The Battle

The battle is not always bloody

The conflict marked with pain

Sometimes it is mental

A struggle more than just a game

For strategy and tactics

Will all come into frame

And when all is done and dusted

Only one will have the fame


Behind The Image


Idyllic scene of pastoral bliss

If only it were just like this

But there are mornings that are all too early

Hundreds of chores that await you surely

There are livestock to feed, fences to mend

And piles of muck, so we can’t pretend

That there’s no downside to the rural disguise

It’s not all meadows with sunlit skies


Weekend Tasks

When Friday comes and you’re weary

Yet, face loads of chores that are dreary

Do not seek the easy way

As I discovered the other day

For I told Alexa to get it done

But “she” said “I don’t know that one.”

So, I guess it will be the same old way

That the tasks will get done some other day




When praise is scarce and hard to net

Some will start fishing for a complement

It isn’t that they are necessarily vain

It might just be that their egos are suffering pain

So, when you see someone approval seek

Be kind and don’t give a cruel critique

For it may be you that in passing of time

T’will need a word encouraging and kind


Beach Trip


Jason and Becky clambered along the rocky up-crop and then down a narrow overgrown path.

Becky made an abrupt stop and turned towards her partner. “You and your fricking shortcuts!”

“What do you mean? This is the fastest way to get to the beach,” he insisted.

“Yes, I’m sure I can get there in about ten seconds,” she said irritably as she turned to take another glance over the cliff.



“Just look at the state of our garden. I can’t belief the council doesn’t do more to control these pests. I mean it isn’t like they do much of anything else around here . . . .”

A mole hill’s bump

Into a knoll does rise

A becomes a hill before her eyes

Climbing still into a majestic peek

A Himalayan berg, to hear her speak


From Beyond The Mists

Rumour had it that they were from the far south, beyond the mists. Whether that was true or not nobody knew. What was known was there were short and stocky, and had eerily white skin that never seemed to burn or tan. Their hair was as white as their skin, but what struck most people was their eyes. Their eyes were large and almond-shaped and varied from a red to a deep orange. What made their appearance even more alien that they filed their teeth to points and clipped their ears in their youth to make them almost flush with their heads. The last two points were actually pure speculation as no one had ever seen a Grya under fighting age, and in truth the ears and teeth are natural among their kind.

The Grya largely kept the company of their compatriots, but were friendly enough to those that showed them courtesy. In fact, when in the mood they could be downright gregarious and loved parties and drinking games, which they seldom lost.

It was to the Grya that young Amir was detailed, an event that would help shape his life.

Padre (R. Mitchell)