Writings from Daizie's Place

The lampstand looks oldExoticTibetan?Or Mongol perhaps.Solid and beautifully embellishedIt could have held candlesIn the tent of Genghis Khan.Visions of stony dessertWinds whipping up the dustAnd small hard men gallopingOn sturdy

His body looked like a starving man, but his smile dispelled any worry about his well-being, as if he, alone in the whole village, knew the secret to happiness.

It was a dark and stormy night, the wind howled through the leafless trees, stones tumbled down the mountain, dislodged and dislodging others. The Great Brown Bear stumbled through the forest, full of

Looking round this room I can see nothing red in color – only my red handbag at my side.It would seem that red is not a restful colour and here we have a

Is she also searching for that distant wasteland? Are we all looking for The Truth?

... that light sets the stage for the act that is just now being written.

On Saturday mornings I meet with a handful of women at Sandy's house to write.

A small orchestra of voices

After all, I was a very good girl and never told lies and could see no difficulties on the road to sainthood. . .

My dad died on the 4th of July. We were all with him, gathered around his bed.

It's time something drastic was done about plastic

...when bombs were hitting our neighbourhood, we felt that we had a Guardian Angel, as our family survived.

...an ear-making sound that you ever-never heard...

When praying on Remembrance Day for Uncle G I felt that I had known him impossible because I was not born

The Continental Palace was one of those typical imposing, yet stylish French hotels in Saigon build during the colonial era at the end of the ninetieth century and the beginning of the twentieth century.

Poets are lions, some quietly roar

It may have been sometime in 1957 or maybe it was in '58, maybe it was many nights or maybe just a single one, who knows and frankly it’s not very relevant. My brother and I, oh, and the dog; well of course, he was always around doing whatever dogs do… where was I?

It must have been somewhere round eight-thirty, a moonless night in Libya had plunged the Sahara desert into near total darkness, at least seen from the cockpit of my plane.

The sound in the room is like the lace of a dragonfly's wing. . .