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
Pathway

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

Alvarez

Memoirs of a mad scientist
Alvarez

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