by John Riley
Such a biting cold stinging day I have kept myself indoors and fired up the heating to keep the place snug.
From the comfort of a warm room looking out from the window you’d have thought the bright sun radiating such a welcome coaxing one to come out and play on this day.
Pretending might I add, it is a masquerade my readers. No, it is certainly not a spring day and let me remind all we are still in the grip of winter here in The Ghostly World.
So I’m relaxing a little from story telling and throwing my thoughts out there, sharing one or two moments here in The Ghostly World.
I’ve invited Thomas Flyte over for a natter get the lay of the land and all that. But I must be on my guard when he offers his small gifts, you know, a token of appreciation for the hospitality.
Left me a punnet of mushrooms. Fried up nice with egg and bacon. Had an amazing six hours after that meal most of the time laid on my back swatting fairies buzzing around my face.
Anyone care to let me know what breed of mushroom they were and where to buy, don’t seem to find them in the local greengrocer’s
Feel sure Thomas will read a few poems squeezed into the fireside chair. Here’s one of Thomas’s pieces by the way hope you enjoy it, transcribed from an entity known as – The Shepherd.
Sheep
When born and do not know but follow as flocks of sheep
and gather in herds to pens that keep
watched over by eye that wolf in sheep’s clothes
that feeds on life and steals marked souls.
And when from rutted tracks you leave
those rich tapestry pastures lifetimes weave
and know you will when returned to home
that you bleated but did not roam.
Born are lambs to slaughter born on earth
to bleat and suckle and new in birth
that grazes and follows while lone wolf sees
those that count and those that flees.
All rights reserved Copyright Thomas Flyte
additions by Valentine Heart/Thomas Flyte