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There is no shortage of advice in today’s world. Books, Magazines, Blogs and TV programs dealing with self-help appeal to the masses. Yet, basic problems persist. People want to know where they can find help; how they can relieve anxiety; how they can find happiness; how they can resolve conflicts; and how they can deal with economic problems. You may wonder, ‘Is there a source of guidance that I can really trust?’ The answer is yes! The Bible, although thousands of years old, contains timeless principles that can answer such questions.

The Journey of comfort is a warlike adventure. No compromise should be entertained in the journey of comfort. It is not okay until all comes to right standing. The Psalmist wrote: ‘Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar! My soul hath long dwelt with him that hateth peace. I am for peace: but when I speak, they are for war.’ (Psalm 120:5-7).

The fact is that people are seeking for satisfaction, security and significance in the wrong place. God said, ‘For my people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.’ (Jeremiah 2:13)

No one else can lead you to the Comforter than the comforted and the comforted is the Comforter. The Comforter is the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is called a person and is equated with God. See Acts 5:1-4, where the Holy Spirit is identified as a person (because He can be lied to) and where lying to the Holy Spirit is equated with lying to God.

‘But a certain man named Ananias, with Sapphira his wife, sold a possession, And kept back part of the price, his wife also being privy to it, and brought a certain part, and laid it at the apostles’ feet. But Peter said, Ananias, why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the land? Whiles it remained, was it not thine own? and after it was sold, was it not in thine own power? why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart? thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God.’

The Comforter that Christ promised to send after He ascended to heaven is the Holy Spirit in all the fullness of the Godhead, making manifest the power of divine grace to all who receive and believe in Christ as a personal Lord and Saviour. There are three persons in one God: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Those who receive Christ by faith and baptized are empowered to live the new life in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus was born of the Holy Spirit and His virgin mother Mary into a humble Jewish family. Jesus was born in Bethlehem, but He was a native of Nazareth. The twelve apostles accompanied Jesus everywhere He went during His active ministry of about three and half years. They heard all His teachings, saw His miracles and acquainted with His character.

He became despised and rejected by many of His own people, who were more interested in dead tradition and earthly power. After the humiliation and agony of His cross, He was buried. But that was not the end because His earthly historic existence ended in the triumph of His resurrection and ascension to heaven.

The character of Jesus Christ is that of divine love; a love that knows no bounds; a love that exceeds our human understanding and comprehension. He loves us more than a mother loves her baby: ‘Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.’ (Isaiah 49:15).

Jesus Christ’s message to us is love: ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.’ (John 3:16-17).

Jesus Christ announced His mission according to Isaiah 61: 1-2; ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, To preach the acceptable year of the Lord.’ (Luke 4: 18-19).

It was His personality that drew men to Him. He was a man of great character. He had compassion on the crowds because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Because of His compassion for them, He healed their diseases and because of their hunger, He compassionately provided enough food to feed thousands of them. Kindness characterized His personality.

Old People in the Park

One afternoon last fall, I grabbed a sweater and a book and, after stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts for my favorite coffee to-go, I headed to the city park. A people-watcher by nature, I love walking the pathways through the park and then studying people from my bench who also love being there.

Not too far into the park, I picked out a bench where I could read for awhile. Just across from me, an elderly man was talking with his grandson who was seated on the bench next to him. The boy was six, maybe seven years old, with the most incredible blond curls framing what someday in his maturity would be a very handsome face. He had huge eyes that looked adoringly up at his grandfather, as though searching his face for answers to his many questions and they were holding hands.

When looking at any beautiful child, I can’t help but think of something my mother used to say, “With all of the beautiful children in the world, I wonder where all the homely adults come from.” I smiled, partly because she had been right, but also because I missed her terribly and the memory brought her closer to me.

I overheard the boy ask his grandfather, “Grampa, why are there so many old people in the park every day?”

The old man was quiet, thoughtful, for a minute. Then I heard him clear his throat. He let go of the boy’s hand and slowly stretched an arm around the youngster’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

Then in unhurried words, he told the boy, “Well, son, they’re just too alone at home to want to stay there. See, sometimes, old people need to be with other old people. Here in the park, they can share their favorite jokes and maybe play a lazy game of bocce ball or even play checkers to pass a little bit of time together.”

Then, looking down at the pigeons gathering on the ground around the bench, the old man reached into the pocket of his tan jacket and pulled out a small brown paper bag. He handed it to his grandson. The boy thanked him thoughtfully, reached into the rumpled brown bag, and with a great big smile, began tossing pieces of popcorn, one by one, to the pigeons, favoring a gray one with a pronounced limp.

As he did this, he asked the old man, “Grampa, why do they all call out names and wave at each new person that comes to the park?”

The grandfather cocked his head thoughtfully, thinking, and as though measuring each word, he slowly said, “It’s just a way of keeping their minds alive and well-oiled. You know, by remembering a person and their name. After all, your mind is just like a muscle and all muscles need to be exercised. Remembering everyone’s name and face is like a private game they all play, maybe it even helps them to ignore their pains and their problems.”

The boy nodded his understanding and continued to feed the pigeons, taking his temporary job quite seriously. Then, spotting a gray squirrel that had darted out from under the bench to steal a kernel of popcorn, he jumped up and stomped his small sneaker on the sidewalk with a loud “Shoo!” Of course, this also frightened the pigeons who instantly took to the air and it was so cute that it made me smile. Then the boy sat back down beside the old man, obviously disappointed by the sudden turn in events.

The boy sat quietly for awhile, as he watched the old people in the park. As I mentioned, I’m a people watcher and I followed where his eyes traveled. They stopped first on a couple of elderly men playing a game of checkers on a stone table. Then they moved on over to settle on a group of three even older men having what seemed to be a heated verbal exchange.

As he looked from one little group to the other, he asked his grandfather whether he thought the men playing checkers ever got tired of doing that. “Do they just sit there every day doing the same thing for hours and hours?” Then without waiting for an answer, he glanced at the men who seemed to be arguing, and asked, “What do you suppose they’re so upset about, Grampa?”

The old man smiled lovingly at the boy. He cleared his throat again and in a slow, determined voice, he explained to his grandson that to some of the old folks, the daily checkers games were a way of making some sense out of a changing world that they didn‘t feel they were a part of any more. He said, in a way, it was like keeping them in touch with a world they did know — and it got them out of their recliners and away from their TV sets for a little while, too.

The old man stared into space quietly for a moment. Then he went on to explain that the three men who seemed to be in a heated discussion weren’t really arguing. They antagonized and criticized each other a little bit, but just to keep their juices flowing, not to be mean or hurtful. He said sometimes they even acted a little bit wise by bragging, or maybe griping, about the good old days. You know, talking about their old girlfriends or teasing the others about their old girlfriends. The boy giggled at his grampa’s explanation and then in typical little-boy fashion, he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

By now, the pigeons had again begun to congregate at the boy‘s feet, tentatively at first, then with a little more fervor. It always amazed me how the feed-ees recognized so easily which feet belonged to the specific feed-er, because somehow they always knew and went straight to them.

The boy stuck his hand once again into the rumpled brown bag and brought out his next offering for the hungry rascals on the ground below. Both of them sat in silence, watching and grinning as the greedy winged goblins jockeyed into position for the next morsel dispensed from the small hand.

The boy then turned his face up to look into his grandfather’s eyes and he asked him how long everyone stayed here in the park and how they knew when it was time to go.

The old man sighed. His eyes were still focused on the pigeons. At first, I thought he hadn’t heard the boy, but then I saw him lovingly pat the blond curls on the top of his head. The grandfather told him they stayed till it started to get dark, or sometimes, until it just got too cold to be there any longer. Then, one by one, they waved goodbye, again calling each other by name, just as they did every day when they first got there. Then they went home again and, for many of them, back into the past again, too.

The boy nodded, then he smiled up at the old man again, and both renewed their feeding ritual of the pigeons. After a little while, the boy asked his grandfather how he knew so much. The old man told him that when you got to be his age … well, there were some things you … you just knew.

With that, the youngster looked up at his grandfather with a concerned look on his face and said “Grampa, I love you. You’re NOT old. You’re … you’re like a shiny red apple. You’re ripe and … you’re just right.”

The old man laughed out loud and, God help me, I did, too. Maybe it was the dwindling light, or it might have been a trick of my eyes, but I could swear I saw the many lines in his face smooth right out. He looked a full ten years younger and I was surprised to find a tear on my own cheek as I watched the old man swipe at his eyes when his laughter had finally subsided.

Slowly, the old man looked up into the sky. He told his grandson they should be getting along home now. As they rose to leave, the grandfather replaced the now empty rumpled brown paper bag in his pocket and stood up to leave. One by one, the others in the park raised an arm and called him by name, almost in unison, “Bye, Gabe.”

He, in turn, did the same. “Bye, Herb, Sam, Max, Shorty, Charlie, Gib.”

“Hey, Gabe. We still on for checkers tomorrow at nine?” Called one man who was sitting next to the men playing checkers on the stone table.

“Sure, Sam. Lookin’ forward to it,” was Gabe’s response.

I was sure God would forgive his little white lie …

The last I saw of the little boy who was at the beginning of his life, and the wise and loving old man nearing the end of his, they were walking slowly back down the path through the park, hand in hand.

Bumble Bee

Today I watched a bumble bee.
He was on a pretty rose.
When I leaned in to look at him,
he stung me on my nose!

I wasn’t going to squish him,
only watch and see …
but I’ll never get that close again
to a grouchy grumble bee.

I Love Bugs

I love teeny tiny ants
and itchy bitsy fleas,
spiders, big and little,
and grouchy grumble bees,

butterflies that flutter by,
and beetles when they run
from marching caterpillars.
I think bugs are fun!

Skeeters like to bite me,
but lightning bugs, they don’t,
and flies that get inside the house
could bite, but they won’t.

Silly racing centipedes
and slow and slimy slugs
are my very special favorites.
I love bugs.

Bedtime Prayer

Now I lay me
Down in bed.

All my prayers
and night-nights said.

Snuggle bunny, teddy bear,
toasty blankie, all are here.

Out with the light
so dreams will come.

Thank you, God.
Now, where’s my thumb?

(Night-Night)

Caterpillar

Fuzzy caterpillar
with your million-jillion feet,
how do you know which foot should go
as you’re walking on that leaf?

You make it look so easy,
right-left-right, the way you do,
sometimes MY feet get tangled up
and I have only TWO …

Blankies

Blankie was made to be slept with.
Blankie was made to be hugged.
Blankie cares when mom and dad can’t be there
’cause blankie was made to give love.

I sure do miss mine when it’s in the wash,
(blankie gets dirty, you see)
’cause everywhere I go, blankie goes, too,
with mommy and daddy and me.

Help! Monsters!

Help! Monsters in my closet.
Monsters in the hall.
Monsters underneath my bed
and Monsters in the wall.

Monsters ‘hind my bedroom door.
They’re in the bathroom, too.
I know they’re ugly green ones,
maybe even red or blue!

My bed feels like an island
with the monsters everywhere
… til Mommy says goodnight to them,
then they all just disappear.

The Swinging Song

Bye oh bye up,
bye oh bye down.
Bye oh bye feet,
way off the ground.

Swing-ing, swing-ing,
I love swing-ing.

Bye oh bye high,
bye oh bye low.
Bye oh bye faster,
look at me go.

Swing-ing, swing-ing,
I love swing-ing.

Bye oh bye fly
up to the sky.
Bye oh bye push me
higher than high.

Swing-ing, swing-ing,
I love swing-ing.

Bye oh bye eyes
are closing now
bye oh bye head
is nodding down

Swing-ing, swing-ing,
I love swing-ing.

Bye oh bye gently,
bye oh bye slow,
bye oh bye, shhhhh,
To sleep I go.

(whispering as swing slows down)

Swing-ing, swing-ing,

I

love

swing-ing.

When It’s Over, You Just Know

You don’t always know
how you know,
it comes slowly, the awareness.
With the certainty and final resignation
of a child learning there’s no Santa Claus,
you just know.

The breakfast table, once a venue
for long dreamy stares
and coffee-flavored kisses,
awkwardly becomes a silent stage
for reading the news,
eating breakfast, and
you just know.

The smell of his shirt
when you’d bury your face there,
the feel of his hands on your body
as if they had a life of their own,
all silently slip to a place
wherever memories go
to gather dust, and
you just know.

You miss the nights,
how his body and yours
breathed and moved as one.
Maybe it’s those nights
and how they were
that give the knowing life, but
you just know.

Like ocean waves upon the sand,
love recedes
with all the other yesterdays
and you would trade
all your tomorrows
to have it back, but
you just know.

Anatomy of a Poet

Go in through the eyes of a poet
deep into her alphabet mind.
Ideas like flotsam and jetsam
dodge poetry fragments and lines.

Beware the dark shadows of memory,
knife-sharp and bloodied by time,
or gentle, orgasmic and sensual,
swirling eddies, some without rhyme.

Softly notice the spirit in hiding.
Tiptoe past the bruised heart mending there,
knitting poems, pearls strung on a necklace,
unfinished jewels everywhere.

Take note on your tour of this poet
the outside no different you see,
but inside, my God, a passion abyss,
the poet, the woman, the me.

Give Me a Poet for a Lover

Oh Lord,
give me a poet
for a lover
whose words
stroke me
like velvet hands.
Word-tender caresses
more reaching
than the caress
of a mere mortal man.
A poet’s light touch
is so gentle.
Word-fingers probe
deep every time,
arousing me,
haunting me,
wetting me,
seducing me,
body and mind.
Oh Lord,
give me a poet
for a lover!
Lust and fire
burn in his heart.
A silver-tongued devil
whose words make me ache
to be on my knees
in the dark.
Word-foreplay
making me want him,
only mind-loved,
I want to be free
to feel just one time
my poet inside,
where only mind-lust
up to now has loved me.

I Am a Lady

I am a lady,
but I am
so much more.
I am capable
of great insight
and quiet wisdom,
undying devotion
and love.
I am willing to give
more than receive
as long as it doesn’t
become habit and you
take and take
and never offer
anything in return.
I am a lady.
I am more than
a receptacle,
or a body
to be viewed
and screwed
at your leisure
with no thought
to what goes on
above my neck.
I’ll not be
a window dressing,
nor your bobble-head doll
who nods in agreement
with everything
you say and do.
I am a lady.
I’ve heard it said
that to kiss a man
when he wants
to be kissed
is like scratching a place
that doesn’t itch,
but I will guarantee
that I’ll always
have an itch
and not just for kisses,
but only if I am loved
and the love is shared
with respect, kindness,
honesty and faithfulness.
Rest assured,
it will all be returned
to you ten-fold,
because you see,
once the bedroom door
closes and the passion
rages in my blood,
I don’t have to be
a lady any more …

Full Circle

A little girl clops in mommy’s heels,
her dress, a floppy hat.
The borrowed pearls she’s chosen
dangle halfway down her back.

Her face a shining rainbow,
ruby lips, cheeks tinted pink,
blue splashes on both eyelids,
powder snowflakes in the sink.

She’ll go twirling in a ballroom,
a princess with her knight.
Or better still, be mommy
out with daddy Friday night.

In a child’s imagination
everything is crystal clear,
yet the truth beneath the surface
is revealed in mommy’s mirror.

That little girl is all grown up,
clothes and shoes are now my size,
but now the mirror of maturation
… is my own daughters’ eyes.

I Remember Mama

I remember Mama
blowing chewing gum bubbles
to entertain us while she ironed.
I was too young for school,
Sesame Street wasn’t invented yet,
the rain was pouring outside
and I was awed.

I remember Mama
sewing at her machine into the night
when she had to get up early for work,
patching my favorite pair of cutoffs
‘just one more time’
or putting pockets on pants
because my little brother adored them,
and I still hear her words,
‘There’s all kinds of ways to say
I love you.’

I remember Mama
teaching us that beauty on the inside
was more important than on the outside.
‘A kind word to a stranger
might be the only kind word
that person heard all day’
and how good it felt
finding out she was right.

I remember Mama
telling us to hold onto our dreams.
Make them happen and never say ‘I can’t’
and how funny I thought it
when she said
the world was our watermelon
and all we had to do was
grab it and take a bite.

I remember Mama
who taught us best by example
with her unconditional love.
Love isn’t love until it’s given away
and it’s in the giving that we know
it truly does come back ten-fold.

I remember, Mama.

Choices

Life is full of crossroads,
hard lefts or rights and paths
going this way or that.
Each choice has bumps
and potholes, ruts
and the occasional hairpin
turn. Choices are
chances to learn and grow.
Never alone, our guidance
whispers by our side.
Dusting myself off,
I’ve wondered at times
how my life might have
differed, had I taken
a straighter route.
Lord knows, I could have
used a few more straight
stretches along the way,
but at least I made my
choices, some good,
some not so good,
but each was perfect for me
at the time, creating the woman
that now is. How sad for those
who merely hitchhike through life
never daring to choose at all.

Dining on Love

We dine
in orchid splendor,
pheasant under glass,
fine china, lace,
a rare aged wine,
and whisper in candlelight.

We dine
on dandelion picnics,
indian blanket on the grass,
radio crooning love songs,
beer and paper plates,
playing ‘loves me-loves me not’ in the stars.

We dine
at last and after either
in blood-red roses style
the props are gone,
not needed now,
we feast upon each other
till sleep excuses us from our table …

Just a Man I Knew

There was a man I knew
and just knowing him
made me think of poetry.

Loving him I learned
that accepting love
is as important as giving it
and the not so subtle difference
between loving lukewarm
and loving red hot.
Love like that
can make you stupid,
a total-immersion
kind of stupid,
but it made me want
to read poetry.

In a different time,
a different place.
it might have worked,
but it was over and
when the last page was turned,
he was only a man I knew.
I have no regrets,
just one perfect memory.
And, because I loved him,
I write poetry.

Heartbeats

What if we’re born with
a predetermined number
of heartbeats
and, when they’re gone,
we’re gone?
Just in case it’s true ,
I’m not going to waste mine
running down some road
in silly spandex pants
and a jog bra.
I’m going to make my
thumping little tickets last
as many years as I can.
At my age,
I’ve already used up
a hell of a lot of them
just getting here.
I’ll spread them out,
save them for what’s important,
like running away from
something or someone bad.
I also intend to use a lot of them
for making love.
If life really is a journey
and not a destination,
I might as well enjoy myself
along the way …

A Nickel for Thoughts of You

I wish I had a nickel
for every time I think of you
watching TV on the couch,
chin parked on your chest,
not sleeping, just resting
your eyes for a minute;
or with your brows furrowed,
chasing an errant whisker
on the face in the mirror;
or your hands on the keyboard,
and the amazing speed
of the intricate thoughts,
considering the size of your hands;
or you secretly watching me
from across the room,
and me secretly catching you
secretly watching me;
or your gentle touch
when you pass my chair,
just because you’re glad I’m here.
Love is measured
in so many little minutes.
It’s important we not miss them,
for who knows,
life might be metered in hours.
It isn’t really about the nickels,
— but it would be fun
to see the almighty pile of coins.

Mr. Beggar Man

You were a gentle soul,
in your stained red plaid shirt,
hat speckled with bird poop,
and saggy-baggy pants that stopped
just above two heel-less shoes
that were see-through
to feet with no socks.

So many mornings
I walked by your corner,
putting money in your cup
if only to borrow a smile
when I had none left of my own.
I always knew the one you gave
would be the one that found
those I had only misplaced for awhile.

Countless times we shared a lunch,
and so did many others,
hot soup from the deli across the street
or half a tuna sandwich from home.

You shared your wooden pallet
but never once a conversation,
and all the while, you never missed a beat
as you continued to pass out
that glorious smile to everyone
who sauntered by.

I wonder what happened in your life
to make you take up
residence on that corner,
to die cold and alone,
the smiles you apportioned
your only living legacy.

You will be missed by many,
even the shopkeepers
who so often shooed you away.
I hope you knew
what you meant to me
… and I didn’t even know your name.

Adonis in Passing

Young god, head held high,
proud mane blowing
in the city’s dirty breeze,
clothes just enough wrinkled
to make a woman believe
you just climbed out
of a quickie
or stepped off of page 42
in this month’s GQ.
Do you mind
that I turn and look
as you walk by?
No, of course not.
You don’t see me as a threat.
You don’t even see me at all.
But give me ten more years …
by then, I’ll be old enough
to reach over
give your ass a squeeze
and say
mmmm … nice buns.

A Cold, Cold Heart 

I offered my heart
in the palm of my hand,
a burning nova
to a private world,
where love and trust
knew no bounds.
Tender and giving,
it beat only for you,
but hurt fans out
like surface ripples
on a pond after a pebble falls.
Each new hurt
spreads rings ever wider
and with each new ring,
feelings fade,
chilling deeper,
till cold as ice,
they become as stones
bouncing on a frozen pond,
their rhythm etched forever
in a cold, cold heart.

Taps for My Soldier

A gentle breeze
chatters the leaves
as birds sing their greetings.
The sun shines,
a day like any other,
and yet like none before.
Two mirrored rows of uniforms
line up like blue dominoes,
white gloves holding rifles at the ready.
A lone bugle cries.
Twenty-four notes.
Each note, slow as a tear,
blankets ears and heavy hearts.
In the silence between,
nature holds its breath.
Gone is the breeze.
Gone are the bird songs.
Gone is her hold on composure,
all lost in the bugle’s lament.
Solemnly a soldier approaches.
White gloves present
a tri-fold flag,
and in one final mournful note,
legions of silent voices unite
to call a comrade home
… and a young wife weeps.

Websters Dictionary: Changeling: (noun): 
1. One who, or that which, is left or taken in place of another.

The Changeling

At dawn, I looked
with eyes wide open.
The color of his hair had
snow-stormed
to winter gray,
the dark crowded out
to who knows where,
perhaps to join
a master work
in perfect granite,
his finite features
raisined to roadways
buckled into nose
and cheek and brow.
Somehow spared
by nature’s cruelty
are steel blue eyes,
eyes that walk my dreams,
and lips that taunt and tease.
Where was I
when all this happened?
Here, a changeling, too,
and robbed as well?
Today, when morning
slipped inside
to kiss my eyelids,
I felt blessed
it reached across
to touch his too.

Watching You Sleep 

Softly by my side you sleep,
the love I feel, so real.
I can still taste your flavor
as my fingers travel
the highways woven
in your face
to etch them
in my mind.
I breathe you in,
your him-scent stamped
to memory,
and my skin still tingles
where we loved.
Those hands I love
twitch in silent
dream direction
and I wonder
if I’m in there with you
behind the fluttering lids.
And now my own eyes close
as softly by my side,
now softly in my mind,
you sleep.

Forever

Tell me again you love me.
Hold me again like you care.
Let me reach for you
in the darkness
and please, please,
find you there.
Let me want you
deep inside me
and know you want that, too.
Let’s make love all night
and in morning’s light,
if we want to, begin again.
Let me see your smile
to return with my own.
God, let’s laugh out loud!
May my name be
the last word
you breathe at night,
here, now, today.
Someday may never come,
and forever
won’t be enough.

His Hands

His hands should have
their own identity,
a name perhaps,
befitting each vocation
they enjoy.

Skillful hands –
finely tuned,
they hold every tool
with equal panache.
Each callous earned,
a trophy, but self-aware,
they’re gentle
as they browse
my every curve.

Comical hands –
the right one
scraping whiskers,
razoring down
a field of white
revealing trails of
pink-skinned angles.
I laugh at the silly poses
skewed by the left
so the right
won’t miss a spot,
my just reward,
a foamy kiss.

Angry hands –
his driving hands,
hands that slap
the wheel
as assholes
go too slow
or cut in front,
directionals
up their butts
with their heads.
I’m glad the
angry hands
are only known
to live in cars.
Those hands …
I love his hands.

The Song

I can’t remember
the last time
I heard that song,
only that I cried then, too.
It’s not a sad song,
but the tears fall
just the same,
as though yesterday
was caught in my throat
and today is gum
stuck to my shoe.
I wanted to yell
at the guy in the car
to roll up his window
and have a heart,
because he was
breaking mine.
I only walk down this street
every now and again.
Please, someone tell him
tomorrow would be
a kinder day
to drive around
playing that song.

Do I Remember You? 

Do I remember you
from so many years ago?
The man with
a gentle touch
and loving hands,
the softest shoulder
to cry upon …
budding passion,
almost lovers,
undermined
and rent by fate …
So many miles away
the years have passed,
our mirrors echo
youthful faces all aglow,
lives lived
on tandem shores.
As silent arms reach
through the ages
spanning years
from then to now,
unseen fingers
ply the keyboard
filling in the time between.
Love and memories
come flooding
into present from the past
and I cry from
just one letter …
Yes, I do remember you.

In Search of Sleep 

Sleep, you ornery rascal,
why do you elude me?
Like a crush, you tease my senses,
you taunt me with your charms.
Needing you, I’m bribed and baited,
much smitten with desire.
Your allure in awkward places
has me always hiding yawns.
You deflower me in a movie,
you corrupt me on my couch.
Should you take up prostitution,
might I gladly buy some time?
Sleep come take me lying down,
not driving in my car!
Then sighing in depravity,
again I call from bed …
Sleep, you naughty pervert,
I want you, take me now!

Little People

Footsteps on the staircase
handprints on the walls
tiny fingers dripping things
up and down the halls.

Voices all in unison
calling out my name
arguing and pointing
and saying who’s to blame.

Dishes in the sink
couch cushions on the floor
clean and dust, then fall in bed,
tomorrow will bring more.

Those times are etched in memory
the children now are grown,
but I’ll gladly have it all again
when the grandkids all come home.

To a Homeless Man

Homeless man, I watched as you
lined a deserted doorway,
your Maytag boxes
like cardboard monuments
with Fed Ex labels
and signs pointing ‘This Side Up’,
stark reminders of what is,
and what could be,
but for the grace of God.
I wondered,
maybe if I wished hard enough,
a Fed Ex truck might spirit you away
on a magic carpet ride
to a place where you
wouldn’t be invisible
for those who take the time
to look and really see,
a place where someone might offer
you a job with no Catch 22,
first telling you to shower
and wear clean clothes,
and you with no money
for either
without a job.
I wished. I prayed.
But for the grace of God go I.

Rockin’ the Boat

Fishin’ is a lot like marriage.
Both are great things to be doin’
and the rewards are
well worth the time spent,
but you can sure get into
a lot of trouble with either of ‘em
by rockin’ the boat …

We Need to Get Away

Have I told you lately
how good you smell
when the shower
spits you out?
I can’t remember
the last time, but
it wouldn’t surprise me,
considering what time
we actually get to spend
alone together these days.
I do know I remember
how intense it used to be.
We need to get away,
just the two of us,
before we grow any ruts
in the relationship’s road.

Let’s go somewhere,
before talking dirty
really means:
“You doing a light load?
Can you grab my pj’s
on the back
of the bedroom door?”

Before wanna catch a quickie?
really means:
“I’m pooped. Wanna take a nap?”

Before Oh God, I’m coming!
actually means:
“Don’t nag me, I’m almost ready!
Go ahead, start the car.”

Let’s go somewhere, while
Baby, that was fantastic!
still means a lot more than
a Sunday Scrabble win.
It’s not too late.
I remember.

I Remember Then

I remember many things
about those days, and you.
I remember diving into brownest eyes
and staring, as though I couldn’t get
deep enough, then burning
the love I saw there
into a memory
to keep for all time.
I remember the way
total silence could be so
comfortable, and how it
was the first time in my life
I ever felt that to be so.
I remember how safe I
felt with you. Even how you
said my name was different
and I remember thinking then
that even my name was safe
in your mouth. I remember
how we would make love
all night and stay in bed
all day, then skinny dip
to cool down all the places
our lovemaking heated up.
I remember lying in your
arms in the afterglow
and thinking how profound
it was, the way the brain
hitched a ride when the body
did all the work.
You were my miracle
in our own short season.
And I remember
the last time I saw you,
because I will never
forget the sadness.

Afterglow

Lying in bed,
holding off reality,
I’m caught in the cozy place
between dream and fantasy.
Heart slowing back to a walk,
I’m wondering,
does it get any better than this?
A lingering taste,
our man-woman scent
hovering in the air,
is it any wonder
the mind’s eye is still open,
watching what is past?
How amazing,
the way the brain
lays a path
to a woman’s senses
so they remain
heightened and alive,
though the moment
is now only a memory.
His body, warm and sensual,
enfolds this one
as he sleep-sighs here,
next to me
in the afterglow.

When I Finally Close My Eyes 

When I close my eyes
for the last time,
I want to have lived,
really lived.
I want to know I’ve tasted
the smorgasbord of life,
having relished the good
and spat the bad back out,
knowing at least I tried it.
When I’m done here,
I don’t want to wonder
whether someone caught
the kiss I threw,
I will know.
I don’t want to leave this life
with a heart as empty
as my pockets have always been.
I want to know, without a doubt,
I’ve left something of me behind,
— something that’s good,
not regret,
for never making a difference.
When I close my eyes
for the very last time,
I would like
someone to remember
… I was here.

CHAPTER 1

“He is so damn cute!” Lisa said dreamily staring at the screen of a slightly tanned white man with the widest smile.

Just getting into the office, Maxine sighed not really wanting to listen to her co-worker’s machinations all day of cute guys. Lisa put work second and her personal life first, which was why Maxine ended up finishing up projects Lisa was supposed to do.

Maxine hadn’t had her coffee and a migraine was on the brink of overtaking her whole face.

Sighing in anxiety as she was highly irritated by all the work Lisa should have been doing, Maxine bit back her consternation and turned her attention on Lisa’s screen. Maxine wrinkled her nose at the screen not really taking a good look, but just accessing the fact that this was a white man. She was never into white guys, but heck, it was a free country and Lisa was at the point in her life where she wanted to look for more meaning when it came to men. According to Lisa, she was tired of all the ‘brothas bull crap’ and didn’t want to deal with them anymore.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Maxine said sarcastically, going over to the work bin and seeing which project she was assigned. “A five thousand dollar computer monitor can make anyone look cute.”

Lisa snorted. “You just don’t get it, Max.”

“Get what? That you’re on the Internet looking for a white man? It’s some pretty weird stuff out there, girl, so you better be careful.” Maxine went over to her desk and turned on her computer.

Coming over to her desk, Lisa’s lean framed leaned over. “You don’t get that black brothers are just plain lazy. I need a man who’s going to work for me. Appreciate me. Worship the damn ground I walk on.”

Nodding over to the computer screen of the guy with the omnipresent stare, Maxine asked coolly, “And you think he can do this for you?”

“At this point, anything is better than those trifling ass niggas out there.”

“You don’t have to be black to be a nigga,” Maxine teased, pulling up her reports from yesterday. “Fine, Lisa. Find your dream man online and I’ll dance at your wedding, okay?” Right then she just wanted to drop the subject and get to work.

“Don’t worry,” Lisa said, walking back over to her desk to continue to stare at the screen of the picture. “It’ll be soon. I’m going out tonight to meet him.”

Stopping her work, Maxine looked over at her co-worker worriedly. “Didn’t you just find him today?”

“Yeah, but when you do your thing online, things move fast.”

“That’s just way too fast, Lisa,” Maxine said apprehensively.

“Last time I checked I was grown, Max. Quit your worrying.” Lisa huffed. “That’s your problem, Max, you have this great single life and you don’t know what to do with it. You’re childless with a great job and no trifling family to bother you. You need to be out there taking chances, meeting new people.”

“Going out with a complete stranger is not my idea of living; Especially with some guy I met online in the morning and going out the same night. You know absolutely nothing about this man.” Maxine stopped her venting and decided to try talking to Lisa about being sanely stupid was like talking to a deaf person. Lisa was not hearing a word Maxine was saying.

Maxine let it go and continued working. She wasn’t going to let her co-workers foolhardiness interfere with her work. Even though Lisa was about the only thing in Max’s life that could be called a close friend, Max didn’t voice her opinion about Lisa’s promiscuous lifestyle.

Working at Bianchi/Bellini Marketing as graphic designers, they had become fast friends from the first day they had worked together four years ago. They loved their job and hardly ever missed a day of work.

Although, Maxine felt it was because of their friendship, Lisa felt obligated to come to work when she probably wouldn’t have come. Lisa always talked about past jobs where she neglected to even come to work.

Maxine liked knowing she had improved Lisa’s life. With no one else really in her own life, making this impression on Lisa made a true difference in Maxine’s loneliness.

The day dragged on and Maxine paid very little attention to Lisa and how her co-worker spoke about this all too wonderful online stranger. Lisa had gone so far as to put his face in her screen saver so when she went to lunch, Maxine had to stare at those deep turquoise eyes and even notice that there was a small scar directly above his left eyebrow. That perfect row of teeth large smile seemed to be proprietary, but Maxine was no fool. This man probably sent this out to millions of women just to get some bootie.

In her opinion, white men were no better than any other man. They were all after one thing and Maxine had made too many mistakes in the past to even let that bother her.

By the end of the day, Lisa was just too happy and rushed out of there to get ready for her date.

Going home to her boring existence, Maxine fixed a TV dinner, watched a little CSI and then went to bed. This was her daily routine except on Sunday’s when she didn’t go to work she just slept all day long. Maxine never really longed for something exciting to always have to do, like Lisa did. Doing the same thing every day felt stable and comfortable and she didn’t mind her lonely existence. Being alone meant she kept control of the things around her and being in control was important to Maxine. This feeling of being in control had always been important to her; she’d never been sure why, but she knew keeping her surroundings like she wanted it, kept her from going crazy… and that was something she knew deep down inside she could never become.

As Maxine relaxed and prepared to sleep, for some reason, she thought about Lisa and wondered what her co-worker was doing on her hot date. Maxine’s mind relaxed and next thing she knew she felt warm all over.

Tingles encompassed her body as wet kisses hungrily showered her face, neck, and then down to her chest. Her nipples hardened and pulsed and she felt the wet mouth suckle her tips and then a soft tongue laved the entire breast before moving to the other one.

Between her legs, she could feel the moistness increase and craved to feel even more between her legs. Who was doing to this her? It felt so good, so damn good.

Reaching down, she cupped the face reluctant to stop the beautiful oral ministrations, but too curious to know who could make her feel so wonderful.

Bold passionate turquoise eyes met her own and that beautiful smile-

Awaking screaming, Maxine clutched the covers and looked frantically around the room. Once she was assured she was alone, she laid back down.

Damn Lisa!

Getting to work the next day she was almost too embarrassed about the dream to face Lisa and was glad no one was in the office when she arrived. Quickly, Maxine got to work immediately.

When their supervisor came in at ten asking where Lisa was, Maxine looked at the empty desk and frowned. Not wanting to get Lisa in trouble, she lied to her boss and said, “I forgot to tell you that she called in sick.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “Well, okay. Can you get me an update on that logo she was working on? I want to sign off on those changes by the end of the day.”

Maxine nodded eagerly trying not to look worried. “Sure. I’ll get that over to you right away.” When he was gone, she called Lisa’s home but there was no answer. Looking over at Lisa’s computer, Maxine had to wonder what happened on the date.

Already knowing Lisa’s password, Maxine was able to get in on Lisa’s computer and access her Outlook Calendar. Lisa had yesterday’s date in red, meaning it was important. Clicking on yesterday’s events, Maxine saw two entries for the time after work. The first entry said Miller. The time for this entry was thirty minutes after work.

Maxine knew Miller Market by Lisa’s house. Maybe Lisa had stopped in to pick up something for the date because Miller’s Market was like any convenience store in Detroit, selling almost everything under the sun.

Afterwards the first entry, typed in red letters, BIG DATE! 2121 Milwaukee @ Detroit Masquerade. This wasn’t Lisa’s address, so Maxine printed out this page and called Lisa’s home. There was no answer to her home number or cell phone number.

Maxine knew Lisa had a kid, but the father of the child had custody and the child only came during holiday and the summer. Never meeting the father, but often hearing how Lisa had to leave him, Maxine remembered Lisa said no one had believe when she had told people he had been abusive. Unfortunately Max didn’t try to get herself or her thoughts involved with Lisa’s past personal life. Having just a co-worker relationship with the chaotic life of Lisa’s.

With tomorrow being Friday and the start of a holiday weekend, Maxine knew Lisa had to pop up somewhere. Lisa never missed her chance to see her child.

The date must have been pretty hot!

Maxine went to Lisa’s home on lunch. No one was there and Lisa’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

‘Why am I so worried? She’s a grown woman, she said so herself!’

Getting back in her car, she reached in her purse and looked at the address she had printed off. ‘Damn Lisa! Why’d you have to go on the date and not tell anyone where you were going?’

Maxine drove by Miller’s grocery store, but there was still no luck seeing Lisa’s car.

Putting her car in drive, Maxine checked her watch. There was still time to make a quick run just to check out the address.

‘Go to the police!’ her common sense screamed, yet the realization was that Lisa hadn’t been missing over 48 hours and the police wouldn’t care. Plus Maxine was not a relative so they probably wouldn’t let Maxine file a missing persons report right away. Maxine had no idea how to get in touch with the father of Lisa’s child, nor did she know anyone other relatives or friends of Lisa’s.

Yet, this wasn’t like Lisa. Even though her co-worker took some chances, she would never do anything crazy or dumb.

Or would she?

As Maxine headed to the 2121 Milwaukee address, all she could think about was those deep turquoise eyes and that irresistible smile. Would he be there?

Many people still ask this question, ‘What is truth?’ Some were still searching to understand the truth. Truth is the original information. It may be likened to a Manufacturers’ manual. Any misuse or abuse of the product would not render ultimate satisfaction.

Truth is doing the will of God. The Word of God is the will of God, and Jesus Christ is the Word of God. Jesus reminded His disciples, ‘And he said unto them, these are the words which I spake unto you, while I was yet with you, that all things must be fulfilled, which were written in the law of Moses, and in the prophets, and in the psalms, concerning me. Then opened he their understanding, that they might understand the scriptures.’ (Luke 24:44-45).

The foundation truth is that God made and upholds everything with the Word of His power. His Word is truth. His Word is Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ is the Spirit of truth while the devil is the spirit of error. The root cause of every problem is ignorance of the truth.

The solution is in seeking, acknowledging and applying the truth. Jesus said, ‘Sanctify them through Thy truth: Thy Word is truth.’ (John 17:17). You can experience a great deliverance by seeking the Truth about God’s purpose, Truth about salvation, Truth about godliness, and Truth about abundant life.

People are looking for significance in life, meaning for living, a good cause for their passion and hunger for fulfilment. Discovering the truth about who you are and what purpose to engage in, would enable you to overcome insecurity, envy, strife and competition. It will keep you focused on your vision, mission and destination.

Barking Spiders

The Barking Spiders all march in
just past dinner time.
Some big, some small, they come to call
floating on the wind behind.

Each is clearly noticed,
although they can’t be seen.
You’re positive they’re there though,
’cause your nose is very keen.

You know you can’t outrun ‘em
and a net won’t get ‘em caught.
Your friends laugh ’cause they’re funny.
Your mom yells, ’cause they’re not.

So open all the windows!
Crack the vents real fast!
‘Cause these aren’t ‘normal’ spiders …
barking spiders are just gas.

Dancing Fairies

On warm, dark nights I think I see,
Beneath the weeping willow tree,
The fairies dancing in the grass
On tiny feet that fly so fast.

The music is the wind that blows
While fairies spin on bare tiptoes.
The fireflies jewel up the night
Reflecting fairies in their light.

Round and round the fairies dance
On bitsy feet that skip and prance,
Through tiny dew drops to and fro,
Till morning comes and then they go.

I wonder where the fairies live
And if they know what fun they give
To little girls and boys that see
Beneath the weeping willow tree.

My Brother’s Feet

PEW! My brother’s feet are stinky
And he’s hard to sit beside!
Mom makes him take his sneakers off
And leave them there, outside.

She really shouldn’t do that,
It’s not something she can hide
‘Cause he brings the smell right with him
On his socks and feet inside.

Ewww! That smell is really awful!
His feet must be nearby.
Gee, my brother isn’t home now …
Oh my gosh, it’s mine!

Gramma’s Apron

Gramma’s gone, but not forgotten,
that’s her apron hanging — there.
It still hangs in grampa’s kitchen.
Sometimes he looks at it and stares.

When gramma wore her apron
it was magical to me.
The pockets held such treasures
for the grandkids all to see.

Saw it shine up grampa’s fender once,
just as pretty as you please,
and it wiped my brother’s cheek off
one time when he sneezed.

It took cookies from the oven,
and rushed to wipe a tear,
got a grain of sand out of your eye,
made a lap for the stories we’d hear.

It wiped spills up from the counter top
when she was baking pies.
A symbol of her love and care
and it showed, too, in her eyes.

Sometimes I’m sad to look at it
when I see my grampa stare.
Gramma’s gone, but not forgotten.
That’s her apron hanging — there.

Toe Jam

Can anybody tell me
what’s that stuff between my toes?
My daddy says it’s ‘toe jam’
but I don’t think he really knows.

It’s icky and it’s fuzzy
and I think I’ll tell my dad …
I wouldn’t put it on MY bread
if it was the ONLY jam we had.

Belly Buttons

Belly buttons look so funny!
Some have lots of hair.
Some are in, some are out,
just a hole that goes nowhere.

Little Boy’s Wish

When I grow up, I want some hair
just like my Uncle Paul’s.
It’s yellow and it’s curvy
and he has it kinda’ long.

I’d rather look like daddy
and not like any other,
but daddy’s head is bare on top,
just like my baby brother’s.

The Castle Verandawhich Library lay in the center of the gated city and was a subterranean building with a large dome protruding from the clay ground. In the darkness, the glass dome allowed starlight and moonlight to provide some illumination, but it mostly served as a home for an astronomy lab and giant telescope. Candles adorned the catacomb walls as alcoves provided resting places for ancient magical books. The hallways spiraled downward and soon candles were the only source of light. Most libraries were lit up to allow their books to be read in quiet, comfortable areas scattered throughout the floors. Castle Verandawhich Library actually discouraged readers and provided no place for the casual reader. The books were magically locked into their respective corridors so they could not be taken very far. Farther down the spiraling hallway, where the air got colder and colder, voices raised in anger could be heard. The fate of an entire planet was being argued while a lone student, forbidden from traveling this far into the library, realized she had gotten herself into more trouble than she could manage.

In the distance, she could see the two men arguing. She snuck down the corridor quietly and kept herself towards the shadows so no one would see her, tiptoeing in her black sari and slippers. Standing in her way were two men, one of whom she knew to be the Grand Master of the magical race called the Jaadugar, and the school headmaster. The other, she did not recognize. He was a tall, thin man with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Wearing dark military fatigues with a yellow dragon emblem on his shoulder, she knew he was a part of the enemy’s military. Was he a spy or was the school headmaster discussing surrender? She quietly threw herself against the wall and pressed herself into the shadow, being as silent as possible. She cursed to herself for how loudly she was breathing. It was ironic; she thought that people were always loudest when they were trying to hide. The men paid her no attention though. They were arguing; the military man seemed to be on the verge of violence. Samajhdaar, the Grand Master, was a small, bald man who looked like he could use a few more meals. The war had been hard on him, and ten years had shown on his face like fifty years of stress. Both men were completely devoted to their own points of view, and it showed in the way they moved their hands and arms threateningly to express whatever point they were making at the time.

Suddenly, a purple mist began to cloud her vision. She thought one of the two men was conjuring a spell, but neither bore an enchanted item. She knew Samajhdaar carried a gnarled staff, so it must be the other man with some sort of enchanted item hidden from her sight. She pulled herself up against the wall holding her breath, so as not to be heard or seen, but she could hear the two men had stopped arguing. They were coming her way. She heard their feet stomp across the floor like a scorpanoid snapping its claws when it feels threatened. They were coming around the corner towards where she had hidden herself until a blinding flash of purple light stunned her. Darkness was soon replaced by white light. Silence ebbed and gave way to voices she easily recognized. She awoke to find herself at the entrance to her dormitory building. Confused students and faculty encircled her, looking both concerned and bewildered.

“Is she alright?”

“I don’t know, she just fell,” she heard somebody say.

Scarlett realized she’d had another vision.

It was her gift. Of course, as a witch she had the basic talents any other witch had, but every so often, five per year maybe, some would show signs of a special gift. Hers was the gift of foresight. As a little girl, she was sometimes able to tell her parents when company was arriving. Subtle visions she could not explain would soon become reality. At times like this, though, the visions would consume her, causing her to faint.

Scarlett was a strikingly beautiful girl who rebelled against her beauty by keeping her raven hair short, spiky, and streaked with purple. She sat up and blew a lock of her hair out of her eyes. She pulled herself up to her feet and dusted herself off as the crowd went back to their bustle. The moments right after major visions like she just had made it difficult for her to concentrate on anything beyond what she had experienced. Her vision was hazy; her hearing was distant and echoed.

Castle Verandawhich, the capital of Eldeese, was under siege, and the Jaadugar were gathering all their belongings and heading to the auditorium where the professors would use a teleportation spell to get the students and any other refugees to safety.

Over ten years ago, Samajhdaar and the Jaadugar declared war on the newly formed Alliance between the non-magical (Adami) countries. Through superior technology, the Adami won the war but as of yet had not asked for the Jaadugar’s surrender. The United Liberation Organization, another name for the Alliance, was trying to eliminate the threat of the Jaadugar permanently. The Adami had, until now, been the victims of brutal campaigns since history was recorded. The barbarian races of dwarves and giant men called Haun, from Bragar, started and lost two world wars, and the Adami and Jaadugar saw to it that their numbers were permanently dwindled. Four times, sorcerers led the Jaadugar in world conquest, and the Adami had to ally themselves with the maverick Jaadugar and the Haun to prevail. This war began with the death of a Jaadugar boy who would have become a powerful sorcerer. Adami soldiers killed the boy and his father in a training exercise. Samajhdaar declared war on the all the Adami countries in the ULO for this act of butchery. In the past, the Adami had no chance against the Jaadugar. This reality was the real reason the ULO was created. All of its resources were put towards creating an army able to resist the magical might of the Jaadugar. The training exercise was a mistake and the ULO sincerely regretted the incident, but the tragic incident showed how successful the program was since reports of the innovative chemical-based warfare had many Jaadugar on edge. The war was long and bloody, but the Adami were the clear victors. Though, rather than asking for surrender, the Adami were about to wipe the Jaadugar from the planet of Alorya.

If all went as planned, the refugee Jaadugar would hijack an Alliance ship and flee to the northernmost continent of Bragar. At the northeast corner of Bragar was the mouth of a river, near which a city called Ironbranderlings City would be their last hope for refuge. Ironbranderlings City was far enough north to be out of Alliance territory, but close enough to resources so the Jaadugar could survive and perhaps rebuild.

Scarlett had been on her way to her dorm when the vision had all but knocked her out. She was slowly heading up the stairs to her floor trying to remember what she saw. She remembered the purple light, and it occurred to her that she saw two men fighting. The rest was lost to her. She was still too young to control her power. Jaadugar, unlike Adami, did not reach adulthood until sometime in their thirties. Their bodies were fully developed along the same schedule as any of the other races, but the ability to control the magic did not come until their minds could handle the repercussions.

It dawned on her suddenly. They were in the library, those two men. They must have been talking about the escape and arguing about who knew what. Relieved, she continued to walk, slowly, to her room. Something was not right, though. We can’t fight each other, she thought to herself. She remembered the two men arguing were both Jaadugar and that irked her more than anything. Samajhdaar, the Grand Master, his word had to be final, right? She had no idea who the other Jaadugar was, but she felt he was near to striking Samajhdaar. She had to go stop them from fighting and get them to focus on the true enemy.

“Hey Scarlett, are you coming?” A male voice came from the top of the staircase. “Wake up Scarlett, you’re sleep walking again.”

Jayson was a short, stocky student from the eighth year. She was only a fifth year and like most of the other girls, the older students were so much more attractive than those in her own year.

Training begins when a Jaadugar reaches twenty and generally falls into two categories: witch and wizard. They both fall under the Jaadugar umbrella but are different in a few ways. A wizard has the ability to speak the language of the Creator of Alorya. The strength of a wizard comes when he or she has enchanted a magical item such as a staff, a ring, an amulet, a fine jewel or other such devices. The magic is a source of life for a wizard and casting spells drains that life. When casting a spell with a magical item, however, the magic is drained from the enchanted item instead of the wizard. Powers differ among wizards based on how long they are able to enchant their magical items. The enchantment can only be achieved by either a young wizard in his or her thirties with fresh magical energy or a very powerful wizard who took years to master the craft.

Witches are not naturally magical people. They cannot speak the language of the Creator, but that does not mean they do not pick up a few words over the course of time. Often, they understand the language of the Creator better than the wizards — its true meaning, anyway. With their ability to understand magic best, they’re able to improvise sheer magical force with wisdom. It is not uncommon to find witches, who have the ability to conjure demons, conquer minds, see the future, speak to animals and possess some abilities not yet discovered. Throughout the history of Alorya, wizards were the conquerors and the despots. A rare event, indeed, a Jaadugar would be born with the power to usurp the mantle of the Jaadugar and lead them on a conquest against the coveted Adami. Witches though, have been behind the scenes in powerful governments all over Alorya. The great countries of technology, Vialta and Fiera, as well as the ancient kingdom of the Haun, Bragar, had all been influenced or manipulated by witches at some point.

Castle Verandawhich was a huge sprawling castle, as big as some of Alorya’s largest cities. Scarlett was running, with Jayson in tow, towards the University Library. As they bounded up the stairs, he caught hold of her arm and turned her around to face him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, gasping for breath.

“I think I had a vision, Jayson,” she said with her other hand already on the door handle. “I think I’m discovering what my gift is and I just want to make sure. If what I saw is true, then the Grand Master of the Jaadugar is down here and when he finds out how I knew he was here, I just know I’ll make it to the next level of Wicca.”

“If you’re right—”

“Come on, even if I’m wrong, it won’t make any difference. They have to transport thousands, and it’s only after lunchtime.”

“If you’re right and he sees me, I’m toast.” He turned to head back to the dorms. “I’ll see you tonight at the auditorium.”

***

Samajhdaar was really starting to feel every bit over one hundred fifty years old. The braggart wizard in front of him was an Adami only a decade ago, and now he was already trying to usurp him. Mercer was the head of Mercer, Edge & Lynch Pharmaceuticals, and they designed cybernetic implants. He was the first successful cyborg since his company and the Alliance collaborated on the International Cyborg Project. Samajhdaar was against it from the very beginning but used its political impact to bring forth the Jaadugar “Fair Play Act” which basically absolved the Jaadugar from all debt of previous wars, tax on international trade goods transported via magic, and best of all, gave any member of the Jaadugar an open passport to all countries. Detractors were completely against the JFPA until Mercer came in and took over the planning and initiation of those laws. Adami saw him as one of their own and because he donated all monetary profits from the project to the military, he was asked to take charge of a high ranking military branch of the Alliance. The Adami tended to be at ease with whatever projects he endorsed. Sam knew that Mercer had always dreamed of being a Jaadugar, even though his heart will always be aligned with the Adami. Despite this, he humored Mercer and let him take over as spokesman for the Jaadugar and allowed himself to take more of a behind-the-scenes role in the world of Alorya.

When Samajhdaar first took Mercer to be his apprentice twelve years ago, he was surprised at how quickly he was able to pick up the language of the Creator. By then, Mercer was in his forties and had chosen to enchant a sword he claimed to have found in Bragar. Mercer shocked the Jaadugar community when news came that he was able to enchant at a constant rate for longer than anyone in the history of the Jaadugar. The longer an item is enchanted, the more power is stored in that item. Therefore, a Jaadugar will need less power to cast a spell. This is beneficial since it helps with a wizard’s willpower endurance. Mercer seemed to avoid all questions as to where the sword came from and became quite belligerent if he was asked repeatedly.

Before today, the last Samajhdaar had seen of Mercer was when he was in Bragar, deep within the mountain, Thelautlas. They had journeyed together on a mission to dispel rumors of a sorcerer living among them. Rumors of an old Witch of Bragar having the Sight had reached Sam years ago. This was not the first time Samajhdaar hunted down clues on the appearance of the next sorcerer. He brought along his apprentice for one single reason. Sam viewed Mercer as a bridge between the Adami and the Jaadugar. Sam needed this ambassador to the Adami world to understand that it was the sorcerer and not the Jaadugar that should be feared. Sam had taken every rumor of a prophecy that related to the sorcerer very seriously but had never seen evidence to support further investigation. The rumor turned out to be truer than he had expected. The old witch had a prophetic episode right in front of him, in which a purple mist shot from her eyes and displayed the prophecy. With Sam alone with the witch, Mercer snuck up on his master to try to view the prophecy as well, but only a more experienced Jaadugar would have known that a prophecy can only have one viewer. This was by far the most important prophecy Sam would ever see, but as it was only half a prophecy, it was not something he could wholly comprehend. The difference between the two men was that while Sam would not act on half a prophecy, Mercer would confidently fill in what the prophecy did not say with whatever he wanted to believe. Neither man truly trusted the other, so they never collaborated and never understood what the other had seen emanating from the witch that day. As they found themselves in Castle Verandawhich, under siege from the Adami army, Sam wondered if letting Mercer go that day to hunt the sorcerer on his own was worth all of this. Should he have gone with him, he wondered.

“Oh, c’mon Sam, you wanted him dead too,” Mercer said, clearly annoyed.

“You never told me it was you, though,” Sam said calmly. “I thought the Alliance military killed two Jaadugar. We declared war.”

Mercer was playing both sides of the war, and soon he would lead the Jaadugar. But for now, he needed to be on the same side as Sam. Lying came very easily to Mercer, and he used it on anyone and everyone to get what he wanted.

“Well, it was me, doing exactly what I said I was going to do,” Mercer said smoothly. “The sorcerer’s power was nearly at its peak, I barely escaped with my own life. I need to see those books now, Sam.”

“Ah, yes. The books concerning the Great Tree. You know those are restricted from anyone not in the senior level of the order. Tell me why you want to see them, and I’ll tell you what I know of the Great Tree.”

“I killed the sorcerer! I should be a senior member of the—”

Mercer pounded his fist against the wall in a dramatic show of rage, but everything was going as well as he hoped. Idealistic old fool, he thought to himself.

“When I killed the sorcerer, in his place grew a great flaming tree. I want to know what this means,” Mercer explained.

His half of the prophecy showed that he was intrinsic in its coming to be. It told him that it was only he who could kill the sorcerer and unlock its immense power. Should he say a certain spell that would call the Tree to do his bidding? Was it his new source of power? He didn’t feel any stronger. It feels weird to be a Jaadugar, he thought to himself. It was like his whole life had been seeing the world from the perspective of someone who believed, whereas now he was someone who knew.

“The Great Tree is an ominous sign, but it might not mean much at all,” Sam said, returning with a scroll as this as his arm. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Mercer let out his ponytail, scratched his head violently, and let out a long sigh. His eyes were generally dark, but over the last ten years, age had crept into the lines on his face and gave him a hardened look. His wrinkles took on the shape of laugh lines around his mouth and worry lines around his eyes.

Sam listened intently as Mercer told the story of the wizard and the sorcerer, and how they nearly wiped out the Alliance’s most elite unit. Sam weighed the words of Mercer very carefully, as he may exaggerate details for the sake of his own agenda. The Jaun Dragons were the first anti-magic unit armed with devices to blind magic users to their presence. Their armor was resistant to some spells and could reflect magical attacks back on the attacker. They were no match for a real wizard and a sorcerer, though. What Mercer had left out, Sam knew, was that one of those two Jaadugar was a twelve-year-old boy. Whether he was the wizard or the sorcerer, neither one was telling.

“So the Tree wiped out the rest of the Jaun Dragons?” Sam asked.

“Mostly,” replied Mercer. “It doesn’t matter really. What now?”

Sam was silently perusing the scroll. Mercer just saw an empty page, but he knew magical barriers prevented anyone from reading it besides a member of the senior level of the order. Mercer also knew his view of the prophecy was only partial. Both he and Sam witnessed the prophecy, and each had only seen and heard half of the message. Together, they could solve the riddle, but neither Mercer nor Sam would ever share his half with the other. Neither trusted the other with the power of the sorcerer. Sam knew this and kept it to himself.

“It is basically saying that the sorcerer is not dead. There is something left he wants to do,” Sam read.

“What?” Mercer was exasperated. “Sam, give me access and let me read this. Maybe something it says will jog my memory.”

“No.”

“I’ve more than earned it,” Mercer suggested. Silently, Mercer reached the peak of his frustration. He was a billionaire who had recently gained the ability to wield magic. Not used to rejection, Mercer struggled to keep his composure.

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of purple lit up the hall. Both of them were stunned and started walking towards its source. Mercer noticed that Sam somehow summoned his staff; or more like it, he conjured it.

It was a young girl. Mercer noticed how petite she was and so unlike any other witch he’d seen. She wasn’t just beautiful; she had a look of controlled mayhem. Her hair was short, and it made her eyes appear bigger than normal. She had a wild look in her eyes and was surrounded in a purple mist. The young girl crackled with energy.

Suddenly, Mercer saw a vision of himself. That vision was quickly followed by a hand plucking a flaming branch from a tree. A supernova of images exploded in his mind, and he noticed Samajhdaar looking at him curiously. Suddenly, the words “sorcerer’s power” crept into his mind. By this time, Sam was on the floor unconscious, and the girl was still standing there with her face contorted in horror. Soon Mercer passed out, the sound of his face smacking the black marble floor like a piece of meat. His last conscious vision was of the girl falling to her knees.