QWERTY Troubles

 It’s a rainy day and not just outside……


Well it’s a start


The keyboard just sits there


The buttons seem to shift to form a grin


You lay your hands on them and try to wipe it off


The world of words remain stuck inside the flat formless characters


You smash then into reaction but they resist and the screen fills with noise


Then your brain engages and you realise that it’s not the fault of these innocent plastic faces


But they have been hurt and recoil to your touch and the noise continues until you slam the lid closed

You are a writer




Clean out your life

Woke up one morning and decided that enough was enough and it was time for a new start with many things.

Clean out your life
Cut it like a knife
Slice back the peripheral
Gouge deep the most superfi-cial
Wash yourself clean with sacrifi-cial…
moods and then it’s done!

You’re clean

You’re bright

The mood is light

No concerns

Everyone learns…

That you’re not to be taken

For granted

Not now

Not! No! More!


The Island

This piece is the result of a writing exercise building on the selection of items for the BBC Radio4 ‘ Desert Island Discs’ format. My recording selections and luxury item can be found at the end of the piece, see if you can relate each to the piece.

The heroic musical themes of the Puccini playing out over the ships loudspeakers seemed bizarre in the chaos as the last of we passengers hung onto the railings not knowing what to do for the best. The Messa di Gloria, a mass for glory seemed rather inappropriate but then it did its best, it could have been a requiem I guess. Another chap spoilt the delicious harmony as he screamed his way down into the sucking vortex of the ships sinking.

I had hung on as long as I did because I thought I could see through the waves as blip of some land getting closer but then I could have just been desperate.

In my head I was singing You Raise Me Up, as the largest of the waves pushed me over the coral reef and rolled my almost lifeless body onto the beach. The sand’s heat was welcome through the tattered remains of my dress suit. We have been attending a gala evening dinner and show. The spectacle of the chandelier falling to the stage during iconic excerpts from Phantom of the Opera proved to not be an effect but the start of the catastrophe.

Listening to the swish swash of the gentle wave fall around me, I didn’t really want to open my eyes for the fear of what might be there. Eventually though, as there were no other sounds to go by I forced the gritty lids to open. A sea of red made them snap shut and I cried out at the pain of crushed sea shells scratching my delicate corneas. Forcing them open, the red wasn’t the gore that I must have thought but a wall of of crimson poppies on the edge of the semi tropical undergrowth. Always musically minded, the opening bars of Andrea Bocelle, Amapola, Poppies, a love song, gently massaged away the pain.

The waves were retreating as the tide fell back towards the lagoon and I sat on a fallen tree trunk watching the large red crabs picking through the high tides bounty.

I had been lucky to have survived, I had to keep telling myself that singular fact although where things would go from here I had no idea. From a week or more of detritus being washed ashore, most of it damaged beyond use by the destructive, grabbing fingers of the reef, it did at least give me more than nature alone was providing. The most useful thing was a large container presumably from the kitchens. Being empty and the lid having somehow stayed on gave me an insect, reptile and bird proof receptacle for things.

A bottle of whisky from the bar had also run the gauntlet but seemed to go down far too quickly. I had taken to sitting to watch the sun go down watching the stars being born in the twilight and quietly singing a Barbara Streisand classic Evergreen, it seemed appropriate in this verdant if empty paradise.

After the amber liquid had run out my stomach was eviscerating itself as I found that you can’t live on coconut as a staple for very long, I forced myself to venture into the lush low jungle.

Surprisingly I thought I would have done this much earlier but the malaise that had settled, hoping to spot the grey white billows from the funnels of a rescue ship slicing through the horizon was fading with each sunset.

I hadn’t gone far along what seemed to be a natural winding path when I was transfixed by an obviously unnatural figure, a slab of rock fringed with creeping vegetation depicted a large figure some twelve feet high. An Armed Man. A warrior, I stood and stared, the jungle around me took on a very different feeling now and every twist of vine became a native limb, each flower became an eye. I tried to become part of the vegetation but nature rejected me and I fled.

Back in the exposed safety of the open beach I realised that my mind was playing tricks as it showed me the flailing blades of scissor like fingers slicing trough the greenery and bloodily into me, Jonny Depp’s portrayal of the misunderstood Edward sent a shiver through me although it was calmed slightly by the haunting theme of what was one of my favourite films. Common sense returned. The figure was obviously just part of a lingering history, hopefully now long gone.

My still tingling nerves reacted with an electric shock and I threw myself to the ground at the terrifying noise from behind me. A long bellowing cacophony of unearthly noise. Behind closed eyes my brain scrambled for an image to put to it; it found one but not before a hand grabbed my shoulder and tried to turn my screwed up face to the sunlight.

A soft French accent massaged my ears, “This one’s alive skip, come on my friend, let’s bring you home.”

Desert Island Discs

Puccini Messa di Gloria
Andrea Bocelle Amapola (Poppy)
Andrew Lloyd-Webber Night time – Phantom of the Opera
Claude-Michel Schönberg Bring Him Home – Les Mis
Barbara Streisand Everything – A start is born
Danny Elfman Theme – Edward Scissor Hands
Karl Jenkins The Armed Man
Josh Groben You raise me up

Luxury Large Large Waterproof Container

A New Creation

A Modern Creation

This is a shortened version of alternative ways of looking at some of the bible stories many of us know and love. Others as featured in my book,
‘A New Creation’
available on Lulu.com and also Amazon.

The afternoon sun dappled itself through broad leaves against the rich olive coloured skin stretched to cover the soft contours rolling seamlessly into each other to create an exercised, beautiful, but naked body. Adam expanded his ample chest with a deep breath, leant back against the tree trunk, breathed slowly out again, and relaxed. The sweat that glistened on his skin was mixed with honest dust which he wiped from his palms onto the grass before pulling off a small handful of soft ripe berries drooping from a nearby cane. He would often rest like this when it got too hot in the day or when he just felt the need to appreciate the beauty of the garden he worked in.

Having always been alone in his earth-born world, he had nothing to hide his nakedness away from and, as if to demonstrate that it didn’t bother anyone else, a butterfly landed on his stomach and picked delicately at the drying salt crystals. Smiling to himself, he gently wiped at the river-let of moisture that ran down the crease in his muscular chest and the defined ridges below it before it reached the fragile creature.

With plenty to do still, his reverie couldn’t last too long and he eventually returned to finish the jobs he had set himself for that day. When done, sleep called him alluringly to its comforting bosom and so, to bed.

Once deep inside this virtual world, he became aware of a growing disturbance. He had the vague impression that somehow his virility, his masculinity, the very essence of his gender was being examined. He felt so disturbed, violated even, he tried to bring himself back but the attempt was swiftly overtaken as, in his head at least, he found himself crying out at a sharp pain that stabbed into his chest. It was over in a millisecond, and forgotten.

Another unprecedented feeling assaulted his senses, panic. He felt himself falling helplessly and threw his arms out to try and save himself although he couldn’t comprehend from what. One of his flailing limbs hit something in its path but it was not the bed that he might have expected. It was firm and compliant as his mattress would have been, but issued a grunt of complaint. He would have let out a cry himself but found his chest cavity frozen with fear. After what seemed to be too long, with lungs screaming inwardly, he took in a volume of vital air. Even then he was transfixed in silence.

As he stared wide eyed into the darkness, a normality slowly began to flow back into his taught, prone perfection. There it was again. More of a groan this time, not the animal utterance as before. Information spun round in his beleaguered brain. A rustle. A breath of air. A radiant heat from somewhere troubling close to him. A soft warm limb laid itself gently across his static chest.

His left ear twitched as it heard, “Good morning.”

© DP Rollason