Song Lyric Sunday 24/2/2019

It is  Sunday again and  time  for  SLS. Helen Vahdati’s This Thing Called Life One Word at a Time,  Song Lyric Sunday.  The prompt for this week is Harmony/Melody/Music, so let’s light it up, set it off, kick it into gear, As Jim at newepicauthor  said “let it rip, start jamming, let the dogs out, release the hounds and get the party started.”

Rules  and Pingback here 

Okay I want  to play  but  I don’t have  much time  so  I am going  straight in  with  Extreme  an actual American Rock Band  though from this  beautiful, gentle  and truly gorgeous close harmony. The song  More  than words. 

“More Than Words”

Saying “I love you”
Is not the words
I want to hear from you
It’s not that I want you
Not to say
But if you only knewHow easy
It would be to
Show me how you feel
More than words
Is all you have to do
To make it real
Then you wouldn’t
Have to say
That you love me
Cause I’d already know

What would you do?
If my heart
Was torn in two
More than words
To show you feel
That your love
For me is real
What would you say
If I took
Those words away
Then you couldn’t
Make things new,
Just by saying
“I love you”
More than words,
More than words

Now that I’ve tried to
Talk to you
And make you understand
All you have to do
Is close your eyes
And just reach out your hands

And touch me
Hold me close
Don’t ever let me go
More than words
Is all I ever
Needed you to show
Then you wouldn’t
Have to say
That you love me
Cause I’d already know

What would you do if my heart was torn in two
More than words to show you feel
That your love for me is real
What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldn’t make things new
Just by saying I love you

La di da, da di da, di dai dai da
More than words

La di da, da di da, di dai dai da
More than words

La di dai, dai dai, di dai dai da
La la di da da da

La di dai dai da
La la da da
More than words

Oooh uuuuh uuuh
Uuh

More than words

Lyrics  C/O A to Z Lyrics

 

Dryad…

A must read , beautiful poem.

Stuart France

*

…That night the world took on strange colours and my dream-girl became a tree.

If I were a Druid I would say that I had fallen under the sway of a wood nymph, a Dryad…

She is certainly very beautiful and pulls me  away from the busy road where traffic endlessly flashes through the ever screaming air…

She always wins.

I always turn from the road and allow her to take my hands in hers.

We roll down the embankment conjoined…

We roll together

for all eternity

but then collide with the bole of the tree

and she is gone.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Critic(al)

This is part of LindaGHill’s #SoCs.

Our Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “critic(al).” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!

Now it is critical that you understand that this sword held aloft here is not Excalibur. I have to say if I am critically on honest. The arm is too thick and masculine to belong to the lady of the lake. While I am being honest the sword itself looks too short and squat to be Excalibur.

Yet here we have an arm extended out of a lonely lake holding a sword aloft.

There is no magical island of Avalon, no Knights or damsels in distress. Just traffic bombing along a busy road, the other side of a wooden fence.

No just a critical Ruby sniffing around. Please don’t be a critic it might not be perfect but it was a lovely walk.

A Critical Acrostic Poem

Can you honestly say it’s the best

Rigourously, honestly the best

Is it truly the best you can do

To be honest I am not impressed

In my opinion, it is not good

Critically honest it’s not all that .

Actually be honest it’s rubbish

Look, don’t blame me, the critic.

Dead Sunflowers on the way to Assisi.

I

think that

l have never

seen a sadder

sight then glorious

Sunflowers,died,turned to

Green. All standing in a row

With blackened faces just like poor

Souls lost without a place to go.

we

Passed them yesterday as to Asissi

We

Did go.

The rain like

Angels tears did

Flow. The wind was harsh

But it could not stop us.

Sadly cross words, we’d a

Few. Really that was nothing new.

By the time we reached Asissi our

Skies had turned blue, harsh words driven through.

image

My talented fried Dale wrote a beautiful double Etheree for Crispina’s CCC challenge. Dale very generously said that I had introduced her to the Etheree, well she has nailed it. Even starting with Dead and ending with life.

The poem was about dead Sunflowers and beautifully and skillfully done it is. Do visit Dales link. I have included it above.

The Etheree reminded me of a poem I had written on the same subject some years back. So I dug out the old poem and revamped it into a mirror Etheree.

Thank you Dale, you reminded me of a holiday in Italy 💜

Thursday photo prompt: Timeless #writephoto

Gabriel was more relaxed than he had been in aeons. He had not lost his patience for at least three days. He was a new Archangel.

Saint Peter had mentioned this to saint Paul who inturn had mentioned it to the big man himself.

Michael and Azriel were happily going about their work of watching the errant humans. Azriel was relieved not to have had Satan whispering in his ear all the time.

“Where is Satan” saint Peter asked the big man. The big man smiled and winked. ….

Down on earth in the middle of nowhere in particular there was strange new vibes at a stone ring. The word new is not often associated with stone rings.

What was going on saint Paul asked of the big man. The big man touched his nose and smiled. They both looked at Gabriel who was relaxed, calm and happily oiling his sword.

It is all simply explained. Four days ago Gabriel had gone into total melt down. Saint Peter had found him running naked through Heaven’s gates. He had asked the demented archangel what was wrong. One word was the shrieked reply. “SATAN

Saint Peter had reported this latest event to the big man who had immediately visited Satan and frog marched him out of Hell.

They had arrived at the stone ring. The big man smiled and apologised to the old stones for any inconvenience he might be causing them. He explained that this new devil shaped stone would be joining them for a year.

The oldest stone asked what will happen to Hell while he is away. The big man assured them that Hell could wait, it’s timeless.

So peace reined in heaven, while a crotchety Satan did his best to cause trouble with the old stones, who totally ignored him.

#writephoto

This is part of Sue Vincent‘s #writephoto.

Jim Webster Blog Tour. Swimming for profit and pleasure & The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily.

Hi everyone I am so excited today because Jim Webster has asked me to be part of his latest Blog Tour introducing Swimming for profit and pleasure &The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily.

Below is the timetable of the tour so you can follow it and read the chapters.

1, For the want of a knight.

Monday 18th January Chris Graham

2, The eyes have it. Tuesday 19th February. Stevie Turner

3, The miser and the demon Wednesday 20th February. Annette Rochelle Aben.

4,Just one more glass. Thursday 21st February. willow willers

5, Occasionally one has to do the right thing. Friday 22nd February. Colleen Chesebro

6, Consummate Artistry. Saturday 23rd February. Suzanne Joshi

7, Something fishy. Sunday 24th February. Robbie Cheadle

8,The ethical choice. Monday 25th February Anita

9, Delicate work. Tuesday 26th February Ritu Bhathal

10,A cup of wine, a loaf of bread and thou. Wednesday 27th February. Lynn Hallbrooks

11, An appropriate boy. Thursday 28th February Ken Gierke

12 , Embarrassing Friday 1st March M.T. McGuire

13, Everything going swimmingly. 2nd March. Sue Vincent.

Just one more glass

Benor had gone from kicking his heels wondering what to do for work, to being remarkably busy. Whilst Gumption Silvernant might be paying the guild rates, he expected to see a return for his money. To compound the problem, the miser had properties scattered all over Port Naain and Benor and Mutt found themselves in areas neither of them were familiar with. Still after three weeks of frantic activity, it was with some relief that Benor produced a final report and received his final week’s pay.
Benor’s plan had been to spend a couple of days just lazing about and relaxing, but he discovered to his discomfort that other people now had tasks for him. From Shena he got a cheery, ‘Given you’re doing nothing
today, Benor, could you take this scrap metal to Dannal at the end of Chandler’s Way.” Then from Tallis there was a cryptic note carried by a maid so junior she was struggling to cope with her starched white blouse, white
pinafore worn over a calf length black skirt, and clumpy shoes, “Thallton House, Sea View Crescent, Merchant’s Quarter. Soonest.” She delivered the
message and fled, leaving Benor wondering what Tallis had told the girl about him.
Benor made his way to the house at a more sensible pace and upon introducing himself at the tradesman’s entrance, was immediately admitted. The house was obviously newly let, the servants’ quarters were barely furnished and stood
remarkably empty. Benor was ushered into a room where a miscellaneous group of domestics, some in outdoor closes. These latter were probably the servants of the guests Tallis was entertaining. They were all clustered
round a middle aged woman who was having her glass refilled.“Come on, come on, pour with a generous hand, none of your niggardly ways.”
One of the servants detached herself from the group and whispered into Benor’s ear. “Tallis left this note for you.”
Benor accepted the crumpled piece of paper. There, written in Tallis’s fair hand was a brief message.
“Get her home to her husband. Also get her talking about the Chevaleresse of Windcutter Keep.”
Typical Tallis, any normal person writing a hasty note would have
abbreviated the title to ‘Lady of’ but not Tallis. He stuffed the note into his pocket and joined the group, wondering how to proceed. The man pouring
the drink greeted him with the words. “Look Alia, here’s the chap who’s going to escort you home to your husband.”
Alia tore her gaze from her glass. “That pretty boy?” “Yes he’ll get you safely home.”
Alia drained her glass and held it out for a refill. The man ostentatiously removed the jug. “Bastard.” Alia spoke without particular vehemence. “And
abandoning me to this young pup.” She turned to Benor, “You’re not getting your hands in my drawers.”
In the resigned tones of somebody who has had to deal with too many drunks, Benor replied, “I’ve just been asked to get you back to your husband. Where do you live?”
“Not telling you.”
“House with a yellow door at the end of Copper’s Sneak, off Ropewalk,” said the man with the jug. He nodded to two of the women present. They were
obviously well versed in Alia’s little ways because they stood, one each
side of her, and swiftly had her to her feet. Then before she could complain they manoeuvred her to Benor and draped one of Alia’s arms across the young man’s shoulders. “There’ll be a final glass when you’re out of the door.” “Bastards.” Benor made his way to the door; Alia cooperated, clutching her now empty
glass in her free hand. In the doorway she halted abruptly, holding out her glass to be filled. The man with the jug shook his head. “The outside door Alia.”
“Bastard.” Benor set off towards the door and much to his relief Alia came with him. At the outside door he stopped again and waited whilst Alia drank off the last glass. She passed the empty glass back with a dainty gesture and then belched. Finally she turned to Benor. “You going to stand there all night or are we going home?”
They made their way into the street, Benor wondering how to start the conversation. Before he could say anything, Alia said, “They shouldn’t treat me like this, I used to be a housekeeper, in a big house as well.”
“Oh yes, who did you work for?”
“Me, I worked for gentry.”
“You did?” Benor tried to sound interested. “Who?”
“Lots of them.”
“Who recently?”
Alia stopped, nearly causing Benor to stumble. “I’ve worked for the best you know. I worked for the ‘Golden Lady’ of Partann.”
Benor asked, “Is she the one who’s called the Chevaleresse of Windcutter Keep?”
“Yes but I always call her the golden lady on the grounds that the other word’s bad to pronounce when you’ve drunk too much.”
“What was she like?”
“A real lady, not grand, not hoity-toity, she spoke to you like you were a person.”
“Did you work for her in Partann?”
“Get away with you; do I look like one of them savages? I worked for her when she was in Port Naain, she kept house here.”
Benor started walking, and Alia walked with him. Benor asked, “So you liked working for her?”
“Yes. She was a lady.” Alia paused. “Not like the bitch she had working for her?”
“Bitch she had working for her?”
“That fat horrocks Minny she had as a maid.”
“What was up with her?”
“Ha, how long have you got?”
“Well I’m walking you back home,” Benor said, reasonably.
“We’ll have to go by Dilbrook if you want the full list.”
“That bad,” Benor tried to sound sympathetic.
“Worse.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes as Alia obvious contemplated the
awfulness that was Minny.
“She was a scheming, thieving, conniving slut.”
“I can see you didn’t like her,” Benor commented dryly.
“Hated her, the bitch. I mean all domestic staff helps themselves to bits an’ bobs nobody needs anymore, it’s perks, innit. Minny used to go round the room with a sack helping herself.”
“And the Chevaleresse put up with it?”
“Yeah well Minny just blamed everybody else. Then she kept slipping off to meet some fellow.”
“Anybody you knew,” Benor asked, genuinely curious.
“Nah, just some man from Partann. Handsome enough but with an evil look about him. Ulgar-Zare I think he was called.”
They walked on in silence, Benor contemplating what Alia had said, and Alia seething at the unfairness of it all. After perhaps five minutes she almost exploded. “Then she had to go south an’ Minny just disappeared into Port Naain. I had to help the Lady dress and pack on the last day she were here.
She asked me to go back to being a house keeper when she came back.”
“Did she say when that would be?”
Sadly, Alia shook her head. “No, and positions are bad to come by.” Then she brightened up a little. “But she said it would be this year, she’d have business to transact.”
“With a bit of luck eh?”
“Yeah.” With that Alia fell silent and the pair of them walked onwards in an almost companionable manner. Finally they turned into Copper’s Sneak.
“It’s that un, with the yellow door.”
Benor said, “Thank you,” out of habit. They made their way along the road to the door and Benor hammered on it.
A tall man, balding and bearded opened it. He surveyed them in silence. Alia announced, “I’m home, love, an’ he hasn’t been rummaging through my
drawers.” The man reached out and disentangled her from Benor. He winked at the
younger man as he did so. “I’m sure he’s a most respectable young man. Now let’s get you inside. You’re going to regret it all in the morning.”
With that he manoeuvred her through the door and closed it behind him.
Through the door Benor clearly heard Alia’s voice saying, “Bastards.” He thought there was almost a touch of affection in her tone.

===========================

And now the hard sell.

I’ve thought long and hard about blog tours. I often wonder how much somebody reading a book wants to know about the author. After all, I as a writer have gone to a lot of trouble to produce an interesting world for my
characters to frolic in. Hopefully the characters and their story pull the reader into the world with them. So does the reader really want me tampering
with the fourth wall to tell them how wonderful I am? Indeed given the number of film stars and writers who have fallen from grace over the years,
perhaps the less you know about me the better?
Still, ignoring me, you might want to know a bit about the world. Over the years I’ve written four novels and numerous novellas set in the Land of the Three Seas, and a lot of the action has happened in the city of Port Naain.
They’re not a series, they’re written to be a collection, so you can read them in any order, a bit like the Sherlock Holmes stories in that regard.
So I had a new novella I wanted to release. ‘Swimming for profit and pleasure.’ It’s one of the ‘Port Naain Intelligencer’ collection and I decided I’d like to put together a blog tour to promote it. But what sort of tour? Then I had a brainwave. I’d get bloggers who know Port Naain to send
me suitable pictures and I’d do a short story about that picture. It would be an incident in the life of Benor as he gets to know Port Naain.
Except that when the pictures came in it was obvious that they linked together to form a story in their own right, which is how I ended up writing one novella to promote another! In simple terms it’s a chapter with each
picture. So you can read the novella by following the blogs in order. There is an afterword which does appear in the novella that isn’t on the blogs, but it’s more rounding things off and tying up the lose ends.
Given that the largest number of pictures was provided by a lady of my acquaintance, I felt I had to credit her in some way.
So the second novella I’m releasing is ‘The plight of the Lady Gingerlily.’
It too is part of the Port Naain Intelligencer collection.

So we have ‘Swimming for profit and pleasure’

And here too

Benor learns a new craft, joins the second hand book trade, attempts to
rescue a friend and awakens a terror from the deep. Meddling in the affairs of mages is unwise, even if they have been assumed to be dead for centuries. And we have

The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily

And here too for US

No good deed goes unpunished. To help make ends meet, Benor takes on a few
small jobs, to find a lost husband, to vet potential suitors for two young
ladies, and to find a tenant for an empty house. He began to feel that
things were getting out of hand when somebody attempted to drown him.

================

One-Liner Wednesday.

This photo is doing the rounds, it is not mine. I do not lay any claim to it but it makes me laugh I hope it does you too.

This is for LindaGHill‘s #1lineWeds.

Wordless Wednesday. Ruby’s new collar and lead.

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge No. 124 SynonymsOnly Game and Trouble

Addiction.

Today the the beautiful Colleen Chesebro prompt worsds Game and Trouble to use synonymously. Rules and Pingback here .

I have made a picture with a Tanka about addiction. This is the first time I have tried this .

Twittering Tales #124 – 19 February 2019 – Lost

Photo by Gavilla @ Pixabay.com

Lost

All morning wandering around the city. They’d seen many places of interest. None in the right place though! Stopping to discuss where to have their picnic. Dave made a discovery. ‘Bob’ he scolded ‘you’re using that map upsidedown.’ Karen muttered ‘should of gone to Specsavers.’

(Characters 279)

This is part of Kat Myrman of Like Mercury Colliding‘s Twittering Tales.

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