Category Archives: Original Works

Don’t Leave Without A Song



Talk about all the things you take for granted
Wish them well as you move on
And who cares if the latest difference
Diminishes the sun
We see all the clearer stars
The light flickers through the dark
As hazy as our minds get
Our souls rarely stand apart
And if you say it’s all your fault
And you feel you’ve hung around too long
Remind yourself of what’s behind you
Don’t leave without a song

Not Enough In The Bowl [Original Children’s Story]


Sophie Harewood liked a little too much of everything.

She liked to have more toys than all of her brothers and sisters

She liked to have more toothpaste on her toothbrush when polishing her teeth for a visit to the dentist.

She liked to have more than one television in her bedroom, in case one broke down.

She liked to buy more than one comic book every Saturday.

She liked to have a lot in life.

But then came dinner time.

Oh yes, dinner time.

Her mother had prepared a speciality. Two bowls worth of prime cut chicken laced with two kinds of Sophie’s favourite sauce, with rice and bread as side orders.

Sophie tucked into the rice, and she picked away at the contents of the bowl, taking one piece of chicken, two pieces of chicken, and a third, all from each of the two bowls.

…And then she stopped.

“Whatever is the matter dear?” asked her mother

Sophie folded her arms and stared sharply at her mother

“There’s not enough in the bowl” she said

“Whatever do you mean?” asked her mother

Sophie pointed to the contents of the bowls, there were still two pieces of chicken left in each.

“Not enough in each” she said.

“But what is the problem?” asked her mother.

“I want to have a full plate, I want more of it” snapped Sophie

“But there isn’t any more chicken” her mother explained

“What?” Sophie asked.

“I used it all up for this meal” her mother revealed.

Sophie scowled and kicked the legs of the table in a fit of loud, visible anger.

“I want more” she said

“Then all you have to do is pick the bits out of the bowl” said her mother

“But there’s not enough” Sophie said.

“Yes there is, certainly enough to fill you up for the day” said her mother

“But I wanted a much fuller meal” protested Sophie

“You can get more than enough from the pieces you have left ” her mother assured her.

Sophie did not seem to understand her.

“No, there is not enough in the bowl, I won’t eat more until there is more” she said, putting her foot down

“I can’t go to the store now dear, they’re closed at this time of day” her mother explained.

“Then I shall not eat another bite” said Sophie.

“Why must you be so silly?” said her mother, taking the bowls away.

“Why must you be so lazy and not add more to my meals?” snapped Sophie angrily.

“Go to your room” said Sophie’s mother.

Sophie did so, beginning to shed a few tears.

Her mother felt bad, and asked her husband if he could borrow a DVD of his.

She waited an hour or so, waiting for things to settle, then she went upstairs and entered Sophie’s bedroom

“Here, let me put this on for you” her mother said, putting a DVD into one of her two players.

Mother and daughter sat together on the bed, watching the DVD, it was a funny little movie about people with pointy ears making weird hand gestures and saying any one who put forth a nonsensical point or argument was “highly illogical”

Sophie laughed at the pointy-eared men, but she found her mother laughed more whenever they said “highly illogical”

“Why are you laughing Mummy?” Sophie asked.

“Because our argument today was just that…highly illogical. Logic plays a part in every conversation…it allows us to make sensible points when talking to one another. You thought there was not enough in the bowl, but logically, you should have still finished everything in the bowl regardless. You would still have had enough to eat. Your brain did not process that piece of logic”

“So I am like those pointy-eared men? I’m illogical?” Sophie replied.

“No, they are the logical ones, I’m one of them, I was using logic” said her mother

“Your ears aren’t as sharp as theirs” said Sophie.

Her mother laughed.

“What is it?” Sophie asked

“You just made a very logical observation” said her mother

Sophie smiled, “I am one of them then”

Mother and daughter held each other tight and continued watching the movie.

Later, as her mother put young Sophie to bed, making sure to give her more teddy bears to sleep with than her younger brothers and sisters in their own rooms, Sophie rose up from her bed and asked her mother a question

“When you make your special chicken next time…could you leave more in the bowl…is that…logical?”

Sophie’s mother did not have the stamina to argue logic with her daughter at this time of night.

“The only logical thing you need to know is my love for you is more than enough”

Grief’s Pure Cold


It’s a very different sort of dark

When we deal with the loss of light

The  moments we reflect most fondly on

Are our courage in the fight

As time takes eternal steps ahead

And as we move as one with it

We pray our kindest days before

Provide us with due credit

We reflect, we rise, we raise a toast

As winter turns to spring

A little early to call on the sun

But these times demand we sing

We close our eyes, we let our day slip

We know this procedure all too well

What we take from it is a moment

Where we realize there’s still much more to tell

The stories, the legends, the place souls lost to us hold

Our minds, our hearts, our spirits soar

As love decays grief’s pure cold

God Turns The Faucet-A Short Play






(We start in PITCH BLACK. No light, no sound, except for maybe the flicking of a magazine, indicating someone is reading. There is a LOUD KNOCK on the DOOR)


It’s me

(We hear small but audible FOOTSTEPS as someone lost in the inky blackness opens the door, before they do so, they SWITCH ON THE LIGHT.

As the room LIGHTS UP, we find it is a MURKY, UNORGANIZED  MESS. A SOFA in the center of the room has visible SPRINGS sticking out of it, with several pieces of DRENCHED CLOTHING spread over the back of it.

The person answering the door, a FEMALE, EARLY TWENTIES,  HAIR IN  A PONYTAIL, WEARING A PINK T-SHIRT AND TORN JEANS, greets a YOUNG MALE, ROUGHLY THE SAME AGE, wearing a BRIGHT BLUE BLAZER and RED SHORTS, he is DRENCHED, it is raining heavily outside)


I told you to take the trenchcoat, look at you, you’re soaking


It’s not my fault God turned the faucet on  before I got back


I watch the weather for a reason


Did you get the tickets?


I got the autographs too


You haven’t been out of this room, how’s that possible?


Shopped online for ‘em


I thought you wanted to get autographs in person?


Yeah but, like you said, God turned the faucet on.


You’d rather spend time and money cheating yourself out of a live experience because you don’t want to get your hair wet?


I was just going to shower


One of the deals we made is that if I got the tickets, we’d try to make the most out of the day and find opportunities to make a statement back home. We would have our chance to brag for once.


Yeah, well maybe I’m up for bragging on my own time.


You’re impossible.


That’s very possible

(The man sits on the edge of the bed)


That bed’s creaking an awful lot


Yeah, I mean, we haven’t even started on it yet


Excuse me?




I didn’t quite hear you there


Well then get hearing aids


What haven’t we started?




You want to have sex?


Not yet, I was thinking after


That’s a problem


How so?


 I’m your buddy


Yeah, you are, that’s why I want to do this


You can’t just ask a friend to have sex with you, what if…


Yeah, ‘What If’



(she sits down on the bed beside him, she holds his hands tight)


My mother used to tell me IF was the most powerful word in the English language….so many possibilities, so many options, some of the best feelings, some of your worst, all come from asking a question to yourself…


Doubting yourself?


No, no silly, challenging yourself. To see how you measure up as a human being


Having sex with your close friends is your idea of ‘measuring up?


…You’re gonna say it…


Say what?


Keep going


I’m thinking of repercussions…if…


There you go


If I hurt you…


You won’t


If I do…


I’ll forgive you


Like that?


Like that


I’d never fall out with you either. You mean too much to me.


See? I’ve got nothing to be afraid of, and neither do you


This is the part where I say ‘I love you’ and we snuggle a bit right?


We’re not lip locking




Go with the Eskimo kisses.


Why? You feeling chilly? Like them?


‘Course I’m chilly, so are you, God DID turn the faucet on

Wisdom’s Teeth Leave Scars



Meet Harold. He is a sorcerer.  The land of Pompitope is where he hails from.

It looks like a pretty dull place to the trained and educated eye.

It’s a paradise to the naive.

All the up and coming sorcerers think this place is a stepping stone; it’s where they’ll take a step above.

Harold and his friends all have this big dream of being the most discussed, most debated of their kind in all of Pompitope.

They had heard stories though, that whenever the young and inspired come back from atop the summit of Mount Nuent, that they come back with but one thing.


And it depressed them.

And no one questioned why. Noone was allowed to get a word in on the matter in fact; all the young Sorcerers just went back to work.

And work was all they considered it by this point. Not fun, not a hobby, just work. They considered this a way to making a living, they weren’t embracing it as a way of life; they were making it the means for which to pay the cost of living.

Harold and his friends had heard these whispers, but took no heed of their warnings. They would travel to Mount Nuent, and they vowed they would come back to their homeland with a zest for life, the means to take it head on and embrace its ups and downs.

This would be their greatest test, they diligently researched every spell they could learn, and even reminded themselves of the spells they had already practiced and mastered time and again, and they would journey to Nuent at the fourth setting of the suns that day.

When that moment came, ‘Harold’s Hoarde’ as the villagers called them, made their way to the mountain. As they ascended, the fearsome conditions, as predicted by them, provided the test of endurance.

Violent winds threatened to sweep them off their feet, but a wave of their wands made them lighter than air.

A treacherous and raging waterfall stood between them and the next stage of the path, but a wave of their wands forged a steep bridge connecting them to the other side of the mountain.

Howling masked banshees that clung to the sides of the cliffs reached out to tempt the men, but the Wizards set about unmasking each of them, and with a wave of their wands, they created mirrors for each of them. Transfixed by their own beauty, the banshees left the Wizards to ascend the remainder of the mountain.

Finally, they reached their destination, and were awarded with an audience with the wise Wizards of the land. Those fables had decreed to be so powerful, that they possessed the means to create life itself.

Harold and his friends asked if they could bring something to life, something with raw, potent emotion, a zest for life, and had flaws it would have to overcome.

The wise Wizards, excited, began discussing what the creature would look like. After a couple of hours, it became clear this was all they were discussing.

Nothing about what kind of flaws it would have, what conceptions of faith could challenge its belief in itself, what causes it could join to determine in its long life if it would serve a great good or evil. None of that, the wise Wizards wanted to know if it should have a fourth eye or a seventh sense.

Harold argued that the creature had to make sense.

The wise Wizards laughed at this, and replied “It’s magic, it doesn’t have to make sense”

Harold and his friends gritted their teeth, and opted to depart Nuent that night, and returned home earlier than scheduled. They put their wands away, they greeted their wives and kids with a warm embrace and from there sought out a job in the local paper, looking to make ends meet.

They had gained wisdom that evening, and learned their most bitter lesson.

Harold’s hoard would work hard to serve life rather than challenge it, they would pay the bills, they would raise the next generation, and they would give them a different kind of advice. They hoped that their wisdom would leave no trace of the scars their own epiphanies had provided.

Life had to make sense of itself, or all its creatures would lose all sense of it.


Trust In The Hand



Snakes can harm us tender souls
Their bite is fierce and all seems grim
We question where their poison comes from
What keeps their venom in
For those who trust more in God’s nature, science just won’t do
They seek answers within their souls, and what thier words say to you
So if you believe in a mighty hand, reaching down with blessing
Trust in that hand to keep you close, and the serpent’s bite will lessen

Up Above The Beetles



There had been a nagging thought sitting in the head of a young tender upstart of a thing as it paced up and down a garden centre stationed in the middle of nowhere, or anywhere that wasn’t where he wanted to be.

He fancied a stroll along the beach.

But that wasn’t the issue.

No, this thought occurred to him just as he spotted a beetle darting across the clear pavement.

It was the second creature he’d spotted that day. The first had been a robin. Tiny little thing.

He didn’t have this thought with that. He’d never allow it.

With a beetle, and with any insect, the thought persisted.

The thought that puts you between roles.

Roles that were vast and simple.

The simple action of the common man, acting with senior authority of a commanding God.

A God who need not say a word to cast judgement, and end days, short as they were already, for the insect.

It took but a simple step.

 It had to be quick, mind you, for the insect wasn’t going to just take a rest, they never do. They are always scurrying. Always.

You had to be sharp, make your decision within the time frame allocated, place that bold step forward, and smite the insect with all your might.

That’s the thought that persisted.

And it always did.

The boy fancied himself a good soldier, a servant of something he deemed fit to be God.  He likes to think he shared some kind of communion with it, or him, or her, or all three.

There wasn’t such a clear way of identifying it.  It had no shape, it had no number, nothing came before one, but people often say in circles a God is the one above all, so it can’t be nothing.

And yet others say the universe came from nothing.

What came before nothing? Was there a number nobody knew about?

That was the scarier thought, one that did not persist as much, but on this warm sunny summer day, it was all the boy could think about.

A number with no brand, no visibility, no shape.

No way of being judged.

The boy let the beetle scurry away, too distracted by all the other joyous thoughts he’d allow to process, thoughts that he was paranoid would be clouded by thoughts pertaining to what he’d been taught by the word of God, by the word of his parents, that life was sacred, and to take any life, ANY life, not one excluded, would see you judged, on the day you passed, or even, if you happened to be Stateside, were made to pass on.

The boy shouldn’t be thinking this way, he was too young.

But that’s just it…we’re all too young at this stage, aren’t we?

None of us have lived millions of years, at least not in our physical manifestations, no; no we live for the tiny little moments and to embrace the vast and simple notions that shape us as numbers of varying shape and stature

It’s just to take a bold step forward, and not step on something in the process.

No matter how small in importance it is, and how it may impact the waking world.

It is, after all, a number.

A number with shape, size, scale. Branding.


That which you believe in, it has no shape, it has no number, it’s above that, it’s above all things. It leaves an impact on you, and you’re content with that, you want to feel good about that, you don’t want to cheat it; you don’t want to disappoint it.

And so the thoughts turn to simple things again, and the boy’s parents drove him home, and the boy thought to himself, ‘I could really fancy a stop by the beach’

And when the car drives past the beach, and that opportunity passes, he thinks to himself ‘was that because I complimented stepping on the beetle? Was that why my parents didn’t decide to stop for a bit and let me have my fun?’

Thinking it was one thing, saying it to a parent was another.

And so the boy asked when being put to bed, first he asked the mother, and she didn’t know what to make of it, so she asked the father, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

All they knew was the boy had spared a life.

And they were proud of that. They let him know they were proud of it.

And the boy went to bed feeling good about himself, feeling something had compelled him to show mercy that day, something trusted him that day.

He liked to think  the shapeless number, the one beyond or behind all recognizable numbers, was one worth counting towards, or very likely counting backwards to, so he too could be ultimately counted. To be said to matter in the final analysis.

For each step forward takes us back to these thoughts, these snap judgements of our own, it all comes back to the word of God. Which God you ask?

The one above the beetle or the one above the child?

Is there a difference?