This incredible work presents a combination of wisdom, humor, and sentiment. It contains poems interwoven with quick biographical details about the early romantic lives of famous men like George Washington, Aaron Burr, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, etc. Moreover, the writer includes chapters on the perfect husband, the ideal wife, and the art of writing.

A Gold Sheaf On A Grey Throne is based on a resource-rich fictional town - Bagerville, which at the behest of the nation's government leases everything in its higher elevations area to a powerful foreign economic entity. As a result, reduced sovereignty and the operation of an autonomous and special economic and customs zone are created, while many legislations and regulations are also altered. During the transition of this once sleepy town into an industrial mecca, many become disgusted at the shackle of corrupt power structures destroying the town's rich historical past, and decide to seek ways to bring about more transparency and accountability to the activities. Arrogance, corruption, dissent, greed, intrigue, narcissism and redemption are at the heart of the battle, when the political, legal and economic systems are amended through duress and monetary compensation after a major global economic downturn. Throughout history with power comes great responsibility, though with absolute power corruption always rears its ugly head and begins to infect humanities mind and soul, as is the case in A Gold Sheaf On A Grey Throne. Dragan (Ed) Balog

A Face haunted Cameron — a woman's face. It was there in the white heart of the dying campfire; it hung in the shadows that hovered over the flickering light; it drifted in the darkness beyond. This hour, when the day had closed and the lonely desert night set in with its dead silence, was one in which Cameron's mind was thronged with memories of a time long past — of a home back in Peoria, of a woman he had wronged and lost, and loved too late. He was a prospector for gold, a hunter of solitude, a lover of the drear, rock-ribbed infinitude, because he wanted to be alone to remember. A sound disturbed Cameron's reflections. He bent his head listening. A soft wind fanned the paling embers, blew sparks and white ashes and thin smoke away into the enshrouding circle of blackness. His burro did not appear to be moving about. The quiet split to the cry of a coyote. It rose strange, wild, mournful — not the howl of a prowling upland beast baying the campfire or barking at a lonely prospector, but the wail of a wolf, full-voiced, crying out the meaning of the desert and the night. Hunger throbbed in it — hunger for a mate, for offspring, for life. When it ceased, the terrible desert silence smote Cameron, and the cry echoed in his soul. He and that wandering wolf were brothers. Then a sharp clink of metal on stone and soft pads of hoofs in sand prompted Cameron to reach for his gun, and to move out of the light of the waning campfire. He was somewhere along the wild border line between Sonora and Arizona; and the prospector who dared the heat and barrenness of that region risked other dangers sometimes as menacing. Figures darker than the gloom approached and took shape, and in the light turned out to be those of a white man and a heavily packed burro. “Hello there,” the man called, as he came to a halt and gazed about him. “I saw your fire. May I make camp here?” Cameron came forth out of the shadow and greeted his visitor, whom he took for a prospector like himself. Cameron resented the breaking of his lonely campfire vigil, but he respected the law of the desert. The stranger thanked him, and then slipped the pack from his burro. Then he rolled out his pack and began preparations for a meal. His movements were slow and methodical. Cameron watched him, still with resentment, yet with a curious and growing interest. The campfire burst into a bright blaze, and by its light Cameron saw a man whose gray hair somehow did not seem to make him old, and whose stooped shoulders did not detract from an impression of rugged strength. “Find any mineral?” asked Cameron, presently. His visitor looked up quickly, as if startled by the sound of a human voice. He replied, and then the two men talked a little. But the stranger evidently preferred silence. Cameron understood that. He laughed grimly and bent a keener gaze upon the furrowed, shadowy face. Another of those strange desert prospectors in whom there was some relentless driving power besides the lust for gold! Cameron felt that between this man and himself there was a subtle affinity, vague and undefined, perhaps born of the divination that here was a desert wanderer like himself, perhaps born of a deeper, an unintelligible relation having its roots back in the past. A long-forgotten sensation stirred in Cameron's breast, one so long forgotten that he could not recognize it. But it was akin to pain...FROM THEBOOKS

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