My different writings & other favorites

Out of the Fog, Dream Contest prompt (creepy)

The world I know is gone, and what I see is a time in the future, year unknown.

The sky is clear, but dark, no clouds can be seen, no stars, no moon, and this is the middle of the day. Why it's dark unknown, but this is the norm, at least the temperature is comfortable.
I walk into a crowded area of people, walking every direction. A phosphorus type stone, glows green, under our feet, providing the main light source. In the distance (approx. 30 feet) I spot my oldest nephew. I approach startling him as I grab his shoulder.
"Where's your mom, and brother?" I ask.
With tear filled eyes he points. "I haven't seen Corey though."

Quickly, I weave my way through the crowd of people. I see a large wooden stage, the size of a city block, large cauldrons burn around the stage, which helps to keep the insects at bay. The stage stands 12-15 feet high, with barriers, and guards keeping watch.
The only flight of stairs come into view, as I continue around the stage. A large, heavy chain, anchored beside the steps, extends some 300 yards out.
The guard unlocks the anklet part, of the I shaped chain, releases the person closest the stage, and locks the anklet, he then grabs the person by the arm and leads him up the steps on to the stage.
A large hooded man stands holding a double edged axe. Beside him a large bloody stump, with 2 arm restraints. The guard, pulls the victim to the stump, forces him to his knees, and locks one arm, then the other, and then removes all other chains that held him.
As the guard walks back down the steps, the hooded man steps to the block, and waits.
Looking across the stage you see the metal outer city wall at the back. From a hidden entrance the stage opens and
now 13 people stand on the stage.

Writings April 2016

WORLD PEACE

Words,
when used,
sow our thoughts;
inspire our lives,
shape our existence,
but we must be wary.
Use wisely, strength is needed,
the same power also destroys.
Knowledge, like a serpent's tooth is sharp,
is able to pierce hearts, and started wars.
Let's temper our quills then, for heaven's sake;
and build bridges that lead us from hate.
Not for your country, nor your faith,
or rewards that come from grace;
but simply out of love.
You may know what's said,
may think too true;
but simply,
my friends,
do.

Line count 20 - A Double Ethere type poem has 20 lines, with a syllable count 1 to 10, and then 10 to 1.
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At that given moment

Out like a lamb to graze, the burgeoning shoots nestle. Rooted in the firm, dense, vitamin rich, brown blanket of home. Hugged, bumped, and cradled in the whiffing currents, as they stretch forth their leafy, cool, curly, mittened hands, waiting to stretch forth their fingers from beneath.
Towering giants, from those too young to know below, seem to support the weight of all above them from crushing them into obscurity. Even they now wake and shutter off the lion's roar. From their long slumbered dreams, they look toward the heavens once more, basking in the lambs embrace. Hungry, they place small budding offerings at their fingertips of yellow, red, and green in hopeful anticipation of filling the empty void of what was.
Beneath, looking out at the ebb and flow of grasses of long since dead plants that wave both hello and goodbye, to all at this given moment.
Nature speaks a volume of instructions, never listed in any journal of man, yet I listen, hoping to hear an utterance to no avail, merely the babble of liquids, lulling this human form to harmonious unity.
Swaddled in her beautiful bounty I rest.
Prismatic hues dance among bulging, cotton candy laden, baby blue skies, like a hippie's Tye-dyed shirt, spreading peace and love in its gentle embrace, as the gradual embers bow at darks graceful curtsy.

Spring prompt for No Dialogue Contest
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Hairy hoarder, hides heaps, at hilltop

After being diagnosed with a rare disorder called Hypertrichosis (also call Wolfman Syndrome) Thomas Gilliam couldn't take the stress of his condition, in the city he once called home. 15 years ago life was much different, a good job with a fortune 500 company, stocks, active social life, all while hiding his other hidden disorder (hoarding).

After months of debate he takes a severance package, buys a vast expanse of countryside, loads up his vast assesses, and disappears into the ether until this strange photo brings him in full focus of the public eye.

Come see what nature's bounty truly means!

This was a teaser contest with a picture prompt of the famous Patterson bigfoot photo. It is to hook a reader to want to read more of the story, like a teaser in a book cover.
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Burning Bridges

What if this time, there was one thing I could change,
Rewrite the old story, so no one's caught in the rain.
What if I could go back, to wipe the chalkboard clean,
Ease both our sufferings, so no one's left to blame.
What if this time, together, we could share another sky.
Ignore the major malfunction, tell me that we'll try.

If only we saw it coming, if we give instead of take,
To let our spirits soar, and free our heart from breaks.
If we take all the bad news, to turn it upside down,
Opposite views will flourish, for love to be unbound.
If only then, you would see me, for who I truly am,
Then bliss will run rampant, like a glistening gem.

This hurt's beyond measure though, since fate has made it so.
For once you didn't lie by me, with blankets to your nose.
This pain, to which I surrender, love's cold canister of strife.
Stab deep into my flesh, stripped and bloody upon it's knife.
This anguish, without regret, fall far from prying eyes,
I sit in solitude, a puzzle without pieces, starting with my heart.

Time heals all wounds they say, to some, this may be true,
I believe what life has taught me, the phone it never rings.
Time heals all wounds they say, together, we'll make it through,
I see, and know the truth, of what still remains the same,
Time ticks on, it's slow, unrelenting march, yet never I complain.
Good-bye, perchance you never knew, my love, I see, fell far from view.

24 line - use 2 prompts (I used all 13) -without regret - for once you didn't lie - this time - caught in the rain - we'll make it through - another sky - major malfunction - opposite views - one thing I could change - cold canister of - bad news - saw it coming - what if (Whispers Of The Soul contest)
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Soft whispers Jack's last frigid gasp

Slumbered stirs, nestle tight, gentle rousts, by morning's light
Woe to them that travel near, be mice, or man, and even deer.
Shake then yawn, and turnabout, sniff an snort, it's hairy snout.
Grasp, it tries, that drowsy trap, to no avail, it can not nap.
Wakes the beast, now emerge, from hibernation, doth it purge
Heavy lids, squint in pain, the sun's imprint, still remain.


Claws it now, for frozen dirt, to prance and paw, the tender Earth.
Pleased to find, seasons end, now it's feet, it must attend.
First to rub, and scratch it's back, then peel some wood, and hear it crack.
Look upon this virgin spot, to see this year, what nature's wrought.
Gathers all abundant grace, and walk around, to mark it's place.
Warning those that wander near, in this place, it holds dear.


Crossing grasses, maunders 'bout like many a time before,
Paths to trek by leaps and bounds, from sanctum's gentle core,
Strolls it's range, along it's way, for either peace, or war,
To feast upon, what spoils found, be it root, fish, or fowl
Life it knows, all depends, what's placed within it's jowl
Keeping pace, with digestion rates, to hinder belly growls.

Sun
Helios's Chariot
Cross the sky
Life force of Gaia's
Children

Do you see the wonders found, overlook the mysteries you saw at one time,
Trample now underfoot, colored petals that fill the air with fragrant aroma.

25 line Newbie poetry contest Spring prompt
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Arakun the twisted raccoon

Arakun had acclimated himself, to the recesses this countryside library, several years ago, to become, somewhat of a local celebrity, in his own little way.

An orphan due to a fire that swept through, taking the forest, his family, and the old library, some years ago. He was found huddled, cowering in a small untouched room, in its basement.

At first no one was sure how this little scamp would fair among people, but he was quite timid, and even tempered, and the little rapscallion, soon found a place in their hearts.

A small black velvet collar, with a tracking chip was placed around his neck, soon after, once it was plain he had became a part of the staff here.

I was not from around these parts, but had family that was, and on a visit, I ventured into the library for information on wild mushrooms, that grow wild in these parts.

I spotted him lurking, out of the corner of my eye, and my heart skipped a beat, to see a wild animal inside the building. The light reflected a crystal diamond effect, off it's left eye.

I backed away slowly, turned and walked over to the counter to report the breach. "Must be because he doesn't know you." she said, it was then, I was told the harrowing story of, Arakun the twisted raccoon.

I noticed him following me most of the time there, and though a bit unnerving, it never presented itself as a threat. I engrossed myself in an article, at one point, and before I realized it, he was curled up in a ball, on my foot. I gingerly reached down patted the cute fella, and soon we were good friends.
I now visit my family there, more often, but don't tell them why.

300 word count - prompt - the title (I thought lol) and 3 words, velvet, crystal, diamond
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Hashtagged

# I love my planet,
# I love it so,
#Can I make a difference,
#The planet needs me so,
#Need to reduce carbon footprint.
#Okay, no jogging, no shoeprint.

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My shadow getting on to me for ignoring it.

Title : Little did I know

Hidden in plain site, without a second thought as I pass.
Sticking by you in thick or thin, regardless what's best for us.
I know, sometimes you feel like your all alone, that no one cares, but even when you can't see, know I'm still right here with you.

I listen, watch, feel, and share your highs and lows, a silent partner shaped by all you did, do, or will do, do I care, does it matter? Yes, of course it does, and you don't even know it.

I know you think I have no practical use, no reason for being, but your wrong! Everything has a purpose, or what you call physics would fall apart.
Who do you think shares what you are with all of nature? Who do you think carries all your wishes, and prayers, to and from God?

I asked for nothing, and give all I am and have, to and for you, always.

Thank you.

Your welcome.
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Enter-vention

"Oh, great! Now what do I do?"
Mark looks around at his quaint apartment shaking his head, as he paces. "Oh well, nothing lasts forever."
His mind soon shifts through thousands of scenarios, in a matter of moments, just to poke holes in every one of them "No, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOO!". Stopping in his tracks, his eyes suddenly widen, his head snaps up, and with a shaking single finger pointing up in the air, "OH SUGAR, THAT'S IT"!
Mark slowly spins around and looks at his pride, a beautiful Disocactus Ackermannii, also called the orchid cactus. Walks to the temperature controlled cabinet, chooses a bottle and goblet, and fills it a quarter full. Ceremoniously, he clinks the potted plant, raises his glass, bows slightly, and takes a small sip of wine, before sitting back at the table, with his morning paper.
For the next 3 months, Mark worked on his rebirth, if he wants to get to the point he wishes to attain, he must make sacrifices. Preform partial tests, looking for overlooked flaws, setting up his new residency, removing his old items, spreading stories and rumors, and as if a newborn, he is ready to place the gravestone in the ground, of what once was.
Mark mickey's an unsuspecting patron, whisking him away. The man wakes in a abandoned building on the outskirts of town. A small amount of explosives under his clothes. From the shadows Mark whispers his accented instructions. A telephone, and keys lie on the table beside the man. He gets up, and drives downtown, to speak to the local gangs. Mark watches him from the computer. They have to have someone in prison to carry out the hit. Mark laughs, looking at the Headline. STRANGLER FOUND GUILTY!
word count 299

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Various favorites from my past, short stories and poems.

Annabel Lee - by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

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THE BALLAD OF RED FOX
By Melvin Walker LaFollette



Yellow sun yellow
Sun yellow sun,
When, oh, when
Will red fox run?

When the hollow horn shall sound,
When the hunter lifts his gun
And liberates the wicked hound,
Then, oh, then shall red fox run.

Yellow sun yellow
Sun yellow sun,
Where, oh, where
Will red fox run?

Through meadows hot as sulphur,
Through forests cool as clay,
Through hedges crisp as morning
And grasses limp as day.

Yellow sky yellow
Sky yellow sky,
How, oh, how
Will red fox die?

With a dagger in his belly,
A dagger in his eye,
And blood upon his red red bush
Shall red fox die.

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The Sandpiper

By Robert Peterson
a true story

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world
Begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something
And looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

‘Hello,’ she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

‘I’m building,’ she said.

‘I see that. What is it?’ I asked, not really caring.

‘Oh, I don’t know, I just like the feel of sand.’

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.

A sandpiper glided by.

‘That’s a joy,’ the child said.

‘It’s a what?’

‘It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.’

The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,
Hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed
completely out of balance.

‘What’s your name?’ She wouldn’t give up.

‘Robert,’ I answered. ‘I’m Robert Peterson.’

‘Mine’s Wendy… I’m six.’

‘Hi, Wendy.’

She giggled. ‘You’re funny,’ she said.

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.
Her musical giggle followed me.

‘Come again, Mr. P,’ she called. ‘We’ll have another happy day.’

The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,
And an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out
Of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was
Chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.

‘Hello, Mr. P,’ she said. ‘Do you want to play?’

‘What did you have in mind?’ I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

‘I don’t know. You say.’

‘How about charades?’ I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. ‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘Then let’s just walk.’

Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
‘Where do you live?’ I asked.

‘Over there.’ She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter.

‘Where do you go to school?’

‘I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation.’

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was
On other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a
happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
Mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
like demanding she keep her child at home.

‘Look, if you don’t mind,’ I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, ‘I’d
rather be alone today.’ She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

‘Why?’ she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, ‘Because my mother died!’ and thought,
my, why was I saying this to a little child?

‘Oh,’ she said quietly, ‘then this is a bad day.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and yesterday and the day before and — oh, go away!’

‘Did it hurt?’ she inquired.

‘Did what hurt?’ I was exasperated with her, with myself.

‘When she died?’

‘Of course it hurt!’ I snapped, misunderstanding,
Wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

‘Hello,’ I said, ‘I’m Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was.’

‘Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much.
I’m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance,
please, accept my apologies.’

‘Not at all — she’s a delightful child.’ I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.

‘Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia.
Maybe she didn’t tell you.’

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

‘She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no.
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly…’ Her voice faltered, ‘She left
something for you, if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment
while I look?’

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with ‘MR. P’ printed in bold
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues — a
yellow beach, blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:

A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love
opened wide. I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,
I’m so sorry,’ I uttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words — one for each year
of her life — that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.

A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand
— who taught me the gift of love.

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The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.


I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

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Becalmed

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Becalmed upon the sea of Thought,
Still unattained the land it sought,
My mind, with loosely-hanging sails,
Lies waiting the auspicious gales.

On either side, behind, before,
The ocean stretches like a floor,--
A level floor of amethyst,
Crowned by a golden dome of mist.

Blow, breath of inspiration, blow!
Shake and uplift this golden glow!
And fill the canvas of the mind
With wafts of thy celestial wind.

Blow, breath of song! until I feel
The straining sail, the lifting keel,
The life of the awakening sea,
Its motion and its mystery!

The Bridge

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.