THE PHANTOM OF OPHELIA
Unable to move, his heart stood still as the howling alternated between the sounds of an abandoned woman weeping and then ascending into a near-deafening shrieking as a fit of uncontrollable anger was released.
Unable to move, his heart stood still as the howling alternated between the sounds of an abandoned woman weeping and then ascending into a near-deafening shrieking as a fit of uncontrollable anger was released.
We are all familiar with the terms, slap an’ tickle, hanky-panky or a little bit of how’s your father? Such colourful expressions amusingly suggest that we are more comfortable with alternatives to the taboo three-letter word.
Michael Walsh’s poem, The Garden Bower, evoked a story from a North American reader who writes: I have had these conversations since the last ten years with my husband Bert, who died so tragically. His soul left his body in 2009 when he signalled me by illuminating my office with the most radiant warm glow. When I looked outside there was a beautiful red cardinal bird sitting on the giant spruce tree in my back garden.
I suppose it is only natural that those in the public eye consider their biographies to be of interest to us lesser mortals. No doubt many have led colourful and exciting lives, especially those whose careers were in travel or entertainment.
There’s a special type of people in this world that is most often difficult to understand. These people prefer to be single and tied up at the same time. They are free spirits, innocent lovers, they see the world as it should be and what it can be.
A popular truism is that you are known by the company you keep’. I pondered this when walking with my companion we attracted pitying glances. Whilst I was reasonably attired my companion looked like a down and out. Wearing ill-fitting jeans and a jumper that had seen better days my friend was also in desperate need of a shave and haircut.
Many of the woes suffered by the Western nations can be attributed to the woeful ignorance of the general population – especially those born after 1980.
I am much amused by a Hagar the Viking cartoon in which Lucky Eddie declares Norwegian girls as being the best. The Norwegian sea bandit responds by declaring that ‘Bulgarian girls are pretty and they’re good cooks.’
Everyone has a book inside them and sadly this is where it usually stays. But as Richard Bach says, ‘a professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.’
When during a televised skirmish President Reagan’s recently published memoirs came up, former president wryly remarked: ‘I hear it’s a terrific book. One of these days I am going to read it myself.’
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