A Dollar Fifty

The mosquitos and the heat were both biting hard that morning, so Jim decided to wander away from the homestead and go off to town. It was a long walk that he had made many times, as the horse was usually too busy working a plow to make the trip and his family was not wealthy enough to afford one of the automobiles sold down at Benny’s. He took to walking very leisurely, a pace he always took when the only destination was elsewhere. Continue reading “A Dollar Fifty”

Sonnet #2

Somewhere, the exotic bird chirps a song mundane
As foreign sails sit still and furled within the harbor’s bay
While on the wind the mystic chime wails to those astray,
And the waxing of the pearly moon is outshone by the rain.

Somewhere, the all-mighty king prepares his lavish feasts,
With scent of spices stirring swirling out above the streets –
Where happy people weep and dance beneath the summer skies
And every vibrant color is a reaper in disguise.

Yet Somewhere holds no home for those who share my creed;
For as every distant image can be nearby sought and seen
Soon all lies succumb to fact, and no mystery remains to glean,
And wonder ceases blossom – locked away within the seed.

Any joy that grows there will be twisted and obscene
For every flower, Somewhere, is nothing but a weed.

Visitor on the Solstice

On a stormy Autumn’s ending as I nosed through tomes pretending
That the ceaseless crackling towards me no ill will bore;
Suddenly there was a bursting as of heaven and hell thirsting –
Thirsting for the spirit dwelling in the skin I wore.
Eerily the thunders’ bleating brought to mind a sinner’s pleading
For respite from demon’s beatings in those pits I’ve dreamt afore.
“You will not have me;” I wept meekly, “For my sins are not completely
Damning, no, I will not cross that devil’s door.
I shall seek my own exemption; I will have divine redemption;
For no fiend can hold preemption on the soul within my core!” Continue reading “Visitor on the Solstice”

The Prince of Parties

There was a time, before I slipped the shackle of common sanity, when I was a biology student toiling in the dusty subterranean laboratories of Hexford University, back in the decade that now bears the outright odorous appellation ‘The Naughty Aughties.’ Hexford was a small school that sprouted nearly overnight in the decay of another less notable public university, though some curse must have lingered in the campus’s bones as the school lay again abandoned by the end of that year. In those days, I was possessed of an uncertain timidity typical of the unproven scholar and spent the majority of my time secluded in the study of various cultivars. I am not ashamed by the admission that a solitary digit could number my friendships in that place, and how our companionship was tenuous at best. Continue reading “The Prince of Parties”

Sonnet #1

Between deep draughts from whitewashed mug
I peered through glass at worlds outside,
As life laid numb by discord’s drug;
While near my mind, a woman cried.

She wept away with heartache’s tide,
When sorrow spent, she turned and spoke;
From painful words she wished to hide –
To flee the tears that ebbed and broke.

And I, the felon greeting gallows’ choke
With intent to quickly draw the noose;
Had yearned to slip her silken yoke,
Yet once more sipped the drink of truce.

Alike the mug that grazed my lip,
My love had drained with every sip.

Promise of Spring

It was near the cusp of Spring, yet Spring never arrived
As Winter’s pallid hands choked firmly ‘round the Sun,
The Moon and all the unfathomable creatures, cursed,
Forever formless, dwelling far beyond the withering stars.
Dull were the skies, lacking clouds or the joy of birds,
As were barren fields famished for any sign of growth,
And the seas grew restless, swallowing the pride
Of Man in greedy gulps, dragging souls and stonework
Down, down to lay forever with listless ships and
Unknown leviathans chained in lightless prisons.

Man grew restless with the stretching gloom,
As eternal Winter stirred misery in the hearts of all;
Who sought an end to this unnatural nature,
Who sought to right the course of this steady cycle-
Birth and death, renewal and desolation, all too vast,
Too universal for Man to see the necessity of this Winter-
And so they fought, as Man always has, fought against nature,
Fought to hang on as the light died, as the Sun snuffed itself out,
As the mighty oaks hollowed and fell, as seeds lay dormant,
Eternally locked in their shells, never to see the coming Spring –
And atrophy was the nature of all that still dwelled.

So the world fell to darkness, pierced only by flickering lights,
The faint torch of Man, powered by the rot of reptilian eons –
And dim were the cities, where crowds thronged and writhed,
Setting upon the world as starving wolves on sheepless folds;
Here was Man, formless mounds of gaunt mouths gnawing,
Tearing, gnashing at all that yet lived, consuming ferocious beasts
And docile creatures of all breeds – lank meat chewed by lank jaws.
Soon the lights of Man stuttered, then failed- inviting the dark
And chill of Winter back into the hearts of furtive survivors.

Man still fought against the darkness- setting alight their greatest works:
Libraries, the treasury of all man’s knowledge and worth;
The hubs of learning and culture; monuments to great men,
And palaces of long-dead kings; all were kindling, all were sacrificed
For a glimpse of warmth and light in a world with neither.

As the last flame settled from ember to ash, a song was heard
From beyond the stars- not the blast of trumpets heralding Horsemen,
But weirdly wistful wailing; angelic yet distorted, the death-knell of the cosmos,
Carrying creatures that laid dreaming before the stars coalesced,
And for them it was Spring; a Spring unlit by the ray of any stagnant Sun.

Blog Hard

Hello there. I’m the guy in charge of this little shindig. Thanks for stopping by and taking a look at the things I’ve written, and the things I will write. I figure it’s only fair that, since you’ve taken the time to see what I’m up to, I should introduce myself and throw a bit of background information at you. Feel free to read it, or not; that’s between you and the blog. Continue reading “Blog Hard”

Knight by Night

The call came in at 2:14 AM, a frantic voice pleading for help. Radislav was never the greatest judge of phone voices, but this one sounded like a soccer mom, probably about 40, Caucasian, with a radio in her minivan that consistently squeaked conservative talk shows.

“This is Radislav, what seems to be the problem?” Some kind of wolf was eating her dog. Could be his department, could just be a particularly vicious coyote. Continue reading “Knight by Night”