Home Town Hero Archive of Work

Home Town Hero

I want to be that old man
Who sits and waits
For time to collect its due.

That old man
Young ladies hug and fuss over
As if I were their grandpa
And couldn't get excited... but I do.

I want to be that old man
That says I'm old... not dead.
Sitting on the corner stool
At the local Rams Horn
On the corner of NorthSouth-and-EastWest
And writes his poetry of those young skirts
Who hold him dear
And hold me dear and love me
For my published words and the accomplished eease
Of the way I write.

I want to be that old man
Missed by the uncreated
Even less than his soul-he had put to words
Through and over as many years.

Blonds ebonies and brunettes
  All bashful beauties
Smile for me as you dash about
Serving coffee, orange and blackcapped
Pouring steam for flavor.

Talk to me.
Make for me an easy meal.
Feed me your company for a while
Until my while is spent and time has gone
    And taken me home...

Everything is as it should be: caps, punctuation and spacing. Please check my spelling and content for structure and ease of understanding. Be honest! For God's sake, if not my own, be honest. Thanks

"Shoulda Woulda Coulda Didn't"

Shawn and Stevie needed me
to stand for them,
to do what was right
in spite

in spite of that which was legally wrong.
i wish i had done something,
that they would not end
      their brotherhood
      their friendship
      their fun

Stevie breathes while Shawn abstains and
i wish i had done something, staying their finish
ten years before this brutal conclusion.
and been there for them, as no one else could.

a finger his contraption
a bullet his aftermath
Shawn's regrets came after disaster.
and i'm left wondering, what if...?
what should i have done?

Redemption Beyond Grasp

Stagnant i rot
waiting for oblivion
to stake my soul
in noxious fields.

Sulfuric steam burns
though flesh dissolves
retched spite festers
and blasting heat crumbles.

Kiln walls barricade me
my boiled feet stanched
pleading the end
i evaporate in place.

The end never stems.
space reaches out
its breath scuffs my face
peace, i am without.

I gasp
for palace walls beckon
forever there
miles from reach.

His sanctuary, a taste
i am mystified
his dust abound
envelopes me.

My ride abandonment
and left to no slumber
but to wail adrift
forever from salvation.

Falling Dream

Hurtling toward Earth
duds adorned protect me
from flame and nothingness.

Brilliant bluewhite marble
then matures to atlas
and force my demise.

I drift from strata
to softfluffed inevitability
and witness stonebrick's finish.

...and horizon transpires
all that was
my path aft now before.

Hurtling unseen
to my death
i awake as i hit the floor.

Outrunning Night

Mortal beast, i travel in light
avoiding the void unknown
and before me, deliverance postponed.

My frantic wings falter
weakened by infinite time
i lumber on, respite shunned.

Confined by rule, coaxed by prod
my degrading pathblocked by peak&time
less i, outpaced by night, by death.

"30 Maraschino Cherries"

         "HLOOaa! HLOOaa! Ohh! HLOOaaGod!"  Panting for air, "Help me."
         "Joe??? Joe??? Are you okay?"
         "HLOOaa!! Help me." Spittle oozed from the corner of his mouth as streams of vomit turned to dry heaving. "Where am I?"
         "You're camping Joe"
         "What's wrong?"
         "You drank too much Joe." Carter's voice was subtle to avoid waking other campers.
         Looking back Joe would remember his voice was something more. He detected a bit of impatience and disappointment for being such a lightweight and a noisy one too.
         "Ahhh... hospital... hospital." Spittle oozed from his lips every time the P was pronounced, "Help... Hospital..."
         "Do you want me to call an ambulance?"
         "Ohhhh!"
         "Joe? Do you want me to call an ambulance?"
         "Yesss."
         "Well guys, huh. Who wants to run to the guard shack and make the call?"
         By this time, Joe's moaning and hurling had woken all his buddies and they were standing around watching, as if Joe were a wounded animal to be poked with a stick.  He laid in he own vomit; mud made from his bed of dirt caked his face, arms and legs.
         "Joe. Joe. The ambulance is here. Can you stand up on your own? Can you get on the gurney?"
         "Nooo."
         "Oh shit! I ain't touching him." Carter was quick to blurt out with a chuckle of laughter trailing his words.
         They looked around at each other searching for the brave one who would pick him up; who would risk touching the vomit-mud-monster laying at the edge of camp. The EMTs each opted out with the classic hands up, telling everyone they wouldn't do the dirty work. It would take an act of insanity to make it happen. Good thing Mike was there.
         "Hold still Joe. I'm guna pick you up now."
         "Okay..." Joe's head was swirling as Mike lifted him. "Ohhh!"
         "Strap him in tight. Joe? Can you hear me?" Steve was the EMT who rode in the back. "Breathe Joe... Joe? Breathe!" Steve was smacking him in an attempt to shock him into waking up.
         Joe was responsible for the Jell-O shots. They had been his responsibility since the second year of their annual camping trip but this year was the first time Joe went all-out and made them special. His recipe was a potent one including vodka and other ingredients which made each shot a gourmet masterpiece. It seemed not even Joe could resist their enticing flavor.
         "Breathe Joe." Steve forced ammonia gas into Joe's nostrils causing Joe to jerk. "Stay awake Joe."
         "I V" Joe had been in a spot like this before and knew that a good, quick fix was to have fluids pumped into him, through his arm.
         "We're giving you an I.V. now. Breathe Joe. Try to remember to breathe."
         The ammonia stung like acid on an open wound and it was every couple of minutes that Steve inflicted him with the torture.

         It wasn't until everyone else showed, Joe began his binge. He swallowed two ounce shots chewing each of the Maraschino cherries. The cherries were his first attempt at making camping more fun. The attempt failed. All the guys were complaining that they had to chew. The girls, in the camp next to them, jokingly accused them of being gay. No one was eating the shots. So, Joe did. Shots and cherries began to slide down his throat. It wasn't long before two ounce plastic containers littered the camp area and Joe was molesting the ladies. Ten, twenty and then thirty Jell-O shot cups lay scattered about and Joe was officially wasted. Water was his only hope for a hangover free next day.

         "What happened to him"
         "He drank too many Jell-O shot..." Carter volunteered to the nurse using a soft drawn out voice. Once again he chuckled in a condescending manner. "He's puking a lot and has trouble breathing."
         "His B.P. is 100 over 59. He has labored breathing..." Steve rang out as they transferred Joe from the gurney to the E.R. bed. "...and we started an I.V. of saline. He's all yours."

         Joe opened a new bottle of Glacial Springs, natural spring water and took half of it in one attempt, "Ahh" then set it down on the wooden picnic table. He went back to Jenny for more conversation, dancing and groping. She cooed when he fondled her ass and for a while it appeared as though he was going to get some but Joe's intoxication was proving to be the only challenge to overcome. Tearing himself away, he went back to the table where he left his water. Ahh, salvation! Joe thought he had drank some already but given his condition, he didn't give it a second thought and grabbed the cold, full bottle of what he thought was water and drank. Once again he left it half-full.
         Joe always drank room temperature water. It tasted better and never gave him cramps. Carbonated beverages hadn't been in his diet for several months and beer was out of the question. He was trying to avoid the hurl factor.
         Jenny was all over him but for some reason Joe was having a hard time even keeping his eyes open. The water should be helping by now. "Just a sec. I need more water" Joe stumbled back to his water and in one final swoop he drank the entire, now filled, bottle of cold water.
         "Why's Joe drinking my bottle?" The resident alcoholic spoke up. "That isn't the cheap vodka-"
         "Oh no! That was Joe's water." Steiner announced, "he he!"
         "Uhoh! I thought it was abandoned."
         "Joe's in for a rough night"
         "Hey! Hey!" Jenny shouted as Joe staggered to his tent, "Where the hell are you goin?"

         "No! No! No cath! AHHH! AHHH! AHHHohh!" Even in his drunken state of mind, the pain was far worse than he'd ever imagined before. "no... no... it burns. It burns. No cath."  He whimpered between tears. He could only see the hideous beast standing at his waist side still forcing the tube into his tender groin. Joe couldn't tell if it were a man or woman only that it was huge with black, thinning hair and a series of large warts on its face. Its chest was full which might have meant it was a woman but because of its size it was too hard to tell. He could only surrender. He could only close his eyes and forget what he could.

         Joe crawled into his tent and on his air mattress. In seconds he was out. The slurm of dizzying poison made rest nearly impossible. He could only hope to stave off the waves of nausea with steady breathing and concentration. That is, until one of his drunken buddies landed hard on the mattress and zipped the tent closed.
         "Oh shit! Oh shit! Russ! Russ! Wake up! Wake up Russ" Joe began to feel the sensation of his innards fighting back. Russ wasn't waking up and Joe couldn't find the exit. He was certain he left the tent door open but now he was trapped. The hunt was on for the elusive zipper but it was no where to be found. "Where is it? Where's the zipper?" Joe's voice slurred out as he began to grab at anything to get out. He yanked at the rear window flap ripping it clean off its nylon stitches but that wasn't the way out. Joe flailed a bit before finding his way to the door. Its two zippers were where they ought to be but Joe wasn't going to find them and his patience had run out. He was a bear out of control, thrashing with his fangs and claws at the nylon mesh window, tearing it to shreds and forcing the zipper open. Fresh air. Fresh air.

         "Does he have insurance?"
         "Ah! I don't know." Carter began to sift through the junk in Joe's wallet finding the numerous insurance cards dating back as much as ten years earlier. "Here. Try one of these-"
         "Blue Cross!" Joe shouted out as if the curtain separating them was a sound proof brick wall and Joe had to make sure he was heard. The liquid being forced into him was bringing him out of his buzz.
         "...alright. I got it. Are you okay Joe?
         "No. My dick hurts."
         "HAHA! Too much information Joe. We didn't need to hear that."
         "It hurts."
         "Yeah Joe. I heard you screaming."

         The mattress was his final hurdle. Climbing out of the tent was labored because the air mattress would off set his balance and he found himself as a toddler half-crawling and half-staggering to the powder soft earth to say farewell to the thirty, Maraschino Cherries and chicken dinner, eaten hours earlier.

Shadow Boy

         It wasn't long after they moved in that strange things began to happen.  Unexplained shadows drifted through hallways and by windows.  Objects were mysteriously relocated from table to table and sometimes room to room.  Even the dog was the focus of strange occurrences.

*******

         Joey's father was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army, so he was usually okay with the constant traveling the family had to do.  It was either four years or every year they would pack their belongings and move to a different state, a different military base and a different home.  This time seemed no different.
         Joey and his two sisters, Rebecca and Rachel, were getting tired of it.  They would live somewhere just long enough to make life-long friends but never long enough to enjoy their new friendships.  Rebecca and Rachel took it a little hard.  They were tired of saying goodbye and this time it really showed in their behavior.  It was easier for Joey though.  He was never any good at making friends, so he didn't care much if he didn't make them now.  Besides, a friend from his school in Virginia was also moving to the same place.  His father was in the Army too and had been stationed near them.  His father taught at the War College and Joey's father was a student.
         Most father-son relationships were completely different from Joey's and his father's.  They didn't go fishing, hunting, hiking or camping.  Instead, Joey's father would try to inspire curiosity about the world around them.  They would spend time at antique book stores and old library basements dredging up ancient and quirky information about the places they lived.  In researching this home they took their time in trying to find reasons for the strange happenings in and around the house.  It wasn't long till Joey stumbled on something important and shouted out for his dad. 
         "Look Dad. This map of Carlisle shows where everything was in 1880."
         "See the ridge Son?  That's where we live now."
         "What are those things?"
         "Those are grave markers. See that marker there? That's where our house is now."
         "Ernest White Thunder. Who was Ernest White Thunder, Dad?"
         "Well lets read on and find out. There's a log sheet attached here."
         "It was a sad and mysterious coincidence by which two of our pupils were taken from us by death on the night of the 13th of December, both of them being from the same agency and the same band of Sioux." Joey read aloud to his father. "I think this explains it dad."
         "Well... read on son. Don't hold back on my account."
         "ERNEST, Chief White Thunder's son, was sent to the hospital in October to receive treatment for a slight sore throat. The applications being disagreeable he would not submit to them. He rejected not only medicine but nourishment, so that he became so weak and exhausted that when toward the latter part of his illness he was willing to recover, the most strenuous efforts proved powerless to save him."
         Joey and his dad scanned the documents for more information, looking for letters and maps of the old Industrial Indian school where Ernest had died.  They discovered the cemetery had been moved to make room for officer housing.
         "You know son. It could be Ernest moving around the house. We should make him feel welcome. What do you think about changing the dog's name from Kiser?"
         "That's a good idea. We could call him Ernest."
         "Well... I was thinking we could honor him by calling him, Chief White Thunder, after Ernest's father."
         "Can I call him Thunder? I think his name is too long."
         "Sure Joey. I think Ernest would be okay with that."
         As the days turned to months and the then thirteen year old Joey became more aware of the things going on in the house, his sisters and parents began to notice strange things too.  His mother was constantly distracted by shadows, shaped like young children, walking by the windows and doors. Thunder would wake in a panic, stare at nothing while turning his perky head as if he was watching someone move across the floor.  Seconds later and all at once he would leap to his feet bounding over chairs and the coffee table. Any room was better than the one with the shadow. His father would get ghostly massages late at night while doing home work at his desk.  Often, he would think it was Joey's Mom coming down before bed to say goodnight but when he turned around to see he was alone goose-bumps would cover his skin and he knew what was up.  Joey's sisters were so scared that they stayed away, all together.  They would spend night after night at friends' homes and never talked about the you-know-what and only referred to it as, "you-know-what".  It wasn't long till their parents put a stop to the sleep-overs.  It wasn't much after that the events got more pronounced and Ernest came out to play.
         It was a hot and steamy night in July when the only window air conditioner was on the other side of the house and in his sisters' closed room when Joey met his end.  His window was opened wide never-the-less the humidity was unbearable and Joey was forced to kick the covers from his bed.  There he lay with sweat dripping from his face and body.  His whitey-tighties were the only thing he wore.  Seconds turned to hours but, because it was so stifling hot he couldn't fall asleep to save his life.  He stared at the ceiling daydreaming when he first noticed it.  A shimmering shadow appeared in the hallway just beyond his bedroom door.  At first Joey thought it was his eyes playing tricks on him in the heat.  He rubbed them and shifted them from side to side before attempting to refocus on the shadow.  It was still there.  Sitting up in bed, he changed his position but the shadow remained.  Curiosity got the best of him; he stood and with great care in how he stepped, Joey approached the shimmer, readjusting his eyes as he went.  It wasn't long before he stood inches in front of the beast.
         Joey reached out to touch the shadow, his fingers sensed only a chill as he moved his digits around it, feeling for its boundaries.  "Two feet wide. Two feet deep and five feet tall." Joey whispered. "Cold, but not too cold. Too bad my bed isn't here."  He thought.
         Frustrated and a little board, a bathroom break was looking good and since the toilet was right there...  In a few moments Joey emerged refreshed.  His insides empty and his hands clean, he staggered as he shuffled his weary feet back to bed, passing the cold spot and realizing it had gone.
         Then, laying back in bed and feeling the heat more than ever, Joey turned his head to peer into the hall.  The shimmer had returned only now it was moving across his bedroom floor.  He noticed its speed was measurably slow as the shimmer danced from left and right as it approached.  Its shape was elusive and it twisted, contorted and bent itself, dizzying Joey's eyes.
         "Mom! Mom!" Joey tried to scream for help but all he could muster was that useless thought rattling around the inside of his head.
         Now it was feet away and Joey was paralyzed with fear; not even his tears would move.
         He watched it float above his bed, elongating and encompassing the whole of Joey's body.  The temperature dropped and he could feel his lungs compressing from the cold.  Joey was certain; he was dieing.  For the first time that night Joey was struggling to stay awake as the sensation of peace enveloped his consciousness, he succumb to the end.
         Images of pleasure flooded his mind while Joey strolled through fields of wild flowers.  In the distance, herds of wild horses galloped across his path.  With them, a young Indian boy rode bareback and waved to his new friend, Joey.  At last, Ernest had a friend to play with forever.

Dear Schnoz

You
are my beak.
You
are my bill.
You
are my snoot.
You
are my snout.
You
Schnoz,
Catch
the wind.
You
Snag,
a breeze,
numbing you and,
Chilling me.
I
stick you
Where you don’t belong.
I
apologize.
I
pick you,
and,
make you
Raw.
I.
I.
I’m
sorry Schnoz.

There was a man from Farmington
Who always had a ton-of-fun
Playing with his junk
He avoided funk
Even if the chicks ignore-um.