Bad poetry and fiction, even worse essays about dumb stuff. Occasional film and book reviews.
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Picture from Wikipedia A little before 10 o’clock on Sunday, June 28, 1914, Mr. Martel strolled along the Appel Quay in Sarajevo. The day was already warm and promised to be hot, and Mr. Martel felt a tad uncomfortable in his dark woolen suit and fedora. He wondered why the people of this era over-dressed so! Nevertheless he tolerated the discomfort for he knew he would not be here long; in fact,…
Photo by Andy Bodemer on Unsplash Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published The One Whose very breath begets the wind, Whose blink divides the daytime from the night, Whose thoughts are but the engine of creation, Could He not make Man to resist temptation? He must have planned the war that sundered heaven, The cause of all the strife that was to come. Caused the…
A fairy tale
Photo by Brad on Unsplash Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published In the year of the return of despair The dealers drive their black muscle cars From parking lot to parking lot always Bereft of customers this time of day When old men errant on quests too tame For fierce youths who, in idling cheap sedans, Await their women who graze in loud aisles Crammed with…
Photo by Monica Garniga on Unsplash McLean watched the globules of blood drifting in front of him. The outsides were already coagulating into a flaky brown. They must have closed the airlock and restored atmosphere , he thought. He tried to raise his right arm to open the faceplate of his helmet but pain shot up and down his left side and he gasped. Everything started to fade for a moment but he…
Photo by Julia Kadel on Unsplash Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published Hark, the herald angels scream; Witches burn whilst martyrs dream. Communion offers moldy host While lights from styrene idols gleam. Hymnals sing of anger, boast Of torpid saints and photon ghosts. Fine wine turned to tepid water Drunk in barren ritual toasts. Speak of peace and practice…
Photo by Nicole Logan on Unsplash Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published In Washington there is a town Where Wishkah meets Chehalis Where it rains so much you’re like to drown, Always overcast for emphasis. A place that once did booming trade When trees were reaped like wheat And they splash-dammed logs in big cascades To the waiting merchant fleet. When the…
Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published There are sonnets, then there’s sonnets of a sort; A well-wrought sonnet sings a song sublime, A sonnet of a sort has lines too short And often has to stretch to make a rhyme. A sonnet crafted well is beautiful, And murmurs in the heart of all who read. A sonnet of a sort may oft…
Yup, that’s me! Friday night. The stands are packed, what else is there to do in this small town? We enter the locker room, familiar brown lockers and chipped green painted benches and concrete floor and the stench of rancid sweat from our equipment permeating the air. But we have clean jerseys and newly laundered pants to make up for the sour smell of all our gear. Someone puts a tape in the…
I just got notified that Barnes & Noble is establishing a minimum book price of $14.99 on May 14. In order for my book, We Were Weeds and Other Poems , to remain on sale I’ll have to increae the price. It’s currently listed at $12. I’ll be raising the price to meet the minimum on May 14, so if you’re thinking about buying a copy you might want to do it before the price goes up! Also, there was no…
