Poetic Stories

By Peter Fifield

At any given time in our lives, we are in the midst of forming or looking for relationships. How often do we pause to look at those that are formed without thought or action? In this book of short stories and poetry, Peter Fifield gives us a glimpse through his words, at some of those relationships.
An interesting connection is formed when a stranger's possessions fall into the hands of a young man struggling for inspiration. A little boy, no longer in the world that was his, reaches out for bonds of friendship in his new circumstances. A chance moments of conversation between friends, between a man and his thoughts and from a lover to their lost love...
Aspects of relationships not often explored, can be found in the stories contained in "Poetic Stories".
Food for thought about how even a chance moment with another person, can have impact upon a life. ~ Karin Tupper

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Fifield
• Release date: Jan 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301048335

Peter Fifield

Just who is the Author named Peter Fifield: I am a father who has experienced the happiness of a relationship and the heartbreak associated with premature loss, a man full of life due to the frustrations and joys of raising two teenagers.I am an internet published author of 15 books with readers in countries as diverse as India, Japan, Great Britain, Canada and the United States of America. I am a man who questions the performance of Christianity on the part of groups professing true performance a man who questions religions demanding obedience to their beliefs without encouraging exploration of truth on the part of followers.I am a man who supports equality of opportunity, treatment, and justice for every man and women on the face of the earth. I am a seeker of knowledge that transcends the bounds of culture and religions, and the constraints of governments and self-interests. Why do I write? It comes from the heart. It pours out in the night.It is the desire to communicate feelings others may share. It comes from the recognition that life is a journey that can be shared with other travelers when communicated. It comes from the recognition that words can heal, inspire, create dreams, and also let us touch reality. But most of all they allow us to express to others what we feel in our own hearts. That is the reason we read and quote others who have expressed what we ourselves share. ~Peter Fifield

Book preview

Chapter Two

The bleeding-heart boys arrived in the city again like a pack of desperate desperadoes, fresh out of the west and looking for something more, it was only natural we’d end up in the sweet part of the city, surrounded by record shops and restaurants. At the time, I couldn’t tell you what I wanted, other than to sit down and have a drink with Panama and Keys and talk about the trip, the future, and all the pretty young things shuffling down the city sidewalks. Panama and Keys, they wanted a beer then and there, but I wanted to look around and as they ambled into some sketchy looking saloon, I found my way to that street corner.

You were coming out of the café and bumped into me, we both watched your last cigarette fall to the ground and roll into the storm drain. I smiled and offered you mine, which you placed gracefully between your lips. I sparked the tip as the rain started pouring, and you punctuated that first drag with, It’s my favorite weather, you know? Something calming and natural about it, even when it’s torrential. I smiled back and nodded in agreement. I told you I was new to the city, that I was lost and aimless, some silly vagabond kid who read too much into the American Dream. We talked cynical lit and as you finished that cigarette you made your move, you told me you liked how brown my eyes were, that they were earthy and earnest. I kind of smiled and said they were shit brown. You laughed that time, but you told me you hated that I saw it that way. You called them handsome and I melted, compliments always got me twitterpated and and made me use stupid words like twitterpated. I asked if we could share another cigarette on your next shift break.

I met you at every shift break I could manage for three years. It was more than that though, so much more. After that first night I stayed at your apartment, everything changed. The bedsheets were on the floor and you were curled up naked with your head on my chest. I wasn’t worried about the future, and about being flaccid in front of you, I just wanted to keep stroking your hair and I never wanted that moment to end. You asked me what I was thinking and I took the biggest leap I’ve ever made.

"I’m thinking about it, the dream, you know? I know you think it’s silly, the white picket fence and the two and a half kids, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. And I don’t care about the kids, or getting famous in the city. I don’t want the world, or the money, or anything like that. I’m perfectly content working in that shithole steel mill for the rest of forever. Before I got to the city, I didn’t understand the dream, I just knew what I read. But now I get it. It’s you. You’re the measure of my dreams. As long as you’re here, I don’t sweat the rest of