When the pen takes control.

Arnold was ready. At sixteen, this was the last time he would feel this shame. His father raised the switch. Arnold turned, snatched it from his hand, struck his father on the cheek. A thin line of blood showed. His father’s eyes opened wide, as did his mouth in a loud Oh!

Age of innocence,

the burden of his childhood,

a monochrome life

Once golden tresses

reddened by a single blow

fluttered in the breeze

Dashing daffodils

replace retiring snowdrops

pastel season shades

“A twist of lemon,”

I shout to the bartender,

“your gin is too dry.”

So where is the King,

on the day I lose my head

he will forgive me

It appears that I may have been tagged , I didn’t feel anything, I was not standing in a corner with my face to the wall, eyes closed, counting to one hundred but this is progress. I’ve been advised to pass comment on what effect the , “Fantasy,” genre has had upon me. My artisty skills are pretty well under-developed or you would see before you a picture of a spinning globe to signify that it has been my whole world. It has influenced my taste in dress, art appreciation and without doubt, favoured relaxation reading. Having been brought up on mythology and tales of the Greek heroes it has forever been a part of my life. This post is my way of introducing you to someone whom you may not be aware was an inspiration to the considered master, J.R.R. Tolkien. I refer of course to William Morris, a true Romantic, with many facets of which, even you, dear readers may be unaware. His two stylish tales were probably the first I read that were not part of the school curriculum. Look them out if you have not yet sampled their delights. A joy to mankind.