Original Poetry - Let Me Go

Let me go
rock and roll
eat drink and be merry
for my days here are done

We had some good times
and we had some sad times
but we always got through them
because we were together

And now we must part
for He has called me back
and I cannot deny Him
be at peace, my love.

Original Poetry - Let Us Gather

Let us gather
around the fire
and speak of better days

Let us laugh
as we reminisce
back when the world was new

Let us cry
as we remember
those who have gone before us

Let us hold on
and perservere
and live through the pain

Let us live
and love
and just…be.

Original Poetry - The Truth About Black Friday

Have to work on turkey day
what is this world coming to
when Walmart ruins my holiday
making me leave my family for a few hours

We sit together holding hands
giving thanks for this bounty
we lost two more yesterday
from a roadside bomb

I can’t believe this traffic
this is the worst way to spend Thanksgiving
we make so many sacrifices
to be with loved ones

A mortar hit on the way to chow
and they have to feed him through a tube
he’ll never walk again
at least he’ll be going home

I’m so stuffed
I ate too much pie
I don’t want to clean the kitchen
I’d rather drink beer and watch football

Sirens blaring, bullets flying
giving thanks for my training
I just want to get home in one piece
enjoy a beer and watch some football.

Original Poetry - Collecting My Thoughts

Collecting my thoughts
with fingers on keys
what should I write
with thoughts such as these
roll around my head
and down through my hands
and from my fingertips
I write of strange lands
and sailing on ships
on seas and on rivers
fighting some pirates
they give me the shivers
keep writing they tell me
it’s good stress relief
gotta work the brain muscle
that is my belief.

Original Poetry - Father Figure

In his arms
she felt safe
her hand in his

She refused
to be a victim
like her mother

Blinded by pride
ignored the warning signs
sleeps with the light on

Locking the door
just makes him angrier
so she takes it

One day she awakes
and makes a decision
to end the pain.

Original short - The Inn

Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip. The voucher was only good for a couple
more weeks, so he didn't want it to go to waste, but he was still weak and achy, having just gotten
over the flu. So he pressed on, dry swallowing Motrin along the way, and made up his mind to
have a good time.

The bus pulled into the station at a quarter past two in the morning. The bus driver shook
his shoulder. "Sir, your stop," he said.

"Wha'?" Chris said, "Oh. Yeah. Thank you." He grabbed his bag and stepped into a cold,
misty morning. He pulled his collar up and pressed forward. He wasn't exactly sure that he
wanted to be here, but he reminded himself to man up and make the most of it.

Chris flagged down a taxi and jumped in. "The Hillside Inn on Route 304," he said to the
driver. Chris gazed out the window along the way, not really seeing anything as his thoughts
returned to Jennifer.

They had broken up three months ago, Jennifer claiming she needed space. Chris knew
what that meant. The word "space" in a relationship only meant one thing: "it's over."

"I just can't feel you anymore," Jennifer had said. "I used to be able to. There were times
when I could just look into your eyes and know exactly what you were feeling. But now..." Her
eyes filled with tears and she shook her head slowly.

"I can change," Chris said. "Whatever I'm doing wrong, I can fix it. Just give me another
chance."

But she just shook her head and walked away. From that day on, Chris went through the
motions of his everyday life, like he was on auto pilot. He went to work, he came home, but it was
as if he was watching someone else live his life through a dirty window. He was in a constant
daze.

"Hey buddy," the taxi driver said. "We're here." Chris gave him a twenty and got out. He
looked up at the Inn, still wondering if he should even be here, and buttoned up his coat. The
lobby of the Inn was bright and cheerful, and Chris felt for the first time in a long time that he
belonged somewhere. The clerk smiled as he approached the counter.

"Good morning, sir," she said, more wide awake than anyone should be at this time of
morning. "May I help you?"

"Hi," Chris said, "I should have a reservation under Chris Brockstedler."

"Yes, Mr. Brockstedler. We have you in room 212, with a beautiful view of the lake. Do
you need help with your bags?"

"No thank you," Chris said. "I just have the one."

He tossed his bag onto the bed and opened the curtains. The clerk was right; it certainly
was a beautiful view. Chris sat on the edge of the bed and stared out of the window, wondering
where this new adventure would take him.

Original satire - Birds and Bond

BIRDS AND BOND

Birds.  They’re everywhere.  Flying like they do.  Shitting on my windshield.  Their songs are so beautiful, except at 4 in the morning.  Crows are the worst.  They don’t even have a pretty song.  With them, it’s just that pompous “CAW!”  Either learn a different tune, or shut up.  When the weather was better, it was nice to sleep with the windows open.  The cross breeze coming through cooled things off just enough, and the sounds of the night are peaceful.

And then it begins.  CAW!  CAW!  CAW!  Son of a bitch; the sun isn’t even up yet.  CAW!  CAW!  CAW!  Great.  I was in the middle of the perfect dream, too.  I was dreaming I was James Bond, driving an Aston Martin.  Fast, too.  There are no traffic cops in my dreams.  I can drive as fast as I want, and there’s never any danger of getting into an accident, unless the dream turns on me.

So there I am, driving about 100 miles per hour on the Autobahn, a hot chick by my side, feeling safe and protected, because after all, I’m Bond.  James Bond.  And she’s so grateful too, if you catch my drift.  We pull over into the parking lot of a diner.  Not in the front…in the back.  Where it’s dark.  She smiles tentatively, still frightened a bit, but knowing that I’m there to protect her.  I gaze into her eyes and assure her that we’re safe now.

She looks back at me, opens her mouth, and says, CAW!  CAW!  CAW!  You’ve got to be kidding me.  I reach over onto the nightstand, hoping the cool spy gun I had in my dream followed me out, and my hand closes around a tube of Preparation H.  Speaking of a pain in the ass, that damn crow is at it again.  CAW!  CAW!  CAW!

I roll out of bed and half walk, half stumble to the windows, and bump into the wall.  Something else followed me out of the dream, and it’s probably a good thing I bumped into the wall, because I probably would have otherwise closed the window on it.  Once the windows are closed, I shuffle to the bathroom, trying to figure out how to urinate without spray painting the walls.  When I finally figure out the right angle, a shadow catches my attention to the right. 

Perched on a branch outside the bathroom window, is my nemesis, Dr. Crow.  CAW!  CAW!  CAW!  So much for the right angle.  My stream hits the wall above the toilet, ricochets off of a framed painting of the Virgin Mary, and catches me right in the eye.  Screaming and cursing, I fall backward into the tub, grabbing the shower curtain on my way down, the shower curtain rings snapping one at a time.  I lay there stunned, covered in sweat, urine, and the shower curtain, the last of my piss circling the drain, ready to give up and just sleep here, until he starts laughing.  CAW!  CAW!  CAW!

Original poety - A Cry for No One

A Cry to No One

When he’s gone
she picks herself up
and sweeps up the pieces
of her shattered life

When he’s gone
she tells herself
it was her fault
and believes it
When he’s gone

she covers the bruises
with makeup and lies
and forgives him again

But when he’s there
she lives in fear
and tries to hide
from the monster within.