Beauty In The Midst Of Decadence

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(Photo credit: Guga)

 

Angela rushed through the meadows, her brown hair flying in the wind, to a percipient onlooker, she’s the picture of perfection and beauty. I watched her keenly as Jasper pulled me along the rough footpath. The howling wind whipped my cheeks savagely and I glanced up at the gloomy sky. Suddenly, my skin began to crawl and I had one of the most uneasy sensations since I left the house with Jasper. I sensed danger, Jasper whined and began to bark. I looked round widely and spotted the brown-haired girl.

That was all I saw and I sprung to action, I ran as if my life depended on it, luckily, we got there on time. I caught hold of her legs and everything paled into a blur. I was  glad I acted when I did. I saved a girl from killing herself!

* * * * * *

The above story is mere fiction, but beautiful if one way or the other, we could interrupt tragedy and save a dying soul from despair. Angela was just 12 years old, and yet, she wanted to kill herself, why? Because of cyber bullying. We live in such a fast-moving world, it’s scary sometimes. I was a virgin when I entered university and met my husband, but kids of today have had sexual relations as young as 9 years old! Though I believe we can still preserve the beauty and innocence of our children,  we just have to create more time and let them know we care about even the mundane details of their lives. I was a teenager once, so I know the feeling. As a parent, I care about young people and pray that we would do enough to make this world a better place, but I believe it starts from the home front, don’t you think?

Next week, I’ll be promoting some author friends, if anyone is interested in joining in my little adventure please drop a message on my contact page! Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

NP: I have had a very busy but interesting week and must have missed lots of awesome posts! Please bear with me friends, I’ll stop by your blogs as soon as I can!! 😉

Much love, always.

🙂

The Miry Clay!

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My hands got stuck in the clay

My skin melts into its blackness.

I became one with it!

I slouched through the mush of my decay.

I smelt the perfume of my horrors.

And wept at the snigger of the hollow.

I looked up and saw the light.

I clawed through the darkness.

I miffed through my tears and felt

The sorrow of the miry Clay.

****

My soul sniffed my shame.

My hands shook with defeat.

I struggled to save what was left,

But grasp empty air!

    Love looked me in the eyes and screamed.

Faithfulness hissed at my discomfort.

Hope staggered when I called.

Faith strolled past me in disgust.

Mercy held me close…

And I caught a glimpse of heaven.

I am, but a clay…

________________________________

Can love forgive all sins?

******

I wrote this poem when I heard the story of a woman whose husband repeatedly abused her, physically and emotionally. She was still willing to forgive him, she tried to make people see things through the eyes of her abusive husband, calling him the miry clay, insisting that he has issues!!!

 Well, this is me writing in the POV (point of view) of this vile man!  (By the way, she’s had a miscarriage as a result of the emotional trauma she’d been subjected to)

And believe me, it was difficult trying to know what goes through the mind of such a horrible man! It’s sad that so many women (and sometimes men!) are stranded in abusive relationships, and the heart wrenching part is when the abused tried to explain the irrational behaviours of their partners! I know we cannot be overly protective of our loved ones, but intervening subtly can really prevent tragedies.

One way is by speaking to the abuser, encouraging him/her to seek help for his/her anger, but it’s easier said than done.

The crux of the matter is, how would you know that you’re falling in love with a monster? And, is there hope for the violent?

These are difficult questions to answer and I won’t even try but from my little office in London, I wish you, my friends, a peaceful, love filled weekend!!

Much love, always!

🙂

To hold….

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To hold against all odds.

To love against all odds.

‘Let’s make love, not war,’

‘If only these were the wishes of the majority,’

said the wrinkled old lady.

‘Well,’ quipped the husband,

‘The earth will explode with love then,’

And he smiled.

Well this weekend, I hope we’ll all make love (erm… in whatever form, it doesn’t have to be the real thing … 😉 you know what I mean! 😉 ), and not war, I hope we’ll all smile and not frown, I sincerely wish we’ll all be happy and not sad, because according to C.S Lewis, ‘Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness is there in our lives!’ I guess, I shouldn’t say more.

Have a love filled weekend my dear friends!

Much love, always!

🙂 🙂

Stranded At Santum Close (2)

Statue of Archangel Michael by August Vogel ab...

 Hamburg, Germany

The lone figure toddled along the street; the warm night air was like poison to his troubled soul. He dragged his left leg along and grunted with each painful step. His hunched shoulders were home to a coat, which hung on his gaunt frame like shredded shrouds. His small, beady eyes were still sharp and bright. He moved slowly but surely towards St Michael’s Church. When he neared the church, he glanced wearily at the bronze figure of Archangel Michael, which stood at the portal of the church conquering the devil but the image merely intensified his uneasiness.

He stiffened at the horrible thought that crossed his mind, ‘is any of the Leonhards still alive? If so, my soul be damned.’ At the ripe old age of 81, Bernstein Joel Bonnke believed his bones would not rest in his grave until he has seen an end to the last descendant of the cancer of Germany. His shaky head glared at the picture in his right hand, it was the picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman,  her features were lovely, but as far as he was concerned, she carried in her genes, an evil so potent, it must not be allowed to sprout. Bernstein gritted his teeth in quiet anticipation, if things worked according to plan, then his meeting at Santum Close would be successful.

 

*****************

Gordon’s car glided smoothly into the driveway, he killed the engine and opened the door of his Aston Martin. He closed it loudly for emphasis and muttered under his breath,

‘I’m still angry!’

He strode towards the door and stopped short, a creepy feeling slowly made its way down his spine. A worried frown crossed his taut face. He couldn’t place it but suddenly, he wanted to hold Linda in his arms, his earlier anger evaporated instantly.

He opened the front door and met a full house.

His mother and sons sat with glum faces while three police officers stood sentry close to the kitchen, whispering to themselves. Gordon’s heart sank; he knew something bad must have happened to Linda.

‘Hey mom,’ he croaked out, there was a stubborn lump on his throat.

His mother, Bertie stood up. She was a plain Jane, round, matronly but with the sweetest smile ever. She sauntered to where her son stood sheepishly, looking like a cat caught stealing a neighbour’s milk and held him close.

‘Linda didn’t make it to the office.’ Bertie whispered sadly, her eyes brimming with tears.

Gordon moved away from his mother’s embrace and faced his sons, they didn’t utter a word, but their accusing eyes spoke volume.

The police officers approached cautiously, their faces, deadpan and serious.

Eliza stood up and went to his room; Gordon stared at his retreating back and knew he has lost his son. He watched the police officers as they approached him and the knot in his stomach tightened as they inched closer.

They told him the news he had dreaded since stepping into the house.

 

***********************************

One thing I’ve realised about relationships is this, we tend to jump to conclusions quickly. Suspicion and mistrust kills love faster than unfaithfulness and you know what I’m going to say next – Live well and love well.

The next part of this story would be next Wednesday, I appreciate your comments! 🙂

I write like Jeffrey Archer, I don’t plan my stories, I just write as the pen leads! I love you guys, and do enjoy the rest of this great week.

NP: There’s one thing though – I’m having problems commenting on all the blogs I visited yesterday, it’s like been banned from speaking to your friends! 😦  I do hope WordPress would fix this!!

Much love, always!

🙂

 

 

Stranded At Santum Close

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Linda moved away from husband, tears in her eyes. She hated his anger and bickering, it was like a stab wound to her delicate heart.

‘Answer me!’ Gordon screamed spurning her around, she slipped and landed on the floor, grimacing in pain. But Gordon was past caring, he bent over her, his dark hair dishevelled. His six-foot frame shaking with uncontrollable rage. There was a deranged glint in his eyes.

‘Who the hell is big Joe? I sure don’t know him among your cousins,’ he snarled and raised his massive hands as if to strike her, she averted his gaze and hid her face under the crop of her arms. Gordon continued his tirade of abuse nonetheless,

‘You have his number on your phone, you have him on LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter and yet, I don’t know him, answer me!’

Then he bent down and carried her effortlessly from the marble floor of their five bedroom end of terrace property and threw her on the bed. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and knew their sons must have heard the noise.

‘Keep your voice down,’ she begged but he continued, ignoring her pleading.

‘You are now a celebrity eh? Having men eat from your palms but listen to me and listen good,’ he narrowed his eyes to drive his points home, ‘you ARE still my wife, and must tell me everything!’

And with that, he stomped out of the room, almost colliding with Eliza, their eldest son. She heard him taking the car keys from the fire-place, moments later, the sound of raving engines soon became a distant echo.

Eliza lingered at the doorway, his face puffed up from sleep. He stared at his mom and the sadness in his eyes wrenched her heart out. Without a single word, he closed the door and walked away.

Linda decided not to cry, her tears would achieve nothing, the only thing that could ease her pain was work. She leapt up from the bed and went straight to the bathroom. As she scrubbed her body, she wondered why Gordon, her husband did not trust her anymore.

They’ve been married for twenty-five years, they met at college and have been together ever since. Linda’s faithfulness to her husband and kids has never been in doubt, until now. Gordon was the only one who doubted her – all her friends and extended family knew she would lick the ground he walked on and she knew he loved her too, but why the sudden mistrust and jealousy?

Linda shook her head in confusion and finished bathing. She left the bathroom and sauntered to the room. Within minutes, she finished dressing and was ready to go. She lingered briefly at the full length mirror in the bedroom. She was forty-five years old but looked thirty. Her luscious dark hair flowed easily to her back, her full painted lips parted in an empty smile and her eyes looked sad.

Linda was aware of her extraordinary beauty but it didn’t get to her. Her well proportioned body seemed to have fared well regardless of the four children which came out of her.

She rubbed her slim manicured hands on her face and sighed.

‘I love you Gordon.’ she said aloud but her feeling of sadness persisted.

She left the room and saw Eliza and his brothers outside the door.

‘Mom, dad is getting worse,’ Eliza said in a matter of fact tone, he looked worried.

‘It’s just a phase,’ Linda replied in an unconvincing tone, ‘it would pass.’

She hugged her sons and slowly made her way down the stairs.

‘What about the family picnic? Today is bank holiday mom, I don’t want you to go to work.’ said Luke, her last son.

‘I have to,’ she said, ruffling his blonde hair, his pale skin grew paler at her touch.  When she got to the living room, she took the second car keys but on second thoughts, left it on the centre table.

‘I won’t be long, just a few files to work on and I’ll be home in time for lunch.’

Eliza nodded absent-mindedly.

Unbeknown to him, that would be the last time he would set his eyes on his mother.

****************************

I’ve not written short stories in a while, I wrote this weeks ago and just stumbled on it while I was musing about some real life events. Through out this month, I’ll write this story, it’s loosely based around true events that I’d seen happened to some very close friends. But I’m going to fabricate some facts as well. I’ll post this story once a week and when it’s done, provided I get great response from you my friends, I’ll think of what to do with it.

The next instalment would be Wednesday, but I’ll still be posting ‘breaking news’ (life experiences) as they come.

A word of advise, live well – there are no perfect relationships but you can be the best, wherever you find yourself!

Have a wonderful week!

Much love, always.

🙂

And They Were Men!

Glenda Otero

(Glenda Otero)

Rippling muscles, maybe none!

Great smiles, baritones voices;

They searched for food, they found a home,

 They looked for success, they found contentment,

Great men don’t have to be in your screens,

Great men were not born

They were made.

Not all are fathers…

Not all fathers are great…

Some, were just men.

One great man said,

”No other success in life – not being President, wealthy, or going to college, or writing a book, or anything else – comes up to the success of the MAN ( or woman) who can feel that they have done their duty and their children and grandchildren rise up and call them blessed!”

                                                                                                                                                                         ”President Theodore Roosevelt

I think President Roosevelt was right. Nowadays, we  have so many absentee fathers but I’m not going to dwell on that today! I just want to praise great men, like my dad, my husband, Alastair Forbes, Freddie, Roderick Craig Low… just a few among the throng of really great men. Happy father’s day to you guys, we (your daughters, wives, partners, friends,) appreciate you.

I hope you are enjoying your day and I hope you’ll have a fantastic week as well.

Much love, always!

🙂 🙂

Vapours In The Wind…

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(Photo credit: 13DeDe)

 Your smile stayed glued to my brain.

Your laughter echoes through my mind.

Your voice stayed with me as I pen this words.

Life is like vapours in the wind, so fleeting, so quick.

You spoke a few words this morning,

You even smiled amidst your pain.

And then you breathe your last!

My heart trembled with shock.

My tears were hot on my cheeks.

It was so quick dear friend.

You left too early.

My fingers ache.

Sleep….

I’ll be taking a week’s break from blogging. A very dear friend of mine died this morning, and in respect to him and his family, I’ll stay away for a while. Life is fleeting I know but when you love someone dearly and they leave when you least expected, its shattering. I’ll be back next Friday.

Live well dear friends, love from me to you!

Always…

An Old Man’s Tale!

Level Crossing at Barnes

Level Crossing at Barnes (Photo credit: Manic Street Preacher)

 I sat down quietly at home today when a friend of mine told me this story and I decided to write it down word for word. She said she read it somewhere but it was too good to pass on! Enjoy:

 An old man was driving back from town with

his wife continually providing unwanted

advice from the back seat. When they arrived at

a level crossing, the car stalled halfway across the

line, just as a train came roaring towards them.

”Move you idiot!” screamed the man’s wife, ”Get

the car off the tracks!” The old man turned and

calmly replied, ”You’ve been doing all the driving

from the back seat, and I’ve got my end across – see

what you can do with yours.”

It’s sad that some women are extremely controlling, I saw the funny side of this story, did you?

Thanks for reading my post!

Much love friends!

🙂

Home

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Home is a place of refuge, refuge from the storms of life.

A home is not a house.

I walked pass an overhead bridge and saw tattered luggage scattered everywhere.

My heart lurched in sorrow, and I wondered what makes someone

Lose a home.

I saw a man’s face, peering out of the darkness, the man’s face scared me but I was curious all the same.

I walked home, sad because I know by morning, he would be gone.

Killers and murderers even found refuge in the

comfort of a home.

Oscar Pistorius is one.

If you have a home,

Thank God, if not,

You can find

A home if you

don’t lose

Heart.

The Sweeper!

 

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The grotesque sweeper ploughed down the street, I stopped on my tracks to be sure it was real before I fled to my room. I heard my mom arguing on the phone, she’s uptight today, I told my dad she worked too hard but nobody cared to listen.

But my problems were far from over, the looming sound seemed to burst through my ear drums as the sweeper made its way down the front of our house, when my parents made no attempt to calm my frayed nerves, I ran down the stairs and hid in the cloak room, though it was dark, I felt safe, then I heard my mom calling my name and I began to cry.

She hurried downstairs and brought me out of my darkness, her pretty face a beehive of worry. She loved me, I know but sometimes, I get the feeling, they don’t believe me when I tell everyone who cared to listen that I hate the sound of ‘The Sweeper.’

”It’s all right baby Lou,” she said and straddled me into her arms but there was no stopping my wailing, I hated when she calls me ‘baby Lou’ and I hated the sweeper. My dad came to meet us downstairs and I went straight to him. He cuddled me and called me ‘tiger,’ I kind of prefered tiger to ‘baby Lou.’ I love the sound of trains trudging down the tracks, I love the booming sound of aeroplanes but not the sweeper!

Ten minutes later, I felt better and slowly made my way to the living room, ‘Mickymouse’ was singing on the TV, life is good, my only fear in life is the sweeper! My name is Emmanuel David and I am twenty-five months old!

 

*******************

I just had to post this, my son hates the sound of the street sweeper and it beats me! I reckon trains and aeroplanes are scarier than the dingy engine sound of the street sweeper!

This is a classic example of what we fear, as adults, we are more afraid of the mundane things in everyday life, the snide comments of haters, or what people think… maybe, the house we live in or our jobs, our relationships with others might cause a great amount of scrutiny but I say, forget such people exist! There would always be haters, live your life as if you’re in paradise.

Just like the lady in the above picture, laugh your problems away! Life is good if we allow it to be so, it’s our reactions to problems that matter most, not the problems!!

Thanks friends for reading my post!

Love, always!! 🙂