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I have nothing to do with the selection of stories. I'm the reporter.

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Mr. Reporter

Hey, mr. reporter,
How 'bout talking about yourself?
Do you like what you're doing,
Or is it that you can do nothing else?
Hey, mr. reporter,
I'll believe all that you put down.
I'll believe the sun is going up,
Even though it's going down.
Hey, mr. reporter,
Don't you twist my words around.
I'll kill you, i won't let you,
Distort my simple sound.
Hey, mr. reporter,
How 'bout talking about yourself?
Do you like what you're doing,
Or is it that you can do nothing else?
Hey, mr. reporter,
How 'bout talking about yourself?
Do you like what you're doing,
Or is it that you can do nothing else?
Did your daddy stop you playing
With your friends when you were young?
And is that why you run down
All the young folks have their fun. [?]
The reason i am stupid,
Is because i read you every day.
You misquote all of the true things
Because they rub you the wrong way.
Hey, mr. reporter,
How 'bout talking about yourself?
Do you like what you're doing,
Or is it that you can do nothing else?

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Stories We Could Tell

By: john b. sebastian
1974
Talkin to myself again
Wonderin if this travellin is good
Is there somethin else a doin
Wed be doin if we could
Chorus:
But ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories we could tell
Stared at that guitar in that museum in tennessee
Nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
Scars upon the face told of all the times he fell
Singin all the stories he could tell
Chorus:
Ah, the stories he could tell
And Ill bet you it still rings like a bell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
And listen to the stories it could tell
So if youre on the road trackin down your every night
Playin for a livin beneath brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride the carousel
You do it for the stories you can tell
Ah, the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Just listen to the stories we could tell
Coda:
Yes, I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some motel
Listen to the stories it could tell

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Stories We Could Tell

Talkin to myself again
Wondering if this travelin is good
Is there something better wed be doing if we could
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
Remember that guitar in a museum in tennessee
And the nameplate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
And the scratches on the face
Told of all the times he fell
Singin every story he could tell
And oh the stories it could tell
And I bet you it still rings like a bell
And I wish we could sit back on the bed in some motel
And listen to the stories we could tell
So if youre on the road tracking down here every night
And youre singin for a livin neath the brightly colored lights
And if you ever wonder why you ride this carousel
You did it for the stories you could tell
And oh the stories we could tell
And if this all blows up and goes to hell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell
I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel
Listenin to the stories we could tell

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Wonderous Stories

(anderson)
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,

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Wondrous Stories

I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,

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Wonderous Stories

(anderson)
I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,

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Wondrous Stories

I awoke this morning
Love laid me down by a river.
Drifting I turned on upstream
Bound for my forgiver.
In the giving of my eyes to see your face.
Sound did silence me
Leaving no trace.
I beg to leave, to hear your wonderous stories.
Beg to hear your wonderous stories.
He spoke of lands not far
Or lands they were in his mind.
Of fusion captured high
Where reason captured his time.
In no time at all he took me to the gate.
In haste I quickly checked the time.
If I was late I had to leave to hear your wonderous stories.
Had to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing
Hearing
Hearing your wonderous stories.
Hearing your wonderous stories.
It is no lie I can see deeply into the future.
Imagine everything
Youre close
And were you there to stand
So cautiously at first and then so high.
As he spoke my spirit climbed into the sky.
I bid it to return
To hear your wonderous stories.
Return to hear your wonderous stories.
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,
Hearing,

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Stories About Home

I lived once in the North
And for a while, way in the South
I have some stories... that'll
Tear a man's heart out

These are the one's
I numbered ten... eleven...and twelve...
They moved so fast...
I ended living... in living Hell

But those that I numbered one thru nine...
They let the world see...why... my eyes..
My heart...
Will never again shine

I know It's hard sometimes to live
Where you can't see the sun...
Because of all that... endless rain...
I look to see.. how too... help others
Because I have lived...every kind of pain

So I write the stories...
Some are good
But often... some are very bad
They often leave hearts torn....
Spilling eyes... so sad...
And sometimes... I'll talk about the incredibly bad

But can you see the purpose...of writing
These stories... these poems...
Through the tears.... the weeping... and crying...
It's just my heart....
Trying to find a way...to move back home...


So to anyone whom read these stories. They're what I write.
They're the words of what I feel. They're the stories about wounds,
about that life, my family, about souls that never seem to heal.
They're the words of truth, they help with what I feel. For these stories
are the cause of tears...that just wont end...they're the stories that are
impossibe to bear.
They are the stoires of my family, abuse, of damage
and how love was not spared....
So many stories that'll never disappear
A soul covered with scars
Of sadness that fills a heart
That burns each time those hate words...
And abuse that breaks it apart

Clyde Grant Bryson

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Stories

Through every window, we look out
what we see on the other side
holds many stories waiting to unfold.
Stories of great achievements
within someone’s life.
Stories of gathering love
found with in open arms.
Stories of perusing heartaches
where someone has gone away.
Stories a million fold
that surround every living thing.
Stories we are not aware of,
but happen before our eyes.
Stories to share with all
from those who can see them unfold.
The next time you look out a window
try and see what is really there,
the stories that are everywhere.

26 July 2009

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Stories

Every year has its own stories in this life,
Every month has its own stories in this life,
Every week has its own stories in this life,
Every day has its own stories in this life,
Every hour has its own stories in this life,
Every minute has its own stories in this life,
And like the muse of the mind as we grow up;
So, we are all with stories to tell in this world.

As white as snow,
As red as blood,
As balck as charcoal,
As green as the grass,
As blue as the sky;
But everybody has stories to tell in this world!
And like the muse o love in the land of beauty,
For each year has its own story.

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Stories

when we were young stories were told
That I'd kiss you sweet like
People said there was a connection between us
Now that we're old stories are told
Of how I hold you tight
Whenever I see those people I tell them they were right

Stories will be told
From when our children are young
until they're old
About our endless love
We must have had a blessing from above

Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time

Until the sun won't rise
Oh

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Girls

Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young --
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
x2
{girls speaking}
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
x2
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young --
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money.
girls
Travel fast Have a blast
Travel fast Make it last
Have a blast
Travel fast Make it last
Have a blast
Girls Girls Around the world
Around the world
Imagine how it would be, to be at the top making cash money,
Go on tour all around the world, tell stories about all the young girls.
x3
girls (until end)

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The Holocaust Files & Other Theme Poems

Theme: Love Poems (various forms of love,10 poems only)
*any theme category may be extended upon reader interest and requests
A Family Blessing
Changing Scene
For Our Loved Ones
Look Across Time
Memory Of A Lover
My Love
Single Red Ribbon
Snowpowder
Song Of My Love
True Love

The Holocaust Files: (32 poems) are a work in process and this reference will be removed upon completion. This is a collection of holocaust related poems to give voice to the 12 million killed, tortured and enslaved by the SS during World War II. The Poles, Romani and Slavic victims who are sometimes overlooked in brief reviews or marginalized, will hopefully have a poem as their voice by the completion of this project. The poems will ease into and out of the full extent of this horror, to contrast kaleidoscopic images of the holocaust in tribute to the slaughtered, and may provide a differing overview of Nazi Ideology to address succinct examples of how and why in historical perspective. (Historical optional background notes, have been added below some poems to assist in this purpose.)
The cruelty of topic material in some of the main poems may shock or offend innocent readers. Looking up pictorial images of these events is not advised for children.
The poems should be read in the order listed below: -
A Vibrant Life 18.5.2010
Appeasement For Adolf Hitler 15&16.10.2010
Indomitable Will To Survive 12.7.2010
Holocaust Latvia Begins 30.5.2012
Nazi Death Squads Enter Eastern Europe 29.5.2012
SS Single Shot Executioners 28.5.2012
Legal Genocide Committed On Industrial Scale 16.10.2010
Stone Cross Prologue 85 87
Stone Cross 85 87
Hitler's Holocaust Product Of A Demonic Mind 1987
When Satanic Power Ruled A Third Reich 1987
Blind Neo-Nazi Nationalism Hitler's New World Order 1987
How Evil Regenerates Perpetuates 1987
Nazi Evolution Vile Carbon Monoxide Gas To Zyklon-B 1987
Indictment Against Entire Nations 1987
An Image Of The Beast Rules
Fallen Nation Transformation 1987
Cartoon Caricature Of The Master Race 17.5.2010
The SS Who Will You Kill 17.5.2010
Classic Dance Steps 17.2.1989
Peaked Cap; Skull-And-Crossbones Badge 17&18.3.2010
A Moral Civilized World 17.3.2010
The Death Of Adolf Hitler's Personal Physican 17.5.2010
Dagmar Topf A Defence Of Family Ovens 17&18.3.2010
Not To Be Written 7.5.2010
Struck Down With A Thunderbolt 20.4.2010
Love Has Rewards Worth Attaining 19.5.2010
SS Demons 15.12.2010
How Did You Kill Me?
They Did It All Before You 18.5.2010
'Angel Of Death' A Demonic Nazi Doctor 9.3.2011
Proclaiming Retrofit New World Order 9&10.3.2011

[...] Read more

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The Woes of Bill

Once upon a recent even, as I lay in fitful slumber,
Weaving dreams and seeing visions vague and utterly absurd,
Suddenly I seemed to waken, somewhat scared and rather shaken,
For I thought my name was mentioned, coupled with - 'a certain word.'

'Twas the Adjective that roused me, sanguinary and familiar,
That embellishes the diction of my fellow countrymen,
When they do commune together in regard to crops or weather -
Such a word as never, never shall defile this pious pen.

Sitting, upright on my pillow, filled with weird, uncanny feelings,
Once again I heard, distinctly someone calling on my name.
And I gazed around me vainly as a voice exclaimed quite plainly:
'Strike me up a blessed wattle if it ain't a blessed shame!'

''Tis some idiotic joker, 't's some festive friend,' I muttered,
Gazing toward my chamber window where the moonlight faintly gleamed
Then, before my bedroom curtain, I beheld a shape uncertain,
Something vague and dim and doubtful, slowly taking form it seemed.

Then, all obvious before me stood a figure most familiar,
Clad in bushman's boots and breeches and a colored cotton shirt.
Said he: 'No, yer eyes don't fail yer: Here's yer cobber, BILL AUSTRALIER,
An' I've come to ask you plainly if this game ain't blessed dirt!'

'Pardon. BILL,' said I politely; 'but I hardly get your meaning.'
'Strewth!' said BILL. 'Dead crook, I call it!' But I stayed him with a smile.
'By your leave, my worthy bloke, we'll dropp these oaths and terms colloquial,
And just talk the matter over in a peaceful, friendly style.'

BILL choked back a warm expletive - for my smile was most engaging -
And, upon my invitation, sat beside me on the bed.
And, omitting decorations - fancy oaths and execrations
That his woeful story garnished, I shall tell you what he said.

'Now my name is BILL AUSTRALIER, just plain BILL without no trimmin's,
And you'll tumble that I'm ownin' quite a tidy bit o' land;
Land that needs a bit o' workin'; an' there ain't no time for shirkin',
An' there ain't no call for loafers on the job I got on hand.

'My selection is extensive; right from sea to sea it stretches;
An' I'm needin' willin' grafters for the toil there is to do:
So some blokes called politicians speaks for overseers' positions,
An' I hands 'em out the billets, thinkin' they would see things through.

''Strewth! They ain't signed on 10 minutes 'fore they downs their tools in anger,
An', without no word o' warnin', started fightin' tooth an' nail.
An' I yelled till I grew husky, an' me face with rage went dusky,
But me most expensive language wasn't of the least avail.

[...] Read more

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Hard Luck Stories

Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine.
Every time youre feelin fine
Got another good one on the line
It slips away,
You feel it slip away, slip away.
I dont want no more from you
Wont do what you want me to
Turn me loose
Come on turn me loose, turn me loose.
Every time Im feelin good
The phone rings and I knock on wood
Hoping that it wont be you
Calling like you always do.
All you ever seem to say is
How much bad luck came your way
You wont try to start again
You just count on your old friends.
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine.
Now you call up every day
Got no money no place to stay
That girl made a mess of you
You got what was comin too.
Build her up and let her down
Tastin everythin in town
Treat her right, you never
Treat her right, treat her right.
Now shes gone and youre alone
Bite your fingers to the bone
Slip away,
You feel it slip away, slip away.
You dont know whats goin on
How you lost it, what went wrong
What ever happened to
The love that you once knew.
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine
Dont tell me hard luck stories
And I wont tell you mine.

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Zig Zag Stories

I had a zig zag story just the other day
I rolled a fat blunt and yo, it ripped this way
I took a puff (uh-huh) and what did i see?
Those motherf__kers still wanna i-c-e
To blaze up a sac of that green bombay
And when i reach my peak, i explode like dante
Tha ganjay has got my mind wide open, i'm soakin'
In the music, i use it, and don't abuse it
And true, it gets me high like the sky
I will buy 'till the day that i die
You ain't gotta ask me why
I take tokes from the smoke, i can't deny
Got a lifetime supply
And i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
'cause i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
And i wanna get you high
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
This is a zig zag story that i had last night
A six-pack, a joint, and i was feeling all right
Lit up tha chronic, and what did i see?
This bad-a__ bit_h creeping up on me
She had the look that could get the ice cooked up in a second
I pictured her undressing and gettin' butt-naked
She walked up to me and said her name was mary jane
Ain't no shame in my game, down to do anything
Took me by the hand, ask me if i'd like to fly
You know i like to fly
'cause i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
'cause i wanna get you high
Get you high all night
And i wanna get you high
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
Bang another joint
Zig zag stories
(right here, you know we're gettin' 'em high right now)
Now here's a zig zag story that i'm havin' right now
Gotta get myself together 'cause some sh_t is goin' down
Hit you people off with my new cd
Hard to swallow, like saying "f__k the industry!"
I'm stompin' through the bayou with my black boots laced
And takin' out you motherf__kers acting two-faced
For the people out there gonna blaze 'till i die
Blaze up the thai

[...] Read more

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Narratives

Narratives we tell to show
who we believe we are deceive
the listeners who are forced to go
with that one version they receive,
because we’ve may others we
can tell to different people to
impress them with our pedigree
and perspicacious points of view.
Do we from truth take long excursions
by changing tales about ourselves,
to find as many different versions
as books in volumes on our shelves?
No, there’s some truth in each refrain,
for every life is like a ballad
with different verses that explain
its variations, each as valid
as the next one, contradictions
all harmonized with disappearance
of prejudice about the fictions
that help to give the facts coherence.

Inspired by Benedict Carey, who writes about narratives we tell of our lives (“This Is Your Life (and How You Tell It, ” NYT, May 22,2007) :

For more than a century, researchers have been trying to work out the raw ingredients that account for personality, the sweetness and neuroses that make Anna Anna, the sluggishness and sensitivity that make Andrew Andrew. They have largely ignored the first-person explanation — the life story that people themselves tell about who they are, and why. Stories are stories, after all. The attractive stranger at the airport bar hears one version, the parole officer another, and the P.T.A. board gets something entirely different. Moreover, the tone, the lessons, even the facts in a life story can all shift in the changing light of a person’s mood, its major notes turning minor, its depths appearing shallow. Yet in the past decade or so a handful of psychologists have argued that the quicksilver elements of personal narrative belong in any three-dimensional picture of personality. And a burst of new findings are now helping them make the case. Generous, civic-minded adults from diverse backgrounds tell life stories with very similar and telling features, studies find; so likewise do people who have overcome mental distress through psychotherapy. Every American may be working on a screenplay, but we are also continually updating a treatment of our own life — and the way in which we visualize each scene not only shapes how we think about ourselves, but how we behave, new studies find. By better understanding how life stories are built, this work suggests, people may be able to alter their own narrative, in small ways and perhaps large ones. “When we first started studying life stories, people thought it was just idle curiosity — stories, isn’t that cool? ” said Dan P. McAdams, a professor of psychology at Northwestern and author of the 2006 book, “The Redemptive Self.” “Well, we find that these narratives guide behavior in every moment, and frame not only how we see the past but how we see ourselves in the future.” Researchers have found that the human brain has a natural affinity for narrative construction. People tend to remember facts more accurately if they encounter them in a story rather than in a list, studies find; and they rate legal arguments as more convincing when built into narrative tales rather than on legal precedent.

5/22/07

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Cornelia Păun Heinzel

The Legend of Legends written by Cornelia Păun Heinzel

The Legend of Legends written by Cornelia Păun Heinzel
One day, God called St. Peter to him and said :
– St. Peter, I want you to go around the world to see how the people are doing. I gave them the Bible full of lectures to be a teacher and a model in their lives. I gave them great writers to create stories for kids, religious stories or even about history inspired by the history of their beloved nation. I gave them poets to delight them with the magic of their lyrics. I gave them musicians to bless them with their music. I gave them bards and singers to sing and imitate their lovely creations. I gave them actors to perform with talent the beautiful creations of the play writers. I want to know if they’re enjoying my gifts and if these gifts straight from my pure heart have really changed the way they live in a good way and my work wasn’t for nothing.
St. Peter quickly embarked on a long journey. He climbed some of the tallest mountains, he went down to the beaches filled with golden sand, he listened to the music of the fishermen. He went through cities and villages, heard the wisdom of proverbs and popular sayings and looked at various occasions, being charmed by the spiritual wealth of the ceremonies. He went with people to church to religious services. He participated with them in prayers, and St. Peter’s journey was over.
He went straight back to heaven with much to say about what he has seen. He presented before the Holy God:
– Holy God, he said, I have searched the whole world. I have listened to the beautiful lyrics of people and their great songs. I went and prayed with them at the church. I participated in their charming celebrations. I saw great theater plays. I heard stories that made my ears rejoice. I read with pleasure books for kids that were magical, fantastic, historical, philosophical, religious, romantic, and satirical. But, I still have a problem. I don’t know what sort are those stories that contain fantastic or unthinkable, embroidered on the background of a historical reason, or something totally different never heard of before that describes something or even a creature. The different character, someone historical, or a hero that has been proven to be a myth or even a phenomenon, those stories are different from the truth and they should have a different name.
– You spoke the truth, St. Peter. I thought long ago of something like this. I meditated long enough and I want from now, these different stories to be named legends, God said.

– God, then this must be the legend of legends because it narrates how legends are created, said St. Peter.

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Cornelia Păun Heinzel

The Legend of Legends

The Legend of Legends written by Cornelia Păun Heinzel
One day, God called St. Peter to him and said :
– St. Peter, I want you to go around the world to see how the people are doing. I gave them the Bible full of lectures to be a teacher and a model in their lives. I gave them great writers to create stories for kids, religious stories or even about history inspired by the history of their beloved nation. I gave them poets to delight them with the magic of their lyrics. I gave them musicians to bless them with their music. I gave them bards and singers to sing and imitate their lovely creations. I gave them actors to perform with talent the beautiful creations of the play writers. I want to know if they’re enjoying my gifts and if these gifts straight from my pure heart have really changed the way they live in a good way and my work wasn’t for nothing.
St. Peter quickly embarked on a long journey. He climbed some of the tallest mountains, he went down to the beaches filled with golden sand, he listened to the music of the fishermen. He went through cities and villages, heard the wisdom of proverbs and popular sayings and looked at various occasions, being charmed by the spiritual wealth of the ceremonies. He went with people to church to religious services. He participated with them in prayers, and St. Peter’s journey was over.
He went straight back to heaven with much to say about what he has seen. He presented before the Holy God:
– Holy God, he said, I have searched the whole world. I have listened to the beautiful lyrics of people and their great songs. I went and prayed with them at the church. I participated in their charming celebrations. I saw great theater plays. I heard stories that made my ears rejoice. I read with pleasure books for kids that were magical, fantastic, historical, philosophical, religious, romantic, and satirical. But, I still have a problem. I don’t know what sort are those stories that contain fantastic or unthinkable, embroidered on the background of a historical reason, or something totally different never heard of before that describes something or even a creature. The different character, someone historical, or a hero that has been proven to be a myth or even a phenomenon, those stories are different from the truth and they should have a different name.
– You spoke the truth, St. Peter. I thought long ago of something like this. I meditated long enough and I want from now, these different stories to be named legends, God said.

– God, then this must be the legend of legends because it narrates how legends are created, said St. Peter.

poem by from The Alternative Canada (2017), translated by Filip EnacheReport problemRelated quotes
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My Friend Oliver

My name is Roberts,
a reporter I used to be;
until one day I was sent to interview
an interesting man
whose name was Oliver Cyriax.

It was many year ago
that I first met him
and much to my surprise
he asked me to be his official biographer.

He stood against a fireplace
with his briar pipe in his hand.
He then went to tell me
stories from distant lands.
He wasn’t adventurer, but a ghost hunter of sorts.

I sat there in amazement
at all the things he said.
Those stories weren’t for recording,
at least not yet.
They were told to explain to me
of the kind of life he lead.

His career if you want to call it that
started in the middle 1800’s
on a Tramp Steamer
and lasted for more than half a century.
The strange things he saw
at times made my blood run cold.

He seemed a very quiet man
who was content with his life.
He did not appear to be someone
you would expect for the job that he did.

He smiled when he spoke
of a couple of amusing tales
he had been involved in
and looked sad at others
which had taken something from his life.

He related tales of horror,
which made you, shiver when he spoke.
He related tales of mystery
of which some were never to be solved.
He told me how he had lost friends
with their encounter with the unknown.

When he finished speaking,

[...] Read more

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