Wednesday, November 17, 2010

One with the World

The night clings to me,
her embrace, loving and dark
I am a child at her breast
suckling her splendor, startling and stark.

Filled with the knowledge of ages,
lulled into sleep
cooing songs of dying stars
bathed in the universes undying heat
Mother and child
one with all time
I reach out and grab one moment
forever, this will be mine

I close my eyes
as blackness prevails
to sleep dreamless nights
as the universe unveils
the course she has taken
left only to poets tales
billowy and lofty
as pirate sails
and all is well, glasses raised in hail!

We are nourished
We are well
without fault
We cannot fail
into dreams I fall
as November winds swirl
I am one with the universe
One, with the world

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Amulet of the High Priestess

Transfixed, I watched her approach; my breath caught in my throat. Undulating as she walked, her hips swayed as to some unknown music playing in her mind. Raven black hair cascading down to below her waist caught the light that filtered through the canopy of this ancient forest, to give it sheen. Large azure blue eyes stared through me; unblinking and wicked. Her tan skin, almost bronze like glistened with the thick humidity that condensed upon touch.

Exotic smells of oils and balms and richly scented flowers mingled with the heady aroma of damp earth and burning wood. Her breasts were large and firm. Free of all encumbrances, they gently embraced the large golden amulet suspended from a string of fresh water pearls, almost translucent. Guards in tribal headdress and carrying lances menaced my slightest movement. As she neared, they bowed in reverence. She raised one bejeweled hand.

“Why have you come to our land?”

I felt the sharp point of a lance at the back of my neck nudging my immediate response.

“Forgive me. I am a doctor and conducting research into remedies found naturally in the plants that surround us. I was unaware I was intruding.”

She smiled and with a small wave of her hand, the guards retreated a few paces.

“Stand and face me doctor.”

Though said in a soft and musical tone, I felt compelled and commanded to obey instantly.

“I am curious doctor; do all the people where you come from have green eyes and pale skin like yours?”

Our eyes were locked in a searching stare; a tiny polite smile curling her lips deliciously.

“O your Majesty. Some are brown and some are blue; though, not many would have a blue so lovely as yours.”

Her mouth grew wide and she started to giggle.

“Why do you call me Majesty? I am not the Queen. I am the High Priestess! You stare at my amulet. Does this interest you? Have you lied to me? Are you here to steal it? Answer me! Now!”

Her smile had turned instantly from a smile to snarl, and contorted her beautiful features as the guards once again raised their lances and drew near.

“No, no, no, High Priestess! I am as I say. Please, you must believe me. I do, in fact find the amulet quite beautiful, but I would never consider stealing it. Please…”

Her face returned to calmness as she waved the guards once again to retreat.

“Our lands have always protected us. From Mother Earth we receive our food; our medicine when we are sick; her wood for burning when we are cold. We are bound to serve her, and she, in return allows us to live and die in her gentle arms. I will summon our medicine woman. She will show our medicines, and then you will leave this place doctor and never return. Our guards will escort you safely out of our land.”

A great sadness overcame me as I uttered my acceptance to her terms. I knew that though I would keep my promise, others would not. My appearance here would only be the beginning of the end of paradise for the High Priestess and her people. I watched as she removed the amulet and gently removed one of the pearls and held it out to me.

“Take this with you doctor; to remember me and my people. Never forget.”

She smiled and gave a gentle nod, then turned and walked slowly back to where the villagers waited for her to recount what had just transpired.

That was 41 years ago. And today, as I look at the pearl in my hand, I wonder. But, I will never know. Did she survive? Did her people survive? Is their land being raped by godless and heartless machinery till nothing remains but gaping muddy holes where once paradise on earth stood? Are this pearl and my memories all that remain of that paradise? The amulet of the High Priestess is lost, for all time and Mother Earth weeps and spills her bitter tears on the muddy ground.

Inspired by the photo prompt at Magpie Tales

Thursday, October 28, 2010

My Dearest Julia

My Dearest Julia,

November 29th, 1858 was a cruel day. The first snows heralding a long and lonely winter danced across the landscape, unencumbered by patches of blue sky that dared to push through the gray. The landscape, while pastoral most of the year, was now colourless. Winters icy grip tightened on the fields; choking the life out of even the heartiest gourds. Abandonment.

The whiteness of December would bring the preparations of that most festive of celebrations; Christmas! But not this year. The very best of woods piled high for yuletide logs would be cut for a very different purpose this year. Oh, how I detest the drone of death prayers and lamentations. But this day shall see naught but sorrow. My begging of God, and subsequent cursing have brought me only sorrow. For Julia, my beloved Julia is no more.

To forsake my eternal soul, for just one loving last embrace would be a pittance. I am lost. Will time remember our great love? Or shall we fall; forgotten lovers in a forgotten world. It’s too much for one heart to bear. Forgive me darling Julia, but the pistol lies loaded and charged before me. Soon my love, we will be together once more. When I am gone and winters grasp gives way to green pastures, only memories will remain, and the broken dreams of lives once lived.

Julia’s gravestone and other haunting stories lay at Magpie Tales

Monday, October 11, 2010

A beautiful day

A beautiful day here! Blue skies and temperatures around 11C ( that’s around 50ish in Americanese ). The fall colours are breathtaking, but I will have to pull out the rake sooner or later. Preferably later. I came home from work, ( yes, I am an A type workaholic ) and rushed out to the garden. I slashed back everything! I was dressed for the weather, but suddenly realized that I was NOT dressed for the work! Got a tad sweaty, so I thought I would take a run to the wine store to find a naughty lil bottle of Merlot for some later scribblings in the sun. Well what do you know! I found some Rogue beer! Honestly! Well, I couldn’t resist. Oh,, I also bought a little bottle of the naughtiess Merlot you can buy.

People are out walking babies and dogs. Didn’t see many walking cats though. Go figure. Lots of overweight people in Spandex doing the “speedwalkies” thing. Spandex should be outlawed for anyone over the age of 21.

The back yard now looks kinda barren and forlorn. I may have been a tad zealous there. The squirrels have quizzical looks on their faces as though asking me, “ what the hell ya do man???” Screw them, they only drive Queen Daisy nuts! Did I mention our Daisy? A Maltese, all of maybe 5 pounds and the attitude of a Rottweiler. She rules Castle Rogue with an iron fist.

I have been marinating a pork roast in the fridge since this morning. I think Daisy can smell it. She constantly looks at the fridge with an orgasmic expression. I have the weirdest dog on the planet. I should get back to that Louise Penny novel I have been trying hard to read. Where does the time go? Ok, time to get the roast in. I cut all the herb garden back today, so no shortage of fresh herbs here. Toodles kids, see you all soon!

Saturday, October 9, 2010


The river runs cold
on these autumnal morns,
majestic Maples
leaves stripped and torn;
bear witness to November,
the sleety scorn
winters icy dribble,
the carcass of the fuschia,
laid bare and forlorn.

Scarlet and gold
reign in the wood.
the world in hushed silence,
watch nature unfold;
as surely it should,
and while the forest folk forage,
Mother Natures’ brood,
the dens are prepared,
laden with pine cones and ferns,
all manner of food.

And into dreams
once again shall they dwell,
till the cruel winters winds,
have left hillside and dell,
and return them once more,
forever to dwell,
the cycle of life,
having drunk deep from the well.

Unto every season,
the poets say;
Unto every reason,
Unto every way.
Unto every new field,
Unto every new foray,
Unto every life,
Unto every day,
the only constant is, in fact, change.

My submission for Magpie Tales resting here

Sunday, October 3, 2010

The Lantern, A Magpie Tale

Allison? Oh Allison, I’m so sorry. I remember my promise to keep myself safe. And I remember your promise to keep a light burning till I returned. Oh God Allison, what has become of us?

France was a dreadful place. I sat for days in mud and bloated bodies with not a thought but the flame that burned, and would herald my return home. I watched the vermin devour my fallen comrades with wild abandon, unable to move, as the shells fell and remembering my promise to stay safe. Hell on earth. Our only orders, “dig in”. Forgive me Allison. My thoughts were only of you and baby McCalister. The smell of blood and earth and sulphur smoke cloud my senses and dispose me in a sea of despair. Forgive me Allison. We were huddled in a mud filled hole. A blinding light, soundless.

And I find myself here, before your window. Oh God Allison, I will not return. Can you forgive me? I will love you always, but I will never be able to be your lover. Please tell McCalister about his father. In Him, I live. Can you hear me Allison? Allison? I see the glass and the brass, but my love, where is the flame?

Written for Magpie Tales #34 which is found here

Thursday, September 16, 2010


I dared to dream the dreams of Icaras and Daedalus. The folly of youth and the brilliance of the times ordained us as Gods. To soar on warm summer winds and caress the heavens; to seek out the face of the almighty; this was our anointed task. To this end, we became relentless in our studies. The hours spent observing the hawk and falcon; grace and speedy death. We studied the master. The great Leonardo. I was enraptured by his works. I sought to build on this brilliance. And through diligence and intense scrutiny to the smallest detail, I was utterly convinced of my success where all else had failed.

July had been kind to the farmers in allowing the crops to grow in wondrous abandon. On that day, as I climbed the tower, the burden of my contraption weighing heavy on my shoulders, my exuberation lifting me unworldly plains, I gazed upward. Higher and higher still. I must touch the clouds, for only in touching them, will they receive me and give me their benediction.

Higher still, till at once I stood at the precipice. My gaze drifted downward and dizziness overtook me. I steadied myself against the braces of willow and oak that formed this fortress that reached high into the heavens and braced myself against the rush of a hot July wind. Below me, farmers tilled the fields of lavender, blue and mauve; unknown crops tilled in unknown fields by unknown farmers, unaware of what was about to transpire high above them.

My exhilaration knew no bounds as I quickly attached the straps and moved toward the edge. In me, the dreams of Icarus, Daedalus and Leonardo would come to fruition. I fell forward and felt the pull of the wind beneath my wings and I soared! Tears flooded my eyes as the beauty overtook my senses and I became one with the summer sky; as surely as the majestic eagle. Downward I soared. In my vanity, as Icaras had tried to soar to high to touch the sun, I soared low so to as impress those nameless famers in nameless fields.

Lower, faster, lower still. I could not lift without ripping the very wings that had brought me to this. I was done! And into a field of lavender my body smashed. Its sweet perfume mingling with my blood. I lay there dazed till an unknown farmer, tilling an unknown field came upon me and brought me to an unknown farmhouse. The smell of lavender lingers in my senses and shall ever be I fear. But the dream of Icaras remains.

And now, in this painting you view, it is I, and my dog Leonardo that stands to the left on the road and stares up to the spire to witness challenge of the brave and the fool hearty. And the nameless farmers, tilling nameless fields of lavender, blue and mauve go about their business…

This was written for The Inferno’s Coxswain “Vertigo” theme where an artist from The Artist Challenge is asked to choose one of their pieces of art and the writers interpret it in words. You may find Ray Shuells painting here as well as the entire Vertigo collection.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Deja vu (or the ongoing saga of Fred and Doris)

Fred looked resplendent as he lovingly gazed at his reflection in the hallway mirror. “Yessiree, today is the day I luck out and snag that new fishing lure down at Walmart!”

His red and yellow Argyle socks seductively clung to his hairy calves. The toes were a tad thread bare as was obvious from the sandals he wore. His hunter green shorts, with the gazillion utility pockets, cinched quite nicely with a faux alligator belt, and topped with fire engine red suspenders managed to magically transplant his waist so that it now lay somewhere just below his man-boobies. His John Deere tee shirt felt a little snug around his ham sized biceps and those damned shorts were starting to ride high again! Oh well, just a small tug, and it will be fine.

“Hey Doris, you coming or what?”

“For goodness sakes Fred, hold your horses! I am just putting on my face!”

Fred frowned as he thought maybe it would be easier for Doris if he got her a spatula to put on her make up. But he had once said that to her a few years back with rather dire results, and the memory of the swollen eye returned to haunt him, so he let it slide.

Fred grabbed his lucky cap; the one that was embossed with “Old Fart” on the front, and slapped it on his thigh to remove the dust. Then he gingerly placed it over his magnificently coiffed comb-over with great care so as not to disturb his “do”. There! The ensemble complete, he was ready to hit Walmart with all the vim and vigor of a kid at Toys R Us!

Doris exited the bathroom with a gasp! “Fred! Did you forget something?”

Fred looked at Doris quizzically.

“What do you mean? I got all my lucky clothes on, and you know Doris, if I do say so myself you might have to watch them ladies there at Walmart. They may be wanting to steal your man away from you!”

Fred gave a broad, toothless smile.

“There!” said Doris, “that’s exactly what I mean! Where the hell are your teeth Fred?”

“Oh, right here in my pocket. No worries, I will put them in before we hit the MacDonalds at Walmart.”

“You will do nothing of the sort Fred! Put em in NOW!”.

Fred frowned.

“You know Doris, I don’t appreciate your tone here. I will put them in when we get there, and that’s that!”

Fred watched as Doris trudged dishearteningly off towards the kitchen and disappeared out of sight. Fred returned to the mirror for another admiring glance.

Doris called out from the kitchen, “Fred, can I see you for a sec honey?”

The last thing remembered as he entered the kitchen was a dark spherical object approaching his face at lightning speed, then total darkness. As the light slowly returned, he saw Doris sitting at the kitchen table.

“Now Fred, about your teeth.”

Fred clawed his way to the bathroom and slowly looked into the mirror as he withdrew his dentures from his pocket. Across his forehead was emblazoned “laF-T” As he stared into the mirror, an eerie feeling surrounded him.

“God lord! I have seen that mark before, I swear! This here must be one of them deejer voodoo things ya always hear about! Wait till Oprah hears about this!”

For The Inferno's theme of Deja vu or as Fred sees it Deejer Voodoo

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Affectionate Anarchy - Painters Block

I was born of evil
Born in a cauldron of hate
Suckled on mistrust
My hunger so great,

Satiated in lust
Loins afire
Turning colour to dust
Turn cold the artists’ desire

Lay the canvas bare
Raped and torn
Break brushes and palettes
Leave them broken and forlorn

I am the destroyer
I am that which you dread
In your life, in your love,
In the dreams in your head

Embrace me now
It was never your calling
I have shown you the way
Its beauty enthralling

Will you love me now
And renew your vow
I have taken it all
And yet you question “how”

It was you that sacrificed it
As on a pagan alter
It was you that saw excellence
It was you that faltered

I was the instrument
But you were the crime
Your self loathing
Disgusting and sublime

Will you love me now
Only this I ask
I have always loved you
Does that sound sad, forlorn and crass?

Return to your art
Its beauty enrapture
Its gaunt still life
Forever captured

Forgive my insolence, my unknowing eye
Absolution, your tender heart
The expanse of your love
The expanse of your art

Born to hurt, it pains me
Your colours must live
I block your creativity
Idle your art, without reprieve;

Till at last
You push past me.
Take up the brush,
At last you see
Tho an anarchist I am,
I do so affectionately.

I originally wrote this piece with the concept of artists block. As writers have writers block; then so must artists from time to time. The greatest anarchist we face daily is our own minds that control our creativity. But generally, I have found that after the drought, come the floods. Ergo, the anarchist becomes the giver. My submission for The Inferno.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Lucky Charm

He came to with a sputter. The memory of the preceding moments rushed back as his heart beat wildly; blood gushing from the gaping wound to his head. Having avoided running over the raccoon, he now found himself lying sideways in a ditch on a godforsaken country road. He slowly reached out to the St Christopher medal, now hanging to the side of his rear view mirror.

“Please God, don’t let me die.”

“Do you really believe that will help?”

His eyes widened in fear at the sound of a voice in the car with him.

“Who’s there? Who are you?”

“I am known by many names. But it’s enough that I know yours and your situation. Are you afraid? Does holding that medallion and praying to your God help?”

Through blood blurred eyes he strained to see the face of the voice that taunted him from the back. He reeled in shock at the sight!

“Oh, do stop staring. It’s rude! You know perfectly well who I am. Did you believe that I would appear with horns and carrying a pitchfork? And you believe that angels have wings and play harps, right? I know all about angels. I am one myself. But then, you must have known that. Would you like me to remove all your pain? I can if you wish. But then, I think you would accept nothing from me. You clutch that medallion and believe in metal and forgotten saints.”

His mind reeled. This must be some sort of hallucination from the head injury.

“Of course it’s not an hallucination! Don’t think such silly thoughts. I simply enjoy dropping in at opportune moments to see how little mankind has progressed. I really have no idea why God spared you at all. You are small and insignificant. Oh well, I suppose that he enjoys the praise. Quite vain; don’t you think?”

He watched as a smile filled the face of absolute evil.

“Nothing to say then? Oh very well. To be honest, you are rather boring. There is a young famer and his wife approaching. They will find you and take you to the hospital where you will be mended. But remember this it had nothing to do with that silly medallion you hold so tightly in your hand! God did not answer your prayers! It is simply fate that you face now. Lucky charms do not exist! If they did, I would not exist! And I do, don’t I…………”

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Soy Milk and Flax Seed

This is my response to a posting on The Inferno about the dangers of using the last of someones soy milk and flax seed. Enjoy !

Oh my God! My head feels like a split melon! I’m afraid to open my eyes. What’s that smell? Oh lord, I think I have shat my pants! With all that Flax seed I consumed though, it’s little wonder. Thank God there are no budgies around, the seed and all that, well, the thought of a budgie pecked arse is way too much to bear just now.

Ok, open one eye, slowly. Uh oh, I recognize those nylons turned down to the knee and that floral print sun dress! Doris! Oh, her face looks like a fart through a barrel of nails. What have I done now? I would fake a smile, but I have neither the strength nor the desire. I think my left eye must be blinded! And, I can still taste vanilla soy milk in my mouth!

I should ask her for help to the bathroom. On second thought, seeing her there with the frying pan in one hand and the empty carton of Soy milk in the other, maybe it’s best I simply crawl away. I wonder when the sight will return to my left eye?

Ok, made it. Whew, them drawers will have to be burned! Lord, will I ever be normal again? Ok, let’s look into the mirror and assess the damage.

Good Heavens! My left eye is open but I can’t see from it! Wait, whew, I am starting to see shadows. Hey, what’s that? A tattoo? On my forehead? Huh? LAF-T ? What the hell??? How am I going to explain this down at the Legion hall?

Ok, I’ll shower and change and swallow a dozen Tylenol Extra Strength and take Doris out to breakfast. Let’s hope the sight returns to my left eye soon. Does this make me bi-polar sighted or something? I will fire off an e-mail to Oprah.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

A Blistering Kiss

The moon and stars
Mean nothing to me.
They are, but a sailors beacon.
Wayward romantics,
And self righteous poets,
Wither in ostentatious reason.

Love is hot,
It scalds the soul.
No balm to soothe the bliss.
Sweat drenched sheets,
Loves burning coals,
A kiss that blisters the lips.

I have kissed the sun
Caressed her heat,
Smelled her heady scent.
Be gone, yee bards of night
With prose, calculated and sweet.
Your rhymes borrowed, sad and lent.

Love dwells in the light
Not in the dark,
Waning moons and midnight lust.
Give way to afternoon delights
Naked, and unafraid
Till at last with the coming dusk,

My love retires,
Spent in her love.
One last searing kiss she gives.
Succumbed to her charms,
In awe I see the heavens above,
And curse the night,
Curse that which poets believe.

The moon and stars mean nothing to me…

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Embrace The Wind

Deep forest greens
block blue summer skies
and drop us in pearls of dew,
the moon wanes
the sun rides high
morning mists give way to the daylillies sigh

The gardener stands watch
His day, yet to begin
Surveys that, which his hands have wrought,
With scents as seductive
As the original sin
Natures battle, well won, fiercely fought

Soft blow the winds
As azure skies
Split the nights retreat,
Fat fuschias, periwinkles,
Morning glories and moonglows,
Our senses to entreat

Ancient oaks, frilly ferns,
Pretty primroses
All in a row
Daisy chains
And gin scented pines,
In abundance, flourish and grow.

The gardener smiles
His face weathered and worn
Giving proof to efforts untold,
Loving care
Unto natures wrath,
Unto this Eden, he has bartered his soul.

Rotund tomatoes
Fat on the vine
Red, luscious and sweet,
Basil, summer savoury, lemon thyme,
Smells to assail the senses
In the hazy summer heat

In the cool shade
Of the Weeping Willow,
Her tentacles loving embrace,
By a lazy river
In deep cool grass,
As sensual as leather and lace.

Unto all this
The gardeners embrace
Delicious and sublime
Sight, smell, touch, trace,
He caresses the face of The Devine


Sunday, June 13, 2010

The Tears of A Fairie

A wee submission for The Inferno's theme of A Midsummers Night's Dream

From that place wherein mortal dreams are born and do sail on the warm midsummer nights’ breezes, a child of the fairie woods weeps. Shards of moonlight slash through the leaves of an ancient and gnarled oak, like daggers of light that shineth down from the pale yellow orb; as to witness this child’s sorrow. Her sobs were so soft and sweet, so as to hush the song of the nightbird. Herein begins my tale. Whilst thou follow me to this ancient place and harken to the words spoken and now written for all time?

“Delphenia, why do I cometh upon you in sorrow? Wilst thou not join the great Fairie Circle and dance with us?”

“Dear Pinus, I have no words to share with thee tonight. Can not the great maker of dreams lift me from this place and carry me off to where my heart wouldst feel no more?”

Pinus crouched low; his tiny features once sparkling and wizened, now tinged with expressions of sadness and perplexion.

“What hath led you to this state of despair dear Delphenia? The Queen of the fairies doth await upon your presence.”

Delphenia turned sharply to Pinus.

“Begone Pinus! I would not have this conversation with thee! Thou art a knave, and the messenger of the Queen! My heart hath been torn from my chest and I am smote by the careless and callous words of Acer! Here I would stay till I breathe no more and become one with Mother Earth!”

Pinus recoiled at the onslaught of words so spoken in anger as to loose his footing and fall backwards.

“My dearest Pinus, art thou safe? Please forgive my anger. I wouldst not lend this sadness upon one such as you.”

Pinus arose. His features lay witness more to his embarrassment of having fallen. Fairie pride runneth deeper than the roots of the tree of life.

“Pray tell Delphenia, as Acer may be likened to a fool that sitteth on a fools throne, what words could he use to wreak this havoc on thine heart?”

“I dare not say Pinus.”

Pinus looked into the eyes of Delphenia as she spoke. She was young, and easily hurt.

“Are we not of the same ilk Delphenia? Wouldst thou now spurn me and turn from my friendship and love? Am I now to return to the Fairie Circle without you by my side? A pain, once shared, becomes half a pain. Thou hast pained me in this place this eve, and will nought but leave to wonder from whence that pain is derived? No Delphenia! Thine sorrow is my sorrow. Speak the words to me so I make take them from your mouth and dash them on the stones of forgiveness.”

“Oh Pinus, unworthy as I am of thine love and friendship, I shall share his words with thee. Acer told me that I had the hair of a tangled bramble bush and a nose like a ripe nettle!”

Delphenia began to sob and wail. Pinus let a small smile fill his face.

“Dear, dear Delphenia. Doth thou not realize the reason for which Acer made those childlike insults? Me thinks that Acer doth hold thee in rather high esteem! And as thou has seen fit to not return his advances, he strikes at the one place that even you cannot protect. Negative attention is attention nonetheless.”

“But dear Pinus, mine heart is no longer mine to protect. For it belongs to another. It is he who must protect it.”

Pinus looked bewildered. Even the wisest of fairies may sometime make a mistake in doing that by which all mortals are bound, not realizing the obvious. And as the realization became obvious on Pinus’ face, Delphenia smiled and moved closer.

The evening air crackled as Delphenia and Pinus embraced and a great dream swirled about them and rose high into the midsummer nights sky, and sailed off to the land of mortals.

I am the keeper of fairie dreams. Therefore, by the power of the Fairie Circle, I now entrust this dream to thee. Pinus and Delphenia dance still, and will always do so, on these warm midsummer nights; creating dreams.

And herein, my tale doth end, but simply in the telling.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Beauty In The Eye of The Beholder

Lost in her book, the old lady’s appearance in her shop of once loved items became an annoyance. Take what you will and go! Yes, you can have that distraught teddy bear for a pittance! Just take it and be gone! The old lady seemed bedazzled and lost in delicious memories of a time lost in the pages of a school girls’ diary. Clutching the musty mementoes to her bosom, she weaved her way slowly to the cash register. With trembling hands, she counted out the neatly folded bills that would finalize the transaction that would make these treasures hers.

Smiling, she gathered up the change and dropped it in her bag. “It’s a lovely night. I am sorry to have disturbed you. Go back to your book.”

Her smile and the twinkle in her eye left no doubt that there was nothing malicious in her statement, and so, with the closing of the front door, she returned to her novel.

The air was thick with scents. Magnolia, Cypress, Spanish Moss, but none as intoxicating as the deep rich earth that permeated all. It carried on the night winds, soft and sultry. The chorus of bullfrogs echoed through the Louisiana night. These were heady smells.

Charles stared down at the gardens, dark shadows now blanketing the riotous colours that would come with sunrise. As he rose, the moonlight seemed to fill the room with an exquisite glow. Sumptuous, and erotic. Bathed in this golden hue, his body tensed at the sight that lay before him. Muscles taught, his blond hair, wild and untamed, dampened by the perspiration of unbridled wanton desire. His eyes turned to her. To Madelien. Her raven hair, tangled, falling over the pillows. Her soft breathing, lost in some unknown dream. The silk sheet, half draped over her nakedness. One perfect breast, exposed, and the shimmer in the moonlight of sweet summer sweat.

Her beauty was undeniable. His need was without question. His manhood stiffening in the eroticism of the moment, he let forth his tongue, and drew it from the bottom most part of her lower back and languidly worked his way her shoulders. Her soft sigh left no doubt as to his prowess in the ministrations that Charles knew all too well. Her salty taste on his lips was too much to bear. The kiss was savage. Biting lips and burning lust! Turning, and giving in to her own desires, Charles seized her and devoured her as he had with no other woman.

Lying in that four poster bed, the spires reaching out; like a fortress of secret dreams, Charles and Madelien fell; spent; to dream dreams that only lovers may. And all the scents of Cypress and Magnolia and Spanish moss, but most of all, the earth; the deep rich earth of Louisiana, and the chorus of the bullfrogs, as deep sleep fell.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Into The Oblivion

Two stories for The Inferno's challenge.......

I am late

I am late. The steady drone of the traffic and drunks that pass below on Madison Avenue annoy me. The heat is oppressive. I sit here illuminated in the blue light of a blank screen on my laptop hoping against all hope to come up with the words that will save me from an editors wrath. My surroundings are dismal to say the least. Three days without air conditioning have taken their toll. My brilliance at constructing the most devastating foray into the human frailties are failing me.

As I sit back and watch the sweat flow and puddle into my navel, I remember Mr. Schmidt; a mediocre high school English teacher who told me that I would amount to nothing. How prophetic! How very sublime those words now seemed as they resonated in my addled brain, grown heavy with the demons of a vicious world. He would smile right now, seeing me like this. That garish all knowing smile. I detested him; his attempt at art; his disdain for all but classical. He was as unchanging as mans contempt for change. I loathed him. His only saving grace being that he had lived longer to read more than I! But that would change.

The brandy is playing tricks on me. As I watch the golden hue and see the fumes waft the droplets in my snifter upwards, I smile. The words will come. I know this. I look at the syringe. Sinister. Beckoning. I have always been afraid of needles. A family doctors compulsion of a shot of penicillin as the cure all put me in this state. And yet, tonight, the moonlight shined on the tip, a diamond, sparkling, luring, sensual and seductive. I knew my reprieve would be in its driving home.

I detest writing. The world feeds on me and those of my kind. They take from us what they will, and so callously spit on that which they believe below them. As tho they have rank! And this we do for a pittance. Some bauble of recognition. Acceptance. Yes, acceptance!

Reason falls away as the wail of the street rises to crescendos of depravity not known since Lucifer smiled at the sublime death of the chosen one. In the repressive heat, I gather up that great sword; and plunge it deep into my vein. I swoon, and feel the rush of the drugs overtake my human senses, and plunge me deep, deep, deeper still, into the chasm, into the still night, into oblivion.

Into Oblivion...

The rank stench of death smothers me. The gagging taste of opiates fill my mouth and assails my nostrils. Surrounded by loved ones; here on my deathbed; I am alone. They don’t know I am alive! I hear their every word!

Icy fingers clasp me from the sweat drenched cotton sheets that shroud my shriveled remains. How can I scream when I have not the strength to flutter one eye lid? Odd, I feel no pain. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? No one prepared me for this. How will it end? Is this really the end?

I should not have cursed God all those years past when Sarah was ripped from my loving arms. No, God could not exist! Or could he? I see no angels through the mist; no angelic choirs beckoning me home to HIS throne. All I hear is the incessant clicking of the rosaries and the drone of biblical prayers in hushed tones, so as not to disturb me. Disturb me from what? The perfect death? The very thought repulses me. I will lie here; mouth agape; drained of bodily fluids.

The very thought of what awaits the person who shall gather up my corpse and prepare it for the ride to the place where my body will be defiled and injected with all manner chemical preservatives sickens me. I am a prisoner to my fate. It has been said that people simply lose their will to live, and in so doing, die. I lost my will a long time ago it seems, and still, here I am. Maybe I can will myself to die? Die! Die!

Spare me your rosaries and prayers! I want them all to leave. Leave me now. I have so many questions, and so few answers. Though unafraid, I fear the final moment. What is beyond that final moment? The bile rises in my throat; hot and acidic. It burns. The pain is searing! I hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Louder, louder, louder. I can feel the convulsions now take my body; unable to stop them; I am lost, afraid. I hear a rattle escape from my throat, and feel a waxiness cover my face. And I suddenly smell my own bodies’ demise; in one great gush of dispelled matter.

And then into the abyss I fall, into the great unknown, into oblivion.

Monday, February 22, 2010

The Grey Time

The Grey Time

In the grey time, I come to you,
when the shadows of the night give way to the creeping gold
that is to be the day,
The city sleeps, and the mist rises over the mountains, dreams untold,
babies breath, the stir before the awakening.

Looking out onto this grey, stark landscape, I turn
and see the beauty that lies just within my grasp,
the smoke from my cigarette wafts, and I know I'm home,
in the arms of my love, the city will awake, the sun will shine,
and I, once again, will love and be loved.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Dishonour, Chapter 11

Special Agent Joshua “Perco” Perkins walked at a brisk pace towards his superiors’ office. He had no idea why the call was so urgent, but having been in the Secret Service these few years had taught him to never question; simply obey. As he arrived at the Directors office, the secretary rose and rapped sharply at the door, opened it, and waved Josh in.

Apart from the requisite portrait of The President, and a bevy of flags, the room was quite sparse. The Director, sitting behind his massive oak desk, looked older than when Josh had last seen him. His hair thinning and his paunch having increased in girth gave him a bloated look. He appeared for all concerned to be a man who had spent far too many nights pouring over documents, caught up in the bureaucratic nightmare of the present administration, all the while preparing for a new administration that would surely have effects on his department. It was all the talk amongst the younger agents these days. Who would be the next President and what would it mean to the men and women that would be delegated to protect him.

Without so much as a hello, and without raising his eyes from the folder before him, the Director asked Josh to take a seat.

“Special Agent Perkins. Are you aware of a person or persons calling themselves The Patriot?”

Josh looked at the Director now staring him squarely in the eyes awaiting his response. Cool blue eyes; piercing and dangerous.

“No sir, I have not.”

The Director returned his gaze to the open file before him.

“I’m not surprised. Until today, I hadn’t heard of him either. I see that you were an outstanding cadet at Rowley Training Center. What I am about to ask you could very well put that training to the test. We have a delicate situation on our hands here and we feel that you are the man for the job.”

Josh felt his throat squeezing and his stomach muscles tightening. Whatever was going down, it sounded dangerous. Still, this is what he was trained to do; without question.

The Director continued.

“We received a letter that was addressed to The Washington Post and signed The Patriot. This letter states that Senator Alex McCulloch is an enemy to the people of America and to quote, ’should be shot down in the street like the mongrel dog that he is.’ And that, to us Special Agent Perkins, represents a clear and present threat to possibly the next President of The United States Of America. We believe that this is an idle threat from the mind of some disillusioned nutcase. However, we take no threats against the lives of the people we serve mildly. I want this crazy son of a bitch brought in Agent Perkins! I want it done quietly and I want it done fast!

My secretary has a folder for you that contains all the information we have on this so far. The actual letter has gone off to the lab for analysis. You will get the results as soon as they come in. You have a free hand to use any means possible, and that includes personnel, to catch this idiot before he causes any more trouble. And one last thing. I understand that you have a friend, Special Agent Sam Banks, who works with the FBI?”

Josh cleared his throat and swallowed hard at spit that was not forthcoming.

“Yes sir. We were in the Academy together. We were roommates and have remained friends.”

“Good. The FBI is aware of this and we have spoken with Agent Banks’ superiors. Getting this Patriot fellow will be a joint effort and Special Agent Banks is being briefed as we speak. He will be your partner on this mission. But make no mistake Special Agent Perkins. You are to report to this office only! I am prepared to collaborate; but only so far! Are we clear on that?”

Josh looked at that clear blue stare once more and knew the full meaning of the Directors last words.

“Very much so sir, yes.”

“Good. Helen will give you the file on your way out. Good hunting and keep me posted. That’s all Agent Perkins. You are excused.”

Senator Davis Flatt stared at the the three men facing him; a murderous rage contorting his features.

“Have you all lost your god damned minds? Do you know the money, time and effort that I have put into this campaign? I should fire all your sorry asses and be done with it! How the hell can this countrys’ biggest Union decide to go over to that fucking McCulloch’s camp? How did this happen?”

“Senator Flatt, I was,,”

“Shut your god damned mouth or I’ll rip your tongue out! These things tend to have a domino effect. Once one goes over, the others gain confidence. Before you know it, that bastard McCulloch will get them all. That cannot and will not happen! I’ll put forward a motion for arbitration on every bloody contract that is outstanding! And, we will own the judges! It will not go well with them, I swear it!”

“Senator, may I say something?”

Senator Flatt rose and walked over to the window, staring blankly at the world, now passing him by.

“I honestly don’t know why I even try sometimes. Maybe the people of this great country aren’t worth saving. Say what you have to say, than get the hell out of my office!”

The three men looked at each other in disbelief. For the first time in their lives, Davis Flatt sounded utterly rejected and full of remorse and loathing self pity.

“Senator, I would be amiss in not advising you that your strategy of implying sanctions on the unions and business concerns of America is blowing up in our faces. They are not taking kindly to it. In fact, they see it as a sort of strong arm tactic to garnish their support. McCulloch is talking about downsizing the Military budget and putting that money into programs that support Americans buying products made in America. This all translates into bringing the boys home and creating new employment. A pie in the sky approach, I agree, but the people seem to love it. We have got to develop a new strategy, fast!”

Flatt looked out at the Washington sky, and for a moment imagined the blue skies of Texas. A calmness returned to him as he turned to face the three men awaiting his response.

“Get out of my office! Get out now!”

Flatt wandered over to his desk as the three men scampered out. As he sat down, his thoughts drifted off to Texas, and the wide plains where he grew up. He could almost smell the air; scented with desert rose and sagebrush and sand. Dry and warm. He almost smiled. Almost.

Staring at the phone, his thoughts returned to McCulloch. No, he would not be cheated out of his moment in history! Not McCulloch; not his incompetent staff; not the greedy unions and hungry corporate America; no one would cheat him! Not now, never!

As he reached out, the phone rang.

“Bill? I was just about to call you. What? Who? Who the hell is the Patriot? Oh shit! When? The FBI and the Secret Service? Bill, shut it down! Do it now! Shut it all down! We’ll resume when this wild ass is caught. You shut it down now Bill! You hear me? DO IT NOW!”

Davis slammed the phone down and made his way over to the bar, poured a large Wild Turkey and gulped it down in one swift swallow. He grimaced as the whiskey made its way down his throat and wandered back over to the large windows and stared out.

Texas and home were far away. He never felt so alone in his life. He imagined McCulloch in his office, wringing his hands in glee at having won over the biggest union in the country and that thought made Senator Davis Flatt an even more dangerous man. He would bide his time, for now. But McCulloch had to die!