story

A Chain of Very Fortunate Events

Homeward bound, a cloudy sky an unfamiliar cobbled street

Silence surrounds the many blank faces guarded by rushing feet

Fading sunlight shaded a forgotten old brick doorway

When a sudden squall and bolt of light brightened that gloomy day

 ~

A twist of fate, strangers meet to escape the pending drench

Glances are avoided, awkward silence used as defense

Then nervous words about weather answered with a smile

Glowing cheeks made me wish for the rain to stay awhile

 ~

We shared stories of our lives, some laughs and some tears

Our hands shared pockets to ward off chill and our many fears

Time flew, the storm had passed yet we noticed none

Matted hair and soggy feet we splashed into the long set sun

 ~

 Awkward silence once again, I truly felt ashamed

Blissful hours past and we never shared our names

Blushing, I asked hers and she responded with mischief in her eyes

“I’d rather not tell you anymore for now, but ask again at sunrise”

 ~

The sun rose on chilly toes long ago, never to forget –

It was a dark cobbled street where once strangers met

 ~

Sck010515

Summer To Fall

In these changing times,
minds cannot stay still.
Violence spreads like wildfire,
testing our strength and will.
~
Thought’s our only guide,
misguided we are lost.
Shooting from the hip,
destruction is the cost.
~
Love is shared by all,
hearts beat their choice.
Hate is the divider,
drowning out our voice.
~
High upon a tightrope,
this world can feel small.
Balance is required,
the option is we fall.

~*~
SCK090120

Skipper’s Lane

Around the bend from the church on main,
lies a quaint little street, called Skipper’s Lane.
T’was on this path a young lad dwelled,
before the streets’ name or the lad propelled.
~
The tale goes: At the head of a cove the sandbar’s long.
The water’s choppy and the currents strong.
A young lad fished, he netted all day.
At sunset he rowed to the town up the bay.
~
He traded his catch for supplies and some cash.
He then rowed back home and buried his stash.
Years soon passed and the lad’s now a man.
The time was now to dig up an old can.
~
The cans held his savings, he’s more than a few.
The man, now called Netty, had something to do.
Netty rowed into town, to buy but not sell.
He bought a new boat with a bright shiny bell.
~
He towed the boat home not knowing how to sail.
A year’s practice behind then caught in a gale.
Netty stayed calm, his life, spent afloat.
Home was in sight when he saw a tossed boat.
~
The boat missed the inlet, now blowing out to sea.
Though Netty unsure, he could not leave them be.
Adjusting his sails Netty raced to give aid.
Soaked and battered he would not be afraid.
~
Lost memories filled young Netty’s head.
Recalling the night, he was almost dead.
The sky was black and the water cold.
The ship sat heavy, filled with gold.
~
Remembering screams and cracking wood,
the ship’s bell rang, gone childhood.
The boy hit the water and woke on the shore.
The life he once knew was no more.
~
A crashing wave broke Netty’s trance,
one second more he’d lose his chance.
He leaned on his tiller to bring his boat near.
The boats colliding mustered everyone’s fear.
~
Netty thought quickly and dropped his sheet,
then heaved his net around a cleat.
He pulled and pulled with all his might.
His biggest catch was that stormy night.
~
All returned safely before the sun rose.
Netty now a hero was gifted new clothes.
New friends were made, now one’s Netty’s wife.
Recounting his memories he bought a new life.
~
The gold recovered, Netty bought lots of land.
He built a grand home well away from the sand.
The harbor in view he watches over his fleet.
The town, now prosperous, gave Netty a street.

~*~
SCK090825

Bountiful

~

Summer’s at its end, no paths leading home,

memories haunt, hunger leads wherever he does roam.

The hazy starlight setting, the sun’s ready to rise.

A frightened little orphan wipes dreams from sleepy eyes.

~

Soon the bells will ring calling all’s return.

The timid sure to flounder, the hardy always earn.

Darting through the alleys, the bay comes in view.

Ships aplenty ply the piers promising something new.

~

Upon these docks seabirds feast,

sharing the waste with all other beast.

Flies swarm, rats persist and hungry dogs bark.

There are many unseen faces lurking in the dark.

~

Survivors all, as is he, sharing the spoils of a bountiful sea,

no masters’ switch or mothers’ screams when a life is free.

Two pockets and a mouth full will feed for a day.

Fancy cord or carved wood may even bring some pay.

~

Scavenging for a morsel, a meal comes in sight.

Tis crated fruits from afar, a taste of pure delight.

Brushing off the larvae and peeling rotted skin,

sweet sensations pass the lips, a smile grows within.

~

Then giggles gurgled from his blissful throat.

Till greed consumes and bellies bloat.

Euphoria swells and inhibitions subside.

The bustle begins there’s no need to hide.

~

While hunger had made his mind alert.

Gluttony now makes his body inert.

Guard lowered, feet slow to run,

this young boys’ journey’s now just begun.

~

Sailors seized the well fed thief.

Then shackled aboard to ease their grief,

a gift for the captain from his loyal crew.

A cabin boy’s needed, there’s much to do.

~

Soon underway and far from land,

the mate unlocks the orphans’ hand.

The boy then runs toward sun and air.

On deck he cries watching land disappear.

~

Formalities scant then forced to chores,

His long nights stowed behind locked doors.

They voyaged south where weather’s warm,

when the waters grew bumpy ahead of a storm.

~

The captain commanded his capable crew.

And the boy was forgotten with so much to do.

The bright sun fell with the dark rising sea.

Freedom escapes when nowhere to flee.

~

The howling winds and roaring waves,

called heroes and fools to watery graves.

The skipper stood bravely at his battered helm,

barking out orders to all in his realm.

~

He called for his servant to secure a line tight.

The boy climbed too high, falling into the night.

The bosons’ pipe blew and bells rang out,

muffling the sounds of the orphans last shout.

~

The boy sank fast with his final breath.

When suddenly snatched by the jaws of death.

In a cage of tooth and tongue for seat,

waiting was he to be something’s treat

~

Swimming as fast as ever she could,

the serpent’s intensions were soon understood.

Diving through darkness then leaps in the air.

A long journey had, till the weather was fair.

~

He awoke on a beach, the serpent close by.

Being baked in hot sand to be eaten and die.

Before he could run the beast came near.

She patted his head and said “Have no fear.”

~

She gazed into his scared little eyes.

Assuring him serpent myths were lies.

“We’re not all monsters or killers you see,

though maybe a few but certainly not me.”

~

“Serpents get angry when harpoons fly their way,

or when dragged ashore for a tasty fillet.

Bounties are had that pay by the pound,

riches await when a big serpents found.”

~

The new friends chatted the rest of the day.

They shared their pasts till no more to say.

Dozing they snuggled on a bed of soft leaf,

dreaming of a life without any grief.

~

Wakened to sunshine and breakfast pre-made.

The grinning pair feasted on greens in the shade.

Then time for a swim in their private lagoon.

They frolicked together till the rising full moon.

~

Days and weeks then years soon past,

the happy young boy was growing fast.

The pair traveled the oceans and faraway lands,

their life’s serene with no demands.

~

They ate and slept and played on a whim,

till the boy grew curious of others like him.

He asked many questions, to the serpent unknown,

her boy a young man, now twice grown.

~

His name, he had none, he could recall.

He was always called boy and that was all.

The serpent, a serpent, there’s no need for a name.

The boy called her mum just the same.

~

The wise serpent knew their time couldn’t last,

The boy’s now a man and still growing fast.

Mum was ashamed of keeping the boy,

to coddle and cuddle and treat like a toy.

~

They played together, she watched him grow,

all the time knowing he’d eventually go.

A plan was hatched she couldn’t admit.

If her boy found out he’d have a fit.

~

She would swim close to shore then into the bay.

She’d crash on the beach for her boy’s big payday.

A hero he’d be and rewarded a bounty vast.

But she had to be quick for her nerve to last.

~

The day was perfect and the sky was clear.

Boy was napping when land came near.

The plan underway, Mum turned the last bend.

The town grew closer, her life soon to end.

~

Flapping her flippers as fast as she could,

splashes seen as she knew they would.

With one last thrust she lunged for the land.

The boy awakened when thrown to the sand.

~

The town folk scattered, guards quick to arrive.

None had seen a serpent alive.

Bruised and battered the boy came to.

Quickly he knew what he had to do.

~

He knew his friend would have a plan.

The boy’s time was now to be a man

Fearlessly facing his many foes,

standing with mum to shield their arrows.

~

He called for the general to make a deal.

“Spare your feasts now for many a meal.

Or a battle we will have with much to lose.

Life or death sir is for you now to choose.”

~

The general perplexed requested his king.

A long hour past, mum started to sing.

The crowds joined in and fears were eased.

The deal was sealed and all were pleased.

~

The general was spared potential bloodshed.

The serpent was spared her intelligent head.

The boy made an admiral though a scant crew,

with a fleet of just one and we all know who.

~

His beloved town prospered, called the boy Beau.

Replacing the name he didn’t know.

Beau got married, had many a young.

The eldest’s in a band with a grand mum who sung.

~

The End

~*~

SCK092015

Fed-Up Back-Up

Mom’s always angry and I’m fed up.
The kids are a pain and won’t shut up.
The little brats scream, yell and they shout.
There is no relief, not even when out.
~
They cost a lot too and always want more.
I’ve tripped over packages at my front door.
Something’s always broken and the house a mess.
We need a vacation, I must confess.
~
A hammock for two on a deserted beach,
with the comforts of home well within reach.
We’ll eat when we want and we’ll get up late.
By day we’ll frolic, each night a hot date.
~
We’ll call the kids weekly, just to say high.
Then we’ll hang-up when they start to cry.
We’ll bring back presents, two for each.
But if they’re bad we’re back to the beach.

~*~
SCK071623

Hannahbelle’s Folly

Welcome back to Hannahbelle’s folly

where dreams broken yet most stayed jolly.

The factory was shut, tourist didn’t stay,

the impatient grew impatient for a better day.

Most old town folk not wanting to go

agreed to a change in the Hannahbelle show.

Their now was the present, past’s time of old,

the gooey center betwixt is this tale told.

It starts with Charlie, who lacked business sense.

All money made was but half his expense.

Having won the factory therefore the town,

he became a fair leader, albeit a clown.

Yet a kinder soul there could never be.

All hungers fed, anytime, always free.

The workers prospered with newfound wealth,

not only from raises but dental and health.

The village glistened, all gloom washed away.

Their Renaissance grew brighter each passing day.

Charlie married soon after, a remarkable bride,

their love for each other they couldn’t hide.

Hannahbelle followed within that same year.

She’s properly pampered and handled with care.

By noble decree the eldest of elders proclaimed;

In honor of Charlie the towns to be renamed.

A contest was held to find the best name.

Most of the entries were all the same.

The town’s new name was Hannahbelleville,

from miles around people came for the thrill.

With towers of brick placed one at a time

all topped with a bell for the hourly chime.

The windows sparkled, doors welcomed all.

Just step right in and we’ll all have a ball.

Neat lines form long to be part of the show.

There are twists and turns wherever you go.

A bib and bags are given free at the door

to save what’s left for when you want more.

Ponchos welcome but most haven’t a care,

sweet diversions are why they’re all here.

Where chocolate waterfalls splash at their base,

what a tasty surprise to the passerby’s face.

There are also cakes, cookies and candies galore.

There’s shirts and hats at the little gift store.

The shelves always stocked, but not for long,

their prices are good so sales are strong.

On paper everything seemed OK.,

until a new town sprouted across the bay.

This new town was grander, factory too.

They stole Charlie’s recipes, yet he hadn’t a clue.

They built a new park with rides big and small.

It’s better than Hannahbelles that had none at all.

The competition soon became bold and brutal.

The rivals charged half for twice the strudel!

Though Charlie’s reluctant to change his way,

he worked all the harder without any pay.

Then Hannahbelle’s tuition became overdue,

not just one term but quite a few.

She’d have to go home without a degree.

The long spring stretched, she worked as three.

Side by side the little family all toiled.

Cooking and cleaning and keeping things oiled.

Summer arrived and thoughts were blooming.

She had to think fast, payday was looming.

Then a plan was hatched to save the day.

She called her classmates to all have a say.

Her idea was shared to change their fates.

The chefs and chemists mixed heated debates.

Mathematicians integrated their permutations.

The statisticians juggled interpolations.

The engineers tinkered to make all precise.

Artist’s flourished to make all look nice.

A manager’s needed to book weekend bands.

Then there’s the overhead and two hired hands.

There are taxes, tariffs and hidden fees.

We’ve a lawyer’s retained to shoot the breeze.

Bankers were safe with their calculations.

The accountants left to balance frustrations.

Our writers wrote slogans, jingles and ads.

Their pieces placed in papers for new I.T. grads.

A final test given for last minute tweaks.

Then code was input by computer geeks.

The output emerged and everyone’s thrilled.

Soon teeth and tummies both less filled.

It’ll be safe to consume whenever you please.

They’ll never melt and cannot freeze.

There’s no a messy wrappers or sticky streets.

When enjoying the new Hannahbelle binary treats.

Though you will need a dongle for a spare port,

to call up our server of cheese mocha torte.

You can try any flavor you think to choose,

try them all, there’s nothing to loose

We’ve green apple slush and warm fuzzy peach.

There’s seven billion in all, that’s one for each.

Just fill in the form and enter your pin.

Sit back, relax and let the digiconfection begin.

Pay what you can, take what you need.

The business is sweet without any greed.

And after all the bills are paid,

what’s left is ours; it’s what we’ve made.

What was made is what we make.

What Hannahbelle makes icing on her cake.

Hannahbelles treats now second to none,

without competition you’ve already won.

And as the creator of all that’s digiconfectionary,

she’s thought now to be a true visionary.

A university was founded, tuition’s free.

Hannahbelle was first to earn a degree.

Soon she was mayor of Hannahbelleville.

She could serve for life and probably will.

The company grew large, built in its niche.

Everyone did well, though no one got rich.

Hannahbelle shares all her profits and good will.

So all ends happily in Hannahbelleville.

sck011816dft

In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage

Behold this welcome image,
where a hill rises from a bay.
There a tiny sheltered village lay,
in the shadow of Windmill Cottage.
Pleasant breeze’s most every day.

Sails from afar spill their goodwill.
From their nets sea treasures abound.
Farms thrive above on fertile ground.
Good fortune trickles down the hill.
Sea birds fill the air with sound.

Ancient timbers shade from lofty stage.
Labored grain grows upward at the season’s rate.
Winds howl, warmth’s aglow on the hill-top grate.
Flour flows freely down from Windmill Cottage.
Where nature’s breath spins the wheel of a poets’ estate.

He attends happily to familiar chores.
Quarterly ledgers bulge beneath waistcoat fair,
a quarterly journey to the bankers’ lair.
His shadow alone opens Main Street doors.
Harvest moon will guide homeward the fortunate heir.

Dusk creeps up as day slips by.
Must avoid the many scrupulous gaze,
modest and ordered with nothing ablaze.
In the shadows inhibitions die.
A visit with strangers, heads all a daze.

Journeys end in darkness where hill meets bay.
Tufted coaches dash the posh up to their inns.
Others huddle by fire pits drinking homemade gins.
The trades of the night swap those of day.
Church bells echo, atoning for their sins.

He’s just another hazy face on the wooden shores.
Where the day’s death lingers and ships bells ring.
Taverns fill, ale flows and drunken sailors sing.
Fiddles play and jigs are had on the dirty floors.
Habitual killers all, Oh what joy they bring.

Few will stay, most homeward bound.
Some laugh loudly while others cry.
Some will fight, some will die.
In search of peace to be found,
in the deep or endless sky.

Faceless comfort fills empty space.
Men with silver are sick for a day.
Boys with gold suffer years away.
Moonlit romance lingers on perfumed lace.
Then life’s anew beyond the tiny bay.

Sharing much common thread,
In this moment they’re brothers all.
Whale lamps flicker on sooty wall,
making friends while breaking bread.
All await the Bosun’s call.

In a corner where shadows overlap,
the poet searches for his light.
Here the day’s brew flows all night.
Safe for now from his hilltop trap,
layers of darkness, out of sight.

Behold this most unwelcome image.
The seat no more where the poet presides,
now in his shadow a filthy little demon hides.
Return not quenched to Windmill Cottage –
And wait again for the new moon tides?

Lonely candle spews depth on a lonely face.
Unseen pests sing their unwanted song,
the scent of time ticking long.
His travels must be many, all left a trace.
In the darkness our senses are strong.

His hat brim low to hide the shame.
The poet stutters with utter surprise.
The traveler snickers, doesn’t rise.
With sideways glance he asks the poet’s name.
Honestly answered by the fear in his eyes.

When after long hesitation a hasty reply –
“A traveler like you” was all that he said.
But after some ale the silence was dead.
Yard by yard many distant words fly.
Palettes grow with faces shaded red.

Cider was next and followed by rum.
The traveler’s tales – all told in prose.
The wetter the lips the faster it flows.
He’s hated by most, loved by some.
That’s how a traveler’s life often goes.

The poet proud – a rather long fellow.
The traveler meek – a short poet by name.
So many ports traveled they all looked the same.
His heart pumped blue, the poet gay and mellow.
Opposite sides of a coin, no one is to blame.

“With little time to hone a craft –
with a draft from an open door.
To close then return no-more.
To open then evermore – the draft.
Spirits gone, gone the craft – nevermore.”

“What dribble do you speak my friend?”
The poet inquired in disgusted tone.
“The dribble I think when thirsty and alone.”
The traveler quipped with message to send.
“I’ll tell you another, that’s my own.”

“Silent words are never heard –
The voiceless poet stuttered.
Repeated babble muttered.
His rhymes always sputtered.
More mindless words would be absurd.

The air he breathed was glutted.
His helm so poorly ruddered,
his shirts all heavily buttered.
From his many toasts self-uttered.
His mind is so free and uncluttered.

His weaknesses many but unobserved.
Blinded to the Reaper’s shadow – deserved.
Soon the voiceless poet will be unheard.
Then blissful quiet on his paths wandered.
His silence welcome  – forever heard.”

Drunken rabble roared with delight.
The poet withered belittled.
The traveler’s attention fizzled.
When laudanum’s sipped out of sight.
The poet escaped most grizzled.

Out of the dark into the night –
bellowing air; cold, wet and starless.
His poisoned lips know no finesse.
His state of mind out of time – not right.
The poet’s mind wanders aimless.

While the traveler tucked snugly in his bunk,
with help from many new joyous fan.
All loved the howls of this traveled wild-man.
His tales make perfect sense – drunk.
The favorite carried and a silent poet ran.

His boot heels clack on cobble slick.
The poet stumbles upward with achy head.
While his stallion slumbers atop golden bed.
If only to have aid from his gilt throat-ed stick.
This shadowy path he may be found dead.

The wind that is my fortune is slowly killing me.
This hill of heritage too high for me to climb,
with forceful push from the hands of time.
Drawing me back to a frigid sea –
my misery oh-so great – it is oh-so sublime.

Head tucked low, bottom up always slow.
Darkness wanes to purples then red.
Day is born, horrors of the night soon dead.
Hands and knees bloodied and bruised – falls of woe.
Alas the bodies of servants to guide to downy bed.

Winter behind, graven plans regress,
fevered sleep past, shadows of death dawdle.
Summer awaits, the poet’s lessons dwindle.
His magnum opus went off to press.
Journey’s soon to Main Street for praise to guzzle.

Surveying high atop his magnificent mount,
the poet exclaimed “behold this welcome image”
Deceived by the bustle – not he the homage.
But a tome by a worldly traveler, no doubt –
“In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage”

The End

Sck101614

Time for Time-Out

timeoutimg002

Time for time-out it’ll end soon.

Dug in the yard with mom’s good spoon.

She’s had it since her wedding day.

Used just for holidays, not play.

*

I said that it was shaped just right,

to dig a trench where armies can fight.

Needs to be deep but not too wide.

Had to dig fast so they can hide.

*

Buried far down just like a tomb.

Guarding treasure found in your room.

Found in a box high on a chest.

It’s the booty pirates like best.

*

I must protect those shiny things:

chains, charms, bracelets, baubles and rings.

Hid them good, remembered the map.

But then forgot after my nap.

*

To help me dig I found a pet.

The best digger there is I’ll bet.

Finished our yard then went next door.

Found nothing, ran off to dig more.

*

Chased our cat high up in the tree.

Grandma called the police for me.

Her nurse had to help make the call.

The police came, that isn’t all.

*

While chasing his dog that I found,

the man fell from holes in the ground.

He said he’ll sue, just wait and see.

I said it was his dog, not me.

*

His face was red, limping away.

But grandma’s heart will be okay.

And I have some more good news.

While digging today, I wore no shoes.

*

They’re nice and clean and tucked away.

I’ll try no pants some other day.

Though mess was made with my bare feet,

I cleaned it up with hose and sheet.

*

Pushed all the water out the door.

Then to your room, I cleaned some more.

Too bad the hose didn’t quite reach.

I luckily then found the bleach.

*

You’ll smile when you turn on the light.

I know you like things clean and white,

with spots of color here and there.

You’ll surely hug your little dear.

*

I’m glad you’re home early today.

Don’t believe what the neighbors say.

The rescue came, Dad’s all right.

Not much pain, he’ll wake by tonight.

*

Go to the doctor, I’ll just wait.

I’ll be good and won’t stay up late.

I missed lunch; I’ll make us a snack.

Fix the chair dad broke with his back.

*

He climbed too high to find his keys,

lost his balance from wobbly knees.

I found some socks to wrap dad’s head.

Then found soldiers under my bed.

*

Recalled the mission to be done.

Ran downstairs to start the fun.

Found no spoons not already bent.

But then found yours and out I went.

*

And that’s where my story began.

Now come sit close mom, hold my hand.

I know that time-outs hurt you too.

But when it’s done I’ll still love you.

*

The End

sck2014

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/468259

None Amiss

It was a rainy night at the beach.
Wishing a walk but out of reach.
The sun set, the stars slept.
The moon hid and the clouds wept.

The quiet masked in crashing seas.
And a little chill rides the breeze.
Yet warmth’s felt hand in hand.
Memories tickle of toes in the sand.

The nights wish changed when we kissed.
The stars will return, tonight unmissed.

~*~
SCK081418

Odds Are

In the shadow of a city a child was born.
Decades festered to bubbling scorn.
His body grew large, his head grew bigger,
the search then on for a prized gold digger.
~
On tabloid pages their faces were strewn,
with scandals, bankruptcies and words of a goon.
Followed by lawyers paid a great sum,
ensuring victims would always stay mum.
~
While spreading his hate he found his niche.
And being a narcissist he saw no glitch.
He bolstered and bragged about a huge brain.
Some saw a genius, others felt pain.
~
Despite all his faults a following was had.
His greatness he shared, the world was sad.
Money poured in from sources unknown.
Bull shit prospered and a candidate was grown.
~
A show was hatched, reality lacking,
the outcome was known, dependent on hacking.
Conspiracies hurled, truth unconsidered,
fears unleashed and thinking dithered.
~
A president forged by the art of the steal.
In a backseat he waved with a spy at the wheel.
An immigrant descended a hypocrite ascended.
The “We” now he or so he amended.
~
A king is made with prince and princess.
While the queen hung back at a different address.
A cabinet assembled to kiss his fat ass.
Powers promised to those who could pass.
~
Those dismissed soon wrote a book.
Others were jailed for being a crook.
Impeachment inevitable, a sigh of relief,
a shakeup at justice led to more grief.
~
Leadership needed toward the end of his term.
But the mask’s inconvenient because of his perm.
Independence day past (let that sink in…),
freedom being fragile when destroyed from within.
~
The summer is here though different than most.
As the deaths in this nation is nothing to boast.
But autumn will come and the chips will fall.
A choice we will make, winner takes all.

~*~
SCK070520

The Return

Outside my window perched in a tree
Tis a winged demon that caws at me
At me it caws and caws all day
Till darkness consumes then caws go away

Tis then a candle lit, awaiting peace
Creative spark await release
The hourly chime hourly chides
This spark within creatively hides

Searching I pace in this tiny room
From shadow to shadow returning to gloom
Going in circles around in a square
Till wearily I slump back into my chair

Through random lacy limbs I spy the moon
With gentle breezes the patterns I swoon
Patterns swooning dance on dingy walls
The net surrounds and the demon calls

Consciousness concedes, silence relieves
In the dark the dark the mind believes
Rest and wait or rise and scream
Choices few at the edge of a dream

Wax drippings lapping pages bled
Of serpentine spine and heavy head
Blackness cloaks the demons night
Their quills aplenty shade the light

Demon, oh demon please let me be
Yet still they tap, tapping for me
Tap tap tapping on my foggy pane
Tap, tap tapping with no refrain

Without refrain demons tap in kind
Tapping demons tap, tapping my mind
Is this tapping, tapping to remind?
Or is it tapping to seek and find?

Oh demon cloaked with hidden face
To take from you is my disgrace
Your gifts adored left on my sill
Yet to rest on your back I am still

To be only still is reverse
Dive or fall, a lover’s curse
To soar or sink is to immerse
The spirit wishes to guide the verse

This spirit and I of common goal
Each to rise from the hole
One to fly, one to scratch and claw
Each may fall, one to caw, caw, caw

Our bond’s made to find a link
If to trade my soul I wish to think
I wish to think another’s ink
Of golden quills and wine to drink

In gilded glass I wish to wink
Then step away until I shrink
Till all is gone with a blink
But for the ink, I wish to think

I think I think, I think I see
I think I see light shines on me
Sight and sound now distortion free
The path’s clear toward tranquility

If to be a final rest, now’s to be the time
Drifting in an open mind is to be sublime
Or if to rise and most joyfully find
I’ve awakened as a different kind

To be warm of heart and cool of mind
Forward moving and never behind
Of filigree hands to align and chime
Tis then the taps return, tapping in time

Taps on the window from arms of the past
To embrace their grip the future’s cast
When cracks appear in my shield of glazing
The demon swoops for the dawns hazing

With inky beak and beating wings
Caw, caw, caw the demon sings
They dance upon the empty pages
Quills ablaze their fire rages

Then morning breaks the lidded seal
Illuminating all thought real
Am I to be taken or to consume?
Or wake to sunlight returning to gloom

Betwixt the shadows exposed by the light
Tis demons craft conjured last night
With nary a blotch nor stroke askew
Flawless leaf scribed by I know not who

I dare not share these words unknown
Through my window they have flown
The prize of demons cawing in a tree
Thus return I must this gift given me

Sck122315

Magic Carpet

~

Full moon’s high in my window pane,

a sleepless night yet again.

I think of what that old moon’s seen,

and the billions of days in-between.

.

Billions of stories it could share.

But few like grandma’s can compare.

Her life began long, long ago.

Raised in places few ever know.

.

In forests, jungles and never-ending plains,

there were exotic cities and quiet country lanes.

Naturalist nurtured traversing the globe,

her parents explorers and professors in robes.

.

She too attended their university,

majoring, of course, in anthropology.

She graduated at the very top of her class.

Then returning to a high mountain pass.

.

A place where dear friends made, one nevermore,

new will be made though not as before.

For the sisterly love they both did share,

her dowry passed from generations with care.

.

Their rug was presented for the mutual esteem,

more cherished than a simple weaving would  seem.

With sheep twists dyed and hands knotting all day,

life’s artful history’s made to give, barter or pray.

.

That winter spent mourning by choice and terrain.

Gram then ventured east with the new spring rain.

Her path soon ended on a long Pacific beach,

her life of the past now far out of reach.

.

She then called upon as never before.

She volunteered proudly as a nurse in the war.

Through years of blood, pain and tears she served,

refusing all the medals and honors deserved.

.

Though her true love was found slumped on a cot,

they soon returned home, where time was forgot.

Gramps got better and a new family sown.

their many shared scars were never to be shown.

.

Her old rug was placed by hearth and chest,

each full of stories though not all are best.

It’s a place we’d sit to hear grandma recall,

sometimes a place to do nothing at all.

.

So I tip-toed downstairs since sleep no option,

I’ll rest on that rug where dreams are begun.

It’s where secrets are shared and magic seen,

then a place for relaxing time in-between.

.

Once sewn as a bag keeping safe, precious things.

It’s been many a blanket with a picnic to bring.

It’s been a shawl in the cold and hood in the rain –

and a comfy pillow on the overnight train.

.

Adventures had in time that’s flown,

together worn from long years grown.

This rug’s grandma’s confidant and oldest friend,

soaring together their wove lives transcend.

.

Though colors now faded, ends torn and frayed,

beauty more timeless cannot be remade.

And when the winds do bellow just right,

we’re drawn up the flue and into the night.

.

Holding fast and climbing high,

we touched the stars in our moonlit sky.

We’d see twinkling lights in our town below,

then off to the hills where roads don’t go.

.

Over the wood, back to the place we all live,

where the door’s always open and love’s to give.

There blissful slumbers had snug as a bug,

whilst wrapped with a hug in grandmas old rug.

.

~*~

sck032116

Nightlife

A short story by Steve Kittell

Chapter I
Good Morning

“Good morning Bailey, Maine. It’s 6:oo AM, as always, and I’m Chicken Little with your morning wake up call from WWDZ, the Woodz in the woods. Big news today here in 960 FM land and all of the northern quarter of these good ole United States and of course all of southern Canada. Yes folks today, Saturday, as of midnight actually, started our worlds’ new journey, our journey into the darkness. Yep, it’s what’s being called Nightlife, and we all have to shift our lives 180 degrees. Day is night, night is day. And I, for one, although I’m sure most, are confused, scared and probably, at least a little, pissed off. What the hell is going on? I know we should have been prepared, its already happened in the rest of the country, but it’s different here in northern Maine. We’re different, we’re tougher and more independent and now we got the government telling us day is night and night is day and the sun is bad, blah, blah, blah. The sun’s gonna git cha! Yep, simple as that, no more sunshine for us.”
In a dimly lit trailer used as the news radio station, Steve, known as Chicken Little to his listeners, sits back and exhales loudly, frustrated and frightened by his mornings’ open. He pauses for another second before leaning back into the microphone to continue.
“Unfortunately friends, the alternitive is death, death by slow incineration. We even have an official name for it now; Airfrilation”, yep airfrilation, as defined by some governmental overlord as the “sudden mutation and expansion of blood cells caused by excessive solar radiation resulting in the, non-repairable, fusing of cappilaries. Which will, over time cause the heart to overheat and burst. Burst! Bursting freakin hearts, that’s what it says, bursting hearts, Boom! And then, wait for it, potentially igniting the surrounding body fat resulting in almost total incineration. Airfrilation people, airfrillation we’re probabally going to hear that a lot. Buckle up.”
“On a more positive note; the dome is almost finished over the high school playing field and our state champs girls softball team can get back to paractice for next season soon, congrats again ladies. Buck’s on Main is having a buy one get one free sale on all summer gear. Good luck Buck. Frieda’s not feeling well today, so she’s closed til further notice, sorry everyone you’ll have to make your own breakfast for a while. Feel better Frieda, love ya. Sunrise today at 6:16, safe sun time from sunrise to 7 o’clock is about 3 1/2 minutes, 7 to 8 is 1 1/2, 8 to 9 is less than one 1 minute and from 9 am until 5 pm is zero minutes, zero minutes people, no sun, window shades down, reverse and repeat. Life as we know it gets turned off. But we’re alive now and the sun’s beginning to rise, the orange and purples are amazing this morning, a little hazy now, but that will burn off shortly and we’re in for a bright sunny, clear day, that we won’t see. Highs in the low to mid 80’s, a bit warm for early March, whew. With that, it’s time for a little music, perhaps ironic, but lets give old George a whirl. Ladies and gentlemen here comes the sun.”
Steve pops in the cart, presses play and sits back to light yet another bootleg cigarette while peaking through the blinds to see the last of the today’s sunrise. The realization of this new time was, finally sinking in with Steve, it all started about four months ago in the southern quarter and he’s regulary reported on the many, many deaths since. But that all seemed very far away from Bailey, where there had been a few minor cases of airfrilation, before it had yet been named, so folks thought it was a heat rash or something with little red bumps that tingle and burn. Pulled from his thoughts by a loud buzz on his phone, Steve shuffles through his stacks of notes strewn over the console knocking the phone to the floor. Leaning over to reach it the chair tipped over and Steve hit the floor fast and hard, taking with him the old turntable, lots of paper and his extra large, steaming hot, morning coffee. After a few moments of screaming and swearing, Steve grabbed his phone, and sat to read the recent text from their sister station in Slocum. He began to weep, realizing his responsabilty to the community he regained his composure, somewhat, and returned to his microphone.
“6:28 Folks and no, it’s not alright George, not anymore, anyway. Word just in from our brothers and sisters down in Slocum, one confirmed death yesterday and maybe another. Unfortunetly they have to wait for the house fire to go out before they can investigate. Damn! That just rocked my world, I’m shaking, damn, damn, damn! I hate being the bearer of bad news folks, but this is only the begining, I’m sure.”

Chapter II
Wake Up

Steve steps back from the mic to calm himself before he totally lost it. Three deep breathes, the trick he was taught in prison to release tension. Soon after his breathing exercise Steve was able to regain his composure and get back to the microphone.
“Sorry everyone, lost my cool there for a second. Lots going on this morning, I’ve got to a broken turntable on the floor with a bunch of useless wet notes and a really big, empty cup of my morning elixer, that is now soaking my favorite pair of jeans. None of which is all that important, certainly not compared to what’s happining to our good friends down in Slocum, our thoughts and prayers are with you. Gonna spin another record now so I can clean up my mess and then get to the phones. Nine nine six, twenty two hundred folks, I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if anyone happens to be passing by with a nice, big, fresh cup of Joe you will be genoursly rewarded, thanks in advance. Three dog nights’ may now be a thing of the past but Shambala will always be in our hearts and minds.”
Steve loads the cart, forgetting to hit play and heads to the bathroom to clean up. He closes the door and takes his coffee soaked pants off to rinse in the sink. Scensing what should have been the end of the song Steve hastely hangs his wet pants over the then towel bar to dry and rushes back, pantsless, to the console only to find there was no song and all the phone lines were flashing.
“I’m back, sorry for the dead air, I’m trying to clean up a little.”
Ignoring the phones, Steve hit play, lit another cigarette and started cleaning up the wet mess all over the new carpeted floor in the newly bought studio. The old studio became far too valuable to rent to a mom and pop radio station, albeit an historical institution in Bailey. The station, first in town, sat high atop the Fin and Feather Grand Lodge, a five-story brick, granite, iron and glass eyesore that completely cluttered the vistas of the surrounding one and two-story buildings that fill Main street’s half mile. Built in 1885 by a wealthy and bombastic gentleman sportsman from Boston. The young heir intended it to be a sporting playground with year round hunting and fishing as well as numerous seasonal activities for the the hunters families. The lodge was complete with a gourmet resturant, spa, several shops and a iron and glass pool pavilion with a waterfall. The nearby carraige house and equastrian center was to be the grandest in all of Maine, though never finished. It’s ruins still clutter that part of town and now used as a homeless camp. The Lodge itself saw many changes and uses over its long and troublesome life. Now, however, it was being returned to its former glory by yet another bombbast from Boston, this time for luxury doooms-day condos.
Life was forever changed in that little town of Bailey and everyone knew it was just a matter of time before their first casualty. The southern quarter of the country had already lost almost half of its population, many headed north, but most didn’t heed the warnings in time. The remaining have adapted to the nightlife, with those who have to be out during the day now, absolutely having to wear a sun suit. A new sun suit factory was planned for Hestor, about twenty miles south east of Bailey, hopefully operational before the dreaded summer.
Sun suit manufacture was now at war-time capacity and a whole new economy was taking shape with the almost total collapse of some industries and the invention and growth of others. Unfortunetly the new profits were going back to the shareholders who caused the problems to begin with.
Bailey, too had seen drastic changes recently caused by airfilation, most noticeable being the fifteen – twenty percent population growth from all the terrified victims escaping the south and with more expected. Real estate prices were soaring, the cost of everything was skyrocketing. Main street vacancies were nonexistent, filled by new real estate and law offices. What once were tiny summer cottage rentals were now selling at well into the millions and the luxury lake houses were now causing bidding frenzies. This, of course, was easy money for those looking for the quick buck, legaly and otherwise. Stolen guns and four-wheel drive trucks were by far the most profitable and biggest problem for law enforcement. Illeagle drugs where getting scarce and very expencive, causing the addicts into more and more brazzen criminal acts. The legal marijauana dispenencery where too seeing increased break-ins and theft attemps in addition to being overwelmed with all the new customers, predictably increasing prices .

Chapter III
Good Bye

Scrambling back to the console and quickly changing up songs before getting back to the mess he made and continued to ignore the phones and the mic. Back on the floor, still in damp underwear with knees held to his chest, Steve was overwhelmed with the urge to drink, his old escape from reality. It’s been neerly a decade since Steve’s last drink, which ultimately put him in jail for twenty six long months. The silence was eventually broken by a loud and forceful bang on the door. “You OK in there Steve” yelled Sargent Bouchard of the local police force. Hearing no responce the sargent yelled in his deep ominous voice “Open this door now or I will.”
Snapping out of his funk by flashbacks of the police. Screaming, Steve franticlly jumped to his feet “It’s cool Frank, I’m good, I’m good.”, lunging for the door Steve slipped on the wet paper and fell back to the floor, spraining his wrist on impact. “Shit, damn, damn!, Steve breathed in deeply, “It’s alright Frank, I slipped.” Steve scootted over to the door and pulled himself up with the chintzy door handle before unlocking it. However, while Steve pushed, the three hundred pound Sargent Bouchard was also pulling on the door handle. The flimsy door flew open, taking first Steve and then the Sargent, down the make-shift stairs crashing onto the gravel driveway. Steve was saved from any major injury landing on the sargent. The sargnet was not as fortuneate, landing on his back and slamming the back of head on the gravel, knocking him out cold.
Rolling off of the sargent, Steve laid on his back, enjoying the mornings warmth. Close to a minute passed before Steve realized Frank still hadn’t move. Turning his head Steve could see blood dripping from Frank’s sun suit hood. Steve screamed in horror before reaching over to shake his friend. “Frank, you OK Frank, Frank wake up!” Steve jumped to his feet, yelling “Help” over and over again, as loudly as he could before realizing everyone was indoors, avoiding the sun. Being closer to the patrol car than the trailer Steve lunged for the car and opened the drivers door. Suprised by the surge of cood, refresing air, Steve hesitaded for a second then jumped in, grabbed the radio mic, pressed the button and yelled, “Hello anyone, Frank’s down, Sargent Bouchard I mean. He’s out cold and bleeding, hurry, we’re at the radio station, hurry! Throwing down the mic Steve hurried from the car and back to Frank, who was still out.
Sitting next to Frank, Steve noticed a tingling sensation in his hands soon followed by a silmilar sensation in his arms and legs. Finally remembering his morning’s opening monolouge and the symptons of Airfrilation Steve gave Frank one last push before retreating to the shade. Working hard to get off of the ground Steve managed only one step before his legs gave out. Back on gravel Steve tried to drag himself to the trailer, a few feet where gained with great pain and effort.
In the distance a siren could be heard, music to Steve’s ears, soon we’ll be safe he thought. When the ambulance did finally arrive Sargent Bouchard was tended to immediately, later to be treated and sent home. The town firetruck arrived shortly after the ambulance and Bailey now had its first casualty.

The End

Bad Vacation

Forbidden Pool2

Vacation’s soon and I can’t wait.

On the calendar mark the date.

Planning and dreaming all long year

Soon our vacation will be here.

*

I started to pack weeks before.

A few clothes and toys galore.

I need a lot for our long stay.

But mom repacks it anyway.

*

Alarm didn’t work, taxi was late.

With seconds left we made the gate.

Sat in the plane with no fresh air.

Waiting for bad weather to clear.

*

Hours wasted then off we fly.

Wings wobble, we bounce in gray sky.

Black night rain, runway wet and slick.

Vacation starts, we all get sick.

*

We landed late our luggage not there.

Just full of clothes, I didn’t care.

Late night taxi cost us double,

Big tip needed for his trouble.

*

Get to our rooms, sun starts to rise.

Daylight’s wasted with closed eyes.

Day one of vacation’s now done,

Hope the next six will be more fun.

*

But first a shower then some rest.

Than out for breakfast that’ll be best,

Eggs and juice, toast with warm butter.

Opened the door our hearts flutter.

*

Toilets broke, no shower at all.

A sign on door said tub down hall.

Beds were unmade, hot water cool.

Mom’s mad, dad joked about the pool.

*

We went to the lobby to protest.

Stood in the line with all the rest.

The man at the desk did all he could.

Some of the guests didn’t treat him good.

*

Threw down his pen, could take no more.

Grunting and shouting ran for the door.

“Hotel closed” he said running out.

Leaving us stranded, all in doubt.

*

Where would we go, where would we stay?

Yet another bad vacation day.

We found a place, it wasn’t cheap.

But we needed a place to sleep.

*

Cramped and dark but at least clean.

The tiniest bathroom I’d ever seen.

Just two beds, no TV at all.

One small window looked at a wall.

*

Settling in to rest our eyes.

Then off to lunch in clear blue skies.

But halfway there it starts to rain.

My jackets gone, left on the plane.

*

We ran fast to a place nearby.

Sitting soaked on stools too high.

Fish only menu, not for me.

Hours passed drinking pop, refills free.

*

Bellies bloated, day spent.

The sun came out and down it went.

Saw a movie we saw before.

Back to our rooms, locked the door.

*

Much the same the rest of the week.

Sun came out once, we caught a peek.

Went to the beach, waters to cold.

A bad vacation getting old.

*

Good news came later that week.

Luggage found but in Chesapeake.

Put back on plane, soon to leave there.

They’ll be back late, we won’t be here.

*

Trip soon over saw a new place.

Lots of ant bites, rash on my face.

Dad lost his watch, mom caught a bug.

Stuffed plastic bags with things to lug.

*

Our ride to the airport, not much fun.

Stuck in traffic in the noon day sun.

Bad vacation was had this year.

Being home soon is all I care.

*

One good part of a trip gone bad.

Is getting home and being glad.

Vacations done, better next year.

You go and have fun, I’ll stay here.

*

The End

sck082314

The Declaration of No Hindrance

This holiday has begun;
later on we’ll have some fun.
The ice is broken, the heat’s returned.
Now the fireworks we’ve long yearned.
~
A sunset shared on the beach,
loving arms now in reach.
Colors burst in the skies,
starlight sparkles in your eyes.
~
Booms and bangs heard all around.
Lips will meet without a sound.
The future’s now, we’re on our way,
happy Independence Day.

~*~
SCK070319

A Village Uncommon

~*~

Birds are first to welcome the day.
Second’s the stable boy, warm in his hay,
next the rooster with a cockle-doodle–do.
The sun then knows it’s time to shine through.

The day’s now begun on this little village farm,
sounds are awakened, no need for alarm.
Chores are done first before breakfast’s had.
The boy gets scraps for which he’s glad.

He then fetches water to fill troughs high,
looking down he reflects on the sky.
The birds passing by all wave hello.
The boy too would like somewhere to go.

His only companions where pigs in the barn,
a colt in the stall and a blanket of yarn.
The pigs are noisy but warm at night.
The colt’s always worried something’s not right.

The boy and the colt are both small for their age.
The colt’s awkward stance was more prone for a stage.
The boy’s body covered in hair but none on his head.
His face more pale than a ghost long dead.

He was missing teeth, what’s left are brown.
When out to run errands he’d limp back from town.
He was bullied by piers, pitied by the rest,
that’s why the barn is where he liked best.

The barn’s on a farm the boy’s aunt owned.
The pigs are theirs but the rest boarded or loaned.
The crops all prospered by the boy’s hard work,
though all profits were spent on his cousin the jerk.

The jerk had a sister the boy thought faire,
as did all the mirrors where she did stare.
The boy’s aunt was mean and her husband’s a brute.
They all wore frowns but the dog was cute.

On the boy’s return to the barn for the night,
he was much surprised by a most curious sight.
Pigs were in a circle the colt standing tall.
The hens in the middle said nothing at all.

The lonely stable boy was their only concern.
So a plan was hatched for the love he earned.
The colt too had thoughts in his growing mind.
There’s something, somewhere he needs to find.

Then suddenly a change right before their eyes.
Within the hour the colt doubled in size.
The bumps on his shoulders grew larger too
As did his hooves, now too big for their shoe.

The discussion’s now over and all agreed.
The boy and the colt should both be freed.
Some details whispered and the time was set,
for a barnyard adventure to never forget.

The boy donned his blanket like superman’s cape,
then mounted the colt for their great escape.
First are hugs all around before they depart.
Then the barn doors cracked for the plan to start.

The hens muffled the rooster so time was bought.
The sheep flocked to the door as they were taught.
The ducks then quacked to cause a commotion.
And the brute awakened without a clue or a notion.

Pigs started oinking and the cows crashed the gate.
The little dog barked but it was too late.
The boy and colt ran fast past the posts,
waving goodbye to their ungracious hosts.

A tear was shed for the friends left behind.
But his blanket’s aroma would always remind.
The pair dashed down the lane by the hedge-row.
Then flew over the hills where the uncommon go.

In search of a world thought fantasy.
A place imagined by you and me.
A place where all’s different and the same,
where none is wrong or to blame.

This place called fantasy’s not make-believe.
It’s a place that’s real we feel and perceive.
As the pair now see how much they’ve grown.
They come into view of a sight unknown.

Not commonly known this uncommon sight,
there welcomed warmly in the setting sunlight.
The Uncommons filled their common and a party had.
There all are different and all are glad.

A one-legged sprinter hopped by to say hi,
as did the unicorn and an eagle with one eye.
A lady strolled over who walked on her hands.
Her arms so long they dragged in the sands.

Her daughter followed and sparks then flew.
The boy didn’t know that there could be two.
His Pegasus introduced with shakes all around.
Their hands all touching made a warm clapping sound.

Hugs soon followed and a tasty dinner had.
The boy almost forgot he was ever sad.
He cuddled a tiny kitten that roars really loud.
And played with two-legged puppies that only bowed.

There are two-headed snakes and a toothless beaver,
also the tail-less mouse from his aunt’s cleaver.
Here everyone’s loved and their love they share,
who wouldn’t love a giant dancing bear.

These commons are full of Uncommons galore.
Though anyone’s welcome, there’s room for more.
The boy’s party ran late and he rose with the sun.
Then all’s back to normal in a village uncommon.

~*~

sck061516

The Blob

.

I was out to lunch this early fall,

with my sweetheart, disturbed by a call.

Tried not to answer, boss wouldn’t wait.

“Go to the harbor”, he yelled, “before it’s too late”.

Duty calls, I sped to the pier,

swerved through traffic as fast as I dare.

Screeched to a halt at the dock by the bay,

the boat’s motors revved then underway.

Holding on tight I asked what’s the fuss?

The skipper pointed up at the blob over us.

It was big and gray, no particular form,

battered and tattered like a dingy in a storm

It hung from balloons, one at each end,

letting air out slowly to descend.

It kissed the calm harbor with hardly a swell.

A slit appeared then a putrid smell.

Followed by a ladder of rope dropped to the sea,

then an old head popped out “Ahoy thar matey.”

We climbed aboard the blob that fell from the sky.

Inside appeared to be a ship with no sails but masts high.

A portal to the past or future, it wasn’t clear.

My eyes wide open, couldn’t fathom what’s near.

Bos’n whistle blowing, ships bell ringing,

Captain’s on deck, old sailors singing.

Adrift in time for many a year,

brass shone bright, decks scrubbed bare.

Beards grown long, spirits grown weak,

searching endlessly for the end they seek

I asked many questions and he of I.

“How did you come to fall from the clear blue sky?”

He shrugged and answered “balloons in the sun.”

He asked how the war went; I said “you won”

Pleased by the news, great joy was abound.

The captain and crew, spirits were found.

We told him our location, name and job.

He told us the story of his great flying blob.

“I built her to survey the rogue enemy.

Launched in the spring, eighteen sixty-three.

But she rose too quickly and at too fast a pace.

Caught in a current and thrust into space.

She’s wrapped in layers of thick blubber.

Fin of spruce to serve as rudder.

A ship out of water floating in space,

propelled by methane made from our waste.

And in her belly the mighty tree grew;

wood for repairs, air for the crew.

Trimmed to perfection, nurtured with care,

the trees demise is all that we fear.”

“The tree is the living when all else seems dead.

Greens for the birds then eggs we are fed.

Twigs feed the fires for heat and our light,

the roots of survival the engine of flight.”

The captain paused for word from the mate.

A decision to make before it’s too late.

The blubber was oozing in the midday sunlight,

absorbing seawater, soon too heavy for flight.

He called out the order to make all lines taut.

Bid us farewell and shared one last thought.

“No matter how far our souls may roam –

the journeys not over until we are home.”

The blob sailed off high in the sky –

then disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The captain and crew homeward at last,

seeing the future, choosing and the past.

The End

Sck092914

Swap Meet

DSCN7253

*

We’re off to the swap meet today.

Dad says its work, I say its play.

Mom thinks it’s all a bunch of junk.

Who needs an old cast iron skunk?

~

Every year since I was two.

Seen the toes of many a shoe.

In my wagon with squeaky wheel,

once pulled string from an old fly reel.

~

Saw a ship of wood, bone and hair.

Dad got nervous, said don’t go there!

Great memories of dad and me.

I wish that mom would come and see.

~

Up before dawn, first at the gate.

If you’re not first, well than you’re late.

I think that second’s also OK.

Don’t follow, go the other way.

~

A laugh a push a yawn and sneeze.

New spring pollen made someone wheeze.

We’re squashed on the fence right up front.

Soon we’ll start a new treasure hunt.

~

The gate opens, I think we won.

I don’t care; I’m here to have fun.

We see faces we’ve seen before.

But the new ones are a lot more.

~

Soon the sun will rise in the sky.

Down the rows with treasures stacked high.

A day of fun, ready to learn,

Something new at every turn.

~

We pass the women in her shawl.

Sits alone, sells nothing at all.

Walking past, I’d wave and say hi.

But never did I catch her eye.

~

But now I’m ten, no chaperon.

Maybe she smiled because I’m grown.

She waved me over to come right in.

Glad to see her never seen grin.

~

I gazed into lots of old stuff,

even the best looked kind of rough.

She told me stories of each thing,

corner chair and ancient nose ring.

~

“I rarely sell my things of old.

They can’t be enjoyed when they’re sold,

loan things to friends once in a while,

like you” she said with a big smile.

~

“I’ve watched you pass since you were small.

On your dads’ shoulders, eight feet tall.

I’ve seen you smile and watched you grow.

Each time passing you’d say hello.

~

Walking past, eyes open wide.

You never dared to come inside.

Talking to strangers is unwise.

If I scare you, I apologize.”

~

She gave me a book that’s quite small,

not too many pages at all.

The book kept dreams lost in your head,

while you were sleeping in your bed.

~

She opened the book to page three.

Then whispered some secrets to me.

“Dreams are wishes stuck in your head.

They only come out when in bed.

~

Sleeping soundly, eyes shut tight,

mind wondering all through the night.

When you wake to start a new day,

write down those dreams before you play.

~

Follow your heart wherever it goes.

Record your trip in lovely prose.

Don’t stop writing until you’re done.

It’s never work when it’s all fun.

~

First open the book carefully.

Than close your eyes and wait to see,

all your dreams will come back to you.

But it might take a week or two.

~

Just be patient, don’t ever fret.

All things good you never forget.

I need not tell you anymore,

complete instructions on page four.”

~

She found a box, it fit just right.

I couldn’t wait to sleep that night.

Tied it up with ribbon and bow.

She gave me hug, told me to go.

~

It’s been a long winter since then.

Yes I’ve used up many a pen.

I wake each morning at sunrise.

Wipe the night’s sleepy’s from my eyes

~

Mom saw me writing early one day.

She asked to see, what could I say?

Together we both read out loud.

We laughed and hugged, she said she’s proud.

~

Now up after dawn, we’re not late.

Family’s first, treasure can wait.

Another year, there’s much to see,

at the swap meet; mom dad and me.

~

I hope to see my new old friend,

I’ll share my news with happy end.

I tried hard and my wish came true.

Now mom comes to the swap meet too!

*

The End

~

sck100914

Available at:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470879

Egg Waits

Awaiting a shells fateful date,
eggs alone beat in wait.
When a pair scrambles to meet,
futures fertile swim to greet.
~
Pairs joined to each a share,
new is made over easy with care.
Hatched a recipe for pure delight,
sliding from heat, home plate’s in sight.
~
Yet time fragile, forking’s no joke,
bad luck befallen bound by yoke.
Getting fried never rehearsed.
And the wait answers which came first.

~*~
SCK121218

Bountiful Blossoms Blooming

Where bumble bees sing to morning blooms,
sunshine fills sleepy rooms.
Little birds chirp to ring in the day.
The town folk thrive and children play.
~
Evening’s all spent cozy and warm;
everyone huddles at word of a storm.
With a common goal of tranquility,
their smiles all share the harmony.
~
Freedom reigns and peace assured,
caring for all, we’re all adored.
And though this place is yet to be found,
in dreams we meet when feet leave the ground.

~*~
SCK020219

Left Behind

Lost in a wandering state of mind,
returning to memories I thought left behind.
A campground awaits from decades of yore,
There’s a lake nearby and nature galore.

Summers there filled with family and friends,
as the specter of youth unknowingly ends.
The journey’s now short to a time long past.
My cabin soon appears while the sun fades fast.

The sky was clear, blues deepened to black.
The stars shone bright, they welcomed me back.
I relaxed on the porch and sipped iced tea,
my friends due tomorrow the night was for me.

With waning moon the damp mist rose,
crickets serenaded, eyes started to close.
Blissful sensations then the start of dreams,
when startled was I by familiar screams.

Dolly, Dolly, Dolly! was all she ever said,
her childhood taunts now flooding my head.
She’s the ghostly remains of horrors we’d share.
The truth is haunting when better a nightmare.

She would scratch at the screen above my bed.
I’d shriek and shiver and cower with dread.
Mornings would come, I’d report of my fright,
“that little girl’s ghost came to take me last night”.

My brothers would tease and mom consoled,
dad says they’re figments of tales I’ve been told.
But when evenings cool and crescent moon high,
dense fog rose and that child would cry.

Dolly, dolly, dolly is all she would say,
Her bony hand summoned and pointed the way.
Never dared I answer her mournful request.
Silently I’d wait, ignoring my guest.

It’s been many years since last we met.
Time I’ve tried hard, but to never forget.
Now I’ve matured and conscience will decide.
Am I to seek or again shall I hide?

I know not what of this phantoms despair.
Yet together there’s grief we seemingly share.
Her woe is death while mine’s the living.
Each is assured though neither forgiving.

Our paths have crossed, all have an end.
My choice is made by this spirited friend.
With eyes open wide follow I must,
forsaking not, that lost child’s trust.

I rose and leaned forward, held out my hand.
Our fate’s to obey and to command.
We dashed through the field and into the woods.
A moment imagined of pleasant childhoods.

Each step echoes with brittle twig snap.
Till the shadows of trees soon overlap.
To guide my way mere slivers of light,
pursuing my phantom into the night.

Thicket and bramble claw at my skin,
bleeding the courage from deep within.
The worn paths end at fresh fallen leaf,
this forest beyond, beyond my belief.

Spirits roam free where the living don’t tread.
My friend had returned to her life of the dead.
I wished again to hide safe behind closed eyes,
trading this vision for dreams of blue skies.

The girl then pointed at boulders stacked high,
interwoven with brush to hide from the eye.
All layers of shadow, grays deepened to black,
foretelling the depth of crevice and crack.

Her hazy glow grew brighter, eyes more intense,
repeated cries for dolly now making sense.
She’s lost a dear friend and I’m chosen to find.
To abandon now this child was beyond unkind.

Exited are we, our quest’s nearly done.
‘Twas a test of persistence, both surely won.
My mind’s now a flutter, heart beating proud,
grasping in darkness through thick thorny shroud.

Our search going well till that last step was taken,
the ground then vanished, I was tumbled and shaken.
I awoke sometime later to whispers, mumbles and cries.
My new friend stood close as I opened my eyes.

I saw Dolly held tightly and a bustle nearby.
Mourners had grouped where a still body lie.
A lifeless figure with a familiar shape and size.
The live too are familiar, all saying goodbyes.

The little girl thanked me for my many good deeds.
As slowly she faded having found what she needs.
I begged to be taken for I’ve been truly kind.
When last she said “You need first find needs left behind.”

.
Sck021616

A Lonely Princess

Where rocky cliff meets stormy sea,

a castle perched, forever be.

Where gray stone surrounds little seen sky.

‘Twas this fortress a young princess cry.

 .

The princess post birth, her parents delight,

treasured by day, guarded by night.

Feasting with jesters, ponies, puppets and maids,

a gaggle of servants draw bright velvet shades

.

With sentry of knight to share all her dreams,

her eyes shut tight to hide her screams.

Time wasted limitless, she wished for an end.

The princess was lonely without a true friend.

..

One morning awoken by a kiss from a queen,

sleepy eyes opened to a sight seldom seen.

Golden light sparkles in diamond pane rare,

a sapphire morn burns black coal night air.

 .

A tasty breakfast served on tray in bed.

Downy pillows fluffed to rest her head.

The king arrived more jolly than ever,

with riddle to solve, if anyone clever.

 .

“What may have wings cannot fly.

Holds a heart yet cannot die.

Shaken pitch laughs off rain.

Having one a princess to gain?”

.

The joyous young girl made many a guess.

The kings’ piddling patience grew less and less.

The queen and knights all had a try.

The king muttered “castle!” with a loud sigh.

.

The room bemused by the riddler’s zeal.

Most unconcerned with how others feel.

A castle repeated in more pleasant a tone,

a home for a princess to call her own.

 .

But first a short trip outside the wall,

where grass tickles feet and trees grow tall.

There are lessons to learn from tutors wise.

There are truths to see with growing eyes.

.

Now’s time a princess must prepare,

for the eventual call of a prince to be dear.

A someday king awaits his throne,

whence you shall rest upon your own.

 .

The princess knew the day would come,

a bartered prize as was her Mum.

No fairy tale endings for spawn of kings.

“Tis a life shackled with heavy gold rings.

 .

Adventure awaits, no time for self-pity,

freedom’s short locked in a stone city.

Knowledge abounds beyond heavy gates.

The princess skips past on worn ancient slates.

.

Beneath a fine bonnet of satin and lace,

excitement glowed on her adolescent face.

Her velvet shoes barely touching the dirt,

a merry cyclone a-swirl in silk skirt.

.

Her mentor soon waves from path by wood.

Magical flora beckons, some bad, some good.

Wonders overwhelm in green forest lush.

An ocean of emeralds painted with brush.

 .

With each lash a-flutter bursts a new color.

Light and shades multiply them all more.

With the thirst of a sponge she did explore,

where surprises abound when not looked for.

 .

A gentle breeze blew, a little leaf flew,

bright sky filled in the space anew

A ray of sunlight kissed a shiny stone.

Atop a bed of dewy leaf it rests alone.

 .

With a tiny tap upon its shimmering side,

the distant fates of two collide.

Surface cracking on this egg thought stone,

a heartbeat wakened with thunderous tone.

.

Out popped a plump lump, beneath wings of scale.

A pat on the rump exposed its long tail.

A final stretch thrust shell shards to leaf.

And there lie a creature beyond belief.

 .

Warm smiles shared with a new friend.

A precious little pearl, the girl’s to defend.

The gazes shattered by a howl from the trail,

‘twas the elderly teacher, impatient and frail.

 .

The princess knew what had to be done.

The babe hid under her bonnet and bun.

Down the path she ran back to the gate.

Yelled to the guards “The teacher was late”

 .

Gates barely open she slipped through the crack,

escaping notice of the tail down her back.

Safe in her chamber they shared the night’s meal,

both sharing puckers with fresh lemon peel.

 .

Then swathed in plush robes, kissed on the head,

the fledgling was tucked safely under the bed.

Each night passing, more robes to conceal,

this teething tot with big teeth that’s real.

 .

Each day growing from the princess’s scraps,

she grew thinner, now padded with straps.

The servants grew nervous at both the sight,

one lie near weightless, one flew in the night.

.

The princess’s secret though soon was known,

when her expanding friend went out alone.

The knights became dazed by armored flight,

their swords no match for the hunger of night.

.

The king and queen where too nearly maimed.

Pawns, bishops and rooks where all to be blamed.

A wizard was called to tame the toddler beast.

His tenure cut short when almost a feast.

 .

The creature now huge, truly loved the girl.

She called her Sunshine, the princess’s Pearl.

Together they frolicked on the castle rooftop.

The king spying danger called for a stop.

 .

Shouting “time’s come to put childhood behind,

It’s now time to marry, I’ve someone in mind.

He’s brave, sweet, wise and kind, at least I’m told.

There’ll be time to adjust as you both grow old.”

.

Escorted by king to a royal coach and four,

off to be locked behind another gilded door.

Her fate was sealed by a noble families need,

alliances grown with common regal seed.

.

But with a twist, jerk and a naughty giggle,

the squiggly princess was free now to wiggle.

Breaking free, running fast, past all unaware.

She zigged and zagged toward the rooftop stair.

 .

Screaming loudly for her only friend Pearl,

who tried to save the much pursued girl.

A guard with a pike held Pearl on a chain.

Blocking the Sunshine’s escape of the reign.

 .

Seeing her friend at the top of the stair,

Pearl snapped her links then into the air.

The petrified guard fled from his post,

grabbing for Sunshine he’d surely be toast.

 .

The princess ran to the edge of the roof,

yelling to Pearl, she feared aloof.

The big eared beast sharply turned about,

hearing her Sunshine’s gloomy shout

 .

The king with guards, knights and queen,

Stormed to the roof unprepared for what’s seen.

The princess looked back, blew a kiss to her mother,

and a warm thoughtful wave to all the other.

.

Then with a carefree step she disappeared.

Plunging to her sudden death, or so was feared.

The mortified lookers all lunged for the ledge.

Hoping the princess landed safe in a hedge.

.

The king peeked over, not wanting to see,

when up rose his honey like a big bumble bee.

She hung from the neck of her dear friend Pearl,

now bonded for life, this dragon and girl.

 .

Higher she climbed with a dragons eye view,

a view to be viewed by a very small few.

Now all surveyed, now all her realm,

Sunshine’s the captain, Pearl the helm.

.

Over forest and mountains, ocean and stream,

free in a world where she need not dream.

Adrift on her Pearl upon the endless sea,

Alone they now be in their realm of fantasy.

.

The king broken-hearted wept in his sleep.

The queen stricken ill with never a peep.

They later agreed to bare a new heir,

whether girl or boy was not a care.

 .

The next child’s fate was sure to be better,

born free of mind and trappings that clutter.

With a loving heart nurtured by family and friends,

then given the choices to choose their own ends.

 .

The princess returned in time for the birth.

The kingdom was full of merriment and mirth.

The princess enchanted with her friend who flew.

And all ends happily as fairy tales all do.

 *

The End

Sck121418