Tracks

I can hear the clank of the tracks

And feel the sweat on my back

Baby I got the blues

I hear the bird chirping soft and sad

About a lover that he once had

Baby I got the blues

I turned my back on the monsters of hill and dale

And on that blue ocean I set sail

I boarded that train, intent on some gain

But ran into the cocaine blues

With my gun in one pocket

And my drink in the other

Baby I’ve got a gin wall full of clues

And nothing to loose

So let’s solve this puzzle

Sit down by this fire and cuddle

Cause outside the rain collects in puddles

I’m not scared of nothing

Cause I come in pairs

I’m coming home baby

I’ll be back soon

Just the sweat on my back baby

An Ecphrasis Poem:

There’s a man holding his son

Rocking him like a pendulum while

The tears rolled down his cheeks

See the billowing smoke roll through the air

And the fire dancing here and there

Hear men’s desperate yells and women’s frantic screams

He’s holding his hand, choking out a lullaby

Dust and debris floating all around

No reason to calm down, he’s gone 

And now there’s blood on the lawn

Pull him close to your chest

Tell him there’s no time to rest

Tell him you love him

Don’t let go

Somewhere the waves are beating against the shore

Somewhere children are playing in the sun

Somewhere people are laughing, but not here

Cause there’s a man holding his son

Rocking him like a pendulum while

The tears rolled down his cheeks

See the anguish etched on his face

Contrasted by the peaceful being

Wrapped tightly in a father’s loving embrace

HALLOWEEN

A lone scarecrow stands in the light of a solitary candle, grinning ghoulishly. Several trussed up friends wander by, not knowing what soon awaits them.  His arms snake up behind his head and pulls out a large knife. It gleams palely in the moonlight as he pushes himself out of a small hole in a wall.

Of Smoke

A candle. A candle, its flame swaying hypnotically like a snake poised to strike.  A lone scarecrow like candle on a table doomed to smolder down until only holes remain. Smoke curls up, the candles only companion and friend in the void of life.

Satire

Satire

           

            The portly man adjusted his tie, with his two plump hands. He downed the rest of his coffee and looked out his office window on the 1,153th floor. A knock on his huge double doors behind him made him jump. They opened and in walked his three newest advisors. The previous ones had mysteriously died, by accident. They all sat down in the comfortable chairs surrounding a large desk in the center of the room. The man sat down behind the desk. Addressing the fat man behind the desk one of the three advisers fearfully told him that sales were dropping drastically. Another chimed in and said that they weren’t dropping by very much. The last one said nothing but shook in his chair. The fat man then laughed heartily and told them not to worry so much. They sighed and sunk a little into their chairs. The fat man opened a drawer in his desk. The three advisors stiffened, but he brought out a metal case and opened it, holding it out to them.

“Cigar?” he grinned wolfishly at them.

They each accepted one and let him light it for them with a gold and silver lighter. They finally fell into a relaxed conversation. Presently one of the bolder ones spoke up, while taking a long draw on his portly cigar.

            “And, we’ll pull back in front of that darned corn manufacturing plant soon enough”.

The fat man looked up from a magazine he was reading. The brave man stopped dead in his tracks.

            “Oh, DO continue Tom” he said with a deadly calm in his voice.

The once brave Tom shook as he continued with his tale about how their rival company had pulled ahead of them in sales; a fact he had left out previously. The fat man turned red as a tomato. He stood, motioned for Tom to follow him into a side room. The fat man closed the door behind them. The two advisors looked at each other nervously. Some yelling drifted out from the room and soon the door opened and the fat man walked out. He seated himself and then explained that Tom had been fired and would not be returning on account he had left for home already. The remaining two victims were petrified due to the red liquid splattered on his face and hands. He leaned foreword and asked how the stocks were doing. Slowly one of the advisors, shaking so much he was moving the chair, told him that they were very likely to succeed in passing up their rival corporation. The fat man then stood and beckoned for the poor soul to follow him back into the room. A dark stain then decorated his crotch area as he stood and followed the man.  Several screams ensued and there was much clawing at the door, before the fat man emerged. He was even more bloodied than before and was grinning like the devil himself. 

            “Now,” he said to the lone advisor, “where were we”?

The man quickly shut his jaw and composed himself. In a very composed manner he told his boss that they were certain to succeed in overtaking their rival companies. The fat man smiled profusely and reached across the desk to shake the lone survivor’s hand.

Island of Fire (excerpt)

         “Open up your damn eyes, you son of a bitch”

I felt a palm against my face. I opened my eyes. John was slapping my face, urging me to my feet. I looked up into his grime-covered face, taking his hand. We became pals soon after we discovered the commonality of a bad case of seasickness. We were part of the same regiment. I stretched

         The man raised his gun threateningly in my face, yelling in Japanese. Suddenly I slapped his gun away and swiped my “ka-bar” out of its sheath and into his neck. His blood sprayed into my face, painting it red. The man tried to call out but my knife was still lodged in his neck and he just gurgled a bit. I put my hand over his mouth and pulled the knife out with a sickening squelching sound. With his last breath he looked me in the eyes. “Thank you” the pale green orbs seemed to say. Then he was gone.

         “Shit, shit, shit” I whispered.

I let him roll into the bottom of the foxhole. Suddenly a mortar landed nearby, forcing me into a foxhole. My mind raced. I grabbed the rifle, sheathed my bloody knife. I could still see his soul painted on it. Crawling out of the hole I looked left and right. The foggy, battle scarred landscape seemed deserted under the luminous moon. Occasional flashes of light and booms signaled that the main battle had moved away. I stood but walked cautiously.

         “Where had John gone”, I wondered to myself.

Suddenly something big hit me square in the back. I fell to my stomach, the rifle skidding past my reach amidst various limbs and bodies. I drew my knife and rolled over.

         “JOHN!” I whispered “WHERE THE HELL-“

I stopped dead in my tracks. John’s eyes were just staring in a permanently terrified expression.

         “John…” I choked on my words.

         A trickle of blood waterfalled out of his mouth and he wasn’t breathing. I pushed him off. His back was burnt and torn at. His stomach had large puncture wounds. I recoiled when I lowered my observation, for his leg was gone, leaving a bloody stump in its wake. I looked around in horror, wild thoughts filling my head. I scrambled for the rifle, not knowing what to do. Suddenly something above me shot through the black sky. I spun, trying to catch a glimpse of it again. I knew that we hadn’t called in air support and besides; it hadn’t made a sound.

         I wanted to get away from here as fast as I could. Grabbing my rifle, I set off at a slow jog, scanning the distance for enemies, while mist swirled around my feet.

         It had been about an hour after I found John. Suddenly I heard a scream. I pulled the rifle to my shoulder and walked through the fog towards the sound. Out of the mist appeared a struggling couple against a rock face. One was repeatedly stabbing the other. However the man with the knife wasn’t wearing any uniform, making it impossible for me to distinguish him from friend or foe. Tattered robes and a blood red cape hung about him in disarray. I couldn’t see the victim behind him. A crack rang through the air as I pulled the trigger. The bullet sank into the attacker’s shoulder flesh. He let out an animalistic howl and whipped his head around glaring at me. He snarled at me, his face covered in blood. I gasped and took another shot, missing just barely. The man fled into the black night. I rushed to the victim. He was a Jap. I was tempted to leave him, but my Christian up bringing told me to stay. He was bleeding from several puncture wounds and babbling like a madman. I lowered him into sitting position. He grasped my hand suddenly, staring at me with wild eyes. His gaze suddenly looked past me, and his face lit up with joy and he called something out. Pain jolted through my neck as a bullet grazed it, leaving a small trail of blood trickling down my neck. I spun but found the butt of a rifle. I fell to my knees and knew I was blacking out.

          I woke to the intense smell of rice woke me. I opened my eyes. I was face down in the dirt. I couldn’t move my hands or feet. Remembering the horrors of the previous night, I struggled like an animal against my bonds. The butt of a gun pressed against my back. A foot connected with my stomach, rolling me over. I coughed. And tasted blood. Sunlight barely shone. Clouds still dominated the sky even in the morning. A face wavered close to me, coming into focus. He yelled in Japanese. I groaned. His breath was foul. He chuckled and wrenched me to my knees by my hair.

Excerpt from Suburbs

Suburbs

Inspired by the album, The Suburbs by Arcade Fire.

Part I: A city in the Suburbs

                  Chapter I: Owl walks & summer talks

                  I put down my pencil and stared blankly out my window. I sighed. Summer. The sun flitted through the leaves on the tree beside our house in the suburbs. And yet it just wasn’t summer. The cries of children running through the neighborhood, dogs barking, joggers, were missing. I shoved back on my rolling chair. A summer heat wave was currently devastating the suburbs. The grass was making a valiant fight for life but was failing and turning brown. Even my Aunt’s flower garden was withering away.

            “Danny”            

            “Coming, Aunty” I called.

            My parents had died in a car crash when I was 10. Ever since their death I’ve lived with my aunt Dorothy and uncle Rob and their only child, Anna. We had grown to be the best of friends over the long years. I was now 15 a week ago and Anna was 13. A two-year gap seemed to be nothing to us. We biked around and made mischief.

            I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling it across my forehead. I flung my door open and waltzed down my stairs. The hall held pictures of many old relatives of some sort or the other. I skidded into the kitchen and sat down for dinner. Anna came through and sat down opposite me talking non-stop to no one in particular.

            School had been out for weeks. Summer was in the air and burning in my blood. It seemed to me at the time that all of my friends had moved away. I’d had no contact from a single soul. I’d longed to burst free of my prison cell in NO. 4 Washington dr. and that’s exactly what I planned to do.

            “Hush” I whispered to Anna.

            We were on our way sneaking out of the house to roam the neighborhood in search of adventure. We grabbed sticks of various shapes and sizes. They found their way into sheaths and holsters. We were now armed for our adventure! Passing a nearby park I suddenly pulled Anna behind a tree with me. I had spotted an enemy soldier. I gave Anna her orders and pulled my shotgun out from the back of my shirt. I nodded to Anna and she moved her position. Then I made my break for it. As soon as I reached the closest tree I put my back to it and scanned for Anna. She was not three trees away and gave me a hand signal.             I nodded and spun around the tree and spotted my target. I blew him away instantly and inspected the area for additional hostiles. None were to be seen; he must have been a scout. I gave Anna a high five and we howled our victory in shrill voices. Continuing on our way we chatted genially.

            “Danny,” said Anna, “is this really what we waited for throughout the school year?”

            “No” I replied knowing exactly how she felt. “No this is not summer…summer is playing with friends all day and coming home to a nice meal. Summer is biking round the neighborhood and riding up and down the dirt piles that the dump trucks leave. That is summer” I finished chucking my last stick away into the street.

             It bounced several times before coming to a stop under a streetlight. An owl hooted feebly somewhere above us.  We were silent for a long while. The only sound was the sound of our feet shuffling on the empty street.  Then suddenly a horrible screech permeated the air. I knew that the predator had found his prey...