In a quiet spot.
On a soft chair.
In the sun’s spotlight.
I will read a book.
Eyes wide open.
My mind set to explore.
Sunlight streaming in.
I will read a book.
Hands trembling.
Tears falling.
Sun warming my body.
I will read a book.
A long journey to become an author,
Days of soul searching and hard work.
The words need to be enticing and clear,
A bridge to the reader’s heart.
A movie camera sweeps across scenes,
So does a book’s point of view.
One point of view shows one angle,
While changing points of view reveal more.
To be lost in a book is truly a gift,
An escape from the mundane and boring.
A visit to far away places can be
An adventure to open your mind’s eye.
Once completed, a book is a treasure,
A symbol of the author’s hopes and dreams.
A confectioner’s delight to be tasted and savored,
To be remembered by the many or just a few.
Red hot waves lap at the shore,
Bringing with it blood and gore.
Paradise has come to an end.
The Dead are right around the bend.
Death is their evening delight.
They descend with all of their might.
Florida will never be the same
Once it becomes part of The Dead Game.
THE DEAD GAME
Open a book for me,
Just wait and you will see.
Life opens its door,
So much to explore.
Words ring out so true
In colors like blue.
You will never know
If you let it go.
South Africa’s first-ever Book Hotel, the Royal, in Bethulie
Imagine a place like this.
The perfect hotel of bliss.
Endless books to read.
Nothing else I’d need.
Walls of books everywhere.
All you need is a chair.
Never run out of a book.
Just pick your favorite nook.
Read the day away.
Nothing else to say.
To be or not to be a writer
has been the hardest question for me.
Should I continue with my pursuit,
or step away and claim defeat?
One book was written,
one book sold.
It dances around on Amazon and Nook.
It reaches new heights in its niche,
and then it slowly bows its head in silence.
The highs feel good and lofty,
While the lows feel depressing and sad.
Is it worth it?
Is it worth the aggravation?
I am told that a writer must keep writing.
More books to dance around.
More highs and lows.
Should I keep doing this?
Will I keep doing this?
Yes, for now
as I wait for the next high.
Take the night to the limit.
The road to its end.
The sun to its setting.
Life to its climax.
No stone left unturned.
No drama left undone.
No sentence left unsaid.
Take the night to its limit.
Please take a closer look.
Something’s wrong with this book.
The words have come alive.
Breaking free to survive.
They are bursting forth with pride.
Smoke is pouring out from inside.
Words need to be loved and shared
And not forced alone and scared.
Let the stories come out and play.
They will serve to brighten your day.
A house of ice.
Sounds too nice?
It might be.
It’s next to the sea.
Ice statues populate the place.
Just don’t look into their face.
Tales of horror fall from their lips.
Better run away from all this.
THE DEAD GAME
Rijksmuseum Library
Shelves to the ceiling.
Ladders to reach high.
Tables for my books.
Chairs to relax in.
Lamps to give me light.
Quiet for my thoughts.
A slice of heaven.
