Somewhere out there

Down in the darkness,

Somewhere out there,

Someone is hurt.

In and out of her life,

Deeply deeply deeply

Deeply hurt in her life.

She cried and cried.

And thought of taking her

Life away, not knowing

That the Creator is

Watching and protecting her,

Somewhere out there.

Somewhere out there,

She calls them to God,

Telling them that He is

The Messiah. But

Somewhere out there

They say look at her she’s

Drunk, high, mad on glue.

Not knowing that they are the mad ones,

Somewhere out there

Somewhere out there,

She sits down by the corner,

Taking her book and a pen,

Writing a song and a poem

To her Lord.

Thanking Him for loving

And protecting her

Through the days of darkness,

Somewhere out there.

You can find Shorty’s work on Amazon.

All online retailers (including Amazon) will be selling Shorty’s Poems at less than 50% of the regular price, from the 1st of April to the 3rd of April (US time). Stay home. Read poetry.

You can still download other books (including mine) during the Smashwords Authors Give Back Sale running for the next couple of weeks to encourage people to stay at home and catch up on their reading.

Thanks to everyone who has supported Shorty thus far, in any way whatsoever. If you’ve read her book, or heard her poems, please leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.

Till next time. Stay safe.

Cheers.

 

No one takes her seriously

One September morning,

The sun is shining and everybody

Is happy and excited.

Friends and family are out and about

In the restaurants,

Happy and enjoying life to the fullest.

When a poor little girl comes by,

Walking on the side of the pavement,

Crying and hurt.

Raped and stressed.

Hungry and angry.

Tortured and bleeding.

She screams for help.

No one takes her seriously.

They pass and ignore her

Like she doesn’t exist.

She waves her hand, screaming and shouting

For help. But

No one takes her seriously.

They’re chatting and smiling at one another.

She’s in pain and needs help. But still

No one takes her seriously.

When she falls on the pavement, lying flat on her stomach,

She’s dead. Gone.

No one takes her seriously.

You can find Shorty’s work on Amazon. Or at other online retailers.

New stock of paperbacks just arrived in Melville from the printers, available directly from the Melville poet herself – if you can find her in these days of Corona shutdowns – or from me. Pocket-sized A6, or larger A5.

Soon to appear in select Melville bookstores.

Or you can download an electronic copy during the Smashwords Authors Give Back Sale running for the next couple of weeks. 30% off, to encourage people to stay at home and catch up on their reading.

Thanks to everyone who has supported Shorty thus far, in any way whatsoever. If you’ve read her book, or heard her poems, please leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.

Once you’ve read the poems, you can grab a free copy of Dancing in Valhalla, from the 23rd to the 25th of March, at most online retailers except Amazon (different promotional rules apply). Stay home. Read. Flatten the curve.

Till next time. Stay safe.

Cheers.

 

Isolation

A reminder that if you’re going into virus isolation, and you’re looking for something to read, you can download a free copy of Burning Roses this week, from the 19th to the 22nd of March.

From anywhere except Amazon (they have different promotional rules, but you can still get a Kindle version from other retailers). You’ll find most other online retailers here – https://books2read.com/b/BurningRoses

Check back again on Monday for another free book to get you through next week.

Cheers.

20th century boy

It was a part of Johannesburg I hadn’t been to for a while. I followed the GPS directions up Northcliff hill, under towering jacaranda trees that had painted the road purple-blue during the recent rains.

The road under the trees was still damp, with the occasional puddle scattered around low-lying corners. I took care to avoid these. Pot-holes lurked in their depths, like trolls under a bridge, waiting to ambush unsuspecting motorists.

I laughed at the analogy. Trolls. Updated for the 21^st century, available on every cellphone.

What was I doing? Driving to a random address because someone had scribbled it on a piece of paper and dropped on my desk? I would have pulled over and stopped, if the mountain road hadn’t been so narrow.

OK. Garth fell in front of a train. It happened. People tripped. Especially people like Garth. He’d probably had a few drinks. More than a few.

Coincidence. That’s all it was. Pure coincidence.

This time I laughed at myself. Silly old man. Probably still hungover from last night. Not thinking straight.

I glanced at the GPS app on my phone. Nearly there. I might as well complete the drive, see where the mystery man wanted me to go.

The last two hundred metres took me over a rise, Johannesburg’s skyline greeting me from the horizon. A lovely view, with the sun setting on my right.

Then I was there. “Your destination is on your left.” I had arrived much earlier than 7pm. The habits of a punctual lifetime.

I parked under a shady willow, wondering what I was supposed to do now.

Until the gate across the road drew back with a subdued rumble and Jenny pulled out of her driveway.

Latest in a series of emails sent to me by an old Valhalla drinking buddy. He couldn’t post them himself, for reasons that will become obvious over time. I’m publishing them here at his request, as I received them.

With libraries closing all over the world, and people isolating themselves, if you’re looking for something to read, you can download a free copy of Burning Roses this week, from the 19th to the 22nd of March. From anywhere except Amazon (different promotional rules). You’ll find most other online retailers here – https://books2read.com/b/BurningRoses .

Cheers.

Something in the way

From an early age, Shorty wanted to be an entertainer. She loved singing and dancing. But when Shorty was 11, her mother passed away, and Shorty’s dreams died too.

Years of abuse made her hate life. She lost focus. At 16, she had a son, now being raised by her sister. At 17, Shorty moved to Melville. Angry. Wanting to die.

But she found love on the streets of Johannesburg.

From 2007 she adapted to street life. She learned she had to depend on herself. She used to beg for money, until in 2016 – standing outside Poppy’s – she showed her poems to a friend who suggested she should read them for people.

Today she is well-known on the streets of Melville, reciting her poetry to anyone who will take the time to listen to the heartfelt words of The Melville Poet.

You can find her work on Amazon or other online retailers.

Pocket-sized paperbacks are now available in 7th Street and surrounding areas, from Shorty herself or from Innocent the Travelling Bookstore.

Check out “The Melville Poet” videos on YouTube. Shorty Malorty is a star, baby…

Shorty’s books will also be available soon in various book stores around Johannesburg. BookDealers of Rivonia is currently showcasing local authors, as can be seen from the attached photo.

Twisted psychological horror side by side with childrens books, self-help books, fantasy sci-fi and war memoirs. Even romance, and a collection of short stories by various South African authors. Let’s support local talent, and BookDealers’ initiative.

Till next time.

Cheers.

 

Accidents never happen

“What is this?”

“He fell in front of a train last night.”

“What?”

The young man reached into his pocket again before leaning forward and taking back his phone. He left a folded piece of paper in front of me.

“Check it yourself. Talk to your ex, if you like. This is real. It’s happening. And now you owe us a favour.”

“Kak.”

I didn’t know many Afrikaans words, but that was one of my favourites.

The young man stood up and moved towards the door. “The person who lives at that address.” He pointed at the paper on my desk. “Needs to have an unfortunate accident tonight at 7pm.”

I stood up. Took a step back from the paper that threatened from the desk.

“Wait a minute. What? I never agreed to this.”

He shook his head, laughing quietly. But not at me.

“That’s how it works. They pull you in. Get you involved. Then you belong to them.”

Now I was the one to shake my head. “No.”

He opened the door. “I’m just the messenger. I make contact. I deliver the instructions. Because if I don’t…” He stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door open. “Remember this. They know everything about you.”

“New client?”

“What?”

Jenny stood in the doorway, shaking her blonde curls. “Honestly, you guys get so caught up in your financial schemes, I sometimes wonder how you make it through the day.”

I nodded, mind still spinning.

“I need to leave early today. Got something I need to take care of. Is that alright?”

I nodded again. “Yes. Yes, of course. No problem.”

My eyes returned to the folded paper on my desk.

“In fact, I might leave early myself. So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled. “About time you got out the office. Catch you tomorrow.”

I nodded again. As Jenny closed the door, I picked up the piece of paper.

Latest in a series of emails sent to me by an old Valhalla drinking buddy. He couldn’t post them himself, for reasons that will become obvious over time. I’m publishing them here at his request, as I received them.

Catch the SmashWords Read an EBook Sale, this week only. Over 100 000 free books on offer – including some of mine – with thousands more heavily discounted. Get Shorty’s Poems, 50% off the regular price.

Cheers.