The Lovers

With a heart that was open but eyes that were closed,

She found a safe place and within she dozed.

In her sleep, she saw a star way up high

And she listened as it sang a soulful lullaby.


“I feel your sobbing heart through the soles of my feet,

But I pray the day is prolonged until finally, we meet.

Your body I caress through my spirit and soul,

But no wish nor truth can make my own body whole.”


Deeper she slept, but the dream didn’t fade,

No matter how much she tried, in her heart it still laid.

Trying to forget, praying for release

She sang in silence in search of that peace.


“I feel your heart and I feel your pain,

I imagined that at my side you’d always remain.

But death took you away and left me here,

With the doubts that surround me, filling me with fear.”


The star returned, now lower in the sky,

A tear she saw as it began to cry.

She wiped that tear with a lock of her hair,

Placed it in her heart and left it there.


The tear was returned when his hand touched her own,

As she made her way skyward no longer alone.

The lovers became one when her life slipped away,

Now in heaven, together, the lovers now lay!


© 2019, Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

Be Careful And Beware

I have a pain in my toe
A pain in my heel.
Ever since I turned ninety-six
I’ve always been ill.

I have no appetite for love
I’d rather have a new leg.
But if you can’t manage that
Then how about a poached egg?

My eyesight’s good as gold
And I’m handsome as I’ve always been.
But I was recently told
That lying is a sin.

My hands are a bit shaky
And I swear quite a bit.
It’s normally when I lose at bingo
Or if someone sits where I sit

I’m told I’m ace on the dance floor
A bit like Fred Astaire.
They put a sign on me at The Waldorf
‘Be Careful And Beware.’

Now I need my nightcap
Before I’m sent to bed.
But never think of bad things
Only ever look ahead!

© 2019, Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

As The Wind Does Blow

As the tide does turn,
With its ebb and flow.
So a tree will bend,
As the wind does blow.

As a pain will ease,
With a loving touch.
So sorrow will fade,
If the need is much.

As all life will end,
When its time is through.
So love will disappear,
If you allow it to.

As youth turns to age,
And the seasons must go
Live life to its fullest,
Before the wind does blow.

© 2019 Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 4 Comments

No Title

Your words of love that were shared with mine
A truth that fell through a passage of time
Hopes that were crushed and now have died
A world that stopped when the tears were cried.

© 2019 Daniel Kemp

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 2 Comments

Part Two of Part One–Please pay attention

After the cadet jumped up and down a few times, frantically trying to get his blood pumping through his veins and then rubbing his hands together as though his life depended upon it, the investigating novice fetched some small sticks, which with the aid of his lighter, along with the current edition of The Police Times which Thomas the man, not Thomas the dog, generously threw at him, he made a fire and squatted before it, fantasising about the polished car door opening with a seductive Kat lying across the back seat, beckoning him to enter. An audible sigh uncontrollably escaped his lips.

At that precise moment, he caught sight of his loftier companion gaping, spellbound at the twinkling flames with upright wisps of smoke passing close to his sight. Being below the eye level of Thomas, the man, not the dog that is, the cadet needed to focus on his report in order that Dampen Hollow could be confined to the morning memory leaving Kat Astrophe filling the imaginative cadet’s afternoon; if not her then a hot bath and several bottles of vodka would not go amiss.

“Well, now, sir, back to business and I’m very thankful you have not sent me to a gulag. Doesn’t sound very nice does a gulag, does it? Yes, I quite understand you don’t wish to answer. Ahem,” that familiar involuntary, nervous reaction preceded his protracted account of his earlier experiences.

“It took quite some time to find the body as it was well camouflaged, being clad in an overall and hat matching the same colour as the fencing panels. It was so good that I and the Captain walked past him three times. It was only after I fetched Thomas could I find him. Thomas, the dog that is and not you, sir, enthusiastically wagged his tail when he saw the body, but alas he thought the thing in our body’s hand was a bone. No, sir, it was not possible to search the man for identification. Both I and the Captain thought something would break off if we did. And something did. Thomas jumped up before I had a chance to stop him. He broke whatever it was in the man’s hand and swallowed it; whole. I can’t say that in my report. Especially as your name is Thomas, sir. My station officer might think it was you who bit off whatever it was and swallowed it. I think it best that in the report I should change Thomas the dog’s name into another name to save any confusion with your name; Thomas.”

The shivering low-life cadet prayed for a hole to appear down which he could escape, as a wide-eyed, visibly steaming, high-status officer screamed from the car. His spittle froze before it hit his face, but his acid words cut holes in his ambition.

“No, sir, I’m not being in any shape, form, or otherwise disrespectful by referring to you by your Christian name. I was merely speaking of Thomas the dog.”  Another scathing attack followed his explanation raising the temperature outside the car to almost match the heat inside.

“Oh, dear! I seemed to have stepped in it again, don’t I? How on earth would I know that you’re Jewish, sir? And who on earth would have told me that a Jewish first name is not called a Christian name at all? I’m not Einstein, sir. Sorry again. No offence intended at all, sir.”

As all his hopes of an early and rapid promotion vanished in the vapour that dispersed within inches of the opened window and the thought of the embarrassment he faced on his return to training school was too much to endure, he abandoned the slow deliberate approach he had adopted for one of outright attack. He stood to his fullest height and looked down at his out-ranking opponent.

“Sir, I’m in danger of going the same way as our peeping Tom went. Yes, he died from the cold that’s eaten through my bones whilst he too was standing still as I’ve been required to do by your intransigence. To wrap this case up quickly I am prepared to say that he was peeping through a hole in Miss Kat’s fence hoping to see her undress. I remember her saying words to that effect when I saw her.”

No car door opened to dispel his severe discomfort. Nor was there a hint of termination to his suffering. With no alternative to turn to, he ploughed on.

“Unless we cut Thomas open we will never know what it is that Thomas took from the man. I shall simply refer to it as his whatchamacallit. Yes, sir. I was being serious. Unless we have a complete corpse the autopsy cannot be performed successfully and a coroner’s verdict cannot be guaranteed. Yes, sir, I agree,” he stuttered between the rattling of his teeth.

“Your name should be omitted from the report. That of course, is if I still have fingers to write one.”

Nothing would change this pitiless, unshakable individual. It was as though he was a throwback to the KGB of which the cadet had read so much rubbish about. Resigned to his fate, our selfless cadet carried on courageously.

“There we have it, sir. I’ll write it up as the man who snuffed it without a whatchamacallit whilst being degenerate in the thicket and file it under death due to extraneous circumstances. What’s that, sir? No such thing as extraneous circumstances? Well, there should be in my opinion.”

His haughty onlooker smiled menacingly, then without a minimum of kindness raised the car window, turning up the heat as soon as it was closed. His companion slithered closer to Thomas the man, whilst Thomas the dog snuggled up close across the seat, sleekly moving tightly into Kat Astrophe’s discarded black housecoat.

As the uniformed chauffeur drove the two human occupants and one dog away, its exhaust emissions propelled the nigh frozen junior cadet into the waning embers of his apology for a fire. Racked by fatigue and cold, he lay there dreaming of Kat and the catastrophe of a missing whatchamacallit, hoping Thomas the dog would experience agony in its passing. As the car accelerated across the frozen ground Italian Kat’s rhapsodic voice asked,

“What is a whatchamacallit, Thomas, my love?” Thomas, the dog passed wind and gave a small yelp as Thomas the man took hold of her soft enticing hand and, whilst pinching his nostrils closed, started to explain.

“Allow me first to put before you an offer you can’t refuse, my dear,” he said, in a coarse, gravelly voice attempting to imitate Charles Bronson—-(Was it he who played the clarinet in Once Upon A Time In Peterborough?)

The End

However, the international saga of the deaths by extraneous circumstances did not end on fire in Moscow. Several moons were to pass before all was made known.



Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

Part One of Part One

After several attempts made by various branches of homes for delusional ex-secret service toilet attendants to ban the following, I have broken free from their restraints and risk death on your behalf. Now you can read the first part of this tragic story of a catalogue of missed opportunities. But beware, you may never cry again.

The Deva Station And Kat Astrophe
With a Chance Goneabegging
By Daniel Kemp


A Comical Story Told In Two Parts..or maybe three if Apple has enough paper.
The First Part of the First Part—The Second Part of The First Part Will follow Sometime Shortly.


Miss Kat Astrophe And Thomas

Any interpretation, or, come to that; reading, of this short story, is done entirely at your own risk.
I have incorporated English names into this compact chronicle to avoid disappointing those who find Russian a difficult language to pronounce.

A Wild Winter’s Mid-Morning In The Reminski District, Moscow, Russia


His initial feeling of gushing pride at being selected by the captain of detectives from the final year of cadet school to accompany him to a murder scene, was quickly forgotten as the ground beneath his feet both crunched in agony and screamed in pain, as by measured stride followed by measured stride, the distance between the warmth of the official police car and the body of an untidily dressed man widened until at last the police Lieutenant Colonel’s vehicle was reached.

A window of the automobile was lowered, but no invitation to share the warmth within was extended to the new recruit. Motionless he stood, unable to curb the chilling frost that rose through his leather-soled shoes and climbed his legs like Spiderman on steroids, soon eating at the flesh beneath his lightweight college garments. In increasing discomfort, he began his account of the scene he had just walked from.

“Comrade, sir,” he said, adopting a stance as near to one of attention as his frozen bones would allow. “The body was found by a Miss Kat Astrophe. Well, sort of finding but not actually found in the sense of stumbled across. More seen as I told the station officer when I messaged him, Colonel. Of course, Lieutenant Colonel. I do know your full rank and I should have used it in my address. What’s that? Yes, I will certainly refer to you as, sir, if that’s what you want, Lieutenant Colonel, I mean, sir; sir. With your permission, I’ll carry on, sir?”
With a scornful scowl (personally I’ve never known how to—scowl, but I’ve seen those writer chaps use the expression quite a lot so I thought I would try it out) embedded firmly on his world-weary face, the high-ranking officer looked contemptuously up at the humble cadet standing beyond his opened window, then ever so slowly nodded his head in a sign of approval.

“Very well, sir. When I first interviewed Miss Kat Astrophe on her doorstep I discovered that she is Italian by birth which accounts for her beautiful suntanned skin. She has long jet black hair and a face to die for. Oh, yes, and a voice straight from the opera as well. Her body, sir? Well, I’m at a loss to explain, sir. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. What’s that? That line could be a song? Do you think so, sir? Perhaps I should go somewhere warm and write a song now? No? Oh! Never mind. No doubt you may meet her, sir. What? Oh yes, the report. I hadn’t forgotten, sir. It was just that her beauty was so overwhelming, just like this cold.” He hastily cleared his drying throat and under a haze of freezing mist continued.

“She’s thirty-eight, twenty-six, thirty-six. That’s the best I got because my tape measure was turning blue and almost snapped off. Yes, I did forget to ask her age as I was concentrating so much on her measurements. I think I included all that in my first report. When I saw your car arrive I thought her figure may have been the reason for your visit. My captain saw you pulling in off the road and told me to report directly to you as he had somewhere important to be. Yes, sir, he did go rather hastily. No, sir, I am not implying you or he would indulge in anything improper with Miss Kat because of her delectable figure. Although, I would add that I would if given the chance. Yes, sir. I agree that’s an inappropriate remark for a cadet person. Why did I say it? I guess because I wanted to appear as macho as I could, sir. No, I most certainly am not suggesting that the police force, that you are head of, is a bunch of nancy boys as you so eloquently put it, sir. Most gracious, sir, my lord king, sir. All I’m trying to do, sir, is compliment you, sir, on your appreciation of the feminine figure, sir.”

* * *

Under normal circumstances, it would have been impossible to sweat in such cold conditions, but there was no normality on show in this part of Moscow on this particular day. However, his emitted cloud of misty breath sufficiently covered his embarrassment, but nothing could stop his shivers. As the novice was congratulating himself on the quick-wittedness that most of the instructors at training school said he lacked, the happily ensconced superior officer flicked ash from his thick cigar that fleetingly mesmerised the cadet as it fell to the ground. But Kat would not disappear from his salacious mind as swiftly as mere cigar ash.

“I thought I’d leave Miss Kat’s age until this afternoon. It would make a great excuse for me to visit after you and I finish here, sir,” he said, hoping to elicit a smile from his senior officer. “What’s that, sir? Get on with it. Oh, I thought that too would wait until this afternoon. Oh, right, yes. You mean the report don’t you? Not what I was thinking at all. Silly me. Where was I?”

Not that he was asking where in actual fact he was physically standing, he was asking at what point was he in his report. Nevertheless, if I aspire to be one of those previously referred to–writer chappies, it would seem appropriate to describe his surroundings so could form a picture of his discomfort.

He was standing in a small wooden thicket between the evenly spaced fencing of newly constructed houses and a small meandering stream bubbling merrily away to his left. The overhanging heavy branches of the trees which added to the damp air from the stream gave the estate a somewhat pertinent connection to the name given to it by the building contractors: Dampen Hollow, was, in the words of the man smoking the cigar—rather felicitous. If the cadet had assimilated enough knowledge to recognise the meaning of that word whilst enduring his education he would not have wasted time in scouring his mental dictionary in the hope of finding the definition that eluded him. As fast as he could he changed the subject.

“Right then, sir. As I said at the beginning of this report the body wasn’t actually discovered by Miss Kat, the woman with the body that I’m recalling as I speak in the hope that such a memory will keep me warm.”
He paused, waiting for a benevolent gesture but none was forthcoming. With chattering teeth, he continued.

“She did see a man but didn’t know it was a body at that stage. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, I did get that mixed up a bit. I’ll try again, sir. She saw the body of a man but it wasn’t the body of the dead man. Phew,” he said, looking skywards hoping for a bolt from somewhere to erase him from the ground on which he stood. But then he remembered the last Soviet satellite that fell to the ground and crossed his frozen fingers behind his back hoping if one did fall it would fall elsewhere.

“She thought he was up to no good, causing her to call for us. No, sir, I’m not training for acting school. That’s just the way I was taught to speak. And no, sir, I’m not going faint with cold. Of course, I understand, sir. Business first then fainting. No use moaning about a spot of winter is it? Yes, I suppose Siberia would be worse. Ahem,” the young cadet cleared his throat again.

“To be entirely truthful about it all, it was the dog Thomas who first noticed the body before anyone knew it was a body. Oh no, sir, no, sir, no! I’d never called you by your first name. I didn’t even know you had a first name, let alone that name was Thomas. How strange is that, it’s also the name of Miss Kat’s dog. No, sir, no! Please don’t think I was being disrespectful”—————To Be Continued.



Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 4 Comments

Should children read abridged classics?

A very good thought-provoking post.

Writing to be Read

Growing bookworks 2

There are many wonderful classic books available to people who are interested in reading them. I have recently re-read War of the Worlds and The Time Machine, both by H.G. Wells and also Dracula by Bram Stoker. I read these books in my early teens and, while I did enjoy them, I don’t remember appreciating any of the subtleties of the development of the characters in these books or the psychological and philosophical aspects either. This is because I did not have the life experience at that time to appreciate these concepts and their incredible appropriateness and cleverness.

I have never restricted or limited my children’s reading choices. This is because I believe that children can only experience and visualise the written world in the context of their own life experiences. If a child has never attended a funeral, they cannot visualise the white and haggard faces of the…

View original post 775 more words

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

Take Me Away

If I sat on top of a lamppost
And called out your name.
Would you be happy to come and see me
Or think me insane?

If I called you my raspberry doughnut
And pruned you once a year.
Would you be happy with what I’m doing
Or slap me around the ear?

If I mowed the grass in your garage
Then offered to cut your hair.
Would you object to me hanging around
And tell me to go elsewhere?

You may think these questions to be silly
And asked by a fool or buffoon.
You would be right in your assumption
But they are coming to take me away quite soon

© 2019 Daniel Kemp All rights reserved

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

Don’t Go Outside (especially if you’re old)

There are ghosts fast come approaching.
I saw them ducking through the dark.
Their eyes were hollow still and frightening.
The look on their face was grey and stark.

I heard a voice croaking and wheezing
As blood dripped from a severed head.
Whilst the body I saw kneeling
But I wasn’t sure if it was dead!

The ghosts gathered by the bells that were ringing.
Curses were uttered to the cloud covered sky.
A cauldron was lit and three ghosts started stirring.
But then the moon burst through and exposed the lie!

The milk was in the cupboard
The toaster was in the hall
The butter was in the garden shed
And as for the bread—I couldn’t recall.
I’d had an old person’s moment
When things go up the spout
I think I should stay at home tomorrow
As I get lost if I go out!

© 2019 Daniel Kemp All rights reserved

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | Leave a comment

Book Review – Sir Chocolate and the Fondant Five Story and Cookbook by Robbie and Michael Cheadle

The Showers of Blessings

Book Review – Sir Chocolate and the Fondant Five Story and Cookbook by Robbie and Michael Cheadle


Sir Chocolate and the Fondant Five Story and Cookbook by [Cheadle, Robbie, Cheadle, Michael]Blurb

Sir Chocolate and the Fondant Five Story and Cookbook is Number 6 in the Sir Chocolate series: Five zoo animals go missing and Sir Chocolate needs to find them. Includes five lovely new recipes.

My Recommendation

Robbie Cheadle and her son Michael, in the delightful book Sir Chocolate and the Fondant Five Story and Cookbook, combine children’s story, poetry and recipes together. The story is about a zoo in Chocolate Land with Fondant Five, namely the lion, king of the jungle, the gentle elephant, the elegant leopard, the bulky rhino, and the buffalo. Sir Chocolate cares for them. One day, these five fondant animals disappeared. Sir Chocolate found Fondant Cat who could help to find Fondant Five.

This fun story book includes recipes for Lady Sweet Rusks, Buffalo Coconut Cake, Rhino Soetkoekies, Cheetah…

View original post 273 more words

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 2 Comments