story

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

Keeping Spirits

Nature batters, scarring far and wide.
Forgotten battles forever tied.
Man and rock bear the loss of all who’ve died.
Rugged faces change with the changing of a tide.

Keeping the wary from a watery hell,
a craggy post a dutiful keeper dwell.
Keeping by day his glass shined bright,
by night he keeps his flame alight.

Warning all comers never to near,
this beacon of virtue is only to fear.
Bravely they stand against wind and wave,
the ocean master, keeper slave.

Chores of many, companions none.
Sleep begins when work is done.
Ventures end before the dark.
His light stands silent awaiting spark.

Beyond this rock and choppy cove,
a small town lie where tales are wove.
Stories of stormy seas abound,
and faraway lands where treasure’s found.

In town sits a churchyard overlooking the sea.
Where the keeper visits when a calm day’s free.
Collects his needs quickly, no time for desire.
His row is long to return to his fire.

Scores of seasons drifted behind.
The keeper and kept, two of a kind.
Their toils unnoticed, yet seen by all.
Keeping kept the keepers call.

Reflections of stars upon the sea.
Infinite horizons awaiting he.
A beacon to all, his lamp not aglow.
To see the light the keep did go.

The town sad for their keeper unknown.
He was buried with care as one of their own.
At the edge of the churchyard lie the keep.
With eternal vistas of the light and the deep.

Dozens of keepers tried to keep.
All had left quickly, missing their sleep.
Stories told of the old keeper’s ghost.
A most spirited and demanding of host.

He rattled windows and slammed doors,
once hid away the old rowboats oars.
His steps are heard on the stairs all night,
sometimes blowing out the lighthouse’s light.

On a chilly morn some years past,
a storm was brewing, approaching fast.
A hardy young sailor paddled for the light,
racing the waves ahead of the night.

With setting sun and drenching rain,
wind and waves pummeled, no refrain.
Shores altered with the rising tide,
The hilltop churchyard couldn’t hide.

The keeper’s remains returned to sea.
The young sailor now keeps – happily.
And ever since that fateful day,
the old keeps spirit kept at bay.

Sck102415dft

Jen & Ben’s Afternoon

Jen & Ben – Part 2

~

Back in the car, strapped in their seat

Mom weaves through the lot onto the street

There’s bunches more cars than before

It’ll be a long ride home, that’s for sure

.

Jen’s dozing off with the music down low

Ben tries not to, but he’s starting to go

Mom takes a corner onto their street

Ben perks up, kicking his feet

 .

Today’s long journey was soon to end

Jen wakes up and sees a friend

There are smiles and waves all around

Everyone’s friends in their little town

 .

Jen sees a school bus and wave’s hello

Ben asks mom why they didn’t go

Mom explains that they’ll go soon

Jen wants to go that afternoon

 .

Mom pulls in the drive they unpack the car

Then a break for all, mom plays her guitar

Jen starts dancing, Ben plays drums

Table-top thumping with fingers and thumbs

 .

Now upside down, the hands on the clock

Soon dad will be home and we’ll take a walk

But first is supper and the twins can’t wait

Tonight’s twisty spaghetti’s that’ll be great

 .

Jen likes them cut with not much sauce

Ben likes them long, to slurp of course

There’s green beans and bread on the side

With glasses of milk for pink smiles wide.

 .

Now’s time for dessert, it’s pie with fruit

Mom’s whip cream nose is extra cute

Jen tries it too then Ben and dad

The funniest dessert they’ve ever had.

.

Now’s time to clean up then a short walk

Back at home they make puzzles and talk

The twins get sleepy, bath time’s soon

It’s time to wash off their fun afternoon

 .

Now’s time for bed, time to choose, no concern

Whether the top or bottom, each has a turn

The top has adventures, but dark at night

The bottom’s bunk cozy with never a fright

 .

Ben gets the top, he’s thinking of space

Jen picks the bottom, her quiet place

Mom reads a book, Ben watches the moon

Jens eyes start to close, all to dream soon

 .

Now dad comes in, his turn at dishes done

But everyone’s too tired to have more fun

He reads the last pages of the twin’s new book

Then kisses goodnight, mom takes a last look

 .

Kitty’s close by on her window sill

Dad flicks the switch and all is still

The twins now asleep in their night lights glow

Dreaming of stories they’ll share – tomorrow

 ~

To be continued…

* 

Sck012015

Jen and Ben

Jen and Ben, they’re a silly pair,

they are twins with bright red hair.

One wears it short the other long.

One’s always right, one’s never wrong.

 .

They’ve been together since day one,

always happy, always fun.

They dress the same most every day,

pj’s for bed and overalls for play.

 .

One is bright and one is sunny.

One’s more sweet, one’s more funny.

Both love to giggle all the time.

Or they sing loudly, a nursery rhyme.

 .

One likes to run, one likes to jump.

One gets a bruise the other a bump.

In the backyard, their favorite place,

Today’s the day for the big race.

.

Teddy’s in the carriage, pushed too fast.

Bunny’s in the wagon soon to be past.

The tree is near, the race is done,

It’s a tie, they both won.

.

Now mom’s calling, time to eat,

something yummy then a treat.

First a wash of hands and a comb of hair,

then mom helps them up into the chair.

.

Yeah! It’s celery sticks with peanut butter,

then an oatmeal cookie like no other.

Mom baked them fresh, just today,

with raisins and nuts, just our way.

 .

Then it’s time to help mom clean,

There’s never a spill or crumb to be seen.

Then the pair find pillows to share,

for a nap with bunny and bear.

.

Snuggling atop their blanket for two,

Mom reads aloud something that’s new.

But first funny faces silence then yawns,

followed by dreams of swings and lawns.

.

But a nap’s never long when kitty’s about,

A nose-tickling tail serves as a shout.

The twins awake in a flash, ready to play.

But mom has some errands to do today.

.

First a surprise, a trip to the park,

the twin’s sleepy faces light with a spark.

There are swings there and a tall slide.

Jen climbs bars, Ben finds places to hide.

 .

They see other kids who know their names.

Then together they play jumping games.

Ben jumps high and Jen jumps far.

They all jump together back to the car.

 .

Mom hops in and turns the radio up.

Jen plays drums on her sippy-cup.

Ben sings along snug in his car-seat.

All banded together to a favorite beat.

.

Then off to the store and away they go,

reading the signs that they all know.

Ben gets excited by a speedy fire truck.

Jen giggles at a waddling road crossing duck.

.

They stop at a light that’s yellow then red.

Green means go! – to the store just ahead.

The wheels turn and blinkers blink,

Mom hit a bump, Ben spilled his drink.

.

Parked in the lot mom finds a cart,

with a wobbly wheel and a shaky start.

Through the door that opens like magic.

Ben waves his arm, pretending it’s his trick.

.

Their carriage a fortress, tank and ship,

sailing down aisles in search of bean dip.

With Jen in the seat and Ben in the back,

they guard the goodies in case of attack.

.

Jen checks off the list and grabs for a treat.

Sometimes mom finds them under the seat.

The breads now a pillow for Ben’s sleepy head.

So Jen gets to pick the new book to be read.

 .

At the check-out they chat with some friends.

Mom’s chat with the grocer never ends.

The carriage ride bumpy back to the car.

But that’s okay it isn’t too far.

.

Plus there’s a hill that goes that way.

So mom jumps on and we all get to play.

Everybody helps putting bags in the back.

Then a surprise, it’s a new kind of snack.

 .

They both get a straw for juice to share.

A flavor for each of the silly pair,

one likes the lemon and the other lime.

But that’s a story for another time.

.

To be continued…

~ 

Sck010915

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

Goldies Luck

~

There once were three bears living in the wood.

A small happy family, their life was good.

While out one day picking berries to munch,

a boy chanced by their cabin smelling of lunch.

.

He knocked on the door but no answer returned.

So he walked right in for the meal he yearned.

First he saw a fish stew with fins and a tail,

till luckily finding jellies and honey in a pail.

.

A feast this sweet thought he cannot be ignored,

so he nibbled, dribbled, slurped and then snored.

He woke sometime later with his teddy close by.

He thought it a dream till Teddy said “Hi”

.

The boy tried getting up to run for the door

But sleeping in honey made him stick to the floor

The little bear giggled and papa was mad.

Mama bear unstuck him and the little boy’s glad.

.

Then he’s off to the tub to scrub off the goo.

His lips staying stained a bright jelly blue.

He then cuddled by a fire feeling warm and dry.

While mama finds a recipe for a golden top pie.

.

After their lunch the bunch are full once more.

The little ones dashed to the forest to explore.

The boy returned stung by bees, wasps and fleas,

with scrapes and bruises on his hands and knees.

.

There’s dirt and rashes covering the rest,

that poor little boy was quite a mess.

He then nursed with care by the big mama bear,

while papa bear dozes in his huge favorite chair.

.

The little cub sent to finds some PJ’s to wear.

Then it’s time to sleep in a bed they all share.

After weeks of bear life the food made him ill.

Yet bears have no doctors or get well pill.

.

Papa bear knew what had to be done.

So to town he ventured with the rising sun.

The boy held secure, they arrived near noon.

Police with guns surrounded them soon.

.

The bear roared “Don’t shoot, I mean no harm.”

The little boy wiggled his weak little arm.

The shooters stood down until help arrived.

Watchful eyes waited for the boy to be revived.

.

Papa soon freed, went home and lived well.

The boy recovered then surely caught hell.

All knew the boy lucky surviving this time,

though chances golden when writing the rhyme.

.

And as with all tales there’s a lesson taught,

That running away won’t find what’s sought.

And if you chance a bear on some future journey,

good luck to you and say hello, from me.

~*~

sck013116

Forest of Hell

Colorless leaf crackle beneath sole-less feet.

The smell of death lingers sweet.

Bramble thick draws blood on paper skin,

digging more deeply the deeper within.

 *

Then starlight fades to the darkness I fear,

moonlight shadows disappear.

Columns abound supporting endless night,

numbers multiply consuming the light.

 *

Welcome dew hangs heavy in unseen air,

to drink deep I do not dare.

Outstretched hands replace teary useless eyes.

Senses heightened, alert of endless cries.

 *

Vibrations of night; soft, loud, far and near,

distant from all, we all hold dear.

Wanting now only to curl-up and weep,

my soul is still for the sickle to reap.

 *

Return to the path I lost yesterday,

blackness turns slowly to gray.

Long nights journey in the forest of hell,

surviving again, except for my shell.

 *

The End

*

sck~ c.2014

The Fragrance of Fickle Follies

Where jester’s king and knights a daze,
sunsets fade to a mushroom haze.
In castles walled the future’s stalled,
the heat of the moment is to forever scald.
~
When dollars found is sense lost,
we’re all to share the eventual cost.
For horizons lured never reached,
minds obstructed always breached.
~
Yet an open mind like and open gate,
frees the fears, ignorance and hate.
And whilst moats are filled from the waste within,
their funny stench is where their ends begin.

~*~
SCK020319

Shades of Gray

I’ve got birds in my gutters,
bats in my shed,
mice in the basement
and cobwebs in my head.
~
I got up really early,
but I’ve nothing good to do.
I’d like to take a walk,
but I only found one shoe.
~
I’d love a cup of coffee.
But the water I can’t drink.
I turned on the faucet
and sludge filled my sink.
~
But the sun is soon to rise,
I’ll see a brighter day.
Though rain’s in the forecast,
there’s darker shades of gray.

~*~
SCK070223

It’s All Pluckin’ Good

Hello friend, can you please spare a buck?
Sorry for asking but I’m down on my luck.
The wife kicked me out and kept my old truck.
She smashed my guitar, now I’ve nothin’ to pluck.
~
She said I’m lazy and got no ambition.
I said her happiness is my only mission.
I do what I can, but ain’t no magician.
Tell ya the truth I’d rather be fishin’.
~
But she kept my rods too, locked in the shed.
And she found all the money hid under the bed.
She threw the good pan right at my head.
She mighta been pretty but she ain’t well bred.
~
She’s as strong as an ox, same size too.
She wears a men’s size twelve shoe.
And when she smiles my brain turns to goo.
But she’s gone now, I’ll have to make do.
~
Just a buck, friend, that’s all I need.
I’d ask for more but that be greed.
I don’t need much, I’m easy to feed.
I can’t be a beggar, but I will plead.
~
Thank you, friend, for sparing that buck.
I’m thinkin’ this is a change in my luck.
I can walk, damn it, I don’t need no truck.
Thank you, friend, for returning my pluck.

~*~
SCK072925

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

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

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

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

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.

~*~
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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.

~*~
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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

Bird Brains

I woke up early and the sky was gray.
The world’s in turmoil yet I’ve little to say.
But the birds are happy in the mulberry tree.
I can hear them laughing, maybe at me.
~
They see our world from high above,
whether gull, robin or mourning dove.
Their time alive is soaring free,
while looking down on you and me.
~
For if to fly like a bird,
we’d then flock but never herd.
We’d hatch into a nest well made,
free of worry cos no rent’s paid.
~
Just think of the places we could go.
We could fly south before the snow.
We could eat berries, bugs and worms,
pretty much anything that wiggles or squirms.
~
There’d be no alarms or jobs we hate.
We could fly to the stars our very first date.
Then glide back down to a favorite tree.
There we’d rest harmoniously.
~
But we’re not birds and that’s a shame.
Our lives are grounded and mostly tame.
But if to wish on this day that’s gray,
I’d poop on those who stand in the way.
~
So maybe my wish is not about birds.
It’s about people I think are turds,
those who’ve prevented a world of peace,
for you and me and a gaggle of geese.

~*~
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Easter’s Egging

~*~

The church bell rang and doors flung wide.

We raised our heads and ran outside.

Sitting’s done, now’s time for fun.

Our Easter egg hunt has now begun.

.

It’s a perfect day with bright sunshine.

Our baskets ready we waited in line.

Till all were scattered on the count of three,

in every direction kids ran free.

.

I ran first to my favorite tree.

I found it’s the favorite of not just me.

So off to the hedge where eggs always found,

none’s left there so to the playground.

.

While the others searched I rode the swing.

When they had gone I heard birds sing.

I glanced to the trees and sounds nearby.

Then off jumped I and into the sky.

.

I landed in sand on two feet and one hand,

then a tumble or two and up I stand.

I turned to the fence where tall trees grew-

to search for a prize of an egg or two.

.

The chirps grew louder with each step I took.

Did they tell me to leave or tell me to look?

I kneeled near bushes and peeked below.

I stuck in my hand as far as would go.

.

Feeling around for a tasty surprise,

I pulled out an egg but smaller in size.

Holding tight it felt warm to the touch.

Then I knew why that bird chirped so much.

.

Gently I put the egg down on the ground,

took a few steps back not making a sound.

A whistle blew, the hunt was now done.

But silently I waited in the midday sun.

.

My basket is broken and clothes dirty and torn.

I knew I’d face my mother’s scorn.

But there’s more to life than clothes un-ripped.

There are some events that can’t be skipped.

.

There’s saving the things that you love.

Then a bird swooped down from above

She tapped the shell lightly with her beak.

A tiny head popped out to take a peek.

.

The mom  nudged her chick back into the bush.

Her frightful chirping turned to a shush

Then another whistle blew, louder than ever.

To stay any longer just wouldn’t be clever.

.

I hurried back, joining up with the rest.

Our search was now over finding the best.

My cousin won second, they had four.

I found just one but I think I won more.

~*~

Sck030916

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