Fear Of Darkness A serial novel by Joe Lake.

(So far: Julie’s husband has had an accident and disappears. At the police station Julie sees two people who have no reflection in the mirror. Next, her husband is back but she notices two marks on her neck after she takes a dream-like excursion through the universe. Then, she meets a social worker who says that she is from five hundred years in the future who gives her a ring to travel in different dimensions.)

“Here, let me show you,” said Susan, the social worker. “If you twist the sapphire stone of the ring away from you, you move through levels of the past. You’ll experience a swishing sound and your surrounds will become blurred. One thing you must make sure is that you are on level ground, so you better step outside the van onto solid earth. When you have counted slowly down from three, you turn the ring again. The blur will cease and you will have traversed into the past of a parallel universe that exists right next to ours, like a slice in a loaf of bread. You must step into this other universe and wait until your body adjusts. I wouldn’t attempt to go too far. Shall we try?”

They stepped outside the van, facing the ocean as the waves reluctantly splashed onto Cooee beach where the rising moon hung large before them just above the horizon.

“I’m scared,” said Julie.

“Don’t be. You are chosen. Now turn the ring downwards.”

Julie did, whilst Susan held her tight around the waist. Their view became blurred. Julie quickly turned the ring the right way up, as Susan helped her to take a step to the right.

“We are now in another universe. Each is a slice of reality, giving the illusion of extension, just as a television screen gives the impression of depth.”

“I still see the waves...but hang on, the moon is now far to the right and nearly at its zenith,” Julie said.

“Do you want to go on?” asked Susan.

“No. I want to go back. I can’t believe anything like this is possible.”

“All right,” Susan said. “I’ll put my arm around you and you turn the ring down again and we take one step to the left.”

Julie did. When the ring’s sapphire was turned down, the sea and moon became fuzzy, unreal. Then, as Susan took Julie’s hand and turned the ring, the moon had slipped down to the horizon and the waves of the sea seemed to take on a more distinctive crash onto the beach.

“We’re back”, said Susan. “By the way, you better not try this by yourself until I have shown you a few times.”

“I won’t,” Julie insisted.

“I must go. Some other time I’ll tell you more about the ring.” With this, Susan dissolved into nothing.

Julie was tempted to turn the ring again.

(To be continued next month)

Fear Of Darkness A serial novel by Joe Lake.

(So far: Julie’s husband has had an accident and disappears. At the police station Julie sees two people who have no reflection in the mirror. Next, her husband is back but she notices two marks on her neck after she takes a dream-like excursion through the universe. Then, she meets a social worker who says that she is from five hundred years in the future who gives her a ring to travel in different dimensions.)

“Here, let me show you,” said Susan, the social worker. “If you twist the sapphire stone of the ring away from you, you move through levels of the past. You’ll experience a swishing sound and your surrounds will become blurred. One thing you must make sure is that you are on level ground, so you better step outside the van onto solid earth. When you have counted slowly down from three, you turn the ring again. The blur will cease and you will have traversed into the past of a parallel universe that exists right next to ours, like a slice in a loaf of bread. You must step into this other universe and wait until your body adjusts. I wouldn’t attempt to go too far. Shall we try?”

They stepped outside the van, facing the ocean as the waves reluctantly splashed onto Cooee beach where the rising moon hung large before them just above the horizon.

“I’m scared,” said Julie.

“Don’t be. You are chosen. Now turn the ring downwards.”

Julie did, whilst Susan held her tight around the waist. Their view became blurred. Julie quickly turned the ring the right way up, as Susan helped her to take a step to the right.

“We are now in another universe. Each is a slice of reality, giving the illusion of extension, just as a television screen gives the impression of depth.”

“I still see the waves...but hang on, the moon is now far to the right and nearly at its zenith,” Julie said.

“Do you want to go on?” asked Susan.

“No. I want to go back. I can’t believe anything like this is possible.”

“All right,” Susan said. “I’ll put my arm around you and you turn the ring down again and we take one step to the left.”

Julie did. When the ring’s sapphire was turned down, the sea and moon became fuzzy, unreal. Then, as Susan took Julie’s hand and turned the ring, the moon had slipped down to the horizon and the waves of the sea seemed to take on a more distinctive crash onto the beach.

“We’re back”, said Susan. “By the way, you better not try this by yourself until I have shown you a few times.”

“I won’t,” Julie insisted.

“I must go. Some other time I’ll tell you more about the ring.” With this, Susan dissolved into nothing.

Julie was tempted to turn the ring again.

(To be continued next month)

Horace (65-8 BC)

You were the poet who invented Jesus,

But by another name, he’s still a God.

The swan that crashed as flying ceases

From out its tomb when it became too hot. 4

But was this poetry too pure to heal

As Non Usitata is ironic

To fly and sing in vain with mocking zeal,

Where poetry attempts to be iconic? 8

The saviour, just before he lives, must die

To drink and wash our ignorance away

And so attempts to raise the soul to fly,

But is hindered by the fools who want to stay. 12

So Horace, as the dreamer, must not die

To raise our feelings up towards the sky.

© Joe Lake

Joe Lake's Opinion

I’m sitting in my computer room which is one metre by one-and-a-half metres in size as I look out over the lemon, almond and pear tree and the cow paddock on which black cattle graze. On the other side of the fence is the university’s hot house that makes horrible noises as it opens and shuts its roof and blows its huge air-conditioning fans above other unimagined sounds that it makes. I can’t hear it but it drives Judy crazy.

There is a colourful fenced-in playpen for basketball players who hardly ever use it. But we like the university in our backyard. It teaches people. God bless them. I’m envious. It’s only now, in old age, that I could write an essay.

Joe Lake's Opinion

I’m sitting in my computer room which is one metre by one-and-a-half metres in size as I look out over the lemon, almond and pear tree and the cow paddock on which black cattle graze. On the other side of the fence is the university’s hot house that makes horrible noises as it opens and shuts its roof and blows its huge air-conditioning fans above other unimagined sounds that it makes. I can’t hear it but it drives Judy crazy.

There is a colourful fenced-in playpen for basketball players who hardly ever use it. But we like the university in our backyard. It teaches people. God bless them. I’m envious. It’s only now, in old age, that I could write an essay.

Flooding The Cow Paddocks

Now the grass is hot; the sun is short and yellow

And we are home from school

To find the five-acre paddock

Flooded with Seabrook water.

My dad and grandpa, as done for many years,

Had fun running water through the wooden pipes,

Damming here and there, watching the dogs

After the rabbits.

Cool in the clear water, once again we fling

Ourselves onto the backs of our horses,

Galloping around the flooded paddocks

And bring in the happy cows slowly.

They splash, then plod their way to the cow shed,

Us, behind, wishing we were in the outback

Racing after frisky beef cattle with our stock whips

Lightly touching tough hides.

Red dust and kookaburras laugh.

A true way of life on the land in Aust.

© Patricia Turner

Flooding The Cow Paddocks

Now the grass is hot; the sun is short and yellow

And we are home from school

To find the five-acre paddock

Flooded with Seabrook water.

My dad and grandpa, as done for many years,

Had fun running water through the wooden pipes,

Damming here and there, watching the dogs

After the rabbits.

Cool in the clear water, once again we fling

Ourselves onto the backs of our horses,

Galloping around the flooded paddocks

And bring in the happy cows slowly.

They splash, then plod their way to the cow shed,

Us, behind, wishing we were in the outback

Racing after frisky beef cattle with our stock whips

Lightly touching tough hides.

Red dust and kookaburras laugh.

A true way of life on the land in Aust.

© Patricia Turner

I Do And I Can

Who wants to die at Turnham Green

where mother’s eyes danced, dazzled?

Who wants to die at Stamford Brook

where father’s eyes were fixed and cold?

Who wants to die at Priory Avenue

where cruelty was an education?

Who wants to die at Hammersmith

surrounded by doting doctors?

Mother didn’t but she did,

Who wants to die at Uxbridge?

Father did - and he did,

Who wants to die at Priory Avenue?

I do and I did,

Who wants to wait at Turnham Green?

I do and I can,

District Line lumbers, like the years,

Hot, languid London summers,

Bitter winters in distant Chiswick,

Memories nourished by fertile mind.

All gone yesterdays ago,

But the pavements haven’t changed.

© Michael Garrad January 2012

I Do And I Can

Who wants to die at Turnham Green

where mother’s eyes danced, dazzled?

Who wants to die at Stamford Brook

where father’s eyes were fixed and cold?

Who wants to die at Priory Avenue

where cruelty was an education?

Who wants to die at Hammersmith

surrounded by doting doctors?

Mother didn’t but she did,

Who wants to die at Uxbridge?

Father did - and he did,

Who wants to die at Priory Avenue?

I do and I did,

Who wants to wait at Turnham Green?

I do and I can,

District Line lumbers, like the years,

Hot, languid London summers,

Bitter winters in distant Chiswick,

Memories nourished by fertile mind.

All gone yesterdays ago,

But the pavements haven’t changed.

© Michael Garrad January 2012

My View with Michael Garrad

What a wonderfully creative and productive year 2011 was and it’s spilling over into 2012 like a waterfall in flood!

June Maureen Hitchcock finally got her book of poetry in print after crossing all toes and fingers!

Reflections is a great collection of very intimate

poems which was produced as a labour of love over many, many months.

June’s volume is well worth a read.

As for publisher Joe Lake, well, what can I say!

His serial novel, published in the gazette over a multitude of months, has our readers spellbound.

Fear Of Darkness has taken us from two people in a campervan, to the unknown in a Barak Obama face mask, to vampires and currently to a new dimension in a universe beyond our comprehension.

Stay tuned!

I am pleased to report that my novella, My Song is still selling since its release in October last year. I am indebted to all those who have helped promote the work which tells the story of one woman’s daily agony in the holocaust that is mental illness, as seen through her eyes.

May creativity focus our minds!