|Posted on September 7, 2010 at 11:18 PM||comments (4)|
There wasn’t one Swinging Richard in the platoon that didn’t see it coming. It wasn’t the drugs or the booze; he wasn’t abusing any more than the rest of us. Manly Man (Corp. Francis Marion Manley) was on his way out, and it was a short bet that his ass was nabbed before he started processing out of country, or worse yet, bought the farm.
It started with the swagger. Not that jive ass, smoke a Cool Menthol waltz the soul brothers were selling. No, I’m talki...Read Full Post »
|Posted on September 7, 2010 at 3:33 PM||comments (7)|
Mother said they lived on the other side of the tracks because that's where the poor people lived, and besides, they was colored. I used to go down near the tracks and look at the shanties and lean-to's.
But, then later, I noticed that over in the center of town all the rich, white folks had huge, fancy houses. I knew we weren't rich, and the colored's were definately poor, so we must be kind of in-between. When I ask mom about it she said we were getting by, and not ...Read Full Post »
|Posted on September 5, 2010 at 12:05 AM||comments (1)|
I've always admired the poetic styles of old.
This I attempted to emulate the 1, 2, 3 +3, 2 style, used by so many poets of the past.
Based on the Waterhouse print of Hylas and the Nymphs.
Luring the u...Read Full Post »
|Posted on August 27, 2010 at 3:28 PM||comments (4)|
"It's been going on for years. It started when I was a small child. My first words were directed at them, although my parents I'm sure assumed my speach was directed at them instead. I've never really come out and told people about this, until now, and excluding my therapist of course. She says it's an attachment from chilhood that was never sluffed off, like a teddy bear, or some imaginary friend. She just doesn't know. No-one knows but me really. They only converse with me.
... Read Full Post »
|Posted on August 9, 2010 at 9:05 AM||comments (1)|
Forest Glen is a beautiful village, built over a millennium ago by the woodcutters, craftsmen, and masons of the old world. The dwellings: two-story, hewn timber above stone walls, thatched roofs, low entries with thick, oak doors; sturdy, simple, and practical.
The people are industrious; weavers, carpenters, wheelwrights, goatherds, cobblers, cheese makers, bakers, and more. The men are handsome, tanned, fair-haired, with chiseled faces and strong backs. The women beautiful, dreamily ...Read Full Post »
|Posted on July 23, 2010 at 11:37 PM||comments (1)|
I don’t need no happy meal
To feel a certain way
Or get jacked on some drug
To make it through the day
Don’t need my face on a book
Or share somebody’s space
Maybe I’ll just sit one out
And skip this human race
I’ll just take the forest path
to avoid the cobbled stone
If I may I’ll pay upfront
And leave the plastic home
I don’t n...Read Full Post »
|Posted on July 18, 2010 at 12:03 AM||comments (3)|
The poker game’s getting to be the highlight of this hump. Sometimes the waiting for death can be as stressful as loading your buds on the wopper afterwards. After six hours of patrol around Hill 726, our platoon is taking a well-deserved break under the rubber trees, overgrown with orchids and glossy leaf pucker brush, so-called because when you get within a foot of it the leaves fold up like puckered lips. The slow drip, drip, of an earlier rain the only noise on the hillside. PatR...Read Full Post »
|Posted on July 7, 2010 at 12:55 AM||comments (0)|
Upon A Midnight Meadow
Once upon a midnight meadow
With cool long-grass between toes
I chased a young girl’s heels
Among the blossom’s prose
Swift she flew about the flora
Twice her virtue held in steed
But once our lips touched lightly
‘twas love in full and deed
Upon the petals lingered
Our desire for each did yearn
Until the moon appeared
Our love aflame it burne...Read Full Post »
|Posted on July 6, 2010 at 11:15 PM||comments (1)|
Leaving the car at the trailhead, Jonathon shouldered his daypack and began hiking the steep, wooded path. He had walked this trail four or fives times a year in his youth, but now in his prime, he came only during the spring and fall.
Serpentine Trail, located along a ridge of the Cascade Mountains in Oregon, snaked its way through head-high fern and old-growth fir and cedar. Jonathon paused after a couple miles, flicked his tongue in ...Read Full Post »
|Posted on June 25, 2010 at 3:25 PM||comments (3)|
Unit C12-Rom, nicknamed Romeo, awoke with a startled whir, both eyes blinking sporadically. He always slept, or more precisely assumed Standby Mode, in a vertical position, usually in a corner of the room. No electrical outlet was necessary, C models from C10 forward required none; they were equipped with wireless recharging: a fifty foot distance from any electrical source was adequate.
Romeo was flat on his back in an upstairs hallway of a sorority house. Bot...Read Full Post »