Ian Jeffries is not for Sale

By Bob McCabe

Paperback signed by the Author

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When Laura Anne Robinson offered £10,000

for Addie Jeffries’ youngest son Ian,

Addie thought she was joking.

 

After all, they were on their second bottle of Chablis, and Ian was, as they say, a street angel and a house devil. Why would this wealthy woman with her perfect figure, flawless make-up and beautiful home part with so much money to secure a summer playmate for her own son?

For the Jeffries family, life in 1960s suburban Ireland is a constant battle with leaky roof, school fees and repeatedly darned socks. While Addie hankers after the finer things for herself and her family, husband Roy lacks ambition and lets promotion opportunities pass him by time and again, until Addie loses patience and takes matters into her own hands.

It’s a risky endeavour, she knows. If all goes to plan, the Jeffries will never have to worry again about getting the roof fixed, but if it doesn’t, they stand to lose the one thing no amount of money can buy.

When Laura Anne Robinson offered £10,000

for Addie Jeffries’ youngest son Ian,

Addie thought she was joking.

 

After all, they were on their second bottle of Chablis, and Ian was, as they say, a street angel and a house devil. Why would this wealthy woman with her perfect figure, flawless make-up and beautiful home part with so much money to secure a summer playmate for her own son?

For the Jeffries family, life in 1960s suburban Ireland is a constant battle with leaky roof, school fees and repeatedly darned socks. While Addie hankers after the finer things for herself and her family, husband Roy lacks ambition and lets promotion opportunities pass him by time and again, until Addie loses patience and takes matters into her own hands.

It’s a risky endeavour, she knows. If all goes to plan, the Jeffries will never have to worry again about getting the roof fixed, but if it doesn’t, they stand to lose the one thing no amount of money can buy.

The Masterpiece

By Bob McCabe

A Unique Heroine.

An Intriguing Mystery

Is it a TURNER ORIGINAL 

people are dying for?

 

Family orientated Susan Macken buys a painting because it awakens memories of her childhood.

She is unaware it may be a TURNER MASTERPIECE.

Susan begins to have disturbing flashbacks.

In pursuit of the truth she enters an unfamiliar world of extreme danger, deception and secrecy. Much is revealed to her about herself, her identity.

A beautiful young man with a lethal secret, a Dragon with a television reputation, uncompromising Prague businessmen, London, Prague, Dublin, a fair helping of Irish family life, a husband with a penchant for female calligraphers and back to the year 1825, shipwrecks and conspiracy.

Who is Abigail? Who is Susan Macken?

My Paintings        Bob McCabe

Some Poems

Life Partners

 

Breakfast, on a terrace, morning light

She sits, her coffee cup and plate ignored

Her mind elsewhere on times now out of sight

Alone, life’s partner gone, once adored

 

Memories fill the ornate vacant chair

Where once he sat, her vital being gone

One with her, now taken, so unfair

She sighs and lifts her head, life must go on

 

They always said whatever one was left

Should keep the dream alive a pure white dove

Inspite of all the wonders now bereft

Companionship replace undying love

 

A man, close by, looks at another chair

Unoccupied, the loss of someone dear

Of each other, they are both aware

Companionship a kindred spirit here?

Bob McCabe

 

 

 

Far too much to drink

 

I cannot hold the glass, my fingers won’t obey

I want, I crave to drink, it’s in my blood

I clutch the bottle there’s no other way

I drink with hunger, thirst misunderstood

 

 

I cannot stand nor even can I talk

I try, my limbs, my tongue, will not obey

Helpless on my back, I cannot walk

Defeated, lost I cry, no other way

 

 

The wind inside me moves, a trapped air sack

I burp, the tears rolling down my cheeks.

Lift me up and pat me on the back

I’m just a little baby of six weeks

Bob McCabe

 

 

Glass Half Full

 

For some, the cage door opens once a year
to seek the sparkle, foreign climate pours
into their famished lives, restore what’s dear.
Pleasure replacing, mundane daily chores.

For some, the cage door’s always open wide
not from wealth, riches, power, you’ll find
But from within, as sure as rising tide
The wondrous gift, that is, peace of mind

 

Glass half full or empty, that’s your choice

The living cup, you’ll drink what e’er it brings

You write the script, you always have a voice

Life’s wonders never cease the song to sing

Bob McCabe

 

The Arts

 

An artist, whether words or paint inspired

Best sellers, or those dusting on the shelf

Masterpiece, or mundane, undesired

One should compete, with no one but oneself

 

One’s words are borne to bring to others ears

One’s art is offered to all seeing eyes

An artist, brave, presents, and never fears

It’s in the work the message lives or dies

 

So, paint and write be guided by the muse

Delve deep into the talents that prevail

Within you, there’s no doubt you have to choose

To strive perfection, accepting you might fail

Bob McCabe

 

 

 

Life Partners

 

Breakfast, on a terrace, morning light

She sits, her coffee cup and plate ignored

Her mind elsewhere on times now out of sight

Alone, life’s partner gone, once adored

 

Memories fill the ornate vacant chair

Where once he sat, her vital being gone

One with her, now taken, so unfair

She sighs and lifts her head, life must go on

 

They always said whatever one was left

Should keep the dream alive a pure white dove

Inspite of all the wonders now bereft

Companionship replace undying love

 

A man, close by, looks at another chair

Unoccupied, the loss of someone dear

Of each other, they are both aware

Companionship a kindred spirit here?

Bob McCabe

 

 

 

What might have been

 

I should have, could have, didn’t, talk to her

For seven days, an ocean cruise we shared

The prize won’t go to those who so demur

I watched, but didn’t tell her how I cared

 

 

Sometimes, life deals the perfect winning hand

An encounter, fulfilling all ones dreams

Her aspect not pretentious, self-obsessed or bland

I wanted to uncover all it means

 

At last we talked, so close, we shared a seat

My greatest expectation, our last day

Common interests shared the role complete

Between us, there was, so much to say

 

An hour seemed like moments, airport bus

I helped her down wanting to hold her hand

Good byes to others alighting just like us

She walked away, I stood in no man’s land

 

 

“Don’t leave me I’m too long alone with dreams”

To find the words and how they should be framed

“What is your name, come back, please stay” I screamed

But only in my mind the words remained

Bob McCabe

 

 

 

 

Peace of Mind

 

 

Elusive peace of mind, humanity

Not always found in spirits, those who deem

To break the shackles of mundanity

And climb to any height that’s not foreseen.

 

Ambition, greed, success, go hand in hand

Molding, shaping memories, sometimes marred

All actions cause reaction, how you stand

One’s probably paid the price, life can be hard

 

Simple confession wipes the slate so clean

The Church’s answer caring for your soul.

Too glib perhaps, but easy to believe

For those who choose to take an easy role

 

So, recollect, and quantify the sin

Give and take, the balance, how you fared

Forgiveness, comes more often, from within

Peace of mind is therefore simply shared

Bob McCabe

 

 

 

 

 

       Running Blind

 

 

Partners in a Marathon, to the end

I cannot see, I will be running blind

Total dependence on a trusted friend

Enclosed, unseeing, does things to the mind

 

Excited runner’s voices at the start

Now toe the line, are quiet with respect

The loudest sound to me, my beating heart

Apprehension, what can I expect?

 

Joking, laughs and banter as we move

So far to go, the challenge is laid down

Both of us with something here to prove

Comedy is serious to the clown

 

I’ve trained my body, I will last the pace

We reach half way, disorientation seeps

Into my consciousness, my personal space

My back is strong but doubt, the enemy creeps.

 

 

Spectators call and cheer as if aware.

Distress, my silent cry, my need, assist

Reward them, kick my legs up in the air

They laugh they clap, a clown cannot resist

 

 

 

Applause from strangers fortifies like wine

At last the finish nears we’ve run the course

Triumph over pain, I cross the line

The back end of a funny. pantomime horse

 

Bob McCabe