Fairy Rider Chapters 11 and 12

Fairy Rider by Leonie Roderick

Chapter 11
Meav watches her son through the open window. With the heat all the windows are open to catch the slight breeze.
“What are you doing?” Richard asks.

worlds – a musing from a shadowwhisper

Winter finally breathes her cold beautiful breath down my spine. I can relax, all is well with the world, my world… As April dies slowly an May reaches from the womb of this year I feel the changes in the weather all around me. This is hot meal season, Pannekoeke and soup, curries and stews and warm puddings to keep the cold at bay. It is a season to appreciate blankets more and those cozy feelings when you wake up underneath a warm blanket after a cold night and feel as if you could stay in that bed all day…

But not all have those luxuries. Somewhere people are living in cars or under a blanket of newspapers. Somewhere somebody cannot eat winter food and live on handouts or trashcans. Somewhere someone’s world is a cold pit of despair….

We should always be thankful that we have it better and when we find those less fortunate than us, try to help them, even if it is just a cup of coffee or an old blanket.

We are needed.
We can give.
We can make someone’s world a little better.
Let’s do it.

Blessings to all,
from Shadowwhisper

(c) 2014 allen simpson

My Winterwens iii (Fabel)

iewers het ‘n muis haar voorskoot laatval
‘n kat het kom leeu-mieeu
in die populier se gat
sy tuur onrustig na sy gevreet
gryp haar ketel laat kat se kind
kookwater vreet
haastige kat se bek verbrand
en iewers giggel ‘n hond
muis ma sug en skiet haar winterwens
in die lug
as pa muis net wil terugkom
van die antie se spens
by die plaas opstal
haar sesling se honger-roep maak haar al mal
nevermind haastige hond
selfs soms verbrand ‘n kat sy mond

(c) 2014 allen simpson
nie my beste nie… my gedagtes is ver van hier vandag, maar ek wou iets anders uit my gemaksone probeer

Fairy Rider Chapter 10

Fairy Rider by Leonie Roderick

Chapter 10

Saturday morning dawns bright and clear with an early morning breeze. Dillon knows later in the day it will be breathlessly hot and the sun will be shining down relentlessly. This is one of the big differences. In Johannesburg the mercury needle never reaches these heights and by comparison, could almost be regarded as cold. Even on the warmest day it never is as hot as this place.

the slow death of the sacred word

I wonder how many people I know have written full length books but they never got them published, especially in South Africa where some publishers are too afraid to publish something continental or their works are not ‘African’ enough, and with ‘African’ I do not mean politics but rather if the books are either Fantasy or maybe do not speak about our country’s diverse cultures… or the publishers are too old fashioned in their ways and publishing something like in the tradition of Harry Potter are ‘too satanic’ or against their ‘religious’ views….

I have met so many great writers yet they cannot get published…. Also there are local magazines that are too afraid to try new writers and use the same writers over and over again… Are the publishers committing art stagnation in stead of evolving with the rest of the world… No wonder people turn to the internet for solutions… it is a pity, there are many of us, me included that value the smell of a book and holding it in their hands, and having those books in their libraries as collections, and how many public libraries will also never share the awesomeness of some of these writers in a book….

it is a very sad…

And it is the slow death of the sacred word that will never be read, for some

(c) 2014 allen simpson

My Winterwens II (ekologies gesproke)

wind bring smart oor die aarde
waar sneeu in rooi pallette
‘n moeder omkring
soos ‘n doodskleed
haar kind treur in die wind

en iewers sit ‘n siek jagter
en dink net aan die hert se pels
‘n handsak vir ‘n modeslet
en vleis word net gemors
is dit pret
om
dood
te
maak
en net geld te eet

waar is die edelheid
verrot aan jou groenblare kontant, jou manlose vrek
dit is my winterwens

(c) 2014 allen simpson

Fairy Rider Special Edition Chapters 7 – 9

Fairy Rider by Leonie Roderick

Chapter 7
Dillon awakens suddenly and jumps out of bed. He stands in silence and listens.
In the moonlight he can see the two dogs. They growl deep in their throats and sit with ears pointed, heads turned.
He can also see the clock on the desk. Three o’clock!
What is happening outside? Why did he wake up, believing someone called him? More, why are the dogs growling?

My Winterwens

My hart roep uit vanaand
oor sterresee in drometyd
om geskep te word
op Noordewind se rug

daar waar sneeu dans
daar wil ek wees
waar witpoeierval magieus
soos herfblare neer sweef
waar dennebome saggies suis
en winterpsalms sing
waar winterwind haar arias
met haar alto-neurie bring

o neem my Noordewind
op reis na verreweg
waar Winter my kan omhels
en haar koue kus
my euforie bring…

(c) 2014 allen simpson

Fairy Rider Chapters 5 and 6

Fairy Rider By Leonie Roderick

Chapter 5

The tree isn’t that cheap and with the needed compost, fertilizer and soil he spends quite a bit of money.

His parents are impressed and his mother is even a little tearful when he presents them with the gift.

The man at the nursery and another man, a client, promised him the Acacia was a perfect choice for this area. For him it looked like an ordinary thorn tree, but he was assured that it would grow into a perfect shady tree.

The other man there seemed to know who a Dillon was; He didn’t introduce himself but talked away calling Dillon by his name.

Fairy Rider Chapter 3 and 4

Fairy Rider By Leonie Roderick

Chapter 3
As the train slowly leaves the station, Dillon sinks down onto one of the seats, waiting for inspiration to strike him. What is he going to do with his time until he gets there?
He opens his carry-all and feels around for the book he bought and has been waiting to read. Opening it he can’t summon the energy to concentrate on the written words.
Suddenly he feels bad. He shouldn’t have given that money away. He should have bought his mother some stupid gift and told her it came from his grandmother.

kind wees

Klei-lat speel en dammetjie bou
modderkoekies lê in ‘n tou
terwyl ons wag onder die bosveld son
vir die skoolbus om te kom

Kinders wat uitbundig lag
Buck Rogers speel tot in die nag
Goëlstories en spokery onder die maan vertel
en sterre kyk onder volmaan se spel

Kinders was vrolik, vry
maar die tyd is nou verby
vasgevang in PlayStation en tegnologie
te vroeg ryp, te vroeg vrot, teveel televisie

As ek net weer ‘n kind kon wees
om kinders vandag te wys hoe om te leef
om lag terug te bring
en die magiese krag
van modder
en om regtig te kommunikeer
sonder knoppies druk
sal hulle verstik?
of sal hulle leer om te leef?

Vooruitgang is soms ‘n siek grap
as kinders vergeet om in gras te trap
as kinders vergeet van koljander, koljander deur ‘n bos…
kind wees het oumens geword
voor twintig jaar oud
weet hulle te veel en leef hulle te min
waar is die kindwees heen….

(c) 2014 allen simpson