The Bookcase

She ran her fingers along the books in my bookcase, as if she were trying to read my life.

Some of the bindings were torn, faded, or just missing parts. The titles not especially clear, some hard to read, some not making any sense at all.

Some of the books were missing. Parts of my life which had gone lost, somewhere along the way. The years before I knew her. Uninteresting, to say the least.

When she came to our life together, she took a deep breath, before finding a seat nearby, taking a stack of the most important years, trying to read my life with hers.

I would have liked to share the moments with her. Seeing her face light up, when she read the important parts. The minutes spent. Not anything more important in this life for the both of us. She laughed, then she cried. Her face reflected the light of the sunset creating long shadows on the walls of my books, the oranges burning brightly through the later years of my life.

Her fingers hesitated for a moment. She started putting the books back in place, making sure the edges were immaculately placed with just enough space for a bit of dust to share the memories, the pages of my life.

One book remained open. The table, the room now existing as a memory, where we walked the fields and the streets of my life, hand in hand, closer to the touch.

The final pages were left blank, until her fingers found the strength to finish the story. The story of our lives together, when the edges, the bindings were new, and we had the whole story in front of us.




The young man, the old man, met

Stones, skipping

the waters pooled, the stones reflected

her faces, puddled by the ripples

the moment gone, the stones sank,

her memory, the images distorted

The young man stood on the shore

face wizened, twisted, a cold shudder awaited

years of memories, faces, touch to smile

arms and legs twisted, a lover’s embrace

while he gathered the stones, the flat, the round

and  tossed them across the waters of time again,

She, they gone again, moved on, while he, I stood alone

The young man met the old,

staring at each other, trying to resolve the years,

attempting to explain the faces, wondering where they’ve gone

a shrug of shoulders, a shake of the head

stones skipping

the waters dark and deep

the stones feel cold in my hands

just a toss, a low-flying pass

her fingers to my lips, pursed

leaving without saying goodbye,

the old man stood, the shore along

trying to imagine the stones, flying

the pleasure, her hands upon my skin,


the stones, the faces, the coolness of the waters

beckoning me home,


Unused Posts

I’m sorry about posting again, but there seems to be people out there that need to read my posts?

I wouldn’t want to name names (like Cyranny) so I won’t.

Therefore,  I have decided to use up my stock of unused posts in order to satisfy the as yet unknown reasons for wanting these posts to be posted on my site?

I could continue to fill this page with question marks, but I won’t.

So like it or not, I’ll be posting on this site for the next 35 or so posts, which should satisfy some if not all of you (like Cyranny), but which I won’t be naming on this site.


But only if you like???

Metaphorically Speaking

I was on a train.

I stopped it and got off, but it continued.

I walked alongside it for a while, but it was traveling faster than I, and continuing on to a place that I didn’t really care to go.

I can still see it, but my ticket is no longer valid.

What does it all mean, you might be asking yourselves? This site will remain here, until I figure out what I want to do with it.

Perhaps nothing at all, but then that happens sometimes in this life……


Sleeping, and its ails, cures

Sometimes, sleeping
seems the best cure,
for that what ails me,

The bitter breath

of the day past,

the aches and pains of lost

conversations, lovers never having heard

“I Love You”, uttered for the flrst,

-for the last time,

The gentle thoughts

of what sleep might bring, are torn

and ripped from my memory, into

the dreams which have decided if I am to live

-or to die,

To die a thousand deaths, night after night

or, to sleep peacefully, along someone, who dares

to share my fate, together with me


The rest, the anguished thoughts

the lovers scorned, vanish

with the light through the windows,

The angels and devils of sleep, gone away


Until I chance to sleep, again

She was a Teaser

A temptress


A woman of my dreams,

in a Nightmarish way,


She teased me,

“Come to me”, she said

then left me guessing, as to

who I was?


She took me

unawares, she did what I only

could fear, and left me

wanting more,


I lusted after her,

she acknowledged,

to a point, then stood there,

laughing at my longing

for her,


I desired her, I shunned

all other thoughts,

All other mention of



She gave me,

what I deserved, what I needed,

by seducing my weaknesses

and my fears,


She was a Teaser….


New Blogging Idea for 2017

I am often bored with blogging. It is no secret and I’ve told my readers from time to time, that I’ll be taking a break for a while.

I think instead of stopping altogether that I should let my alter egos take over for the real me, when I get to the state of boredom.

My better half, might be considered to be my wife, but since she doesn’t have any interest in blogging, it’ll just have to be my better side, which is me, regardless.

Then it might be my first alter ego’s turn. He can write all of those love poems and the like to make women swoon, and want to run away with me to Sweden, or some other foreign place?

The next one would be my “Bad Boy Alter Ego. He would be breaking hearts and throwing caution to the wind, wrecking cars and taking all those chances, that I never would.

One of them can be the foreign me, speaking one or another foreign language (just not French) and wowing readers who want to hear my innermost thoughts, just in Swahili, or another exotic language!

I would be resting on my laurels, watching my other egos take over for me, or perhaps just sub-letting my blog out to them and let them do what they want with it!

One would have to exist in order to answer all of the comments of those daring few, who feel that they should air their opinions on my site, and who want some sort of answer, not necessarily a serious one!

Some might be asking, “How do we know the real you from your alter egos?” Well, that is easy, because they are me, and I am them. I’ve been accused of saying silly things all my life, so I’m sure that the other mes can easily be me, as much as I would have been me in their places! Who is he today? Well, he is the same as yesterday and tomorrow.

When I’ve stopped being bored, then I can pick up where I left off, with most, if not all of you not being able to see any difference in the quality of blogging as with my other alter egos!

Enjoy, or don’t, but that is the same, regardless if it is because of me, or because of me!

Just don’t accuse me of being the others, or them, me, as we are all different in the way we are, aren’t we?

Blogging, or not from Denmark in 2017………….


Cabin Number 13 – Chapter 23 – The Girl Next Door

There we were at the entrance to the lake and cabin area, when my father started to look at the map in order to find our cabin in the myriad of trees.

“Let’s see. Cabin number…..There! There is cabin number 13. At that moment a roll of thunder was heard in the background, then an owl hooted,”Hoo, hoo”. Wow, we’d better get a move on, before that storm catches up to us. My friend looked as if she were lost in thought. She asked my father, “The man at the reception desk. Did he have a pencil-thin mustache? And black greasy hair? My father just looked surprised at her questions. “Yes, yes he did. Have you been here before? Did you see him?”

“No. No I haven’t” my friend replied with a strange look on her face. “It was just a lucky guess, that’s all.”

My father beamed at us. “Yes. We are both lucky today. You with your guess, and me finding us a cabin to, now get ready for this, a cabin at half price! Think of it! Cabin number 13 is our lucky number for this trip!” A sound of thunder echoed at the very moment that my father said “13”. I looked at my friend, but she avoided my glance, and just kicked at the sand on the ground. “Well, let’s drive up and unpack”. My father was unaware of anything wrong, so I decided to go with the flow, until things proved otherwise.

Cabin number 13 was actually a nice-looking cabin, almost new, if you had asked me. We started to unload the car, and as I reached for the doorknob a flash of lightning lit up the front door, making the knob resemble a skull! “Did you see, that….” It was gone again. The others just looked at me, and I said, “It was nothing at all. Just a trick of the light.”

We moved our things into our 3 rooms and suddenly realized how hungry we were. Dad pulled out 3 juicy-looking steaks and began to light the gas grill. “It won’t be long now”, he said as we chopped the vegetables and buttered some bread. When dinner was finished, we all began to eat, as if there were no tomorrow…Now why did I say that? I had a funny feeling about our lodgings, but it might just have been due to my imagination?

When we were finished and started to wash the dishes, my father made a discovery of sorts, “I thought, I had turned off the gas, but listen, It seems like there is some sort of gas leak – sssss. “We’d better shut off the main tank before think about turning in. Just think, we might all died of gas asphyxiation, or worse yet, have been blown to kingdom come!”

How did they die, those poor souls? Some say it was the biggest gas explosion of the last 20 years. You’d think that someone would have made the necessary safety checks and all. Where were the yearly stamps, and certifications? You know, it wasn’t the first time someone had died unexpectedly in that cabin. The other time was not due to an explosion, but that didn’t make it any less suspicious. It was back in the early 60’s when….

The thunder rolled ominously in the background, even more so after my father’s dreary talk about explosions and all. The lightning began to flash as well, with us trying to see how many chimpanzees, or Mississippis there were in between flashes? “One Mississippi, Two Mississippi…Boom! The thunder shook the cabin, drowning out the hooting of the owl in the distance, “Hoo-Hoo-Ho…..”

“It’s a funny thing”, my father started to say. “The man at the Reception Counter hinted about a story that was connected to this cabin, but he said that we should come by some sunny day and hear about it.” “Boom” “Crash”  went the thunder, as if to drown out what my father was talking about. “He just kept saying, Remember, come by in the sunshine. Not at night! What a funny duck, he was!”

I looked over at my friend, but she was concentrating on the lightning show outside of the window. “It’s just like that time in Botswana, when we went over the border to Zimbabwe..” She didn’t seem like she was talking to us, but more like she was in a trance of sorts. “It was a long drive and I kept saying how it would be nice to buy an ice cream, or a jug of cold water, but my father just said, “Those things might as well grow on trees….in your dreams. And laughed at the thought of ice cream trees in the middle of Botswana. I longed to see my mother again, but feared the worse, having to visit her in the hospital in Bulawayo. “Remember, my father kept saying. It’s just a touch of Malaria, nothing to get upset about. I tried to reassure myself that Malaria was a better thing than being bitten by Tsetse flies, but the choices seemed to be between bad or worse.”

I just looked at her, as if she were someone else. I wondered why she never told me these things before, when we were in the comfort of our suburban neighborhood where the most dangerous thing was getting yelled at, for not removing the crabgrass, before company came over for coffee. “Honestly” said my mother, who was quick to tell me, what I had done wrong. “Here we are, just minutes before your Uncle Danny and Aunt Catherine came for their yearly visit, when the yard looks like some sort of Canadian weed flu hit the area. Is it so much to ask of you? Weeding the yard for your mother? I wonder sometimes if you knew the pain and heartache that I’ve suffered at the hands of Crabgrass?!”

I really should have consoled her, but felt that the few times that I’ve tried to get close to her, my intentions have backfired in the most horrible ways. I chose instead to nod in the right places, and tried to understand the pain that she was feeling.

My father had dosed off after telling us about the Reception Clerk, so he didn’t hear any of what my friend had talked about. It was almost as if, she were speaking directly to me, but not to me. The storm seemed to have passed by us, with the thunder sounding farther and farther away. We made small talk about this and that, and decided to hit the sack, being very tired after the day’s events. I woke my father and pointed him in the direction of his room and after hearing a muffled, “Goodnight, Sweet Dreams” I could almost hear him start snoring before his head hit the pillow.

My friend and I checked the gas tank, just to be sure and started to move towards our rooms. “Listen here, Ninny and listen good”. I knew it. It sounded too good to be true. Now I was in for it!

“When I lean up against the wall in my room, it’ll be like lying next to you. All you need to do is to do the same in your room. Then no matter what happens, we’ll be together in spirit, with just one wall between us.”

It was almost like the time, when she told me about her circus dog. It was such a beautiful thing to say, that I couldn’t say anything in return. I just smiled and told her goodnight. She smiled back at me and blew me a kiss before closing and locking her door. I wasn’t certain what to do now? I guess, I should move my bed up to our common wall, and dream sweet dreams about friends, and the like. And their former life in Botswana…

My father was already in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon, whistling some tune from when he had been younger, his face lighting up when I finally woke up, and dragged myself into the kitchen. “Well, how’d you sleep? I slept like a log. Yes, I did. Just like a log.”

I looked out of the window and noticed how close we were to the lake. “About an hour ago, just when the sun had come up over the horizon, I saw some fishermen out in their boats on that very lake.” I could feel the fishing vibrations shake the house, whenever my father started to get the idea that we were some sort of weathered fishermen, who had not only caught Moby Dick, but had eaten the most of it in one sitting. I wanted to remind him of the fiasco,  the first/last time we went fishing, but I didn’t have the heart to do so. I started to think about my friend instead and wondered when she would be getting up and joining us.

Just then the door opened and in walked my friend, carrying a whole bunch of fish in her hands. “Look here. Dinner for the 3 of us. Freshly caught!”

My father and I just looked at her, as if she had been fishing on the moon or something, but it really didn’t matter how she did that, because the surprise effect was a once in a lifetime moment between us. She laid the fish on the counter and showed us how they were cleaned and ready to fry, as if they had been bought at the local grocery store.

My father just looked at her with great admiration, and said that when we were going to try  our luck at fishing on the lake, we had to have her with us in the boat!

The cabin in the sunlight looked completely different, than when we had arrived the day before. I couldn’t wait to start off our day together, but thought about leaving my bed against the same wall, during the rest of the trip.

You never know what might happen, being all close to someone like that……


Driving to the Lake – Chapter 22 (The Girl Next Door)

I don’t know exactly, but I felt like Ricky and Lucy on the way to California. Fred Mertz had packed their car with things hanging off the sides, the top and everywhere else. He had left a small hole where Ricky could see out of the front windshield, but even I could see, that they would never make it to California like that.

We had a bit more than my father had reckoned with, which meant that if the car was completely packed with all of our things, then we might as well spend the time camping out at home for all the room there wasn’t in both front and back. My father just shook his head and began to sift through the various piles. “If only your mother….” with that thought left unsaid, but could have been one of the following things:

  • had been here. Her intelligent ways would have solved our problems immediately.
  • had seen this mess, she would have yelled at us, until the cows came home
  • had seen that the Girl Next Door was going with us, then heads would fly
  • had experienced a fatal traffic accident, and couldn’t remember who we were…

He didn’t finish that statement, nor did he chose to use any of my suggestions either. We tried to put things into 1. clothing; 2. essentials; 3. games; 4. food.

Essentials for my father were copies of Fly Fishing Digest and Garage Monthly, while I chose a ball, a few books and a baseball bat, without baseball. My friend had any number of unnamed boxes which had to be taken along, or else!

We finally weeded out a few of the larger things, like a footstool, an ironing board and a set of Winter Tires. My mother would have insisted on those things, and would have forced the rest of us to re-examine our essentials, leaving them at home instead. I might have been brave enough to point out that Winter Tires in the middle of Summer might be overkill, but she would just bring up the poor Donner Family in California, and how they only had their Summer Tires to chew on, when they had run out of food on their vacation. Naturally, Winter Tires would be more filling, and would have gotten them to the next filling station, and customary gift shop.

After my father had checked the doors and windows, and especially the lock on the garage door, we set off at last. It really didn’t seem like the time had gotten to be 11am, but then The Ricardos and The Mertzes couldn’t have left New York any earlier, I’m certain of that.

My father yelled, “We’re Off”, like some fellow in a checkered shirt firing his pistol at the start of the race. A voice called out from the crowd. Oh My God, he’s been shot! And everyone’s attention get diverted from the race to the man on the top row. “Stop him. Stop that killer! A dark figure was seen running away from the bleachers, hopping over obstacles, catching himself once or twice from stumbling and falling. Now the race left the confines of the track with everyone and anyone scrambling in the direction of the elusive figure. “Grab onto your varicose veins!” an old Geezer yelled after the crowd exited the area, leaving plenty of hot dogs and Cotton Candy to eat in the wake of the confusion. The man that was shot was heard to utter the following words: “He did it. *cough* cough*” with blood running down the side of his mouth. The one-armed man did it, but it wasn’t him that fired the shot. Everyone present looked from side to side, trying to make heads or tails of these cryptic words. Then suddenly….

“Hey. Poindexter! Isn’t it great that you have the privilege of my company on this trip?” She looked at me with a wink, knowing that I was lost in my thoughts once again. If only I knew what to say to her, then maybe I’d stay in the present?

“It must be years since I’ve been on vacation”, she said, breaking into my thoughts. “The last time was when we went on a lion safari in Botswana. My father bagged a nice one, but the authorities confiscated it ,when they found we were trying to smuggle Coffee out of the Country. My father started to argue with the border authorities, when one of the guards pulled out his pistol. My father grabbed the lion’s head, and hit the road, leaving me with his passport and bottle of whiskey. They searched for weeks, but never found a trace of him. Years later my mother and I got a letter, which had postmarks from no less than 10 African Countries across the backside, with my father’s message to us in an unintelligible code:

Rickets, Rackets who has my Sackets. Peron has one, but he gave it to Samuel. Yours Truly. Truely.

My mother began to cry at the mere mention of Peron, who had been my father’s faithful native water bearer, during his travels along the Chobe River. He was indebted to my father, when a sudden flood occurred during the rainy season in December. He had lost his footing while attempting to fill the water jugs, and plunged into the surging river. He was swept away into Zimbabwe until he came dangerously close to Victoria Falls. My father well-versed in the act of lasso throwing, succeeded in casting his lasso out in the surging waters to Peron, and exhibiting almost super human strength, he was able to drag him ashore, just before he was dashed to his death on the rocks beneath those spectacular falls. Peron swore on a stack of bibles after that incident to serve my father until the day of his death, which was the start of a friendship that only a few in this life will ever experience.”

My mouth was wide open, while she told me that story. I couldn’t find a single word to say, or even attempt to daydream myself to another place, because her story was so gripping that I couldn’t believe my ears.

She just looked at me after telling her story and smiled, as if we were the only 2 people in that car, speeding along toward Lake Winnipuh, towards our honeymoon suite. With this ring I thee…..

“But as I said, my life tends to be a bit complicated”, she said as she looked out of the window once again. “I can’t wait until we get there! Maybe there is a lion head on the wall, which is hiding a secret message from my father?” said, as I almost choked on my Pixie Straw with its bittersweet candy inside.

“Hey kids, look over there. A marauding flock of Wildebeests.” Craning our necks to the left, the only thing visible was a herd of cows, chewing their cud, totally unaware of us. “Just kidding!” I can’t wait until we reach the cabin and our vacation can finally start! Just think of it. A cold drink enjoyed on the veranda, with the sun shining down, on my latest issue of Garage Monthly, waiting to see, who has won the contest this month for “The Most Innovative Garage this side of the Chobe River!”.

Wait a minute. Did he just say Chobe River? Wasn’t that in my friend’s story? I turned towards her to see her reaction, but was greeted by the sight of a lion’s head mounted on the wall of the safari shelter.

“Did you bring your gun with you, Bwana?” A tall, but extremely thin native was standing in front of me, waiting for a reply.

“I didn’t catch your name”, which I hadn’t having just come in the door after being caught in the torrential rains of December.

“Peron is my name. Just Peron!” I saw dim images resembling water jugs stacked in the corner of the shelter, and ragged suitcases belonging to someone long, long ago.

“Do you know of a man who…”.Then I was stymied. I didn’t even know her father’s name, let alone what he looked like.

My friend seemed to be asleep, but awakened when I touched her arm. “Oh, it’s you. I thought it was the doctor telling me that my mother had contracted Malaria after having searched for my father in Zimbabwe, and Botswana. He also touched my arm in the same place. Funny thing isn’t it?” I didn’t want to ruin her memory of that moment, but I had to ask what her father looked like, otherwise I’d never get back to my conversation with Peron and his water jugs.

“He was rather tall, with brown hair and blue eyes. He always joked with my mother telling her, how he’d never fit in with the indigenous population looking like that, but that didn’t keep him out of doing his job in Africa. He loved Diamond Mining and was good at it as well. His workers respected and adored him, which is probably why my mother fell in love with him way back when at that Cotillion held at the embassy in the capital city of Gaberone.”

I excused myself, striding out into the blazing sun of the Botswana Summer. I needed to travel back to that shelter, before my time ran out. Finally, I found the shelter, but the man, Peron was long gone, which I discovered by feeling the temperature of the coals in the fire ring. His water jugs were also gone, which made me want to follow his tracks, along the Chobe River in search of my friend’s father and his faithful companion.

My father let out a “Whoop”, which sounded like a wild Indian on the American Plains, when we reached the entrance to Lake Winnipuh. Boats were seen in the small harbor to the left, while the check-in cabin was visible on the right. My father parked the car on the side of the road and sauntered up to the cabin, pulling out his wallet with the reservation hanging out, threatening to fall.

My friend sighed a sigh, and turned toward me while we waited. “Did you find him in time?”

“Sadly no, but I did speak to Peron, and was certain that I could follow his tracks down the Chobe River.” She took my hand and looked into my eyes. I felt a warm feeling radiating in my limbs, making me want to draw her closer and kiss her. Just when the moment that we both had been waiting for came, my father returned to the car.

“I have it! I have it here”, he said waving a piece of paper and a set of keys. “Now we are ready to rock and roll!” said as if we were about to strip naked down to our waists and set fire to the band!

My friend just looked at me and said, “This will be a vacation, you never will forget. Mark my words….”

Then I knew it! I knew, regardless of me finding Peron, or not, this still was going to be something that I would never forget…..never!