Hollow Cost of History

I once dreamed about an angel, within the forest’s flickering light.

Dancing to sacred music – It was a most surreal, calming sight.

Until he mimed at me to stop, and to change my theme.

Causing dark, mysterious clouds to form, erasing every sunbeam.

He beckoned me over to whisper solemn words,

About some eagles, and vultures, that were menacing captive birds.

Moving them around, to attack them further, to prevent their flying away,

Aiming to destroy them and steal their nests, without having to pay.

But the eagle did see me, and started to say . . .

“Why did you look upon this place to dream, where all religions meet,

To see innocent families die, wrapped and buried in plain, white sheets.

To witness men, women and children, suffer and weep,

To make known we are complicit in wars, that keep this world from peace.”

The angel shouted angrily at the vultures, now building houses on captured land.

“Tomorrow, there will be more innocents who will die by your eager hand,

On this, their own land, where they were murdered for nought,

Because ancient stories, claiming their land as yours, are old, and unfairly sought.”

The angel approached me sadly, as I shielded my eyes from the bloodied ground.

Knowing that I was acting like many others, who look, without making a sound.

Raising his fist up to the sky, he reached out in hope to me,

Saying, “I will tell you now, what I know, and so written, what will come to be.”

“The isolated eagles, diseased from within their neglected nests,

Will be made destitute by the cunning vultures; no more are they wanted guests.

Both hated, for their using and supplying of the resources to prolong the war.

They will face accountability and punishment, for breaking international law.

The once captive birds will walk free on their own land. From the ashes they will rise.

They will teach their young for generations, about the vultures’ actions and lies.

Promoting truth and kindness as the only way to think and abide.

Proven when with no food, drink or shelter; they endured attempted genocide.”

Mind of a Spy

Excerpts from my Ruby Spy Novels

It all seems much easier now, to accept that soldiers always have to follow orders, regardless of what they think about them, or who gives them . . . or the consequences of their actions, or the long-term effect on their minds.

Spying is a different ‘game’. It is meant to stop wars and terrorism from happening in the first place . . . especially when diplomacy is in such disarray and lunatics are elected by the naive and apathetic populace. People get who they vote for – but then democracy is only useful for a small population, before imbalance and corruption sets in.

Spies gain information that can be used to counteract and destroy any thoughts of aggression from the perceived enemy, or to eliminate any threat that is likely to prevent a problem from occurring in the first place.

Spying is a game of fake news, propaganda and delusion. No one knows the truth anymore.

There is no “truth”- just the game that a few faceless people play, for their own inadequacies, using gullible and misguided people as their disposable pawns.

The common enemy now hails from those with power and greed, with some people assuming that they have a right to be treated better than others. So, they engage in skimming, side-swapping, terrorism and corruption, media manipulation, destruction . . . and killing.

After note: If we apply Ruby’s thoughts to Ukraine as an example. We know the top players from their latest “game” and what they do. The rest of the world suffers at the hands of just a few people . . . as they always have done.

Ruby Trilogy:

  • Spy Within a Ruby
  • Diamond for a Ruby
  • Ruby’s Covert Mission

All available on Amazon as a book or as a Kindle e-Book.

Lest we forget . . .

Strayley Anne

Hayley was a wild child – bright, yet inwardly dark,

Smiling, kind and thoughtful – honesty was her mark.

Much older beyond her years she seemed

While others chose greed she observed and dreamed

About what folks wished they were, not are,

No time to cast their thoughts afar.

She saw folks willing to share all and give.

Others poor, sick and troubled – just dying to live.

Some giving in too easily with a careless wistful sigh,

Yet soldiers fight for them to live –we honour where they die.

So young Hayley tried with all her might,

To protect our world from lack of foresight.

For they lay where they fell on foreign ground in Fromelles,

And none shall forget this,” so this Australian would tell

As she forged her ground from those who fought there,

Feeling through her compassion as their souls were laid bare.

Changed her name to sound patriotically strong and proud,

To Strayley-Anne. Reborn to rise up above the crowd.

Lest we forget,” she would sigh for those she had never met,

As if listening to their orders to stand fast and to protect.

Then wondered if they would smile or frown from the darkness where they lay,

Or cry out loudly with angry words, to make us “Go away!”.

Not for Them

Twisted stories

About past glories

Armies ever younger.

Those in power

Fear and cower

Not for them

The scourge of hunger.

Days go past, they go so fast

They do not last as much, as they once used to.

Fake news and propaganda, economies that wander

Away from young and poor folk, to feed the idle rich.

And when it comes the time to vote,

When politics resembles a leaky boat.

There’s no difference when the parties switch,

Subdued by their promised, short-term, lying pitch.