My ‘Soooz Says Stuff’ page. “It’s A Guy Thing”… guaranteed to contain NO Political-Correctness whatsoever. Social commentary … my way.

My observations of life are often expressed with my rather dark humor. I enjoy helping folks take a look at something serious, expressed my way.

I  originally wrote this around eight-years-ago.

A  conversation I overheard recently forced me to recall it.  It also amused me to recollect that when I first posted this all those years ago I had some interesting reactions, some of the women that commented were initially outraged … Until they discovered that a woman had written it. Then it became suddenly acerbic and clever. Some of the men that commented, initially laughed and shared it … Until they discovered that a woman had written it. Fascinating, yes?

Besides which, it’s just sadly funny, and you don’t need any damned permission to laugh.

 

It’s ‘A Guy Thing’… guaranteed to contain NO Political-Correctness whatsoever.

“It’s A Guy Thing”

It’s very short … trust me.

“What the … ?”

So yeah, I’m an elephant. And yes, I am up a tree.

Okay, granted I look a bit out of place.

Well yeah, okay! I look fuckin’ ridiculous. I could go all ‘Alpha’ male and say I’m a sniper. But you guys aren’t gonna buy that crap, ’cause I’m not dressed in black.

And, no, Smart ass, I do not have a personality disorder, in fact I’ll have you know that my friends tell me often that I don’t have a personality at all.

Huh? What? Now wait just a damned minute … !

You want me to explain just how I got here! You’re shittin’ me, right?

Okay, alright already, but remember, you asked.

So, it was a normal Friday evening, the guys and I had finished pullin’ a long shift up at the logging camp, and we headed down to our favorite watering hole to toss back a few dozen cold ones.

The Jungle Bar was in full swing. We had all had seven or eight Jungle juices and were just starting to hang loose.

I was into a deep and meaningless conversation with Gerry Giraffe, aka the Big G, we were laughing it up big time. All the usual suspects were bullshitting about the size of their trunks, while the Big G and I were shootin’ the breeze about basketball.

We ignored the well dressed cats in the corner, they were listening to Streisand and crying a lot.

So, there we were doin’ our usual Friday night “guy” things, when in came the Trio from hell. I shit you not. Picture this, three of the ugliest, noisiest, annoying-est females, on this, or any other planet.

Harriet, Hesta, and Hermione Hyena … man I’m tellin’ ya, these females had faces uglier than the southern end of a north-bound Baboon; three faces that could cause ya to have temporary nausea. Are you with me so far?

They came busting into the joint screaming and laughing , and laughing and screaming and screami’ … well you get the general idea. They were hyster-ectomy-erical.

Or some other female P.M.S thing.

Anyways, they started on about somethin’ called a Soo-Nar-Me.

Hey, I’m not adverse to that Sushi stuff; ya know, it ain’t too bad. But, man they were carryin’ on like this Soo-Nar-Me stuff was to die for.

So, we did what any normal red-blooded males would do when confronted by three hysterical females; we ignored them.

Did I mention they were ugly?

Alrighty then, so we got back down to business and “A good time” was being had by all. Personally I think that is a perfectly ridiculous name for a female, but hey, whatever floats ya boat.

As it turns out, ignoring the ugly sisters was perhaps not the wisest choice we could have made. ‘Cause next thing we know is we are all surfing without benefit of boards!

Man, I mean this was the biggest fucking wave I have ever seen.

I up-periscoped the trunk and here I landed, in a big tree, with a fuckin’ huge eagles nest built in, filled with an entire restaurants worth of enormous eggs.

Did I mention that I swear? A lot.

I shit you not, my friends. I’m in a fuckin’ fix. And then some.

I sent my girlfriend Essie up to the logging camp, with orders to bring back a crane. Essie is just so beautiful, she has the biggest brownest eyes. I forced myself to remember that when she returned with her pretty trunk curled gently around the skinniest, long-legged-est, most pissed off bird I have ever seen. Man his feathers were ruffled.

Yeah, yeah, Okay!  Sure, it was a Crane; but c’mon, how bright did she have to be?

Did I mention that Essie is beautiful?

So, It looks like I have some time to kill. I been thinkin’ that I maybe need to do a minor re-think on some of my attitudes.

Let’s see.

Firstly, understand that seriously ugly females have their place in the world. Yeah, your place, his place, anywhere but my place.

Aw hell, poor things. But they’ve gotta be good at somethin’, right?

Hey, there’s a thought! Doh!

Secondly. I should maybe learn some important words and phrases in a couple of foreign languages; uh … such as, ‘Police,’ ‘Fire-Brigade,’ ‘Ambulance,’ ‘Pour me a beer,’ ‘My place or yours,’ ‘I’ll still respect you in the morning,’ and, ‘Of course I love you.’ You know; the guy thing stuff.

Thirdly. Find out what Show-van-ist means. I think it’s German.

Fourthly. I should maybe try and listen when someone seems to be upset about somethin’- even if they are ugly.

Oh-my-God! The damned eggs are hatchin’, I’m gonna be a daddy! How the hell do I explain this one to Essie the crane-fetcher?

Oh please! … Now what in the hell is goin’ on down on ground level?

Oh, you-have-got-to-be-shittin’-me!

There is some skinny-assed chicken down there, runnin’ around flappin’ his wings and fricasseein his ass, screechin’ “The sky is falling!”

What the fuck?

Anybody out there got an umbrella?

Shit…!”

Some days it just ain’t worth getting out of my or anybody else’s bed. Even if they are ugly.

***

So! When I’m bailed out of the naughty corner I’ll write my next post.

In the interest of fairness, it will be titled … “It’s A Girl Thing.”

This is the picture that will accompany it.

I spare no one.

 

 

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“Glimpses Across the Barricades.” Poetry in progress: “Masks”

Welcome again to “Glimpses Across the Barricades” my poetry in progress.

Today I share with you a brief glimpse of my dear friend, Jenny. I met her on the streets when she was barely eight-years-old.  I was eleven. She took her own life several years ago. The world is a darker place now that her sweet soul no longer lights it.

MASKS

By

Suzanne Burke.

MASKS.

Eight-year-old eyes

Devoid of hope

For the innocence was gone.

 

Eight-year-old ears

That only heard

Violent words, of crushing fear.

 

Eight-year-old soul

That barely whispered

Before it was taken away.

 

Eight-year-old heart

With no joyous beat

A heart that stopped too soon.

 

And the masks that we wear

Cause others despair

As they search to find something long gone.

 

Masks of laughter bent and twisted.

 Faces shielding the dark within.

The weapons we are wielding

Peirce far beneath the skin.

 

We that are too broken

A place where forgiveness

Has yet to find a home.

 

We remove that last fear, finally

Into just one more unknown.

Eight-year-old eyes

that only cried

beneath the mask.

 

Book Review: “Eclipse Lake” By Mae Clair. @MaeClair1 #RRBC #IARTG #IAN1

Hello and welcome to my book review of “Eclipse Lake” by Mae Clair.

About the Author

Mae Clair opened a Pandora’s Box of characters when she was a child and never looked back. Her father, an artist who tinkered with writing, encouraged her to create make-believe worlds by spinning tales of far-off places on summer nights beneath the stars.

Mae loves creating character-driven fiction in settings that vary from contemporary to mythical. Wherever her pen takes her, she flavors her stories with conflict, romance and elements of mystery. Married to her high school sweetheart, she lives in Pennsylvania and is passionate about writing, old photographs, a good Maine lobster tail and cats.

 

BLURB:

Small towns hold the darkest secrets.

Fifteen years after leaving his criminal past and estranged brother behind, widower Dane Carlisle returns to his hometown on the banks of sleepy Eclipse Lake. Now, a successful businessman, he has kept his troubled past a secret from most everyone, including his seventeen-year-old son.

But memories in small towns are bitter and long.

Ellie Sullivan, a nature photographer for a national magazine, has a habit of ping-ponging across the map. Her latest assignment leads her to Eclipse Lake where she becomes caught up in the enmity between Dane, his brother Jonah, and a vengeful town sheriff. When freshly-discovered skeletal remains are linked to an unsolved murder and Dane’s past, Ellie is left questioning her growing attraction for a man who harbors long-buried secrets.

MY REVIEW: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 An engaging, unpredictable Page-turner!

This is my first venture into the world of Author Mae Clair.

Eclipse Lake caught my attention, partly because of the excellent blurb, and partly because I rarely review anything remotely connected to Romance, and a Mystery Romance seemed a great place to start.

Having said that, I was utterly unprepared and seriously delighted by what lay between these beautifully written pages.

This author has a deceptively elegant writing style. Deceptive only in that the flow of words have iron hidden within the dialogue.

The conversations between the central characters are  pivotal and the author utilizes that marvelous skill by allowing the characters souls, dreams, and despairs to be communicated clearly each time they speak.

Wonderful characterizations of each player, you’ll find nothing one dimensional here.

Meet Dane Carlisle.  This is a man driven. His complex layers are composed with intricate threads of sorrow and longing, regrets and secrets he has never revealed. He comes from a dark childhood and through the actions and intervention of a mentor he reveres, he establishes a company, and makes a great success of it. A promise to his dying wife finds he and his teenage son journeying back to Danes home town of Onyx, a place of dark and closely held secrets.

Meet, Jesse his adopted son, seventeen and beginning those years of questing against and questioning everything that touches their world. The growing respect and understanding between he and his father is a pure joy to read. It is neither rushed nor formulaic, these folks are permitted to breathe, bleed and suffer as they rediscover each other.

Meet Jonah, Dan Carlisle’s estranged brother. Jonah is an angry man, his brother and he have a history, and his resentment of his brother Dane is both palpable and pivotal to this well thought out plot.

Meet Ellie: Successful photographer on assignment to Onyx. Enter the romantic element, and I must say I was delighted at the endearing and memorable way the growing love between she and Dan Carlisle is handled.

Combine all the splendid ingredients with the Sheriffs long missing daughters body being discovered, fingers being pointed, and nasty gossip doing its usual harm; that will launch all the characters into the unexpected conclusion.

Suffice it to say that that conclusion is a jaw dropper! I am now firmly committed to reading many more of this talented authors works.

Highly recommended.

PURCHASE ECLIPSE LAKE by MAE CLAIR on AMAZON.COM

Mae Clair on TWITTER

 

“Glimpses Across The Barricades” Poetry in progress. “City Girl.”

Hello and welcome again to my poetry in progress “Glimpses Across The Barricades”

Today I’m sharing something very recent, my daughter, grandson and I all relocated from high octane Sydney: Australia, to a beautiful and small University Town to the west of our Blue Mountains.

I’m loving this serenity, warmth, and air of human goodness.

I hope my poem reflects that.

A Glimpse of Bathurst in the Autumn

City Girl

By

Suzanne Burke.

 

 

The train beat out a rhythmic sound,

 as I journeyed far from familiar ground.

City girl in a whirl

Was what I heard that rhythm say.

 

Unfamiliar visions caught me unawares

As I first looked with my city-eyes

Into that country sky.

Rolling greens waves of willows

As they followed country streams

I was now envisioning something beautiful

Not something from my dreams.

 

Nightfall came in blankets of glitter coated black

When I unwound my city self

To greet that country sky.

I drew in the scented country air to an inexperienced soul

And then I shook with hunger at its touch

Its virgin freshness composing music in my heart

I knew with growing thankfulness

This was the place to start

Again.

 

I walked the cobbled streets quickly

It was the city way

With eyes downcast and high alert

Ah, yes, that city way.

Suspicious of these country folks

And their warm greetings of G’day.

 

These past months have flown by

As I relocate that city self

The nights are dark and deeper

Than any I have known.

The sunrise is more welcome here

Its warmth a tremor in my soul

Anticipated happily in a most unfamiliar way.

 

Now I walk those cobbled street

With head held high and proud

I smile and greet new faces

With my very own, ‘G’day’.

The city girl is resting now,

Her nightmares tucked away.

I will enter this journey with all I am

For that’s the country way.

‘Welcome everyone to my new “Soooz Says Stuff” page. I’ll be sharing with you all the crazy stuff I write, just for the fun of it! Post 1 ‘The Pleasant Pheasant Plucker!’

Every so often on my journey through this crazy world I have the urgent need to write ‘off the wall’ crazy stuff, just for the hell of it. I’ve decided to reserve a special page on my blog; the “Soooz Says Stuff Page” The following  is the result of one such trip into mayhem. The original Limmerick goes (I believe) as follows.

“I’m not the pheasant plucker

I’m the pheasant plucker’s son

I’m only plucking pheasants

till the pheasant plucker comes.”

 

Then we have my expanded alternate version:

WARNING! Dangerous when spoken in company … unless you are completely sober … and are in possession of teeth … preferably your own.

 

I am a peasant who plucks pheasants

Morning noon and night.

T’is no easy task this pheasant plucking

and, I just can’t get it right.

I pluck ‘em fast; I pluck em slow

Till I’m flat out on the floor

Doesn’t matter what I do,

there always is one more.

Now a peasant’s life’s no pleasant picnic

I truly kid you not.

But plucking clucking pheasants

Is the only job I’ve got.

I don’t really understand it

Perhaps I try too hard

Chasing pheasants to be plucked

Out in the plucking yard

The farmer’s kids stand watching

And laughing till they cry,

If I could be offended

I would be mortified.

But “a pluck’s a pluck” my mom says

And brother she should know

She pleasantly plucks pheasants

Everywhere she goes.

She is the princess of pheasant plucking

Her fame is world renowned

She plucks her way from shore to shore

And sleeps on duck plucked down.

She can pluck while seated,

She plucks standing on her head

I’ve heard tell she also plucks

Whilst lying in her bed.

Matters not which way I pluck ‘em

I cannot match her score

I just don’t understand it,

I really pluck ‘em raw.

After all this pleasant pheasant plucking

You think I’d quit the game

But no, not me, I go right on plucking

Till they all look the same.

At end of day when I’m plucked out

I can’t even raise a  peasant smile

I have a drink at the Plucker Inn

After I walk a country mile.

My friends all gather round me,

and give me drinks for free,

they kindly ask about my mother’s

latest, pheasant plucking spree.

One day as I was plucking pheasants

In my usual plucking place
A stranger came up screeching!

Cursing loudly in my face.

“My god! What are you doing?”

Is what she asked of me,

“I’m a peasant plucking pheasants,”

said I, “as you can plainly see.”

“Are you a fool?” she cried aloud.

“You haven’t got it right.”

“Don’t tell me that fair lady,

‘cause I pluck pheasants day and night”.

She slapped my pleasant peasant face

Then she screamed out fit to burst.

“If you’re going to pluck a pheasant, peasant
You’re meant to kill it first!”

 

I can hear you groaning from all the way down here in Oz!  … You were warned! 😊😊😊

 

 

 

 

What Mother’s Day means to me: “Mothers In The ‘Hood.” #RRBC

The ABSOLUTE Privilege of Motherhood.

‘Mothers in the ‘Hood!’

HER child.

Yes, I did say privilege. Why? … Because it must be so!  Motherhood must be regarded as the greatest joy of your combined life experiences.

We hand out special licenses to folks wishing to drive a car. A car is a potentially lethal weapon.

A child created and raised by unfit parents is also … a potentially lethal weapon.

I have written much about the woman that gave birth to me. For that is all she ever was. I spent many, many, soulless, and empty years hoping to find a different, a more palatable and convenient truth. For I so badly needed to believe, that She was damaged, and accordingly had no control over what she caused to come into being.

That thought kept me reasonably sane, in a violent, pain-filled world … that hated world, that world that made no sense to me at all.

But the years have peeled back the blinders that I used for safety, and I have come unwillingly to believe, that rather than an illness that caused her to inflict pain, I was instead her living sacrifice, to be punished upon the ‘altar’ of the train-wreck of her own life.

In order to accept that, I needed to lose the hate. Whilst I’ll never be indifferent, to even the mere mention of her name …  that bitter bile of hatred has been tempered over time. Not ever fully understanding what caused her to inflict such vile pain, is simply now just something I have learned to bear. Losing the hate I have accomplished. Forgiving her is a whole other journey I have at last been at least willing to begin.

My Child.

My daughter and I at the outset of our new adventure together.

The joy of giving birth will never leave my mind. Into my freshly awakening soul, a precious girl-child was permitted entry. I have yet to feel a more all-encompassing need to protect another living being. For the very first time in my life I was grateful to have been born a woman.

The greatest love I’ve ever known erupted into my unprepared world.

Her laughter and that boundless lust for life colored my planet with sunshine … as did the never ending fear that I would somehow let her down. That reflected in much darker corners in sombre tones.

My husband and I created ‘Magic’ for her newly awakened self. Her fathers’ loving parents, his brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews all became our willing accomplices, as they fell captive to her joyous laughter. We reconstructed ‘Neverland’ and housed her as the reigning princess within its seemingly impenetrable walls.

All those marvelous days we’d celebrate with the ‘Magic’ element firmly in its place.

Christmas, and Birthdays, Easter egg-hunts, and Halloween. We never granted any excuse to miss a single one.

We sheltered her like a fragrant Frangipani, never allowing even a hint of the cold touch of frost to damage those tender flowers.

And when unheralded, the end of the reign of the King and Queen ruling together united …  stormed into her life, at the as yet untested age of eighteen; that precious ivory tower melted like chocolate into  untried sands.

She staggered into a world she was unprepared for, for we’d never handed her the weapons or the skill with which to use them.

We lost some years she and I, whilst each of us learned to both grow, and let go. Time was an ally then, and softly the healing leaves were sown.

Please know we’ve journeyed far in those intervening years, and know too, that life is joyous now, and we share our tears  our truths and fears.

She asked me to be there, in that precious, priceless, unforgettable time as she gave birth to her son. How lucky am I to be so loved.

My Child’s Child.

My Grandson on his 3rd Birthday.

He came screaming into his world two weeks earlier than expected. My child’s child … my grandson. I had the utter joy of seeing that look on her face as she craned to see and experience that ageless ‘falling in love with your first child’ moment.

We live together now, my daughter, my grandson and I. She has done me the great honor of asking me to assist her to raise her son.

Wise beyond her years she knew that living with my grandson’s daddy would only end badly for all three of them.

I’ve watched on proudly as she works tirelessly with the little ones’ father to be as utterly fair to each other as is humanly possible.

You will never hear one negative word about him. NOT in the house where his son lives, and grows. The young one loves his daddy unconditionally, which is as it should be for now. My child, grants, to her child, the right to ask questions, and she answers them with as much honesty as an almost five year old can handle. She gives him the ‘fairy tales’ with a hefty dose of magic …. but she also reads to him the darker ones, age appropriate to him.

Which does he prefer? I’m smiling here. For as long as there is no blood shown, or discussed, he’ll choose the dark stuff, every time. He’s relentless in the joy that he sheds when he’s just being a boy.

My daughter yesterday repeated something she says on occasion, which I will never tire of hearing. “Mom, I had the happiest childhood of any kid ever.”

She gives to me freely the greatest compliment I have ever heard.

Her way of parenting is uniquely her own, she teaches and creates using magic, and world truths tempered by her own life experiences, and above all things her all encompassing and unconditional ability to show and give love.

We’ll make quite the proud trio on Sunday Mothers Day May 14th  …. My Child … Her Child … and I.

I’m here and overjoyed to be so.  I have so many marvelous reasons to celebrate.

I wish you happiness, and the ability to share it with people that you love, on that special day. I am,  and will remain, forever grateful for the privilege of being graced with the title of  “Mother”.

It is possibly the hardest earned and most rewarding of any title you may have been granted.

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Book Review: ‘Letting go into Perfect Love:’ Discovering the Extraordinary after Abuse. By Gwendolyn M Plano @gmplano #RRBC

 

Author Gwendolyn M Plano.

From the Author

When I began writing my book, Letting Go into Perfect Love: Discovering the Extraordinary After Abuse, I thought I would simply tell my story. But as the words found paper, I realized that we all traverse a familiar terrain of joys and sorrows. Perhaps we have passed each other on our journeys.Figuratively or literally, we travel long distances in search of happiness,meaning, or love. We climb the highest mountains, we trek across the deserts,and we explore the ocean’s depths. We are restless until we find our heart’s desire.

My book is about how we craft our way through triumphs and tragedies, achievements and mistakes.Over the years, I have learned that we are never alone. Sometimes kind strangers or healers or friends show us the way, and sometimes we are visited by angels.

 

BLURB:
Inspiring and unforgettable, Letting Go into Perfect Love is a riveting account of a journey through the terror of domestic violence to a faith that transforms all. As a college administrator, Gwendolyn M. Plano lived her professional life in a highly visible and accountable space–but as a wife and mother, behind closed doors, she and her family experienced unpredictable threat. The statistics are staggering–every 9 seconds in the United States, a woman is assaulted or beaten–but to Gwen, this was her secret; it was her shame. When her husband eventually turned his brutality on her son, she knew she could no longer remain silent.

Alternately heart-wrenching and joyful, this is a story of triumph over adversity–one woman’s uplifting account of learning how to forgive the unforgiveable, recover her sense of self, bring healing into her family, and honor the journey home. Accompanied by glimpses of celestial beings, Gwen charts a path through sorrow to joy–and ultimately, writes of the one perfect love we all seek.

The story that unfolds is not a blow-by-blow account of savagery hidden within a twenty-five-year marriage; rather, it is a walk through innocent dreams betrayed–to courage found. “Tragedy spares no one;” Gwen points out, “it just courts each of us differently. One way or another, it finds a path into our hearts, and there we do battle with the intruder.” As a survivor who came out of her unhealthy relationship determined to start over, Gwen artfully depicts the challenges of balancing the obligations of motherhood and career with her family’s healing process, while offering hope to anyone facing monumental challenges.

Integral to Gwen’s journey is her faith. Because of her Catholic upbringing, she struggles with the scandal of divorce, but finally makes her peace. When her daughter reveals her molestation by clergy, however, her fragile sense of serenity dissolves. We walk with Gwen as she tries to make sense of this horror. The agony experienced by the entire family is devastatingly palpable. Against all odds, Gwen emerges confident of her faith and begins to see the threads of meaning in even the darkest moments.

This is a book for all. But, for those who have been in a destructive relationship, Gwen’s story will be heartbreakingly familiar. For those who have been spared such diminishment, it will provide insight into the often misunderstood phenomenon of domestic violence. Since one in every four women will experience such threat in her lifetime, understanding that murky world may provide the reader with the skills needed to help his or her sister or friend or neighbor. Whether victim or friend, though, readers will be inspired by the author’s courage and ultimate resolution of her predicament. And, you may see your own challenges a little differently.

MY REVIEW: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 Powerful, Provocative and potentially life-altering!

 Each of us come to the place where we will read this work from such diverse directions. We will each interpret and attempt to define it in our many alternate ways. I bring to this reading a history of  abuse; accordingly my belief system was shakily formed and has remained under question for much of my life.

When I read the blurb, and several of the very eloquent reviews I almost stopped … I wanted to run like hell. My guts were telling me I’d feel every nuance of pain … my guts were uncannily right.

Author Gwen Plano has not simply invited me to read this book, from the opening pages, this author compelled me to read it. I figured if this woman has the courage to write it, then at the very least I should demand of myself the courage to read it.

Author Plano took me firmly by the heart and guided me through the occasional nightmarish quality of her life. Her honesty shook me, and I rejoiced to find an author unafraid to show herself as imperfect, willing to lay her soul bare in an effort to help others that may well be undergoing a similar horrendous, fearful and ultimately life-altering journey.

I have not yet experienced the great joy that comes from trusting so implicitly. However now, and largely thanks to the gift of author Gwen Planos writing, I have at last, again begun to question.  It is a powerful work indeed that can have caused that to eventuate. Please … do yourselves a favor … read this compelling book and open your heart. Take this journey with Author Gwen Plano and  perhaps come to a new understanding of just what true courage can do.

PURCHASE “LETTING GO INTO PERFECT LOVE” on AMAZON.COM

“Glimpses Across The Barricades” My Poetry in progress. ‘Jamie’s Laughter’ #memoir.

Hello and welcome to my poetry in progress. “Glimpses Across The Barricades” is my collection of poetry and moments from my strange and unprepared life.

I had fifteen wonderful friends … damaged beyond repair. They lost their brave attempts to win a battle with a life too harsh. They removed themselves one by one from a world they had grown too utterly weary to exist in.

They were wild, wilful and wonderful.

My soul is incomplete now that they have all gone.

I would never have believed it possible that I would be the Last One Standing.

This poem is dedicated to my ‘Jamie’ …  “I’ll know exactly where to find you, where the shoreline meets the sun.”

Jamie.

By

Suzanne Burke.

 

I didn’t recognize the voice when that call was made

Although that number was long etched into my soul.

How could a glowing day suddenly fall dark and forever lonely?

Why did you leave without me …

and leave me here forever …  without the protection of your shade?

 

Why did you not keep that promise that we made?

 

All the echoes of your presence are shattering my soul.

Sleep no longer welcomed for the nightmares that it holds

The tears I will not permit to fall now,

Lay waiting beneath the anger

But … that anger first needs a place to go.

 

Why did you not keep that promise that we made?

 

Days have melted into weeks now,

The faint echoes of your laughter at last come welcome to my heart

Of all those crazy years together and the remorseless times apart.

They all seemed so insignificant when we did together meet

 

But two people with needs such as ours … cannot forever be

Not needing each others strength enough

The one thing we could never forgive.

We knew with ageless wisdom

That our great love had nowhere to live.

 

Why did you not keep that promise that we made?

 

Every year we’d meet again when summer touched our skin

When e’er we both resided in the country of our kin

And year-by-year those numbers dwindled

As fate took dear friends to its shores

We remained the last two standing

Conscious of our mortality

Like we’d never been before

We held each other and promised that our own lives we’d never take.

 

I know now that was a promise we should have never dared to make.

 

For we are all combatants on this battlefield called life,

and our individual weapons are by experience finely honed

But when life carries greater guns than ours

And battle weary …  bloodied and broken we resign

It is not meant as a punishment to those we leave behind.

 

I need to believe that the solace of your eternal dark

Has comforted you with arms that will hold you safe

Until again I join you under that summer sun

And our dreams have a second chance of rising from the ashes of our lives.

Be at peace, My Jamie.

I’ll hold you safely in my dreams.

Until at last I rejoin you on our sacred shore.

I have included the links below to some URGENT ASSISTANCE HOTLINES and Organizations World Wide. Suicide Prevention is possible, if we know what to look for, and have qualified folks on hand to enlighten us further and offer immediate assistance.

I ask you, wherever you may be on our planet to take a brief moment if you would, and ADD to the list of bonafide Hotlines, by sharing the link to them and their location in the comments section.

I will then compile them and ADD them to a long list I am preparing for my next NON-FICTION work. Thank you so much.

BEYOND BLUE AUSTRALIA.

LIFELINE SUICIDE PREVENTION HOTLINE AUSTRALIA

Relationship Crisis Assistance AUSTRALIA

Australian Govt Mental Health ASSISTANCE HOTLINE

A Comprehensive List of U.S.A and U.K telephone HOTLINES and HELP-LINES

Kids Help Phone: CANADA

The Lifeline: The Canada Foundation. CANADA

My Non-Fiction works written under my pen-name of Stacey Danson are available as follows.

“Empty Chairs” on AMAZON.COM

“Faint Echoes of Laughter” on Amazon.com

I will be featuring posts over the coming months that will give insights into what signs to look for in ‘Child abuse and neglect’. Insights into how to approach a child that you suspect may be enduring abuse. How to contact the authorities and what response you may reasonably expect.

Thank you for taking the time to be here today.

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