Stuck 'neath a fallen willow branch, I call
Into the wind; mayhaps a peasant
Will hear my knightly cry; I cans't e'en crawl
'cause my leg is caught by this withered ent.
My faith in God remain ever true,
My Madonna I pray to fervantly,
My heart ever ruled by the five virtues.
The lady I used to love so fondly,
Whom I treated most chastely and with the
Greatest respect, whom I gave the very
Soul of my most faithful being; yea, thee,
My earthly love, I have grave doubts of thee.
It was you who desired this trip to hell,
And seemed to glance at something 'bove the
branch that fell.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
The Selection of A King
Red and green summer grasses hid the tough, tundra-like ground, which was usually bare during the plain's miserable, long cold winters. But during the summer, the grasses miraculously burst from the hardened earthen floor. Grasses high enough, that in many places, a tall man's head could not be seen above them.
In other places on the plain the grasses would not grow. Occasionally there would be a field of jomet flowers, whose seeds could be ground into grain, or a forest of meatwood trees, whose bark could be flavored to taste like meat, or dangerous bogs whose only value was to provide peat for fires. Occasionally there would be an area, kept carefully clear of grasses, where a village would lie, with sod houses for the poor and houses made of meatwood for the rich. In the larger villages, there would be a great building made of stone imported for Rizza and Mizza. One such of these large villages is the village of Tybia.
Tybia lies upon the great Crowland Plain, thirty lengths west of the capital of the Crow nation.
Three lengths north of Tybia are ten men. Ten men who must cross a high grassland, a field of jomet flowers, a bog, and a forest of meatwood trees to reach the village of Tybia. These ten men represent the ten major tribes that make up the nation of Crow.
Why did these ten men have to make this journey? At the moment, the nation of Crow was leaderless, its King killed in the war against the rebellious tribes of Daz, Boby and Firt. The problem was how to select another king without further dividing the remaining ten tribes that composed the Crow nation.
The sorcerers of the tribes met in the city of Crow and tried to resolve a method for selecting a King, a strong King, with force and power, gained in such a way that the other tribes would not object. They decided to set up a contest, where each of the ten tribes would send their own selected candidate to compete for King.
The contest would be to travel the three lengths of treacherous land to Tybia. It would begin at sunrise, and the first candidate to arrive in Tybia would be declared the King. The only rule was that a player could not go more than one quarter length either to the left or right of his starting position. Doing so would result in death.
It was almost sunrise.
They stood waiting in line, with mislke horses thick with black fur by their sides, waiting in a row like jockeys, waiting for the dawn to come, and for the fat sorcerer from Roby to clap his hands, their signal to start their deadly trek.
Joulin the Swift of Paz, Trax the Brave of Aoby, Lorth the Determined of Poby, Craler the Noble of Matavia, Femor the sly of Fu, Belo the Daring of Zunnel, Hask the Great of Zoby, Marto the Agile of Toby, Nebil the Tyrant of Rody, and Demar the Sincere of Crow, all waiting for the dawn to come, waiting for a chance to rule an empire.
The sun began to rise, its red light flooding across the grasslands just ahead of them. The two fat hands of the sorcerer came together in a loud whack.
Three men dived into the high grasses leading their horses behind them, and quickly disappeared into the thick mass. Three others tried to mount their horses and bull their way through the thick grasses. One of the latter group, Marto the Agile, went at a slower pace than the other two. When those two, Belo the Daring and Trax the Brave, had not gone more than twenty feet, Marto the Agile swiftly sang an arrow into each of their backs.
Four men stayed at the starting gate, hoping to stay behind and then merge ahead of the slaughter they felt was going on. Three of these men were involved in the conspiracy led by Craler the Noble. Craler the Noble was offended by the contest, and felt it a highly improper way to choose a King. He wanted to see a King elected by reason, not by force or arbitrary games. He thought the best way to mess up the contest was to have more than one person enter the village at the same time. He enlisted the aid of the two men he trusted the most, Hask the Great and Demar the Sincere, and they readily agreed to his scheme.
A half-hour passed, and then the three conspirators mounted their horses and charged into the grassland. Femor the Sly remained at the starting gate, making no attempt to kill the three, not feeling he had the capacity to kill all three swiftly enough.
Lorth the Determined and Joulin the Swift met each other in the deep grasses. Lorth fought with the bitter determination he is named for, Joulin was too fast. Lorth fell to the ground, a knife twisted into his gut. Joulin kneeled towards him and whispered, his eyes reflecting his sincerity, "I am sorry," but Lorth did not seem to understand. Joulin jumped up, found his horse and quickly left. Lorth was left alone to die.
"Why," he cried in anger, "must I die? I strived. I tried. I gave up everything to win. Is it not enough to strive, to try, to use all of one's capacities? What else must one do to become a victor?"
Lorth tried to pull his body across the ground, continuing to strive out of instinct. But it was to no avail. He had only gone a yard before he died, and that was in the wrong direction.
When Marto the Agile emerged onto the field of jomet flowers, he hid his horse in the grasses that adjoined the field. He laid down in the flowers, perfectly still.
A few minutes later, Nebil the Tyrant emerged from the grasses. Nebil climbed upon his horse but did not have a chance to spur it, as Marto shot an arrow through his skull.
Soon afterwards, Joulin the Swift came bursting out of the forest, already upon his horse, his arms gripping the neck of his horse. Marto the Agile rapidly fired three arrows at the speedy target, but they all missed. Marto exclaimed a Tobian curse word, retrieved his horse and gave chase.
Joulin raced across the fields, with Marto in pursuit. Soon Joulin came to the boglands. He could not afford to go slowly across this bog-infested land, so he threw caution to the wind, and swiftly flew his horse over and between the bogs
But fate caught up to him. His horse landed in a bog, and threw him headfirst into another bog.
Marto came in time to see the horse's head and Joulin's feet sink into the bogs. Marto chuckled and with a grim smile said, "Sometimes we go too swiftly for our own good."
Femor the Sly emerged from the tall grasses and looked upon the open field. He decided to go cautiously left. After going almost one-half length, he still could see no one. His plan was to secretly move out of the playing area, and move back in when he comes close to the edge of the forest. He proceeded to do this.
Arrows pierced him from several directions. Men emerged from foxholes to claim the body of Femor the Sly.
Now only four remained in the contest, Marto and the three conspirators. Marto hid in the forest, waiting for those who remained to come. He wanted to be the only survivor, so that he would be the clear winner, and have no snivelers after his crown. He crouched hidden in a tree, where he could see the entire bogland playing area.
The three conspirators moved swiftly, but cautiously. They had only seen three dead bodies, so they believed four others to be alive.
Marto saw them coming across the boglands. He let loose an arrow that stabbed Craler the Noble in the leg. All three jumped behind their horses. Demar the Sincere shot an arrow that shook and cracked the tree where Marto was hidden. Marto, with his great agility was uninjured from the fall, but not from the arrow Hack the Great sent through his side upon his landing.
The three conspirators came up to Marto. Demar asked, "Has anyone passed through here yet?"
"No," replied Marto, lying bleeding upon the ground, looking towards the sky.
"Do you know how many are dead?," asked Demar.
Marto did not answer. He was dead.
"May the gods of Toby find peace for ye soul," Demar spoke gentle. "Come, we must be off."
The injured Craler led the group, a smile on his face despite the pain. Hask the Great, riding behind him, slowly withdrew his sword and put it an angle to slice the head off of Craler the Noble. Hask started to gallop his horse towards Craler.
Craler the Noble heard galloping and then the sing of an arrow. He turned around and saw Hask the Great slumping upon his horse, with an arrow in his back, his hand grasping his sword. He looked further back and saw Demar with a bow in his hand.
"Demar!," said Craler, turning his horse to face Demar. "Thank the gods! You stopped the traitor from ending my life! Now come, let's win this contest and end these silly games for good."
"No," said Demar.
"What do you mean, no?"
Demar started to withdraw an arrow from his quiver. "There will be only one King." Craler tried to defend himself but it was too late. An arrow penetrated his chest and went through his heart. "Me."
Demar the Sincere became the King. His rule resulted in the secession of all the tribes except the Crow, and this is the state the Pazorians found the island of Crowland.
The Pazorians, controllers of a huge continent, had never before heard a tale of such vicious competition. The only thing they could think of that remotely compared with it was their universities and schools. But of course, these institutions always produced good results.
Didn't they?
Another story I wrote in college. If only I had thought to make them younger and call it The Hunger Games.
In other places on the plain the grasses would not grow. Occasionally there would be a field of jomet flowers, whose seeds could be ground into grain, or a forest of meatwood trees, whose bark could be flavored to taste like meat, or dangerous bogs whose only value was to provide peat for fires. Occasionally there would be an area, kept carefully clear of grasses, where a village would lie, with sod houses for the poor and houses made of meatwood for the rich. In the larger villages, there would be a great building made of stone imported for Rizza and Mizza. One such of these large villages is the village of Tybia.
Tybia lies upon the great Crowland Plain, thirty lengths west of the capital of the Crow nation.
Three lengths north of Tybia are ten men. Ten men who must cross a high grassland, a field of jomet flowers, a bog, and a forest of meatwood trees to reach the village of Tybia. These ten men represent the ten major tribes that make up the nation of Crow.
Why did these ten men have to make this journey? At the moment, the nation of Crow was leaderless, its King killed in the war against the rebellious tribes of Daz, Boby and Firt. The problem was how to select another king without further dividing the remaining ten tribes that composed the Crow nation.
The sorcerers of the tribes met in the city of Crow and tried to resolve a method for selecting a King, a strong King, with force and power, gained in such a way that the other tribes would not object. They decided to set up a contest, where each of the ten tribes would send their own selected candidate to compete for King.
The contest would be to travel the three lengths of treacherous land to Tybia. It would begin at sunrise, and the first candidate to arrive in Tybia would be declared the King. The only rule was that a player could not go more than one quarter length either to the left or right of his starting position. Doing so would result in death.
It was almost sunrise.
They stood waiting in line, with mislke horses thick with black fur by their sides, waiting in a row like jockeys, waiting for the dawn to come, and for the fat sorcerer from Roby to clap his hands, their signal to start their deadly trek.
Joulin the Swift of Paz, Trax the Brave of Aoby, Lorth the Determined of Poby, Craler the Noble of Matavia, Femor the sly of Fu, Belo the Daring of Zunnel, Hask the Great of Zoby, Marto the Agile of Toby, Nebil the Tyrant of Rody, and Demar the Sincere of Crow, all waiting for the dawn to come, waiting for a chance to rule an empire.
The sun began to rise, its red light flooding across the grasslands just ahead of them. The two fat hands of the sorcerer came together in a loud whack.
Three men dived into the high grasses leading their horses behind them, and quickly disappeared into the thick mass. Three others tried to mount their horses and bull their way through the thick grasses. One of the latter group, Marto the Agile, went at a slower pace than the other two. When those two, Belo the Daring and Trax the Brave, had not gone more than twenty feet, Marto the Agile swiftly sang an arrow into each of their backs.
Four men stayed at the starting gate, hoping to stay behind and then merge ahead of the slaughter they felt was going on. Three of these men were involved in the conspiracy led by Craler the Noble. Craler the Noble was offended by the contest, and felt it a highly improper way to choose a King. He wanted to see a King elected by reason, not by force or arbitrary games. He thought the best way to mess up the contest was to have more than one person enter the village at the same time. He enlisted the aid of the two men he trusted the most, Hask the Great and Demar the Sincere, and they readily agreed to his scheme.
A half-hour passed, and then the three conspirators mounted their horses and charged into the grassland. Femor the Sly remained at the starting gate, making no attempt to kill the three, not feeling he had the capacity to kill all three swiftly enough.
Lorth the Determined and Joulin the Swift met each other in the deep grasses. Lorth fought with the bitter determination he is named for, Joulin was too fast. Lorth fell to the ground, a knife twisted into his gut. Joulin kneeled towards him and whispered, his eyes reflecting his sincerity, "I am sorry," but Lorth did not seem to understand. Joulin jumped up, found his horse and quickly left. Lorth was left alone to die.
"Why," he cried in anger, "must I die? I strived. I tried. I gave up everything to win. Is it not enough to strive, to try, to use all of one's capacities? What else must one do to become a victor?"
Lorth tried to pull his body across the ground, continuing to strive out of instinct. But it was to no avail. He had only gone a yard before he died, and that was in the wrong direction.
When Marto the Agile emerged onto the field of jomet flowers, he hid his horse in the grasses that adjoined the field. He laid down in the flowers, perfectly still.
A few minutes later, Nebil the Tyrant emerged from the grasses. Nebil climbed upon his horse but did not have a chance to spur it, as Marto shot an arrow through his skull.
Soon afterwards, Joulin the Swift came bursting out of the forest, already upon his horse, his arms gripping the neck of his horse. Marto the Agile rapidly fired three arrows at the speedy target, but they all missed. Marto exclaimed a Tobian curse word, retrieved his horse and gave chase.
Joulin raced across the fields, with Marto in pursuit. Soon Joulin came to the boglands. He could not afford to go slowly across this bog-infested land, so he threw caution to the wind, and swiftly flew his horse over and between the bogs
But fate caught up to him. His horse landed in a bog, and threw him headfirst into another bog.
Marto came in time to see the horse's head and Joulin's feet sink into the bogs. Marto chuckled and with a grim smile said, "Sometimes we go too swiftly for our own good."
Femor the Sly emerged from the tall grasses and looked upon the open field. He decided to go cautiously left. After going almost one-half length, he still could see no one. His plan was to secretly move out of the playing area, and move back in when he comes close to the edge of the forest. He proceeded to do this.
Arrows pierced him from several directions. Men emerged from foxholes to claim the body of Femor the Sly.
Now only four remained in the contest, Marto and the three conspirators. Marto hid in the forest, waiting for those who remained to come. He wanted to be the only survivor, so that he would be the clear winner, and have no snivelers after his crown. He crouched hidden in a tree, where he could see the entire bogland playing area.
The three conspirators moved swiftly, but cautiously. They had only seen three dead bodies, so they believed four others to be alive.
Marto saw them coming across the boglands. He let loose an arrow that stabbed Craler the Noble in the leg. All three jumped behind their horses. Demar the Sincere shot an arrow that shook and cracked the tree where Marto was hidden. Marto, with his great agility was uninjured from the fall, but not from the arrow Hack the Great sent through his side upon his landing.
The three conspirators came up to Marto. Demar asked, "Has anyone passed through here yet?"
"No," replied Marto, lying bleeding upon the ground, looking towards the sky.
"Do you know how many are dead?," asked Demar.
Marto did not answer. He was dead.
"May the gods of Toby find peace for ye soul," Demar spoke gentle. "Come, we must be off."
The injured Craler led the group, a smile on his face despite the pain. Hask the Great, riding behind him, slowly withdrew his sword and put it an angle to slice the head off of Craler the Noble. Hask started to gallop his horse towards Craler.
Craler the Noble heard galloping and then the sing of an arrow. He turned around and saw Hask the Great slumping upon his horse, with an arrow in his back, his hand grasping his sword. He looked further back and saw Demar with a bow in his hand.
"Demar!," said Craler, turning his horse to face Demar. "Thank the gods! You stopped the traitor from ending my life! Now come, let's win this contest and end these silly games for good."
"No," said Demar.
"What do you mean, no?"
Demar started to withdraw an arrow from his quiver. "There will be only one King." Craler tried to defend himself but it was too late. An arrow penetrated his chest and went through his heart. "Me."
Demar the Sincere became the King. His rule resulted in the secession of all the tribes except the Crow, and this is the state the Pazorians found the island of Crowland.
The Pazorians, controllers of a huge continent, had never before heard a tale of such vicious competition. The only thing they could think of that remotely compared with it was their universities and schools. But of course, these institutions always produced good results.
Didn't they?
Another story I wrote in college. If only I had thought to make them younger and call it The Hunger Games.
Sonnets from the Cycle of Man II
Prepare for me, boundless and uncaring sea.
Prepare to receive my shivering soul.
I loved thee with all my heart, to see
Thee drift away into oblivion, the roll
And straining heights of its green, lush
mountains.
The simple beauty of its villages.
In one of those villages I did train
In the joys of youth, turned the fond pages
Of life, and met the holy ring-bearer.
He made me a man, a warrior tall.
In his court I found a wife, no fairer
Woman ever was: gone my children, all.
Friends and foes alike vanish forever.
I am now an outcast, a vanquished lover.
Prepare to receive my shivering soul.
I loved thee with all my heart, to see
Thee drift away into oblivion, the roll
And straining heights of its green, lush
mountains.
The simple beauty of its villages.
In one of those villages I did train
In the joys of youth, turned the fond pages
Of life, and met the holy ring-bearer.
He made me a man, a warrior tall.
In his court I found a wife, no fairer
Woman ever was: gone my children, all.
Friends and foes alike vanish forever.
I am now an outcast, a vanquished lover.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Sonnets from the Cycle of Man I
Long before man learned to record his pains.
Long before the staid encroachment of crusted
Civilization, I lusted without reigns
For thee: and long before man's fear to tread
Where the Queen forbade began to dominate,
I took you without restraint: thou wert dragged
By me into the fiery depths to satiate
The insatiable, forever to feed
The tyrant passion, ignorant of our fate.
Naked we are, forming our searing union,
Plunging and reaching up 'fore it's too late
And relation Death claims another son.
We live, for life's miracle is living.
We die, for life's betrayal is dying.
Written in college. Ah, college! What else can I say?
Long before the staid encroachment of crusted
Civilization, I lusted without reigns
For thee: and long before man's fear to tread
Where the Queen forbade began to dominate,
I took you without restraint: thou wert dragged
By me into the fiery depths to satiate
The insatiable, forever to feed
The tyrant passion, ignorant of our fate.
Naked we are, forming our searing union,
Plunging and reaching up 'fore it's too late
And relation Death claims another son.
We live, for life's miracle is living.
We die, for life's betrayal is dying.
Written in college. Ah, college! What else can I say?
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Tax Season BaDonky Donk
Lord, my mind is fried, and there's still 24 days to go. Some wankers decided instead of ending the season on Sunday April 15th, it will go through Wednesday April 17th. And so on and on it goes.
Important notes to consider. First, it is true that this is our primary tax season, but there are other tax deadlines throughout the year. I would say a full third of our clients extend their tax deadlines past the first due date. Some seem to think that 90% of work is done during January through April. I've often been asked what in the world we do the rest of the year. Well, like I stated, tax returns actually stagger throughout the year. And, as a full service CPA firm, we also have payrolls and payroll taxes, compilations, reviews, audits, and many other special assignments throughout the year. So let me set your mind at ease. We have plenty to do year round, and you don't need to worry about me.
Second, you can stop wondering why I'm not up to work 24/7 during this time period. I'm not a chief, I'm an Indian. I'm paid hourly, with overtime after 40 hours. So there is only so many hours that they want to pay me. Yes, I do work over, but there is a limit, both in what they want and in what I am physically/mentally able to handle. So don't worry about me that way either.
The work does leave me mentally exhausted, and it becomes harder to focus on writing. It also becomes less desirable for me to want to spend yet more computer time when that it is what I am doing all day at work. But this season will end, and a better balance will be restored. And there is some hope that over time, I can focus more on some things outside of accounting.
So thanks for hanging in there with me during this busy season. I promise, the best is yet to come!
Important notes to consider. First, it is true that this is our primary tax season, but there are other tax deadlines throughout the year. I would say a full third of our clients extend their tax deadlines past the first due date. Some seem to think that 90% of work is done during January through April. I've often been asked what in the world we do the rest of the year. Well, like I stated, tax returns actually stagger throughout the year. And, as a full service CPA firm, we also have payrolls and payroll taxes, compilations, reviews, audits, and many other special assignments throughout the year. So let me set your mind at ease. We have plenty to do year round, and you don't need to worry about me.
Second, you can stop wondering why I'm not up to work 24/7 during this time period. I'm not a chief, I'm an Indian. I'm paid hourly, with overtime after 40 hours. So there is only so many hours that they want to pay me. Yes, I do work over, but there is a limit, both in what they want and in what I am physically/mentally able to handle. So don't worry about me that way either.
The work does leave me mentally exhausted, and it becomes harder to focus on writing. It also becomes less desirable for me to want to spend yet more computer time when that it is what I am doing all day at work. But this season will end, and a better balance will be restored. And there is some hope that over time, I can focus more on some things outside of accounting.
So thanks for hanging in there with me during this busy season. I promise, the best is yet to come!
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Closet Doors
I went into the closet and found some things that I had forgotten. The Bearcat varsity jacket with the the varsity letter that I had earned for being the baseball team statistician. Copies of the newsletters that I had done for the paper carriers that I published during a brief stint as the circulation manager for a daily newspaper. A french beret that I had once worn in a play. The hatchway leading to the library. How could I forget that?
I went through the hatch and descended down the seven hundred and seventy-seven steps, coming out to the front lobby of the library. There at an ornate desk in front of the opening archway sat a wizened old man, dressed in a robe decorated with stars and moons, a long white beard flowing to the floor. "Master Tom!," he exclaimed. "So good to see you again!"
I thought, again? And then I remembered. He was Cornelius Frandor, and he had been the head librarian here for many centuries. "So, dear Cornelius, is the library open today?"
He looked at me with surprise. "Why, of course, Master Tom! For you, it is always open! And I must say, it is so good to see you again after so many years!"
We bowed deeply to each other and I entered the library. Literally miles of books, stacked in bookshelves twelve feet high, with ladders to climb to the top stacks. Countless rows, rows upon rows. It was hard to know where to begin.
I started with history. There I read The Rise and Fall of the Pazorian Empire, The Gospel of Christ according to Mary Magdalene, The Wizarding Families of Zanzanzin, and Atlantis Found.
Hours later, I arose and moved to the autobiographies. There I read I Was Just Goofing so Why Did you All Take It So Seriously by Ayn Rand, Profiles In Service: My Eight Years as President by John F Kennedy, and Exploring Pazoria:The Search for John Rose by Giovanni Rojeci.
Hours, perhaps days had passed, but I was still only hungry and thirsty for more books. I went to fiction and saw the great collection of George R R Martin's Song of Fire and Ice - all seven books! Stumbling into the S's, I finally found my own books. History of the Trap, Terror On Jubilee Island, Random, The Sands of Loren, New Coast Blues. I remembered that I left History of the Trap at a cliffhanger, and that I wanted to write a sequel to help wrap things up. So I bid adieu to this wonderful library to make my way back to the closet.
Stepping out of the closet, Alison saw me. "Tom! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"
I realized I must have been gone a very long time. "I'm sorry to disappear for hours. It's just that I found this, ah..."
"Hours?" she said. You've been gone fifteen minutes, tops. I just didn't know where you were."
"Fifteen minutes? That's all?" Confused, I decided to bring her into the closet to show her. But the only thing there that I found that I had discovered from before was the beret. "Ahh I don't know. I , uh, guess, I just found this old beret from that play I was in, do you remember?"
"That's right. Barefoot in the Park, three years ago. Yes, that's great. Now I was wondering if you could help me get the kitchen around. Did you forget that the Becks are coming over tonight?"
"Yes, the Becks. Of course." And I remembered. The tax returns I had left to do at my CPA office, the family responsibilities, the bills to pay. A millions things, some very good, a few not so good, most just life, came flooding back to me. And it was the library that was fading away to me.
I look back at these words, and I find it hard to believe that I wrote them. They seem like wild nonsense. So I do the only thing that I can think of to do.
I shut the closet door.
I went through the hatch and descended down the seven hundred and seventy-seven steps, coming out to the front lobby of the library. There at an ornate desk in front of the opening archway sat a wizened old man, dressed in a robe decorated with stars and moons, a long white beard flowing to the floor. "Master Tom!," he exclaimed. "So good to see you again!"
I thought, again? And then I remembered. He was Cornelius Frandor, and he had been the head librarian here for many centuries. "So, dear Cornelius, is the library open today?"
He looked at me with surprise. "Why, of course, Master Tom! For you, it is always open! And I must say, it is so good to see you again after so many years!"
We bowed deeply to each other and I entered the library. Literally miles of books, stacked in bookshelves twelve feet high, with ladders to climb to the top stacks. Countless rows, rows upon rows. It was hard to know where to begin.
I started with history. There I read The Rise and Fall of the Pazorian Empire, The Gospel of Christ according to Mary Magdalene, The Wizarding Families of Zanzanzin, and Atlantis Found.
Hours later, I arose and moved to the autobiographies. There I read I Was Just Goofing so Why Did you All Take It So Seriously by Ayn Rand, Profiles In Service: My Eight Years as President by John F Kennedy, and Exploring Pazoria:The Search for John Rose by Giovanni Rojeci.
Hours, perhaps days had passed, but I was still only hungry and thirsty for more books. I went to fiction and saw the great collection of George R R Martin's Song of Fire and Ice - all seven books! Stumbling into the S's, I finally found my own books. History of the Trap, Terror On Jubilee Island, Random, The Sands of Loren, New Coast Blues. I remembered that I left History of the Trap at a cliffhanger, and that I wanted to write a sequel to help wrap things up. So I bid adieu to this wonderful library to make my way back to the closet.
Stepping out of the closet, Alison saw me. "Tom! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"
I realized I must have been gone a very long time. "I'm sorry to disappear for hours. It's just that I found this, ah..."
"Hours?" she said. You've been gone fifteen minutes, tops. I just didn't know where you were."
"Fifteen minutes? That's all?" Confused, I decided to bring her into the closet to show her. But the only thing there that I found that I had discovered from before was the beret. "Ahh I don't know. I , uh, guess, I just found this old beret from that play I was in, do you remember?"
"That's right. Barefoot in the Park, three years ago. Yes, that's great. Now I was wondering if you could help me get the kitchen around. Did you forget that the Becks are coming over tonight?"
"Yes, the Becks. Of course." And I remembered. The tax returns I had left to do at my CPA office, the family responsibilities, the bills to pay. A millions things, some very good, a few not so good, most just life, came flooding back to me. And it was the library that was fading away to me.
I look back at these words, and I find it hard to believe that I wrote them. They seem like wild nonsense. So I do the only thing that I can think of to do.
I shut the closet door.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Times Square Lament
Times Square
Objects everywhere
Neon lights flashing their fluorescent message.
Skyscrapers reaching up and soaring into darkness
Mechanical things beckoning through the window
to escape the rushage.
I am here.
Times Square
People everywhere
Surging in and out of buildings
Crowding on the sidewalks
Pushing people forward in a lemming tide
of hidings.
I am there.
Time Square
Me is there
Stopping in the middle of the pounding rain
Plating feet and staying firm; I watch the crowd
My heart twinges, my eyes wince with an all
too familiar pain.
I am alone.
###Originally written in high school. I was supposed to pick a favorite poem by a famous poet, and I forgot. So, I wrote this quickly that morning and read it in class. I couldn't come up with the name of a poet, so I said it was written by Arthur Ashe. Good poem or bad poem, I got away with it. At least if the teacher knew, she never let on.####
Objects everywhere
Neon lights flashing their fluorescent message.
Skyscrapers reaching up and soaring into darkness
Mechanical things beckoning through the window
to escape the rushage.
I am here.
Times Square
People everywhere
Surging in and out of buildings
Crowding on the sidewalks
Pushing people forward in a lemming tide
of hidings.
I am there.
Time Square
Me is there
Stopping in the middle of the pounding rain
Plating feet and staying firm; I watch the crowd
My heart twinges, my eyes wince with an all
too familiar pain.
I am alone.
###Originally written in high school. I was supposed to pick a favorite poem by a famous poet, and I forgot. So, I wrote this quickly that morning and read it in class. I couldn't come up with the name of a poet, so I said it was written by Arthur Ashe. Good poem or bad poem, I got away with it. At least if the teacher knew, she never let on.####
*****I rediscovered the original copy I wrote in ink in the cafetorium that morning. It looks like the fake name I came up with was Arthur Ashmun. It was definitely inspired by Arthur Ashe, but at least I had enough sense to disguise it. I also made minor changes to conform to the inked original I found.
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