At Our Doorstep

At Our Doorstep   Pastor asked from the pulpit: “Has the Anti-Christ come?”   Is this the last hour? Can one Deceiver rock the planet Through fanatic nationalism, Spreading Its sinister arms to all those elsewhere? Keep out!   Seen before, so often, so often… Back in the day ‒ Viewed now on black and white films, The transmission of unscrupulous orders, Marching through Europe.   And Europe saw it again. In this time, in this hour. Hordes streaming from far-off, Meandering through distant lands. Meeting closed borders.   Oh, but not here! We want them to come. Begin anew,
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Categories: Poetry.

The Creation of Poetry

The creation of poetry There is no way of knowing, when the art of poetry first began. It is assumed that the origins are steeped in an oral tradition, frequently employed as a means of recording history, storytelling to an audience, perhaps sung, often paying tribute to deities. To aid memorization, there was already a form to these, including rhythm and repetition. When written composition began, it meant poets began to write for an absent audience, though likely scholars. The earliest written work may have been The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor which is a story of an Ancient Egyptian’s
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Categories: Poetry.

Travelers

Travelers She was glad to see him. The morning tour guide had left the group at Grand Place. It was the intoxicating aroma which had drawn her to the Neuhaus chocolate shop. While heading back outside with the delectable package in hand, Sophie had bumped into him. He politely asked if she minded him tagging along. “Not at all!” she had answered, much to her surprise. She generally liked being alone. But from the time she had boarded the tour coach in Calais, she had noticed something about this man that had intrigued her. Perhaps a long ago memory? Now
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

The Adventure

The Adventure It was a spontaneous decision. A surprise by all accounts. Wanda hadn’t the remotest notion to travel to China. Previous trips had been painstakingly planned for months ahead. Not this time. This time she threw all caution to the wind and grasped the opportunity presented. “Just go!” Her reckless Inner Child had commanded. And here she was at the Great Wall. She took a deep breath, intentionally feeling the moment. Intentionally storing the feeling in her memory for future reference. The trip was more difficult than she had anticipated. The stairs, the climbing, the smog! On the positive
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

Book Launch – “Echoes of Footsteps”

BOOK LAUNCH ‒ “Echoes of Footsteps” Thank you Lorna Foreman ‒ my editor, my publicist and my dear friend. And thank you all, for coming. I am amazed that you still attend my book launches. And, I am amazed that I continue to be excited about seeing another one of my books published, thanks to Raymond Coderre, Founder and President of Baico Publishing,Ottawa. I was in the first stages of researching what I had planned would be my next novel, when I couldn’t get a niggling feeling out of my thoughts. I decided to set aside my research and this
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Categories: Musings and The book.

Signs

Signs Friday at last! It had been a long, hectic week at work for Marlie. End of the fiscal year. All programs were directed to account for their past year’s activities and spendings. What a relief finally to be home, in solace with Owen. On most Fridays he would meet her at the local hang out for wine and dinner, but she had begged off with a phone call that afternoon. “I just want to put my feet up, order in and have a some wine, alone in peace with you.” He had agreed of course, as she knew he
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Categories: Marlie Stories.

Bread

Bread My aunt in Hungary still goes to the market daily to buy bread. She feeds the remains from the day before, to the birds. Wasteful perhaps, or all in the way you look at it. When she was a little girl following the Depression, it took a cart full of paper bills to buy a single loaf of black bread. My father, imprisoned in Hungary for nearly seven years, was content enough to eat the wedge of dry bread he was given; it was better than the blue mouldy crusts he was sometimes left. Even his dinner companion, the
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Categories: Musings.

Who do you think I am?

Who do you think I am? Eulogies given at funerals are often interesting and sometimes surprising. “Why didn’t I know that about her?”  One might ask. The answer is fairly simple. A eulogy is often prepared by contributions from a number of people who knew about the departed. They may discuss some quaint personal stories, accomplishments and even bits of humour which give a seemingly rounded picture of her life. But make no mistake, even if the eulogy had been pre-prepared by the deceased herself, it will only provide a glimpse of who she really was, because she will only
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Categories: Musings.

Marketing the second novel “Reconnecting”

Marketing the second novel “Reconnecting” Each time I think of the term ‘marketing’ I cringe. And each time the term comes up I recall the words of a Director I once had: “None of you know how to market yourselves!” Was that some sort of curse I continue to carry with me? When my first novel “The Women Gather” was accepted by Baico Publishing in 2012, I was utterly grateful. What I hadn’t considered was the next step: marketing! What it really meant was self promotion: “I have written this wonderful novel. Please buy it!” Alright. I know that isn’t
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Categories: Musings.

OWEN’S POEMS from “Reconnecting”

OWEN’S POEMS from “Reconnecting”   If you only knew   When we met by chance In crowded rooms of people ‒ If you only knew.   When we met by chance Alone in empty hallways ‒ If you only knew.   When we met by chance With her, in that small café ‒ If you only knew.   When we met by chance At the station heading home − If you only knew.   When we met by chance In the building where you live ‒ I will tell at last.   Mystery   Often you have passed this way.
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Categories: Poetry.