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BROCCOLI

Slow and easy,  that’s  how the water under the bridge flowed. A gentle meandering around rocks. The passing of the occasional sluggish twig or leaf had the same attitude; there was no need for haste. This bridge, this stream, was their favourite place.    There was a breeze. From the north carrying the chill of  faraway  ice that demanded at least a thick pullover even though there was heat from a bright sun. But they could linger, they were zipped up tightly enough to fight off the cold.    Coming up to ten-years-old they were, the two boys swinging in unison on the wooden rail of the wooden footbridge spanning the wide stream. At their  feet  a bulging bag. Both wearing the same bright blue fleece, the same black  jeans  and the same white crossovers. Not speaking, dreaming, mesmerised as they stared through the water wishing  they’d  brought their rods. But no time for fishing they had orders accompanied by the wo...
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TEARS - A WEDDING POEM

TEARS A poem written for my niece for a reading on her wedding day I dreamed about a dream I had  In which I stood so close to you  I spoke the words that were meant for you  And meant those words I said to you  I thought the thoughts I felt for you  And felt the love I had for you  The tears I felt, I shed for you  they showed my depth of love for you Yesterday, I dreamed the dream again  Standing, speaking, shedding tears for you  I hoped, I prayed, to be with you  To share my life and love with you  The life I want to have with you  To grow, to build, get old with you  A life to give and care for you  Where days are warm, and full of you Today, the dream I dreamed came true The words I’d say, I’ve said to you  The love I’d feel, I’ve felt for you The tears I’d cry, I’ve shed for you   I’ve danced, I’ve drunk, I’ve laughed with you  Said cheers to a world so filled by you  And dreamed the li...
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SOME WILL DIE - IS PUBLISHED

MY LATEST BOOK, SOME WILL DIE, HAS BEEN PUBLISHED A  killer creeps  in through a downstairs window and comes out rolled up in a  blood-soaked  carpet.     After further shootings it becomes obvious more is at stake than a simple murder putting an agreement between two London crime factions under pressure. A delicate status quo is  shattering  and a gang war seems inevitable.     Who arranged the hit? Why are bodies piling up? The crime gangs suspect each other causing the rift to widen but as Dave Simmons  investigates  he  identifies  potential  new players  creating a completely different scenario that puts his life in deadly peril.     With the hitman still at large, two crime organisations tooling, deceit and betrayal causing confusion can Dave solve the mystery while at the same time preventing London erupting into violent gang warfare?     A gripping crime drama that will raise ques...
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WHAT I LIKE TO DO

A Monday afternoon in ‘66 was when I discovered the meaning of what I  actually liked  to do. I remember the day well. Just one lecture that day so college ended early. Early enough for me to head to the driving range and collect a few buckets of balls before I headed home. You see, the range was new and had no collection tractor so for ten minutes every hour the bays closed for ball pick-up. Then the sprint began, something I had well and truly sussed. In ten  minutes,  I could collect six buckets. Do that twic e and  I’d  earn a crisp  one-pound  note. Brilliant for only twenty minute’s work.
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A Bucket Full of Colours

Monday morning and it is sunny but cool. Delany Quick exuberantly placed the empty cappuccino cup on the counter of the walk-in coffee shop, exaggeratedly but unnecessarily pushed his long black hair away from his face and looked the server firmly in the eye. His dark almost black eyes penetrated but at the same time displayed a humorous twinkle that softened what might have been a most disconcerting stare.    In reply to her question, he said firmly with a sudden, jaunty smile, “ W hat I do madam is sell magic. Delaney Quick at your service. Purveyor of fine magic sparks.”
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