The Written Word Group

                                                                        Music. Dedicated to my family. Father. Your voice was deep and rich, like the leading men in the black and white musicals we would watch on a Sunday afternoon. Nelson Eddy, Mario Lanza, Howard Keel played from 33s in the background. The scratch of the needle on vinyl as you changed the record. Loud hammering on the wall meant you wanted one of us to fetch something for you. The contrast between love ballads and your unpredictable temper created a menacing air that floated throughout the house. How we cheered as we watched you turn the corner. Dressed in your best suit, we were free for a few hours as you drank away your earnings. How often you told us that you were the last of the real men. You had no idea what a real man was. Mother. Was ...

Music has always been a big factor in my life. It holds more than notes and words. It holds memories intertwined, enmeshed within the melody. I can’t separate them. They’re the, Higgs Boson God Particle Glue, to my existence. A Large Cern Hadron Collider soundtrack, to a long life lived. Hearing a song can trigger a type of, "Post Traumatic Stress," music-field flashback.  Music will do that. Transport you, instantaneous, to a place long ago and far away. A Dr Who Tardis experience, via invisible radio waves. And it's usually a golden oldies channel, that triggers the time jump. Your everyday life is parked for that moment, as you take the way back nostalgia express, down the rabbit hole well travelled. John McCormack singing, “Little Town in the oul County Down,” has me back in the house of my childhood. It’s coming up to Christmas, snow is falling, and my Dad has invited all his pals back for a sing song. My poor hard-working Mom pulled away from her Christmas preparati...

                                                                           M y brain and heart divorced a decade ago over who was to blame about how big of a mess I have become. Eventually, t hey couldn’t be in the same room  as one another. Now my head and heart share custody of me. I stay with my brain during the week  a nd my heart  ge ts me on weekends. They never speak to one another, – instead, they give me the same note to pass to each other every week and the notes they send to one another always says the same thing: “This is all your fault’ On Sundays  m y heart complains about how my  head has let me down in the past,  and on Wednesday  my head lists all o f the times my  heart has screwed th ings up for me  in the future. They blame each   ...

  If you have nothing planned for this coming Star Wars Day , May the Fourth be with you. Then join Berni Albrighton , Author of:  ‘ The Old Man of Tiritiri Matangi ’   Thursday 4th May 1.45pm to 3.45pm: And learn more about the New Zealand conservation island of Tiritiri Matangi. At the Albox venue:  Charlottes Bar Av. Lepanto, Albox  Map directions:    Charlotte's Bar & Restaurant You will get an introduction to the island and the wildlife that live there. If you are interested in wildlife and conservation or you just want to know more about this strange sounding island, come along and be enchanted. An entrance fee of 2.50 euros per person enters you into a draw for the  chance to win a signed copy of the beautiful book                       The Old Man of Tiritiri Matangi You can also buy one of the few remaining copies of the book. There will be an auction and raffle so don’t leav...

                                                         The Gift of Song. The high pitched screech of the Pukeko told me if I didn’t get up soon I would miss the morning chorus. I looked out to see a pair of them, one standing on the others back. “Why do you do that?” I asked, half to myself and half to the long legged New Zealand Hen that I found so entertaining. “Anyway, you guys are going to have to wait until later, I need to get a move on.” I pulled on some clothes, grabbed my back pack and made my way over to The Wattle Track. It was 6.15am and soon the island would be alive with the sounds of birds singing in another day and I was on a mission to find the Kokako. A pair lived on The Wattle Track and I knew approximately which part, so I headed straight there, resisting the urge to stop and take in the beauty of the Hauraki Gulf as it wr...

                            Ellen.  Unspoken words left hanging for another time. The chance to hold your hand, gone forever. Your smile as you walk by my side imprinted on my memory. Your expression of love for me never to be heard again. I can't bargain with the universe to give me one more day with you,  I had my chance. In life I didn't tell you enough how much I love you, but in death let me deafen you with the force of my words. Until we hold each other again. Berni, your sister.  

The Written Word Group Based at the Hostal Meson In Arboleas, Almeria, Spain  Email: twwg.almanzora (at) gmail.com THE WRITTEN WORD GROUP Short stories • Poems • Scripts • A Novel • Articles • Essays • Diaries The ETHOS The ethos of The Written Word Group is that of offering a supportive outlet to everyone who enjoys writing. The RULES As to rules... There are none... other than, The Written Word Group respectfully asks that all literary endeavors and contributions be treated with equal sensitivity and supportive respect. Works will inevitably, by their nature, vary in both content and style and accordingly will not always be to everyone's taste, but... The Written Word Group asks that members be aware that each person contributing is exposing their very personal creative thoughts, and work, to public review. So please, be sensitive and supportive of both the works and the writers, who should be appreciated and commended for their endeavors. Thank you -------------------- We love s...