Category Archives: Uncategorized

Desert Flower… the little story that could!

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Desert Flower… the little story that could!

This is a post I wrote some time ago, but perhaps it will give this little story a bit of a boost.

I don’t usually use Fictionpals to promote my books and writing but every now and then something happens and I want to share it with the world. Also, perhaps because this was my first published story (re-published by Ex-L-Ence Publishing), I am rather partial to it. It also seems to be the one that keeps captivating readers.

Several months ago I entered Desert Flower in the Readers’ Favorite annual awards contest. I didn’t win anything of any significance, but did get a small prize of five express reviews. All the reviews aren’t in yet, but I have received four wonderful 5-Star reviews and I am featuring them here!

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Drinker of the Wind

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Untitled design

Some time ago when I was at the ad agency in Bahrain, I worked with some very talented artists and illustrators. One was Linda Strydom – who created the illustrations for Corpoetry and among so many others there was Francis Tiongsen, his brother David Tiongsen who is nothing short of amazing and many others who do so much more than computer graphics. If you check out their portfolios in the links provided you’ll know what I mean.

All that is by the by. Just thought I’d give some friends a plug!

This poem came about because Francis loved horses and at the same time we were doing a brochure for a real estate project created around the theme of horses, in particular the Arab. He’d created some captivating illustrations which then prompted this poem based on an old Bedouin legend.

 

 

 

 

DRINKER OF THE WIND (sharaab alrreh)

He was Erebeh, he was mystery,
The Arab steed that flew
Across the desert sands
Chasing the storm
His hooves thundering a warning
To those who had sinned
He was the first Drinker of the Wind.
His mane was midnight,
His eyes were the stars
The light from his hooves,
Four galaxies that shone from afar.
One look from him, one shake of his head
The other steeds followed wherever he led
He ruled the old dunes,
He ran wild and free
And his sinews were limned
With good honest sweat:
The Drinker of the Wind.
Long was he hunted,
Hard was he sought
And the Bedouin tribes
Over him once had fought
His was a spirit born to be free
A being not to broken, nor ridden was he.
But legends tell us,
One wild winter night
A lone Beddu approached him,
So humble, polite
And our Arab stallion
He pawed the hard dunes
And took unto him a mare
Pale as the moon
Then he left as he came
That dark winter night
Like a vision, a dream,
A mere flicker of light
Never again seen by mere men
For he truly was 
The first Drinker of the Wind.
Some say they saw him
Against the dawn sky
Some say they hear him,
When the wind rumbles by
But the Bedouin know
And their legends declare
The Drinker of the Wind
Can’t be seen anywhere

For he left as he came
On that wild winter night
When the sky was a mantle
As dark as could be
And the wind moved the dune tides
Like waves on the sea.
No moon, not a star
Shone that magical night
When the Drinker of the Wind
Disappeared from all sight
He flew up to the heavens
The night sky took him home
Where, as he was meant to
He still freely roams
The first Drinker of the Wind.

Note: The Arabian Horse – 

And God took a handful of South wind and from it formed a horse, saying: “I create thee, Oh Arabian. To thy forelock, I bind Victory in battle. On thy back, I set a rich spoil And a Treasure in thy loins. I establish thee as one of the Glories of the Earth… I give thee flight without wings.”

— Bedouin Legend

(Byford, et al. Origins of the Arabian Breed)

 

Lament of the Lotus Eaters

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Lotophagi (pronounced lo’ toff-a-ji) is a collection of poems that came together when I was in Bahrain between 1982 and 1993. It never went anywhere. I had/ have around fifty poems that deal with a variety of people and situations that I encountered during that time. The first twenty five poems deal with people, like us, who were rather smitten by Bahrain and these are somewhat longer poems, the second twenty-five are short haiku-length inspired poems that deal with people who came here, couldn’t stand Bahrain and left very quickly, in one case within two weeks!

As with Corpoetry, I just had fun with it and even created some rather bizarre illustrations on the old software called I think, Paintbox, that came with the word-processing software.

Here’s one, and I may post a few more if the feedback is interesting. Some of the poems have already appeared in My Beautiful Bahrain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lament of the Lotus Eaters

A deep slumber

A dream remembered

Once upon a time, we lived

Between birth and death

Suspended like a dewdrop

In the dawn.

And all life

Was a desperate clinging to the leaf.

From each breath

Each ray of sunlight

Each wisp of mist

We extracted every molecule of joy.

And now, we wonder why

Struldbrugs

We just wait to die.

Growing old in Shangri-la

Having lost our precious ‘wa’

And yet not lost our equilibrium

We wait

Suspended, lives askew

Between don’ts, won’ts, can’ts, I could, I should

And I do.

Spring into summer

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Written some years ago in Vancouver

Mists, grey as monsoon clouds,
Shroud the still snow covered caps
Of mountains in the distance
The park is as green as a henna bush
Displaying a myriad verdant shades
While tulips and rhododendrons run rampant
On its edges
Dancing in sunshine yellow, lipstick red
And muted hues of purple, pink, papaya orange.
I wonder why in all this splendid array
Of a western spring and early summer
My imagery still wanders back
All the way,
From Canada to India.

 

Mozzie

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My kind of fun poem! Reminds me of my 🦑 squid!

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Image result for mosquito cartoon

I am a small mosquito
And my task is not the best…
To be a nuisance all my life
And be a perfect pest.

It isn’t really all my fault
When deep within the night
You wake to find I had a snack
And left a nasty bite.

I need the stuff that’s in your blood
I have none of my own…
That’s just the way that I was made
And so the seed was sown.

I am the perfect predator
No tiger bite can beat
The stealth attack that gets to feed
Yet leaves you on your feet.

I’m made by Mother Nature,
Working to her own design…
So when you try to squash me flat,
Recall…the fault’s not mine.

I can’t turn vegetarian,
That’s not the way I’m made,
A mozzie needs her sustenance,
The Piper must be paid.

We may surpass our natures,
But we can’t be…

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Five Lives #BookReview

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Five Lives #BookReview

So pleased with this review. It’s honest and insightful.

D.M. Miller

Five LivesFive Lives – One Day in Bahrain is a novella I read not long ago. Written by Rohini Sunderam, Five Lives is an enjoyable book with characters from various walks of life all living in Bahrain. The story was put together in a unique way, portraying five lives with events occurring in between the five prayer times. It really gives a sense of what life is like in Bahrain within the context of these characters, along with supporting characters for each.

My only complaint is that I wish it were a full-length novel because it felt like it stopped short and there was too much packed into too few pages. If the author turns it into a series, I would certainly be interested to read on as she is a talented writer. I say that because this is the second work of hers I’ve read. The first is a short…

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Stalker by P. J. Lazos

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Fantastic! Heart thumping thriller.

Mystery Thriller Week

It is not as you believe, my Angel. I am not a bad man.  You may think it odd that we have never spoken.  I stand within ten feet of you, my Love, and the words falter, trapped in my throat.  I wait for you on the platform this morning and when I don’t see you I begin my search.  I spy you in the last car, walking to your seat.  You prefer the solitude of the quiet car.  I get that.

I juggle my briefcase and my coffee, taking up more than my allotted half of the aisle, but I see that you are nimble, my Love Light.  I stop, and wait, and hope, but you have contorted yourself into a time-space continuum where anything is possible.  You glide past me without so much as our arm hairs touching.

Now the interminable ticking of my watch is all…

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…of life’s unsung heroes and such…

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Mr. Gallacher is deft at expressing achievement and gratitude in one quick twist of the scribbler’s wrist.
Heartwarming and a fun read.

Seumas Gallacher

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…with no false modesty, as a youngster, Master Gallacher was blessed with an affinity for taking and passing exams well… so much so, at the age of 11, I was reckoned to have among the highest ever recorded IQs in the Scottish educational system (all that later proved was that I was apparently lightning quick on logic… but I can assure you in other ‘smarts’I didn’t even register as ‘average’)… came the opportunity for my primary school headmaster to put my name forward for the Glasgow-wide entrance exams to the fee-paying school of the day, Allan Glen’s School (the actor, Dirk Bogarde is an alumnus)… out of 52 bursaries available, I scored around number 10 and was offered a place… sadly, my mother approached the headmaster, a wonderful man, Carl Caplan, to tell him that, although the fees and the cost of books were covered in…

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Excerpt from ‘An Undesirable Marriage’

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Meriel Brooke is another fellow author from Ex-L-Ence Publishing. She has written four books: The Story of Jacqueline Jackdaw, Pot of Gold, Sugar Pants and An Undesirable Marriage, here’s a little peek into the book that spans both the World Wars.

Finding cabin number nine, he knocked on the door softly. Ruth opened it immediately and, after a quick glance around, took his hand and drew him in. The cabin, was remarkably spacious and contained a single berth, a dressing table, a writing desk, a small wardrobe and a wash basin. The porthole was closed, and an overhead fan whirled gently.

“Ruth, I really…”

“It’s all right, I won’t eat you,” she interrupted. “Come and sit down. Do you know Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto?” He shook his head.

“It was written twenty years ago. Sit down and listen.” Sam sat down on the chair next to the writing desk on which there was an open gramophone which Ruth proceeded to wind. She lowered the needle onto the record, and the stirring strains of the third movement of Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto filled the cabin. For three minutes Ruth stood quietly beside him. As the needle reached the centre of the record, she leaned forward, pressing against Sam as she turned it to the other side. He did not react. She went and sat on the narrow bunk as the music started again.

When the needle reached the centre of the record once more, Sam raised the arm and gently repositioned it in its holder. He rose to his feet. “Thank you, that was wonderful. I’d like to hear the rest of it sometime.”

To buy her book click on the link above or here.

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