- Age: 72
- Location: Toronto , Ontario
- Gender: Male
- Country: CA
- Public Profile URL:
Born in Montreal - raised in Toronto ... I 'm something of a recluse and have only in the past few years felt the freedom to write.
I wrote a collection of poems when I was 12. My Mother was disappointed when it one day was no where to be found.
Most of my working days were spent in graphic arts.
Now I have several starts on three or four screenplay stories in progress. My dream is to have the Hollywood system pick up at least one within the next couple of years.
I have an unyielding belief in the Kingdom of God, and in the God of that Kingdom. I have yet to reach my potential.
I play the guitar somewhat, noodle around on the keyboard and still have a singing voice. I hope to get recording new songs God generously brings my way to write.
Here's a blog for you to read - on the subject of God and me;
I know of the God I've entered into agreement with- more than I am known of Him. I observe and marvel at this oil and water relationship.
It is traditional for man to fail his God. The first man to do it was Adam. Trust in our creator has swelled and waned like sea tides around the world. Moses, Abraham, even the beloved King David eventually demonstrated the truths of the human psyche; "I will eventually fail you". The stories of our lives were not written by a scriptwriter from L.A. We never walk into the sunset or sunrise with the world in a handbag. We wish.
And ... do we write our own ending or does he?
Is it 15% me ... and 85% you- I could ask? I still don't know the math after all these years. I see non-believers propelled to compassion and good deeds and can do little but wonder who I am ... standing ankle deep in gravel on the periphery of the path of least resistance; ("the broad way")
It's an upstream existence, choked by the heavy waters of indifference. Intent seems merely pocket change, as it addresses the issue of "buying gold".
You framed me in a vale of heavenly tears, forged me through the pain of blood.
I have the luxury to sit drink coffee and wonder; to be safe in my bed at night while sink-holes swallow up the peoples of the world daily. Many won't receive the story and fewer still will read the fine print. Others curiously, don't believe there even is a story.
This belief, (or resident perception), being our right of investment and as long as sun shines and winds blow, a freedom which seals our portion. Unfurl the flag- but as benevolent as it is, I hear it's a totalitarian regime.
Are those of us this side of the vial able to make out the details of his visage, or see with any clarity, what puts a smile on his face? Will this image put a smile on ours?
Do we simply follow by focusing on a trail he cleared through a forest of uncertainty and confusion? Mankind seems inexorably tied to a freedom which leaves truth without a horizon line between heaven and earth.
I'm a color on his pallet. I'm an element of intent extruded from his vast wisdom and by faith I am free to declare I have my worth in him alone. Have I spoken the TRUTH?
Truth is an anchor... the boat; an extension of which validates its functionality. Truth is woven into the fabric of our existence whether we love truth or lie. Most of us are too busy to make a pilgrimage out of the question of WHY, but we note that those three letters are there.
Leaky vessels, throughout the transcripts of "His Story", men of faith have lived only to navigate the sea of uncertainty toward the promise of a sunrise of enlightenment somewhere beyond the line.
Most times the gales and yaw of life are the only things around to remind me I'm still on board. Aaah! but I read the end of the story and It's a win and the ship's cargo is brought safely ashore.
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- FORGOTTEN SOLDIERS
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