Destiny - Dyer, Peter

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Résumé :
Do you believe in Destiny? Do you believe that all your actions, All what you become, your life, Was planned, maybe before the Universe began. Here is an example of a poem in the book. Energy of A Rocketeer That fine shaped fin cut through my skull, They said it pierced the inner brain. That polished, embellished nose cone, Boldly coloured red, Severed an artery in my head! Uncontrolled projectiles, falling from the sky, Can do that, even to a passerby? FINAL IMAGE: that of Rick, What did he say, or try? He was concerned, his frown expressed it. A reminder no doubt, When we made our mark that day, In the shape of a mushroom cloud of grey. Upon our school labs ancient ceiling! We blamed it on the Space Race and the Russians, And on innocent, be speckled classmate James. Our treacherous retreat, living him in range! By the rocket's burning shell. And as my final thoughts ascended as that cloud, Was this not just d?j? vu? Of that similar launch? As that first streamlined, gleaming projectile was able, To leap from its steel cradle. Rather premature, but very stable. Our later verdict on Richard's missing brow He became our first space traveler. Of this involuntary contribution, we had no compulsion, But to blame it on an electrical malfunction!...

Biographie:
Peter Dyer was born, the last of 7 children, in the town of Harrogate in the county of Yorkshire, England. Peter's mother, on occasion, pointed out that the wonderful residence of that great county were well known for their uncanny ability to look after money. Peter, therefore, at times felt that perhaps God had made a mistake as this talent was not passed on to him. His mother pointed out that God does not make mistakes!?Peter moved to the coastal NW town of Southport in 1949. He went to a slightly eccentric private school, a stroke of great foresight by his father. From an early age our Peter appeared to be a little, well, eccentric or maybe different. He developed an early passion for space and rockets, both American AND Russian! (I am afraid especially Russian) This later led to building his own flying models and of course associated activity like explosions in the school lab, setting fire (twice) to the garden shed, interesting conversations with the beach Rangers. All part of a hobby that he was still practicing into the latter years. Peter showed a certain lack of interest in most sports, except swimming, especially CRICKET. At the age of 12, however, he discovered Baseball and by the age of 50 he became the English District Administrator for Little League Baseball UK. Well, all the best things take time.Peter spent a few years at his local Art School discovering that, although he had some talent, it was not enough to earn a living and support his widowed mother. (His father died when he was 10). Thus, he became a Primary school teacher, for nearly 30 years. Peter also had a growing interest in historical subjects. American history, the civil war and that of the plains Indians in particular and also WW2. To cement this, he bought and restored a WW2 Ford/Willys jeep.He has written 3 books on local history. His long-term strange fascination for the sea, heroic lifeboat tales, and consequently the exploits of the Southport coastal lifeguards, based on the American General Motors D.U.K.W. Recording these unwritten stories, taking nearly 7 years to complete, led to D.U.K.W s to Water. Recognition of these British Heroes, took an American publisher, after the author failed to find one after nearly 3 years of trying in the UK!...

Sommaire:

Do you believe in Destiny?

Do you believe that all your actions,

All what you become, your life,

Was planned, maybe before the Universe began.

Here is an example of a poem in the book.

That fine shaped fin cut through my skull,

They said it pierced the inner brain.

That polished, embellished nose cone,

Boldly coloured red,

Severed an artery in my head!

Uncontrolled projectiles, falling from the sky,

Can do that, even to a passerby?

FINAL IMAGE: that of Rick,

What did he say, or try?

He was concerned, his frown expressed it.

A reminder no doubt,

When we made our mark that day,

In the shape of a mushroom cloud of grey.

Upon our school labs ancient ceiling!

We blamed it on the Space Race and the Russians,

And on innocent, be speckled classmate James.

Our treacherous retreat, living him in range!

By the rocket's burning shell.

And as my final thoughts ascended as that cloud,

Was this not just d?j? vu?

Of that similar launch?

As that first streamlined, gleaming projectile was able,

To leap from its steel cradle.

Rather premature, but very stable.

Our later verdict on Richard's missing brow

He became our first space traveler.

Of this involuntary contribution, we had no compulsion,

But to blame it on an electrical malfunction!