home.

He pleaded. Begged. But he was soon left alone,

tears fell like rain that day

because he didn't have his own way,

now there is a headstone with his name,

for a lad who played a deadly game.

Far Off Dreams

Lonely but safe, my soul mate

has departed for new horizons,

children is all I have

to keep me afloat,

I will not go under

I will survive to go on,

another lesson learned,

I stand at the door

listen to many languages,

smell fried bananas

float on the evening breeze,

oriental spices, curries,

fish, burning meat,

I wonder how we'll eat,

the pantry is nearly bare,

money short, bills arrive,

children play, make new friends,

the world is their oyster

they do not feel the strain,

they adjust, life goes on,

I watch ships at anchor,

boats skip across the water,

I dream of far away places

where there'll be no pain,

of streets paved with happiness,

a knight in shining armour

rides to our rescue,

carries us toward the

setting sun, to a land

of luxury away from the smells

leaving behind the salty sea air,

noisy birds, yelling children, fog horns,

to a place of rolling hills

green grassy slopes,

a castle filled with servants,

I return with a thud

to the house we occupy,

“Where's dinner, Mum?

We're hungry,” dream fades,

tears blur my vision.

Fear

Stand up. Be counted,

Time for women to rule,

don't fall by the wayside,

show men we stand proud,

we will not take their abuse,

Men who abuse women

must pay for their crime

be it mental, or physical,

left to raise the children

seeded in the heat of the moment.

We have been slaves to love,

a passion which burns inside,

hands that strike fear,

tears families asunder

leaving broken family behind.

Sink or swim. Run for life,

Don't look back to what might

one day change, or die,

look to save your family

from love turned bitter.

Danger

A mushroom cloud of dust

rose high above the city,

people ran for their lives

in fear of exploding bombs,

screams rent the nightmare

while searching loved ones.

How many had reached freedom

before the pillars crumbled,

loud noised herald the danger,

the cracking of the pillars,

holding up the roof, now dust,

rubble spread far, wide.

Was it an earth quake?

A bomb. Time would tell,

once the dust settled

survivors searched furiously

for loved ones, friends,

time was of the essence.

Blind Justice

Justice was seen to be served

this cold winter's morn,

the sheriff had made his quota,

the magistrate hoodwinked by lies,

the monk taken another soul,

a victim stood ready to swing

with the noose around his neck

he sang a song of love to his wife,

heavy with child she cast a curse,

she pushed through the crowd

with a sack in her hand,

knelt before her husband's accusers

to grab a cock from the sack

then slit the throat with a dagger,

tossed the cock at the men

who stood, eyes fixed on the headless bird

while it rolled in the snow,

with everyone occupied

she crept silently away

to become a hunted outlaw.

Art Display

Art is art.

Bring any old thing.

A kitchen sink,

broken rings,

shine up a piston,

a bath or two.

Batter saucepans,

an old loo,

bottles dipped in wax,

bobby pins joined together,

a paddle pop house,

some old leather.

A rooster made of tin,

maybe you could use lead,

someone's wooden leg,

or the head of a broken bed,

A ripped shirt covered in dirt,

a covered in bird poo.

Working with paints

is a messy game,

the artist is being creative.

What a laugh.

There are better patterns

on a spotted giraffe.

Paint can be a mystery,

take you on a long journey

way back into the past,

give me beautiful scenery,

a lion, a tiger, a wolf,

they're not as scary as splats.

Uncle George

The glory of god rains down on you

angels come to take you on a long journey

through the land of dreams,

where there is peace, no pain,

to join your family

in the house of the lord.

Tears will flow, wash away pain,

memories will linger in their life,

family will remember sadness, joy,

of a man who fought to the end

to be there for his family

through hard times, good times.

This year, you finally have it right,

we won't see you this Christmas,

in person, only in our memories,

memories of a man with a big heart,

an infectious smile, a helping hand,

suffering pain, now a distant memory,

We wish you well,

may you climb many mountains,

swim calm waters,

rest in your rocking chair,

watch beautiful sunrises, sunsets,

while you watch over all you have left behind.

Fairies.

Fairies. Fairies. Fairies everywhere.

Tall ones. Small ones.

Pink, green, purple

with tiaras, wands,

bumble bees, witches too,

they danced in the aisles,

shout, sing along

with the grown fairies

performing on the stage,

the show was over

all too soon, didn't do an encore,

which was a fizz

for the young fairies

who came to watch the show,

mothers grabbed hands,

escaped the milieu

to be front in line

for photos with Bumble Bee,

Harmony, Rhapsody, Wizard,

mums became poorer,

merchandise walked out the door,

truck waited, stock loaded,

rushed off to disappoint once more.

The rugs are what I crocheted in my spare time to be given to charity. Meaning the rugs are given to those in need. With Winter moving in a lot of the flood victims need a little sparkle in their life to give them comfort, and warmth.

More Thoughts

Boundary Rider

The boundary rider rode his horse with pride

because he had been triumphant in controlling him,

he followed the divide fence, watched for any changes,

birds rose noisy from the shrubs to reach safe territory,

a squadron of ants marched up the fence post,

laughter rang out from the kookaburra in the blue gum,

another break, he found in the fence,

always the cattle were liberated at will

except he guessed when given assistance,

he recorded the breaks. Would telephone his neighbor

when he returned home, to watch for missing cattle.

Boundary Lines

Boundaries are meant to be obeyed,

pride is a hard contender to have,

because it is always a loser,

another way should be found,

triumphant in your success,

record you loses,

birds enjoy their freedom,

change can cause many problems,

divide your troupes and you will conquer,

always remember to do what is right,

squadrons march on their stomach,

will does make you forget your way,

great expectations come with a fall,

liberate the people, let them stand tall,

telephone your family to say hello,

noisy means you don't need a hearing aid,

laugh and you'll live years longer,

guess you think you know it all,

except there is always someone who knows more.

Judgement Day

Day of judgement had arrived.

A new life for an old

tainted with the sins

for those committed by his father,

a grandson conceived

in a fervid act of violence,

the gratification he took

when he deflowered a virgin

the pain, suffering, disgrace,

he brought on the family's name,

the seed of the devil

created such a beautiful child,

he'll never follow his father's path

of destruction, devastation,

he'll bring no shame to the families,

any other child born to this father

will perish, be disfigured, sterile,

while you morn your loss of your son

others will rejoice in your sadness,

the way your son exulted in their destruction,

your grandson will carry the burden,

stigma, shame of his father,

he'll only be freed from purgatory

once the family sins, atrocities,

have been wiped from the slate of shame,

read the note wrapped in the shawl

of the new born found at the family home.

Pack A Kangaroo

To do this is foolish, I can tell you,

speed is a worry at the best of time

when put together with a country road,

you can lose your life, or be crippled,

the darkness hold a multitude of sins,

kangaroos, cows horses

where they shouldn't have been,

at 225K's an hour there's no time to stop,

no time to think, plan where to go,

your life flashes before your eyes

I shouldn't have did that. What will mum think.

Dad will kill me if I survive the crash.

There'll be no recognizable parts of the car,

my body they'll have to scrape off the road,

a shovel they will have to use

then flash my name on the news,

the moment before the bump I prayed not to die,,

finally the car did stop.

To my surprise I was alive.

The car still whole.

Where did the kangaroo go.

Gingerly I stepped from the car to find the carcass

to look if the animal could be found,

I searched and searched, scratched my head,

walked back to the car to search for damage,

the grill and radiator was smashed,

I lifted the bonnet. I found the kangaroo.

Mangled on the engine. Oh, what a mess.

That could have been me.

No Vacancy

The sign is up but they come to stay,

doors no barrier at all,

each of them slip through the wall,

come to chat when lonely.

They are very friendly, you see,

no one books a bed

nor do they need to be feed

those people who come.

Other people come to visit me

but they do let me know,

there for a day then go,

move on to the next place.

None of them argue, fight, or scream,

no punches are thrown,

nor is their presence blown,

the ghosts who stay at my home.

A bump, a call in the night,

roll over, go to sleep,

it is another lost sheep,

house full, no vacancies.

Picnic Ruined

Hulls of the boats skimmed the waves

slide along, water spray covering the boat,

ancient ships bobbed on the water,

mountains stood guard on the western side,

shady trees not to be found near the shore,

noisy winds blew with much force,

storming sounds echoed over the lake,

dressed for a warm, sunny day,

hastened people to find some cover,

creek level rose swiftly, rain poured down,

blood-orange sun covered by ominous clouds,

secrets hidden, people unaware,

water broke the river bank, spread quick,

gravity of their plight, people raced to higher ground,

seagulls struggled to stay afloat,

guests near the resort raced for cover,

bridge went under when rushing water rose,

picnic baskets hastily packed, stowed away,

thunderous noise accompanied by lightning,

arid land no longer parched,

simply would have been better to stay at home,

faces smiled when the clouds passed,

sun shone once again.

Photos And Poetry

Gentlemen

Where have all the men gone,

the gentlemen who stood beside his woman,

the ones who were once there to protect you

keep you safe from harm, you walked above the clouds,

who shared his life, love with you,

A love that was forever, not vanish out of sight,

moved to another bed with the coming of the dawn.

Gentlemen are rare species,

are sought but few are found,

men are now guys with their eye for chance,

ships passing into the night come morning,

have moved on to another port,

they weigh anchor, sail with the breeze,

move frog like to another bed.

Storm

'Twas naught moon nor star burned bright,

dark clouds rushed fiercely over

mountains, rivers and fells to

bring destruction across the land.

Rain pelts trees, water rushed full speed,

torrents churned, gouged

ground from river banks,

logs sailed, dangerous missiles.

Drowned animals dragged

battered on a roller-coaster,

down with the swirling water

to end miles away at sea.

Wishes

Roses are red

tulips are too,

hope you birthday

didn't make you blue,

may there be many more

wonderful years ahead of you.

My Christening

The day had come

a day I'll never forget,

dressed in my beautiful layette

wrapped in a shall,

we traveled in the car

parked in front of the house.

I'm not sure of the make,

all I remember are the steps

with rails built on both sides,

the flooring of the veranda,

high blocks on which the building stood,

dirt to walk on, not a proper floor.

My mother carried me beneath the building,

father stood nervous by her side,

an open forty-four gallon drum

filled with water, glistened in the sunshine,

I was passed across the drum to the minister

unaware of the fate that behold me.

After a few mumbled words

my head slid beneath the surface

of the glistening water. Dunked, I tell you,

why should he be allowed to dunk a baby,

this I tell you is not fair,

I couldn't swim. I was weighted down.

He didn't care, if I did drown,

I spluttered and screamed,

but no one seemed to care,

my face finally wiped with a handkerchief. At last. I could breathe air.

I can't forget what he did to me.

Water. Don't bring it near me.

Don't splash it on my face, or I'll scream.

I'm not a fish. Don't put me in a river.

My tears will spill, will cause a flood,

if you're wise, don't cast water at me.

Stars can shine bright on a sunny day.