Writers Regret

Molly Brett

Late last night,
I lay in bed,
Reading stories in my head.
Is that true of you?
Do you jump out of bed and write them down straight from your head?
or do  you just lay on and forget and in the morning, be full of regret?
Oh dear, me too.

Could it be the writer or poets curse,
To get up at night to write  down a wee verse,
that just won't seem to go away, unless
it's written down straight away.

be well Agman.

The Grim Reaper ( you never know when you are called to go)

Jess at "The Secret DMS files of Fairday Morrow".
made a comment on one of my blogs,






She said "you never know when your time may be up"
Which got me thinking? It's so true! so this ones down to you, Jess!

The "Grand Reaper" or the "Grim reaper" or the "Dark Angel"! or whatever! take your pick, What about "Anubis"?  I'm sure there are more names for the last person we ever speak to, assuming we do get to speak?

I wonder who he works for? who's side he's on? does he
even have side?
Or does he just wait for your time to run out, lurking, waiting, hanging about.

He can come at any time?  day or night, any-time at all,
I'm sure he will give us all a fright, when he says, "times up"! "Say goodnight? "  "lets go"  "your dead"." "come now, we must be on our way." I haven't got all day.

Now I believe you must have a plan of what you will do,
when you meet the man.
Now I know my plan didn't work so well on my blog
"The Pearly Gates" so I've had to change my plan a bit.
So here's my latest update to it.

Now I fully expect to meet the Grim Reaper one day or night?
if he comes to me at night and stands at the end of my bed.
Then this is what I hope I would have said.

Lord!  Please don't take me today? I'm not ready to go away?
Don't make me leave a sweet memory behind,
My lady has no part in my crime.
Please let me go and see my lady once more and make things right? and let me say I'm sorry, for leaving and slamming the door,
give me that chance ? to go away with the taste of her name upon my lips? for she is my favourite memory of all.
Given by you I do recall.

And I will never see her again, before you send me away into that dark, bottomless pit with hells everlasting fire at the bottom of it.

Lord ? Who is this dark malevolent messenger of yours? standing close by at the head of my bed?
Who rips away the bond between me and my soul.

Ending the wanderings of my ways, stopping the stories of my days.
I don't know which way to turn to run away, my secrets will be untold and just like me, fade away in memory.
So this will be my last farewell, for I am surely off to hell.

Lord: After all the wrong I did to thee,
I know you will never let me be free,
because I committed that terrible sin.
Your commandments I broke and let slip away.
What's done cannot be undone? It's too late for me.
Your heaven is a place I will never see.

So when I die? and the reaper comes to take me away.
One grace I would ask of thee,
Bury me high up in the sky, so I can again learn how to fly.
If this is too much I ask of thee?
Bury me high upon a hill, beneath a tree over-looking the sea,
where the flowers grow and bloom each year,
and the sound of the sea will be sweet to my ear.

Lord ! If this is not in your plan for me? you could just leave me on the shore, the tide will come and wash me away,
a happy soul I will be, for at last I will be, all at sea.

Please? Lord? I beg of thee, forgive me? don't send me to that dark place? where I cannot see.
For in death I am fearful of eternity, a place where one cannot see.
It's too late to call back yesterday, all my friends have passed away.
Please? Lord I'm pleading with thee? don't do this to me, I'm sorry, can't you see?

Lord what can I say? what can I do?
I'm just a man made by you.

For me! today is my worst day, for the day of reckoning is here and I am shaking within my fear,
listening to the winds of time, as it blows me away from here.

It would seem I have to go and leave thee.
For I see a little fairy waits for me, to smile and say, "I'm ready for her to take me away"
To her realm of fantasy where all the fairies wait for me and the Queen of all the fairies, will forgive me?

I thank you Lord for listening to my plea?
and keeping the reaper away from me.


Think Kindly of me lord

Agman.

My Birthday

An old friend

It's a couple of days past my birthday, and I have had no word or contact from my brother Michael, which for me is  strange as we have always been close, regardless of where I am in the world Michael is my rock.
Plus we are both not young men,
So I'm sure the Grand reaper has our names in his book? so we live with this.

I'm in the shower when I heard the postman on my drive, so I climbed dripping wet from the shower and sneaked quietly towards the mail door, as the mail drops through the door I grab it. it's from my brother, "thank you lord! happiness !"

I place it on the hall table and return to the shower feeling happy.
As I pass the full length mirror, I caught my reflection in it, at first "I thought who is that old boy"?
Then I noticed my body had more scars then I realised, how the hell am I still alive?
Golly when I get to the pearly gates I'm sure I will be asked, "what the hell did I do to the perfectly nice, unmarked body, I was issued with at the start of my life"?
I'm sure I will find and give a cheeky answer, before being sent away again.
So I just went back and into the shower.
I have the pleasure of reading my mail after.

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving at the pearly gates, in an attractive and well preserved body.
But to slide sideways into heaven with a box of chocolates in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other hand, body thoroughly used up,and totally worn out, and screaming Wow what a ride!

so that's what happened to me today, how was your day?

Be Well.
Agman

A wee Mystery? Crop Circles

PA25 260hp

The web Site:
The secret D.M.S. files of Fairday morrow.
Has many things I enjoy,
it's creative and leaves you thinking, and that's got to be good, right?
So of course I follow it. See for yourself? visit their site, you will not be disappointed.

This weeks theme was about crop circles, so I just thought I would mention what I saw in the late 1970.

I was flying along at 1000 feet on my way to a weed spraying job.
I was over the wheat country of central Victoria, around 150 miles north of Melbourne. and seventy miles east of the Hume highway, no roads to speak of, just dirt tracks.

So you can tell I wasn't really in striking distance of the crop circle promoters.
I had wheat all around me for at least 50 miles, when I noticed a mark on the wheat about 6 miles in front of me.
As I approached it it grew larger and as I flew over it, I saw it was a crop circle.

Now it was the first time I had seen one, but I had read about them in the newspapers, how they were seen a lot in Europe.
Of course our little green men! were getting all the blame?

So just to be nosey I flew a lazy turn around the field, it was at least 20 acres in size and it was at least a quarter of a mile from a small dirt road, and there was no see-able spoor of anybody or anything being in the field or surrounding fields.
This circle was a bit rough, not a bit like the ones being reported in Europe, with their lovely geometric designs,
I was confident that no man had a hand in this or had been in the field.

It was a sort of a circle with a tuft of wheat standing up in the middle, I decided it was storm damage, created by the funnel that drops from the leading edge of a thunder cloud ( A tornado if you like) and returns back from whence it came creating no more damage.
So I flew on to my next job and forgot about it, until now.

A few years later I was lucky enough to see some proper ones, in Southern England during a spraying season,
and after observing them from the air.
I am again confident in the knowledge that they are man made, their spoor was easy to see from the air to the trained observers eye, they all seemed to be close to main roads and strange as it may seem they were also given a fair bit of news cover?

So my verdict is that the wee green man is innocent of interfering in our crops after flying millions of light years to get hear!

What do you reckon?

Agman

Is this stealing ?

Callair A9A

 
I am aware that more than a few people who read my blog.
May think I have a strange outlook on life and they may very well be right.
A short while ago I wrote a blog about DNA and what it may or not, end up being used for.
It was for me a good subject, but an never ending story.





Well the other day I picked up on a story, where  genetic Scientists are gathering DNA samples from the streets and analysing them, Cigarette, tissues, old cloths,and  glasses, that sort of thing, call it detritus from the street if you will.

But from these samples! there is a chance that they may be able to create a facial reconstruction! based on the analysis of the DNA,
that scientist have recovered from their collecting of street rubbish.

The mind boggles to think! you could be recognised from a piece of paper or cigarette end?
As  Genetic surveillance really swings into gear, even a picture of you, with a fine for littering! could surface ? how do you like those apples?

Commercial testing clinics will spring up all over the place and will test any object with a human DNA sample on it, for a unimaginable amount of things, as long as you can pay.

The company you work for would most certainly expect your DNA profile to be a part of your employment agreement.

You could in secret?  be able to take a sample and have it tested to check if your partner has been unfaithful?
Even have a paternity test?
Or test if you or your partner are  Genetically susceptibility to serious disease.
The permutations are endless for the human race.

Of course there are new laws being made all over the world to try and take some sort of control over this technology!
I say; Good luck with that.
This genetic material being gathered up in the streets has no names attached, to get permission! from for it's use, of their DNA?
A problem for the law.

In my humble opinion, I say! by the time the law catches up with this run away technology! and that's assuming it wants too, most of our entire genome sequence will have been gathered without our knowledge.
I think it goes without saying that the positives in this, far outweigh the negatives, but it still leaves a taste in my mouth and really its comes down to trust. Can we really trust them?

Now for my Question:

Now I consider myself a collector of unsigned notes, poems, terms of endearment, all left in books,  love notes and all many of inscriptions and rhymes, when I delve into my collection they give me great joy to read, make me feel very sad at times, allowing me an insight into their world an other time, believing I'm doing no harm.

I used to collect them by going to second hand book shops, looking and searching through the books. But now it's all changed technology!
"the mobile phone" has made me a wringing phone addict.
It doesn't matter where I am?
Now if I hear the sound of a mobile, I turn and look and my mind records the start and the finish of the call and the expression on their faces.
I see the opening smile, the brightness in their eyes, that is there, as soon as the person realises who's on the line, then the wringing off, the deep breath taken with deep never ending knowing personal  smile.
I think of it as the promise of what's to come, which stays long after the phone is put away.
There are so many different types of permutations to these calls,
not all are personal.
But you do see the person as they really are, they have no reason to hide their feelings, as they believe nobody is looking at them.

Leaves me wondering what was said to create such a response.
I collect them as memories and place them in my diary with my other collection and I remember the moment!
I am  reminded and pleased how we humans can be so personally loving towards each other, and that's what I enjoy to see.

So here we go to the moment of true:

Am I stealing these memories and thoughts? is it wrong? should the memories of these thoughts, be lost forever?
Should I stop? Am I an anonymous spy filling my own needs.


Perhaps thunder is the sound of god slapping his head in disbelief.

Agman.

Love Honour and Respect

         The lower end of the audience.

I borrowed this poetry, so we could all see the talent that shines within her poems, there for us all to see .




I used to go a'wandering.



I used to go a'wandering
across mystic lands so green
to visit with sweet faeries
and drink sweet tea with their Queen.

I used to go a'wandering
through enchanted meadows fair
to spend delightful days dancing
in the magical creatures square.

No longer can I traipse about
tho' I do remember those times
and the merriment I enjoyed
including making silly rhymes.

Written by Donna Yates.

and can be found in her book of poems;
Stepping Stones to Love Honour and Respect.

I recommend you rush of to amazon and get a copy as I'm about to do.
I just love this poem Donna I'm sure the rest will be  my treat.

Thank you.
Agman

School days.

Play yard

School day's.

1/08/2013.

Pinch punch first day of the month and no returns!

A Pinch and a kick for being so quick, no returns please!

Remember?  I do.

Agman.