The ship docked on the small jetty by a beach of white sand
lining the front of a jungle full of horrid noises and every shade of green.
There were a few huts that had been constructed by the natives
in anticipation of our arrival in this hot new land.
We were informed by the ship’s captain that they had been paid
with small gold coins that they would likely trade with other natives
for exotic fruits and sharper weapons and a few weeks’ peace.

The first night was a struggle, the air was as stifling during the day
and I don’t think any one of us managed much sleep.
The morning came as cold comfort as the sun blazed unobstructed,
beating relentlessly on our heads, feeling much closer than it did back home.
Gloria Noone, a middle-aged woman who had boarded in Cork,
had a look of perpetual fear on her face, the look of someone
who had experienced nothing but ultimate terror during the night,
and I had assumed it was just because of a lack of sleep,
but she soon informed us of something far more sinister than dreamlessness.

After a couple of hours of nocturnal turnings and curses,
she left her hut during the night and walked along the beach,
away from the jetty and out of our makeshift village.
Not long out of the village, she had the unnerving sense of being watched
and expecting to see a native by the jungle’s edge
she looked towards the mass of trees and saw horror.
An unearthly creature stared back at her, she told us.
All black fur glinting in the moonlight, teeth as large as great knives.
She swears it spoke to her, in English, repeating her name
with a deep, gruff voice that seemed to come from the whole jungle.
She ran back to her hut, silently, terror paralysing her voice.

Gloria stayed in another hut owned by a couple who had an extra bed
due to their only child dying of disease just before we set sail.
I could not sleep, as I assumed correctly that others could not either
because when I left my hut in the night, others were on the beach.
A man called Ivor, a giant from Cardiff, called me over
and said that he and a couple of others would walk down the beach
to where Gloria had spotted the creature and they would wait for it.
He invited me and I agreed, four of us leaving the village behind.
Ivor, Daniel the ship’s captain, Robert, a forester from York and myself,
a former teacher from a small village not far from Edinburgh,
sat down on the sand in silence waiting for horror to arrive.

We did not have to wait long in that tropical heat for terror to invade our hearts.
We heard the growling of a jagged throat and snapping branches,
all turning our heads in unison as two blazing orange eyes scanned us,
a tongue licking its nose and an almost human smile spread across its face.
Hello, it said.
Lovely night, it said.
I am hungry, it said.
Ivor, it said.

We jumped to our feet and ran as fast as we could,
screaming for everyone to get on the ship, and hurry.
I could hear the muffled steps of the beast behind me
and although I could not see it clearly when I glanced back,
I could make out just how massive the creature was.
Its shoulders were at least as high as a thoroughbred’s
but it was built like a massive cat, like a panther I had seen in a zoo.
It laughed and kept repeating Ivor’s name, putting in little effort
in keeping up with us, toying with us as cats toy with mice.
I could make out the others in the village running for the ship,
and as they reached the gangway that entered below deck,
Ivor screamed an awful scream as the creature brought him down.

The three of us stopped and turned, unsure what to do.
Ivor had already gone limp as the creature crushed his skull
and bit through his spinal cord, launching the top half and his head
into the air as the creature turned his attention to Ivor’s legs.
He chewed the meat ravenously, occasionally looking up at us,
standing completely still, mesmerised and horrified at the spectacle.
Run, it said.
Run, they said behind us.
We ran.

As we reached the ship, the captain unwound the ropes from the bollards
as the rest of us ran into the ship, grabbing the gangway,
ready to slide it back in as soon as the captain was on board.
He came running in, shouting at us slide the gangway in
as he continued up to the deck towards the whipstaff.
The hatch closed, we all went to where the captain was
but I left the group to keep an eye on the creature.
It was standing on the jetty, next to the hatch,
the top of its head so close to the railing I was leaning against.
It looked up at me and the smile returned to its face,
the blood of the Welshman smeared over his huge teeth.
No wind, it said.
I am hungry, it said.

I turned to face the captain and the rest of the group,
tears rolling down my cheeks as they creature jumped over my head
and ravaged the rest of my friends and villagers.
Legs and fingers and heads and arms and bones and meat.
All over the deck.
All over the deck.
All over the deck.
The creature stared at me, smiled.
Run, it said.
I am hungry, it said.

"Well Mr Holmes, this is a nasty business!
The victim, Ivor Biggun, has been stabbed!
There was of course no one around to witness
Although a few good suspects have been nabbed!

Miss Sally Forth was reading ancient history
Mike Hindle claims he too was all alone
Miss Daisy Chain was reading a new mystery
And Mr. Terry Bull was on the phone!"

"My dear Lestrade, your blindness is your failing!
Must I point out that awful ****** mess?
The victim clearly crawled, his blood was trailing
And then it seems he played a game of chess!

Look closely at the moves, see what I mean?
The strangest game of chess I've ever seen!"

                    H5-D5
                    C8-C2
    ­                E3-E4
                    F8-C1
                 ­   D8-D1   MATE!


*Who killed Ivor Biggun?

With an incident in which he was concerned

In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
An old Man dwells, a little man,—
’Tis said he once was tall.
For five-and-thirty years he lived
A running huntsman merry;
And still the centre of his cheek
Is red as a ripe cherry.

No man like him the horn could sound,
And hill and valley rang with glee
When Echo bandied, round and round
The halloo of Simon Lee.
In those proud days, he little cared
For husbandry or tillage;
To blither tasks did Simon rouse
The sleepers of the village.

He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind;
And often, ere the chase was done,
He reeled, and was stone-blind.
And still there’s something in the world
At which his heart rejoices;
For when the chiming hounds are out,
He dearly loves their voices!

But, oh the heavy change!—bereft
Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see!
Old Simon to the world is left
In liveried poverty.
His Master’s dead—and no one now
Dwells in the Hall of Ivor;
Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead;
He is the sole survivor.

And he is lean and he is sick;
His body, dwindled and awry,
Rests upon ankles swoln and thick;
His legs are thin and dry.
One prop he has, and only one,
His wife, an aged woman,
Lives with him, near the waterfall,
Upon the village Common.

Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Not twenty paces from the door,
A scrap of land they have, but they
Are poorest of the poor.
This scrap of land he from the heath
Enclosed when he was stronger;
But what to them avails the land
Which he can till no longer?

Oft, working by her Husband’s side,
Ruth does what Simon cannot do;
For she, with scanty cause for pride,
Is stouter of the two.
And, though you with your utmost skill
From labour could not wean them,
’Tis little, very little—all
That they can do between them.

Few months of life has he in store
As he to you will tell,
For still, the more he works, the more
Do his weak ankles swell.
My gentle Reader, I perceive,
How patiently you’ve waited,
And now I fear that you expect
Some tale will be related.

O Reader! had you in your mind
Such stores as silent thought can bring,
O gentle Reader! you would find
A tale in every thing.
What more I have to say is short,
And you must kindly take it:
It is no tale; but, should you think,
Perhaps a tale you’ll make it.

One summer-day I chanced to see
This old Man doing all he could
To unearth the root of an old tree,
A stump of rotten wood.
The mattock tottered in his hand;
So vain was his endeavour,
That at the root of the old tree
He might have worked for ever.

“You’re overtasked, good Simon Lee,
Give me your tool,” to him I said;
And at the word right gladly he
Received my proffered aid.
I struck, and with a single blow
The tangled root I severed,
At which the poor old Man so long
And vainly had endeavoured.

The tears into his eyes were brought,
And thanks and praises seemed to run
So fast out of his heart, I thought
They never would have done.
—I’ve heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.

WALKING WITH GOD

God had gone
for a walk.

"Let the Universe..." He thought
"...take care of itself!"

He just wanted to walk.
Walk...like any human wood.

And here was a world
He could be proud of.

It did Him good
to see it as a human could.

Grass covered
his naked toes.

The morning
bleating with lambs.

Blue sky as if
He were in a living painting.

Sunshine - golden.
Tangible...touchable.

All it was missing was
a cuckoo.

So, He adde it
as an afterthought.

Because...
He - could.

And God saw
that it was good.

Met Him halfway
up a hill

walking my little dog
Ivor.

God and his creature
and his creature's creature.

"Howya!" I said.
"Howya!" said God.

"Woof!" said the dog.
"Woof!" mimicked God.

In another half an hour
I was due a heartattack.

The dog licking
my fallen face.

Wouldn't be discovered
for an hour or more.

The dog refusing to leave
the body.

God foresaw
all this of course.

"Ahhhh this is the kind of thing
that really ruins my day!

God moaned.

"And for which
I always get the blame!

God groaned.

"Go back now!"
the voice of God

echoed inside my head.

"Kiss your wife...
look into her eyes!"

And, so -
- I did.

Lived another 20 years
My wife died the following year.

I got knocked down by a car
in the end.

"So this is Heaven?"
I conjectured.

"Howya!" a voice I thought
I recognised.

"Howya!"
I said.

Not wise, Dr Sellars ,but curious, imaginative and quite intuitive.

Life is too complex and reason has vast limits. Some ignorance is healthy, too much knowledge is a burden as it encourages rumination and speculation (this wasters time) and also often leads to pride,  arrogance and bigotry. That's why the intellectual mind is not a happy one.  You well know geniuses and the smartest people suffered/suffer from mental problems----Schumann, Rachmaninov, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven,  Donizetti, Mahler, Ivor Gurney, Nietzsche, Van Gogh, John Clare, Churchill, Lincoln (he contemplated suicide), Wittgenstein (I thought of suicide every day--2 of brothers took their own lives), John Stuart Mills, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Tolstoy, Ernest Hemingway (too his own life), ......Back home, Les Murray, Michael Leunig, Sculthorpe, a former Premier of WA.....suffered/suffer from depression......more next time.  I gave 6 talks on happiness in 2018, not as a guru but as one who talks from experience....when I launched my 5th book IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ZEN- THE PATH TO A CALMER AND HAPPIER LIFE, sold in 14 countries and rated 5 star by 8 book-dealers.  
Please excuse me,  I got carried away.....

sincerely Peter

Yes chilly and windy here yesterday.

Another exciting day in that the neighbours were having a tree felled and it was interesting to watch between tasks and warming up.

Ivor called to look at the greenhouse and left me to mull over ideas.

Then I started to define one of the paths with the gravel that was delivered. Did not rush as I will like it in a good place so hope to continue today.

Rang my brother, he is fine.

Then Pat Doorbar rang , also fine.

Not much on TV so listened to a podcast about space debris and drifted off.

With capitals and punctuation today. A treat.

WALKING WITH GOD

God had gone
for a walk.

"Let the Universe..." He thought
"...take care of itself!"

He just wanted to walk.
Walk...like any human would.

And here was a world
He could be proud of.

It did Him good
to see it as a human could.

Grass covered
his naked toes.

The morning
bleating with lambs.

Blue sky as if
He were in a living painting.

Sunshine - golden.
Tangible...touchable.

All it was missing was
a cuckoo.

So, He added it
as an afterthought.

Because...
He - could.

And God saw
that it was good.

Met Him halfway
up a hill

walking my little dog
Ivor.

God and his creature
and his creature's creature.

"Howya!" I said.
"Howya!" said God.

"Woof!" said the dog.
"Woof!" mimicked God.

In another half an hour
I was due a heartattack.

The dog licking
my fallen face.

Wouldn't be discovered
for an hour or more.

The dog refusing to leave
the body.

God foresaw
all this of course.

"Ahhhh this is the kind of thing
that really ruins my day!

God moaned.

"And for which
I always get the blame!

God groaned.

"Go back now!"
the voice of God

echoed inside my head.

"Kiss your wife...
look into her eyes!"

And, so -
- I did.

I lived another 20 years after this.
My wife died soon all too soon.

I got knocked down by a car
in the end.

"So this is Heaven?"
I conjectured.

"Howya!" a voice I thought
I recognised.

"Howya!"
I said.