In a battle of wits some people are unarmed.
In a battle of wits some people are unarmed.
I still think there are more good people than bad people, they’re just not as obvious.
Come to me little one,
Come and see,
Beyond the horizon,
Across the gentle sea.
The world is yours to make,
A place to call your own.
All it takes is courage,
To face the great unknown.
Provocative and enticing,
The horizon is never far.
But distance is not measured,
By the length you drive your car.
I want to touch the shore,
At the distance I can see.
I want to walk the line,
That separates you and me.
The horizon just beyond,
Is a marvel to behold.
Look and see with wonder,
And life will then unfold.
Life is an assault on the senses.
If ‘stupidity’ was taxable, governments would have a surplus of funds.
His eyes peered through the leaves, adjusting. Slowly, oh so slowly, his hand reached out to a branch and gently moved it aside. Not even the birds nearby noticed the movement. No one did. A hint of a smile creased his lips for no more than a moment. It wasn’t time yet. Soon.
With a quiet sigh his left hand reached inside his breast pocket and touched his Talisman. It was old. Very old. He had taken it from an elderly man who no longer needed it. That was years ago. Another life. It started him remembering where it had all begun.
As a young man he was interested in what he couldn’t see. He wanted to understand what made people do what they did. So, he enrolled in a psychology course at a University. But all that did was make him ask more questions. The army told him that “He Could Be All That He Could Be” with them so he joined. He got great training. Turns out he was an OK soldier but he learned more than they expected. While he was soldiering overseas, he discovered that he had a particular… appetite. He was always very careful never to indulge to excess. And then he retired. He was still a relatively young man, so he embarked on another career. He drove a truck from the top of North America to the bottom. It was a great job. Weeks on the road allowed him to indulge his . . . appetite quite freely. But it did require planning.
He glanced down at the park below his perch. It was almost time. Soon more people would be arriving. The children would mostly be at home for dinner and the adults would come out to play. Fair game. He would have to be quick, before he lost the light. But it would only take a few moments. And then he would move on to the next town, the next city, the next park. It had been more than a decade and no one had figured it out.
With the talisman in his hand he rolled the dice on a relatively level spot on a nearby branch. He used to have a pair but one was lost many years ago. One still worked. Of course, it meant a lower number. How many people would be shot today?
It’s funny, a single dice is called a die.
To live you need air. To have a life you need friends.
Paraskevidekatriaphobia: if you can say it, you can’t possibly be afraid of it.
Marketing is the stick that moves the cattle in the right direction.
A misty morning on a field of war,
A single poppy grew.
The soldier closed his eyes at last,
For death had come too soon.
He lay in peace upon the ground,
His rifle by his side.
Never more to see the dawn,
Or sunsets with his love.
A gentle rain came soon enough,
To wash away his tears.
But not in time to spare his life,
Taken by the war.
Others stood in place for him,
Men and women both.
Many paid the final price,
Exacted by the war.
I have not known that horror,
As I live a life of peace.
But always will I remember,
Those who went to war.
Above my heart, a poppy,
I wear it proud and true.
Thank you for your service,
As I remember you.
woolgatherings with a walking stick
I write because I must
Drift among the scribbles of writer Janet Gogerty
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