Short Stories

Friday, June 29, 2012

camels in the surf of 9-11




I stood on the cliffs
the water below
crashing over the rocks
receding into the sunset beyond
the water...the waves
left my eyes
I only saw sand
I could only stare in disbelief
I blinked once...twice...a third time
the sand began to roll like the ocean
in...crashing hard against a cliff of ocean
out... drifting with the wind
an oasis formed in the middle of the tide
a camel...no two or maybe three
the tide of the sand moved them out
the crash of a wave brought them back
I could not not look away
it drew me.. too them
the sand...the sea...the rocks below
the camels
beckoned me…called me
to the sands of the ocean
I learned to fly that day
at first ever so slow
free...floating with the wind
camels below laughing at me
faster I flew and then
the laughs of sand
burned my soul
and then
swimming…in the air
the camels were above me
in the clouds
running their lopsided run
rolling with the sand
surfing above the ocean
the camels came to take me home
a home in the oasis of hell



Thursday, June 21, 2012

snafued again




in secret 
I tried to change
no one
not even a friend
was to know
for to fail
would cause me shame
and that
could not be
so when 
I succeeded 
with my change
I had not one to cheer me
and only 
my ego to blame

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

never noticed




the game played on
the pages turned
the ball moved 
the story grabbed
the fans yelled
the  reader sighed
the game was close
the final chapter tuned
no one asked
 who controlled the game
no one cared 
the authors name
the ref went home
the author slept
jobs well done
behind the action



Thursday, June 7, 2012

woe is me



I took
some baby steps today
woe is me...returned
he dropped in
to control my will
I did  not resist
because
I have the right
to feel
sorry for myself
and strike back
yes...it's true
I took
some baby steps
today



the junk drawer





my love
has no value
anymore
and yet it's there
maybe someday
I will need it
I'll just
put it in a drawer
hoping
your love will
return



Wednesday, June 6, 2012

still


I haven' changed
I am who I was
when we met
okay...not my body
sure...not my mind
no...I don't do that anymore

still

I haven;t changed
I am who I was
when we met
okay...no more flowers
sure...I bought you things
no...I don't do that anymore

still

I haven't changed
I am who I was
when we met
okay...I kissed you
sure...I smiled
no...I don't do that anymore

still

I haven't changed
I am who I was
when we met
okay...I listened
sure...we made love
no... I don't do that anymore

still



oh there you are




I found a cloud driven by the wind
and climbed aboard
as we floated across the sky
I ask where we were going
the cloud said
it was headed somewhere
just over there
oh, I replied
can I stop to see a friend
sure...see a soul...a friend
a brother...your dad
and maybe even your mom
and they will
all be proud
that you came 
to visit them
on a cloud


I climbed aboard a clod



I climbed aboard a clod

I thought it was a cloud
that is what I dreamed for
I  expected  a soft floating trip
across the sky
but
 the clod
moved...not in a soft
rhythmic motion
it
hurtled like
a meteoric ball of fire
and
ended abruptly
against an adobe wall
leaving me
hurtling...falling
into an abyss below


Saturday, June 2, 2012

lefty



fortress..I had one ...once
made it all by myself
for protection against
the black haired girl
that lived round the block
it did not work
I called her lefty
never missed
good thing 
it was only snow


dream away...be happy



Only in our dreams 
do we win the lottery
at least most of us
but one I knew...
won...a bunch
took home twenty-seven big ones
great...lived happily ever after
no..twas not quite the fairy tale
one would hope for
but maybe a tale of horror
maybe dreams shouldn't
come true
Maybe the dreams
are truly
what really makes
us happy



Monday, May 28, 2012

the long wait



The long and winding road... 
in front of me
the sun...below the horizon
painting the sky

reds...oranges... golden ambers...blues
and the murky gray of wispy clouds
the road rose and fell...twisted and turned
like a child's roller coaster

she waited
long flowing ebony hair
brown eyes 
seeing only me

my eyes
hazel neath brown hair
seeing 
only her

our lives
together
waiting for the long and winding road..
to take me to her




Tuesday, May 22, 2012

. . . I remember


a white wood framed house               with a long wooden porch 

                a two lane asphalt highway
            with no cars

railroad tracks
                               along side of the house

  big black trains
                         t                that rumbled down the tracks

           running out to wave
                                at the man in the train

                   the whistle and the smoke
                                    that came from the train
    the clickity-clack
                         of the big wheels


        the man in the train
                                waving back to me
              a big ole black tom cat
                                                      sitting on top of a pole
 the 22-rifle
                                            that my dad was pointing
                                                                 at the old black cat


    my father saying
                                                “that black son-of-a-bitch
                                                                        has killed his last chicken"
               the soft crack of the rifle
                                         the ole black cat
                                                        jerking and falling.
I do not remember
                                             a sound from the cat
                                                          the thud of its body
                                                                    as it hit the ground
                                           what my dad said
                                                               when the fell
                                                 if my mother
                                                                      was there
                                                     whether I was
                                                                              happy or sad


I remember

                                                        I was only four…

Monday, May 21, 2012

the circus came to town



It wasn't hard to sneak inside the tent
through the back and under the canvas we went
but what to do once we were there
see the clowns...the horses..we didn't care
but when we decided to go...we couldn't go there
somehow we had sneaked into the cage of the bear...


My first shot with...http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Another day

After all tomorrow...
 is anther day
so was yesterday...once
tomorrow may be yesterday...already
did you miss it..I did...if it is
I miss a lot
so it really doesn't matter
as long as...what
anything...I guess
oh yes...
as long as it happens

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Beth


Found in a used book store…a plea for reconciliation…
“Beth
Thank you for bring (sic) poetry into my life.
You have filled my heart with many wondrous and new things.
Even though we may be at a fragile time in our relationship,
I can’t imagine my life without you.
I love you with all my heart
and I
feel you deep within my soul every day
          love
                                      Geoffrey”
Maybe, Geoffrey, if you had started with…

I love you Beth…

You may have received a better reception…

   No writer can write better words than “I love you Beth”.  You can substitute another name, but it will not change the gravity or importance of those four words.  The name doesn’t really matter.  The words “I love you” are what matters.  They are words we all like to hear.  They are words we all want to say.
But Geoffrey didn’t say “I love you Beth” or “Dear Beth”.  Geoffrey simply began his plea for reconciliation with… “Beth”. 

What must Beth have thought upon reading the introduction, “Beth”?
Did it leave her as cold as it left me? 
Does it leave you cold and maybe just a little bit distant? 

Maybe Geoffrey could feel the chill in the air and was afraid to light a real fire
.
   Geoffrey continues, “Thank you for bring (sic) poetry into my life.”  Geoffrey is not only cold and aloof, he is lazy.  Maybe Beth would have done better to shove a little ‘editing’ into his life.

   However, Geoffrey is willing to accept a little poetry in order to woo the lovely Beth and he even condescends to writing his plea under the cover of one of our greatest poets, Mary Oliver.  Geoffrey chose Mary Oliver’s “Dream Work” as the ship to carry his soul to Beth.  Unfortunately Geoffrey’s ship seems to have been well on its way to sinking.

   One has to wonder what Beth did to take poetry into Geoffrey’s life.  Did she read to him by fire light?  Did she give him a book of poetry?  Did Geoffrey even read the book or was he drooling for more of the beautiful Beth reflecting in the light of the fire.

   And, consider this, I also love Mary Oliver, but if I were the one trying to find out what the lovely Beth’s skin looked like in the reflection of a warm fire, I would choose something a little more romantic or even erotic.

   I have to believe that Beth informed Mr. Geoffrey that her favorite poet was Mary Oliver.  Why else would someone without the love of Poetry choose Mary Oliver?  But even if Beth loved Mary Oliver above all other poets, she was still searching for love and would probably choose to put Mary aside for a few moments or maybe for a whole evening of erotic poetry in front of a soft romantic fire.
If I didn’t know and understand poetry and I wanted the lovely Beth I would be more romantic, I would try a little poetry of my own. 

   I have never met any woman who doesn’t appreciate romantic poetry written just for her. 
Come on Geoffrey that one is in seduction “one-0-one”.

   No Geoffrey, you should have gone to the book store and ask the plain girl behind the counter (who is thirsting for love and probably knows as much or more about poetry than Beth) what erotic book of poetry would impress the girl of your dreams.  When the girl behind the counter smiled and blushed, if you told her how pretty her smile was, she would have led you to a book that would have your desirable Beth waiting for you at the fire place.

  Then if you had added a little touch of your own, something you wrote just for her and of course, Geoffrey, I’m telling you that you should have written Beth a real erotic love poem.

I love you Beth…
You are the love of my life
I long to be with you…
You are the scent of roses drifting on the afternoon breeze. 
I long to inhale the aroma of your body…
my eyes ache to dance with yours…
I long to kiss the nape of your neck…to feel your downy hairs quiver to my breath.
I long to see your shy response…
as my eyes wander across the soft fabric of your silk blouse…
and the warm roundness within.
 
I long to see you aroused by the knowledge of my gaze. 
I feel no shame in undressing you
with my eyes and my thoughts.
I long to hold you tight,
 caress your ears with the warmness of my breath
and let our bodies make hot promises to each other
You are the love of my life…
I need you…
I love you


   Maybe, Geoffrey, just maybe Geoffrey, if you had written something like that, Beth would not have dumped you and Mary Oliver.  Yes Geoffrey, Beth dumped both of you.

   I don’t really believe Beth dumped Mary Oliver.  She probably trashed the book because it represented bad memories.  Maybe if your inscription had not been so cold and aloof, Beth could have grown to love you.  Maybe if you had enough warmth to just sign your name as Geoff, maybe Beth would have wanted to let more of her body reflect in the fire light.

   Maybe in the heat of passion, if she could have moaned “oooh Geoff” and not “oh Geoffrey”, maybe Beth would not have left you and Mary Oliver in the used book store.

                                                                                                       gs batty



Tuesday, May 15, 2012

in silence



under a pine...
a man…a rifle...wait
 in silence...
wait...to kill
for sport
the prey...restless
 senses...talking...
eyes...ears...nose
see the shadows...hear the breeze...smell the danger
the wind...speaks to the leaves...the mountain...the pines
in silence...
they wait
the hunter...the hunted
a flick of the tail...a blink of an eye...a buzz of the fly
chipmunks peek...wait...wonder.
 hunter...rifle...poised
beads of sweat...anticipation...beckon...
flies move...antlers move...tail flicks
in silence...
senses warn
hunter..rifle...rise
chipmunks chirp
antlers move against a branch
 wind blows...leaves shimmer...rustle
a buzz of the fly...a chirp of the chipmunk
antlers pause...the hunted wary
the wind blows...the hunted flees
nature wins
in silence
but not always

















Friday, May 11, 2012

portals



  an orange and black rainbow sky wakens me
beckons me 
One place…just one place…near the horizon
A portal of orange framed in black
Beckons me
 with strings of hope...  
strings of desire...
the passage is never clear
 nor should it be
 I need not hurry…
except for my desire
the portal will always be there
maybe not in such a frame…maybe in no frame at all
But none the less…there
For me
And you…if you want it



Friday, May 4, 2012

what else



i sit on a mountain top
wondering
wondering why
and I get cold
then the mountain throws me off
the fog grabs me
holds me
the wind blows
I dance in the fog
not a stately dance
nor  a rhythmic dance
but one like a puppet
with strings of fog
jerking me
and i know
not why
not how
not who
not even if
yet, i still wonder
and dance in the fog
what else is there



Sunday, April 29, 2012

the storm



I stand in its face.
not to challenge
I have no choice
I am there

It doesn't rage nor roar
it isn't wet nor strong
It doesn't slap me nor push me
nor blow my soul away

but it tries
every moment it tries
 I fight the storm
the storm of life



Monday, February 27, 2012

I see voices in the sky



The sun
the clouds
the sky
are born
and die 
each day
they reflect
golds and oranges and reds
from the beauty
of their minds
I wonder about
the sky
 the clouds 
 the sun
the colors
 Have
they just been sired

or 
are they 
at the end of their time
Have
 they traveled far

Are 
they born again
 for

 inspiration
are 

they dying 
to 
show the way
 it is 

plain to see
that

 either way
 They are
just as beautiful
 a lesson 

 to 
continue to shine, 
a lesson
to 
continue to be 
even as we
start to fade away
                                          gsb






Tuesday, February 7, 2012

haven



…womb me…
…Want to be safe…again…
…Back to the womb…my youth…safe…secure…
…Friend…yes…no…maybe…can it be…can it ever be…again…
…Who knows…I know…but do i…or do I hope…do I dare to hope…
…What if…what if it can’t be…does it matter…does it matter…to me…
…Who knows…I know…but do i…do I care…do I dare to care…care if it matters…
…I dream…I think…I ponder…I wonder…about what…about me…about nothing…
…the womb…yes the womb…fetal…the womb…my womb…take me back…
…the cord…I suck for the cord…why now…why me…who knows…
…I know…but do i…does the womb…belong to me…
…or my mother…do I care…does she care…
…who knows…I know…
…womb me…



Tuesday, January 31, 2012

HUNGRY JOE AND NURSE DUCKET

Working with prompts can be fun and crazy.  Especially crazy if you take a little attitude and let your mind go where it wants to.  In the following short story I chose a prompt that asked to choose the first line from a paragraph in a book and end with the last line of another paragraph in a different chapter.  I chose "Catch 22".  The first line I selected was "Hungry Joe did have fifty missions, but they were of no help."  The second line was "She took him by his ear and put him back in bed."
For those of you who are not familiar with "Catch 22", It is a book about WWII.  The missions were bombing missions
I can only ask Joseph Heller's forgiveness for the latitude I have taken with his work.

Hungry Joe did have fifty Missions, but they were of no help.  They didn’t help him because Missions were out of date.  Hungry stocked up on Missions during the war of 1910.  Every time a group of raiders captured another town, Hungry Joe purchased the mission.
  After the war was over Hungry Joe planned to get rich selling Missions back to the Catholic Church.  But Hungry Joe made the same mistake that a lot of collectors often do. Hungry Joe waited too long and priced them to high.
The church simply chose to build new Missions using cheap labor and supplies that were available.  They redesigned the missions and installed brand new cushioned pews.  The people were delighted that the church was able to outsmart the evil Hungry Joe and that their derrieres didn’t go to sleep during the services.  Attendance was never better.  The donation plates were filled to the top. 
 Hungry Joe coveted those donation plates or rather the money that was in them.  He also had a lot of old Missions that were worthless.  That is they were worthless unless Hungry was able to sell them.
However, selling an old mission or 50 old Missions would not be easy.  Who would want them?  Hungry thought about converting them to gas stations but nixed that idea when someone told him nobody had cars.
Fine, he said, I’ll turn them into car dealerships and sell the people cars.  He had to nix that idea when it was brought to his attention that no one had the money to buy the cars.
Hungry stewed about his problem at the local MoonPesos’ Coffee shop.  He was sipping his Peyote Latte when over the top of his cup he noticed Nurse Ducket’s figure standing at the counter.  For a few minutes Hungry forgot about his problem and concentrated on the body of the beautiful Nurse Ducket.
Of course, being the lecher that Hungry was, he invited the beautiful body of Nurse Ducket to sit at his table.  Nurse Ducket accepted the invitation and brought her body with her which was exactly what Hungry Joe wanted.
Hungry Joe wasn’t very good at making small talk but he was great at lechering.  While he lechered Nurse Ducket’s body, he told her about his problem with the Missions and how much money he was losing. 
At the mention of the Missions and the money Nurse Ducket ignored the lecherous look in Hungry Joe’s eyes and came up with an idea that made Hungry Joe also forget the lecherous look in his eyes and the lecherous desire in his body.
Nurse Ducket innocently said, “Why don’t you start a rival church?”
It was such a simple idea and Hungry Joe couldn’t figure out why he didn’t think if it first.  Before Hungry Joe could figure out a way to claim it as his idea, Nurse Ducket continued with her idea.
“We could call it the ‘First United Saints and Sinners Church of the Galapagos’.”
Hungry Joe looked at her like she was crazy.
“We?...Listen baby this is my deal and what’s up with this Galapagos thing?”
Nurse Ducket was on a roll.
“We could have women priests and the best part is that we could save every last sole for only 5%.  It wouldn’t matter if they were good or bad.  Everyone gets saved.  No one, I mean no one goes to hell.  For 5% we would guarantee everyone a place in heaven. We might even put the Catholic Church out of business.”
Hungry Joe liked what he was hearing.  The longer she talked the more excited he got.  He couldn’t wait to get started.  Sunday was just 3 days away.  He had a lot of work to do.  His new idea was awesome.  He left Nurse Ducket at MoonPesos’.
The only thing that could change his mind about ravaging the awesome body of Nurse Duck was the awesome thought of money.
Nurse Ducket stewed and fretted as she watched Hungry Joe preparing to open his new line of churches based on the ideas he had stolen from her.  He hadn’t even asked her to be a priest.  Finally Nurse Ducket did the only thing a defenseless girl with an awesome body could do.
Nurse Ducket took her awesome body and walked over to Hungry Joe’s office and bonked him on the head with a frying pan.  Then she called the sheriff and had him arrested for assaulting her.  She explained that she had only defended herself with the frying pan.
Unfortunately for Hungry Joe, the frying pan had opened a hole in his head that needed a lot of stitches and there were no doctors available to sew him up.  Fortunately for Hungry Joe, Nurse Ducket was a nurse and she volunteered to sew him back together and nurse him back to his old self.
After Nurse Ducket had Hungry Joe locked up in the city jail, Nurse Ducket took over the New Church and convinced the sheriff the lecherous Hungry Joe needed several months in jail to pay for his evil ways.
While Nurse Ducket nursed Hungry Joe back to his old self, Nurse Ducket split her time between collecting money from The Saints and Sinners at her new church and ravaging Hungry Joe’s poor defenseless body in his jail cell.
When they released Hungry Joe from jail and he found out how Nurse Ducket had taken over his churches and his money, Nurse Ducket decided that she needed hide her awesome body where Hungry Joe couldn’t find it.
Realizing that Hungry Joe had been banned from the Catholic Church, Nurse Ducket asked for and was granted sanctuary in the Catholic Church.  In order to protect Nurse Ducket and the awesome body that followed Nurse Ducket around the Catholic Church hired a few of the local faithful to protect the person of one Nurse Ducket.  In fact the Church hired one hundred men to protect Nurse Ducket and in return she signed over all the missions she had stolen from the now very angry Hungry Joe.  However, she did keep all the money from the donation plates and all of the 5% Tithes that she had collected.
Hungry Joe thinking that right was right, went to the Catholic Church to demand his missions be returned to him but before he could present his demands the one hundred faithful beat him up and had him arrested for trespassing.
Unfortunately for Hungry Joe, the beating opened a hole in his head that needed a lot of stitches and there were no doctors available to sew him up.  Fortunately for Hungry Joe, Nurse Ducket was a nurse and she volunteered to sew him back together and nurse him back to his old self.

 When she entered Hungry Joe’s cell to begin her nursing duties, Hungry Joe was looking out his cell window and cursing the Catholic Church for stealing back their churches and their money.
According to Hungry Joe, the Church was stealing his property and his money.  After all he had stolen the missions from the church in good faith and they, above all others, should understand and forgive.
Nurse Ducket reminded Hungry Joe that she was there to nurse him back to his old self and that when she had finished her nursing duties he could complain all he wanted to about the Catholic Church.
Hungry Joe meekly agreed to be nursed back to his old self.
She took him by his ear and put him back in bed.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

My Wish

My wish for you…
     …my Children
     …my grandchildren

I can only lament that I did not find the desire to write in my youth.  I did not find the desire for poetry.  I did not see the world I grew up in.  I did not see the world I helped to make.  I, only now at the age of seventy-two, am beginning to wake up.
 
I shall be dead before I become fully awake. The loss to me and those I influence is immeasurable.  Would my children…my grandchildren begin to awaken with some influence from me?

I dare hope
.
I dare hope for my children…my grandchildren and their children and grandchildren.
 
I shall strive to influence you to write, 
                      to read and then write,
                      to watch and then write,
                      and to do and then write. 

I shall strive to influence you to write and therefore be. 
I shall strive to influence you to awaken before you die.

I dare to quote for you Walt Whitman…

“…have you practiced so long as to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get the meaning of poems?
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems.
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun…there are millions of suns left.
You shall no longer take things as second or third hand…nor look through the eyes of the dead…nor feed on the specters in books.
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me.
You shall listen to all sides and filter them for yourself.”…

 I dare to add…

Write…
             …what and who you are now
             …what and who you want to be
             …what you think
             …try your mind with poetry, your poetry
Then…
Your body, your soul…you
                                              …shall awaken and see
                                              …shall awaken and be
                                              …shall awaken and truly live
Do not stop after…
       …one word
 …one sentence
       …one paragraph
 …one page
 …one chapter
 …one book
 …one poem

Do not ever stop.

Tell the world what you are…but most of all…
                                                        …tell yourself what you are
These things I wish for you…
                                                                                                    Your dad…your papa