Books and Covers

It isn’t at all what you think

Like that husband of mine has drove me to drink

It has nothing to do with him – though he’s a pain

So I can hardly suggest that he’s to blame

And it isn’t that I drink that much

Just a glass here and there – after meetings and such

So do not judge me when I nurse a glass

For I’m just letting a little time to pass

Before I have to get up and reality suspend

And type up my copy to the editor send

For I write for a paper spreading celebrity gossip

It is that and not the whiskey that’s really toxic

Yet people read it, forming judgements and opinions

Like sheep in a flock, the big media minions



Square, Old, Night, City, Architecture, Czech Republic


Arch-symmetry and geometric flare

Pastel accents with

A warm and welcoming air

Yet at your base foundations

Are you like the cobbles cold?

Is it all about the rich facade

If the truth be ever told?





woman leaning on table

To say Emma was petite was an understatement.  She was absolutely diminutive.  Though she was twenty-four, most people took her to be no more than twelve or thirteen, owing to her size and her baby face.

Emma double checked the address on her iPhone and the time.  It was exactly 8:44 a.m., as she began to make her way down the suburban street to her rendezvous.  She was wearing the uniform of the expensive local girls’ school as she cycled through the tree-lined neighbourhood.

Then she saw the man she was supposed to meet stepping from his front door.   Right on time, she observed with a smile.  Just as the man of about forty reached his car, Emma’s bicycle flipped and she landed sprawled out in the road.  The man rushed to her assistance, and asked if she were okay.

“I think so,” she replied.  He then helped her to her feet.  She took a step and then her left leg buckled under her own weight.  The man caught her, and propped her up as he helped her to the curbside.  She sat, and a couple of tears ran down her cheek.

“I will be okay,” she said after a couple of minutes.  “Thank you for helping me.  It was really kind of you,” she said.  “I am sure my parents would like to reward you for your kindness.  What is you name, so I can tell them?”

“Howard Waverley,” he said.  “It was nothing though, I have a daughter about your age, and I would hope someone would do the same for her.”

Emma rummaged in her schoolbag for a moment and brought out a notebook and pen.  “Howard Waverley of Cypress Avenue,” she said as she jotted it down.  She then pulled an envelope from the notebook and announced, “Howard Waverley of Cypress Avenue – you have been served,” she said handing him the envelope.