If you dont understand what I mean

2012-01-16T23:17:00.000-08:00

What happens when you neglect your blog? I'm asking a rhetorical question of course. I already know what happens, I can see the stats that my readers can't. Am I ashamed of my self? Nah, the blog will get over my absence and if I have any fans they'll forgive me. Am I done neglecting my blog? That, my friends, is the real question.

School of Hard Knocks

2011-12-04T18:19:00.000-08:00

I had way to much material for this one. As I was editing, it was hard to know what to cut out. I may have a couple more poems about this subject.

School of Hard Knocks
School of Hard Knocks,
Is not for wimps!
You feel the shocks,
That make you crimp.

Lessons you learn,
Cause lasting harm.
That may be burned,
Upon your arm!

The strong goes weak!
The weak, then, strong!
Your up the creek...
With things gone wrong.

But when you come
From out the fire
You've now become
One to admire.

So many shapes.

2011-12-02T18:24:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about this concept for a year now. Last Sunday I was at church and I mentioned it at Sunday school. I wrote this poem when I got home.

So Many shapes
Take a piece of clay, so many shapes it takes.
Only the imagination limits what it makes.
Then it comes to life, from clay ball into real,
So valuable it is, that you could buy or steal.
The clay disappears into man or dog,
The truth of what we see is in magician's fog.
But in the end, that horse, that looks like it could nay,
Or the man looking proudly on, are still made of clay
This is like commandments, we get from above.
Some rules seem restrictive, to always live thereof
The laws that we must follow, look and feel so hard
Sometimes it feels impossible, like heavens gates are barred.
Remember then the image, of a man or horse or dove
Because just like clay, commandments are all made up of love

Good Start

2011-12-01T22:07:00.001-08:00

I found this one in an old note book. My kids were still baby's at the time. I wrote this for my sweet heart.

Good Start
Wake up in the morning, sunshine's in the room.
Birds are singing sweetly, ushering out nights gloom.
The children are awaking, stretching and rubbing eyes.
Reaching arms for holding, to sooth out baby's cry's.
Mommy mine, keep you near, hold you in our hearts,
Remembering how lovingly you gave us a good start.
We're still so young, and its hard to guess,
All the things you do to share your love with us.
We love you mommy for all the things you do
That lets us feel so loved, always, through and through.

The Sun

2011-11-30T20:55:00.000-08:00

This was an idea I had after re-reading my poem Gone... I had fun writing this one.

The Sun

Sun

Peeking over the horizon

Spying on the morning

Anticipating

The day

Day

Giving opportunity for growth

Tumultuous activity

Racing

The night

Night

Casting shadows over light

Peacefully resting

Harboring

The moon

Moon

Lullabying the earth

Ever rocking

Anticipating

The sun

Putting Up Apperances

2011-11-28T23:09:00.000-08:00

I've have always worn my heart on my sleeve, if you know me at all, then you know me. It's that simple. I hate when people are one way with me, then another way with others. Its as if they are trying to hide something. What are you hiding? Cuz you just look like asses to every one who really know you!

Putting up appearances
A mask I just can't use!
With all this awesome inside,
Why put up any ruse?

The "actors" of the world,
Worry what others say.
They work hard for acceptance,
Yet hide their face away.

Nah! that's not for me.
I've to much to do!
To many talents to be shared..
To spend any on a coo

I like the words of Popeye.
"I yam, wud I yam, wud I yam!"
Why deny the world...
ANY of who I AM!

Thankful Heart

2011-11-24T15:45:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanks Giving every one!!! Let it be known that I love you. Even if I dont know you, I love you, and am thankful for you.

With a thankful heart, I shout to all the world!
To everyone who'll listen, my joy is now unfurled!
The fullness of my thanks, raises up to God.
Arms out stretched to heaven, in praise for up above!
And thou I walk in hardship, and my feet are sore,
My happiness for what I have, makes my spirit soar!
Thank you for my family. Thank you for my friends.
Thank you for my health and strength, pray it never ends!
Thank you for my house, a roof over my head.
Thank you for the blessings I never knew I had.
Thank you for my Savior, without whom I would have naught.
Thank you for my life, that he lovingly bought.
Thank you for the price, which cost, did make him bleed.
And in my thanks I'll follow, everywhere you'll lead.

Adam

2011-11-23T21:43:00.000-08:00

I wrote this one a year ago. It was much longer, and unfinished. As I was looking at it tonight I decided that it didn't need to be long, and cut it down to this.
I feel like I wasn't trully complete until I met my wife. I believe that none of us could ever achieve the full potential that is within ourselves without our significant other. I know God planned it that way.

God gave the world to Adam, to tend and till and care.
And made for him a garden, so he could rule from there.
Our father spoke to son, fore not all was fit and fin'
Adam cared for all the world, but who would care for him?
So God made Adam sleep, and took from him a bone.
And gave him back a wife, to sit upon his throne.
Eve was gave to Adam, she helped him in his strife.
And it wasn't tell she came, that he truly started life.

LA LA LA, Feed the fish!

2011-11-22T01:27:00.000-08:00

You figure this one out.

La La La
Feed the fish!
Don't understand? Then let me reminisce.
And tell you bout the time I was gonna climb, in-n-out o grime, claim'n what was mine.
But the powers that be put their hands on my head, proclaiming me dead, drowning me with dread.
This is what they said...
La La La
Feed the fish!

Blah Blah Blah
Feed the birds!
Don't understand? Then let me be heard.
Theres rules at my feet that won't let me eat. I continully cheat, so I won't deplete.
The man with the plan is scanning around, those that are found are desert bound
Toppins aren't enouph, he wants me bled, until I'm dead, And with fingers red...
he says...
Blah Blah Blah
Feed the birds!

Yak Yak Yak
Feed the hand!
Don't understand? Then listen to the band.
You gotta grease the squeak when your up the creek, and things are bleak, or take it in the cheek.
The dude in the van of opportunity has the hook ups, but he's stuck-up, with his palm up, like a buttercup.
say'n
Yak Yak Yak
Feed the hand!

When the yickity-yack smacks you in the back, and the la-body-blah sounds like an attack,
You need to fix your eyes, grit your teeth, crack your knucks, and steal your knees.
Take a stance against the breeze.
The winds of change are blow'n all the time. You can rewind your fate, remake it sublime!
And when the forces of doom let out their firery plume, and make their thunder boom...
we'll fight back with our own monsoon
scream'n
LA LA LA!
FEED THE FISH!

Hey Aphrodite!

2011-11-19T23:07:00.000-08:00

I wrote this song for my wife in our first year of marriage, she loved it. After our first baby was born, the little darling gave us no peace whenever we went for drives, except when I sang this song. I probably sang it 1000 times or more that year, my wife and I got sick of it. Its been years since I've thought of it. I never wrote the "music", the tune's in my head....maybe I'll record it. For now, here are the lyrics.

Hey Aphrodite

If Venus-Aphrodite were alive and well today,
She would bring with her the wrath of gods, even unto judgement day.
For her cup runnith over, brimming with jealousy,
Cuz there is one walk'n the land, who is prettier then she!

Hey Aphrodite! Give it up to her. She's the prettiest women, walking on the earth. And although your carved in marble, and alabaster stone, she is liven flesh and blood sitten on your throne!

If there were fallen angles, walking all around.
One look at her is all it would take, for them to bow to the ground!
For' they worship beauty, honesty, and love,
And she is the most of all of these, in this world or above!

Hey fallen angles! Give it up to her. She's the prettiest woman, walkin on the earth. And when you fell from heaven, forefitting your grace, it took no time at all for her to take your place!

If there was a talk'n rose bush, quoting poetry,
She'd be the one they'd rhyme about, because she so pure and sweet!
Shes their inspiration, like they are to us.
They'd write songs bout lov'n her and sing um to their buds!

Hey baby rose bud! Give it up to her! She's the prettiest woman, walkin on the earth. And although you bloom in season, soon you wilt away. She will last forever, her beauty's here to stay!

She is the loveliest, this I say is true.
I found my baby, caught her smile, grabbed her and said "I do!"
They say that beauty's in the beholders eye,
For goodness sake! My baby cakes is something you can't deny!

Hey Aphrodite! Give it up to her. She's the prettiest woman, living on the earth. And although your carved in marble, your figures crumbling down, and she will live forever wear'n heavens crown!

Hey Aphrodite! Give it up to her. Shes the prettiest woman, living on the earth. And, You've got your fallen temples, that you call your home. But we will live forever sitting on celestial thrones!

And I will live forever, with my baby on my throne!

I'm an Ass.

2011-11-17T11:21:00.000-08:00

This is one of those dream poems. I could'nt sleep untill I wrote it down, then I giggled my self back to sleep. My wife thought I was snoring. Am I the only one who thinks I'm funny?

I had a fight with my wife.
She said I was an ass.
I stood up tall "Explain yourself!"
I did say with crass.
"You said you'd take the garbage!"
She bobbed her head and yelled.
Hands on hips "You lied to me!
About the bills you 'mailed'
Your dirty clothes upon the floor,
Your dirty dishes too!
The children now swear all the words..
That they learned from you!
The car needs tires, oil, brakes..
There's a squeak under the hood.
The engine light's been on for months!
I'd check it if I could.
All the work you leave to me,
While you sit and just get fat!
I need some help your highness.
"What do you say to that?!"
My eye twitched as she waited.
I had to think real fast...
I sat down, and then said to her...
Your right, I am an ass!

Dust

2011-11-15T16:25:00.000-08:00

Here is a cool poem, I don't know when I started writing it (months or maybe a year ago) but I finished it today. I couldn't remember the point I was going for and found my self in a rut. I went to the library and asked a couple people read it for me, then asked them how they felt about it. That's how I found the inspiration to finish it. Shout out to the red sweatered woman and librarian who who helped me find a new point, which was the key to finishing.

Dust, my friend, is a funny thing
The many shapes it takes.
A break down of the elements
That God can just remake.

There isn't a stone or tree...
That can't be broken down...
To its iddy-biddy wee parts...
That the wind can blow around.

Out of dust comes life.
Add water and it sets...
Then everything is made,
That's examined by doctor or vet.

Often times it's hard...
To remember this small fact.
Cuz life feels so important!
When we can't get back on track.

But life is a collection...
Of those tiny little bricks.
Just rearrange the order...
To make a bone, or stick.

When problems do assail you,
And hard times are a must.
Remember this my friend
EVERYTHING'S JUST DUST!

The Lost Works of Abbn Ehr: The Horse with Two Heads: Part Three

2011-11-14T10:51:00.000-08:00

Ha Ha, I can't help but laugh. You see, Its been a while since I thought up Abbn Ehr, and he entertains me. Spoiler, he never tells you who the old goat is. Another spoiler, he never tells you why he hates Burkum, and at first I was content not knowing the answers. Yet as I wrote, I got sad. After I finished writing his lost tales I knew I would be done with him. I postulated to my self a "life story" of Abbn Ehr yet call it "The death of Abbn Ehr". This Idea made me happy. Although I have the first chapter written of that book, I stopped because I felt it wasn't in keeping with the character. (Not that I wrote him wrong, but I wrote it second person loosing much of his thoughtful insight that he doesn't share out loud) I'm still working it out. I have the entire series of Illandrea to think about and what the repercussions are, of doing the book this or that way.
In the mean time, enjoy part three of The Horse With Two Heads. This is the current full time project I am working on. I think I will save the rest of the story for the book, however if you are interested I may post part of the next lost tale "The Man Who Sold Rocks" this one is fun because Abbn Ehr gets himself so involved in his fantasy that he conducts experiments on the populace to confirm or debunk his imagination.

The Lost Works Of Abbn Ehr

The Horse With Two Heads

Part Three

Once upon a time, in the depths of my imagination, there lived a boy. A handsome boy, a boy who was honest, kind, loving, virtuous, morel, and strong. This boy had a job that he did every morning that started before the sun rose to kiss the earth. He fed the chickens, collected the eggs. He milked the cow, forked the hay. Slopped the pigs, oated the horse, barlyed the bull, grazed the sheep and cleaned the pens. He also fixed the fences and watered the crops. His list was so expansive that even I ran out of things for him to do. (Please feel free to add to his list at your discretion)
One day while the boy tended his chores he came across the most amazing discovery; he found that his horse could talk.
”Boy” It said.
The startled boy spied around for a friend in a jesting mood. Finding none, he resumed his labors.
“Boy?” It said again
“W-Who goes there?” the boy called out, frightened.
“I am here” the voice said.
The boy looked about. Had he missed somebody? “Where?” he asked, while moving near the stable.
“Here boy”
Now, if the boy was startled at the first, imagine his fear when he saw, (with his eyes) and heard (with his ears) the horse speaking these words. I know that you, dear reader, are not shocked. Nor am I, owing to the fact that I spoiled the fun in the beginning. Remember please, that the boy was not privy to this information, and was very surprised. In fact he fainted.
Having lived on the street, I have seen fainting on many scales. Some people quickly recover while others take their time. One man stayed fainted until he died. My boy awoke quickly, finding himself now under the horse.
“Did you speak to me horse?” he whispered
“I did boy” the horse said, bending down to pull the boy to his feet using his teeth, “Are you all right?”
The boy adjusted himself while staring at the horse. In amazement he said “By what power is this possible horse?”
The horse looked the boy over a moment “Do you question all miracles set before you?” he said.
“N-No” the boy stammered, slightly embarrassed.
“I have a question to ask of you boy” the horse said “Why do you tend to your chores so well?”
“I guess, because my father asked me to. I love my father, so I do my chores”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No” said the boy, “In doing these things I have come to love all of the animals of my father. Who would care for them as I do if I didn’t?
“Even me?”
“Especially you!” said the boy enthusiastically.

“For that boy, I shall give you a ride that you have never experienced.” The horse told him to mount, when he did, they dashed away at a speed the boy had truly never expected. The boy was carried so effortlessly that he didn't feel that he was riding at all.
They sped through his father’s fields, over the babbling streams, into the rolling hilly range that separated my Beautiful Garden from the rock infested blue-less sky of Burkum, (punctuated with dead grass, soot and the smell of the rotting houses.)
For the boy, the ride was an amazing experience, one that I can only briefly describe. Once I fell off of a short cliff, stumbled down a rocky slope and rested in a thorn bush; it was very disagreeable to say the least. Except the moment, while in the air in-between the cliff and the slope, the actual falling part, was exhilarating. I felt alive, free, only I was too frightened to enjoy the feeling at that moment, and didn’t realize that I liked it until I healed. This exhilaration is the feeling I imagined the boy having (although he didn’t fall as I did.)
As soon as the ride started, it was over and they were home. The sun was now starting to warm the fields dispelling the morning dew in an explosion of mist. The rooster crowed its salutations and the boys family started stirring.
“Boy?” the horse pleaded “As a favor for our new friendship I must ask you to never speak of this to any one.” Now... it must be noted that this confused the boy? You see, he had never been presented with any other option then honesty. Deception on any scale was not a concept he could rap his young mind around. To not declare his friendship? would be a lie of omission! The word lie wasn’t even in his vocabulary. (It is, however, in Burkum. In fact! not only is the words actions prevalent, but is't a child’s first word. Not the word itself, mind you, but the babes first word would be a lie. For instance: the child would lovingly look up into his fathers eyes and cry out “dada!” The lie (of course) would be that the child was most likely conceived elsewhere, unbeknownst to the “father.”
“But horse? Why shouldn't I tell of such a miracle as your self?” the boy said very confused.
“Simply this” the horse started “Miracle aside, I am still a simple horse. I fear I have not the strength to appease the speculation, and spectacle that would ensue”
The boy laughed“Oh horse! My dear horse! The people of town would never abuse, but only treat you with kindness and wonder!"
“Never the less...” the horse stood firm “It would be most kind of you to not revel my talents.”
The boy could not understand. The towns folk have never been anything but kind and loving to him, his family, and all he knew. He could not understand his horses aversions to reviling his true form to these wonderful people. “But horse-” he started to plead.
The horse stamped! Then said “Boy!” scaring the boy to silence. ‘Do you love me?”
“Yea...” the boy said startled
“Do you intend on continuing this love?”
“Yea horse, yea!” the boy cried.
“Would you wish for me to end our friendship?”
“Nea horse!” the boy said, panicked.
“Then I will ask again, boy, will you keep our friendship silent?!” after a shocked moment the boy hesitantly said.
“Yea horse... I... I will.”

The Lost Works of Abbn Ehr: The Horse with two Heads; Part Two

2011-11-10T11:37:00.000-08:00

I was reading this story to my kids the other night for bed time and they freaked out. (they liked the way Abbn Ehr talks.) I must admit that when I started this, it was way to much fun. I was actually writing something else. I was beginning to write "The wind riders" which is the beginning history of all humans in my "Tales of Illandrea" fantasy series. I don't like to tell, but show. this is not always as easy as it sounds while writing a fantasy. then while watching Discovery Channel I saw something about Odyssey tech" showing what the technology of "Homers Odyssey" would look like. I thought "wouldn't it be funny if there was a writer in Illandrea who wrote an epic tale about the events from "The Wind Riders" and made it a fantasy within the story realm, then later, nobody could remember the facts" that was the birth of Abbn Ehr. His poem ONA WHEA (ona whea means "wind rider" in old Dadmic, my notes arn't with me, spelling subject to change) is still in progress (its hard) but I thought it would make a fun book to have a collection of his story's. This one here is part of the first story. (just a taste)

The Horse with Two Heads: part two

     In the Region of Ir there lies a small village that calls its self Burkum (which actually exists.) It is such a hole of a place that it deserves no attention, and defiantly draws no embellishment except a description of how rot the place is, and dumb the people are.
     In quite retrospect, let me propose another village that I will call "Garden of the rose" (I named it thus, because I could not imagine a lovelier scene, for my village to emulate). Wander with me though a land that begins with a clear babbling river. (a good river must babble, dear reader, because if it didn’t, it is dead. A dead River is good for nothing.) Follow the river with me as it flows by beautiful fields of clover spotted with a variety of colorful flora, bordering well kept crops full in season. ( and it is always seasonable here)
     Move in with me, through the full fresh scents of the fields to well tended roads edged with large stones, placed to stay those stray grasses that love to encroach on every thing (not unlike little ‘poor’ children who hover and creep up, while cooking soup in the ally) These roads lead to smartly built homes formed by logs and stone, jointed by white mud and clay, harvested out of fertile streams beds.
     Comparatively, the homes of Burkum are made of rubble, garbage, and Smells like a dung heap!
     The people of my ‘Pleasant Garden’ (as I like to call it for short) are very industrious and full of joy, kindness, and general charity. They share no opinions of offence with one another, rather, they write their grievances on pieces of clay, then enthusiastically throw them over a cliffs edge.
     OH! Dear reader, that you could see what I see, in my minds eye. To feel the love emanating out of these beautiful people. With their well kept cloths and manicured forms. Smiling forth genuine good will. Oh! Future generations, if only I could live in such a place and be comforted in ways that I have never experienced. Often times, when my belly ached in pain of hunger, and my feet groaned from blisters. When my throat burned with thirst and my legs shook from exhaustion. I would think of my Pleasant Garden and ponder on its people, lifting me up! giving me peace! tending my wounds and mending my spirit. Although it was all imaginary, I would find reasons to continue this laborious life.
     I can see them smile, and greet each other with the kindest of pleasantries. “Good day to you” and “May the sun shine forever on your home” to which the reply would be given with a slight bow saying “And may this day please you” or “And the sun bless your family for generations". Unlike in Burkum, where all passer by suspiciously hide their hands in their coats, and greet each other as such: “What do you got there?” to which the reply is “None of your matters! That’s what!” (If you were to be greeted in Burkum and not be stabbed...run! I fear you are being plotted against)

     Now, my friend (the horse) did not share with me the shape and looks of my "Pleasant Garden of the Rose" I just knew it, and saw it very clearly in my mind. (I only thought of the worst place I knew and thought in reverse). No dear reader, the horse’s story started out as thus….. (In my words of coarse)

The Last Son of Krypton: Chapter one; Part four

2011-11-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

Here it is, the finale part to this chapter. I thought it would be better for Sah-EL to explain why Dea-Van was a female. and also explain a little more about Mal-EL (as a Geneborn) This whole chapter is quite different from the one I started with. I started writing this story with Jor-EL preparing to send Kal-EL away. It was very dramatic. I couldnt fit everything I wanted into that sceane and found reasons to do back flashes, I hate back flashes. So I found my self at what I think Is the real begining of Supermans story. Everything before this Is just Kryptonion history, every thing after directlly relates to who he is, where he comes from, how his story relates to us, and why he can do what he does. It opens the way for storys with depth, relateablity, and growth. We can relate to his pain, and we really can call him super, not because of his powers, but inspite of them.
If you would like to see more of this story developed you must comment. A story this big is alot of work and supporting it would give me some ground to present it to those who decide at DC comics or Warners. Time=Money. and yes I am a sell out.

Chapter One: Part Four

“You must give Dea-Van a chance Mal-EL” Sah-EL lectured. “We have a long tradition of friendship with the Van Line and it wouldn’t do to break that tradition.”

“May I speak freely sir” Mal asked

“Please do” Sah said raising an eye brow.

“She’s weird”

“More then you?” Sah said dryly

“Why? If we’re supposed to be great friends, why did you make him a she?”

“Easy” Sah shrugged “The GenLabs encountered a problem during the expression portion of the regeneration process. G’mar-Van asked for my advice. After Looking over the results of both the re-gen failures and G’mar-Vans DNA, I found a corruption created by his gene modifications. It caused certain enzyme to disintegrate during a new regeneration. The problem was now this: Lose the Van’s to extinction or find a solution.

“So…you made the Vans female?”

“It was an easy answer. Female gene’s are (in general) more resilient, and would prove effective to strengthen the corrupted portion. The solution however, was not easy. I needed to find compatible DNA from the existing freeborn family line, which was almost destroyed in the Great War…”

Mal found himself in a science lesson. He did learn something, which was, when asking Sah-EL questions, even facetious ones, he was in for a science lesson. “And so!” Mal burst in when he felt the lecture was over “…you ended up with a viable DNA sequence capable of regeneration, and saved the Van line!” Mal said, faking enlightenment and joy.

“Yes! You’ve got it! Well done Mal. Now you see why Dae-Van is female instead of a male!”

“It couldn’t be any other way!”

“Indeed!” Sah said delightedly. “Being Geneborn is hard enough without adding new complications, in fact, each new generation faces a different level of frustration then the ones before. I myself was angry at your age because I could remember all three previous childhoods.”

“What?” Mal said “How come I don’t”

“Each generation has his own challenges, I have a theory it has something to do with the gene-mods we do with each new growth. But my point is Mal, its hard enough without complications. Dea-Vans changes are the reasons why she’s even with us, yet she remembers a far different experience then she is now having. This is why I arranged with G’mar-Van, for you and Dea-Van to spend time together. It’s perfect! She needs a sense of normalcy and you can report her progress to me!”

Sah-EL pounded Mal-EL on the back, yet it felt like a punch in the stomach.

Sell Out

2011-11-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

I was part of a poem forum not long ago. One day some body left a lengthy rant about how only five or six of the hundreds of poets received any notoriety. The author of the rant was complaining that, of the sixteen poems he published on the forum, sixteen of them went unnoticed, a travesty. He said that the forum group (as a whole) needed to be ashamed of them self's for the lack of attention shared with the entire collection of poems, and focusing only on a few.
As I read his blasting of the forum, I felt a similar feeling to his. I also, had put many poems that went unheeded. I decided to look up the poems "the ranter" had wrote and found that they were unremarkable within the genre the writers in this forum wrote, which were mostly depressing. I remembered a line in Stephen kings book "On Writing", he said that he was a sell out, he wrote for no other reason then to make money. My own failure (to be noticed in this group) was laid bare. (although my poems are far from unremarkable, they were a little upbeat for this crowd) So as an experiment I sold out and wrote some really depressing poetry, and bingo, I received tons of comments. If my goal in posting poetry was to get noticed selling out helped me achieve my goal.
Selling out helped me get noticed, yet I learned something else. I wrote depressing poetry, but it left me depressed. So although I achieved my goal, it cost me something. I decided that this forum wasn't the one for me, but I wanted to impart what I learned with 'the ranter' before I left. When I pulled up his rant I found that he had a lively debate going. He had over one hundred comments, he achieved his goal too, not by selling out, but by being a baby.

Hit Knucks

2011-11-02T12:30:00.000-07:00

After I wrote "frienemys' I thought it would be funny to show the same thing between two guys.

Whats up?
Wuz up!
Wasaaabi!!
(Then hit knucks!)
What you been up to fu?
Not much bro, what bout you?
Same ol' same ol',
That sounds true
Just maken a buck...
Hey! me too................
.................................
.................................
K see ya bro.
(Hit knucks!)

The Last Son of Krypton: Chapter One; Part Three

2011-11-01T10:55:00.000-07:00

The question that really needs to be answered to revamp "Superman" is "Who is Kal-EL? and why did His Father Jor-EL send him to earth alone?" As I was writing this I asked a lot of random people. (Most of them were men who were wearing superman shirts, so I knew i was polling a good source.) None of them could really tell me. The answer of "they didn't have time" is a cop-out. Our own scientists can tell you when a volcano is about to blow, so don't tell me a planet of scientists couldn't see this coming. This part of chapter one was born out of those questions.

Chapter One: Part Three

Being startled is bad enough, but the scream was embarrassing. Mal-EL sat pale in his seat as the red faced director stood in front of him. “I mean…What was the question?” he said.

The other pupils in the room roared into laughter.

“It seems…” The director said to the class. “… That young Master EL needs not pay attention to the lessons.” Then said to Mal-EL “Tell us, Master EL, what musing could be more beneficial then our course of study?”

Mal-El blushed as he straightened in his seat. “I uh… was watching the sun rise” he said, gesturing to the wall, which was imaging the actual sunrise.

The director looked at the image, it looked like a window; the class room seemed to border a cliffs edge without a safety barrier. “I’m sure you’re not the only one who is happy that night is over.” He said “However you are the only one who is not participating in the topic at hand. We’ll all have plenty of time to restore when we are done!” With that, he faced a crystal ball near the center of the room, pointing a laser at it, a blank wall abruptly appeared.

The director paced through the class. “As I was saying…you, young masters, are all of the age of Mensure….”

The drone of the Director’s voice sounded hollow in Mal-ELs ears. He felt like he had heard this before, and he knew that a part of him had.

The Director continued “…Ballisting is one of those changes. What takes place within our bodies to take advantage of Ballasting?” Several hands rose as the director passed them all “I’ll ask Master EL because of his Lines preeminence in ‘Genetic enhancements and growth’. What’s the answer Young EL?”

Mal-ELs dislike for the Director was as close as his dislike for his “family’s” reputation. He took a deep breath and answered “Ballasting happens when a child reaches the age of Mensure. The body starts changing from that of a child into an adult….” He paused hoping to be done, he saw the director just pacing.

“We just covered that” The director said, while rubbing his temples”so….”

With a sigh, Mal-EL continued. “… So during Mensure, the puenary glands release an enzyme that triggers our gene code to express the muscular reaction called Ballasting.”

“Which is?” The Director dryly injected.

“Um…when the muscle cells create the molecule Ly’eluam.”

“That will be all. Thank you.” The director wearily said “…it was recited… as a true EL”

Mal-El looked down at his monitor hating the director.

“What Master EL was trying to say was that, Ballasting is when our muscle tissue fills with Ly’eluam. This enables our bodies to offset the forces of gravity, making it possible to move more freely in our environment. With this Gas in our bodies we are given certain advantages over our environments, and…”

The director continued on in his nasally self important drone, as Mal-EL counted down the time when class would be out so he could enjoy the sun light.

He was coming of age, and it felt like he was burning up inside. He hadn’t ballasted yet, but thought at times like he could move faster. His vision was strengthening though, and the gas-mist hidden world was unveiling its self.

In his deep thoughts he didn’t catch the thing that was thrown at his head. He looked back to see Del-V’mor grinning at him. “Hey EL” he whispered “Thank Sah-EL for making Van a female!” the boy turned to his friends, who high five’d him and laughed.

Rubbing the spot where he’d been hit, he sulked, and then stole a glance at Dea-Van, who was paying full attention to the director. This wasn’t odd because studiousness felt right for her; the memories of his past lives confirmed this. It was just the “her” part that felt wrong. What also felt wrong were the weird feelings he was getting as he looked at her. She looked his way.

He snapped forward, and blushed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid” he thought as he quickly punched at his touch screen, pulling up any programming.

Stupid legacy.

Mal-EL was Genborn, a perfect and improved gene-replication of Enan dok Eahl, a founding father of the modern age. EL was short for Eahl and Mal meant fifth in an old dead language. It was Eahl’s idea of a joke. Mal didn’t think it was funny.

He looked around the room at his fellow classmates, all fifth or sixth generation Genborns of the founding fathers, The Founders Class.

“Ugh” he thought, he was going to be sick.

The class finally ended. Mal bolted. He nearly bowled over the director who was saying something about staying after…yea right. Mal wasn’t going to wait another second for the sun. He ran down the hall, broke past the outer door, and fell into the blessed light. Throwing out decorum, he unbuttoned and ripped off his tunic allowing the fullness of the rays to hit every part of him. He could feel the relief in his bones as the radiation penetrated deep into his fibers, filling him with energy….sweet energy.

The sick feeling started to go away. And he could feel the newly made oxygen coursing through his veins.

He heard a familiar giggle behind him.

“You act like you’ve never ‘restored’ before.” Dea-Van said.

Her voice grated on him. Not that it was unpleasant, but because in the last year it had become intensely pleasant. And it bothered him that she was supposed to be a he. “Hello Dea-Van” he said without opening his eyes. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself farther by acting differently.

“Let me guess, Mensure has made you hungrier?”

“I guess” he said bluntly. He thought that by being blunt she would be offended and go away. He held still until it was awkward. Then he turned to take a peek. She was still there. He put his tunic back on. “My apologies Dea-Van, I hope my base actions played no offenses on your sensibilities.” She laughed again sending shivers down his spine.

“And here I thought you weren’t listening in Diplomacy.” She said teasingly.

Mal bit his tongue from saying the rude thing that almost came out, and said instead. “I thought the Vans had lost their sense of humor.”

Dea-Van laughed again. “Only in the males…It took a female to bring it back.”

This comment was meant to be funny, but it made Mal even more uncomfortable. Dea-Van looked down at her feet.

“Look” she started

“I guess…” Mal said.

They both stopped and quickly urged the other to speak.

“Hey, what?”

“No, you!”

“It’s OK, you go”

Until, finely, Dea-van ended it. “Ok, look! Mal-EL” she blurted “I just wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you for my…uh...for me being a female. OK? And it’s just as weird for me, because I feel like we were friends once, which was confirmed by my predecessor and... I just thought that we could be friends too.” She put her hands on her hips and blew a big breath in finale.

It must have been Mals turn because Dea-Van stood there waiting. He didn’t know what to say. He just wanted to go, but she obviously wanted an answer. So he said. “Well…uh…thanks, and… I’m going to defiantly think about everything you just said, and get back to you…so…” He excused himself and ran to his next appointment.

Frienemy

2011-10-26T11:20:00.000-07:00

When I wrote "Girl talk" My wife said "That's not how girls are with each other, they're way more catty" so I wrote this. This is basically girl talk from a girls prospective...I guess.

Did you hear about (add name)!
Did you hear about (add name)!
While gossip girl is blabben,
I don't want to play this game.

We talk about her weight,
My issues have to wait!
Cuz "don't even get me started!
on issues with my mate!"

I just nod my head,
At all that she just said.
Smile, laugh, (at some of it)
But wish that I were dead

She tells me I'm the one,
She has the mostest fun.
Then hang with another,
And bout me mouths will run.

Girls friends never lack,
In reasons to make pacts...
Of B.F.F loyalties,
With knives behind their backs!

I guess I'll just appease,
All her crazy pleas.
Cuz, if life gives us lemons...
We'll make um Frienemies!

The Last Son of Krypton: Chapter One; Part Two

2011-10-24T22:36:00.000-07:00

OK! here it is, Part Two of Chapter One. It took longer to post then I wanted, but that's because I rewrote it. I want to see a real story, out of the superman mythos. I wont see that if I short change my self.
My original 'Part two' had a sparse description of the people. I felt that it didn't do any justice to what I was trying to accomplish. So I picked one moment and expanded it into a more intimate scene.

The red eyed men were laughing and congratulating each other as they approached the downed bird. A large quick man rushed to slit its throat, while the others started unzipping and unbuckling their thick coats.

A young boy gasped and fought with his zipper in desperation, he looked sick enough to throw up.

“Calm your self manling.” A tall, darker man said, dropping his coat and tunic. “You can’t restore any faster while in a panic” he laughed as he helped the stricken boy out of his things.

Bare skinned, the boy threw him self out into the sun.

“Whose idea was it to bring a child on a hunt?” said a burly man with a bald head and unkempt beard.

“Mine!” said the boy’s father who was cleaning his knife.

“Zod? Wouldn’t it due, to wait until his change is over?”

“No” Zod said calmly removing his coat. “This is better”

Burly beard started to protest, but thunder shook the sky. Flames rolled and danced above. “Fi’storm” he said squinting upward “this looks like a bad one!” he looked back to the boy. “He better not slow us down, Zod" he said pointing. "because when that storm descends...”

“IF! that storm descends!”, Zod interrupted, walking past him. “Then you better pray to your god that I don’t tie you to that cannon barrel.” He pointed out the massive barrel sticking twenty feet out of the ground.

When the light touched Trohins skin, the burning feeling within started to fade and color returned to his face. He ignored the men as they teased him about his “change” and stood tall as his father slapped his bare back in passing. He was going through Mensure, and was becoming a man.

Trohin was the son of Captain Meis dok Zod; Unified Army, Off world Battalion, who was a war hero. He quelled the Gen-form revolt on the Kry’bion mining station three years ago, and the most respected man in upper Amorra.

After a moment he felt better and turned to find his father. He found him giving orders to the men. These were his father’s men; they followed him every where. Except the man with the beard, his father seemed to know him, but he joined the group during the night. Trohin watched as the men cleaned the Chir’Mia bird, and inspected the Lepord that fell with it.

Most of the men still had there shirts off while others put on the thin sleeveless shirts that allowed maximum restoring. While watching, Trohin couldn’t help but notice the large bearded man had markings on his back and arms. He didn’t want to embarrass his father by asking about them right now.

“Once we’ve eaten, we’ll break into Alfa and Beta groups.” His father announced “We are hunting for fuel cells and cores today.” He was answered by some hoots and hollers. “I will be training my son for the rest of the morning….Dorrin!” he called to the tall darkish man. “Are you sure about that ridge?” he pointed up a small incline.

“Yes caption”

“Good, carry on men. Report if you find a core.” He turned and walked toward Trohin briskly peeling off gloves as he came. “Are you feeling better son?”

“Yes, I mean, Yes sir” Trohin said sheepishly.

“Your mother has babied you” he said as he walked passed. Trohin had to jog to keep up with his father’s long stride.

“Father, may I ask a question?” he asked as he jogged along.

“Of course” he said curtly.

“Who is that bearded man? I’ve never seen him with you.”

“That is M’arjok” he said. “He came to help with the hunt, he's an ass, but also good in a pinch.”

“What are those marks he has?”

“Those are Freemen marks” Zod said looking at Trohin from the corner of his eye.

Trohin tripped but caught his balance “He’s a Stick!” he blurted.

His father stopped short, and looked right in Trohins eyes. “Don’t you ever let me hear you say that word again! Understand!” He said in a quite, angry tone.

“Yes father” Trohin stammered, ashamed.

Zod continued his pace up the hill “The Union won the war, and we owe our allegiance to the Congress. That does not mean we can dishonor the memories of those who opposed the Union. They were solders, following orders.”

When they reached the top of the hill Trohin was surprised when he saw that the edge dropped into a valley that was filled with...destruction. Thousands upon thousands of uninterrupted Battlemech forms, Canotrips and Tankers littered the rolling hills. He thought he saw v-suit frames, and blaster supports through out the rubble, but he couldn’t tell. The most amazing, yet horrifying part was that, the rubble covered every inch of the land, and continued into the horizon.
This valley was now a graveyard. It was the final battle between the Freeman and the Unified Congress of Krypton. It happened over a hundred years ago, yet it looked like it ended yesterday. Trohin didn’t know what to say.
"Go'Romoth" Zod said reverently. "The Freemen were marching to take Amorra, the Congress's Capital at the time."
“Is this…the reason you brought me with you?” Trohin said in a whisper.

His father stood on the edge for a moment looking down into the mist swirl below. “No” he finally said. He took in a deep breath and blew in a burst, dispelling the mists. Satisfied, he said “This is!” then he threw Trohin off the ridge.

The Last Son of Krypton: Chapter One; Part one

2011-10-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

My first question in validating superman (for my self) is "What was Krypton like?" Starting from the basics I wrote a snapshot of the planet its self.

“I can’t help but think about our amazing planet. It seems to turn slowly, yet this is only an illusion of its size. The speed of its long rotation creates an amazing gravitational pull, which attributes to the dense nature of our very matter. Its long hot days and long treacherously cold nights affects an atmosphere that seems intent on killing. So intense is our environment, that life should have never taken root, yet life found a way.”

Enan dok Eahl Father-Founder of gene code expression

Chapter one

The bird awoke with the sun. Stretching the sleep out of its long leathery wings, it turned its silvery back into the light to absorb its rays. Feeling refreshed, the bird leapt into the gas thick sky and fell into a gentle glide over the lush canopy of a sprawling forest. The heavy atmosphere pressed against the great aviator as it rolled and shifted dangerously close to the tops of the trees, which were slowly turning their leaves up towards the great red Sun.

The long night was over, and the trees shook off a thin coat of ice as the heat of the Sun enlivened them. A slow thick mist both rose and fell from the canopy as the sun melted and evaporated the night’s frost. With their burdens lifted, the trees stood taller and unfolded their day limbs. The trees sent shivers down into their roots, awakening the creatures big and small that thrived in the day light.

The smaller creatures scuttled about at the base of the great trees, while the larger ones slowly made their ways into warm patch’s of light. The hunting beasts began to change their techniques from night to day. Slowly the infrared in their eyes faded away, as they stalked the day time prey that were moving slowly to the open fields, which were littered with wreckage and debris from the Great War.

Thunder rolled in the sky, as a small fire storm erupted high in the atmosphere, sparked by lighting within the flammable clouds. Large groups of small birds burst out of the tree lines in response; swooping down quickly over the burnt out and abandoned vehicles of destruction. They passed by a pride of large cats slinking in the shadows, spying slow grazing calves that were finding there way into the sun. One of the smaller lithe cats crawled impatiently out of cover and sprang at its target, to be caught out of the air by a huge leathery bird.

The bird flapped its great wings to fight the weight of its meal, and the pressures of gravity. It screeched in triumph, and then in pain, as a long sharp barb flew threw its heart. As it fell it heard the war cry of its only predator. Man.

Eat Me!

2011-10-15T14:04:00.000-07:00

This story popped into my head while I was at the supermarket the other day. I was just staring at the junk food in the check out line like I'd never be whole again if I didn't buy some.

“Eat me!” something said to me while in line at the supermarket. “Eat me!” it insisted again. I looked over to the “impulse isle” you know, the treat bar the store so lovingly placed to tempt us into that one last item. A bag of Doritos held my attention. “You know your gonna stop at the gas station on your way home if you don’t buy me here” it said to me.

I glanced at other shoppers to see who else heard. Some were on their phones. Others were browsing though a magazine, nobody heard. While wondering if I was going crazy I noticed the opposite rack had a healthy array of candy bars.

“Hello” said a reeses crunch in a French accent. “I can see in your eyes that we have a connection”

“No you fool!” said a snickers bar “He was looking at me!”

“You-want-to-blow-some-bubbles” chimed in the entire rack of bubble gum.

I had gone crazy! I couldn’t deny that I wanted to buy a snack; in fact I wanted to buy them all! But I was determined not to yield to these tempt- ations. I chose this line for a reason; it only had one customer in it. Yet as I tried to ignore the treats, I noticed that she was a coupon-er and pulled out a wallet the size of my head, full of clippings.

The candies sung out their sweet siren songs. The salty snacks rose up in savory chorus. They were all bidding me to sample their 10% bigger bags, and gusher goodness. I roved my eyes about, looking for a possible shorter line, but they were all packed. I unloaded my cart desperate for the distraction, but the breath mints above the grocery belt breathed there minty message to me.

I persevered in my resolve, and insisted upon my reasoning, not to give in. Finally the casher scanned my last item, gave me my total, and I ran.

I was the victor! The champion! I was the master of my will! I reveled in my glorious triumph as I unloaded my groceries at home… and noticed something odd. Amidst my food items were a scattering of the very junk food I was trying to avoid. Was I so weak that I subconsciously gave in?

I looked at my kids, who were staring expectantly at the snacks

“How did these get in here?” I asked dumfounded.

“We put them in daddy!” my kids said looking up at me with puppy eyes.

“Oh yah” I thought “I had them with me”. I looked at those little faces… took a deep breath…got ready to lecture them about self control and said “good jobs kiddies.” Then we attacked those goodies like wild animals.

Words in the mist.

2011-10-03T12:11:00.000-07:00

I'm currently reading a series right now that is driving me crazy. "Mist born" by Brandon Sanderson Is a story about a girl who finds out she has the power of a mist born, who can burn different metals in her belly to give her different powers. She and a band of thieves are working together to save the world from the threat of the immortal Lord Ruler and the evil Darkness. It's a great book and I love the story, and I love how its written, however I'm having trouble with the story telling.

Story telling is hard to do some times. I'm not talking about 'ploting', Story telling is how the plot unfolds. I feel that even if your story and plots sucked, you could save it in your story telling. The problem I am seeing in Mist born is that it feels really drug out. I don't wont to ruin the series for any one so I wont give any examples from the book, but my wife had a hard time finishing the third and final book. "I'm sick of reading the same thing over and over!" she said.

This got me thinking? Are publishers asking writers to add more text to expand a series, or is this the writers doing? I for one, am not happy with the development of some of the series I've read, because of these shenanigans. I do, however, understand that if each book was written like a stand alone then a new reader could pick up anywhere and enjoy what he/she is reading. But then I think, If this was my intent then I would plot and adopt a story telling technique for doing just that.

I like to look to one of my favorite books, The Lord of the Rings, as a case study. It was written as a whole book, then slit apart into three. The narrative doesn't back track. If you pick up the second book first, you will get lost, and Tolkien isn't sorry for it, and he was named the 'Writer of the Century'. I like this because as a series its focus was on the story it was telling. If you pick up a story in the middle, you should be lost, so go back to the beginning. If its a 7 book series, then go to book 1. Writers shouldn't be giving us a monologue over what happened in the last book, because the reader should have read it already!

I also look to another favorite book, 'Dresden files' by Jim Butcher. Each book was written as a stand alone. You can pick it up any book and enjoy it. Jim Butcher tells the story in such a way that you don't mind that you already know that this or that had happened. He planned the story telling to include it, and it always adds to the story he is currently telling. Other writers do this also, Clive Cussler does this with the Dirk Pitt series, in fact Clive Cussler very rarely back tracks, he introduces the characters in every book as if you never knew him, then moves on to the story.

My point is that It seems like many of the new writers are so intent on writing a series, they forget to tell the story, and that's a shame.

Making Superman better

2011-09-30T11:59:00.000-07:00

As I was watching Superman returns with my daughter(8) She asked me why nobody could tell that Clark Kent was Superman? In her own words she said "I mean...there just some stupid glasses!" Old feelings sprang forth from the depth of my soul. I really don't like Superman.

I often wondered what it was about this character that earned my resentment? After careful consideration I've concluded that its every thing. Superman is just too super. His superness and his upbringing, his alien heritage, and his 'alter ego' just don't work together very well. A good example would be that everyone I've ever known, who was raised on a farm, is really tough, not the goof Clark pretends to be at the Daily Herold. This example is only 'one' of many other complaints that I have with Supermans mythos as a whole.

In my opinion a good story is about pain. Why do we care about the main character? Because he hurts! A Friend of mine lamented over her main character that "he wasn't flawed enough" My advice was not to make him more flawed but to bring on more pain. Pain leads to growth. This is where magic happens with-in a reader. When we can 'feel' for the character then we become emotionally involved with them, then as they grow enough to solve their problem, we grow along with them. Hope is then transferred into us "If this character can beat the odds, then so can I" Superman's story as a whole doesn't have any of this.

While sitting with my daughter a felt a challenge fall upon my shoulders 'Stop complaining! and find a way to make superman relate-able!' (easier said then done). After researching his history and back ground story I found I needed to do a few things. I needed to take away his 'powers' and justify the natural abilities of his genetically superior alien anatomy. I needed to justify the conditions for his being sent to earth. And I needed to show the conflicts in what its like to be a genetically superior alien being raised as a Kansas farm boy. What was my answer? To go into Krypton history and readdress a few things.

What was Krypton Like? What were the People like? What were some things that defined them as a people? Why Did the planet explode, and why didn't a race of advanced scientific minds do anything about it? And finely, why did Jor-EL send his only son to earth alone.

What are your thoughts?

Break Out!

2011-09-10T16:23:00.000-07:00

I wrote this one, inspired by my sweet heart. Life hits us hard somtimes, and the answers aren't always clear. I feel like the 'worlds' answers make good band-aids but fall short of true healing. I wrote this while supporting my dear wife through one such trial.

My life has seen a change in the way I play the game.
It was getting hard as I chose to stay the same.
As we fold and bend and move gainst the motion...
Of this crazy life, we cause a commotion.

The 'world' likes it better when we're nice and play.
"Conform" is the "norm" and the scorn goes away.
The man on top bows his great big head,
Approval in his teeth as we get in bed.

He says my mind is not mine to unwind...
They plugged in a program, thats running all the time.
"I'm to fat, your to skinny, he's to poor, no ones winning...
we're all lossers and abuser, plus I think your hair is thinning!"

I'm bust'en out the gate of conformity!
No one in the land tells me what to think!
With great big thoughts ozzen out my ears,
My skull can't keep 'em after all these years.

Break out our minds, the prison of our souls.
We're perfect as we are, or don't you know?
Our flesh is the chain that holds us down.
Wraps us in habits that make us drown.

Lets let our spirits fly like shooting stars!
Lets let our self's be who we really are!
Un-shack the traps that make us droll!
Then get to liven, cuz that's how we roll!

Boy Talk (a girls point of view)

2011-09-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

Turn around is fair play. I wrote "girl talk" as part of a set. Even though guy talk is far Superior, it looks pretty silly to the female population.

No begin, and no end?

I can't understand the notion.

Only from the middle,

Starts their locomotion.

From their lips

Their word do fall.

They talk and talk

And say 'naught' at all.

Who would win

In a fight?

Tween superman...

And the Dark Knight?

Full opinions...

Bout a game...

That most of them

Have never played!

Star wars movies.

Favorite flings!

Taco stands?

Lord of rings!?!

Biggest muscles,

Fastest cars,

Bestest sport teams,

Smelling farts!!

They'll even fight,

Bad words they send!

Yet friends they are,

In the end.

They talk so tough,

When the 'cats' away.

When the 'cat' comes back,

those 'mice' obey.

No import...

Do they lend...

On any topics...

There mouth sends.

My head hurts...

With all that squawk.

I thank heaven...

For girl talk.

Girl Talk (a guys point of view)

2011-09-07T00:16:00.000-07:00

Whilst reading Facebook posts I couldn't help but notice that girl talk is really dumb. So I wrote this.

It makes no sense

What girls say

When together...

When at play.

There gabbing chatter

Hurts the ears.

Disgusts the senses,

Brings on tears...

Tears of Pain!

From pointless noise,

Bout their hair...

Or cute boys

Blah, blah, blah!

About their weight.

Their cloths, their looks,

and...their weight!

Feelings, cat fights,

Weight loss pills.

Dating woes,

And Slimfast meals!

On and on...

Go on, they can!

I'm so glad

That I'm a Man!

Chips!

2011-08-27T21:07:00.000-07:00

Here I go, let'n the world in on one of my dirty little secrets again! I loooooooove Chips! I don't think its a coincidence that my favorite vegetable is the Potato...mmmm.

I got chips on the brain

You'll think I am so lame.

When I get a chip attack

My senses go insane!

I like the way they crunch...

Inside my mouth I munch

I eat for all my meals

breakfast, dinner, lunch!

My hand's inside the bag...

Wear'n it like it's Swag

Lock me in a padded room

Cuz I've gone chip'n mad!

Doritos are my favs...

'cept when eating lays.

luv'n on some Cheetos....

Or corn chips made from maze.

My finger tips are stained...

from the munchies I've just maimed

I am like a predator

My craving can't be tamed!

I'm a writer, not an editor!

2011-08-26T23:04:00.000-07:00

I was looking over some my earlier posts and saw that my editing could be a little better. As I started working on one I reolized why I didnt do it well to begin with....cuz I suck at it! I wrote this the next morning.

I'm a writer, not an editor

So Stop! don't ask me why...

My punctuation's always off

And my spelling is awry

I've no regard for syntax

And structure gets no mention

I'm involved in story line...

Grammar can't have attention

I'll worry bout it later

I have words to stack

Plot-lines need be worked out

Centering on fact!

my redraft days are numbered

my patients are the same.

I'll have to pay an editor

And then collect the fame.

My Dog Snores

2011-08-22T17:25:00.000-07:00

I wrote this lovely little poem the other night, inspired by a chorus of what could only be described as a land slide. Our cute little pekingese was at it again, she often hates to sleep in an unoccupied room and scares us awake with her sleepy time monster growl.

My dog snores

And it's no lie...

Like garbage trucks

Are driving by

She looks so cozy

As she naps

Yet the noise is like

Thunder claps

Or a chain saw...

That is cutting tree's

Or being chased...

By angry bee's

Or a Gun Salute...

Right by your head

Or listen'n in...

To what lions said

She's the canine

We adore

Our love abounds,

Even when she snores

Talents

2011-08-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote this while I was at church. We had a lesson on talents and I guess I was showing off to my self.

My Talents came down with me

From the presence of the lord

I can not remember them

(Nor, what is my reward)

The scriptures tell me that...

I must grow them or I lose

I just can't remember which...

Talents I should use

Yet...I shouldn't fret.

Cuz our talents are ingrained

Encoded in our spirit

And come out as we train

When they come, Grab hold!

To learn them even better

For they came with us from above

To help us through life's weather

Then at the end of life's trial run

We'll see our talents scored

And learn how we've progressed

For that is our reward!

DRY BONES

2011-08-07T23:33:00.000-07:00

I had a nightmare the other night that....didn't scare me, but intrigued me. I dreamed that vampires were not the things of legend, but something much more terrifying. The dream grounded its self in the ritual sacrifices of the druids and other idol worship in a way I had never thought of. Dreams... go figure.

This story came out of the dream. I call it "Dry Bones"

His bones creaked like an old ship at sea. They popped with a grinding of wheat in mill stones. He couldn't speak, but he coughed a dusty hack with every breath he tried to take.

I was to paralyzed to move. Stalled by fear, awe, and curiosity, I'm sure, but it was the panic that held me firmly in my place. I was unbelievably stairing at the Resurrection of a real 'live' freaken vampire.

Eddy was filming with his smart phone. He was standing the closest and his eyes were glued to the viewfinder as if looking at the real thing would melt his face off.

This was all Jake's Idea to begin with, yet he bolted the second the blood (he was pouring) touched the 'vamp ash'. I'll admit I wasn't expecting any noise, let alone a sucking POP! In his haste to get out of the room, he misjudged his exit and smashed his face into the door jam.

Marley just looked sick. I cant really say why? It could have been from watching the holy freaken undead rise from a blood and ash ooze. It could have been the blood gushing from Jake's unconscious face, or from the grains of ash she ingested per instructed from the "Resurrect your own vampire" user manual the ashes came with.

I held this manual in a grip quite destructive to its thin pages. I'll admit that I read the entire manual last night so that I'd sound cool in front of Marley. Lucky I did, because I remembered the caution at the end. It said "In case of change of heart set immediate fire to emerging vampire before he is fully animated, thus re-drying the ashes and averting its return to the living". I had this change of heart right then, and fumblingly did this. It was easy...ish, I had already dumped a gallon of gasoline into the claw tub before we placed in the ashes. So... standing there numbly... I lit my Zippo... and dropped it in. I didn't look to see what happened next. I grabbed a mesmerized Eddy, a screaming Marley, and knocked out Jake and left the abandoned house as quickly as possible.

I later learned that the house burned down.

The Horse with two heads

2010-11-04T10:41:00.000-07:00

When I was a senior in high school an idea hit me for a story that would turn out to be a life long obsession. Each time I started writing it, it grew and expanded. Now It has taken on a life of its own and has over whelmed my ability's in many ways. I would have to say that if I'm a good writer, it's because of that story. The problem was that I never knew how to start it. Well... I think I found my starting point.

This story is part of a collection of story's called "The Lost Works of Abbn Ehr" and its from my fantasy series called "Tales of Illandrea"

The Lost Works of Abbn Ehr

The Horse with Two Heads: Part One

I attest to you that as you read my words I am past from this world. Yes, dead! My old goat told me that death is the only true purpose of writing “If this wasn't the case” he told me “Then I would tell them my self!” Since death is irrevocably the only absolute, I write this.

I can only guess that I didn’t die of old age (since such events haven’t yet transpired.) However, I can only hope that my passing was not quiet but barbaric. My old goat said “A riotous death is far better then any other because it means you stood up for what you believed”. I imagine a beheading for my self.
For now, my heart is full of adventures that my body has never enjoyed. The roads of life are well worn inside my mind. My goat was being very wise when he said “The mind is the only worth while mode of travel" yet, he also said it was the most dangerous “Wondering too far” he postulated “results in a rare return”.

As I search my memories (of unadventure) I remember a conversation, I imagined I had, with a horse with two heads. I will not bore you with all of the conversation and discourses of my imagination. Instead I will write the story that was formed by the end of that pretend interview.

The Brow

2010-11-04T10:38:00.000-07:00

I stood as still as I could, but it was staring at me, the biggest uni brow I had ever seen. It was like a gruesome accident complete with rubberneckers. There wasn't a person that didn't slow to look.
It seemed not to notice any body else but me, in fact I think it waved at me. Just when I thought matters couldn't get any worse, it started to move toward me. All I could think of was Burt from Sesame Street and now i had his laugh stuck in my head as this abhorrence came closer.
I didn't know what to do, at first I looked for an escape route, but I was blocked in by people and the isles of the store I was in. I did the only thing that any true survivalist would do, I looked for a weapon.
I dug my hands deep into my pockets and strangely enough I found some tweezers (if you have a wife and kids then you will see that this isn't so strange; I also had two pony tail holders, lip smackers, a half eaten sucker and one Lego block) by this time the brow was closing in, so I pounced, and flung those tweezers around like a dagger.
"Die, die, die" I yelled as I started plucking with fear fueled anger.
"There must only be two!” I screamed in desperation as I fought with this disgusting foe. It fought back, and for a moment I thought it was going to get the upper hand, but I persevered and continued to remove Burt's spirit from off this face..."oh?" I thought for the first time. There was a face under all of that hair. Now I was a liberator, and had a different mission; protect and serve.
I would be a Liar that the woman who belonged to this face wasn't down right pissed, because she was. And this shocked me for a moment, did she not see that her eye brow was not only just one dark black brow, but that it was growing into her eyes? Why was she not grateful? Then it hit me. Duh! Some people just don't know when they are suffering.
Its like Stockholm's syndrome, some people are so used to the crappy situations they are in (or created for themes selves) that they will defend there own rights to suffer. I know that this syndrome applies to victims of kidnapping, but don’t we all kidnap our selves from contentment and happiness with our pride or stupidity? Understanding that this woman didn't really know that she was suffering I became the bigger person and said
“Mam, that was the ugliest eye brow that I have ever seen, so... you’re welcome." Then I gave her the tweezers.
I took the shocked look on her face as a thank you.

The fence

2010-11-03T17:47:00.000-07:00

I have found that the first time I do any thing, that I am terribly afraid.

I remember the first time I ever rode a bike; It was far to big for me. I couldn't sit on the seat and push the pedals at the same time. I was in a panic that first time I climbed the fence to mount it. It was extremely difficult to try to pedal, steer and hold on to that fence at the same time. I can only now imagine my pure terror the first time I let go of my safety fence and rode free into the street, as that car came, and the horror as I over corrected and flipped that monster. I remember my thoughts though as I layed in the gutter contemplating my life "That was awesome".

Some times I think back at my childhood and wonder, what would life be like if the risks I took now were just as reckless as they were when I was a kid? I'm not talking about dangerous, life threatenings risks, I mean for things that I just want to do but feel that I'm too busy for. I didn't seem to care about those things while I was building a grocery sack parachute, imagining my self floating safely off the roof, I just said "Well, now I know" while pulling branches from my pants.

I guess my point is that life is way to short to let a little thing like fear get in the way of living. Its time to let go of my fence again.

combo-nation

2010-08-22T15:36:00.000-07:00

As I thought about my blogs and everything I was trying to accomplish with them, I decided one thing: I'm a very lazy writer. I held to the notion that this blog would be my great and grand "one poem a day!" blog (to which I haven't come close) My other blog was for short story's, and the last for explaining my thought process in writing. I am sad to reply that this is the only blog I have not neglected, and It is also in a sad state.

I am now going to do with this blog what I intended with three....enjoy.

Our Sons (for my wife)

2010-08-22T15:33:00.000-07:00

I hold inside my arms, a thought of my baby sweet
I almost see him smiling as I imagine I play with his feet

He has his mothers’ eyes or so I'd like to think
And his fathers’ nose, that he wrinkles when I wink

His babies’ breath upon my skin, I feel it warm and calm
While lazily he drops his eyes from my lulling psalms

I've no baby here with me, gone with-out my grasp
I know that he belongs to me, I feel him when in prayer I ask

Then I think of another baby, in his mothers arms
Wrapped up tight in swaddling, that helps to keep him warm

His mother knew at birth, the price the babe must pay
For now, she'll keep him warm and fight the tears away

My baby left before I held, hers foreordained to go
She and I are kindred spirits, for the grief that we must know

Gratitude I'll share for her, because she was so bold
Too raise and guard the son, who broke the bands that hold

And one day when its time to shed the mortal veil
My baby will be waiting, ready to be held

Play Land

2010-08-22T15:29:00.000-07:00

Oh! Play land
Thy light attracts my kids
The toy is not good enough
To stay their begging bids

The stuffiness their in
Permeates my brain
The smell of rotting children
drive my sinuses insane

They do not want their food
They want to get away
I could not keep them here
Yet they knock and call and wave

“Look at me, look at me!”
Is all they want to do
But they couldn’t stand me
While I force fed them their food

Oh! Play land
The fun in children’s lives
As they play in filthy bins
I'll be digging out my eyes

Get ready to live

2010-08-22T15:23:00.000-07:00

Isn't it funny how the world moves along
Like it’s all sunny from an ipod song
People wrapped up in the digital age
Poured from the cup of a marketing sage
Now bear with me as we keep in mind
Life isn't free and neither is time
And nature is expecting to protecting
The invention of the mind, you see, it’s our destiny.

Universal plans pay no attention
To solar bands or natural selection
It just plugs in the numbers and sends em off
But people that are “smart” like to laugh or scoff
And say "this is this and that is that!"
But I gotta dis um and do combat
With the little antiquital plate of vittles that we dribble for, and feed our selves from off the shelves that the business men put there them selves

Were better then that, stop being fools
Unplug the hats that make us tools
Step outside to forgotten lands
The sun shines brighter then pixels can
But boom, boom, boom your on the run
Heading to you room like a loaded gun
Rat-a- tat-tat what's up with that
I'm getting fat, sit'n where you’re at
Inside your shoes, watching your blues
Your somber news and you’re messed up views
And I’m see'n what your be’n and your pleading
Disagre'n, with the pedigree of your family tree.

And the world moves on at a dizzying pace
Your ipod song is all over the place
And the digital age moves up a phase
While the marketing sage gives himself a raise

And you keep eaten what they put on your plate
And your heart keeps bleeding for your sorry fate
There’s no time to unwind from the grid
That you mind plows on through
Like all people do and that what’s always expected of you

The endgame starts when you decide
You’re done with shame and push it aside
Grab the reins and pull up your boots
Forget the pains, theirs nothing to lose
Step out side and tip your hat
Squint your eyes at the habitat
Then spring into the ring and bring a life that truly sings the song of gratitude with a beatitude and you'll get in the mood for better food

You want better then the world can give?
Shake off mans fetters and get ready to live.

INPUT

2009-12-18T23:17:00.000-08:00

The input you put in you, eventually comes out.

Feed your self the good things, not those full of doubt.

Your brain is a machine, doing what it's told.

The out come of the programs fall on info that it holds.

Just put in what you want out, then you'll see no strife.

Input in all good things, output a happy life.

Gone...

2009-03-26T18:04:00.000-07:00

I was part of a poem forum when I wrote this. My other poems received zero mention, this one got a bunch...go figure.

Mind...
find...
lost...
atorrentofalgamatedthoughts.
flash floodish...
bridges of coherrent ideas.
gone...
blossoming tree's of knowledge.
gone...
stable houses of memories.
washed...
beatened...
gone...
help?

LOOK AT ME!!!!

2009-03-25T19:20:00.000-07:00

Now that I have your attention
There's something I must mention
It took so long getting you to look my way
I completely forgot what I was going to say

Love is like a piece of coal

2009-03-25T18:27:00.000-07:00

Love is like a piece of coal
Burning as a flame
Coal is lit and then it goes
At first it looks so tame

Coal burns hot and burns long
And then turns into ash
That white brick looks solid
But blows away so fast

Our love was a red hot coal
Burning, burning, burning
At that rate, our love grew fast
Our hearts were always yearning

Before the coal could ash
We added lots of pressure
Hard work, trials, and heartache
Are a lot to weather

Red hot pressure, pressing down
With patience and with timing
Our burning piece of coal
Was pressed into a diamond

Our love was like a piece of coal
Now a precious stone
It shines so much like fire
But lovelier to own

And while hot coal is fun
The ash is always never
But our love is now a diamond
And diamonds last forever

Dreams?

2009-03-25T01:43:00.000-07:00

Chase my dreams?
Why do that?
I'll just sit here
And get fat
You go ahead
Cuz I wont leap
I'll chase my dreams
While I sleep.

Wasted Time

2009-03-23T13:37:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time
I sat down to rhyme
I could'nt think of what to say
But I wrote it any way
And as my lines started to stack
I knew, that time wasn't coming back.

Rise

2009-03-20T18:30:00.000-07:00

Often times the fight
Leads us farther down.
Nobility is out the window
When angerily we're bound.
Even rightious Kings
Who fought for rightious sake.
All fell down, deep below
To swim in firery lakes.
The best way that I figure,
To float above the rim.
Stop the fight, Even for right
Let peace set deep within.
Then, I say, You'll rise!
And find what you desire.
What you seek, will find you
When you rise beyond the fire.

Lords time

2009-03-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

Life...do I need to say any more.

Lords Time
Dear Lord please now help me!
As you said you’d do
I’m feeling lots of pressure
As life, is getting blue.

I’ll learn, lessons that you’ll give me
Could you quicken up the pace?
I feel the clock is ticking
As I run this crazy race.

So what about it father?
Throw this dog a bone?
I know thou art always there,
Right now I feel alone.

I know you know the feeling
While praying by that tree.
No one there could help you
While you did rescue me

I guess, that I can wait
Just a little more.
I’ll place my self in your time
And receive what you have stored.

Jack vs JIll

2009-03-20T00:07:00.000-07:00

Nursery rhyme mayhem. HA HA HA HA AH HA HA HA HA ha ah...eh.... (sigh)

Jack vs Jill
Jack and Jill ran up the hill (for what I don’t remember)
I’ve heard about these pails and such (I know it was December)
They had a bitter rivalry, never seen before
They fought over every task; both knew they could do more
I think they said Jack fell; his crown was an awful mush
As sure footed as he was, I picture a little push
They say Jill tumbled right on by, after this poor soul
I think she might have shoved too hard. Slipped, and then did role
The moral of the story, is frankly matter fact
While ending an old rivalry, be sure your footings in tact.

Now What?

2009-03-16T14:14:00.000-07:00

Backward thinking, what is the good? I was talking with someone the day I wrote this, he couldn't stop talking about what he would do different, blah blah blah. This poem was my answer.

Now What?
Would've, Could’ve, and Should’ve walked down a lonely path
And only did they speak of their bitter past

“I would’ve done it differently” Would’ve said with great big tears
With a blow of his nose Could’ve agreed “We’ve wasted all these years”

Kicking dirt,“I should have known’ Should've did implead
The others wiped there eyes, and all of them agreed

Would’ve, Could’ve and Should’ve, each regretting their past
Were not paying attention, to the fork right in their path

There stood a withered man, smiling from ear to ear
“Hello boys!” he called out “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Your time has come for looking back; today’s your fateful day
I’ve heard your cries, so now my friends; let’s send you a new way”

“So stop a gaping, mouths drawn wide, chewing cud like cows
Now your past is past I ask you; now what lads what now?”

Would’ve, Could’ve and Should’ve, stared at the likable man
“We don’t know what you mean” they said “We did the best we can”

“If only we did it better, we’d do it all again
And changing this or that would’ve made us better men”

They made him a deep bow, so low, so slow, so long
Then said with great regret they said “We must be moving on”

The old man clapped and laughed, and in his cheery way
Said “Oh my boys, don’t you see? Your path is closed today!”

They each looked at each other then asked “what do you mean?”
“We told you we would fix it all, but can’t fix anything”

“I know!” He said “you’re looking back, these are forward roads
Now’s your time for reckoning, to what the future holds”

You can not be marching forward while your looking back
So ask your selves what now, start picking up the slack

I'll help you change your names, to Do and Did and Done
And the past will be behind you, flying as you run

So stop right here and contemplate, what you are to do
Now what lads, what now? is all I ask of you

Would’ve, Could’ve and Should’ve could never change at all
The past and regret are all they have which is why they stall

So they stand at the cross, as if in a big rutt
While the old man stands before them; Asking, “what now, lads, now what?

The Cat

2009-03-08T03:12:00.000-07:00

I showed this poem to somebody after I wrote it, and they made fun of me. It wasn't in a jesting sort of way, but in a way that made me feel like a fool, like when I was a child. So I said "Shut the f*** up, you good for nothing piece of S***!" Then I pushed him over and ran away.

The Cat
The cat
The cat sat
The cat sat on a mat
The mat was flat
So the cat sat on the flat mat
Matt spat!
Not the flat mat
But the man Matt, who owned the cat
Now; Matt didn’t like the cat sitting on the mat
So Matt spat at the cat, which sat, and looked at Matt, who threw his hat
Then stormed off to get his bat

Wishes

2009-03-07T15:09:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wished you could take something you said back? Or some action that would have changed your life? I have, but it doesn't do any good. That is what inspired this poem.

Wishes
How many wishes have you wished?
Against your choices past
What would you do differently?
If you could take it back

Wishes wasted, bitter tasting
On what could’ve been
Thoughts a turning, hearts are yearning
On what you’d change back then

What of now? Have you thought of that?
Though you’re heart is full of sorrow
What would you change right now?
That could change tomorrow

You've looked hard at what you should’ve
Now look, at what could be
What can you change right now?
So you can be happy

If pain fills what you’ve been
You need to change your “be”
And then your “be” will be right now
And then you will be free

Then you’ll smile when you look back
No regrets, you’ll find
And no more wasted wishing
Will be troubling you mind

Cake

2009-03-06T03:00:00.000-08:00

I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this....but I like cake.

CAKE

I had a cake

That I did bake

But someone ate that cake

My two hands

Had high demands

With two round pans

For a cake that they could make.

Now it’s gone

And it’s all wrong,

I’ll sing sad songs

Of that which I didn't eat

I’ll bake anew

Where no one knew

And slate my sweet, sweet tooth

But I can’t you see

Cause knowing me...

Someone would see

And say “wowwie!”

“Your cake is smelling great”

Then with glee

(Cuz they noticed me)

And without fee

I’ll give that cake away

I’ll bake and give, and bake and give

A cycle that won’t stop

To find what happens next...

Start back at the top!

Wino

2009-03-05T01:06:00.000-08:00

I dream't this one...its just fun.

I'd like to be a wino
I'd like to take a drink
I'd like to throw up in a stupor
I mustn’t ever think

Id likes to be albino
I do it all th’ time
And whean you take me to th’ barr
I drink it withs some…. Tyme.

I….um….like th’……..DRink
Buu…..im nogh’t aaa.. FREak
I……eat! An I....….Sleep!
Annn i...............Wha th’ He'ow U look’en at?
U somofabish….im gounna kishk u-are………………

Mommy's chore list

2009-03-03T22:53:00.000-08:00

To my tired wife...

Bouncing, counting, ABC’s
Blues clues, Elmo, more...
Diapers, pull-ups, dirty wipe's
Junking up the floor.

Running, cleaning, all the day
Tidying up the messes
Laundering all our cloths
From my socks to your dresses

When it’s all said and done
Your daily list is through
It’s all made worth it at bed time
With a “Mommy I love you”

One constant

2009-03-01T23:27:00.000-08:00

Most of my early poems were love poems to my sweety pie (mostly when I was in trouble) This one was because I am in love.

Flowers bloom, then petals fail.
Like all the flora do.
Sun brightens, then it sets.
In rotations new.

Rivers torrent into tricking streams
Dry beds do prevail.
Even seasons run their course...
Then fade in change as well.

In all these things life goes on...
One constant remains
My eternal love for you.
My passion's can’t be tamed.

And though the world cycles round.
And changes all the time
Your beauty will outlast them all
I’m lucky that your mine.

Time

2009-02-27T23:47:00.000-08:00

Somebody told me that they wished they had more time. My brain turned right on and I said "No, you need to prioritize." he thought about it and said "Nah, more time will do." Idiot.

Time time moving past.
Always going, flying fast!
What do you do, when you have time?
You never had it that’s the crime!
It keeps on moving, going on...
Now it’s here! Now it’s gone!
What did you do when time was near?
Did you waist the time you hold so dear?
Moving, moving, oh so fast!
Your life is busy moving past!
No time, no time for fun and games...
“I've no time!”are reasons blamed.
But you're wrong, or don’t you know?
We can’t hold time it’s on the go.
We're born, grow old and then we die!
Time doesn’t care, it flies on by!
And when your old, you’ll look past.
And wonder why time didn’t last.
Wish more was done with what you had.
Enjoyed more while you were a lad.
You're still a lad!
So be glad!
You’ll have time to hold dear
Don’t waist any fun while it’s here
No need to be experience poor
And when time flies by, you won’t wish for more!

Catnap

2009-02-27T01:06:00.000-08:00

True story...

The cat thinks my pants are a hammock...
Every time I poop.
When my pants hit the floor
He comes around to snoop.

I'd throw him out (cuz it’s so weird)
He wont be deterred.
He climbs right in so haughtily...
And rumbles as he purrs.

My wife is all annoyed!
As he’s snuggling her knee
Each and every single time...
She sits down to pee!

The strangest thing, he won’t come
Any where but there.
Avoids us like a plague...
X’ept when our butts are bare!

My cat thinks my pants are a hammock!
He’s never on my lap!
I guess undies soothes...
For a peaceful little nap.

I am not listening

2009-02-26T03:21:00.000-08:00

I wrote this one in 1997 or 8. I was staying over at some friends apartment and one of them left his journal out. I picked an empty page and wrote this. It's probably funnier to me, because I know the inside joke it was based on.

I am not listening! I hoped my eyes would say.
I was not listening at any point today!
I am not listening, and still you blab and blab.
I can not stand your stories, no matter what you gab!
Your car, your house, your friends...
Your mom, hair cut, or scab!!
The constant pain with in your rump.
Your pets, your phone, your dad!
Your job, your spouse, your weight, your life and everything you do!
Blah, blah, blah!
Blah, blah, blah!
Sex
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!
Wait!... Did you say SEX? Oh… you said six...
Then I am not listening to you!

Ricochet

2009-02-22T22:53:00.000-08:00

When she was six, my daughter looked at me square in the eyes and said "I love my daddy... brush your stinky poo breath more please." I said "what?" She recoiled, and ran and got my tooth brush.

While walking down the street one day
I noticed something odd
As I greeted every one
Their breaths were like dead frogs!
Or maybe like a dragon
That's munching its own poo...
Or like a three month roting corps
Covered in maggot goo
"How do you do?" I'd ask them.
They'd knock me off my feet!
They didn't even need to speak!
Fore smelling rotting teeth.
I think they knew their problem.
I saw it in their eyes.
A mixture of great sadness,
And heavily surprised.
A little girl came up...
And said something to me
"Your breath is killing everyone!
They're struggling to breath!"
Then it hit me, and I knew...
It could'nt be another way.
The bad breath I was smelling...
Was mine, by ricochet.

Dinner Time

2009-02-21T22:21:00.000-08:00

This one hits me on a deep level...and makes me tired.

I stand right on top my head
jump around on one leg
air planes, trains, and racing cars
flying spaceships flown from mars
wagging tongues, shaking head
chicken walks, and playing dead
happy points and antsy pants
running round, a silly dance
barking dogs, and wiggly feet
and whatever else to make kids eat.

There's no Billy here!

2009-02-20T00:44:00.000-08:00

Ha Ha, this is a true story! (I play around with some details) It happened in my first year of marriage. When ever my wife says something I dont understand I say "what?! there's no billy here!" in a snotty voice. Hence, the blog title and the domain address.

Calling Mr. Jones
Who knew bout that ordeal?
Leading to a conversation
That's really quite unreal

The woman seemed so happy
When answering the phone
And then she turned right snappy
When I asked for Mr. Jones

“There’s no Billy here!” she said
Angrily to me
“There is no Billy here,
Nor will there ever be”

“There is no Billy here
He is not my kin
No Billy lives at my home
So don’t call here again!”

And just like that, she was gone
I was thoroughly amazed
Did the name Jones sound like Billy?
I was dumbfounded and hazed

I checked it once, then twice
His phone number was true
I must have merely dialed wrong
As I am wont to do

I telephoned again
To see what I could see
The woman answered surly
And said all this to me

“Billy! Billy! Billy!”
She did shout out loud
“Why must you call for Billy?
I'll call police”, she vowed

“No! Mam please, now listen”
I said in desperate tones
“I’m calling for a different friend
His name is mister Jones”

Her shrieking now crescendoed
My ears, they were not fine
“Billy! Billy! Billy! Bill!”
Then, hung up the line!

I sat there in a stupor
It all seemed rather silly
I thought for just a moment...
Called back, and asked for Billy

Im a slob

2009-02-18T01:26:00.000-08:00

During this time I was writing one poem a day. I would just start writing and just go with what came out. They say you should write what you know, so.... I'm a slob.

You told me that I did it wrong, that tells me that you care
You scold me when I sing that song; you tell me what to wear.

You give me that roll of the eye with dumb things that I say
You pout and cry for all the things I didn’t do that day

You hate the way I smell and order me to wash
I even do that wrong and demand of me, you watch

I view too much TV, I play too many games
I text too many texts, my plans go up in flames

I haven’t any style, you tell me I can’t dance
My zipper’s always down, if you care to take a glance

All these things I am, yet you choose to stay for life
I’m the luckiest slob alive to have you as my wife

big hands

2009-02-17T02:43:00.000-08:00

While I was at the cash register of a gas station, I struggled for a moment picking up a dime, big stubbs no nails...so it inspired this poem.

My hands are too big for the cookie jar, and many other things
My clumsy big fat fingers are unfit for tiny rings

Pringle cans are my bain, with those delicious chips inside
They are quite safe; my hands don’t fit wherever those things hide

Those tiny cell phone buttons, I press three at a time
Bank tellers always laugh at me as I pick up a dime

My hands are too big for everything, so yes, I’ll cry and pout
They’re too big for the cookie jar and I can not get them out.

You make me mad

2009-02-15T22:02:00.000-08:00

I was playing with style with this one. When you read this, notice that I rymed all of the lines except the last. I was also thinking... people get mad over the stupidest things!

Hello there you, you make me mad
You did things to me that were bad
At first they only made me sad
Then I thought about them lad
My reasoning is iron clad
I’m shuddering to think

And when I think things can’t get worse
You handled thinks just like a jerk
And went to work with a smirk
Ready to irk any passer by

Just when I thought it would never end
And harsh advice I thought id send
It did seem that you did bend, and did amend
And I will ascend that you truly did become my friend
And now I am not mad

Mary and the Lamb

2009-02-14T01:27:00.000-08:00

This is what happens when I pressure myself to preform. The results are unpredictable and mildly humorous, yet oddly prolific.....Nah!

Mary had a little lamb she kept it in the fridge.
She fed it pork and cabbage she bought across the bridge.

And every where that Mary went she ate a pound of butter.
Her dresses gained a size each year; side walks began to shutter.

The lamb broke out and ran away, and found a brand new life.
A house, a car, a kick’en job and a little wife.

Mary got so lonely she cried almost every day.
She ate the pork; she ate the cabbage, and even ate the tray.

She took a trip to see the lamb and begged him to come home.
He wouldn’t, she left, quite bereft and sadly she did roam.

So… Mary had a little lamb but butter rued the day
But maybe with more pork and such she could get one to stay.