Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Captain Pendance Addendum

The wind that blew or rather ruffled through his fur was chilling. Wily plans had been stealthily crafted made from directives, then passed paw to paw under disguise and secretively. His mind was set everything happenstance began to fall into place, step by step motive by motive. He had made decision after decision.
Now he checked again a call sequence, then burned the image into his quick-witted brain and quickly destroyed the precious coded information. All necessary elements and events had turned up and turned over resulting in the evening’s rendezvous. For now he had a place marker in time and had to relay the scenario of moves and traveling to his long time once removed partner. Pendance hove to, standing patiently by at the helm of the mint green-hulled sea rover. He reached into his tunic and pulled from its depths a talisman. Ruby eyes reflected light from the jeweled charm poised about his well-muscled neck. Pendance muttered something rather strange under his breath and his whiskers twitched as he mouthed several phrases of bizarre speech patterns.
Something seemed to begin movements. To the unwary and travel weary eyes what was now transpiring would be deemed most impossible. The talisman took on a life all on its own accord. It raised a golden feline head and light shone from ruby eyes. It twitched a long golden tail and leapt from it fastenings from Pendances furred neck.
The necklace creature landed gracefully upon the wheel of the sea rover and turned its translucent eyed gaze upon Pendance. Some form of mental communication seemed to be electrically charged in the air and the telepathic elements migrated from the mind of Pendance through to the golden animals spirit. The creature nodded, somehow it acquiesced what had been balanced on delicate brain waves and then disappeared into the ships navigational console.
A soft purring voiced the silent moment into reverie. Jarvon seemingly melted into the cockpit having alighted from his sea vessel sometime during or perhaps after the transference of minds. He held onto full underwater exploration gear and a held up a soft black sea eels skin duffel decorated with a red star emblazoned with a silver lightning strike piercing straight through the celestial stars very heart.
So even now Jarvon still dives for treasures unknown Pendance mentally tabulated in his ever racing mind. “Welcome to home and hearth, sparring brother”, Pendance recited officially.
“We are far from the welcome fires of home, although we have warm companions” Jarvon retorted.
Mademoiselle shyly understood reference to her presence.
“Let us arrive at our destination refreshed and unfettered”, Pendance offered. Mademoiselle was truly desirous of a nights rest and decided to retire to the cabins welcome warmth.
“We shall divide the watch”, Jarvon advised, although his eyes were musingly filled with Silvertone’s feline silhouette as she descended the companionway. Her eyes were drawn to the night skylines radiance. Many colors composed the eye pleasing tones and colors of this night’s sunset. As she slowly descended into the lower portion of the sea rover where the cabins were housed, her eyes were deprived of the remnants of the marvelous Santara nine sunset..
All this constant wondering about her last missions. Safe she remained for this one moment in time. Jarvon was well disciplined in expert strategic defenses. His keen senses, and lightning flash reactions to sinister stalkings of the enemy would astound any first yearling cub.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Pirate costumes

This is one of the two I have on ebay My ebay auction name is gudngone

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

panther with green ice in background

this panther with the green ice in the background was also created with watercolor pencils

panther artwork

The panther you see was created using watercolor pencils on theater scenery remnants

Monday, October 6, 2008

Halloween prayer

Halloween Prayer
Lethargy Sheer folly you mock me?

Reconstituting my stores such a shame this place in my self proclaimed
Zanado, my costumers pretenders Palace pirate lair, Rapunzel let down thy hair
Oh how it has transcended into an updo, no undo my beehive, that’s all hand jive,
Oh the disco ball of unhappiness, the crystal ball of drunkenness, the butterfly of remorse
A horse is a horse of course, yet a horse of a different color shall then be termed less worth?
Then is a brilliantly hued unicorn perchance my knave, with colors washing in its mane
Yet ride thy fleeting steed through the fanciful village hence a night of disco jelly and pomade
Warning in a baritone voice, or just an Irish tenor such splendor, A minstrel’s midnight serenade
You doubt me naysayer, - justly so, a cat has nine tails, yet that is lives, yet only he knows
Keelhaul, nor better yet the stocks for thee, arrived now gypsy caravan fortune in the wind blows
I find myself quite out of sorts, No wait I have a better name
A sheer happenstance, just one more claim to my misfortunate fame, -\
Alas my sequined daring do darling pirate Lass, you stand unrequited yet once again
This is so disheveled reverted and converted and convoluted what’s a fool to do!
Amok time that fever pitch drum beat in the blood beseech me understand Vulcanizes for you
Yes, this is the Amok time of the year, in the corner ye see
Half invisible fairy tale creature sneezes; Harry Potter fantasy fairy tale messenger owl’s wings test the air and watch how she fares on the air and subtle breezes!
The time for costumes, ploys, pleasures, buried treasures, mustaches, beards,
A parrots screech, a murmured oath, moonlights glint on polished steel,
Prisoners we, damsels for ransom, held bondage, a madman clad in black at the ships wheel
Conniving, convincing, night walking, night stalking, monsters, mavens’ mayhem and glee,
Moppets with top hats, urchins, waifs and seafarers clad in sheer tomfoolery
Ploys King Lear’s laughter echoing through the great halls, servants and pirate wenches scandalously clad, glad lastly, lustily laughter pealing through the castle walls
Hark my ears do decry, Arouse the watch, my heart befalls
It is aghast and is under the spell of a medium a witches cat,
Much more than for now she wishes cat nips and mouse whiskers twitches
Like the chapel bells peals that rings peace across the troubled precipice
Servant apprentice girls in indigo stitches, breathing discontent, boatswains, pirate’s sea witches
Highwaymen, robbers Fingers on triggers of blunderbuss, pistols fingers twitches
Coyly giggling behind youthfully outstretched hands, beneath powdered palms, whispers of wishes of dishes, filled to the brim with fine Damasks silks, satin triumphs, bejeweled brooches sarsaparilla colored trinkets, treasures unknown bartered from deep sea fishes beneath sparkling turquoise seas from which are mined luminescent oyster pearls, fine red rubies, diamonds and frills for the taking. Yet yearning for such results my good fellow is the mere frivolous sin!
A pirate Life! Wanting yet waiting for such riches as these, women whisky and sin. Again and again! Steady now helmsman! Strike the hymn
Perplexing as it is as of not, how arrived ye Knave to this primeval spot?
Perhaps Ye be in guise of a tourist, vagabond, terror in the night, or bat on the wing,
Monster or monk, Satan or seraphim, torch singer or goddess, beggar or pirate King
Tweenager caught between trouble and mayhem, Methinks ye have found a great thing!
Sweet soul rest now, before thy horse runs lame
For this is in Ye cards doth the gypsy woman proclaim,
Weary, woe some Ye have traversed thusly following signs a cartographer’s map did decree, Weary, woe suffering from venomous plants that sting, Avast tis nearly time for our nightingale to sing. Make Ye self to the home hearth, For at last Ye have found your own worth

Monday, September 22, 2008

photos of sailing vessels

these are some of the many photos

Aftermath of Ike's Wrath

Sailboats lay where they had been tossed; about the shipyard were tatters of sailing vessels, once their masts stood tall and statuesque defiantly challenging the blue skies and Grey storms clouds. Now these wooden and steel monarchs were no more. On the gravel roadway leading back to the boat sheds, I found a cleat still attached to fiberglass. The cleat was still shiny from patient hands that had polished and mended and toiled upon the legendary sailing vessel under a harsh fall sun.

Fall, the season of the year, which had intentionally been brewing this menacing, thieving, destroying beast. Once many of the shells and hulls, wisps and melancholy maritime ghost remnants had been many magnificent sailing vessels. I reached for the steel cleat with tears falling from hazel eyes, and to my mind appeared memories from the tales my father had recited to my then child’s ears. These ears were now no longer 7 or 8 but a grand total of 48 wise and wonderful years.

Angry, murky seawater's trespassed into realms where sandaled feet once trod unhindered by the menacing water. Remnants of lives were left anywhere they had fallen, a stuffed bright green frog, a child’s toy smiling in it’s own sweet way lay along with the other debris. There were artifacts newly deposited at this site. Curiosities such as shoes once worn by industrious sailors and yachtsmen, shoes called topsiders, one lay here, another of these shoes the topsiders mate lay along with the discarded finger pier, once a pathway to a persons home and life, now just a part of the entire puzzle. Puzzle pieces of many lives, and so many pieces strewn about, carelessly discarded as playthings where a storms wrath had caused nightmares and unexpected dangers and windfalls.

The newsmen turned their gigantic cameras in my direction as I upheld a small wooden oar, my recently discovered treasure, and ran gleefully toward a boat owner. The boat owner gratefully acquiesced his new gift. The much-desired little wooden oar was salvaged from scattered unclaimed possessions, which were strewn about the demolished Marina. Left unrequited and abandoned these possessions in this scene were much like seeing how a child had scattered party favors in their wantonness. All these events happened as we were traveling on foot towards Clear Lake Best Transmissions, the place where my first mate is still employed.

The boat owner’s intentions for this oar were to take a small fiberglass boat and along with his companions he was desirous to retrieve a dingy from a boatwoman’s sailing vessel. I challenged their transgressions of boarding the tiny fiberglass boat minus life jackets as we had plucked many red Mae West’s from the debris and carnage.
The newsmen from channel eleven staged their gear, cameras and equipment inside the Clear Lake Best Transmissions building away from the sudden ravenous thunderstorms. Glass had been scattered as if the glass were droplets of morning dew upon a spider’s lace weaving's. Wary of the shattered glass and metal framework that once housed the windowpanes surrounding the building, reporters assisted in the backbreaking toil of sweeping up the scattered glass remnants.

Boaters and yachtsmen employed the asphalt driveway edge of the concrete ramp that leads back to the repair yard as a makeshift boat launch like Noah’s children that launched their improvised search and rescue mission into the murky waters.

Jefferson Starship created a tune called “Winds of Change” the music somehow taunting and reminiscent of my younger years. It tells of winds howling and beast on the prowl. Marty Balin, singer and songwriter for Jefferson Starship wrote many songs, many beautiful lyrics that only his voice could do justice to.

Justin Hayworth wrote a song for War of the Worlds, entitled, “Now you’re not here”. If you listen intently to these songs it will pull at your heartstrings for in the mechanics of the songs lyrics your soul realizes what tragedy happens in lives.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Reminiscing sailing days

Many moons ago, I discovered what a storm had done to the land and that it had somehow borrowed a vessel from the ocean. This photo is witness to the storms; wrath

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Personal journal *
Some say I’m not the Cadillac of artists. Never know if an inspiration is arriving or departing. Nevertheless, always creating, always working to take the beauty that surrounds me and place this wonderful world as I see it on my canvas.
Since I was a young child, the beauty of my world exists in my mother’s maritime artwork and oil paintings. My teacher and mentor will always remain my mother.
A summary of my hopes and dreams revolves around the life lessons I was taught by the wise advice and values my mother practiced daily. Those values are honesty, respect for the earth, our animals and wildlife, and putting your heart and soul into your art creations. My favorite saying will always be the mentor as always stands in the shadow of the master. Sweet dreams the shrimp boat in my mother’s oil painting was what my small child’s eyes gazed upon as my dreams evolved. Emotional, inspirational, yet always seeking, my mind’s eye roves about, seeking the visions I yearn to place upon my canvas
Somehow my dreams are always seeking the shining brightness of familiar pathways. Some of these unfamiliar pathways may not be as I would love them to be.
Someday my ship will arrive in port. Perhaps the boat will be Sweet Dreams personified suddenly, entirely, straight out of the beautiful portrait. Perhaps my ship will be a large and powerful sailboat; after all, I lived on a 28 foot Columbia sailboat for two years. The Mel fisher Atocha coin that I wear around my neck is my talisman for the years spent living aboard the old boat in that Clear Lake Texas area marina.
Let me show you where my destiny lies now. Climb aboard my dream boat, step up the stone steps. Here once more my gypsy soul wonders, as I always will remain a roaming gypsy artist. Would you care to join me in tonight’s activities? I hear the music adventures and stories tonight will really be most awesome.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Memoirs of a swede

When granddad was 6 years old he had to take his rifle with him. Children went in groups to school, rifles in hand. There were wolves and death lurking in the countryside. The bolt was placed beside rifles in gun rack. No bolts in rifles while in school.
First job at 8 years of age was marking timber. My Grandfather's father was Post-master trading post. Grandfather, his dad marries titled royal blood Danish Norwegian this was in Denmark.
At age 12 he was given a 30 caliber rifle, a Mouser and 5 rounds clip, He had only 3 shots to drive nail head into the wood where it had been started, if he did not drive the nail head into the wood, he received a whipping. His dad had started a huge nail into a board. Summer camp was required each summer in the army.
Andrew Hawkinson shot his initials in the blacksmith’s weathervane. When granddad was ten, a crossbow arrow hit him below his right eye. His eye popped out of the socket. Granddad went to see the gypsy woman and she placed his eye back into the socket. When he wanted to see something with the injured eye he turned his head rather than attempting to work with the injured eyeball. Later, the eye healed.
Summer camp each summer, in the Army, he had no alternative and faced two years of compulsory service. He left home at the age of fifteen years. He was a cabin boy in the merchant marine.
He won a rifle in a shooting contest while attending summer camp. He had an Arab girlfriend. There was a ring he needed to go into the Arab camp without this ring he faced certain death.
Sea Wife, A sailor preferred a Sea wife while he was away from home. She would sew clothing. They were called the sew sew girls. Chinese women would play wife for so much and take care of you for a price.
South America, one of his shipmates was shooting street lights out along the dock. They were able bodied seamen on a ship. Granddad said,” You can’t hit the broad side of a barn”. He took his pistol and shot out the lights.
Authorities came looking for granddad. His shipmate said,” The Swede did it”. Granddad had a big Ben on a heavy, big heavy chain. Big biscuit watch. He used the watch as a blackjack in fights, and in bar room brawls he used it as a slapstick weapon.
My Grandfather had a fear that German torpedoes would sink his ship and for this reason he could not sleep on the ship at night. On one of The ships hit land mines and blew the bow off of the ship. One crewmate shook him awake. He was able to flee a sitiuation that would have left him derelict. Red Cross would not help him without money. Salvation Army gave him shoes.
Actual occurance* 1917 Halifax explosion ship scraped sides with a French freighter. Dynamite. The NY Mirror Newspaper. 1922 quit water mine blew the bow off the ship. Halifax explosion blew 87 holes in ship he was on. There was a 33 member crew, only nine survived. The explosion cracked rock bottom harbor. My grandfather had a loss of hearing, and they put a sign on him that instructed if this man acts strange, take him to the hospital.
First thing that he heard when he regained his hearing was the clanging bell of a trolley car. He hit the deck. The policeman found him and said to him, “what’s wrong are you drunk?” The policeman discovered the sign about my grandfather’s neck and took him back to the hospital.
Florida and the running of hooch*
Granddad had to leave Florida. He was running hooch with a 40-foot boat with twin wolverine engines. The coast guard used seaplanes to catch hooch runners. Granddad dumped his cargo load. The load of straw had smelled like hooch. The authorities warned him if they ever caught him within the next ten years, they would put his face away in jail.
He was in jail, hooscal, and kept quiet inside his cell so that the attending prison officer would fall asleep on his post. Suddenly granddad shouted “Achtung, achtung and startled the guard into reverie. The German officer said” You damen Swede!, I shoot you” January 1958 September 57 lost Swen baby 56 to a heart attack.
Swedes law the next of kin inherit. He quit harvest timber Swedish government replants timber. Hard tack bread, kanacuberie tough bread. smoke house hole round middle break it
Anti room when the temperature is fifty below zero, and you are in near proximity above the Arctic circle. Saunas where the finish rolled in the dry snow.
Sea realted tales The boson was power on board ship with the cat and nine tails.
The story of the Cossack; Granddad called the Russian a jackass. He overheard some persons walking around him mumble the words. Croussouk”, which meant hello jackass. The soldier whipped him. He heard some women say this word.

Halifax explosion ww1 1917 Grandad was serving on his ship headed for Halifax Canada. The article in US Mirror New York papers not correct Granddad was on the ship and they scraped sides with Frenchman. When side of ship gdads scraped with Frenchies sparks flew. The tide was going out and confused on signals international law every things government. French’s got to island explosion broke windows 25 miles seven people survived gdad was an able bodied seaman. there was 200 tons of tnt blew 87 holes in granddads ship, put ship on dry land. explosion steel splinters in his arm to the day he spoke to my dad. went flying back to boat to pull shell out of canon pointed toward city. gdad was up on deck watching, started down ladder kaboom lights out.
My version of memoirs, taken on a creative turn; Memoirs are copyrighted and pending publication. these memoirs are my legacy of the name I will carry to my last resting place

Monday, March 31, 2008

Gift of the coral Rose

She was a Romanian gypsy girl. In the first nights firelight, her trials as a young girl would arrive at their fruition. All marriage age girls would show at the campfire tonight. She was entitled to this ritual. A scarlet scarf lay draped across her beautiful hand carved mirror. Golden earrings were tossed carelessly across the same dresser that had been a wedding gift to her parents. Sweet perfume was awaiting her in a blue crystal glass container. A rose lay upon her skirt and blouse with the remnants of dew still upon its tender petals.
Fragrance from the lilacs she had picked the evening before remained in the damp morning air. The coral colored rose had mysteriously appeared on her windowsill this morning while the skies still showed purple and pink in the firmaments. Tonight an age-old tradition would be presented to many of the gypsy. Her father was full Romanian gypsy blood. Dark haired and green eyes composed her looks. Her mother was Italian. From somewhere out of the early twilight night the ardent howls of the timber wolves played a symphony of haunting night music. They too seemed anxious.
The dance began in a slow methodical rhythm of gypsy guitars and drumbeats. She slowly paced her steps and pirouettes to the tempo of beautiful gypsy music. Her skirts became a kaleidoscope of satin ribbons as she danced by the crowd. Like the morning sky colors had proved to be such a spectacle long ago, so the nights events sped by it seemed. Several eyes caught her movements and followed her progress about the dancing flames that bathed her features.
Garishly clad hosts hovered nearby anticipating the night’s events. She caught her slipper once on a fallen log but tossed her head with a cat like grin and quickly remedied her situation. It was then that dark eyes followed her from somewhere out in the dark and vast wilderness.
The ruggedly handsome features of his countenance were at once turned, peering unblinking at the angry gleams reflected from the firelight onto a golden object. This was a key to share all secrets and it was his only link that which would serve and serve him well. Only this shining heirloom could save his onerous hide. For without wearing this one key the gypsy nomads strewn about the campsite were to slit his throat. He again scrutinized the bejeweled band reposing about his trigger finger.
Verdant orbs shifted their tenacious gaze to then ponder upon the softly dancing tongues of flame. His garishly clad hosts hovering about were more dangerous than the sand scorpions that inhabited the sweltering desert sands and grasslands, and just as wily. The breathtaking beauty of a young girl caught his eyes once more and then he made his move.
Whisked away on the winds were all creatures that once composed his enemy’s campsite. In one flowing movement all had vanished, just as the great sandstorms came upon an unwary traveler. In those treacherous storms all who did not seek shelter perished in the onslaught. Only footprints remained in the sands left as last testaments and witness.
A muffled scream escaped into her scarlet sequined scarf. She was draped across a black as midnight steed and they were heading away from her beloved gypsy caravan.
She heard the tell tale hoof beats strike across the grasslands as they sped past her favorite lilacs. Perhaps this assailant was the giver of the coral colored rose. Her heart leapt, as does an eagle as he takes to his wings from a cliff precipice.
Voices spoke in a language she could not understand. From her position across the horses back she could vaguely peer through the scarf that had somehow draped across her face.
She was brusquely dropped across a satin divan. Left to partake of her surroundings she composed herself. Her eyes searched about the tent. Fresh dates that had been placed in a golden goblet tempted her. There was wine in a chilled goblet. She adjusted her eyes to the dim light. Across the tent she discovered a vase containing two freshly plucked coral roses.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Six Cats poem

Six cats
Six cats proclaim this house as home
beyond these humble walls
6 cats proclaim these humans
as their own
what better reward could I partake
than the trusting gaze
of Cazpur gentle war veteran
perched purring like an Evinrude
upon young master's lap?
Midnight black Sable, she cat
peruses ever about
a "Who done that!" glance
for each and every one of her fellow cats.
So much like Mae West
is my Sable cat
But once Sable was espied
grooming wild bob tailed Whitney
Persian brat
"Sammy from Miami" we taunt and tease
falls oblivious on smoke colored ears.
Sam will do what he pleases
Tumble and snap growl roll romp leap high and roll
Our "Boys" are play fighting as usual
we are told
this house has now comfort we call it home.
Black and white patches Oreo
commander in chief
now patrols
with puffed out chest
on the outskirts for his castle
the ladies feline paws swats
at this indignant cat as struts he
paws swat indignantly at Oreo, Sam and Casper
Muskateer toms three
Soft furry socks with wrinkled brow
in some mouse dream
at last has found her own sunbeam
Then we bid good night to our furry friends all
we hold dear to our hearts
our Casper paw paw, teen Sammy, Mae west Sable, chief Oreo
Whitney brat and soft furry Socks
may they each catch that mouse or ever eluding Autumn leaf
edit process April 10, 08 per Professor Anderson

Monday, March 10, 2008

poems from sherlock's forrests


Echoing through vast untamed darkness
Trailing fading fast was her voice
Wolves in the nearby forest spat out blueberries
With grumbles and growls their fur did they lick
Her last thoughts were wise words from her mother
Dark clouds veiled a ghostly moon
All this transpires in her mind in a whir
She brought out from folds of her cloak, her magic needle
If she could only stitch fast the rope
That held her suspended from the rock cliff..,
Be careful what you wish for..,

just a wishfull List
Like jimmy buffett songs
Watercolor paintings
Childrens books
Macadamia nuts
Dove chocolate
Soft rugs

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Silver dog and Golden Tawny cat

Memoirs of a mad scientist

My silver ying dog slips his bejeweled leash and romps over the rough-hewn fences. He is fleeing after a golden tawny yang cat. So this balance of my earth has it tipped upon its very axis?
Rustling plumage, flurry breezes have beneath ebony wingtips bestowed sudden magic.
Alas, as hemp wrought band slips down from my wrist, a rope bracelet circles my destiny, soft folds weaving their telltale patterns in times patterns woven tightly loosely, they define a manifest moment in time.
Garbled grock, grock noises rock a branch low to the ground. Brother crow guffaws his laughter mingled with mine. In his feathered throat he brews a cacophony of earth’s news.
A stream beckons, its ripples timeless to the air, soft grey wings velvety touch ignites a reflection of suns rays upon silken rose petals.
At evening moonbeams now settle in for a brush to touch a whisper.
Frightened in the still night, a forest babe alights.
Wind chimes a sensuous symphony of delights.
Cool sapphire waters the taste how it still lingers in my soul. Springtime’s moisture, spoken words echoes memories of old. Leaves form a cradle for a chickadees bed.
Falling softly in forests slumbers somber
Hush, sleep my cubling, in golden downy dreams
Awaken at twilight softly nightingale calls
Haunting beckons her song sweet though tragic it tale of
Geisha girl pale and warrior gone on winds song
The tears of a dragon slip slowly down his scales
Second missive

My silver Ying dog slips his bejeweled collar, tugs free of leash
Romps ever bound tumultuously over rough-hewn fence
He is fleeing after golden tawny Yang cat,
this balance, of my earth, has it tipped upon its very axis?
How can a fool such as I balance destinies scales?
Rustling plumage, a flurry of breezes has beneath ebony wing tips bestowed
a sudden magic.
Alas, as hemp wrought bracelet slips from my delicate wrist, destiny circlet, how destiny entwined its soft folds, the etching and ebbing of life’s tell tale patterns, mysteries untold,
In time, patterns in time, woven loosely, tightly, they define, a manifest moment in time,
Gargled, grock, grock, noises rocks a trees foliage laden branches, low to the sacred ground,
Brother crow, guffaws his laughter, mingled with mine.
In his feathered throat he brews a cacophony of earth's news

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Recent submission

original draft, no it is not a beer!
Jimmy buffet music melodies dance in my head
one tear too many I trade in tears for each hour that passes by
many times it’s just to survive
Soothing soft and reminiscent of bittersweet days gone by
A car on a beach a girl and all the worlds grown cold
And she’s left by the wayside

Dancing in my head are Jimmy Buffett music melodies
tears so far for each hour that passes by I trade in tears
from the past trading time purchasing each beloved hour
many times can this be to survive
Soothing reminiscent days gone by are memories bittersweet
where is that girl in the blue car on the beach?

all the worlds gone by but there is still that paradise on the beach
my life is a juke box repetition of worn and sturdy melodies
life is a lesson. This world she can be most bittersweet
I wonder about pain how just a release is hard won by tears
what is left in my life to help remedy pain just to survive
tell me torment can be summed up to pass in just an hour
symphonies my heart beats that tempo paradise lost one more hour
beseeching memories like clockwork my brain seeks that same beach
oceans deep, travelers lost how can life portray tragedy, some survive
again crescendos of music waves to my battered soul such melodies
plummeting sapphire cascading waters although they are merely tears
cascading through foggy curtains misty in my mind so bittersweet

before my eyes changes in time much is lost promises so bittersweet
the clock strikes on the hour
buy back a moment of hatred pay for a thousand insults with tears
even now just considering something as beautiful as this beach
world torn wounded from hate sanctuary is provided in melodies
another instance another spar just withdraw into a shell still survive

what remains of the day again she the beach girl can survive
I seek refuge in a beverage it’s taste remains bittersweet
Somewhere a band takes center stage and singer’s refrains are melodies
clocks tick each hand travels past on a whim with it taking in the hour
the sand is sugared crystal heaven at last to reach my goal the beach
the ocean is a vast and looming presence filled by mermaids tears

yes each willowy half fish half woman wept her deluge of tears
perhaps she can tell of a murky prison so far below where she survives
each time I remind myself it can not surpass my dreams this beach
each time my heart beats a memory brings to my mind times bittersweet
Lilly flowers float on water each moment a heartbeat past but the hour
Straining to listen beckons a harp song haunting still are melodies

Purchase paradise with. tears...bittersweet
Join me at last...survive...just for an hour
Tis only crystal sands on our ...beach. you can still hear melodies

Jail time
Sepia tone jail cell complete with iron bars,
Mystically two enlisted men are the first images
the curious viewer’s eyes greet
For two sailors who are supposedly incarcerated
these two look mighty pleased with themselves.
Are they in trouble or are they just taking advantage of a tourist attraction?
Where have they been? Has it been hell on the front?
Men marched into battle, faced death, wrote home to loved ones, care packages were sent, anticipation, waiting, holding ones breath
A list nothing more than paper to hold on to
All Government issued properties,
better stay in line sailor boy,
On the beach the actions seen, better stay alive sailor boys
each sailor wears a “dog bowl” hat and sailors uniform.
On the pitching deck the gunners raise their eyes
another enemy plane
Better “turn to” sailor boy
on your wits and instinct on a ship of steel
all or many lives depend
will war never end
as such is the outcome of all our wars,
the paper turns over in the winds..,
Officer on the Deck!
At attention now eagle’s eyes are riding high,
Better wave to the flag sailor boy
Pencil writing each stroke a mockery of wars challenges,
wars torn casualties
a card, mortal paper, a memento, a souvenir
It’s good to be alive sailor boy
Nonchalantly, the cursive l’s and r’s flow the letter turns a page
as if he were here in the flesh and blood
Perhaps the fellow sailor in the photo
still remembers my father and their adventures.
My father is an F2c rank.
It is written so
in pencil on the postcard I still cherish
Into my life fading memories stray
This photo was taken on March 22, 1946 in San Francisco, California.
This photo is actually a post card sent to play a joke on my grandmother.
If only she knew, what transpired behind the enemy lines, the terror
a paper, a postcard of wars lives impromptu
On the back of this post card
my father writes to my grandparents
About his adventures as a sailor in the middle 1940’s.

Chelsea Coffee Shop in El Lago, Texas

So Igor what's in da Box Dude!
Nevermind Igor. It's time to give a Welcome to the participants from Chelseas Coffee Shop located at 4106 Nasa Rd, El Lago, Texas 281-326-3866
We had a very kewl evening thanks to Professor Stacy Burleson and Professor B. Anderson. Valdos Restaurant and Boondoggles pub are all located in the same parking lot. The view from the waterways is spectacular. Everything turned out well except it was very chilly upstairs. In the mean time keep your eyes upward toward the stars, keep a firm hand on your ships wheel

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Cougars days or derelict

Author’s memoirs

Shining softly through reed and tree, moonlight often displays a mystery
Sensuous feline curves portray untold beauty,
Reminiscent of yesterday
She was created in the Era of the Ending 60’s
Motionless now for the time, patiently she awaits,
Unmarred by time, or elements, she awaits,
Another young heart she will soon captivate.
Beckon heart, and beckon soul, remain ablaze
Through headlights, that by vacuum actuate
Remain ablaze, to tell the tales of olden days,
When through many misty, foggy, summers night’s haze,
Beneath the sparkling starlight,
The metallic cat did scintillate,
Ablaze was her fire with a passion as great,
Powered by the 351 Cleveland to run did motivate,
To take off the line and dominate
The opponent, who though craftily made
From muscle car steel,
Could not overtake
The beautiful cougar
Of old, but not forgotten days.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Valentine detective

Valentine Detective retake
a First take: Revised
Traveling down an old road, you see old houses, one with a crescent on its green shutters, are you lost, again? Which way to turn, is it right, or wrong? Perhaps, is it correct to take the left turn? Ah, Yes, was this the way last time? Does it really matter at all any more?

This pathway seems to beckon again. The only problem is that some of these houses are familiar, some are still strange. But, I just like to feel that this is my only option, for now. Perhaps that old glove box has a map concealed inside its dark contents. The little silver button is just within reach, and presto, the glove box releases the catch that hold it closed, and the contents are now visible to my wretched eyes. Search my little eyes search and find.
My greedy hands trespass into the little alcove that the auto manufacturer praises as a convenience to the weary traveler. My hands search until they close about a soft velvet object, and a feather tickles my palm. With drawing my new found treasure, my eyes devour this ludicrous item, and my eyes reveal to me that this item is none other than, an old black velvet mans hat. A soft brown pheasant feather is stuck in the crown.
Hesitantly, I place the hat upon my head and the thing fits as though fashioned for my head alone.
Rummaging still farther into the small cavernous cardboard makeshift car closet, my hand closes around a cold steel object, startled I withdraw this other item, and find it is none other than a rusty lock with a rusty key stuck into the lock.
A very small wooden box lies askew, just inside the lip of the glove box. Reposing on the tiny lid of the box, a small silver anchor is fashioned
Still curious about the undiscovered map, I pursue my findings again, this time my hand rustles something old crumpled and dry. Closing my greedy hands upon the last item in the glove box, I pull out a small very dusty bundle of ten dollar bills, wrapped in an old valentine. The rubber band holding the bundle intact crumbles in my hands.
Stop Action; Pause , Change scenery

Filtering down through the pale blue feather dream catcher the gossamer wings of dreams sail on butterfly wings until they reach the conscious of the medium or seeker, the circlet of the catcher is made from a sprightly willow sprig. The items placed upon the dream catcher's web signify the dreamer's life experiences.
I dreamed of a peaceful forest. My restless spirit I dreamed I was a rabbit soft brown furry. Wind gently rippled through my fur. I traveled elusively through beautiful moonlit forest it was fall leaves were falling all around an I felt a presence evident A troubled spirit sang out to me, and I tried to look for a way through the forest urgent there was a pathway needed. I wanted to guide him he was looking for a pathway back to a big area.
His heart was urgent something about a message yet unspoken

Something else or just rave and rant here.., elipsis
Bedrooms about the size of some rich folks closets
Where would everything go? Just looking about brought or calls to mind these familiar sayings; a place for everything, neat as a pin.
The color wheel of the art notations became a tell tale wheel from some bizarre carnival ride in my mind's eyes. Where would the blue tweed covered ottoman go? What nook or cranny would it adorn? A calico kitty comfortably groomed her multicolored fur. She paid no heed to arrangement she merely looked for comfort a place to stretch in her catlike gracefulness stretch out and enjoy the warmth of a stray sunbeam upon her feline back calico kitty orbs were shining open bright light reflecting a montage of scenes and predicaments how beautiful were those orbs wondrous..,
Science Fiction words or a beginning, to a passage


Memoirs of a mad scientist

Ah yes, you see the frustration and drudgery of these mundane duties has gotten to me, weep bitter tears from hazel hued eyes. The winds of change breeze through my mind, tugging at the velvet cords that bind those books of memories stored in the attic of my mind.
Aye yes, young reader, shall all this beckon to thee? Stray forth upon the weathered deck, Aye, stand patient for my mere testimonies await they patient ear.
You shall hear Alvarez, sweet Spanish singer. I drew the steel stringed wooden instrument from the velvet-lined vessel. Then I held the cherished blond wood closer to my heart.
Alvarez, the name was now whispered in sonnets, fables and lore. Mighty timbers once swayed in forests breezes. Alvarez you were born from these same forests monarchs’ limbs.
Alas my pilgrim tip the tin cup forward, dip the small shiny cup into the pools of my mind’s stored transgressions, a paupers treasure. Free my soul’s secrets if you will see the mirrored reflection in cool clear blue sapphire waters, the rhapsody of a singing brook. Hasten to see a fleeing glimpse, can this be true, the semblance of a black cats visage where once a human form returned your questing gaze?
Oh ponder such mysteries. Hasten to the pathway, small one. Step on the little stones pathways into the past. Draw back the curtains of mist from the misty waterfalls wake.
Rest awhile. Chapel bells ring, their peals heady laughter to the saints above. White doves fly from the Spanish mission in a dream. Winter winds speed the peace birds on their winter wings. Fly from the casements and sing. Sing sweet Alvarez. Lull the cat child to sleep, rest in pondering dreams. Dream of a silver clad prince in foreign pagodas.

Monday, February 25, 2008

New Years Eve

Stardate Tuesday in the year of our lord November 26, 2002 Revised by author Jan 16, 2008

On the Tayana sailing vessel “Tusentakk” with friends we were toasting New Years Eve. My Scandinavian ears pricked up “Help him, Help him” I flung back the words “baby someone’s in trouble” at Robert a friend of mine. I hit the Tayanas companionway ladder on the fly and then into the cockpit and up onto the deck, I scrambled over the lifelines, grabbed hold of the rum line then away I ran down the finger pier, off in the direction towards our pier.
I assessed the situation, an older couple had recently moved to our pier area and the sounds of distress from the woman’s screams “Help him, help him,” shook my foundation. Robert’s quick thinking ensured the best plan of action; as they say in the navy when you are surrounded by the enemy, you negotiate.
Dangling from Robert’s iron grip on the scruf of his neck was the middle aged neighbor. Robert shoved him back onto the swim ladder of their powerboat. The wife of the powerboat owner upset to say the least. I got her to calm down since Robert had rescued her husband from out of the marina bay. “Our dogs” she cried emotionally.
I knew in my heart that the little dog had only a ghost of a chance. The dog had been in the water too long, exhaustion would overcome the small creature. Since the humans were rescued, I tuned in to the wavelength of the panicked animal, hunters instincts, set all aside, and focused on the animal that belonged to the rescued man.
It was dark this night and difficult to see the animal. My instincts told me to listen, listen. I heard the labored breathing of the dog, and spotted him swimming true to the cause extremely close to our boat. I called, coaxing the animal to me and also drew on the gifts of my ancestors. He swam towards me. I hailed Robert my best friend who at this time was in the canoe we keep moored to side of the Columbia sailing vessel.
Robert grabbed the dog again a rescued mariner by the scruff of the neck and sloshed it into the canoe. The moment the dog was placed on the wooden planked finger pier, his legs collapsed out from underneath his exhausted body.
The adventure was over. An ambulance had been hailed and arrived at pier sixteen. The local politzia had seen all the commotion from across the waters as they were patrolling the island. All was well, but this happened quite awhile back. All the training, instincts and courage will replay like a black and white movie in the theater of your mind just in time, in a panicked situation. Alas a panicked boater will drag you down to your death if you cannot take control of the situation. Play it once more for old time sakes Sam. Sam where is Sam when you need him. I hope he is an experienced boater or we will be rescuing him.

Take one Lei Lani and the curse of the Tiki kings.

Something in the works from creative writing Fall 2008 in the year of our Lord

Night was like a velvet blanket, the stranger’s shadows cast an ominous silhouette, this shadow, it was obsidian dark, such rich darkness, as rich and luxuriant as the earth, coffee dark tones, yes, they were so dark and heavy, like a heavy silk blanket that reaches out, then seemed to touch and cloak my very soul.
As I checked my weary brain for the ninth or tenth time, and heart divided among many treacherous, treasonous temptations, another night’s mystery yet unfolds, I ponder yet once more to look deep into my weary soul, Yes, you ask me, this is a strange tale indeed to tell thee stranger.
Take one Lei Lani and the curse of the Tiki kings.
Lovely Lei Lani mused sadly, here her eyes followed along sapphire sparkles. Yes, a long winding waterway travels off into the distant night, night birds prepare for a long night’s journey. The song is enthralling yet melodically touches the heart in secret places.
Suddenly a golden coy fish jumps high, his presence magical. Remnants of the coy fishes golden reflection mirror in Lei Lanis hazel eyes and once more betray her sorrow.
“Kona Kai”, she whispered softly, from coral colored lips, moist as dew on plumeria petals.
“Lei Lani”, answers the ancient tiki hidden in the dark recesses of the islands lush foliages. Standing in the darkest shadows, the tiki was tall, and foreboding. Echoes of thunder, from the wooden statue shake the foliage. This voice was now so powerful, and sounding of the islands thunderous sea breakers. Yes, powerful thunder, the timber of ancient voices, sounds arising, building to a maddening crescendo, once welled up in the souls of the ancient ones. This thunder, this storm of anger, is the testimony of the ancient ones to tonight’s events, then a hush.
“Tonight the fire dance brings warriors once more to the village”. Lei Lani lamented fearfully. “War once more, when peace could soon reign” Lei Lanis voice faded into the thick forests depths, as in the depths of the shadows the giant tikis eyes glowed red-orange. Lei Lani then bowed her head in silence, her ebony tresses danced across her hips. She tossed the circlet of flowers that had once wreathed her brow onto the placid sapphire waters, her beauty was radiant in the dimness.
And in answer giant wooden feet once rooted firmly to his ancestral stone pedestal, this carving moved wooden feet. A dream, perhaps I dreamed. This is all a dream.
Kona Kani was very angry indeed, his wooden carved eye hollows glowed orange citrine fires. The native drums began again and night’s creature’s stirred, powerful wooden feet tested volcano blackened sands. Bum didda bum dah Trailed off
Kona kani's heart was still as it had been before he had been cursed.

Rouge and Noir take One

There exist a number of bottled, uncorked, sweet delectable vintages in an antique cabinet by the passageway. However, the brass key, its whereabouts, whispered to her by the hermit only last Tuesday as they supped besides the softly tumbling waves at the shoreline and dined on hot cinnamon spiked tea and chilled fruit.
Gleaming, diminutive pear shaped remnants; vestiges of vin ordinaire portions hastily consumed still shimmer from an arachnid’s lace weavings. Shining through the stained glass windows, the sunlight transforms each minute drop to diamond brilliance as the intense bright light diffuses downward into the humble abode, steeling like a mischievous black cat tiptoeing on velvet padded feline feet. A secret, yes a dark secret dwells in this feline beasts soul.
On another night, the moonlight will betray this creatures long lost secret. Where she now pads silently perusing her carefully guarded domain on “all fours”, there still exists, there still is retained the beloved gift of feline intuition. Primitive emotions race through the beast’s wild unchallenged beast heart. Her cat brain, feverish in it’s frenzied activity, painstakingly sorting the details of the encounters, as she silently strides forth, a silent sentinel to the nights partaking.
Tonight the moon wanes high above skeletal trees, the jet-black branches outlines stark and foreboding against a scarlet backdrop.
For tonight as is want and doomed destiny with her kind, there becomes a transformation, she licks her feline lips in anticipation.
Oh, for tonight, she quickens her cat steps as she hears an ardent howl from a nearby sagebrush. Her eyes follow the shadows.
Rouge and Noir Saga of a changeling
Almond hazel eyes transfixed, Sable Carlisle muses at the reflections in the silver lined bowl. Nearby, lulled into her feline purring by the tranquility of the evening hours those soft rumblings is emitted from the silver touched, ghost gray tabby. Sable’s furred friend is now stretched out on the divan. The little feline form of le chat is poised as would be a distance runner, as she languishes her newfound weekend freedom.
What’s this! Cloudy unshaped images appear in the silver bowl in front of Sable’s very eyes. Just now, in the bottom portion of her pet’s bowl, the storm clouds hasten away, swirling into the hazing whirlwind as if from a dream. Soft blue ripples appear manifesting themselves into more concrete shapes. Sable listens for any sounds, but hears only purring and the wind outside her windowpanes.
Here there is true evidence of a very masculine silhouette. This creature now appears to be laying on a long stretch of storm ravaged tropical beach. He is evidently unconscious. Soft, dark golden curls swept across his brow. A chill creeps across Sables very feminine softly rounded shoulders. She cannot shake this vision. How this apparition has hounded her so. Now again she responds to the beckoning call in her mollified mind’s eye.
In the vision the apparition of the male creature stirs, slightly, dark golden lashed eyelids flutter as if butterfly wings, the lashes touch lightly upon his sun-touched skin.
Slowly, ever so slowly the curtains to his soul rise. Silver blue eyes, their vision blurry at first, begin to adjust to the strengthening daylight. The first images to his mind are such as they convey thoughts, thoughts that are bewildered and betraying distrust, and these same eyes survey his surroundings.
The necklace, it’s whereabouts, the coin the silver coin worn constantly about his neck, all this concern for a small bit of metal.
Falling back wearily, Sable slipped back into her chair. Ravens wing colored tresses tumbled down her back in disarray.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

In the shadows of her young mind..,

Science Fiction words or a beginning, to a passage
Yellow brimming with life alive vibrant like a world where no pollutants existed teemed subsided dark centers in the orb a second semi circle a second world only dark reflections reflecting light amber sparks shadows jewel like yellow feldspar mineral citrine fire a citron
Sailor of Mine

Oh, onto the precipice she strays
Where again her heart has lead
She stands lingering watching
The plummeting sapphire waters
Tumbling down the emerald green cliff’s edge
Musing how crystal raindrops are falling
From verdant tender leaves,
She listens alone
In the ethereal forest below
She listens alone
At last to behold the promise of sunset
All the colors of the rainbow
Reflections on gossamer sails desirous to see
If only
She can almost hear the music
Of the rigging as the wind sings musical rhymes
As though playing wind chimes
In the theater of her young mind
Oh sailor of mine Elusive sailor
Forever a prisoner navigating
On the balmy waters waiting
A prisoner of the sands of time
Forever to remain her treasured memory
Science Fiction words or a beginning, to a passageYellow brimming with life alive vibrant like a world where no pollutants existed teemed subsided dark centers in the orb a second semi circle a second world only dark reflections reflecting light amber sparks shadows jewel like yellow feldspar mineral citrine fire a citron

Tied with a silver chain

Tied with a silver chain
About my olive skinned neck lies the silver released from Senora Atocha a parting gift, the small talisman is, leaving me bereft of the blue eyed Irish sailor man I so loved, the Gilead’s balm from our lovers spat, his parting words as I looked into his blue eyes orbs of wonder and delicate delight “I thought this would be an appropriate gift for you beautiful and yet tragic all in the same time" yes tragic is good for now.
Here yes we have Mel Fisher’s treasures legendary Spanish gold memories of sailor’s times and voyages so bold where now there are only the legends left to retell and many wondrous stories of old in seafaring taverns are now still being told. and retold
Alons!, only the small coin is silver hung from a ring looped about my chain this same silver made a silver bar, Mon Deau! If only she could but speak how did this legendary shipwreck occur?, Were there storms and tempests two points off her starboard bow? How detrimental this price that had to be paid for the treasures abounding there in the crystal blue seas. Silver oh shining silver! So are the clouds so lined in my misty foggy dreams. reminded I am of "Silver Seas" one of the commissions for an older powerboat. she lies at anchor at the south shore harbor marina. patiently she is waiting, tugging at her mooring lines like a frisky filly complacently bobbing in the soft silky waters, waiting for the chance to peruse the waters under the soft silver glimmer of an October moon. What perils or paradise she may encounter only the winds that blow her on her way shall know again yes

the Igor chronicles

The Igor chronicles

And now a Special bulletin from ibgign news telecasters

Spokesman “ Is Igor single?”

Mad scientist, “Why yes, glad that you asked. He is most definitely, or should be at this time, most indubitably single

Commentator “How did you meet Igor?”

Scientist that is most mad “He was rummaging through the pet store for a new leash”

Telecaster shrugging at microphone cord tangling relentlessly into his butterfly collar, “I see a leash, and does he have a favorite pet?”

Scientist, pensive, musing, staring after a moth fluttering innocently by, “The leash was for his alter ego”

Telecaster, Nonplussed, scuffing his shoe in the pea gravel at the Happy Buddha restaurant parking lot, “ Did you say the leash was for his, Alter Ego?”

Scientist, becoming more and more distracted by the yellow sulfur butterflies squabbling over a flower blossom, ” Quite, yes, I do believe he posses one or several of those” in the background there are noises and mutterings in the oriental languages.

There are sounds of the motor of a car grumbling along, then the distinct sound of tires meshing grinding and smashing a path through what could only be pea gravel.

Scratch; crackle, snap, wavy lines, transmission garbled. Silence, frustration, human growling.

Oh, there you are again, Sorry, I was just tuning in to a local broadcast. Everyone should dabble in the creative writing sense it really helps with the stress levels. Ok so I was working on a couple of characters for my creative writing journal Let me see here lets go with naming the newscaster Last name Corbin. Yepo thats really a handy dandy fix, good name actually
Oh and Author's note; Every man alive should see the "Goodbye Girl" movie just the last scene. The rooftop scene, it should really strike home. Richard Dreyfas is really a great actor. Movie circa 1985
I smuggled the zip drive in along with the other bric and brac smashed into the choc co kitty backpack. Word is around campus that the dreaded mid-terms will soon be upon us all. Igor, How will I ever survive this world. Maybe a Mel Brooks movie or something.
Lets get something off the jump drive, title that puppy and publish that bad boy

Friday, February 22, 2008

jump drive portfolio

so that when I turn the journal in to professor Anderson he can keep tabs of all my writing endeavors. You think he will like what I have done Igor? Igor, leave that photo of Paris Hilton Alone!! Igor what are you doing with that photo. Have you been dancing with the skeletons again? Igor, answer the door quickly It's Mr Sulu again
Spock to Kirk, " Leave those tribbles alone, they are not chicken Mc nuggets!" expletives deleted

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Pendances challenge

it's in the works but here goes
Here lie the author’s memoirs intact and unabridged. Mademoiselle silver tones, secret agent for the force, was still undercover and on the hard. She was traveling in disguise. She paused halfway in transit and lifted an ostrich feather upward to just below her feline eyes and drew the portion of disguise, disenchantment and illusion just below her feline eyes and over her silver furred jaw line. Here now, she mused in another circumstance could this be ever so beguiling.
She hesitates in the near shadows contemplating her next move, run or the mustachioed gendarme will see her. In a liquid movement she flashes by the abutment, the ancient stone now remained as only a testament to any of atrocities of a daunting history. Here she adjusts the ostrich feather cloak. The cloak is midnight blue, with scant silver shot trim; its maker was a sorcerer from Gamma Quadrant seven. She was told it still possessed secret powers, some of these were still unknown to her as she had pressed seven dacares in the creatures’ heavy paw that woe some day in time. She put all these known or unknown powers in this galaxy to the test this night.
Stealth, silence, grace, sinews gathered under velvety silken fur. Muscles gathered, answered their call, flexed and resumed motion. She traversed the distance from alleyway to window ledge, along such to the low hanging rooftop. Something in the near distance caught her peripheral vision. She turned her feline visage and here keen eyes caught a shadow like movement. Here, no up to the left, ah there in the half distance. She was almost certain she had witnessed a movement in the darkness. She peered relentlessly down forgotten alleyways and dark lonely streets.
Her contact was a ghost grey alley cat named Marauder Pendance. Pendance was a star captain with a four star cluster pasted across his well-muscled chest. He was feline in ancestry but owed some of his bloodline and fealty to a grizzled old star trader half a galaxy away. So there he ended his ancestries trace, way back to when the kittens prowled the old terran neighborhoods, resplendent in their concrete and wooden structures and manicured lawns. He was an old acquaintance and had saved her lustrous feline scruff on more than one occasion. She paused under the old sign, its tempting glow scandalously advertising the unwary traveler to partake of that den of iniquity. The Fallen Dove served its wasteful purpose with mocking glee, turning hearts cold with unrequited greed. The denizens of the dark met here for unscrupulous dealings, snagging up gaudy dealings, and stolen gems and trade wares.
Somehow she drew her breath in and listened for the recognized signal, at once she tuned in to the background noise, the elements of sound slowly shifting in her hearing range. She must remain cognizant. Then she distinguished something odd and selective, a pace above and beyond the dismal harbor sounds. She perked up intense feline ears. Yes, an octave higher, a tempo slower, on the same frequency, a low hum. Again she channeled her being into listening. The strange sound was now closer, only higher up above her head. She heard the sound again. A flash of motion and now, to the powers of her keen feline secret ears, welcome sounds, but this time the same pattern.
He walked from the shadows and into her heart. At first her eyes perceived just a silhouette. Then in the lilac moonlight of Santara nine, she witnessed her contact. The fedora was low across his brow; its telltale majestic style demonstrated that seductive style a style that could only be claimed by this male. Yes, this was a style that would always prove to be just like his dashing daring character. He wore a sharkskin suit and carried a lethal looking dark slim case. Tonight he wore the guise of a planetary musician temporarily planet side on a visa owned by a masquerading star captain. A whistle like noise escaped from his lips, his visage partially veiled by shadow. He spoke or rather intoned the necessary sounds that she must acknowledge.
Mademoiselle reflected his curiosity momentarily, and then swept a quadrant pass before his eyes. Signal released, she caught his paw and together they passed before the shadows to an awaiting sea rover docked at pier 29. The sea rover was damaged from another onslaught of the local authorities no doubt tipped off and bribed by local instigators. This was the best guise they were able to accomplish in their relentless daring hunger for the truth. Their pursuit would be mystified only momentarily by a clever ruse thought up by an old acquaintance of Commander Pendances’ that was stalling at the bar and buying them precious time. So together they conquered the stubborn locks and quadrant seals on the sea rover. Hastily they swept past the cockpit signals. The sea rover bobbed complacently in the restless waters of Santara nine. The motors would be sluggish with disuse, but magically fired up and purred for the Commander at first paw touch. If all went well they would be out of harms way and on towards the second half of their journey.
Mademoiselle was penchant and brooding as the waters plumed by from the transom of the old sea rover and they passed by the green foliage and dark shapes of old structures that encompassed their harrowing path. She was jolted awake when he brought out a crimson plate and wafted the familiar savory smells of yellow tail scat fish steamed and accompanied by her favorite fruits. “For the lady” he purred proudly. A delicatessen in a handsome captain’s coat tails he was. His get away vehicles were notorious for being well provisioned.
She reached forth a silver tipped paw and daintily retrieved a small piece of fish and vegetables. What must preclude this feast was a just a touch of Santara 9 knor berry wine. Chilled wine was perfect for tonight’s escape plan with a soft spiced taste remotely reminiscent of terran wines from old times. Her palette was rewarded with the fruity moist taste sweet of the delectable liquid ambrosia. They had barely partaken of the food, when he let forth a low growl. Something had followed then and it was gaining distance to their water craft. He twisted the wheel quickly skipping across the waters at a break neck pace. Whoever was following them was matching navigational skills to his well honed skills. He pondered his own fate and his lady loves in his own thoughts.
Perhaps if I could have dived just so, in this manor or then perhaps not, he mused in his inner thoughts while gripping the wheel like a maniac. He suddenly realized something familiar about that craft. “What kind of mockery could this be?” he mouthed aloud. “Jarvon you swamp demon!”
Tarry Naught

Science fiction ideas

Australians ever changing into what can only be termed changelings. The mutations brought about changes and even so there evolved some of what the scientists termed telepaths. They began to take on the physical capabilities similar to that of the humans. There eventually transforms creatures with improved manual dexterity, and much more rational and creative thinking processes. Due to the wars some of the animals were trained efficiently for sabotage and wartime missions. The eventual results could be blamed on the distant radiation and hyper drive evolution. Mans fears contributed to the eventual detriments of their own planet.
The Australian people are by far unique and their individuality mixes with the scientists. In the following ways these everyday habits and outward appearances evolve for the creatures the Australian hats, the bush mans clothing, the evolved traditions, and the Aussie speech patterns.
The scientists in their haste to save an entire species from certain and grisly doom have gathered animals from all over the continents. All types of creatures have been plucked from endangered species sanctuaries. The desperate scientists were giving their own lives for the sake of the animals. Better to gain knowledge as a scientist and giver of life than to be pressed into service for the madness of the military structure, which meant sure and certain death or worse. The animals had taken to space travel, for they instinctively recognized their flight from peril and worked to accomplish what humans of another nature had wrought. However in this plight of desperation there is mutation. The lifespan of some of the mammals and marsupials is increased. For the creatures who once before saw only the passing of a limited number of seasons, their Longevity now encompassed many more years of productive life. Thanks are given for the mutations so that these animals were able to accomplish much more than the greedy humans had intended them for.
The Australian scientists had gone through proverbial hell and high water, much water. The destruction of nature’s natural rhythms had caused the oceans waves to catapult over landmasses once safe from the wrath of nature. Their results were forms of skullduggery, carefully plotted out espionage sneaking about for safety, spying on warlords, conniving, and much underground and very secret works were performed. The animals did much of their duties with ease and precision, often skulking quietly among their food sources and the gardens that were kept secret to the enemy.
Eventually Animals and Australian scientists flee from war torn earth. Scientists Australians for the cause, the beasts barely escape war on Earth in interplanetary vessels. They blast off and catapult towards unknown solar systems off they go on adventures.
The course to the other planet was happened upon by sheer accident. A meteor shower caused an upset and the course was incidentally changed. The wrong controls were activated. There were injuries to some of the older human members, and alas to some of the animals.
Upon the ships reaching the planets surface, the earth animals meet the alien life. On this strange planet the animals both terran and alien reason out language. The ships crew is caring for the scientist’s offspring. The offspring of the scientists learned by necessary telepathic communication.
Ok be easy it is rather my first sci-fi attempt and nope I do not have any illustrations

creative writing draft

Revised Jan 31, 08 from notations from classmates.

Going Home
Earthly conflicts are as inevitable as the rush of the ocean’s tides. What shall ever become of this destiny we attempted to see, designed by the universe and all the power it holds over time, life and our precious memories? Should this be the last time we can look upon each other’s faces, and then we shall fall from winter’s trees as spent as winter’s last testimony to life, as weary as winter’s last oak leaves.
Happenstance you appear nightly in some earthly form and unravel what seems to be old mysteries, a past yet unknown, since you were taken from us before you accomplished any of your own dreams. What missive, what message is there that you are trying to tell, I’ve written down every word and cherish those thoughts, yet on this unknown parody my heart seems to dwell.
Tiger-eyes, in my own true dreams your appearance is as unchanged, unmarred by the everlasting sands of time. Here in my own private picture show appears a haunting creature so like a stormy jungle beast stalking alone in a forest deep. Did you not once tell me, not long ago how our life together would always be something special to keep.
Here in the realm of unspoken reality, I cover my eyes and refuse to see, our own child sending you forth in a chair made of iron and cloth. You clutch the life-giving cylinder of times stolen air, your face cannot reflect; only 40 or more years in age. Eyes that at once reach my soul, how they seem weary. World worn your eyes are reaching out, seeking refuge from pain, only now soon you may exist in a time where I cannot stay. My eyes stream with glaciers of rage.
Endlessly she defies the challenges of time, a wary thief. She whispers like a siren and calls to you in your broken sleep. How dare she take like a cowardly thief? Leave him you harpy; he heeds not your haunting beauty. She averts her gaze all at once. Human’s eyes spy a raving beauty on one side on the other a hag, a ravenous life thief.
Her name is whispered discreetly by a nurse as she glides by white hallways. Hushing steps, she takes as though she has stolen a cat’s feet. At one point she laments his name is still written in the book of life; hush now she can scarcely whisper, tis cancer we blame. She the beauty, she the life thief! She hovers at loved ones bedsides, withered lives breathe, she hovers a monster at a child’s bedside, this harbinger this bringer of grief. Her breath is as ice, her thoughts are white steeds, and away on a travelers adventure her coachman whips away life’s brief deeds. All hopes and life’s needs falling, calling relentlessly, yet uncaring these last desperate attempts to release the almighty soul. Hearken you harpy, yet reflections from loved ones, this brief interlude leads, speak everlasting promises to the ears of thy loved ones, avenge this outcry, yet this beseeching upon her icy ears, she never heeds.
Torrential rain, the gutters contain life’s torrents, a release, and then a moment still; the rain of this sorrow falls now on my deeply reticent soul with a chill. Crystal tears, a dewdrop on a rose leaf. My child’s ebony tresses shaking, quaking, her angelic countenance now wracked with grief. A box now contains a man’s testament, his relief. The grey silken liner embroidered with birds on the wing; one silver silken bird has turned about and is wheeling toward a place in the sun, yet this bird shall never take flight alone. Simple words embroidered on silver silk bring a heartfelt sentiment, “going home”. Yet could this life have ever been less in torment, but now seeks such blessed belief.
How I marveled the day the nurses brought her to me. A cherub, a name for this child I could but weakly speak. For the arrival of this babe almost cost me my only life. This once a nurse’s quiet footsteps, this once this passage back in time would on fates borrowed wingtips bring this mans only girl child, an answer to my cherished dreams.
As such resides this stolen memory, so ends a rapturous life play. Bow players take life to your heart in your own precious way.
Here we find yet another place in time and I will grace you with it’s tell tale excerpt. A little brown dog has always stood fast on its lofty carved wooden shelf perch watching me gallantly from my parent’s room. I passed by the awaiting silent stuffed sentinel often as I halted on the threshold of my parent’s room. The room is still a sanctuary guarded by the realistic threat of reprimand. Memories tumbled through my troubled mind. Daily my father was taxied to his dialysis and chemo treatments. He commented to my sister that the little truck served its purpose well. Ah, yes another story. Better yet let’s call these the adventures of the little grey truck.
How I had listened intently when my father reminisced through my grandfather’s memoirs. Grandfather came from a wondrous land of wolves and frozen tundra. He was a silent hero since he had passed before my arrival on terra firma. Soul owner now of things that lived once freely in the past, I rewrite his memories. Photographs written with descriptions in a language that I must learn soon reside in a strong wood box that I inherited when my grandmother went to heaven. Many adventures were mine to cherish when with pencil to paper I labored through notes and ledgers that have seen turned the pages of many calendars many times and still my minds eye envisions many adventures from years of old, in a scenic country so far away. This same country is the land of my Scandinavian ancestors and from these roots my family tree grew to its fallen legacy.
Take care with the photo of my parents on a wondrous sailing boat. Feather-like Plumes of White Sea foam froth streaming, trailing along behind the careless travelers. Inviting, compelling the eyes of the beholder seek, then somehow see, old glory as she waves towards the blue skies of beautiful Hawaii.
Oh, how fond those stolen memories. Father wears a Tom Selleck blue Hawaiian print cotton shirt. The pattern on his shirt waves invitingly on a gypsy breeze. My musician friend promised to place this momentum in his newfound joy a sailing vessel named after a fortunate cetacean. This photo reveals to me on a sailing vessel two people obvious, oblivious and so in love.
Yes, we go back now to the little brown sentinel for it is the one last item we place in the wooden box close to my remaining parent, for this is the one he won for my mother when they first met. This treasure, this sentinel now guards a stolen moment while its traveler traverses a path so designed by destiny. This stuffed little puppy means so much to them, then we girls knew he would give it to our mother when he saw her in heaven. For you see, she arrived last night to take him with her. The careless travelers on the sailboat bound heaven ward for their own blues skies of Hawaii.
yep, it is long, but it is better than the first draft