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

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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

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.

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all are welcome to join in the reindeer games.

Something unusual

beth's avatarI 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…

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Time

Time

If your alarm hadn’t sounded and the time was now nine,

Should you still be in bed or somewhere else at that time?

But if clocks didn’t exist to tell the time left in a day,

Then a day could be a year and for a year we could play.

 
But if you have time on your hands or no time to spare,

I hope you find time for that summertime stare.

But if you’ve no time to stare whilst on the move

Could you ask time to slow so in time you can improve?
 

But no, time has no master. It doesn’t answer to you.

It acts how it likes and never waits in a queue.

There’s only one thing of time of which we can be sure.

That’s when your time is over it won’t give you any more.

 

© 2019, Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 2 Comments

Book review: Death Among Us

robertawrites235681907's avatar

Thank you to James Cudney, prolific drama and cozy mystery author, for this amazing review of Death Among Us, an anthology of murder mystery short stories by ten authors, including me. If you enjoy books, do visit Jay’s lovely book, he writes reviews daily of all the amazing books he reads and has a great selection of his own books too.

Death Among Us: An Anthology of Murder Mystery Short Stories by [Bentley, Stephen, Alldredge, Greg, Artieri, Kelly, Kane, L. Lee, Spinelli, Michael, Cheadle, Robbie, Castaneda, Kay, Bauer, Justin, Locatelli, Aly]

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

My favorite book genre is mysteries. With so many wonderful authors and series, it’s often difficult to decide what to read next, especially when you’re looking to expand your horizons with something new. That’s often why I’ll turn to an anthology of short stories, as collections allow you to sample a dozen or so writers who hold a vast array of experiences and styles. This month, I took a chance on one called ‘Death Among Us,’ published in July of 2019 and edited…

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Your Lucky Numbers For Today

If one is enough and two is too many,
Then three is too rough and four is too heavy.

But five is half of the previous four,
And as six is even it would level the score.

Now seven is a number that is really odd.
It cannot be halved no matter how hard it’s prod.

Eight is a number divisible by four
And four is a number I’ve mentioned before.

Nine is the number that cats love the best.
And ten is the one at the top of the rest.

© 2019 Daniel Kemp All rights reserved

Posted in Author/Writer, Raconteur | 4 Comments

Animal Farm

 

It was early in the morning when the ants were still asleep.
When the fields were full of baa-lambs and the dung was in a heap.
Along came the bull his tail swishing loudly and shoulders hanging low.
He made the noise that bulls make then was answered by a crow.

“Shut-up you noisy beast,” it said. “You’re making too much noise.
Hold yourself up straight and I’ll teach you how to have poise.
Look at me, dear thing. I’m sleek, polished and glossy, good looking to a tee.
You’ll need to tuck in that tummy of yours if you want to look like me.”

“Moo, moo, and more moo. You’re an ugly bird and no mistake.
It’s you who should shut up. You’re giving me a headache
And when I’m cross I’m very cross, liable to stamp on a little bird.
Do us both a favour fly off over the yard and talk to the goatherd.”

“Will you two be quiet as we are trying to have a rest.

The disturbance you two are causing is making us completely stressed.

There are more of us than either of you and this farmyard is all our own.

We might consult with the chickens and make the yard an animal-free zone.”

 

The farmer’s wife, apron swaying, entered the scene in a rush
She held a saucepan in one hand and in the other she held a brush.
“We will have steak for lunch, pork chops, and chicken later tonight,
As for you-you shrieking crow you’re for a pie that will be sealed—airtight!”

“This place is going to the dogs,” said the dung-beetle to the crowd.
“I believe in live and let live, but not if you’re all shouting out loud.
Leave me to live and do my job or the stink will kill you all,
And the farmer will come to count the stock and there will be a huge shortfall.”

Farmer Giles fired his blunderbuss killing the chickens and his wife
The Bull ran to the cowshed to have the time of his life.
The Pigs shared the dung beetle tearing it apart,
Then dived into the dung heap all giving off a smelly fart

Boom, Boom

© 2019, Daniel Kemp All rights reserved.

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