The Dark- Poetry

Where there is light, there is darkness in the shades
And where there is dark, only silence pervades
To those entrapped, entangled in the void...
Where should peace stand?
For only death speaks of it.
And where there is life, death resides in the current
Flowing atop mountainous tidal waves
And where there is death, life is experienced
Beneath the knaves of scathing decadence
To live and die a life-like lie
Is to know all and only these things which haunt us...
Appearing oft and all too ominous...

Stephanie- Poetry

Ode to you
Whose beauty...
Stopped me dead in my tracks
Your goddess aura
Puts the wonderous myths to shame

How God can create
Such a sight so untamed
And I am here...
Wishing to have you
To look into your eyes
And hear your words
For such music absorbs my soul
For I long to truly know and love you

When I felt as though
The impressions scarlet in you turned grey, the vague
Haunt for lust tortured the blue into something untrue

You made me see
More than this world
We will soon leave behind

So ode you you
Whose beauty is
Full and free
Please be mine, fair Stephanie

Arson Dark -Novel Excerpt

Shady Vale supermarket sat atop a hill overlooking Pike’s Creek Baptist Church. The supermarket could be called a “mom and pop” store as the owners- Daniel and Bonnie Gillespie- owned the business and purchased most of their products from local farmers and food distribution centers. Yet, their customers flocked from local communities and the store was competitive, being the biggest grocer in the refion. With the advent of bigger named franchises infiltrating the community, and because of a tough economy, there was always a chance of going out of business for the Gilespies, which is why Daniel often quipped,
“Damn corporations want to ruin everything I’ve got!”
To which Bonnie would consol,
“No need to be afraid, we have the community. And they’re like family.”
Doubts ran high, however, among the farmers who knew they would have better security by going through those larger companies, and thereby would be able to pass their farms along to future generations.
“You watch him while we enter the store.” A man quarreled with his sister.
“No! We should’ve kept him at home in bed!” The sister remarked.
By their side was a man in his late 70s, and grandfather of the two who also happened to be supporting them by providing a home and food with retirement pension from the Navy. His Alzheimer’s was in its earliest phase, and it would only get worse for him as he’d often forget where he was and who he was. Delusional, he stumbled, then leaned on his grandson’s shoulder.
“Let’s just go!” The sister growled before angrily shoving into Shady Vale.
As they did so, their grandfather belched loudly and grunted out,
“The fires coming your way, ingrates!”
This, to be sure, drew great attention from the small crowd of people gathered in the grocer. They dull, grey and blue eyes sat upon the old man, some smirking, some pointing and laughing quietly. The baggers and cashiers also stood silent, their empty eyes piercing the trio.
“Take him down the isle, I’ll get what I can find. Just stay with him.” The brother said authoritively.
The sister placed the old man’s arm around her shoulder and supported his weight down the middle of the store, cutting into the crowd, still laughing and pointing at the old man teasingly.
“Three loaves of bread, three gallons of milk, and three tubs of butter.” The old man mumbled.
Pigs heart was on sale in bundles just as the heart of the twon seemed to be obscured and easily taken over. Their midst overrun with rumors and conformity that the most obsolete and obscure thought should be hammered into their ideology like a rusty nail standing out in the summer heat along a splintery, wooden fence.
“That old fucking man over there has lost it.” A man in a cowboy hat whispered to his eight year old daughter.
Daniel, staging and cleaning a shelf of dried goods overheard the man and walked to him, an angry scowl on his face. He approached him, and, after flipping the cowboy hat off, bellowed,
“Anybody from around here, and anybody period , in my store, is a customer! You just remember that Todd!”
The daughter, in her pink and white pokadotted dress, stared up at her father anticipating his next move.
“Well you just keep an eye on that senile old quack. He scared my daughter half to death with that six six six crap! Who the hell needs three gallons of milk?” Todd quipped.
Daniel, with a quick glance at Bonnie, grabbed Todd by the collar and forcefully escorted him out of the store, the daughter in shock, following mechanically. Once they arrived at the entrance, Daniel flung him out, shouting,
“Go to wherever ignorance thrives. I don’t want you here no more!”
Todd stumbled outside, spit out his chewing tobacco, creating a nasty puddle of mucus and brown liquid, and took his daughter by the hand.
“Let’s go, we’re not welcomed here.” He said genty.
The two headed to their car in the snow-riddled parking lot. Impending doom stood straight, its contenance relying on the town’s oblivious nature. For about a mile out, the smell of gasoling loomed about the First Baptist Church on Herd’s Avenue. Inside Shady Vale, the old man and the sister crept into the beer cave, finding refuge from the onslaught of prying eyes and angry faces. The brother gathered the groceries in a cart and was checking out. He caught a glimpse of where his sister had stood and nodded. After he paid, the sister and grandfather rejoined him, appearing as puppet and puppet master would, shuffling along until meeting him. Once outside, they stopped, an expression of awe shared by each of them.

What Drives You? -Poetry

What is it that drives you? I ask the man in blue
For the cufflings are gold laden, and they’ve paled, school
Now letting out, the breaches are left stoic
The turbulence of a life so insane, ultramafic
In the lava, in the ashes
Heroes and ghosts, syringes and relapses
For that thing called the soul is placed on a leash
Once the lease is left unpaid, the pavement leeches
For the veins, hear the trains
Sleeping on the tracks, hemorrhaging the brain
Awaiting through the cracks, eyes eager and strained
Light breaks with the window, a scream with no sound,,,
No meter or candy-coated spires
Just towers, casteles toppled by fires
And cowards skewering the turf for your cufflings
Watch their hunger sing out through extremes
And all that’s left is the question:
“What drives you?” Juxtaposition
Of words and laughter, smoke in mirrors
Because even death stirs to wake, strikes clearer
Regardless of the day or night
Regardless of our hopes, or sight
And your kingdom sits in place
Awaiting the curious race
Like curious waltzes on storm riddled bays
Caution for steely, drunk-driven strays
March desolate in the winds

Trying to Write- Personal Message

Phew!

I have been working on my novel "Arson Dark" which is now at a whopping 60,000 words.
As for the blog, I have been trying to keep up. Here are two more posts, and hopefully, when the whirlwind known as my life slows down a bit more, I can continue to blog and finish my novel.

Adios and All the Best,
Derrick

Ember-Poetry

In her eyes, a transgression
Ravenous orbs tightly binding each mystifying memory
I remember you, the girl caught in barbed wire and haunting passion
For the harmonious, lengthy world so unexplored and a life so full of mystery
Incredible: This revelation I have of you
To so fully remember that cold, barren December
When Heaven's gate rusted over, and the empyrean world broke through
Our reclusive realm, and gone you were, leaving me with the last bit of warmth
From a hot, burning ember

Suffering...Tranquility- Poetry

For the strongest of men...
Suffering is tranquility
They abide by all that is holy
In knowing
That death
Is merely a succumbing
To the vastness of time
They take guilt in their stride
They ride away, drunken at dawn
Leaving behind the maidens and her sons
To take care of
But within that strength
Comes a weakness...
And it is such when the strongest of men
Can no longer ride away
So he stays, his new maiden alight
In the likeness and mercy of the sun
Until he ceases to breath one morn'

Like Mike- Poetry

I’m a little like Mike
You see, I had an abusive daddy who cheated on my mommy
And my childhood was brought to an end when I tried to make
My father a friend
And instead, he made me enlist
A whole childhood killed, crestfallen, joy desists,
I wore, I can remember, at the age of seven
The white glove on my right hand as I moonwalked
Across the carpeted floor as “Black or White” boomed like thunder
On the radio, and so
The noise was simply more than noise
As what Mike sought were to renew those joys
Through his music and genuine humanity
To those crestfallen individuals and communities
His legacy will haunt and stay with me, for I identified
With more than something most people saw on the outside
You see, what we leave behind speaks louder than what we lived for
And so, through this verse and what my mind bleeds on the paper
The colors black or white, the soul the spike, with greatness in sight, I feel
I’m a little like Mike

The Gate- Poetry

Peccadillo: Your warnings and superstitious chants
That keep society ravelled in a carapace, hid blind and hindered
Curfews, violations, trespassings, and probations
And only so few which appraise myriad gold for the key
To unlock the gate to excess and beyond
Leaving us to fawn and fathom
At what depths behold
Beneath blue oceans bold!
Whereby beneath lies gold
Not wealth, but of bountiful blessings
Whereby questioning becomes scholarly nature
And whichever route you prefer
Is the route you take

But forsake! Forsaken is he
Who hops the gate
No key he possesses
So confine
Make endogenous spree
That each hope, dream
Scorned with abjuration
Keeping all in tight breathing spaces
Until our wills act in admiration
For he who jumps the gate

Trumpets and Horns- A Short Story

It was a quiet, grey ramshackle day. She wore her yellow dress, which radiated in each room, allowing for a new light to appear within the loft. I felt new fascinations looming out of the depths. There would be no place to go today. There would be only that sense of urgency which dons on one who can only look upon their company for entertainment.
“Darling. Please come here.” I called to her.
Without delay, she approached me. I grasped her by the arms and embraced her to my bosom. It was in that moment I felt her and I become one. And I wanted to drive it further.
“You’re sweet. What are you going to do to me?” She asked.
This had stimulated further notions on how I could act out my need for an escape from this cloudy day. I moved my head into her breasts and began to kiss them. I than felt it was time she returned the favor.

Pulling away without struggle, she gently removed the yellow dress, revealing no bra, and a white pair of panties with light pink trim. It was further down I observed her tan slippers exposing her light pink toe nails. I could covet her now, showing thus as I slid her panties down to her knees and kissed her vagina.
She quivered in excitement.
It was sexuality which she was talented at. After she caressed my phallus with her sensitive, beautiful feet, she relaxed on the sofa, waiting for my next move. It was a quaint feeling of passion, and I returned her caress by lifting her up and making love there, suspended in time. And through that time, I noticed the color outside begin to change from a heavy grey into a clear blue. Had our love appeased the heavens? I relaxed, dragging on a cigarette.
“You never disappoint.” She said.
I met her eyes and replied, “Neither you, my love.”
This put her in a state of calm awaiting. For what now, we could not fathom. The day had certainly cleared up, but in so much a manner that we no more knew what to do than some strange beast who’d been trapped in a cage all of its life, and now looked emptily at the broken bars.
I had begun to feel a slight sense of anger at my disposition, so without a word, I sat up, put my cigarette out, and headed toward the door.
“See you in a while I guess?” She asked.
“Perhaps.” I replied.

No more usage than a dead battery. That’s what I felt of my presence in the loft now that the sun was out. I made my way to a small brick building about five blocks from my loft. “Steven A. Gordon- Psycho Analyst.” The sign above displayed. I headed inside to discover the same air of the loft about the place. Steven walked eagerly to me.
“Michel. Good to see you.” He said shaking my hand.
“Always a pleasure Gordon.” I replied.
Gordon’s eyes were bloodshot, and I soon caught onto the smell of marijuana, something he did quite frequently, which made it hard for me to believe just how well he practiced psycho analysis. The few times I had smoked marijuana, I had felt overwhelming anxiety and resolved to never do it again. Somehow, Gordon could stand it and would likely be able to diagnose some form of schizophrenia while high. I would wager money on it.
“Why have you come to see me?” He asked.
“Well, I had a sense of feeling trapped in my home, and thought you could guide me --- through my feelings.” I said jokingly.
“You’re here now. How about we go to see the parade on Lenox Avenue? Or is it the Lenox Avenue Parade?” He asked.
I spoke no more, embracing him in passion. We kissed and felt each other up and down. How I loved so much and could find nothing better to do. He led me into the back room, leaving a sign at the front desk.
Once there, he removed his pants, and I unbuckled my trousers. Once my shirt was off, he began to feel my chest and biceps admiringly.
“You always were a lean devil.” Gordon said huskily.
“You could always suck a cock like I can’t imagine.” I said.
We had been at it for a while. There was one point I recall nearly laughing and blowing our cover when a young man entered somberly. Noticing the sign which read, “Out to lunch. Will return.” he beheld an absurd expression. You see, the time was 2:45 pm, and Gordon’s lunch hour was typically 12 to 1pm. The young man looked at the office door disapprovingly and stormed out. How I could laugh at everyone’s dilemmas.
“You have a sexual addiction.” Gordon spoke softly.
“You love me now, but to what avail? Can you not love me and be with me forever?” He asked quietly.
“Must you place me in such light? For you know I have only the embrace of those who love me. It wouldn’t be fair to them if I loved only one.” I replied.
“The only one you love is yourself.” Gordon said uneasily.

I left his office, feeling the need to escape this trap at once. The sun outside was beginning to be plagued once more by the vicious grey. The young man from earlier was approaching the building, so I walked in the opposite direction, and decided to see the parade. I heard, after all, while I made love to Gordon, the sound of trumpets and horns. A thought appealed to me that I should show my next host courtesy. I hadn’t reacted to my lady mate earlier with the kind of respect one deserves when visiting someone else’s home. Before I could decide just how to make my next host feel comfortable, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of trumpets and horns.

Lenox Avenue buzzed with excitement. It occurred to me that all the denizens in this city must be in attendance. This thought both amazed and amused me. Could they not be engaged in some other form of self abasement? That is what this silly parade stands for to me. I looked on still, and even made an attempt to find myself closer. At the sight of a float resembling some dervish cartoon character, I began to loath the denizens more. At that moment, I had wanted the grey to return to life in the skies, and consume the fabric of this crazy town like a hell spawn moth.
“They only come once a year, that band. Other parades, they don’t participate. I suppose they’re off somewhere playing at a more esteemed event, like say the royal assembly or something.” A man explained to his wife. Their children looked on at the float. Within their eyes, I felt a comfort which I could not understand. Could they be happy with this foolish display? I feared to consider placing myself in the mind of a child, only to become one. My child was one encouraged to learn on his own. I had taken a beating for anything my grandmother deemed unnecessary. I can’t recall what that was. But here, for once, these kids did not fear unnecessary laughter and joy. I walked further along Lenox and down Newman Square.
There resided tall town houses at a distance from the skyscrapers commonplace in the city. Newman Square held some nice coffee shops and newsstands. There were also nightclubs and music venues. I had been to a few, only to feel completely out of place and off center from my core. I made my way to a townhouse which displayed a banner: “Saint’s.”
This was the tavern where I met my good friend, Mia. She was the owner and daughter of a wealthy entrepreneur in the city. I noticed a young man, very handsome, standing at the entrance to the upstairs hallway. Mia’s office was located just on the other end.
“Hello boy.” I said, smiling.
“Do you have an appointment?” He asked.
“Mia Rosen is an old friend of mine. I’ve just stopped in to see her.” I replied
He very clearly wanted my time. He became curiously apprehensive and returned my smile. I began to feel my phallus throb. I leaned close to him and kissed his neck, gently licking the back of his ear. He shuddered in ecstasy. He kissed me lightly on the cheek and whispered, “You can see her, but I definitely have to see you sometime.”
I walked to the end of the hall without looking at him, and lightly opened the door to Mia’s office.
To my surprise, she wasn’t there. I looked back at the boy. It donned on me how clever a setting the empty room was. I gestured my finger for him to come. He did.
We made love in the office. His moans must’ve been heard by someone, but we had not been disturbed. Once again, the trumpets and horns were blaring through the street. Surely that band must’ve circled Newman Square. After we finished up, the boy asked for my name.
“What’s yours?” I mocked.
His face turned red, and before he could reply, Mia entered the office.
“Oh, Michel, nice to see you! Charles, was there something you wanted?” Mia asked.
He was now beet red and looked at me emptily. I remained silent. Mia stepped forward and gestured for him to leave.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Take the rest of the day off.” She instructed.
Charles exited swiftly, without asking questions or making a scene.
“It’s been a strange day, hasn’t it?” Mia asked with a smile.
“Certainly no stranger than what I’m used to.” I replied.
“The parade is so God awful and tiring.” She stated.
I stared at her as she reached into the cabinet along the wall. She retrieved a bottle of Sherry and sat on the desk, looking into my eyes. She cared not that I sat on her seat, or held a manner of someone in charge here. She poured two glasses and let her high heels slip off.
“You like what they did at my recent pedicure?” She asked.
“Oh yes.” I said.
I reached for her feet and smelled. It was the scent of chocolate, and her toe nails were painted white. She slowly removed her pantyhose, and I began to get excited. I drank another glass of Sherry and lit a cigarette. She had pleased me beyond what I could’ve expected.
“I suppose you’ve been practicing?” I asked
“There was a job applicant turned embarrassing moment recently. I guess at first he didn’t catch on to what I was doing, but once I got him started, that was it. He must’ve ejaculated a bucket’s worth all over the place. Needless to say, he didn’t get the job.” Mia explained with a smirk.
I finished my drink and kissed her on the cheek.
“Where are you going?” She asked.
“I love you Mia. Would you like to come to my flat later?” I asked
“You’re joking?” She asked.
“Yes.” I said in final, and closed the door.
That was our typical visit. Once outside of Saint’s tavern, I noticed the grey returning in full form. This made me happy, as I was sure that the parade must be cancelled soon.
Heading back to my flat, I noticed the foolish people still lined up in the streets. I had become drunk, and having looked into one person’s eyes, wished I hadn’t. This man looked at me as if I were a scourge to society. I smiled at him in contempt and continued on, my back to the parade. A sense of hope approached in the form of a light trickle of rain on my shoulders, and by the time the rain fell full throttle, I was sitting comfortably in my chair, reading the papers. My mistress from earlier was in the other room, engaged in the use of a most awful drug, but I cared not.
She opened her door, and stumbled into the kitchen.
“Michel. Do you want something for supper?” She asked.
“Of course. Why don’t you tell me your name again?” I asked
She looked at me stupidly, clearly higher than usual.
“Cynthia.” She said blankly
I now felt as though all was right with the world. This Cynthia had me. I couldn’t escape the grasp of her. Willingly, I became a sexual prisoner day in and out. Never knowing how it began. As I read the weather column, the situation outside worsened by my standards. With the sun in sight between two masses of grey clouds, I heard it again. Like some distant cry from a battlefield. A place I was made to feel unnecessary. I heard it, and I wanted to simply scream. It was the sound of trumpets and horns.

The Devil's Throat- A Short Story

The darker traces of a night long forgotten had all but shaken free from my soul. Half of my compusure blatenly altered, and I all but saved face when confronted with the dear Eliza. Swept underneath an eternal rug, yet could it strike at such an abominal hour! Love, swollen up, filled my lungs as I once longed to breath within hers. That night… That night…

“This is the town festival! We are here to celebrate the declaration of our commonwealth! Be merry and commune!” A man spoke out on a dais, crowds entering the fairgrounds.

The crowds gathered, the blur of faces twirled. Booths, activities, and drinking. Those drinks I drank so cheap and exotic. I drowned in that vice before looming about and stumbling upon old friends, new friends, and enemies just the same. A clown hid underneath a booth until there were enough patrons. Then, boo! He’d pop up and begin a show. He twisted baloons into marvelous shapes, spin twirling nic-nacs, and then… Curiously… Made a child disappear. But where to? I began laughing uncontrollably. I laughed until I cried, only to open my eyes and discover nothing; as it was to begin with. Had I drank the dreaded absinthe? I could only wonder.

A constable approached and began to inquire as to my display of madness.
“Are you lost sir? Forgotten or forgiven?” He asked.
“No.” I replied anxiously.
“If not, let me be the first. I forgive you, even if God cannot. Now go home, drunkard!” He said harshly, then laughed.
I went to take his baton and, once I held it, exploded with anger. Yet, he was gone! Had I been dreaming? I feared to reason with the phantoms around me. Ah! Surely this was real. For I saw a carousel spinning, dazzling my senses until I dropped all of which I sought, staring mesmerized! The soft glow ignited as the carousel sped on. The colors from a light green and red began to twist and contort into scarlet and deathly pale green! It became a magnificent monster, swallowing the children!
“No!” I screamed.

This, to be sure, caught the attention of several adult patrons. Their brief glares motioned to me that I keep away from their children, who began to depart from the ride cautiously. This cruel place! I turned to leave, but a damn gate held me in this hell. I could not surmount thus due to the barbs at the top and mere height of the gate. And within the links, I noticed the clown from earlier. An apparition of a fool! He smiled and gestured with his face- a notion of utter gloom. I ran in anger, swearing to make suffer the bartender. For surely I could not be alone with the effects of this poison.

I saw, in passing, the dais at the medium of the fairgrounds. The speaker, long gone, had surely underscored our communion as holy. For what society could permit this kind of lunacy? Please listen, no peace to which parallels of my sort can find! Surely this was the motive: To blind those of free will! With the false eye of the mentor, I had been led into my own trap.

For he who is lost
The boundary is found
Keep in the ritual tone
The epitaph, lurid shone

Whose great eye, seeing all
Reduced to narrow valleys
Rang low, their cries
Brought into fruition of pride

And surely died, that pride
Heightening the scorn inside


I arrived at the barkeep’s booth. He made little notion that he regarded my presence, yet poured a drink. I grabbed his arm, growling angrily,
“Tell me what have you concocted here? See my death of countenance has commenced. I will kill you if it serves to better my state.”
His eyes narrowed and motioned to a sign, which read:

The devil’s throat

The Barkeep laughed. When I reached for his collar again, he backed away and began to speak,
“I serve only this rum from the desert south of here. The drink was meant to possess the patron-only by their own desires. All of which you’ve seen, thought, and now know- is that which you desire.”
“Please, sir, I require something to numb the effects of this wretched drink! I require to return to my normal state!” I pled.
“Your state is true.” He said in final, then turned away, ignoring me.
As I walked away, I pondered the wonder of the drink. If it’s properties were true, I could command my reality. I could spawn brilliant fancies, brave depths of gluttony, anything… The booth began to shift into a hue of amber, and the barkeep gasped for breath. I have come unto the devil’s throat.
“You die, scum!” I spoke violently.
As he began to vanish from the hostiliry I showed, I felt a great pleasure. For I, the devil, and even those children that sleep shall know my evil. A sworn birth hath come, a birth to fantasy. With a smile, I drank more of the rum, then set half of the fairgrounds ablaze. Suddenly, all of which I partook became greater than my senses could handle. When seeing my crazed demeanor through a sober eye, people would laugh. The younger crowds departed as the night crept on. Only adults remained, and I wanted to absorb them; their very instinct. I wanted to become a God.

The square blackened
Christened night
Loss of pure sight
Untamed, a tune of ruin

Plagues, furies, love
Constantine’s gift to Rome
Grounded, great Gods shone
Into one divinity

A caustic catastrophe
Nowhere near inner-sanctity

I stopped the killing clockwork of lunacy. For my mind became a bullet of such, as if I were spreading the boldest of lore. My eyes sat unto the lady Eliza. Her eyes met mine. In that moment, I felt as though the gears of our universe stopped time altogether. I approached her, stumbling. She had made the decision not to flee from me, although all of what I had given her in the life we had shared was anarchy, and dismal, endless nights. On our very last eve, pain deprived my soul, and I hurt her from the pit of such emotion.
“You, in this light, are quite beautiful. Left to the gamblers here, your true beauty is null.” I said, my eyes glazing over in sin.
She pointed at a man involved in a game. What a fool he was to have left her alone. I grabbed her arm and ran. We made our way to a vacant spot in the fairgrounds. Gazing into her eyes, I wished to speak, but she began speaking, sounding as though her heart resided in each ease-filled word she pronounced,
“You meant well, yet you cannot prove true love in time. I cannot love you, just this once. Please leave me to my pain. For the man you saw can hardly remember my name, but treats me as a housewife. That much, I will become to him.”
The blue of night began to darken into a disdainful black. My anger swelled and a glint of blood made its way into my mind, followed by the thought:
“She’s an illusion!”

I unhinged violently, knocking her back and taking my time deploring the most hideous, indignant force. She lay motionless after my attack. I could not make her vanish.

Alas, I set conjuring the deeds of the devil’s throat. My cell must be five by five in length and width, with one single toilet, and mat to sleep on. I sit here with a grin, facing the end. A guard approaches with a well-dressed man.
“The commonwealth has granted you a last meal and drink.” The well-dressed man spoke.
I twitched, and pleased, responded:
“Yes, I’d like a modest meal. And for a drink, I’d like a quart of the devil’s throat.” I replied.
He nodded, looked to his guard and nodded, and the two walked away silently.

Christmas Only comes Once a Year-Poem

Carols sung around Christmastime
A young boy I knew down in the snows
His peak so far upon the mountains, grey mists
Could only cloud his joys, for a boy knows
That Christmas only comes once a year
And when the presents appear in the mornings so clear
That boy can search inside, see a lump of coal
All of his endeavors unknown as of yet, but listen in the quiet…
Stoic parents coming home afternoons fatigued, no noel
That they sing under their breath, television riot
All a dream and a journey away, but can be seen
As it is shown, not childish, but brilliant in its travesty
Beautiful and bold, the movements restrained
Like the measures of a pain riddled tune
Cartoons on Sunday, animated motions engrained
And once the fog clears, see a full moon
Fathers words harsh, yet mother says, “There is nothing to fear.”
Through the peril, boy remembers, “Christmas only comes once a year.”

Great Lake- Poetry

Are our dreams laden in gold?
Do we dream together through this life we hold?
The many trials we face
Bear faith to painfully erase our pasts
As memorandums set on clocks
And whether or not some shamelessly post them on mirrors
Or work in tandem to make these pains clearer
But ode’ and taken by your many wonders
There lives a glimpse of hope
In knowing that no matter which mast we build
We’re all on the same boat
And as we grow, by our own convictions,
And by purest truth, swift ambition
Shall we stay afloat

Bad Breed, A Short Story

After hours at the cabana stirred a different breed. There was the sues chef from the local grill, a girl from the dance hall, and her counterparts. Let’s not forget the many men and bullocks looking to take advantage of the dunce breed, those women… And they had, with keen interest, a sense of the times. To fucking breed. To send the signal of the seed. Forget mom and dad, they met at the cabana, in their time, and with their intuition, may surely seem stupid to their children now. Those old stories of he said she said must’ve sounded like some alien talk to the youth of the times… Spoiled perverts.
“Chef Michaels always cooks them so they turn out juicy. Most places, you can tell they cooked it wrong, but not at our grill.” The sues chef spoke with the bartender.
“My wife likes to grill lamb. I never understood it. Perhaps she thinks being different is important. But with food?” The bartender explained.
There was a karaoke, and only those without ears could possibly enjoy it. One of the bullocks sang miserably, Moonlight Bay, and one might find, without inquiry, that he was quite drunk. The sues chef smiled at the bartender, nodding toward the bullock.
“Looks like we have our next American Idol.” She said.
“I agree. He’d make a good blooper.” The bartender replied.
On the dance floor, the girl was dancing with a guy, both out of sync.
“Do they enjoy being stupid?” The sues chef asked.
The bartender shook his head. He was an interesting man. His heart was connected to his mind, and he could no longer laugh at the bunch at the cabana. He saw them as a very mixed up, bad breed.

“Where did you say you learned to dance?” The man asked the girl from the dance hall.
“Mary Macomb Academy.” She replied.
The answer she gave was short, and the man could only hope she was as shallow as him.
“I went to State College for a while.” The man spoke.
The girl from the dance hall seemed to ignore his statement, continuing to dance. She rubbed her backside into him. With these kind of moves, what purpose does talking serve?
“So what are you going to do?” The man asked.
She stared down at the floor oddly, then glanced at him for a moment.
“What?” She asked.
He made no reply, continuing to dance with her.
“Apparently you’re doing enough.” He said.
She stopped dancing and approached the table where her friends sat at. He could see them talking, how she began to laugh after her friends glanced at him for a second. They all broke out in laughter. After a painful retreat, he sat down next to his friend, who wore loose fitting jeans, a football jersey, and a bad stare. With a drink in hand, he listened.
“Maybe I just wanted to know her.” He explained to his friend.
“You don’t ’get to know’ anybody at the cabana. You come here, get drunk, get rubbed, and go home with a girl.” His friend replied.
“Why don’t you go ask a girl to dance?” The man asked his friend.
His friend looked at the dance floor. His thoughts seemed to drift to some memory, repelling him from wanting to dance.
“I have my reasons. I’m only here with you and Justin.” He replied.

The sues chef continued to speak with the bartender. The two were on the topic of the war.
“Do we really know what’s going on? They can tell us a million things, and we would have to believe it. Within the realm of opinion though, anyone can see it differently.” She said.
The bartender slid a beer to three college boys to her far right side. One of them smiled and began whispering about the sues chef.
“I think you just sparked interest.” The bartender said to her, motioning his eyes to the three.
She looked at them for a second, and then back to the bartender. She rolled her eyes and smiled.
“Am I sexy?” She asked him.
He seemed to blush, so she returned to the original subject.
“Anyways… What do you think about the war?” She asked.
“In my opinion, anyone who burns us deserves to have their asses handed to them.” He replied
The sues chef looked at the boys, who stared back at her smiling. The ringleader who ordered the beer wore a hoop earring, vintage jeans, aqua t-shirt with an eagle symbol, and an disquieted stare as if some malice had been stirred and boiled below the surface of his composition.
“Hey. What’s going on?” The ringleader asked.
She felt odd, trying to think of an answer. She was unsure of how she felt about the three, noticing how antsy and odd they seemed.
“Nothing much.” She replied, smiling.
Another bullock began to sing karaoke. The bartender noticed how young he was, and began to feel anxious.
“Hey, who is that guy?” He asked the sues chef.
“Oh that, I don’t know.” She replied.
The three boys moved over a few stools and sat next to her.

“Damn!” Justin said to his friends.
“You see that blonde?” He asked pointing to her.
The blonde danced with a few girlfriends, all sporting short, sporty skirts and loose tops. The three were sitting on a black table with cushioned seats watching on. Multicolored lights lit up the table and it’s dwellers like a space ship coming to land. The music boomed and vibrated, so they had to shout to hear one another.
“Yeah!” His friend replied.
“I see her!” The other spoke up.
“She’s coming home with me. Her name’s Jessica!” He explained.
The man who struck out earlier with the dancer looked at the girl enviously.
“What time are you guys going to head out?” He asked.
“I’ll order another drink, then we’ll roll!” He replied, smiling.
“Yeah, your boy here struck out with that dancer. He’s really ashamed!” The friend with the aversion to the dance floor stated.
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of queers on the East side!” Justin joked.
The two looked on drinking their beers. Justin stood up and strode to the dance floor. It got quiet for a minute, and the kid that struck out started to speak,
“You have to know… I mean, I’ve seen it time after time. You get a girl, you don’t try to be her friend. The only way you can score these days is by being a heartless prick. You have to like your beer, your car, your clothing… Hell, man, even your deodorant. Then you’re cultured. At least so as to be on the same level as them, which is slightly cultured, and highly pompous. Guys like Justin could sing the lyrics of a song over and over and over without ever knowing who wrote it. He can laugh at the soda commercials that don’t even have to try anymore. They just show two guys doing something stupid, and Justin will buy it. At least they know their target audience.”
The last friend who sat beside the one with the aversion, Donnie rolled his eyes and poured another drink from the pitcher which sat in the middle of the lit up table.
“You know, Donny… You’re pretty intelligent.” His friend said.
“Don’t sweat it kid. You see that girl over there?” Donny asked, showing him a redhead dancing with her friends.
“That’s who you get. You ask her how she’s doing, then if she’d like to dance. Don’t say shit about what you did in school, what you want to be, or what she wants to be. When you get her alone, and you know you’re going to tap it, tap it. Then find out about her. What‘s your name again man? ” Donny spoke.
“Eric.” The boy replied.
“Alright Eric, go get her! She’s waiting!” Donnie shouted as the music started up again.
Eric smiled and stood up. He took a deep breath and made his way to the redhead.

The bartender began to feel alone, and now that the sues chef was talking to the three guys, most likely predators, he thought, he could focus on the young drunk at the karaoke stage.

The young man had sang three songs already, and needed to be removed. “Three times too many. Who the hell’s buying drinks for him?” The bartender asked himself aloud.

“I’m a sues chef at Davie’s Grill.” She said to the ringleader.
His friends nodded and laughed in silent admiration. They knew she was decent, and innocent. A perfect target.
“Wow. You can cook. You should cook me something sometime.” The ringleader spoke.
The sues chef wasn’t sure how to respond, because she wanted to fit in anywhere she could. There were nights when she would talk to the bartender and drink. That would be it. She was 24, and attended a culinary arts college part time. She had it worked out, but she never really deviated from her parent’s rules. She was still a virgin, and cringed at the sight of some television shows where couples met at bars, told sexually suggestive jokes, and fought. It was as if she had a block against it. But now, she couldn’t identify just how drawn in she was.
“Yeah. My mom can cook pretty good.” The ringleader spoke
“Aw… Your mom. Are you a momma’s boy?” She joked.
His friends laughed at him, teasing,
“Aw. You’re out after curfew!” One shouted.
“Better call the police!” Teased the other.
She laughed along with them, putting pressure on the ringleader.
“It’s about your bedtime, so don’t give me shit, Weasel.” He said to one of his friends.
The sues chef joined began laughing, but stopped after noticing Weasel‘s glare as he sat next to the ringleader impatiently. The bartender hopped over the bar after cutting off the music and walked briskly to the stage. He took the microphone away from the boy, who continued to sing “In this Car“. He grabbed him by the ear and pulled him offstage.
“Hey man! You can’t do that!” One of the boy’s friends argued.
“Shut up!” The bartender shouted to the small crowd that were being entertained by the little singing maudlin.
“Let me see your drivers license.” The bartender demanded.
The young man looked at him stupidly, beginning to get nervous.
“Huh?” He asked.
The bartender reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet.
“September the third, 1989.” The bartender read aloud, shocked by how young he was.
“You’re underage. A minor.” He said before turning to his friends.
“This can cost me my liquor license. I’m giving all of you five minutes to clear out before I call the police!” The bartender shouted to the group.
With looks of surprise and amusement, they began to scramble, and before five minutes elapsed, had cleared out through the back door.

Eric approached the redhead with a confident smile.
“Hi, how are you?” He asked.
She smiled, then her friends walked away, seeming relieved.
“Oh, just fine.” She replied, blushing slightly.
“What’s your name?” He asked her, beginning to feel himself turning red.
“Amy.” She replied.
After a while, Eric realized how smart this girl was. How she liked to talk about schoolwork instead of dance, how she seemed interested in him. He didn’t have to try. He knew he could score with her.
“Would you like to dance?” He asked.
She smiled, still blushing.
“Sure.” She replied.
The two started to dance to another tune, awkwardly at first, but then in rhythm. She was unaware of just how kinky he would be. She was his first experiment, by doing little things like snapping her panty line to her skin like a whip, caress her backside as she grinded into him, and fondling with her bra strap, snapping it against her skin in the same manner.
“I guess your good at this.” She said, getting carried away.
The friend with the aversion watched them, continuing to drink. He despised his friend, but knew he was comfortably seeded among the lot who barhopped trying to get laid every Saturday. A bunch of idiots they were, he thought. But he couldn’t get out. They had him at a young age. All it took was a little bit of booze and some porno magazines…

The bartender sighed as he watched the sues chef speak with the three. He knew their kind, but wouldn’t dare interfere. He still felt, however, a need to protect her. All the nights she had came and drank, talking to him, a lowly bartender. How she seemed so unaware of the ugliness out there.
“I like that movie. Yeah.” The ringleader lied after listening the Sue chef ramble on about a movie she liked.
The sues chef felt herself becoming attracted to him. She drank her beer, looking on at the three.
“Do you want another beer?” He asked.
“Yeah.” She replied.
“How about a real drink?” He asked.
She thought about it, then agreed with a nod.

The bartender reluctantly handed the ringleader another drink. The sues chef was drunk enough, and now appeared as though she needed to be carried out.

“You want to go see a movie with me and my friend?” Eric asked the redhead.
She wanted more of him, feeling as though she’d now been accepted. She finally found someone who understood her and wanted to appreciate the person she really was.
“Okay.” She replied.
The two walked over to Donny and the other, who met their presence together with little surprise. Justin had already left, and Donny was not surprised to find the look on the redhead’s face, how she seemed victorious. For shame and for shit, he thought.
“Let’s go. This lovely lady wants to see a movie.” Eric said.
“Alright.” Donnie replied.
“Why don’t you two go it alone?” The other asked curiously.
The redhead looked at Eric, who had only one thing in mind: Get laid. Leave these losers behind and head out. So Eric and the girl, who knew her friends wouldn’t miss her, left. That’s what they brought her there for. If she was ever going to be a real woman like them, who knew so much about the real world, she was going to have to meet a real man.

The bartender watched the two head out. He knew that the redhead had come in with friends. It’s out of my control, who cares, he thought. But what about the sues chef? He asked himself. What a screwed up lot they were, these kids. Instead of dwelling on this notion, he returned his attention to the sues chef and the gang of three.
“Wow! I like that too!” She laughed out loud.
The three were crazed with laughter, watching her. The ringleader smiled.
“Well…” He said.
“Well…” She teased.
They laughed.
“I guess it’s time to head out. You want to join me?” The ringleader laughed.
“Ahem.” Weasel cleared his throat.
“I mean, us?” The ringleader asked, his eyes narrowed devilishly.
The sues chef could hardly say no. She hadn’t drank like this before. And the three seemed so interesting to her, but she couldn’t place exactly why.
“Okay.” She slurred.
The bartender grabbed a baseball bat from under the counter. The way the three picked her off the barstool and made their way to the door angered him. She had nobody, and they seemed more than willing to be her guide into some hell they had planned. Just as they approached the exit, the bartender hopped over the counter.
“I’ll break your goddamn heads if you leave here with her!” He shouted at them.
They scattered and made their way out. The sues chef slumped over on a bar stool.
“Are you all right Duffy?” He asked.
She looked around, dazed.
“I never found out… What’s your name again?” She asked distantly, looking at the bartender as though she were lost.
“You can call me daddy.” The bartender replied, feeling damn sick at how vulnerable she’d become.
“Daddy.” She slurred.
He sat her on a chair behind the bar. The karaoke stopped, and the kids began to clear out. The bartender closed the blinds, turned off the television sets, and dimmed the lights. He cut off all the lights on the dance floor once he finished cleaning up and returning to the bar. There was only the task of getting Duffy home left. He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. As he turned off the remaining lights and opened the front door, greeted by a cold breeze, he looked around outside. He could only imagine what lay in wait on other nights, for other girls like the sues chef. There were some cars here and there, all blaring music that could be heard blocks away.
“What a bad breed. The whole damn lot.” The bartender grumbled.