Questions

Question

Where cast you love when love has died,
When the heart stops racing and there’s nothing inside?
Where goes passion, exciting and heaven-sent?
Where goes its taste, its fragrance, and its scent?

Can love once lived be lived once more?
Could absorbed by love be life’s cure?
If death be an end from which there’s no defence,
Was love created as death’s recompense?

© 2019 Daniel Kemp All rights reserved

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

Alex Dahl: The Heart Keeper

It sounds good to me

Auntiemwrites Crime Review-Mystery Author M K Graff

Alex Dahl’s newest Scandanavian Noir, The Heart Keeper, comes with a giveaway! One lucky reader who leaves a comment will be chosen to receive a copy of the book, so all you readers and lurkers out there, leave a comment today!

The book has a harrowing premise that makes it irresistible. Alison is the former celebrated journalist who became a mother later in life, and then lost her little girl to a drowning accident. The tragedy is one she cannot get over, and she’s consumed with grief. It’s ruining her health and her marriage.

But one thought helps her through her sorrow: that other children have been helped by the donation of Amalie’s organs.

Iselin has her own daughter, a sickly child who needed a heart transplant. She has received Amalie’s heart, and two struggle to find normality after the effects of the huge surgery Kaia’s had.

The single…

View original post 86 more words

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

The Thirst Of Love

The excitement was overwhelming,
I was losing my grip.
I was clinging to a precipice
With my feet about to slip.

The air became oppressive,
My breathing was cut short.
There had to be an end to it.
Sometime soon it had to halt.

The tension was immense,
My head was swirling around.
I had to get away from there
And touch solid ground.

The atmosphere was electric.
We both felt it. It was hell.
If we had not met,
There’d be nothing to tell?

There was no other way than admit it,
But who would confess first?
It was I. I confessed love.
Living my life since then in an undying thirst.

© 2019, Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 2 Comments

Us?

Who have we accused a million times
Of pasteurising those discordant minds
As humans were forced between the lines
That designates the choice assigned.

Beware that you do conform
To symbols that signify your norm
Shown by the clothes that are worn
For the duties of which you’re asked to perform.

Comply they say or see you dead
To the communist kiss of crimson red
But hide you not under democracy’s bed
Forgetting who fought for freedom and bled.

Where I ask did freedom go
That was enjoyed by many not so long ago?
Was it those keeping silent and hiding low
Who aimed that fatal killing blow?

As the milksop averts your sight
Inward look, not feast on a fight.
Take wing as an aid on your flight
As we bow in servitude to the might.

A million curses I do say
As a juggernaut passes over the ground we lay
Beside those that stood in freedoms way
When a choice has death as the label to pay!

© 2019, Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 2 Comments

No Rules

I want to go and live on a mad farm
And laugh my life away.
I want to be surrounded by the silly
And indulge in daily horseplay.

I want nothing of serious discussion
Nor hear any more sad news.
I don’t want to be with the ignorant
And listen to their puerile views.

I know there are the starving in Africa
And to know that makes me sad,
But protesting against wars have led me nowhere
And it’s that heartlessness that has driven me mad.

I want to go live on a mad farm
Where there is no time of the day.
I want to go live with real people
Where there are no rules to obey.

© 2019 Danny Kemp All rights reserved

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 4 Comments

Found On FaceBook

Her hair was up in a ponytail,
Her favourite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy’s Day at school,
And she couldn’t wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her,
That she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
If she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
Of why he wasn’t there today.
But still, her mother worried,
For her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
She tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school
Eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
A dad who never calls.

There were daddies along the wall in back,
For everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
Anxious in their seats.
One by one the teacher called a student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
As seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name,
Every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
A man who wasn’t there.

‘Where’s her daddy at?’
She heard a boy call out. ‘
She probably doesn’t have one,’
Another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a daddy say,
‘Looks like another deadbeat dad,
Too busy to waste his day.’

The words did not offend her,
As she smiled up at her Mum.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,
Slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of this child,
Came words incredibly unique.

‘My Daddy couldn’t be here,
Because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
Since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him, I
wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
And how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories
He taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
And taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes,
And ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him.
I’m not standing here alone.
‘Cause my daddy’s always with me,
Even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
He’ll forever be in my heart’

With that, her little hand reached up,
And lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
Beneath her favourite dress.
And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,
Her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
Who was wise beyond her years?
For she stood up for the love
Of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
Doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,
Staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
But its message clear and loud.

‘I love my daddy very much, he’s my shining star.
And if he could, he’d be here,
But heaven’s just too far.
You see he is a British soldier
And died just this past year
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy
And taught Britain’s to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes, it’s like he never went away.’
And then she closed her eyes,
And saw him there that day.

And to her mother’s amazement,
She witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
All starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they saw before them,
Who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
They saw him at her side.

‘I know you’re with me, Daddy,’
To the silence, she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
Of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it,
For each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
Was a fragrant long-stemmed rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
By the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing,
That heaven is never too far.

Take the time…to live and love. Until eternity. R.I.P. Brave Soldiers everywhere xxx

Please like and share if you support our soldiers

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

A Question

The eyes were open and the ears could hear,
But no one could figure it out.
But when the eyes were shut and the ears were closed,
No one had any doubt.

Secrets and lies we must hide from view
That’s the way life teaches us to be.
But if time stood still when the truth was told
Then we may have found the key

What if time never moved, but you did move
Circling the truth and the lies?
Could that become your moment of truth
Or would the truth be what you despise?

Heaven, Hell, are they places to go,
Or are they both where we have been?
What if you visited both with your eyes firmly closed,
And it’s only the present that is ever seen?

Who told the lies? Who could discover any truth
If the senses were never used?
No one knows the real purpose of life,
As the truth is always abused.
© 2019 Daniel Kemp All rights reserved

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 4 Comments

An Ever Changing Line

You got to keep going or you’ll stop and stand still.
You got to keep going while you still have the will.
If you stop going then the will’s going leave
And if you leave the will behind there will be something else to grieve?

To grieve is good. It’s good to clear the ducts.
Ducts are not ducks neither are they viaducts.
Viaducts are like bridges carrying a road above the ground
Whereas an aqueduct carries water and makes a bubbling sound.

Sound travels quickly but not as fast as light
Light can be heavy depending on your night
Nights are dark but are not necessarily black
Unless of course, you sleep with your head in a sack.

A sack can cost you money if you’ve nowhere to go.
To go somewhere can be accomplished either quickly or slow
Slow of mind can mean you take your time to work out what’s right
Right doesn’t always come out on top when it’s beaten in a fight.

Fights aren’t clever, you often bruise your hands.
Hands that do dishes often scrub pans.
Pans and pots are receptacles in which one cooks.
And cooks can cook, unlike crooks who are just crooks.

 

© 2019 Daniel Kemp All rights reserved

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

She

Too young to take that final breath
Trapped within the reach of death
A life that was never really shown
Where love remained the great unknown.

But youth demands a life that’s full
Before life rewrites its one true rule
That death takes all the hands it grasps
Caring nothing of who takes those final gasps.

No questions allowed—of why be it me,
That waits beneath death’s spreading tree?
With roots as gnarled and ancient as time
And no branches to hold and upwardly climb.

Life was precious but death clutched hard
To the girl who gave no just regard
To consequences of a drug-ridden head
On the day she died and left me for dead.

© 2019, Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

all are welcome to join in the reindeer games.

Something unusual

I didn't have my glasses on....

If you want to incorporate quality time with animals into your yoga practice, you have a lot of options these days. There’s puppy yoga, cat yoga, and perhaps the most famous — goat yoga. Now, in Fairbanks, Alaska, there’s a new offering: a yoga class with fauna particular to the cold northern climes of the subarctic. Reindeer.

In a grassy pen at the Running Reindeer Ranch, adult and baby reindeer are milling around — grazing, nosing curiously at water bottles, and pawing yoga mats as people shake them out for class.The air is buzzing with mosquitoes, and the sky is threatening rain, but a good two dozen or so people have shown up for this petting zoo and exercise experience.

The reindeer yoga class is a brand new offering for the ranch — it’s only the third class. They usually give natural history walking tours with the animals. Jane Atkinson, one of…

View original post 313 more words

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 1 Comment