The Bull (Short Story)

“Its been a very long time since we had any visitors.”

 

A palpable silence drifted in the open door, riding on the winter wind, and lingered between the two men. Behind the young one were the unsalted deck and a vast, expansive whiteness. The hills of the badlands lost definition when the snows came. Behind the old one was a well furnished, rustic farmhouse interior. True inspection of the decor dated it, and a fine layer of dust covered every unused inch of the space.

Continue reading

Pantoums I Stole

I teach a creative writing course. I tasked my class with writing Pantoums or “found” poetry, where you lines from other people’s work to recompose a piece. I wrote two myself, using both prompts together. They suck, so they get to get posted here.

 

The Back Ups

 

When my mind is uncertain, my body decides

I laugh till I cry, I party all of the time

I’ve got them bad boy blues, baby

I need a spiritual cleansing.

 

I laugh till I cry, I party all of the time,

I don’t know what I’m gonna do

I need a spiritual cleansing

I like the in-betweens.

 

I don’t know what I’m gonna do

And there is someone out there just like me.

like the in-betweens,

I wanna contribute to the chaos.

 

There is someone out there just like me,

With them bad boy blues,

Wanting to contribute to the chaos.

 

And when my mind is uncertain, my body decides.

 

Shaky

 

Take a chance, roll them bones

Yeah, try to make a dollar from the grave

To fame and fire, to dame and dandy

I’ve got nothing on my mind but you

 

Try to make a dollar from the grave,

I know you can see it in my eyes

I’ve got nothing on my mind but you

One-track mind, one-way street

 

I know you can see it in my eyes

Who knew a man’s fate was such a hard thing to find

One-track mind, one-way street

Here I come, bored and lazy, here I come, no dignity

 

Who knew a man’s fate was such a hard thing to find

To fame and fire, to dame and dandy,

Here I come, bored and lazy, here I come, no dignity,

Yea, take a chance, roll them bones.

The Marriage of Samhain and Pomona (Old Poem)

A piece from this time last year. Little Halloween history poem for y’all…

 

The Marriage of Samhain and Pomona

 

I stumbled through all that fall foliage

To perform my duty as the last druid

And wed them before the full moon.

 

Ceremony aside, I aimed to find

A vampyre or witch to lie with

And send up magick sparks

Next to all those escaping bonfires.

 

Goal in mind, I was rather taken back

When asked to proceed to the bedding

And assist in some manner personal.

 

Samhain, brute he be

Wrapped me in his crimson arms

And asked this favor of me,

Bed Pomona in place of he.

 

She was too foreign a taste

A bitter little drink,

not what he wanted in a wife.

 

For her part, Samhain told me

This was her idea,

She did not want his stains on her robe

Nor the wild in her.

 

Thrice I declined, and thrice

They pushed and pulled,

Groping hands moving in waves

 

The moans of our lovemaking

Sent the beasts into a frenzy,

Such divinations I’ve never seen

As when Samhain forced Pomona on me.

 

They stuck an apple in my mouth

And a spit through my back,

Let a fire take the mattress

 

What a feast, at the midnight wedding

What beasts, my vampyre and witch

What release, this consumption of my flesh

What an end to the last druid priest.

Reveries (Fresh Poem)

Do you remember that summer

On the coast

When we walked on grey pebbles

And you didn’t ever wear shoes

Preferring to develop calluses and wounds

And leak blood into the Pacific

 

Do you remember that summer we spent

Washing whale bones

And you tried to teach me

Arabic phrases?

I know your secret now

All those stolen tongues

 

We stood in place                                                      We ran into each wave

Watching the sunrise                                               and I held you under

Watching the sunset                                                 The current for too long

And when it vanished we                                        cause I never learned to say no

Dug up the shoreline                                                 and you called it refreshing,

To see what it left behind                                        offered to do the same for me

 

Do you remember how the car

Choked and coughed

When we forced it up that hill

The one with overgrown firs

And all the turnouts

To catch a glimpse of bathing deities

 

Do you remember that look on your father’s face

When I brought you home late

Smelling of beer and raspberry stains

In your hair, our only excuse

Was that we were both Leos

 

Do you remember that summer

We stood in place

Smelling of beer and raspberry stained

And you didn’t wear shoes

And made me say things like

Ana Bahebak Ya Amar

Cause I never learned to say no.

Entry #22

Officers Parker and Bishop shuffled down the steep scree field, sending smaller rocks racing out under their heavy feet to the bottom of the coulee. They had parked behind the ambulance, which itself had been parked behind the fire chief’s rig, which was further parked behind the logging truck that had first stopped and called in the crash. The guardrail was severely mangled, like a great beast had come along and shredded its rusty contours with razor-sharp claws. It was that time of day where the sun had just begun its travels off to other parts of the world, and the mountains and trees were casting jagged shadows that danced as the emergency service lights all spun around at different speeds. The bottom of the ravine was home to numerous small shrubs and a creek that gurgled by gaily with little to no regard to the horrendous addition the mangled truck had made.

 

Both deputies had heard over the radio who exactly it was that had been ejected from the driver’s seat. Both couldn’t help but think it was related to the Nice case, yet both were determined to not let the paperwork from this incident join that growing pile of shit.

 

Continue reading

If Hemingway Wrote My Life

The Teacher watched the bubbles race each other to the surface of his drink. It was a bastard drink, 7-Up and Knob Creek Whiskey on ice. It was the yellow of an ale and had almost no bite. He could have sworn he put in several fingers of the whiskey, but the soda held all the bite at bay. It was good and sweet in the late afternoon. It made his mind at ease at first swig.

Continue reading

The Last Poem I Ever Wrote

I’m slurping down my ghouls with whiskey shots

Suppress and deny

 

Suppress and deny.

 

I finally found out what is wrong with me

My face isn’t symmetrical,

 

My face isn’t symmetrical

So how dare you expect me to contribute

To society.

 

The left eye is lazy,

The crows feet are different heights,

There are already crows feet,

One eye is sadder than the other,

The hair doesn’t line up,

There are already crows feet,

One eyebrow is intense

And it ain’t the right one,

Or the right one,

The left eye is lazy,

My face isn’t symmetrical.

 

How can you expect me to contribute

To society?

 

All the friends keep saying,

“It’ll be good.”

But I never was a friend with smart folk.

This will have to be the last poem I ever wrote

Until I drink whiskey again.

 

 

 

Even then,

My face isn’t symmetrical

And these ghouls keep sharpening my teeth

On their way down.