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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Poetry: My Day of Birth

Hey all,

Every year on my birthday I always post a new poem. It's usually some kind of reflection on getting older, or aging, or simply the passage of time. For me, this poem is about looking back and looking forward at the same time. It's about looking at the choices you have made, and how they set the path of your life before you. I hope you find something in the poem to take away. I honestly just really felt the poem, I wrote it very quickly, very organically. Thanks for reading.

My Day of Birth

When I woke up I felt alive,

Though much had changed.

Another year older now,

Of course my life had ranged.

A series of ups and downs,

Through the calm and strange.

But I asked myself why.

Sometimes life can't be explained,

You don't know what you'll face.

The days can blur right by,

As you're stuck in the race.

But those very best parts of life,

You can keep in place.

So never let yourself sigh.

I'm not proud of everything,

That I have done.

I've did both good and bad,

In the pursuit of fun.

But sometimes my selfishness,

Was the cost of one.

And sometimes that makes me cry.

I may not be the most perfect man,

On my day of birth.

Thirty five years have come and gone,

Through the full and the dearth.

But I look to the future now,

And I know my worth.

Cause I'll always try.

And that part of me can never die.

End of Line.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Poetry: Idea

Hey all,

I know, I'm posting with some freaky regularity at this point. Though watch that comment jinx the whole matter. Anyway this poem came about while watching the film V For Vendetta last night. One of the actors in the film said a line, "Ideas are Bulletproof". It really got me thinking, about how many things in this life really are faulty, how fragile things are. So I set about taking that one line, and trying to create an idea itself, a simple poem about the immutability of thought and ideas. Enjoy.


My flesh may be pierced,

By bullet or blade,

My heart can be broke,

From a love gone mislaid.

The Earth may be burned,

By nature or man.

The skies can be polluted,

By the mechanics we ran.

My soul may be stained,

By the sins of my crime,

My skin can be weathered,

By the passage of time.

Rivers may be poisoned,

From all of our wastes.

Our lives are spoiling,

By our extravagant tastes.

But of an idea,

It holds no form,

It cannot be defeated,

Not by man nor by storm.

An idea cannot die,

Or fear mortal pain.

For in the minds of man,

It finds a purchase of gain.

Beliefs may change,

And will can be bent,

But the heart of the truth,

Can never be rent.

An idea can't be killed,

It's not of flesh or of bone,

It lives inside of all man,

And for that can never be alone.

End of Line.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 34

Cody had met the odd mix of strangers a few hours after he'd had his fun at that old farm. He still had his saddle bags full of money and the sawed-off, but he had seen opportunity in the stage coach. A man as wanted as him would be sure to be recognized trying to sneak into Desperation, but amid these "upstanding" citizens he figured he might have a better chance, even if one of the bastards was clearly about to die.

He'd already forgotten the dandy with the shiny gun, he was no threat to anyone. That coward was never far from the stage and from the old man. Caleb may be an old cripple, but there was iron in the fossil still, but still Cody wasn't afraid of him either. That fat bastard, Bartley, driving the stage was even less of a threat. Hell the one inside the cab, the one about to die, posed the bigger threat than him. Jarrett knew there was no way that the diseased fucker would make it to town.

The only one that made him uneasy was the girl, the cripple's daughter, Eva. She was past 30, nearly an old maid, but damn if she didn't have curves. Those tight pants, the chaps, the strain of her breasts in the button down shirt. If he hadn't just quelled the fire in his loins a few hours ago Cody wasn't sure if he could resist her. Still, that iron strapped to her leg wasn't just for show and he didn't like the way she looked at him. Her hand never seemed far from that pistol, or even from the rifle on the side of her saddle. In the end though, no woman posed any kind of threat to Cody fucking Jarrett.

He was looking over the ridge, down into the valley, with the dim lights of Desperation in the distance. You could see the river flowing around the edge and emptying into the gulf, leading towards freedom for Jarrett, to Old Mexico. Still the town of Desperation lay at the edge of the edge of the valley and the surrounding farmland seemed over run with the monsters. From his perch on the ridge he could see the creatures, some of them mindlessly shuffling, other bent over the corpses of the dead. He looked to his side, at the dandy, Moore, peering down into the valley through his spyglass. he was about to ask for a look when he heard the old man cry out.

He saw Eva spur her horse back to the stage as he and Moore spun around. Cody checked the load in the sawed-off and hastened, wondering if the bitten man had turned. He beat Moore to the stage, who didn't seem to be in any hurry. Bartley, was still waddling off the drivers seat as he approached, though Eva was the first to arrive. She flung the stage door open, her rifle brought to bear. Caleb sat inside, the cripple cradling the poor bastards head.

"He.......he just shuddered once and let out a long slow breath. We're too late."

Eva lowered her rifle and climbed inside, holding her father in a sidelong hug. The old man seemed to age years before his eyes, suddenly seeming sadder and more pathetic with each passing moment. Cody curled his lip in anger and pulled out one of his Colts, his voice dripping with derision.

"End him."

Eva's face shot up, her face a steely mask of disgust as Caleb looked on sadly. Neither of these pussies had the stones to do what needed to be done. Cody looked to the dead man, Rex, and saw where the man had been bit. The bandage was black with seepage and pus, and you could see the fleshy tones of his skin already turning a spoiled yellow. It would happen sooner or later, but it would happen.

"Fuck this."

Cody thumbed back the hammer and fired.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Poetry: Limelight

Hey all,

So this poem was actually a very difficult one to write. It was inspired by the film Limelight, a early 1950's Charlie Chaplin film where he plays an aging clown who is past his comedic prime. I found it to be a sad story, about how this lonely clown rescues and re-invigorates a young dancer, while he can't even rescue himself. I wrote the whole poem about how everything funny eventually becomes sad, but the film as a whole made me think about how skills fade over time, and it's only a brief window where one is at his best. I hope the poem reminds people to seize the moments of time that you have, and take the opportunities as they present themselves. I hope you enjoy the poem.


Laughter and cheer,

The smiling face,

The roar of the crowd,

Filling the place.

They clap and applaud,

Crying for more,

So happy and bright,

Over shouts of encore.

And day after day,

You give of your all,

Till the spring of life,

Turns the ways of fall.

Those cheers so loud,

Will lessen through time,

Humor once bold,

No longer in its prime.

As comedy it bleeds,

Begets itself to tragedy,

Applause will fade away,

Laughter's now an elegy.

So as the shine turns dim,

Burnt out from the bright,

You step away from the spot,

And enter your limelight.

End of Line.

Sunday, October 02, 2011

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 33

Father Santiago felt the branches whipping at his face as he tried to brush them aside. He'd been running for over an hour, finding stamina in his legs that he had forgotten he could have. He could still hear the screams of his flock... of his brothers, of the people he had lied to. The screams of his old life dying.

Enrico stumbled, his sandal getting caught on a loose stone, and he scraped his hand on the bark of a tree to prevent himself from falling. His breath came in ragged huffs and he seemed to become exhausted all at once. He took a few more faltering steps and slumped down by the trunk of another tree. He'd cut through the thin woods near the church after he had fled, using the branches to hide himself as he made to the small creek that ran through the woods. He followed the tributary until it ran into the river and splashed partway downstream avoiding cutting back across treeline to the main road. Hoping that the river bank will offer some shelter. It was here he sat now, his thin breath running puffs of smoke in the abnormally cool air.

He looked at his hands as he sat there, his left hand bloody from the scratch, his right almost white, clutching the old pistol tightly. He unclenched his fist, feeling the raw pain and stiffness in his hand as he flexed his fingers. He hadn't seen anymore of the foul creatures since his mad dash, but Enrico knew they would be back sooner or later. One look to the blackened sun above and he knew that this was a godless land.

After he caught his breath, Enrico pulled himself up and slipped the gun back under his frayed robes. No longer running, he hurried along the edge of the river, ready to dart off the trail at the first sign of trouble. He continued to follow the trail generally south, as the river would eventually take him to the town of Desperation. It was there he would either find help, or find out the extent of his, and the world's, damnation.

He followed the stream until nearly dusk before he saw the first of them. One creature, bent over a score of bodies, feasting on the ruined hunks of flesh. There had to be at least 7 bodies, some of them the foul creatures themselves. He stayed back, watching for other signs of movement, for more of them, but there was nothing. You could smell death in the air, the place was fetid with the rot of man. Santiago closed his eyes, forcing the remembrance of the last time he had smelled this same stench, forcing away the memories of Bull Run and his fallen friends.

With a final calming breath, Santiago stood and walked towards the creature. He wasn't sure why he was doing it, maybe it was guilt, or maybe he had run out of fear, or maybe, just maybe, he was to tired to be afraid anymore. Anyway he looked at it though, he had to get by this monster. This one creature represented all that he had failed in in life. His hand clenched the pistol as he crept closer. The beast seemed oblivious to his progress. Enrico forced himself to look away from the bodies of the dead men he passed, ignoring everything, until he stood behind the monster. He thumbed back the hammer, and the beast whirled with an inhuman quickness. It's jaws were red with blood as he saw the broken black claws of the monster flash in the fading sunlight. He fired, and fired again, until the creature moved no more.

He stood over the body for some time. The faint echoes of gun smoke still wafting from the barrel of his gun. He let the guilt and fear wash over him as his free hand absently went to the worn rosary beads he still wore. He prayed then, standing there rubbing the beads, asking for a way to atone, for a way to forgive himself. He prayed for something to show him the path, for someone to end the pain. It was then that he heard the sounds of hoof beats on the earth and the click of the hammer of a rifle being drawn behind him. Enrico Santiago closed his eyes, and thanked a God he had thought forsakened, for his deliverance.

End of Line.