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New Opportunities Available with Good Morning Bedtime Story

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen

Good Morning Bedtime Story, an international online organization dedicated to building an awareness of mental health through writing, poetry, art and music has a number of new prospects that are coming alive in 2014.

The first is the announcement of a forum, where people will be able to discuss issues they are having whilst dealing with their mental illness, talk about their survival stories and offer advice to others who are suffering. We hope it will become an area of the internet where those suffering depression, bipolar, schizophrenia or any other form of mental illness will be able to congregate and safely discuss their lives, challenges and feelings.

Additionally on the forum, emerging artists will be able to showcase aspects of their artistic creations and acquire feedback in order to help become published. This will assist artists with becoming creative contributors in Good Morning Bedtime Story (GMBS) anthologies.

To help manage the forum, GMBS will require moderators to look at the conversations taking place to ensure that none begin to show racism, hatred, derogatory comments or excessive violence.

Moreover, GMBS still has a number of openings available for volunteers. Jobs will include updating social media pages; posting calls for submissions to anthologies; marketing any new ventures the organization is undertaking, and creating ideas to advantageously benefit the organizational cause.

GMBS is always open for online submissions, which will be posted on the website. Volunteers too are able to contribute with submissions, and those who volunteer their services have the opportunity to receive a recommendation for their resume.

If anyone is interested in becoming involved with GMBS, you can e-mail them at:

In the e-mail, explain why mental health matters to you, what ideas you have to help further promote the organization, and also outline whether you are interested in working as a forum moderator. Only successful applicants will be contacted.

If you ever want to submit work to GMBS, you may submit poetry, writing (both fictional and memoir), music and images relating to mental health to:

You are able to post under a pseudonym if you wish, and all published work remains copyright of the original creators. Be sure to include the word ‘submission’ in the title of the e-mail.

Thank you for reading and I hope you consider submitting work and contributing to the organization.

Bride of the Ocean

SYNOPSIS: Nat Banyon, a man who has been away from his home by the shoreline for several months now returns in the hopes of being reunited with his friends and loved ones and to return to the same exact life that he left.

Warning: There is a weak sex scene in this, but still, a weak sex scene is a sex scene all the same, so viewer discretion should be advised.


The nurse gently pushed me out through the doors and into the light of the sun, the wheelchair bumping along the stairs before reaching the concrete tiles below. Trees rustled around me whilst the wind licked eagerly at their leaves. Numerous vehicles could be seen driving by on the road before me, the bus pulling up in front of the curb. It was a terrific yellow in colour that perfectly matched the sun above, whilst at the same time I grimaced as the nurse unbuckled the strap across my waist.
‘Now you take it easy Nat’ said the nurse, her short blonde hair blowing across her face. ‘That was a nasty hit you took son. We don’t want you back here anytime soon.’ She pushed the hair out from her eyes, revealing the small freckles that were placed evenly across her cheeks.
‘Don’t worry Jody, I won’t need anybody to hold my hand where I’m going’ I said with a smile. ‘Home is where the heart is, that is what they say and I know mine like the back of my hand.’ I smiled to myself before becoming deadly serious once more. ‘I am going to miss you though. You and the rest of the staff’
‘That’s sweet Nat’ said Jody, pointing in the direction of my transport. ‘Hurry along now, or you’ll miss your bus.’
With one last smile I made my way from the wheelchair with my small bag of belongings and up the steps into the interior of the bus. I walked to the back where there was still plenty of space, the trip home giving me the chance to think over all that had happened thus far to make me land in this situation.
Nat Banyon’s the name. I have jet black hair that seems rather irregular for somebody who grew up living on the beach as the generalisation is that every such person like me has to have hair that is light in colour. I have dark brown eyes that look like the coral that is found down on the ocean’s surface and a face and body that has basically been crafted by the ocean.
I originally came from a beach up north, which is where I was headed back to now. Surfing had been my life and Chloe Rivers, the most beautiful girl in school had been my life’s passion. Yet in life there was always competition and in my case it came in the shape of Tyrese Lowman. Not only did he want to be the best surfer, but he wanted my girl as well. That bastard!
Long story short, I wanted to put him in his place and so, we raced. Problem was, not everything went according to plan. On the final wave that would have undoubtedly made me look incredibly awesome in comparison to Tyrese, I was flipped over on my board by an unsuspecting freak wave, slamming my head on a gargantuan rock sticking out of the drink. I don’t remember what happened next, or how the race turned out. All that springs to mind is my body lying on the beach, seaweed in my hair and the bitter taste of salt in my mouth. I didn’t know anything; not my name, not my social security number, but worse of all, I didn’t know Chloe. This alternate version of me was bloody ridiculous in comparison to the original Nat.
Suddenly out of the blue this lime green hippie van pulls out of nowhere and suddenly I’m riding with them. I know it sounds out of this world, but when you’ve no memory the first thing that occurs to you feels like it was the kind of thing you were doing your entire life. I should be glad it wasn’t the manure truck that showed up. Anyway, I end up in their band, lead guitarist and later even background vocals, singing songs about how we hated surfers and loved trees, but especially about sex. Actually, come to think of it, that’s probably what all the lyrics were about really.
I wasn’t very good at singing, but hey, nobody heard me over the blare of the other instruments. Besides, most people came to check out the lead singer, Wynona, this Goth wannabe constantly dressed in black, half her face covered by a unicorn tattoo. Unbeknown to any of the spectators though, she was with me. I know, it sounds terrible, but since I had no memory of Chloe, Wynona seemed like the perfect girl. Now that I think about it though, it scares the crap out of me.
Yet, she was always there though, Chloe. She came to nearly every concert, presumably waiting for my memory to return. She once came up to talk to me, but I shut her down, saying ‘go away surfer chick, we don’t want you here.’  It was later that I came to realise how I had hurt Chloe, after my memory was restored. Well, to an extent anyway.
During this guitar solo this glass bottle is thrown at the stage and hits me square in the head. A few minutes later after the grogginess begins to dissipate, I open my eyes and see Chloe leaning over me. ‘Surfer chick’ I say.
‘Surfer dude’ she replies, the two of us embracing one another.
Anyhow, afterwards I check myself into this hospital to get my memory back and to ensure there is no permanent damage to my brain from the injuries I sustained. Then, I’m sprung free and on my way back to civilisation. I only hope it’s the way I left it. I told Chloe not to visit me. I didn’t want her to see me until I was one hundred per cent once more. God, I bet she looks great!

Upon stepping off the bus and onto the pavement of the town I called home I instantly felt a sense of calm, everything appearing to be exactly the same as I had left it. The stores had not moved out, the fashion had remained the same and even the smell of beach side orange juice and surfer’s gel clung to the air as I smiled to myself before making my way up the street, bag slung over my right shoulder.
I quickly found myself at the local surf store located beside the beach, the gentle pounding of the waves drifting over to where I stood. It sounded as though the ocean was beckoning me back into Poseidon’s graces once more, as though I had never actually left.
My eyes wandered through the maze of necessary surf utensils to the counter where Chloe currently stood, resting her arms on the cabinets beneath her. As predicted, she looked spectacular. Her long blonde hair drifted across the counter, shining under the fluorescent lighting above. Her blue eyes glittered like icicles; her lips moist like the ocean itself; her radiant skin looking like a paradise waiting to be explored. She wore a short red shirt, her black bikini visible beneath it, whilst her brief denim shorts stuck to her body like glue. Looking up she saw me, a smile appearing on her face.
Before I had a chance to move however Tyrese appeared behind her, a dark scowl descending across his features. His tanned skin looked like barren rock under the flare of the lighting, his face resembling that of a caged gorilla. As always he had his shirt unbuttoned at the top to allow ladies to see his three chest hairs. Nothing had changed. He had done the exact same thing back in high school.
Luckily enough though it appeared Chloe was still my one and only girl. God, I just wanted Chloe to throw her legs around my waist so I could rush her over to my place and show her over the course of a few good hours my feelings for her had not changed in the months I’d being away.
I slowly walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist whilst staring at Tyrese who looked as though he had something on his mind.
‘Glad you could make it Nat’ he said in a deep, throaty voice. ‘We were all hoping you’d arrive in time for the annual surfing competition tomorrow.’
Chloe looked at me as though she were trying to warn me about the repercussions of my last surf championship.
‘But I’d understand if you’re not man enough to go through with it’ guffawed Tyrese.
‘No’ I grunted suddenly, Chloe appearing surprised, pulling away. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Noticing the signup sheet on the counter I picked up the biro and scrawled my signature amidst all the other wannabe surfing champions. ‘While I was away I spent a gargantuan period of time swimming in the gymnasium pool. I’m ready for a real challenge.’
‘Glad you didn’t lose your reckless attitude when you lost your mind’ grunted Tyrese, ‘see you tomorrow.’
Chloe shook her head as Tyrese walked away, before ushering me out of the store and in the direction of my place.

Upon arriving home Chloe mentioned that she had cleaned my place on a weekly basis since I had left in preparation for my heroic return. She appeared to be doing her best to keep her fears of tomorrow at bay and I did my best not to bring them up. When Chloe went to hug me once more she quickly pulled away after getting a whiff of my clothing. I smelt clean and fresh, whilst she smelt of the ocean. It was absolutely irresistible.
She loathed the hospital smell that lingered in my clothing and insisted on me ripping them off, removing most of the garments herself before rushing me into the shower and turning on the pressure as high as the aging taps would allow, the cold water drenching me from head to toe. It was like a full de-tox, any of the old which had been orchestrated by the knocks to the head being irreparably erased in a single moment in time as I felt the same old me beginning to come back to true form.
As the water ran through my hair and across my body I heard the creaking sound of the shower door opening once more. Chloe slowly clambered inside before closing the door behind her, her naked body joining mine in the midst of the moist arena surrounding us. Her breasts gently rocked from side to side, whilst her hair covered up her nipples which I slowly but surely removed before caressing that particular part of her body. She pushed her flawless body up against me as I felt a part of my body beginning to grow considerably hard as I dragged her face closer to mine before kissing passionately in the confines of the shower. Our mouths filled with both the water from the taps and the salvia from our mouths as I sucked gently upon her tongue, Chloe doing the same thing to mine. She pushed up against me once more and I felt myself beginning to enter her, such an exhilarating experience I had wanted to have happen again since the moment I had arrived in hospital, the mist from the warm water that began to make its way through the taps banning all from seeing inside.

The next day came so fast I barely had time to catch my breath before I suddenly found myself on the beach only minutes before my final showdown with Tyrese.
‘I hope you haven’t lost that fire which made you such a challenging opponent’ he grunted.
‘Not a chance of that ever occurring mate’ I said, ‘not in this lifetime anyway.’
It was a few seconds later after a rush of cool air washed over me that Tyrese said ‘I married Chloe.’
I stood flabbergasted at such words, my mouth opening before I closed it abruptly, unable to believe such a sentence. I was surprised that if it were true why Chloe had not informed me.
‘You’re lying’ I said.
‘Yeah’ said Tyrese. ‘But you know that I would have. If she had let me I mean. You know that I love her, just as you do. So I was thinking we could make this race a little more interesting, just between the two of us. The winner not only gets the respect of the crowd, but wins the heart of Chloe Rivers. The loser packs up his crap and leaves town, forever; which is exactly what you should have done in the first place.’
I shook my head. This was preposterous. I knew instantly there was no way I was ever going to agree to such lunacy, even if he was playing off my massive ego which came with professional surfer territory. There was no way I was going to risk the love of Chloe over some competition that I had already won numerous occasions before. Looking up into Tyrese’s face I smiled, pitying him for such desperate methods. I knew exactly what mattered in life and winning some surf competition was not one of them as I looked into the crowd, my eyes landing directly on Chloe, before I grinned in satisfaction.
‘I forfeit’ I said, turning around to Tyrese before beginning to leave the arena in exchange for a life with the girl of my dreams. Had I made the right choice?


This Far Come

SYNOPSIS: A poem that is meant to celebrate my fiftieth post, but me thinks I go a little off track. Not surprising though…I spend half my life a little off track…

This verse here – it’s a national anthem
for all poetic demons and phantoms
lingering in the minds of writers
who wish to be brave souls and fighters
in the barren world of literature,
where one’s mind and dreams are the only cure.

I want to have true love running throughout my head,
but I have words of death and destruction instead
which makes been a romantic so painful,
while my muse; you remain so beautiful;
a flawless image of perfection
to which I give all of my passion.

I have been writing since I was very young,
since I had the ability of my tongue,
and since I could hold a pen straight in my hand.
I wanted to be revered across the land,
but been a writer, it ain’t easy to do,
and I’m certain you know this part to be true.

To my fellow writer, do not ever give in,
even if people think you are living in sin,
for if sins are so passionate, why can’t we have more,
cuz I don’t think I have loved one quite so much before.
And even if I did, writing would always come first,
for it is my stamina, my courage, and my thirst.

I am cursed to never stop writing words over and over,
just as those drunk on love are required to become sober,
for this is eternal, this is destiny,
and writing words shall one day set my heart free,
and perhaps on this day I can finally be yours,
and Heaven’s angels will grace us with their mild applause.

This may be a poem on writing, but it’s about love too,
and the young lady I love, it could only ever be you.
However, this poem is also about memory
and to tell the whole truth I will have to tell a story
about the day I truly began living and officially came alive
when I joined a band on a cold autumn’s day in April, 2005.

In our band there was Melok, Dorothy, Jason and I,
and sometimes Ashley, Kimberly, and once, the other guy.
Jason played drums and guitar and so did Dorothy,
and so did I, but lyrics and bass – they were all me.
Ashley and Kimberly, they performed our vocals and Melok was our muse,
and like a grade-A footy team, with them by our side – we never did lose.

For five years in total we performed and we played
and I only wish that together we had stayed.
But time, as it always does, it splits people apart,
and when I think back to these moments, it breaks my heart
to know that we will probably never see each other ever again.
We were not destined to be musicians; we were not destined to be friends.

We did not perform across state nor our country, just at our school,
but hey (snigger), come to think of it, we were pretty friggin’ cool.
We performed to a wide amount of audiences over the years
and heard much appreciation for our music through shouts, cries and cheers.
We were just a stereotypical Melbournian school band,
no, come to think of it we were not; no, we ruled the heartland!

Those good times, they were good, but when bad, they were terribly bad,
and I won’t talk about such moments cuz they make me real sad,
for although we have been apart for some time now, at the time we had only just left,
and such a feeling, it caused me to become so cold, lifeless and utterly bereft.
We grew up, we moved away; we became who we have grown up to be,
and although we have lost touch, I would like to think we found destiny.

I went to university, and I still am there now,
and I ain’t quite yet ready to simply throw in the towel,
for in my first year I met my beautiful creative writing tutor, Tara,
who is a poet, playwright and editor who’s originally from Canberra.
She was an expert poetic ninja and frequently cut us with her figurative swords,
wishing to turn all of us into little poetic princes, princesses, ladies and lords.

‘How dare you call that a rhyme’ she once cried, ‘whilst using that word,
for such a poetic technique is so utterly absurd.’
Another time she instructed ‘this isn’t the right rhyme to use, are you completely crazy?
But do not fret – you have me as your tutor, and we’ll make a poet out of you yet DC.’
I cannot nor ever will be able to thank Tara enough, her teachings I cannot measure,
but I know for a fact that everything she taught to me I will forever and always treasure.

And now I have a blog, which I began in December 2011.
How many months have I been actively publishing these posts? Is it eight, or seven?
I have written poems and stories about love, betrayal, redemption and other places across the world, the likes of New Orleans,
America, Spain, New York City, Europe, Australia, all of Asia, the Middle East and additionally the Philippines.
However, to this day I remain my harshest critic,
and what I have to say for myself is quite horrific;

‘this is nothing spectacular,
it’s nowhere in particular,
nothing that can’t be found in any quarter mile,
no matter the journey, the tracker or the file,
for this is a road that’s only travelled by some
but for me, I am happy – to be this far come.’

Now, I would like to thank all who have liked and commented on my many pieces,
and give a shout out to all who have followed me – thank you for your performances.
All of you have played the part of an extraordinary audience,
so please, I hope you accept my gratitude, which comes at no expense!
Of course, if you secretly dislike me, I ask that you call ASIO, the CIA and the FBI
and even then I fear the most powerful of all authorities ain’t gonna be able to stop this guy!

Cuz I would like to think that I am a writer, and I hope this to be true,
and the reason I write is not for me, no, it is for every one of you!
So thank you again for your follows, and I hope I was a gracious host,
for you are the kind of audience every human being cherishes most.
Of course, I would also like to thank the woman of my dreams, the lady who is my muse,
she however doesn’t know the role she plays yet. Should I tell her? What do I have to lose?


Cheers! Thank you for reading!


SYNOPSIS: A piece about a man, whose friend and wishful lover, a young woman, ventures forth and gains herself a life of fame and fortune, forgetting all that she once knew, although the man never forgets her, or her ‘name.’
There was a girl I used to know,
and yet she’s famous now.
She grew up on an acreage,
in an ordinary Australian town.
Her hair was dark and straight,
her face was so bold and dreamy;
I never knew she had to go,
the truth tasting so foul.
I didn’t see her cross the bridge,
or hear of her leaving to gain her crown;
her I could never hate
for been unable to love me.

I am not that insane,
nor am I foolish.
My dreams may have been coarse,
yet I can’t take it no more.
I feel no anguish,
for she’s so adventurous;
she left to find something more,
yet I still know her name.

Since the day she took her fame
she has travelled the world.
She had a stopover in London,
and has been to New York too.
Her career took her to Hollywood,
her face dominating the news;
now everyone knows her name,
it’s spoken round the world.
Every night I dream of her again,
yet I’ve never seen it through.
I should stop these feelings, yes I should,
for they never bring me to you.

I am not that insane,
nor am I foolish.
My dreams may have been coarse,
yet I can’t take it no more.
I feel no anguish,
for she’s so adventurous;
she left to find something more,
yet I still know her name.

I can’t stop thinking about her,
I see her face everywhere I go.
The media, without her permission
took photos of her whilst she was nude;
this makes her out to be something she’s not,
yet I’ll always know the truth.
She is an angel, I am sure,
and my love for her will always grow;
to be with her is my only mission,
and the media can’t kill the mood.
Journalists treat her as if she is grot,
yet they haven’t any proof.

I am not that insane,
nor am I foolish.
My dreams may have been coarse,
yet I can’t take it no more.
I feel no anguish,
for she’s so adventurous;
she left to find something more,
yet I still know her name.

Right now she resides in Los Angeles,
yet I know I’ll see her again,
despite my heart crying out in pain.
Yesterday she was eating in Paris;
tomorrow she’ll be in Melbourne,
and once again things can feel the same.
Over the years she’s had a lot of love,
none of them ever lasting too long.
There was well known musician, Francis Dean,
and the extravagant guitarist Steven Brown.
There’s collaborator Robert Right,
yet in the end she has never been with me.

I wish I too could travel up above,
to be by her side where I belong.
Francis truly loved her like a machine,
and she won the beauty pageant in Steven’s town.
I dream of her every single night,
believing we have the perfect chemistry.

I am not that insane,
nor am I foolish.
My dreams may have been coarse,
yet I can’t take it no more.
I feel no anguish,
for she’s so adventurous;
she left to find something more,
yet I still know her name.