Book extract

 

TYR

       His nostrils filled with the smells of his mother's kitchen.  His mouth began to water as teasing wafts of fresh herbs, oven baked bread along with onions and garlic frying, swirled around him.

        He could hear his mother singing gently in the distance and then he could feel the soft, loving touch of her fingertips as they trailed down his cheek and chin.

        The tinkling laughter of a beautiful, young woman made him smile. The sweet smell of her hair and skin, the touch of her lips on his.  The memory of just one kiss was so indelibly imprinted on him he could sense the lingering trace of her.  The presence of her.  His heart swelled. 

        The garden was filled with more laughter now.  His parents, Parras and Abelia, his sister Maia, her partner Gabriel and their child Aurora were all there of course.  So too the raven-haired beauty who held his heart.  But who was she?  He couldn't name her or ever remember meeting her and yet inexplicably, he was deeply in love with her.

        They were all giggling along with Tyr as they watched his niece chase the silvery, glass orb about the garden.  The sphere had a mind of its own, dodging and weaving in mid-air as the young girl squealed with delight and gave chase.  The beautiful sound of the night lark interwove with the musical sounds of the family's glee.

        Bright lights began to move faster and faster around the garden.  Tyr moved with them, became part of them, spinning, spinning around all the people he loved. They were looking up at him but couldn't see him.  He was calling out them, but they ignored him.

        He was moving at a dizzying speed, he begged them to grab him.  To stop him.  To pull him back down.  They just laughed and pointed.  Why couldn't they see or hear him?

        They began to blur now, their faces melting away into a smear of colour.  Their laughter morphed into a deep guttural howl of a foul beast from childhood nightmares. 

        He sought the refuge of his father's embrace.  There was always great comfort being wrapped in those big arms.  Whether awoken by a scary dream as a child, ill abed or just welcomed home, being hugged into Parras' barrel chest represented everything that was safe.

            His father's embrace became tighter and tighter.  Tyr began to panic; his father was crushing him in his vice-like grip.  He could feel the air being forced from his lungs; he couldn't breathe.  The burning pain in his chest grew.  He struggled but was unable to move.  He tried to scream out, but words would not come.  He could feel hot tears running down his cheeks.

        Then blackness came.

An extract from my yet to be completed novel, The Blight.

Drifting on the Murray

 GOING WITH THE FLOW.

The lazy brown snakes its way through fertile farmlands and desert scapes alike. 

Bringing life to some and causing the slow death of others.

Vineyards and orchards groan under the weight of plush canopies and plump fruit, while once majestic gums stand as stark, bone-white reminders of their former glory.

The setting sun is foreshadowed by cacophonous squawking as sulphur-tinged clouds of white erupt from the trees across the violet and rose daubed skies.

As night descends, birdsong is replaced by the chittering and buzzing of creatures lucky enough to have escaped the twilight feasting.

Nature's calls are soon drowned out by the crackle of flames, clinking bottles, music and laughter. Until the hypnotic thrumming of a generator and the gentle lap, lap lapping waters drumming a lullaby on the hull, beckoning all to rest.

Dawn breaks but the only early risers to be heard are the unseen birds and occasional splash of a silvery tail as it shatters the glassy surface.

The sizzling of the barbecue plate gives rise to breakfast aromas, luring bleary-eyed revellers into the light, ready to be carried along on another carefree day of blissful drifting. 

Remembering houseboat holidays on the Murray.

A Parallel Universe

I AM NOT HERE.

I inhabit the same world yet I am unseen.

Sometimes eyes directed toward me see straight through me.

A wraith, spectre or figment?

I know not which nor whether.

Under one great sky do we all dwell.

The same sun warms my pate as it does yours.

We are doused by identical downpours, buffeted by the same gales, chilled by the same frosty mornings and we swelter in the same searing heat, but you wouldn't know it.

We are so alike yet so utterly different.

I no longer hustle and bustle like those of you around me.

Near static in a constantly moving world, I have nowhere to rush to or from.

Looking on I can see the pointless earnestness of the ebbing and flowing masses.

Rushing here, racing there, yet never really knowing where or why.

Waging a constant battle against time, they leave much of their world unobserved. Untouched. 

Fooling themselves into believing theirs is a life well lived, when the opposite is the naked, uncomfortable truth.

If only they knew how few of their worries and woes were truly worthy of their care.

I could tell them, but my nonexistence means my unneeded advice would go unheeded, even though I can talk with much authority on the matters of life and love and loss.

I too once strode along a similar path and clambered up the ladder.

Unburdened by the need to waste precious moments on unimportant things like idle conversation, the appreciation of children's laughter or the beauty of autumn leaves eddying in the breeze.

I was the provider, striving to create a better life for those I believed looked up to me, before I became invisible.

Confusing bigger with better, my success enabled me to amass wealth and comforts for those I held dear.

I was the rock upon which they could rely, the shoulder on which to cry.

Falsely considering myself happy then, like those who pass by me now.

Then, in a blink, a flash of steel, a glistening cloud of glass, it all changed.

Forever.

Each of us is only ever an instant away from dwelling in this parallel universe.

A world inhabited by apparitions like me.

To be ignored, stepped over or around.

For the very few who do glimpse me, their eyes betray them. 

Recognition is followed by revulsion, which is soon replaced with discomfort, and then almost always, pity.

Yet they know not what bought me here nor how closely they are to treading the same path.

Neither do you.

Be careful where you step.

Just one misstep, a trip, a stumble, an unwanted moment in time could have you join me.

I am not here.

For all the invisible people. There but for the grace of God go I. And you.

A Tale of Two Christmases

 

A CHRISTMAS GIFT.

As the sun sinks on another festive day

A family silently watches tree lights twinkle and stars sparkle

Ears straining for a magical sound

No matter how faint or distant, it is a melody of hope.

    On the other side of a city another family sits

    Full of festive cheer, waiting for the final place setting to be filled

    Presents stacked beneath the tree

    Eager young hands itching to poke and prod.

Bells do not jingle but a festive tune plays nonetheless

Heard often before although different this time

Hands reach out and clasp, clutching for hope

Heads bow in silent prayer.

    Waiting turns to frustration

    A feast to be kept warm well past its time of serving

    Annoyance soon becomes concern

    A shadow cast upon an empty seat.

A silent night is shattered by a loud ringing

Tentative hands reach for the receiver

A quivering voice answers the call

All uncertainty is swept aside, a flurry of activity ensues.

    A lonely, plaintive knock echoes

    Nervous footsteps approach and there, strangers stand

    Unexpected and unwelcome guests

    Disbelief forcers time to freeze.

Hugs, kisses and tears of joy

Whispered well wishes and heartfelt see you soons

Doors swing close at the end of a long, deserted corridor

Swelling hearts, a lifetime of thanks.

    Hugs, kisses and tears of sorrow

    Grief wracked, sobbing goodbyes

    Doors slam shut at the end of a long, deserted corridor

    Broken hearts, a lifetime of mourning.

In memory of a remarkable young woman and tribute to the families on both sides of organ donation.

Chrissie is over

Chrissie is over
and we're no longer on rellie duty.

There's a big day ahead, so we're up at dawn's crack to get ready.

No time for brekky, we're straight into it.

She's gonna be a scorcher and the place will be chockers.

Me and me mates are throwing a barbie, and everyone is due to lob early this arvo.

There's a shedload of stuff to do so we'd best get cracking.

Thommo starts blowing up the pool and Nev is pegging down the slip 'n slide. 

He's piled a stack of beanbags at the end after what happened that one time when Jimbo flew down it like a shower of shit and come a cropper.

Straight through the bloody fence he went!

Laugh?

We just about cacked our dacks.

He was spewing.

Came stomping back mad as a cut snake, the claret pissing out of his big toe.

"Shut yer cake holes youse mongrels!" he was yelling.

Buckley's chance of that mate.

It was yonks ago and we still wind him up about it.

Still, get a feed into the big fella and that'll stop him whining like a cracked diff.

And there should be plenty of tucker, no wukkas.

We've got stacks of snags and patties.

Big Al cracks me up, he looks like he's bawling his eyes out chopping all them onions.

Jules is bringing her marinated chook and Barb's making a mega salad.

Crikey, we'll have plenty of veg tho. 

Some sliced spuds and I'll chuck a few mushies on the hotplate if I gotta, so buggered if I know who'll eat all that rabbit food.

Anyway, best keep in sweet with Barb, she can get a bit stroppy if you rub her up the wrong way.

I'll make meself scarce and lend Mitch a hand to fill the eskies. 

Just about every man and his dog is chipping in.

Y'know Tobes?

Dead set legend.

He thinks of everything that bloke.

Comes in with mozzie coils, bikkies and chockies for the littleuns, and a whacking great beach brolly to keep the rays off the cooks.

Even brings along a spare pair of sunnies coz he knows Gazza is bound to forget his.

Davo gave us a bell to say he'd swing past the bottle-o on his way over and grab some extra slabs and more ice.

Onya mate.

Good call.

Everyone's up for it big time.

Even Shaz has spruced herself up and chucked on her best lippy. 

Geez, I hope she doesn't come across all clucky when Shirl and Trev turn up with their ankle biters.

Word is, Jezza's coming too.

I'll be stoked to see him.

Can't wait.

He's been out woop-woop for yonks but had to come back to the big smoke when his old man took crook.

Things were a bit iffy there for a while, but the old boy came good in the end.

Simmo rocks in late, reckons he had a blow-out in his thongs, the bloody dag.

Bonging on more like, by the look of him.

Nearly ran into a booze bus on the way over here too he reckons.

Had to chuck a uey and do a runner.

Flamin' galah is gonna chance his arm once too often one of these days. 

No doubt Bazz will be off his face and end up dancing around in the nuddy again.

What a bludger that bloke is.

Waste of friggin' space I reckon.

He rocks up half cut, pigging out on Maccas, parks his arse and does nothing but suck longnecks and chuff durries while the rest of us do the hard yakka.

Strewth, take it easy dragging the plasma out will ya?

I know the Ashes are on, but the olds will go spare if you put a ding in the telly.

Time to crank up the acca dacca and blow the top off the first frothy of the day.

It'll be a rippa I reckon.

She's gonna go off.

We'll all be pulling sickies tomorrow.

A homage to youthful summers in Straya.

Love Discovered. Love lost.

LOVE DISCOVERED.  LOVE LOST.

It's raining again and I like watching the droplets trickle down the window as I look upon the scene below.  Blue skies now grey as light fades like a memory, hurrying people along, making them scuttle and scurry away seeking the warmth of their homes and the ones they love. Those little golden windows glowing like beacons promising sanctuary and warmth amid the creeping gloom.

Well young man, I must say, you have a pleasant face, but why is it you stare at me so?  I know you not, nor the person sitting by your side.  Is that a tear I see glistening in the corner of your eye?  Please don't add your troubles to mine, I have more than enough of my own.  Look now, you've embarrassed me, catching me unawares, my hair unkempt and my bed unmade.  Please, a little warning would be appreciated and appropriate should you intend to visit again. 

Wait. That song, that song, they're playing it still, can you hear?  Can you?  Oh, how we danced that night.  My dress swirling and swishing as around the dance floor we went and oops, more than just a hint of a slip! Little wonder my face was flushed red. But I didn't have a care in the world while you held me in your arms so tight.  So near.  Never let me go is what you promised, I remember it well as I looked into your eyes and yet, where did you go?  Why did you leave me?  

Yes, yes, goodbye to you both.  No, no, not a kiss if you please.  It is far too familiar when a handshake will suffice.  On your way now, I have things to which I must attend, and I am quite happy with my own company thank you very much, but... but perhaps I am being hasty.  No wait.  It is awfully dark now and so very quiet.  Please, come sit stranger, stay with me just a little longer.  Tell me a story while I put my head on the pillow.  You have such a nice soothing voice; familiar yet somehow not. 

A village on the coast you say?  I have not a recollection of it at all, though it reminds me of a moment I might share with you.  A tale of a handsome strong beau and his beautiful belle.  Hand in hand we walked along the windswept beach.  Lashed by rain and sodden nearly to our core we were, but so content and so very much in love, cold nor damp could touch us.  Although, and I have never told a soul this before so you must swear never to tell, it did give us an excuse to rid ourselves of our wet garb and slip into a steaming hot bath together.  I can feel its warmth now.  His warmth...

A tissue, yes, thank you.  Heaven knows why I am crying, but I am too tired to talk any longer.  I just want to sleep.  Why are you still here?  Some privacy please.  Leave the light on as you go.  Not because I fear the dark, no it is not.  I might decide to read a while before bed as I find it helps me sleep and have the most wonderful dreams.  A pity I can remember not a one, but I know they are pleasant as I am smiling when I wake.  Do stop lingering in the doorway, it is a very improper way for a gentleman to behave.

Good night.

A dedication to those on both sides of dementia.

Addicted to the Memory of You

 ADDICTED TO THE MEMORY OF YOU.

Spying glimpses with the corner of my eye

Turning to see not a soul standing by

Your scent as I walk into an empty room

Is it madness descending or some deepening gloom?

I'm addicted to the memory of you

Hearing your laughter from our cold, vacant bed

Certain you are there, but when I turn my head

Naught but a fleeting image I'm fearful to lose

As I tearfully hug armfuls of your old clothes

I'm addicted to the memory of you

My heart is pounding, my sleepless eyes straining

But the dim darkness reveals to me nothing

Except for the thought of you lingering yet

The faraway feel of your touch kindles regret

I'm addicted to the memory of you

I feel closer to you than ever before

Although we could never be further apart

They say only time can heal a broken heart

If that is true, stop all the damned clocks. No more

I'm addicted to the memory of you

God help me, God forsake me, God come and take me

I'm addicted to the memory of you.

A tribute to all those who have loved and lost.

Frequent Visitor

FREQUENT VISITOR

I have passed this way may times before, carrying tingling droplets of saltiness to enliven the skin and tug at the memory.

Lifting the squawks of gulls as they herald the catch, then turning the laughter of innocents into squeals as tiny grains are whipped into a frenzy about plump, bare legs.

Witness to steps of trepidation and the nervous chatter of those from distant shores setting foot upon this one for the first time.

So too, the fervent whispers from the sons of the Orient as they set off on their long, desperate march.

All curiously and fearfully observed from afar by guardians of the land whose presence is now all but a whispering lament of a near forgotten dreaming.

I am buffeting and raucous.

Soothing and cooling.

Swish-swishing foamy ripples on the sand to create a gentle serenade as darkness descends.

All this and more can be found upon invisible wings.

If you truly listen.

I have passed this way before.

I shall again.

A tribute to coastal breezes and my memories of Robe, South Australia.

East End Soul

 EAST END SOUL

An irregular crowd shuffles in.

Barflies rubbing shoulders with suits, celebs, the hoi polloi and plebs.

A meeting place and a melting pot.

A heady mixture of sequins and sleaze, tatts and tie-dyes.

The hum of the crowd ebbs and flows, laced with foul language and hearty laughter.

A proper pub devoid of pokies, TVs, TABs and pretentiousness. 

Where music is downloaded directly to ears and playlists are scrawled on scraps of paper, gaffer-taped to amps.

A welcoming low-fi haven harking back to simpler times.

Long may she reign and pour.

A tribute to the Exeter Hotel, Adelaide.