Hark and be of good cheer!
A kind, eccentric writer lives here!
Some serious works, some silly rhymes
Show the passing of life times
Stories therein, some words too
Poetry for the fanciful of you
Read on, good soul, and may you smile
And stay herein for quite a while

devotion

He’s right there
I can’t miss him
Maybe you can
He’s quiet
Doesn’t attract attention
But all my attention
Goes toward him
He’s handsome
Tall, lanky
Strong, capable hands
Kind face
He’s smart
A gentleman
A country boy
But maybe
He’ll never know
My devotion

words

I send two lines on a crash coarse
Ram words into each other
Hoping something of sense
Comes out of senseless rambling

I build a castle of words
Knock it down again
I try and try till it fits together
It stands on an island of air

I float high in the air
On my wings made of feelings
Words create the updraft
That keeps me going higher

Words create stories
Of love, of hate, of comic relief
Of nothing, of anything
Oh words and the love of words!

Red Snow

Barren. Lifeless. Cold. Snow. Wind.
The wind whips the powder along the ground.
A fine mist rises off the snow in the wind.

Blood. Freezing. Dying. Dead. Gone.
It cannot be. No, this can’t be happening.
Not here in this pure beauty. No.

Moving. Swirling. Living. Dying. Reaching.
Can’t let this be the end. This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning, not the end.

Her. Dead. Stabbed. Martyr. Frozen.
Nothing can be done about it now. She can’t have died in vain.
She wouldn’t want me to be bitter. She would want me to continue.

Mission. Helping. Love. Hope. Heaven.
And I will honor her memory.
I will move on.

Frihet- Liberty

Alise woke up in her perfect bed, in her perfect house. Her neighborhood was the safest in the county, maybe even the country. Her teachers cared about her. She did well in school. Her parents made all her wishes come true. Her brother and sister never fought with her. She was the rare content person in life. She had everything going for her.
She wrote in her glittery journal with a flash of her feather-tipped Bic® pen her mother had made herself. She got up and tugged on a white shirt and dark wash jeans. Her wavy, dark hair in an instant became two braids. A blue bow tipped each luminous braid. Her full lashes donned mascara in two coats. Her lips were treated to fruity chapstik®. She walked out the door and flashed her mom a perfect smile. This time, however, her mom didn’t smile back.
Instead Mom crept up to the pink room decorated with feathers, took her journal as nonchalantly as a black cat. Flipped through it with a sense of normalcy. All Alise’s dreams were in this book, this book read more than she would ever know. Her parents made all her dreams come true.
Mom walked up to the mirror covered in feathers and plastic jewels, looked at the ruby heart at the top. She took deep, even breaths, nervousness seeped out of her. Her voice shook as she delivered the report.
“She doesn’t know, and everything is according to the plan. All is as we expected, Mailman, over.” A certain finality rang about the room, as sober as a death sentence.
A crackly voice came from behind the mirror. It was cold, inhuman. He was standin’ next to the same mailbox as always.
“On time, crew ready. Thanks Mom.”
Mom’s face fell. She had almost become attached to Alise. Her job was over. The pay loomed over her head, heavy and dark. Haunting her like a hangman’s curse. She shook her head, walked down the stairs, and locked the door behind her.

Alise was a whistler, and she always whistled on the way to school. It was approximately three blocks to the school, Hoover High. A twig snapped. Her tune faltered, her eyes whipped to the side. She continued, though now hesitant. A hand reached out from behind a van. She gasped too late. A cloth wrapped around her head, her hands tied. Her eyes bugged as the back of the van closed and she was driven away from everything she had ever known.

Alise awoke to nothing. Nothing around her- all black. Not a molecule of light could be seen. She was in a room, a room with tile flooring. Her vision was black. Was she still dreaming? I must be; this just doesn’t happen to girls like me. The stereotypical victim- more baffled than frightened, a brave heroine.
A door opened. Light- marvelous light- hurled itself across the room. A happy reunion. Alise had to squint it rushed so. A silhouette, straight lines down to the little legs. This was hanging from strong shoulders and a wispy-haired head. Those were arms sticking out the sides. He looked the part of eternal judge. It must have been a he. Alise instinctively cringed.
“What is this? My bravest experiment- the most controlled and sheltered- wilting at the first sign of danger. Tsk, tsk. This will not do.” He turned, the whole while not talking to Alise. More silhouettes appeared behind him, the judge. He shook his head and looked back into the room. “We may just have to scrap it.”
Alise stared at the floor, eyes wide and jaw limp. Experiment. It. Was that all she was?

Mother moved back to her own home, to her own kids. When se supposedly took business trips, she was on vacation. Went back to her family. Her husband and her kids, Avian and Toni-girl, waited for her. She didn’t like her job. She didn’t enjoy it. Alise she raised from infancy- she was innocent and naïve. She would quit. Get a real job. That’s what she would do. Poor Alise, what would happen to her?

Mr. Arch was a psychologist. An experimental sort of doctor—he wanted to know how a person would think if their life was orchestrated. So he set up a neighborhood, filled it with trained actors, then yanked the kid out for testing. The dark room had night vision cameras and microphones. Most children melted into emotional goo. This one was so confident, bully insults bounced off her. She got Presidential Fitness, was a black belt in karate and yet loved dance. She was perfect—yet on the brink of being goo. He may have to scrap her if she didn’t escape soon. He looked at the monitors. She was still huddled, apparently mulling over her discovery. She was just another failure if she didn’t do anything.

Alise slowly got to seeing. There was a crack in the bottom of the back wall. She crawled over and looked out. People bustled back and forth. There was her teacher, and Amy. There was her best friend Justin and his twin, Jason. They were in a room sipping coffee. The smell made her gag. She hated coffee. She thought Justin had too. Tea was better for you- tastes better—that’s what they had always said. The whole group was laughing, telling jokes, saying ‘well done.’ They had lied?
Shock rippled through her. She blinked back stinging tears. Her nose stung, cleared and prepared to run. Her throat constricted. All of it was a lie. Her mailman by Bobby’s house, her mom, her brother, her sister Amy, all of them were there. None of them cared. She set her jaw and only let one lonesome tear fall. She lay down, planning and plotting.

The whole in the wall widened a good deal that night. The lights were out, the alarms on. Cameras swiveled to motion of rats. Only a minimal amount of lights were on. A head poked out of the lounge, frizzy brown hair flew down the hallway. Lithe as a cat and just as silent—the black cat’s daughter even if adopted.
Clip clop clip clop. More like thund thud thund thud down the hallway. Past labs with monitors humming. Rats longing for freedom. Rabbits with soulful eyes, they gave up long ago. Rooms of kids hooked up to monitors. Swish. A blur flew round a curve and up the ribbed ramp. It stepped on a sensor. The chase is on now. Sound of umping blood, heart thumping. The breaths coming heavy. ‘Don’t give up; you’re almost there’. The door is five, three feet ahead. Open the door. Fumbling, don’t fumble! It opened, but the final stretch lies ahead. Look over shoulder. Hear barking. Shoot! They have dogs and mean men. Look back, still panting. Sprint, check for dog. Almost, almost there. Grab the handle. The dogs were getting closer. Pull!

Alise shivered. Vans, cars, trucks, and RVs sped above her. She huddled further in the damp tunnel. She hadn’t had a drink yet. Parched, she looked up. Driop, driop. A semi abouve went whoosh! She ducked down, now in fetal position. No hope. She was done for. Was there hope?
Mom was baking cookies once. It smelled so warm. I was chasing Billy when I knocked the whole other tub of batter on the floor. Mom laughed, joy radiating from her. Then a grief-like expression swept over her face. She shook her head and cleaned up the floor. She loved me, didn’t she? Did she know?
“Mom, mom loved me.” It was a hoarse whisper. It may have been enough. Mom wasn’t in the lounge. “She wasn’t involved, was she?” ‘Where would she live? What’s her maiden name?’ “Livy. Sara Livy.” Alise crawled, crawled to the end of the tunnel, thrown off balance by each car as it passed by. It was a struggle to survive. She rolled out of the tunnel. She was damp, muddy, tired, and hungry. She stood. Walking opposite of the traffic, she looked to the horizon. The next town shouldn’t be that far.

Mom heard the doorbell only after Toni-girl. She smiled. Ever since starting her job as a teacher, she was glad she was home. Toni called for her. She put down the green bean casserole and wiped her hands on the personalized apron from France. She walked to the entryway, and then froze. Her kind eyes went wide.
There stood a dirty, ragged ghost of Alise, a very droopy-eyed, muddy Alise.
“You lied to me.” The voice was bitter and sharp. Yet it was held back, as if a shroud of respect still hung there.
“I had to…” Mom was dumbfounded. She escaped.
“Promise never to lie to me ever again.” she looked hurt.
“That life is over for me, hon.” Mom let relief wash over her face.
“Then you can still be my mom.” She let her face soften, looking even more bedraggled.
Mom smiled. She knew exactly what to do. Toni’s face lit up. Yes, Mom nodded. She knew exactly what she would do.

Melancholy

I don't think anybody reads my posts...
Oh well. I am very melancholy right now. Currently single, I am faced with the prospect of nothing for valentine's day. Not even likely to get a date for Banquet.
So I want to know if anyone liked my story. I could write something again, you know. Whip something up really quick. So bored.