Blazing a trail across History (poem mine)

Blaze a trail across the pages of history, do not embrace the herd mentality.
March to a different drumbeat, dance to your own music.
Do not conform to the accepted norm.

Dance in the rain, walk naked on the beach if you want, step into the gap, make a difference. Do not be a sheep, do not bleat in fear, rather shout your battle cry.
Let the pages of the ages tell of your great deeds.

Make them remember you. Fly like a shooting star across the pages of history, across the ages let your name ring true, bringing honour to all your house.

Don’t be a mouse, be brave, talk not of a noble death; for death is not noble, nor glorious just a messy and sad end to the spark of life which can burn so bright. Run like a a stallion

When in your last days as you lay gasping for one more breath and it is asked “Do you have regrets quietly say. No U have not, I have tried everything that I wanted to do, I have no regrets in some I was not successful and in others I was,
I rage not at the coming of my night.
My Star has burned brighter the universe is lighter for my having been here.

When death come do not hide in the grave yard where he will not look for you.
Rather stand in the gap one last time and when death approach be sure to check and you will see in his shadow he brings reinforcements for a life well lived and reinforced even death trembles and fears in the presence of such a life.

Now for the Gaelic Interpretation
Blaze slighe air feadh na duilleagan eachdraidh, chan eil gabhail an treud inntinn.
Màrt gu eadar-dhealaichte drumbeat, dannsa ri ceòl agad fhèin.
Chan eil rèir slatan-tomhais a ‘gabhail ris àbhaisteach.

Dannsa ann an uisge, coiseachd rùisgte air an tràigh ma tha thu ag iarraidh, ceum a-steach a ‘bheàrn, a’ dèanamh eadar-dhealachadh. Cha bhi caora, chan eil bleat ann an eagal, an àite a bhith ag èigheachd ur blàr glaodh.
Leig an duilleagan a ‘aois innse do gnìomhan mìorbhaileach.

Cuimhnich iad air a dhèanamh dhuibh. Fly mar seilg rionnag air feadh na duilleagan eachdraidh, air feadh na h-aoisean leig ur n-ainm fìor fàinne, a ‘toirt urram do na h-uile taigh agaibh.

Cha bhi luchag, fearail, a ‘bruidhinn cha uasal bàs; airson bàs chan eil uasal, ni mò glòrmhor dìreach bùrachail agus deireadh duilich ris an sradag de bheatha a dh’fhaodas a losgadh cho soilleir. Ruith mar a Stallion

Nuair ann do làithean mu dheireadh mar a tha thu Lay gasping airson aon tuilleadh anail agus thathar ag iarraidh air “A bheil aithreachas gu sàmhach ràdh. No U chan eil, tha mi air feuchainn-uile rud a bha mi ag iarraidh a dhèanamh, feumaidh mi eil aithreachas ann an cuid cha robh mi soirbheachail agus ann an daoine eile a bha mi,
Sèididh mi nach eil a ‘tighinn mo oidhche.
My Star air a losgadh gealltanaiche na cruinne-cè a tha nas aotroime do m ‘an dèidh a bhith an seo.

Nuair a thig am bàs cha bhi falach anns an uaigh gàrradh far am bi e a ‘coimhead airson nach eil thu.
An àite seasamh anns a ‘bheàrn aon turas mu dheireadh agus an uair a’ bhàis a bhith cinnteach gu bheil dòigh-obrach gus dèanamh cinnteach agus chì thu ann am faileas aige fhèin e a ‘toirt shaighdearan airson beatha gu math beò agus a’ daingneachadh fiù ‘s bàs crith agus eagalan an làthair leithid de bheatha.
Copy write and protected by the individual intellect property acts and laws of South Africa 2016 all writes property of TB Wood / Sarejess/ Sarejessian .
The owner gives consent for reproduction of the above unreservedly under 1 proviso That due recognition be given with each reproduction.

In my heart I am thy Suitor (poetry mine)

In my heart I am thy suitor.
In my mind I know there is no chance or kind.
Oh, oh, they cry love is blind.
Bind up my wounded heart with thy kindness.
Take away my breath, lead me not to an untimed death.

Thou art the love of mine old age.
Like pink coloured ink on brown parchment.
Thou art the rising sun to my setting sun.
The light that rise before the dawn, when birds begin to sing.

Ann mo chridhe mise do tòir (bàrdachd mhèinn)

Ann mo chridhe mise do tòir.
Ann m ‘inntinn Tha fios agam nach eil cothrom no seòrsa.
Och, och, tha iad a ‘caoineadh gaoil a tha dall.
A cheangal suas mo chridhe leòn le do chairdeas.
A thoirt air falbh m ‘anail, a’ leantainn orm nach do untimed bàs.

Tusa gràdh mo shean aois.
Like dath pinc air inc dhonn parchment.
Tusa a ‘ghrian ag èirigh gu mo ghrian.
Tha an solas a tha ag èirigh an làthair an camhanaich, nuair a chaidh eòin a ‘tòiseachadh a’ seinn.

Short story

I found it washed on to the beach on the incoming tide, one morning after a stormy night on which the wind had blow a gale.
The wind had howled around the lighthouse rattling all the shutters  the oil lamp had been primed in the early afternoon the day before as the clouds began to build over the hills to the north. By 4pm the wind had begun to rise and the ran began to fall the light had faded and I lit the lamp the shuttles began there rotation the strong light beam cast itself out into the driving rain and dark occasionally the lightening flashed and the sound of thunder rumbling long after the flash of lighting had disappeared.
In I was looking out of the window and saw the ocean with 12 foot high waves and swells in which no boat could live in seas like this I thought and I prayed that we would not have to launch the boat that night.

I settled down to read a book besides the fire and drink a glass of brandy to warm my chilled body.
Life as a lighthouse guard was not easy.

I began read and grew comfortable besides the fire and soon fell into a doze.

Soon I was fast asleep I began to dream, I dreamed I was on the quarterdeck of a ship in the storm.

The ship was in trouble and most of the sails had been torn to shreds, the main mast was the only one left standing both the fore mast and quarterdeck mast had gone by the boards. The captain had given orders that the ship was to be abandoned. I clasped the small golden love locket of my wife in Port Elizabeth had given me and kissed it before climbing onto  the life boat.

The waves we’re huge the night dark, with high seas running in the far distance the flash of Cape Reciffe lighthouse caught my eye.

We pulled hard on the oars to get away from the sinking ship when she went down if we were to close she would take the lifeboat down with her and us in it.

For a moment the ship tillted like a crazy milk bucket and then she was gone. A moment later the lifeboat was sucked under.

I felt the air been pulled from my lungs, the heavy coat pulled me down the cold ocean water began freezing my limbs as I struggled to free myself from the heavy coat
Some thing struck me and I remembered no more…

I awoke with a start the fire had gone out and the storm abated. I wondered down to the beach to see how things looked as I walked along the beach the soft wet sand under feet something caught my eye a small golden love locket.

Whalebone Model Ships of the Napoleonic Period

The long war that raged in Europe between 1793 and 1815 affected people in various ways.

It is an accepted fact that ships build along the French slick lines we’re faster than there English counterparts.

So much so that when a French vessel was captured they would normally be brought into the service of the Royal Navy.

French prisoners of war during this period would spend many years in prisons in England or on board what was called sheer hulks (a term which means a shell of a vessel with all the fittings removed including the masts.

Life was not pleasant and very boring, thus sailors of the French navy turned their considerable talents to the making of Whalebone models of the ships they served on below is one of those models currently in the Bayworld museum complex Port Elizabeth there website is




FOR MORE INFO VISIT THE FOLLOWING WEB LINK: link to the authors showroom

Spiritus Africanus – Recollections of My Life.

This is a collect of reminisces of my life – Events, observations, helicon days of Thunder & Wonder.

Retold in the style of an old man recalling his youth.


Continue reading “Spiritus Africanus – Recollections of My Life.”

Culloden The Romance of the Failed Jacobite Rebellion

Culloden a name that will live long in Scottish history, a name of a
Moor that lives large in the imagination of romantics.

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Marketing yourself a guide to helping yourself


The aim of this post is to put into perspective the truth about marketing yourself, your brand,  your products, and your future.


This chapter will deal with a new look at Marketing and hopefully change many of the misconceptions that are generally believed about marketing.

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Home made oil paint

Oil paint that I made today. Oil paint supply’s are very expensive but if you cannot afford the tools you need to find an alternative.

The ingredients for the production of oil paints or rather a reasonable or rather alternatives are easily obtainable from your local supermarket
Below are some  of  the colours I made today.
Burnt umber.
In an attempt to raise money to support my family I have started to make oil paints.




An oil painting by The Sarejessian titled shadow ship.

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The Tales of Africa’s Ghosts that began a friendship between two writers about 11 years ago from two places that are very far away.

South African Ghosts

Some South African ghosts have the unusual habit of appearing at odd hours of the day and night.

There is never a sense of foreboding or doom just before they appear as is common with there European counterparts.

I have titled these three short stories the dinosaurs, the old woman and A sighting of the flying Dutchman.
Continue reading “The Tales of Africa’s Ghosts that began a friendship between two writers about 11 years ago from two places that are very far away.”

Readers kindly post your reviews of Oakland Park

Reviews for the Sterley’s of Oakland Park are now open.


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