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Eagles Are the Answer

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

INT. CLINIC – DAY

Dr E. AGLE sits behind a counter with a sign overhead that reads “Dr E. Agle’s Problem Solving Clinic”. GLEN approaches.

GLEN: Hi, I’ve heard you have solutions to every problem?

E. AGLE: Absolutely! What seems to be the issue?

GLEN: (putting his phone on the counter) I can’t get reception on my phone.

E. AGLE: (nodding) Ah, I see. Have you tried using… an eagle?

GLEN: An eagle? How would that help?

E. AGLE: Just trust me.

The doctor pulls out a toy eagle and places it next to the phone. Nothing happens.

E. AGLE: Hmm, must be a hardware issue. Okay, well never mind, you know eagles fly high, right? They can carry your phone to a better signal spot!

GLEN: That… seems impractical. (taking back his phone) Okay, so I have another problem. My lawn’s overgrown and I hate mowing.

E. AGLE: Release the eagles!

GLEN: To do what? Mow my lawn?

E. AGLE: No, to scare away visitors, so no one will notice your lawn.

GLEN: Erm, okay. Well, actually the real reason I’m here is that I have a much bigger problem. I have insomnia.

Dr E. Agle makes eagle sounds.

GLEN: Wait, what?

E. AGLE: Just listen to the calming sounds of eagles at night. They’ll soothe you to sleep. They’re like nature’s lullaby. Except louder. And more… eagle-y. And, if you had an eagle perched on the foot of your bed, wouldn’t you stay very still and quiet, hence falling asleep faster?

GLEN: Erm, maybe, but do you ever offer any non-eagle related advice? I mean, what about a failing love life, for instance? There’s no way an eagle will perk that up.

E. AGLE: Learn from the song “Lyin’ Eyes”.

Dr E. Agle holds up a vinyl record of “Lyin’ Eyes” by The Eagles.

GLEN: Okay?

E. AGLE: And if that doesn’t work, get an eagle. Great conversation starter.

GLEN: I’m going now.

E. AGLE: And remember, if you are ever in a tight spot on top of a giant tower or a mountain erupting with lava… call the eagles!

GLEN: Look, why is every answer about eagles? Alright, let’s put this to the test. What’s the capital of France?

E. AGLE: Paris… which was once visited by a very curious eagle.

GLEN: …Right. What’s the square root of 16?

E. AGLE: Four. And do you know what has four talons? An eagle!

GLEN: Why is the sky blue?

E. AGLE: Ah, a classic question. The sky is blue due to Rayleigh scattering of sunlight. But do you know who loves the blue sky? Eagles!

GLEN: Well, I can’t fault your logic. Here’s the big test question. Ready?

Dr E. Agle makes an eagle sound.

GLEN: I need a romantic idea for my anniversary.

E. AGLE: Why not take a scenic eagle ride over the mountains?

GLEN: I was thinking more along the lines of dinner…

E. AGLE: Dinner on an eagle?

GLEN: No, I’m actually afraid of birds…

E. AGLE: Oh, why didn’t you say so? Well, in that case, have you tried… therapy?

GLEN: Really?

E. AGLE: Yes, eagle-assisted therapy. They’re quite good listeners. (whispering) They’re eagle-eying us right now! (normal voice again) Have you ever seen an unhappy person on an eagle?

GLEN: (disconcerted) I’ve never seen a person on an eagle.

E. AGLE: Maybe that’s why you’ve got all these problems.

GLEN: (looking around awkwardly) Yes, I am seriously considering getting an eagle now.

E. AGLE: You should. They’re also great for tax advice, cooking tips, and fixing wi-fi.

Glen edges out of the clinic, now very well-informed about the capabilities of eagles.

Lysander (Excerpt 2)

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

The Silent Monks taught him secrets long kept,

Of light’s true essence and where shadows slept.

“Child of prophecy, in these halls, secrets you’ll unlock,

Train among us, become steadfast as the mountain rock.”

 

Marble pillars, tall and proud, bore witness to him strive,

As Lysander’s spirit, among the Silent, came alive.

Under their tutelage, he learned to harness the storm,

Finding strength in silence, and in meditation, form.

 

The pendant, reinvigorated, began to shine bright,

Reflecting his growth, the increasing inner light.

Lysander (Excerpt)

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

The night was silent, yet radiant and profound,

As rare celestial bodies in alignment were found.

Comets streaked, and the auroras danced with glee,

For a child of legend had come to be.

 

In the kingdom’s heart, where rivers meet the sea,

The oracle, with eyes of eternity, spoke the decree:

“This child bears a weight, a fate yet unwound,

To save or to shatter, to heal or confound.”

 

With golden locks, and eyes deep as the night,

Lysander’s presence was both concern and delight.

In his laughter, there was the music of the spheres,

Yet in his silence, the weight of unspoken dark fears.

 

As the kingdom celebrated, shadows began to churn,

For the wheels of destiny had started to turn.

 

At the kingdom’s edge, where light met obsidian hue,

Lay the Forbidden Forest, a realm few dare knew.

Its legends whispered of spirits, ancient and vast,

Holding tales of the future and echoes of the past.

 

Little Lysander, his heart of wanderlust,

Ventured into the woods, with a child’s bright trust.

Beyond the thorns, the canopy’s protective embrace,

He met an ancient spirit, devoid of time or place.

 

With eyes like the cosmos, and a voice soft as mist,

The spirit offered a token, impossible to resist:

A pendant, shimmering, reflecting the spirit’s grace,

Glowing with truth but darkening at a liar’s face.

 

“Little one,” it proclaimed, “you are destined to see,

The many facets of truth, what is and what might be.

This pendant shall be your guide, both night and day,

Illuminating the just path, keeping shadows at bay.”

 

Returning home, his adventure no soul did he tell,

Yet the pendant’s luminescence some could foretell.

It became his compass, his heart’s resolute guide,

As Lysander grew with destiny by his side.

 

From the eastern lands, where no sunlight would tread,

The Shadow Warlock, a tyrant of darkness and dread,

With eyes of ember and a heart forged from cold,

Sought Lysander for the prophecy he’d been told.

 

His legions, like a storm, surged forth with intent,

Their shadows blurring the lines where light once went.

The kingdom, unprepared, could barely resist,

As night’s chilling fingers began to persist.

 

Lysander’s pendant, amidst the bleak, foul air,

Dimmed to a flicker, like breath beneath despair.

Yet within its wearer’s heart, a flame began to grow,

A courage unyielding, a defiant, fiery glow.

 

The city’s walls trembled, its defences nearly breached,

The hope of its people seemed beyond truth’s reach.

But as darkness encroached, and all seemed lost,

A rallying cry was heard, and valour was its thirst.

Our Garden

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In the garden where our love began to grow,

Amongst the seeds of hope we dared to sow,

The roses bloomed red, as did our desire,

Each petal unfolding, revealing love’s fire.

 

Our breathing, nurturing the ground,

In the rhythm of our heartbeats, love was found.

The garden flutters tales of our affection,

In each bloom, it mirrors our reflection.

 

Our breathing, the wind, stirring the chime,

As our love grows, through the annals of time.

Forever rooted, forever we’ll grow,

In this sacred place, only we two know.

Bill the Bard

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

With a quill for a sword, a parchment for a steed,

Bill galloped through words at breakneck speed.

He dreamed of fair maidens, of kings, and of fools,

While bound by the weight of Tudor tax rules.

 

In Verona and Venice, he scribed of great tales,

All the while chasing his messenger for mails.

Letters of tax, they came in a swarm,

“Oh, blast these rules!” he howled in a storm.

 

Crying havoc, he let slip the dogs of war,

Spilling ink on his ledger, “oh what a chore!”

He penned of tempests, of love’s labour’s lost,

While tallying the Queen’s most taxing costs.

 

He bartered in sonnets to settle his dues,

And mused if the Crown might accept tragic news.

“If all the world’s players must pay for their part,

Then tax me,” said Bill, “but not matters of heart!”

Compassion

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Compassion is the soothing whisper in a troubled ear,

A steady presence when the path’s unclear.

It’s the hand extended when one might fall,

A light that shines down the darkest hall.

Through understanding eyes, it softly peers,

In a warm embrace, it calms our fears.

It’s the fabric connecting me and you,

A silent promise forever true;

For in each act of compassion we bestow,

We cultivate a world where love can grow.

Talking to the Wall

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In a room where silence takes its toll,

I find companionship with an empty wall;

A monologue unbroken, where secrets fall,

The wall, impassive, stands and hears it all.

 

With ears of mortar, eyes of faded paint,

My friend to confide in, without restraint;

No criticism or interruptions it lends,

Just quiet strength on which I can depend.

 

Its surface is cool, yet warmth it does provide,

A stable presence, there for me, by my side.

It shares my laughter, and knows my pain,

In that quiet room, sanity I regain.

Random Thoughts

by Robert Walker, posted in Random Thoughts

I keep my distance because I have an infectious personality.

Er, I seem to have millions of songs… Poems that are rhyming couplets are easy to put to music. “Soliloquy” (when adapted a bit) is very fun/funny when sung completely over the top with a rock groove.

Anything creative has come out of my diligent non-alignment with reality (insanity).

I am not party political, nor am I interested in the modern organisational versions of religious zealotry. Dislike of people based on their membership of a monolithic thought faction is bigotry. I dislike instead the premise that people should have to be claimed by these things.

When assumptions disappear, decisions and behaviour look obviously wrong. It’s better not to assume anything, and tend to the garden.

Showbiz has to be the worst professional activity for personal fulfilment. It’s also true though that people with deep sensitivity are often pulled in to it, and are paradoxically least suited to the plastic glare.

The most frustrating thing about listening to interviews on podcasts is when interviewees inject dubious facts and statistics. On one recent mainstream podcast, the guest was making all sorts of claims that didn’t seem very likely to me. Was the person being duplicitous, deliberately exploiting the situation and medium because they knew they would get away with it, or were they just severely deluded? The interviewer didn’t interject, and let the interviewee continue to rattle off probably fictional statistics in response to questions. Real-time fact checking where claims are immediately cross-referenced against sources would prevent this nonsense. For example, if an interviewee says something like “most X were Y”, what is the source for that claim and does the data actually support it?