The Small Dog and the Hoover-Monster

She says that I am an unfortunate pup,

I shed loads of hair that she has to clean up;

When it’s summer the finest fur next to my skin

Makes its way to the floor so my top coat is thin.

*

Now, myself, I think that is a perfect design…

The fine stuff’s discarded, the top coat can shine,

She helps it along as she combs me each day…

Then I can go out, either sunbathe or play.

*

But she’s none too happy, and curses instead,

And says she could make up her own ‘feather’ bed

With the hair she removes from my coat and the floor

When she’s just hoovered up and she says, “Small Dog…more?”

*

It comes out in handfuls, she’s filled up the bin,

As if Nature’s management style is a sin,

I really can’t help it, it’s just how I’m made

That turns carpets hairy wherever I’ve laid.

*

So morning and night she will Hoover the hair,

And sweep in between with meticulous care,

And then turn around, see a new hairy trail

That’s wafting in furballs as I wag my tail.

*

Continue reading at The Small Dog’s Blog

Posted in Dogs, Humour, Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 36 Comments

Dusk ~ S. S. #writephoto

swathed in indigo

precociously seeking midnight

darkness shadows dusk

Desire draws in a sharp breath

when evening slips into bed

Reblogged from S. S. at Mindfills

Posted in photo prompt, Photography | Tagged | 1 Comment

Freedom #midnighthaiku

Youth’s wild dreamscapes fade

Prisoned by necessity

Time may set them free

*

Posted in Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , | 8 Comments

A new story from Muttwits, coming soon…

Posted in Photography | 3 Comments

Guest Author: Mark Bierman ~ Vanished

Today I wish to take some time to promote my novel, Vanished. Now, I must be honest with you, I never thought I’d write a story about human trafficking

 How it all began and why:

My father was a building contractor and had been to the impoverished nation of Haiti a number of times. He would assist with the construction of homes, churches, and a few other projects. His return meant amazing stories and disturbing photos of tiny shanties where families lived, in cramped quarters, without running water or electricity.  In fact, often, there were open streams of raw sewage that ran close to these squalid huts.

In October of 2010, my brother-in-law accompanied my father to decimated post-earthquake Haiti. Yes, you guessed it, another construction project.

“Oh, take a journal with you and write in it every day,” I instructed them. “I want to write an article for a magazine about your experiences.”

The pair dutifully completed their “assignments” and I was blessed with a plethora of information and colorful stories. That’s when the idea came for a book. Yes, but why Human Trafficking? Well, I have spent years working as a Correctional Officer and my mind instinctively wandered to the criminal element, I also enjoy reading action novels. I really believe, too, that this book was a therapy for me, to cleanse my mind of the negative experiences of working in a prison.

Please be aware that the book contains NO graphic violence or sexual deviance. I DO NOT create rape scenes, nor describe grotesque injuries or deaths.

A quick summary of Vanished:

Tyler Montgomery loses his wife to cancer and is grieved beyond consoling. His father-in-law, John Webster, cannot bear the loss of his daughter, both men are headed for self-destruction. When the opportunity for the mission trip arises, Trudy, John’s wife, convinces the pair to go. Though she grieves herself, she puts their needs first and believes this Good Samaritan experience will be a distraction.

They arrive in Port-de-Paix, Haiti, which is relatively untouched by the earthquake and find their host, a missionary named Steve Tracey. He drives them to Rescue Haiti Mission, their home for the next month. At dinner that night, they meet a lovely young woman named Mahalia, who takes in the Mission’s laundry, and her sweet seven-year-old daughter, Chantale.

All goes well for the first while, until Mahalia bursts into the cafeteria during dinner, proclaiming that Chantale has been taken, her cherished doll found abandoned on the road. A local search leads nowhere, and the police are unwilling to help. Even Steve tells them to accept that little Chantale is lost forever. The earthquake has created too many problems and these children are never found.

Unaccustomed to such atrocities, and reeling with the pain of their own loss, the two Americans develop a strong desire to do the right thing. Steve resists, at first, citing the dangers and fallibility of the undertaking.

One day, in a fit of frustration, Steve declares that Chantale is as good as dead. Mahalia overhears this and reacts strongly. She ignores Steve and approaches Tyler, the look of sorrow in her eyes is what he sees in the mirror daily.

Mahalia shoves a photo of her daughter, and the doll into Tyler’s hands. She locks eyes with him and utters the words that begin a terrifying journey into the underbelly of Haitian society.

“Don’t listen to him. He has given up hope for many things. You are a good man. I know you can do this. Please find her! Please find my baby!”

Yes, John and Tyler are loosely based on my kin, and yes, there are some facts and experiences they had that are incorporated into the story. However, the majority of it is fiction.

This book was written mainly for the purpose of drawing attention to the world-wide issue of Human Trafficking that is prevalent in EVERY country.

Fifty percent of the profits made from Vanished, are donated to a charity that helps victims of human trafficking.

I’ve composed a poem that speaks about Mahalia’s thoughts as she deals with her grief:

Chantale, little angel, my barren arms embrace the ghost of you; they’ve squeezed the shards of my shattered heart, since the day you were snatched away.

Blurred by the rain of constant grief, my soul’s eyes search this decimated land; baby girl, where’d you go to?

Pointed fingers accused me, for surely, I fed you to the mongrels; pay no heed, my precious child, to the evil lies they say.

Come back Chantale, the flowers you picked crumble in the vase; my will to live falls with each petal, fresh ones will die quickly, unless touched by you.

In feverish madness, I’ve commissioned strangers to the rescue, placed faith in two men, pure of heart but naïve to the ways of monsters; forgive me Chantale, for my options were few.

If to the cruelty you succumb, please climb on the Father’s lap, whisper your plea; a hug from Heaven in a rainbow’s hue.

Please check out the book trailer:

I wish to thank the professionals at 4WillsPublishing for creating such a wonderful trailer!

Vanished made the top ten list! Jan Sikes is a very talented author. Please visit her website.

Thank you so much for taking the time to learn about Vanished.

If you wish to purchase a copy, available in eBook and print format:

Amazon.com       Amazon.ca      iBooks


Connect with Mark:

Website      Facebook    Twitter    Instagram

I am also a member of  Rave Reviews Book Club a wonderful community of authors.


About the Author

Born and raised on a farm near Brockville, Ontario, Mark Bierman’s childhood consisted of chores, riding horses, snowmobile races across open fields, fishing trips, and many other outdoor adventures.

Transitioning into adulthood also meant moving into large urban areas that introduced this country boy to big city life.

Drawing upon his many experiences as a private investigator and later, a correctional officer, Mark combines his unique experiences and imagination to create stories and characters.


Promoting a Book?

If you are a writer, artist or photographer…If you have a poem, story or memoirs to share… If you have a book to promote, a character to introduce, an exhibition or event to publicise… If you have advice for writers, artists or bloggers…

If you would like to be my guest, please read the guidelines and get in touch!

Posted in Guest post | Tagged , , , , , | 29 Comments

Darkness ~ Anita Dawes #writephoto

For some, the moors can be a lonely place
Where old dreams go to hide
Waiting the right footsteps to re awaken
Under dark clouds, magic can be heard
Living shadows run across the hills
Who are they, what chases them?

Continue reading at Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie

Posted in photo prompt, Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Callanish Calling: Riddle…

*

Back in the relative sanctuary of our Red-Pill-Box,

Wen looked at me hopefully and said,

“You did make a note of the riddle didn’t you?”

*

“As it is all that now stands between us and oblivion, my dearest Wendlebury,

I didn’t actually need to. Its form is emblazoned across my inner vision

for all time, or at least until we solve it, if we ever do.”

*

Continue reading at France and Vincent

Posted in albion, Ancient sites, Books, Don and Wen, france and vincent, Stuart France | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Darkness ~ Lady Lee #writephoto

Dark clouds rolling in so stark
Stark signal thrown in the dark
Shadow on the hills as wind blows
Blow in the tunnel of shadows
Dead silence as I sigh in dread
Dread sentence denying of dead

Continue reading at Lady Lee Manila

Posted in photo prompt, Photography, Poetry | Tagged | 2 Comments

Darkness ~ Frank Hubeny #writephoto

Avoid the darkness and the mess
You’ll make when rushing out tonight.
Tomorrow, true, you might confess.
If not, sleep in. Out goes the light.

Reblogged from Frank Hubeny at Poetry, Short Prose and Walking

Posted in photo prompt, Photography, Poetry | 1 Comment

Silence #tanka

Living wood, illustration, Sue Vincent

Leaf and branch whisper

Join in song with heartwood’s beat

Ancient melody

Earth’s memory held in trust

Shared soul to soul in silence

*

For Colleen’s Poetry Prompt

“Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them,
whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth.”
~ Hermann Hesse

Posted in Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 32 Comments