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To My Folks Whom I Love

Image courtesy of africa / FreeDigitalPhotos.net"

Image courtesy of africa / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Too many times we leave for last the things we now should say,

Too many times our lives, our days; they get so in the way,

We go about evaluating all we see with the eye,

But spend little time considering the things that happen inside.

We forget to say thanks to those who raised us, from a cell to man and woman,

We forget to include them in our present thinking, they will not understand,

A simple thought would tell us that they have lived this before,

Ignorance and arrogance denying that of this world they know more.

You look at the frame, you look at the face and say they do not know of the now,

But a little time and a little talk will illustrate exactly and precisely how-

They know of the now that matters- of the things that trouble you deep,

Of the headaches and heartaches and sorrows of all that cause to weep.

So deep in the night whilst angels sleep in a bed just like the one where you once lay,

Yesterday the angels were you, but they take the form of your children today,

And just like you oh so long ago while they dream blue streams and green hills,

Their parents argue and fuss and cry about debts, lack of money and bills.

Just because these same spirits of yesterday don’t use YouTube and Netflix like you,

Doesn’t mean that the importance of the today is something relatively new-

No in today’s ‘what really matters’ are the sweat and the tears of those past,

All the other stuff just falls by the wayside those are not the things that will last.

So take the time and converse with those who have been there and seen,

Because our reality of today is so parallel to what has already been,

And they have been there and made it and can still sit back and smile,

They know how to get up the energy, produce the strength for the last mile.

So please talk listen understand because the blessing will not always be,

And in time all we will be left with is just this generation of you and me,

So laugh with them, engulf them, be with them and understand,

And as you sit laughing and talking, say thank you and gently hold their hand.


Copyright 2013

Inspector Lynley Investigates. Or does he?

Hercule Poirot

Hercule Poirot (Photo credit: elena-lu)

I am a lover of all fictional murder mysteries. I simply cannot get enough. When I was around seven, I remember sitting down and watching an old black and white Miss. Marple movie with my mother. She introduced me to them. Margaret Rutherford played the protagonist. I cannot recall what the movie was called, or which book it was adapted from, but I fell in love.

I remember sitting there crossed legged in awe, just taking it in. You would think that at seven I may have found the whole thing a little daunting, but no. I guess the portrayal of Miss. Marple by Ms Rutherford also had a lot to do with it. This Miss. Marple was a larger than life busy body. With energy to spare, she put her all into finding the murderer. She was out of this world and I loved her. Not missing a detail, identifying all of the clues, and then in the end explaining how it all had occurred. It was fascinating. With that being said, it was no surprise when the next time our local mobile library came around, I ventured out of the children’s section and found myself trying to locate every Agatha Christie novel that the small book source on wheels had to offer.

I remember the librarian looking at my mother with a kind of ‘Are you sure?’ expression on her face when I approached her with mum and presented her with the books that I wanted to borrow. Mum smiled. She said something like, ‘She just loves to read’. The librarian smiled back, the books were stamped and we left.

That evening was the first time I was ever introduced to him. The genius and brain of Hercule Poirot. Since then, for me, there has never been another detective that could better his intelligence or mode of detection. Many have tried mind you, but all have failed in their attempts. As for his portrayal on screen. Peter Ustinov did well, Albert Finny (who I love in all else), just was not my cup of tea, whilst David Suchet has stolen the character and made it his own.

I guess that is why where ever I am in the world, I must engage in some good old British Television. No one does the ‘cozy murder’ better. Even though at times the genre is expanded on and made grittier, the essentials are always there. And wow, what a catalogue of great detectives on offer. From Frost to Morse, from Lewis to Dalgleish, the list just goes on and on and on.

These days the investigative skills of Richard Poole in Death in Paradise have me captivated. Not only funny, this sleuth has all the skill of his old school predecessors. Yeah, maybe the stories are not as complex as those by Christie, and a lot easier to figure out, but hey, it’s hard to top the best.  I’ve heard that Ben Miller who plays Richard Poole in the series will be leaving soon. So sad, he will be missed. With his quirks, jutting chin and full suit in tropical conditions, the character is a true Brit sleuth through and through. Taking in all he sees and hears around him. Registering everything and then, not until the very end, explaining how it all relates. Bliss.

However, there have been some who have let the side down I feel. One such character is Inspector Lynley. Do not get me wrong, I have watched every episode of this BBC series, and I did like it. I have also ready all of the books, but Lynley is so far removed from the logical, puzzle solving sleuth. There is little deducing and then explaining. Lynley leaves me a little out in the cold. I recall book where he literally accused nearly everyone of being the murderer until he got it right. I mean, where is the deduction in that? No, I prefer the use of the little grey cells, when coming up with an answer, and when you do, you get it right first time. That to me is a conclusion worth waiting for.

And so I end, referencing my title. Bear with me, as I do the best Dr. Evil impersonation that I can, and ask, ‘Inspector Lynley Investigates……..  Or does he?’

(Evil laugh!) Mwahahahahaha!!!

Tell Me A Story

"Alas, my poor little bride that was to b...

“Alas, my poor little bride that was to be!” – Frontispiece to The Story of the Mikado, Told by W.S. Gilbert, illustrated by Alice B. Woodward, London: Daniel O’Connor, 90 Great Russell Street, 1921. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Tell me a story they said,

Well the first thing that honestly came to my head,

Was the day I learnt the meaning of ‘dead’,

‘Til this day the thought fills me with dread.

Tell me a story they cried,

I told of the day to my father I had lied,

He found out and I had cried, cried and cried,

To make it up to him- I truly had tried.

Tell me a story they joked,

They stop smiling on learning I was provoked,

So many years and from it I never woke,

A nightmare of which I never spoke.

Tell me a story they sang,

I told about how I had met this old man,

He took me aside and talked holding my hand,

Now there’s a storyteller of whom I am a big fan.

Tell me a story they quipped,

I recalled how one day my pants they were unzipped,

No one told me, everyone was so tight-lipped,

When I found out, how I had literally flipped.

Tell me a story, they were amused,

I started to and then I simply refused,

With all of the tales I was becoming confused,

Muddled memories were starting to fuse.

Tell me a story they said,

I stood there simply shaking my head,

They smiled as my mind by them had been read,

And they began to tell me a story instead.

Copyright 2013.

Cloud Atlas. A Cinematographic Ray Of Sunshine?

cloud atlas

cloud atlas (Photo credit: psd)

Ben Whishaw.  One of those great new talents to emerge from Britain (well in my opinion anyway). Ben Whishaw. The reason I found out about a major movie project called ‘Cloud Atlas’.  Due to the fact that Ben had (again in my opinion) given such stellar performances in the BBC’s ‘The Hour’, (now cancelled), Criminal Justice and also the latest instalment of James Bond  ‘Skyfall’, in which he played a younger version of Q, I was sure I would love this mega block buster. The fact that names such as Tom Hanks, Halle Berry, Hugh Grant and other Oscar winners and nominees were listed as co-stars made me want to see the film even more.

Now I am one of those people, (who are not liked by many, but that’s ok, ‘cause I’m a lone wolf, a maverick, a renegade, a rebel… yeah right!) who believes in reading the book before watching the movie. On finding out that Cloud Atlas was indeed a novel which was later turned into a movie, I tracked down the text and read it. Written by the British author David Mitchell I must say that I could not put it down. The text truly is a complicated piece of literature which tells six full stories within the one piece.

The first story is that of Adam Ewing, situated within the Pacific Ocean in 1850. The second story is that of Robert Fobisher, (who Whishaw plays in the film). Fobisher is an English musician whose story begins in 1931. The third story is that of Lisa ray. In 1975, Ray is an investigative journalist in California who is looking into reports that a nuclear power plant is not safe. The fourth story is the comic relief of the book. It tells the tale of 65 year old vanity press publisher Timothy Cavendish.  Whilst the fifth story charts the story of clone Sonmi – 451 and is set in Nea So Copras, a futuristic state. Lastly, the sixth story makes up the central part of the novel. It tells the story of Zachary who is to be found with his family living within a post-apocalyptic society. Within the novel the sixth story is the only one allowed to run all the way through. The other tales are broken up and woven between one another. Each starting and stopping at fundamental key points.  The beauty of the piece being that even though this is the way that the book flows, Mitchel never allows you to feel lost within the maze of stories. In turn it allows the reader to comprehend the message that regardless of race, gender, class and time, somehow we each influence and have bearing on all others. It gives credence to the idea that whatever your actions are now, it has reverberations on those to come. I was in awe when I had completed the book and I could not wait to see the film.

Don’t you just hate those people who state things like, ‘The book was so much better than the film’…. Well sorry… but….

I do not know if it is because such an intricate body of tales, interlaced so well together just simply cannot be translated visually onto the cinematic screen or if the screenplay adaptation was simply weak but ‘Cloud Atlas’ the movie paled considerably  next to the novel.  The quality of acting and the star power should have been able to save it, however even with great performances given by all involved, I believe the piece had already failed before production had begun and the first scene shot. The director’s decision of having the actors play diverse roles from one story to the next was a stroke of genius. It also went to concrete the idea of the linkage of lives through time. Sometimes they would play the main protagonist whilst within other stories they would simply have a bit part. A round of applause must also be sounded for the films make-up artists, whose prosthetics had some of the actors unrecognisable as they played their roles. Regardless of which, the movie still fell short. It simply left me unmoved.

In all, I found Cloud Atlas the movie very disappointing. The Times even lists it as the number one worst movie of 2012. I do not know if I would go that far. There are many who did a lot worse, and who are stronger contenders for that title. However, it was a let-down. I do not wish to deter anyone from going to see the movie however. The costumes, cinematography, acting and make-up alone are worth the effort, but if you are one who requires the presence of a working script to hold a movie together, Cloud Atlas simply will not be your thing.

I Just Felt Like Writing


I just felt like writing,

Like I did back then, when I hung with friends, with a Biro pen,

I just felt like writing,

Letting the words flow out, that’s what it’s all about, no thought no cry no shout,

I just felt like writing,

Putting the words down nice, making nice rhyme with thrice, mixing it up with some spice.

I just felt like writing,

Hearing the words in mind, not knowing what I’d find, when creation has no bind.

I just felt like writing,

My youngest in my ear, reading lines here and there, of me he has no fear.

I just felt like writing,

What next will I put down, no word can make me frown, each with a rhythmic sound.

I just felt like writing,

Taking this time to see, if it is really me, who can express words so free?

I just felt like writing,

Not thinking about grammar,

Not thinking about tone,

Working off into the unknown,

No Copyscape about,

No spellcheck to speak of,

Just writing off of the cuff.

No keyword density,

No search engine laden text,

Just pure expressiveness.

I just felt like writing-

Baa daa baa daa baaam!

And it ends with a saxophone fanfare,

And it ends with a saxophone fanfare,

And it ends with a saxophone fanfare

And it ends

And it ends

And it ends.