San Peter

Chapter One – Alleyway @ Alberhoorn

Peter looked down the alleyway twice, something about it chilled him yet something about it also drew him. At face value, there was nothing particularly different to this alley. Dappled in the long rays and shadows of the taller city surrounds, on the surface there was nothing different here to the numerous others that riddled Alberhoorn city.

Stone cobbled, cardboard cluttered and boxed buildings jam packed – leaning on each other for air – almost squeezing out the light. He could see the end though it was not clear, did it branch out – connecting to other laneways or finish abruptly in his line of sight with the 2 or 3 story yellowing stoned façade, doorway at its base?

Something warned Peter that it was time to move on, that the bright glass reflected shops and bustle of the main street was the place to be; with its warmth, cooking smells and general commotion. He lingered at this decision point – backpack in hand, adjusting his cap and looking around for a clue, something that would give reason to explore further down.

There was a old man; white bristling stubble, waining grey moustache, all wrapped up in his paper… occasionally glancing down at the table beside him at his sleeping dog. There was a sign creeking at the very corner entrance; weathered and scratched – indecipherable yet certainly saying that nothing was for sale at present. Then he heard something faint… or was it his mind.

A gentle, irregular tapping or scraping – like fingers on a glass table or a soft drumming. He’d not heard this before in Alberhoorn – he’d been here 4 weeks living with his Auntie helping her run her fabric business, for long hours in morning preparation and scurrying around at her beck and call while his parents… well, they had left him to travel overseas.

There it was again, nothing that he could see down the alley would have made that sound. It was all he needed – he shouldered his pack, firmly fixed his hat and headed in. The sound strangely did not become any louder as he went past disused and boarded up occupancies into the coldness of this byway, passed the back end of restraunts with garbage containers learing up and balconies above frowning down around him. It was only once he was nearing the end did he realise where the sound was coming from…

Peter did not see the way the shadows on the roof tops followed him, perhaps this is what his senses warned him of.

He didn’t see the old man twist in surprise, eyes waking up – widened with a bewildered, worried gleam.

Nor did he feel the same swirling, writhing shapes that contorted behind the door – watching his innocent progress towards their release.

All the while the old mans dog lay curled up dreaming of its next adventure.




[Meta tag – –> surreal fiction ala city of the lost children… written in the true spirit of the genre like the game concept from the novel Enders game… NOT a direct ref to biblical Saul/Paul tho biblical Paul was named as such from birth as he was a Roman citizen from birth ie. he always had the 2 names]


I have noticed

Like a soldier you come back each day for more

I have noticed

like a soldier you have the grit and steel of war

I have noticed

like a tin man you don’t stray the fight

I have noticed

as a soldier you do not swerve from right

I have noticed <Persons Name, >

like a soldier you need to return, sit down and hear from your Leaders voice.

96 Tram

Clatter of Melbourne tram that brought me to this station – faded into the rattle n hum of the clanging lunchtime traffic – old, reliable and due to return again at any moment on its route.


Here it comes again, I remember it clearly – she had quietly finished all the smoothie to my surprise! Hughesy’s mug gleamed at us from advertising panel and so we went to see his standup well stocked by restaurant fare.


Number 96 went past the first and last time I told her I loved Star Trek… It carried with it chock full, the hopes and dreams for us and where we could travel – I knew there would be more to come.






Written prayer. Draft#1

For work.

Thanks Father, Mightiest of all – that you are the master, judge and peacemaker of my spirit, soul and body; heart, mind and strength.. I cry out to you today for mercy at work, when/if I stuff up; peace the whole day and joy at the end and throughout – for my associates & for me!

In Jesus name, let it be so.

I thank you, for ongoing labour/work – that every ounce I have be AS for serving you. May in doing and being so, may I not confuse a master with the Maker.

And Jesus, Prince of Peace – may your Kingdom Come.

Thank you; that you came as a baby born of one of flesh and spirit – like me… You are Emanuel.

That, because of this holy mystery I can look with eyes of faith on the contempt, ridicule and scorn – that so often confronts, debases and pulls me down…

… And that through the brokenness, imperfections, hurtful untruths and even unintentional failings of myself and others – WE – can see your work.

Intertwined with our efforts – bringing peace, making new, giving rest, balance and reward – the pace, for true success.



Desperation’s Architect

Patterns and nodes gyrating an ancient beat

Hidden beneath, swirling towards the light

Desperate yearning of years … tempered steel discipline


And on, years later; quests further –

That stubborn heart continued to bleed love;

Still seeking, drawing, welcoming – calling


Flash backs – looking up to empty hands

Hands of concern that had nothing to give;

Dusty pockets, worn eyes – driving him further


NOW – the little I knew of him — too much,

My eyes soften and heart feels the same

“Desperation’s Architect” I’ll call him ….


(RIP Jack Hely, Grandad)




Wicked Wasps of Woodend

Old lady with switch and hound offers the following;

on a passing, comment:

“You’ve just got to keep walking – if you stand still

they’ll find you! ”

That wasn’t the start of it – frustration of a moments

rest, they know that well.

Flick around and two roll off your tail with practiced,

coordinated malevolence.

Your heart beat rises and sunshine on dappled tree line

is blurred with focus.

Ok, I’ll beat these things, I’ll show them who’s boss – walking

calmly munching pie.

Sharp colours, jagged movements, silent deadly tracking

starves your breath.

Way to wreak a perfectly good journey – – those wicked

wasps of Woodend.

Turtle Dove

Not, a turtle dove…

not really all that fluffy, that; though, is their true nature

more of a polished stone

a ship in space or a rounded dome

not really a mystery yet … fantastic in glide and power,

my turtle dove.


Both, my friends is close –

the turtle & the dove like owl – above -evolutionary aggression,

drifting in great soothing arcs

soaring, almost questioning yet definitely

aloof above all the bustle, direction – not blown or blustered

my turtle dove


Both friends of belief and

yet stricken to anonymity by cousins of war

their brothers the snake,

and the hawk; give them the edge they need to win

the strength to strike

the bloodline to stalk and find prey

my turtle dove