S H O W Y O U R J O Y

On Writer's Block

2009-07-11T21:32:00.002-05:00

I don't think writer's block is really something that can be discussed when it is actually happening to you. People say, of course, "OH, you must have writer's block,:-
.................but it's not like that.
It's not as if you realize what's happening while it's happening.
Sometimes days.................................................weeks.........................................................fly by and you've no reckoning of when the last time you sat down to write was. And yet that thought is but a fleeting moment, and before you know it you're back into the daily routine of counting money and hacking demons with your one-handed battle axe. Level 60 required.

And every time you think about it, all you want to do is stop

thinking

about it.

Writing without an idea is too painful," you say. It's like pulling teeth," you say. And the thought of this sheer agony of sitting down to write something meaningful will only douse your spirit of any fire it had to go do something fun for a change, or get outside and enjoy the sun. I must need a laptop, because sitting inside and writing seems so lazy and gross to me now. And hand writing seems like a steam-powered locomotive in comparison to the bullet train of a standard 'QWERTY' keyboard. I mean, erasing is so 1885 ("EIGHTEEN EIGHTY-FIVE! MY BELOVED CLARA! GREAT SCOTT!")

They say things like, "Keep those creative juices flowing.

Flow, damn you.

The Future, Certainly

2009-06-20T07:59:00.001-05:00

I feel His fingers sliding down my face
I know that I must leave this behind
Forgoing my sun-dress
The leaves retrieve my bonnet
I kick off my flats
And barefoot know my path
I have given all my riches
And left my carriage easily
The sun shines over the horizon
It's my future, certainly
He smiles at my approach
Naked, He accepts me
Clothes me in Himself
He made a home for me
A place to rest, eternally
And we are one

Deal, Jonathan

2009-05-26T01:32:00.001-05:00

There's a bridge in Louisiana that ties together two paths carved haphazardly through the muddy marsh. These paths were made by the Daniels siblings, on their constant journeys back and forth from the river. The bridge was even constructed by the eldest, a boy named Jonathan. It swings low over a creek, held together by rope and knots held to trees. Jonathan, a natural engineer and strongest of the four boys, built the whole thing on a whim when he recognized how much the boys loved to swim in the alcoves of the river. Since the creek lay at least four body-lengths in the ravine below, it took almost ten extra minutes to climb down and climb back up again. Jonathan could climb the cliff-side easiest, but Ethan, the youngest, could hardly make a go of it at only five years old. He'd gotten too big for even Jonathan to carry, a well-built boy of nearly eighteen, so he figured it was about time to build a bridge.

Where he placed the bridge was particularly important to this story. At the lowest part of the ravine, he made the path go, and rounded off where the trees of the forest came into a clearing. He called the place Tabula Rasa, for he considered it a 'clean slate' with which he could paint his beautiful bridge portrait on the landscape. The bridge itself he named for his grandmother Eleanor, for when he completed his project, the bridge sagged terribly.

It took three weeks of hard labor for Jonathan to complete his bridge. His sister Ruth was the first to applaud his efforts with, "I didn't know there was a bridge here." Every other of his five siblings hardly took notice that anything had changed. Except for of course Ethan, who adored Jonathan in every way possible. Ethan held such a liking to Jonathan because Jonathan protected him. From the day Ethan was born, he adored two things: affection and protection. Jonathan gathered this when he accidently walked in on his mother nursing a baby Ethan. When he entered the room, Ethan hid behind his mother's right breast and squeezed his face into her ribs. While embarrassed, Jonathan remembers it to be one of his fondest memories. He adored the moment's simplicity, and the utter innocence of a young child clutching to his mother's teet.

In this way, Jonathan felt like his brother's strong right hand; a bond-servant of the greatest kind: a brother. He adored his two other brothers, Joshua and Caleb, but most of all was Ethan. Gladly he would lay his life down for any of them, and the way he carried himself portrayed every detail of that fact. It was a full spectrum of love and compassion being carried in every step he took for his brothers.

Jonathan's sisters he left in the hands of his mother. While providing for all her children was top priority, it was obvious to all whom she favored most: Ruth and Lisa. Ruth was plain as daylight in the desert, but her mother loved that about her. She felt as though Ruth was someone she could lock arms with and wrestle anything that came along. Ruth was tough, just like her mother, and never waivered in her convictions. Lisa was a looker and a charmer from infinity. Her mother loved her differently; she found a face to put make-up on and doll-up on special occasions. Ruth and Lisa put together made the perfect daughter in the eyes of a simple mother, and heaven knows Mrs. Daniels tried desperately to keep them together.

But of course, while Ruth played swimming with the boys, Lisa stayed home and read.

Their father was no longer with them.

Mrs. Daniels tried her hardest to remain sane after the passing of Mr. Daniels. But as with most death, time can be as brutal a taskmaster as it can be a humble healer. She pressured Jonathan to shoulder the weight of a deceased father, and grief-stricken as he was, Jonathan soon grew cold towards his mother. Bitter tongues flew over dinner conversations. Arms and wrists flung high when the idea of other men entering their household was brought up. Jonathan had done some reading on the so called 'Oedipus Complex', to which he found increasing validity. He became increasingly jealous of her interactions with other men. It felt as though the pieces of his father to be found in him were screaming at the top of their lungs. It was excrutiating.

Night terrors flooded Jonathan's sleeping routines. He found himself dreading the day his mother would remarry, knowing full-well that his feelings could not be shown on the day that it happened. He would have to swallow all his grief and sadness and homesickness for his father that had been pent up for years and years, and all for a happy wedding photo-op. This future wedding seemed so inevitable, so hopelessly certain to him that he sweat beads in his slumber, and shouted profanities at men neither he nor his mother yet knew.

It broke Jonathan's heart when Ethan first asked if he was his daddy. "Your father was a great man," he explained to a disheartened Ethan, "A great man who fought many wars, both home and abroad. I'll be your daddy while he's gone, but only if you agree to call me Jonathan."

"When's he coming back, daddy?" Ethan asked.

"I don't think he is coming back Ethan," he replied, "But if he does, I want you to call me Jonathan until then. Just in case he gets jealous when he gets back."

"Deal," said Ethan, "Jonathan."

* * *

The Daniels made their first journey to the river as a family six months after the bridge was built. Though storm clouds threatned, the family was determined to enjoy a picnic and bask in the cool waters. Tabula Rasa had seen better days, and the bridge itself began to look less and less sound in the eyes of Jonathan. His creation had done it's duty for several months now, and he knew now that when the creek bed flooded the bridge almost served no purpose. The water touched the bottom of the two lowest boards, making a quick swim the simplist method across. In fact, the boys found much joy in diving off the bridge into the creek waters below during rainy days.

Before the Daniels crossed the bridge, Jonathan checked it's integrity. While he doubted it would last much longer, he allowed them all to cross one by one, each sibling carrying a picnic item. Mrs. Daniels carried Mr. Daniels' watch/compass to 'guide the way' (though every sibling knew the way). Jonathan carried the blankets and the towels. Ruth carried the parasol. Joshua carried the water pails for drinking water. Lisa carried the lemonade. Caleb carried the floating tubes, and Ethan waddled alongside Jonathan carrying the hefty food basket.

"Are we going to the river, Jonny?" Ethan asked
"Sure are, buddy," he replied.
"Are there fish in the river?"
"Oh hundreds, I'm sure."
"Will they bite me?"
"I doubt it."
"Will they be my friends?"
"I doubt that even more, buddy."
"Will it rain?"
"Probably. But let's hope not."
"Can I have a fish for dinner?"
"Haha! A minute ago you wanted them to be your friends!"
"Not no more."
"Oh Ethan. I'm sure we could convince one of them yuppies to be your friend."
"Deal?"
"Deal."

The Daniels had barely finished eating when it began to rain. Hard. Lisa sprinted back to the house, as did Ruth and Mrs. Daniels carrying Ethan. The other boys were left to collect and drag everything home. Before they got to it, they swam around and laughed in the rain. Joshua talked about Claire Roth's boobs at length, calling them everything from 'glorious spheres' to 'whorish lumps'. The Daniels boys were very well read.

Caleb talked about the book he was currently reading, called The Sound and the Fury. Jonathan asked if he could read it next, as he was quite fond of Faulkner. While the boys talked of many other things, they themselves would never remember them, as the strands that connected the ideas were as thin as the boys' attention spans. Idea to idea, they found themselves somehow always circling back to womens' breasts.

Time passed quickly, and Jonathan recognized the water rising and figured that the creek was flooded. He rushed the boys to gather everything and they sprinted through the woods back down the path. Jonathan was the last to reach the bridge, and as he approached he tripped over a boulder hidden by mud. He landed face first into the bridge, spilling most of what he was carrying into the creek. The water now nearly covered the bridge, and when Jonathan landed he heard some twisting and snapping. He figured that Eleanor maybe had a half an hour to live. He rolled off into the creek and swam the rest of the way to shore.

Upon arriving back at the house, Jonathan passed his mother going back into the woods.
"What are you doing?" he shouted through the rain
"I forgot your father's watch!" She shouted back, "It's going to get washed away in this rain!"
"Mom, it's gone! I was just there, and the water was rising. By the time you get back, it'll be halfway to New Orleans!"
"I've got to try, Jonathan. It's another piece of your father I'd be losing!"
"Mom, you can't go back! The bridge is about to go!"
"Nonsense! It was fine when I crossed it."
"Trust me mom! I fell down on it on the way back, and I heard it snapping and twisting. You can't go Mom, you can't hardly swim!"
"I'll be fine."
She whisped into the woods without another word. Jonathan followed his mother, insisting that she turn back. She didn't say a word to him the whole way to the bridge.

Just as they arrived in the clearing, Jonathan heard a branch break behind him. He looked back to see that Ethan had followed them out. "Go home, Ethan. You shouldn't be out here in this." Ethan did as he was told, and just as he was almost out of Jonathan's sight, he heard a scream from the bridge.

His mother flailed in the creek water struggling to stay afloat. Jonathan ripped off his shoes and dove into the creek after her. She began to sink as her panic turned into exhaustion, but Jonathan arrived just in time to lift her head above water. She coughed, and Jonathan's arm wrapped around her body, brought up just beneath her blouse and touching her bare breast. It was the first time Jonathan had felt sexually attracted to his mother.

He dragged her onto the shore, then carried her back to the house. When he arrived, everyone was standing outside the house, except for Ethan.

"Where's Ethan?" Jonathan demanded.
"Didn't he go out there with you?" asked Ruth, blankly.

Jonathan's eyes widened and the rain continued to pour. Time stood still and Jonathan began running through the woods in his mind. He determined the quickest routes to the creek and where it let into the river. He knew their swimming alcove lay downstream from the creek delta, so he would start there and work his way down. His feet spun, his calves dug in, and his legs pumped him forward and into the woods.

He shouted "Ethan!" at the top of his lungs. Every inch of him feared the worst. It drove him into an adrenaline enduced rage. He flew threw the woods, tearing limbs from trees and stepping so lightly the mud barely stuck to his bare feet. Scraped and scathed almost every step, his mind only carried the image of Ethan, lifeless on the creek shore.

He arrived where Eleanor once stood proud and attempted to jump across. The jump was short, and he felt the bones in his right leg grind together as he landed. It was nearly broken, and he almost passed out as he fell backwards into the creek, clutching his leg. He floated downstream, occasionally looking into the water to see if he could find Ethan. The rain disorentied him, and the pain in his ankle and calf was unreal. He soon came to the mouth of the creek, and floated downriver, slowly losing all hope of finding his brother.

As he approached their picnic site, he saw a small body laid up against a branch extending into the river. He swam up next to it, crying Ethan's name the whole way. He fought back tears and sobbing, and threw his brother over his shoulder onto shore. He hobbled on the sand and laid him down flat. He didn't hear him breathing. He shoved every ounce of energy he had left into performing CPR on his comatose faux-son. He breathed into his mouth, and continued shouting.

"ETHAN!"

His technique was awful. This was only something he had read about, but never had to perform. He knew he had to be doing more damage than good. He drove each thrust with purpose and as much precision as possible, and with a second blow into his mouth, Ethan spat up river sewage and mud. He assisted his brother upright and helped him vomit everything up. As Ethan coughed, he mumbled something unintelligable, followed by, "Jonathan, please don't drown."

"I didn't drown, buddy. You almost did," Jonathan said and embraced Ethan. He held him tight and strong, and rolled over on his back next to him. He pressed Ethan against his chest, and patted his hair.
"I tried to save you. Please don't drown," Ethan continued
"I'm alright buddy, I'm alright."
"Deal?"
"Deal."
"Where's daddy?"
"He's not with us anymore, Ethan. Remember?"
"No! No! I just saw him. Where'd he go?"
"Where did you see him?"
"Just now. He dove in after me."
Jonathan paused and wondered.
"Well he's gone now, buddy."
"Do I still have to call you Jonathan, then?"
"I'm 'fraid so."
Jonathan continued petting Ethan's hair for a little while longer, holding him on the river shore.

When the boys came back to the house, not a word was spoken between Jonathan and Mrs. Daniels. Jonathan replayed the incident in his head, and came to the conclusion that he never blamed his mother for what happened. In her heart she knew he didn't, for the look on his face when she came out of the water said it all. Her intentions were good. Jonathan knew this, as bringing his brother back to life made him feel as though he was recovering a piece of his father. And, perhaps, that's all Mrs. Daniels wanted - to preserve a piece of her husband in his watch.

Jonathan quickly recovered from the incident, and set about plans to rebuild his bridge over a higher part of the ravine. He began gathering wood two days after saving his drowning brother.

Then one afternoon several days later, when Mrs. Daniels was hanging clothes to dry, she shook a pair of Ethan's pants, and out flew her husband's watch.

TARKIO - Story 2:

2009-03-31T21:30:00.002-05:00

SO LONG, RONNIE

Ecstasy. Filth. My name is Opal Brenner. My friends call me "Brenner", or "Ben" for short, because my Christian name is so weird. This is my friend Conner. We call him "Connie". He hates that. We're admiring a young woman we've never seen before on main street. "She's not a townie," we mumble to each other in our thoughts. Our eyes meet. It's understood.

"I can honestly say I'd fuck her," quipped Conner.
"Shut up, Conner. Are you out of your mind?" I said, and pointed at the little girl running up the sidewalk with an old man gasping to catch up. "Woh, woh, slow down sweet heart," I urged, "Is that your grandpa?"
"That is-a my Popo. I hold you?" she asked, with her arms outstretched. I gathered she wanted held right away. Her arms shook urgently.
"Hah, hah, h-alright h-Abigail," huffed the elderly fellow presumed "Popo", "Let's not disturb these fine young gentlemen." He smiled at me, and frowned at Conner. No way he heard him. I think he could just smell the fart stench of the word "fuck" on Conner's lips. Old people have keen senses to things of that nature. Especially Baptists.

As they passed by, I stopped Conner, who was still walking and staring at the young woman across the street. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What? I didn't know they were coming."
"For one thing, there's no way you could 'honestly say' (with quoting fingers) that you'd fuck anybody. If she presented herself prostrate before you, open legged, with a 'come hither' face, you'd wet your pants. Secondly (we continued walking), you don't just say things like 'fuck' out in the open. Especially since you talk so loud."
"I do not talk loud!"
"See! Right there. Nobody's ever told you that before?"
"Seriously, I do not talk loud."
"Yes, yes you do. You so do. You should try listening to yourself. Or better yet, tape record your next conversation. Don't you have something like a tape recorder on your phone?"
"Yeah, a voice recorder. But so what? I'm not taping myself talk to prove your point."
"Why not?"
"Because it's ludicrous. Even if I do talk loud (we arrived at the diner, and went in the door), I can't see any conceivable way of lowering my volume perminantly."
We grabbed a table. There was a strange silence for awhile, but then Conner picked back up with, "Unless of course I stopped talking."
"Yes, yes. That would help immensly."
"Yeah, you're one to talk. Literally. All you do is talk. Analyze. Think of what I'm thinking. Try to decompose what I'm saying."
"You're still talking loud-"
"I have a point!"
"-we're inside shut up..."
"I have a point! You're the most analytical person I know sometimes."
"What we need for you (looking up from the menu, ignoring what he was saying) is a girlfriend. Someone you want to talk softly to. 'Oh Angela -
"Shut up, Brenner..."
"'- my darling sweet-pet, I will kiss you. Better yet! (speaking even softer) I will fuck you! Mmm! Yes! I will!"
"Stop it, ass-hat."
"Oh! We we! (French accent plus kissy noises)"
"You're an idiot."
I smiled. We were strange friends. Conner never liked to admit he spent lots of time with me. His friend (not girlfriend, mind you. An important detail Conner never omitted) Angela did not understand me in the slightest. Taken from a family of tomboy sisters, she so clearly adored Conner. It must have been his farmhand build, his grundgy t-shirts, and his shifty, watch-the-clouds attitude. His presence alone would make any farmer's daughter swoon. He looked back down at the menu and lifted his cap from his brow. We sat in silence for awhile.
"So did you hear about Ronnie's dad?" piped up Conner.
"No, I didn't. What happened?"
"Well, you know how he had to go down to St. Joe to get surgery, right?"
"Yeah. I heard about that. Some sort of spinal issue, right?"
"Yeah, he was having trouble walking and everything. He couldn't work."
"Where does he work again?"
"Down at the Kawasaki plant down in Maryville. He operates the robots."
"The...robots?"
"Yeah, you know. The things that actually put the bikes together."
"Ah. I see. I thought you meant -"
"Actual?"
"-actual robots."
We laughed. A lot.
It was early.
"Well, so anyway, he got some sort of buldge in a disc or something removed, and it took him too long to recover from it," Conner continued
"Uh-huh..."
"So Kawasaki had to take him off the payroll because more than 90 days, or however long their limit is on disability, had already passed."
"They laid him off?"
"They had no choice, apparently. Damn Japs, if you ask me."
"Geeze. So what are they doing? I mean, Ronnie's family?"
"Well, Carl's looking for work now. He's fine - fully recovered - it just took him too long."
"Yeah but there's no jobs. Especially not around here."
The waitress came out with coffee. I ordered biscuits and gravy. Conner ordered four eggs scrambled. Same as always.
"The closest thing I could think of would be the Harley plant in KC. I doubt they'll want to travel that far though. The problem is that these robots are self-automated now. They don't even need a human to monitor them anymore."
"I see."
"They just get computer techs to program them, and when a problem arises, they hire a mechanic to fix them. Most automotive companies wouldn't even need guys like Carl."
"Well, he could learn the computer systems I guess."
"No way. Ronnie's dad wouldn't even touch one. He's too old to understand computers. In fact, when Carl got laid off from his last job and the Ford plant in Detroit, he was the one building the cars. Not the robots. He was ousted by a robot. He had to learn to control the robots to get his job at the Kawasaki plant. Which, according to Ronnie, took him three years. They spent three years in a trailer park while he learned how to control goddamn robots."
The food arrived. Conner continued.
"I hate to say it, but Ronnie might be in the poor house again for awhile until his dad learns something new. Ronnie's got three years left of college, so his dad has to keep working. He should have retired years ago, but he wanted to pay for Ronnie's school."
"Well, that's his own misfortune. He could've cut Ronnie loose easily enough. Isn't Ronnie working full time too?"
"Part time. He's in construction up here on weekends. I think part of the rebuilding project up here. They're tearing down that old station today by the look of it."
Conner was right. The wrecking ball stood ready and machine sounds filled the air. Groaning engines. Backing-up beeping. The whole bit.
"Yeah," I replied.
We sat silent again.
"Hasn't he been acting a little strange lately?" I asked.
"Who Ronnie?"
"Yeah."
"I haven't really noticed anything (mouth now full). Have you?"
"Well, not anything specifically (scooping up biscuit bits and gravy with a spoon). He just seemed very down last night."
"You saw him? (swallow) Where?"
"In Maryville. He didn't have class on Friday. Some kinda senior homecoming ritual or something. Anyway, I decided to go down after I got out of class in the afternoon to see him. The whole time he seemed, distant. We went to the theater to see 'Meet the Spartans'. He didn't even laugh that much. He usually dies over retarded movies like that."
"Yeah, totally. He roared all throughout 'Scary Movie 3'."
"Something's not right. Maybe it's his whole dad situation."
"Maybe it's his whole everything situation. I don't know man, but Ronnie's been weird for awhile now. Ever since he left for school, anyway."
"Yeah. Well, maybe we should go down there and see what he's doing. Maybe we could cheer him up?"
"I suppose anything's possible."

We paid for the meal and started walking. We came around the bend to find Ronnie sitting by himself, already eating from his lunch pail. "Taking an early lunch, Ronnie?" asked Conner. "We were just talking about you."
"Oh yeah? What about?" asked Ronnie, looking up from his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"Just about your dad losing his job," I said, "I'm really sorry to hear that, Ronnie. You guys going to have to move or something?"
"I don't know," he said simply with a sudden frown on his face. He squinted in the sunlight.
"What's with you Ronnie?" asked Conner. "You aren't yourself today."
"You're right I'm not myself today," he said. I remember he sounded and looked like Joaquin Phoenix at that very moment. It was pale, dark, and cut-up, like he was about to cry. I reached to pat him on the shoulder, but just then the loud wrecking ball fired up. I looked over, and before I could turn back, Ronnie had shot up wild eyed and darted for the inept building.
"Hey, Ronnie! What the hell are you doing?" I yelled.
"Ronnie! What are you doing?!" Conner yelled after me.
He ran and we stood speechless. He ran up the blue steps to the second floor where we could see in (the south wall was gone already) and the wrecking ball lifted. We reached out our arms and resumed yelling incessantly, to no avail. Conner darted for the wrecking ball operator to stop it, but it was too late. Ronnie had lifted himself up the rafters on the second floor to the lip of the west wall, and just as the crane dropped the huge metal ball, he stretched his arms out to greet it. It was the most incredible yet horrifying feat I'd ever seen a man accomplish. The ball pushed Ronnie's rag-doll body into the east wall, which he bounced off of, and the building collapsed all around him.
Conner and I ran for the building after him. Neither of us saw his mangled body. Neither of us could say anything. I opened my mouth to speak, but could not. One of his co-workers behind us filled my empty voice with,

"So long, Ronnie."

TARKIO - Story 1:

2009-03-28T00:30:00.001-05:00

CHASING SHADOWS

His hands met the keys. The plastic bent and flexed at his command, but not a sound was made. He flipped at the dials, his fingers meandering about the front panel. It probably wasn't plugged in, but that didn't stop the boy inside him from shoving his heart into his eyes, welling every floundering memory into tears as he recalled every moment passed at the helm of his great-grandmother's electronic organ. Tschaikovsky once in his mind, and Singin' in the Rain the next, followed by Claire de Lune, and the bridge of Karma Police passing by. He was performing beautifully for an invisible audience, and a rerun of Law & Order blaired for background white-noise wash. Of course, his great-grandmother would be counted part of the audience, no matter however dead she was lying in her grave. This did not, however, detur the boy inside him from that distant shadow in his mind; a shade of his former self for her to be proud of, or at least to be amused by his pathetic childish wanderings on a much larger-than-life instrument. For the boy inside him was still young, and his great-grandmother still alive, asleep on the chair in the middle of the night with the TV on, snoring. "Ha!" he shouted, knowing a boyish yawlp wouldn't even half rouse the slumbering widow spider, feathered and snuggled peacefully in her web for the night.

His body began romping on the stool, butt lifting from the seat and arms stretched straight and pounding the keys. He was every part vaudville piano act and every part ridiculous, but he couldn't help from singing, and stretching out a Motzart-ian chuckle, as he taunted poor Antonio Banderas, for that was his arch rival, wasn't it? No matter! "High-diddle dee and high-diddle dumb!" sang the boy inside. Spinning the stool around, for he loved to do that incessently (ceaselessly, even), but stopped short to stare at the empty recliner. He "humphed" and cupped his chin in his hands, then dropped one arm to his lap and spun back to the keyboard. As if to shrug off loss and even death itself, he continued to play.

"Grandma Winnie, will I grow old?" inquired the boy.
"Of course you will, boy. Everybody grows old!" Winnie said with her toothless smile and throaty chuckle. The boy seemed frustrated by the response. He looked away from his great-grandmother embarrassed, searching for an appropriate response. He spotted a mirror he had, years ago, mistaken himself for another baby. The memory, however, was so buried that attempting to recollect how he knew the mirror and this supposed other baby made his nose tickle and his eyes burn. He rubbed his eyes and turned back to her. "But, then, I'll die."
"Sure you will. But not for a very long time."
"Does everyone get sick eventually?"
"Not everyone dear. Not me."
"Then how will you die?"
The question perked the ears of the generation above the boy and both siblings of that generation whipped around in the kitchen to grab the suddenly hostile (yet, admittingly innocent) words, and hush the child. The mother was first to respond, though her brother quick to try and squelch the inquiry, piped an "Ah ah ah" before she could reel her silencing words into a finger in front of the boy's mouth.

"That's not polite, boy."
"I'm sorry, Grandma."
"That's alright."
The room grew quiet in an instant. As if a time lapse had captured the awkwardness that lay ahead of the group of four and sped it up to get it out of the way, Winnie brought the boy into her lap and whispered "No matter how I go, my heart must eventually stop."
"Eventually everyone must die."
"But not you, Winnie! Surely, not everyone."
"Not everyone dear. Not me."
Her heart was so large in his mind. Pounding in her chest he could hear it from perched far out on her knee. Even facing the other direction. His mother with her hand at her waist frowned disapprovingly. She felt no sympathy for the ardour of the boy's youth. The fire of curiousity raging in his mind; the thunderstorm of twisting logic as it looped around his cerebellum. He knew, for it is in everyone to know, that sin would one day come knocking for it's due in the heart of every man, and when we come up short on rent we've got to close up shop. Evicted from our bodies we are wandering the world between worlds, the dimensions between the real and the super-real. He thought about the mirror. Could the other baby have mistaken himself for another baby as well? Is the other baby the real him remembering himself as a boy? Did he wave at himself waving from the past to the future-self waving at his past self? Which hand did he wave with, and where was the mirror? North or south? But then what are directions, anyway? Markers for which way the universe is pointing?

The boy and his brother lept from their respective seats, his great-grandmother's lap and the sofa, respectively. Their conjoined minds felt the tingling sensations in their feet as they longed to stretch their legs together; to lock arms as brothers and provide each other rapid entertainment, a heart pumping at 127 RPM, and sweaty, holey socks. Down the stairs the boy and his brother flew, and the man holding the boy inside followed in toe from the organ stool, through the kitchen, and downstairs. The lights came on, and he awoke from his wild-eyed memory. His brother was not there, nor any toys, nor strange canisters behind the stairs, nor clothes hanging up needlessly by the drying machine (old habits die hard, even when the habits have long since been forgone), nor the turntable, nor the paintings on the wall. Only a small shadow, wagging his finger at the boy inside. Still, he thought, a good slide never hurt anyone.

While he slid sock after sock, foot in front of foot, round and round the basement floor, he contemplated nothing. The smile grew on his face as he imagined every turn step for step racing his brother, chasing his sister, chasing his own shadow.

Truely, Winnie never died. Her heart merely stopped like everyone else's.

Woodbrine Rd.

2009-03-21T23:54:00.000-05:00

I've been dreaming of the mountains
You've curves like June on Woodbrine Road
I'm breathing heavy in my sleep
Clutching my chest for my heart to contain
All of this longing
Wishing; waiting
Time swells in my core
I may become undone

I've been sneezing in my bed
Your lips are grazing my subconscious
Full and simple ecstasy
What visions flooding through my eyes
Now I see in a mirror
Dimly; unassuming
A weak-kneed boy
Not a mighty arm

I've been writhing in my bones
My body grows and groans
To hold a hand like my Father
To love as You have loved before me
That I may grow to learn
Wisely; patiently
To bring you in my grasp
And never let you go

I've been digging up my well
The rope and stone and everything
Deep crying unto my shoulders
Heaving chest and breaking boulders
That my house will be prepared
Carefully; purposefully
To find you at your window
Waiting for me

For me.

The Airport & The Long Good-bye

2009-03-03T19:16:00.003-06:00

The bathrooms are clean. The carpet is vacuumed. The airport is a clean place. A safe place, where people can feel secure. Everything is on camera, and everyone is being watched. Someone is watching everyone. I wonder if that would be a fun job. Just to sit and watch people all day long. I find as well a spectator myself, nodding off at the departure gate.

My arm is stiff and falling asleep, propping my head up on these uncomfortable metal arm rests. My cheek is red from my hand pressing up against it. My glasses are lifting up from the bridge of my nose. Every part of my body aches. I lift my right leg over my left and shake it relentlessly. It's a violent mix of anxiousness and exhaustion; restlessness and anguish. My stomach is grinding food that isn't there.

So there on their black and white screens they can see me, blissfully going absolutely nowhere. They're laughing at me, at least because I decided they are. I did, after all, give them every reason to chuckle at my expense. My bag is still strapped around my shoulder resting in my lap. I'm wearing high-water jeans because I packed all my good jeans the night before. I've got a five o'clock AM shadow caked onto my face and grumpy, droopy eyes. I'm sure they'd be laughing at me.

But, as I imagine (and I imagine a lot), they're too busy watching the people saying good-bye to one another instead. Every flight is it's own romance movie plot turn. Will they come back? Will their love ever be the same? Is he coming back a woman? You know, the usual stuff that goes on in romance movies. I'm sure it's an emotional affair to all the people watching. Even I, a simple on-looker, am taken aback by the non-stop, unashamed affection being displayed at the airport. You see love for what it really is there - a blind dedication to another human being.

They don't realize that everyone is looking at them. They just want that one last hug and good luck kiss before he goes off for that out-of-state sales pitch. They just want to say good-bye to that lifelong friend leaving for Singapore to be a missionary full time. They just want to see that a friend makes it home safe. They just want to shake the hand of a good business partner. They just want a picture with that quasi-celebrity.

Haven't you ever noticed that? When it comes to saying good-bye, no one else seems to matter. You temporarily are granted complete tunnel vision, and the only thing in the world that means a damn to you is whoever you're parting ways with. The only thing disheartening about that state of being is that the person you're so focused on also happens to be the person leaving you soon.

When I was single, things were much more simple. When I was going some place for awhile, I said good-bye to my folks and that was that. They cried sometimes, but I was for the most part emotionally un-phased. The first time I felt detached enough to carry an emotional response was after my first week of being at college. I didn't realize how much I'd missed home since I got there. My body ached for home. It ached for the simplicity of resting my head on my father's chest, watching TV. I ached for nights in the kitchen goofing off with my siblings while we made dinner. I ached for conversations with my mom in the living room, and a cup of iced tea on the lawn. So, I cried. I cried for almost a half-hour. All of the sudden, my home was somewhere else.

It stayed that way for quite sometime. Home became a get-away. I even started dating someone at home. Suddenly that home comfort became that person's comfort, and when that ended badly I again felt extremely detached. I stayed away from home, running from my pain I guess. I cried at night because I didn't know where home was anymore. Slowly but surely, I made my living quarters at school my home. I took care of my space like my parents took care of ours. I babied it. I vacuumed it. I cleaned the bathroom. Maybe that's why they keep airports so clean. They want it to feel like home as much as possible to those who are leaving.

When I fell in love, my lover lived elsewhere. But I no longer attached her to where my home (my house) was. Soon, wherever she was, that's where home was. I still visited my house, and I still laid in my father's arms, but it felt different. Not in a bad way by any stretch, but different none the less. I no longer needed this place to feel at home. All I needed was my lover to feel truly at home.

We need that security when we're getting ready to leave. We need to know everything is going to be okay. You need the one you love. I need the one I love. Oh my God, there she is.

The Long Good-Bye

Paper and pad
Dufflebag
Backpack and luggage
All my weight to carry on
If only I could bring you along
My love; stay safe and warm
While I am gone
Carry me in your pocket
Hear me when I cry
This is our long good-bye
But I won't be gone for long
Call me all the time
Stay with me on the phone
When I lay down
You came with me
I hear your voice while I am sleeping
In my dreams
My love; your breath is heaven
My lungs are overflown
The plane passes overhead
We haven't got much longer
I'll stay until your ready
"Are you ready?"
You say; though you know
I never really am
Stay safe and warm
While I'm away and you're at home
This is our long good-bye
It's time
I love you

Airy May

2009-03-02T00:23:00.002-06:00

I remember walking to the drug store
Spending my days, turning into nights
I remember the silence of the rain
Fifty, sixty drops per second
I don't know, I don't know, I guess
My zipper shuts up magazines
All the loud cover girls
And candy bars in my pockets

Maybe I'll make it home for "Jeopardy!"
This night, I sneeze; I think of you
Though I do not know your face
You haunt my every step
Every sloshing pothole
From speed bump to speed bump
The slippery handrail
The broken bottle glass

All I think with my head down,
"Love, I do not have,
For one long weekend."
I wish that you were here with me
To pass away the evening
Walk along my side
And underneath my arm
Borrowing my coat

I settle down on the couch
My seat will carry double weight
The chair a second set of thighs
These things I didn't realize now
Or how important they might be
When your waist is in my hands
And your breasts against my cheek
Softly, deeply breathe

When I close my eyes at night
I swear you're really there

Midwinter II

2008-12-23T10:04:00.002-06:00

Snow is gathering
Falls without
Logistical warning
I sure doubt
Ankle socks will do,
With white about
My ankle high shoes;
Laces out

Your scarf is wrapping
'Round my heart,
The earth is dancing
Torn apart
Cloves of evergreen
Holds to start,
A new beginning
In my heart

A Star to Guide is Coming!

2008-12-05T11:45:00.002-06:00

A star to guide
It burns as bright
A million years away
Before the son
A million years ago
And the Lord conceived
In Mary's womb
To bring her into light
And cause the star to come
To guide our way tonight
A star to guide is coming!
Praise the Lord
His perfect timing!
You super nova
Hold your lamp-stand high
Oh angels o'er the Earth
Bring forth our star
The star to guide our way
To the Son of God

Revamp

2008-11-14T10:36:00.000-06:00

Changes have been made
Pictures added
Colors and text reworked
Link to my portfolio coming soon..

Word.

Touché, Michael Willis

2008-11-13T12:14:00.000-06:00

His marksmanship poised
Delivered to kill us
His words sharp as tongues
Touché, Michael Willis

1 PM
Thievery logistics
Like stealing ideas
Passed over hands glued
Keyboards to fingernails
Bruises of culture
Riddle decrees
As truth becomes commodity
And wealth an ideal
I read them there
Surveying the screen
A landscape of luxury
Only one click away

I am Not a Child. These Are Not My Siblings

2008-11-10T18:51:00.001-06:00

I stand mistaking everyone
Polishing my eye-glasses
Why am I screaming?
Who is this crying with me?
She says to me, over and over:
"Wake up, Christopher,
You are no longer a child."
And, "Snap out of it."

If I sit still and think
Now I can save my future
I'll save it in a memory
The map to consciousness
I'll repeat to myself,
"You have Alzheimer's;
It's only getting worse."
And, "You found her long ago."

Day of the Dog

2008-11-10T12:59:00.000-06:00

We're off through the winding woods
Touting our masculinity
We four brothers; invincible
Loosening our trousers
Now bare to our toes
Our backs to the forest
The dock will bend to us
And wake in morning pond
I fly towards the gleam
Five hundred yards of shimmering
The water's cool as rain
It floods my naked skin
They follow me; the eldest then
We never felt ashamed
I surface now to catch my breath
And calm my overwhelming joy

The Burgeoning Winter

2008-11-09T19:48:00.000-06:00

I can't but feel I'm missing time
Alone outside in bundled abode
White pillows up nicely my booted heels
I button up snug my overcoat
Wandering legs and a frigged nose
Alternative paths dance overhead
Not for my feet having no place to rest
Would I be out nowhere instead of inside

The fire grows tired and smolders
Honest, inside I can feel it grow cold
Dim grows the light in my soul
And not for the time growing old
Fuel is low and in demand
I'm asking the Lord for some tinder
A bitter bite off of my hands; my eyes
Raised high as the burgeoning winter

The Pirate Queen

2008-10-22T00:37:00.001-05:00

If the saw grass is to our knees
All we'll see of our feet
Is your toenails; pretty and pink
We laugh as we run to the sea

Acting like we've never been silly
Using leaves to paintbrush our dreams
Where our backyards can meet
Now you've always been with me

The last remaining butterfly
In a field of floating strings
I found you breaking free
And spreading out your wings

Then we destroyed the moon
And gazed upon the stars
Said our long good-byes
And drank a drink to better tides

Now look me in the window
And ask the passing light
If it could be so kind
To kiss us both goodnight

The Body Ends; The Spirit Leaves (+ hour 7)

2008-09-26T16:55:00.002-05:00

The body ends; the spirit leaves
My love will never fade
The mountains fall; the wells recede
My fountain will prevail

12 PM
The joys of the day
I skip from the curb
The maple leaf on my heals
I can feel my spirit fly
Maybe if I jump enough
I'll simply float away
If the sky won't hold me up
It'll surely keep my footing
Orange and red and brown
Against the blue and me
Overlooks my path
And covers up my black

Runny Mathematics (+ hours 5 & 6)

2008-09-18T23:40:00.000-05:00

Runny mathematics
Bleeds and bleeds
Water trickles
Tickles; it's kinda funny

10 AM
The last of sounding thunder
Distance closes my umbrella
Morning spreads my arms
As if to part the clouds
Pebbles spot the pavement
Chips of concrete underfoot
Mixed the wet with rubber
And the subtle slip
I run my shadow fingers
Over blades of grass
Through the shade of fences
And the cliffs of cracks

11 AM
Settle down these stairs
I huddle up the rail
Catch a gasp of autumn
As I come up for air
A simple-minded recess
To dine with passing scholars
Left and right they go
Some pause at me and wonder
No joy to eat alone
At least no less to sleep
I comfort lonesome softly
With fluffy chocolate sweets

Boulevard

2008-09-08T19:07:00.000-05:00

I raise my ice pick in the morning of the seventh day
She coerces my tinted glass
It's 6 o'clock AM
The delicate dance of man and winter
All my horses and shiny buttons
Strapped and warm for the journey ahead
Satchel in hand; highway ahead
This will be a day to remember

I unstrap myself; arrived alive
Heavy-burdened breathing
My heart is pounding like Wall Street
I avoid the awkward steps
Down the darkened corridors
Ducking paper mâché and déjà vu
I, yet again, am a stranger in a foreign land
No answer, and my thumbs are out of ink

Where do market streets look the same?
Crowded, littered, and plastered white
All I want is the messenger man
Send for her in the courtyard
I'm on my way
The minstrels comment my attire
She inquires my official title
Nothing never mattered even then

My stagecoach is freezing
The wheels are cracked and bruised
We embraced on the boulevard
Where our car slowed to a stop
My nose is getting cold
It nuzzles in your cheek
It's 9 o'clock PM
What a wonderful day this has been

The Birth of Ideas (+ hours 3 & 4)

2008-09-06T09:38:00.001-05:00

The birth of ideas
Big ones, as it were
"Love", faulty condoms,
And the birth of an infant

8 AM
Breath, a panic breath
Misplaced ejaculation
Weathered stipulation
Of whether I'm awake
Blame, my tattered blame
A life I'd long forgotten
She came to haunt my nightmares
And resurrect my shame
Over, bubbled over
Like waves on freezing shores
Pornographic reruns
Like scratching swollen sores

9 AM
Heavy eyes, blinking clocks
Power's out, no one's home
How the minutes slowly turn
And seem like much to long
Rain pelts through my window
Soft to wet my feet
Through my sophomore sheets
To bedbugs down below
I don't mind the Dresden drizzle
Or the London fog
Not even sleepy bags, but
I really need to pee

As I air the morning clear (+ hours 1 & 2)

2008-08-20T23:58:00.000-05:00

As I air the morning clear
With taste of newborn sun
I find the furry lawn
A wondrous place for cheer

6 AM
These walks, oh lonely walks
Where is your hand?
It embodies earthly space
Why not same as mine?
The wind it talks of nothing
Except how silence speaks
To resonate inside
I wonder as I wait
A car, that gentle pass
Turning courses turning
The neon lights are burning
I wander through the dawn

7 AM
When speaking finds a tempo
I know I'm on the phone
When digit-numbers bleed
I know I'm still asleep
I moan and groan
Preemptively complaining
Of later rising up, and wishing
I was still asleep
Oh ferocious rising!
The vicious waking body!
Hard, but often funny how
I know to blame the clock

1986

2008-07-05T22:03:00.002-05:00

He's coming to this world
Without a hand to catch
Sneezes softly
In his blanket
Oh what a simple face
Woven softly in the womb
I saw it happening
I saw his eyes go brown
When his fingers formed
I already knew the words
They would form
Oh so many words

Now he's here with me
I think him as I bleed
Along with many others
And all their suffering
I breathe in lust
For he could not take it
Even in his dreams
He cannot bear this weight
So I must go
And take my place
Trusting in my Father
He'll find what this is for

I died for him
I died for Christopher

2008

2008-07-05T22:03:00.001-05:00

Hey!
Oh how I have hoped for you
How's it going?
My God, you're so beautiful
You want to see my house?
I can't stop staring at you
Have a seat, I'll get some drinks.
Maybe wait to start the movie
Sorry no one else is here.
More room on the couch for us
I can't believe you haven't seen this!
I want to hold your hand
"It's goddamn freezing on this beach!"
I want to hold your hand
"I don't constantly talk!"
I want to hold your hand
"I'm just...happy. I've never felt that before."
I just want to hold your hand
Do you need to go?
Please don't go. Please not yet!
I'll see you later
I'll call tomorrow, okay?
Bye...
...sweet heart

2005-2006

2008-07-02T07:34:00.001-05:00

People passing
Pushing pencils
Advertising
Halving prices
Here it goes
I missed the war
But pay the price
In solid oil

The city's cold
Clean, fresh snow
I bite my lip
Hold my tongue
Fashion, fashion
For Monday's ration
My clothes are old
I'm still alone

"Can we go?"
I ask the air
But no one's home,
No one's home.
I feel a chill
My tongue is froze
Leave me alone
No one's home.

2003

2008-06-27T15:56:00.001-05:00

What were you doing
Running through the grass
Flutter through the reeds
Bring the leaves to sand
Bring our ships to solid land
And ride the waves to shore
Follow down the path
Look off into evermore

We sink and slip and laugh
Until our faces hurt too hard
And inhale a salty gasp
We forgot we'd lost our breath
Kiss with tiny little rocks
Sticking cross our cracking lips
Brushing grains off sandy cheeks
When yours are meeting mine

I brought a picnic lunch!

2004

2008-06-21T23:19:00.001-05:00

All along the wispy mountain
Breathing, awkward peasants
Laying down the boards
Marking our defenses
The walls are made of stone
International intestines
A head and heart of white
And pillars praying on

Where now are the rafters?
The trees have but to come
Crashing - crashing down
To break their hold on us
May sun rise wet with lightness
And scent caress the morn'
The rain will pour for hours
But dryness bursts the doors

We have but our whispers
And tales to entertain
But what if stories, ever boring
Could walk, and talk, and play?
What's left among the legacy
It's lasting past the rocks
The feet that fill the weaves and will
Of double layered socks

Two of Three

2008-06-10T11:30:00.001-05:00

Dismal satisfaction
To pant at unknown chance
It breathes down my neck
Feel such lack of emptiness
Warmth and light
Cloak and dark
Dampening our skin
Finger floating larks

Backseat regards
To lightly graze your skin
Playful banters cross our cheeks
They tickle deep within
Talk of night
Time and space
The frothy summer air
Humbled resting place

It washed over me
I could not lift my lips
Though I think it's safe to say
I've never felt like this
So soon, so safe
So lost in her eyes
A passionate mystery
I cannot even describe

2002

2008-06-01T00:34:00.001-05:00

The window fog is cold
I breathe a frosty scar
Mistaking the speedometer
As brilliant as the stars
The road we ride is humming
My forehead on the glass
Every bump is shaking
The landmarks that we pass

I smile; don't forget to think
This time goes much to fast
Enjoying trips from place to place
Just doesn't seem to last
Yet in a haze I slip away
And forget that I am dreaming
All the people working hard
Whiz by while I am sleeping

1999-2000

2008-05-27T02:34:00.000-05:00

Bows and tied
Explosions in the sky
We fly for hours
There are ripples in the water
Smoke in our eyes
The fire got put out
We'll do it all again
Several years from now

Dancing light
We're lovers wrapped in arms
My hands are mine
You can have them for tonight
Gloves hugging railing
Icy stairs to evermore
We hug and hold together
And wait for dawn to break...

...

I awake outside my kitchen
My house is quiet now
We're all just sitting 'round
No one holds their breath
Not a song to sing
The lights will be alright
We won't need so much shelf space
We don't need all this bread

The celebration's lifting
But it's anywhere but here
Except for in my head
It seems it's only there for me
At least that's what I fear
Lift a glass for reason
There won't be time for doubt
For the rest of the century

I fear not.

1998

2008-05-19T11:58:00.000-05:00

Here he comes
'A haunting
When my father fell
I saw the blood
'A falling
Eyes raging
I feel the clouds
Collapsing

Sepia world
Dark spots
Speckled on your shirt
Backwards friend
I take my vengeance
Bare-handed
Twisted fate
Your holes are big as mine

1996

2008-05-14T17:12:00.001-05:00

Deja vu

An open field
I recognize the feeling
I've seen this place before
There's my bike
Rusted;
I must have left it here
I think this was my home
So many years ago

The parking lot is worn
Gravel strewn from side to side
But no ferris wheel
Or anything resembling
Lions
Why do I remember...lions?
Bricks that held up cars
Lines devoid of clothing

The pathway crawls
Same as it always has
I remember all the contours
And potholes 'long the way
Quiet
The clicks of insects
And rituals of rodents
Pervade the humble valley

The house in rubble
A note left standing orders
"Keep it in the family
And resurrect the swing"
Running
Like water by the road
I never want to come back
This place is far too real

2001

2008-05-13T02:41:00.001-05:00

Our pasts are slowly fading
Gather up your memories
Before they disappear
Gone forever
They wipe away like magnets
Over videotape
Shuffle through their remnants
Hands on your floppy disks

Three and a quarter
Used to seem expensive
Terabytes impossible to fill
The garbage without end
Our brains are bottomless
But we brush bodies away
Hoof under foot
While we secret eternity

The blood continues
It circles the world
And we fly it international
Clogging our skyscraper arteries
Nations hemorrhage; lamentation
Cancer selling for hundreds a barrel
We’re like patrons in a movie
Calling for the ending

All we want is an answer
With every carbon exhale
We breathe away our time
And chew what’s left of others’
The places to hide our shame
Have all but gone
Slowly fading memories
Where everything was better

1995

2008-05-11T10:39:00.000-05:00

Forever high rise
Turning tables
A rotating room
Fixed glasses
My eyes are watering
But all I see are mirrors
Little wooden houses
Sliding up and down
The windows are broken
Tiny hands, big buttons
Elevators
Shimmy and shake
On their way down
The everlasting shaft
But no one hears us
Tumbling through

Blood on the shatter
Glass in my hands
There's no way out
They're watching for us
Waiting by the doors
Clobbering children
I make for the stairs
It won't be long now
The banisters are wet
It's cold and hard and dim
I push from the wall
Enabling my descent
The building is cracking
The mold is in decay
The carpet floor is burning
All the orphans ran away

1994

2008-05-10T13:48:00.001-05:00

Eighty-thousand feet
To the surface
Glass encases every way out
My lungs are bloated
Struggling to breathe
Twenty-thousand leagues
Into the darkness
Underneath me

Where is the air?
It escapes my every inhale
Yet I float about this distant world
Right out my backdoor
Why haven't the sharks come?
Fins cutting towards me
Teeth shattering in my bones
This will be my end

Surely, surely
The waves will wallow over me
Drowning, drowning
Indefinitely
Lonely sea creatures
Softly gliding by
I reach out my hand
They never take me with them

It's quiet.

1993

2008-05-10T00:27:00.000-05:00

Seven
The numbers I count
In the darkness
Three from your clock
Four from mine
It's twelve fifty-nine
From my side
It's way past our bedtime

From our beds
Through tonight
To harrowed hums
Florescent lights
We glide again
On and on
In our socks
Without our shoes

We're so quiet
Not a stir
Raising no alarm
For any intruder
The basement is soft
I can feel it breathing
Hush now, boy
A ghost is approaching

Down the steps
I see her walking
Not a shriek
Or even haunting
She is silent
Moving slowly
Subtle beauty
A fragile frame

Her hand extends
And points me to bed
I shake my head
"Please, not yet."
She smiles at me
And nods accordingly
So off I huff
Back to the bedroom

I tuck myself in
My sister still sleeping
I swore I just saw her
Up and about-ing
Sliding there with me
Round through the doorways
But not back to bed..
"Go back to sleep,"

She says.
Have I been dreaming?

1992

2008-05-08T17:56:00.001-05:00

We have sprouted wings
Flying high over the suburban city
These are our adventures
Our vacation get-aways
We're just trying so hard
Trying to
Get, get, get
Out of our atmos

Fear
As it relates to dreams
Is always about us
While we break all the rules
And recreate the galaxies
It complicates our subversions
Desimates our confidence
With little warning or notice

"I'm afraid we might fall,"
I say, and likewise we did
Back to the Earth below
To the confines of space and gravity
But she is still smiling
Knowing soon we will forget
And come back up
Swinging

My Father

2008-05-07T10:23:00.000-05:00

He has a long nose
He lowers His head
And nuzzles my hair
My Father
I smile up at Him
Tears of joy; the rain
I am cooled; Yahweh
He kisses my forehead
His hands at my chest
I feel Him
Dancing deep within
My heart; Emmanuel

1987

2008-04-14T22:55:00.000-05:00

Ocean liner
Play mobile
Spinning wheels
This is my nightmare
I slip into the picture
Can't swim
Gasping for air
She blows her horn
Dragging through the sea
Oh me, oh my
I'm being smothered
She screams, I scream
He's pulling me in
Up out of my bed
It's so cold, so dark
But my father's touch is warm
He kisses my forehead
I pant and cough up nothing
Thinking,
"I don't want to die,"
Whatever that means.

1997

2008-04-14T22:53:00.000-05:00

The tracks are disconnected
But my cerebellum's still online
The coaster cars are bouncing
Back and forth, up and down
Sweeping, interlocking, ever-growing
The towers seem so high
My eyes behold the infinity
As we glide to and fro

I run through the queue
Back for another run
But suddenly I lose my way
"How do we get back?"
I say, flabbergasted
But all my friends are moving on
They're done with playtime
Getting back into their cars

"Well I don't want to leave,"
I protest, even if I have to pay again
The hills and footpaths seem eternal
A maze of popcorn; funnel cake
The people here are spinning
Everything moving faster than me
I desperately want to get back on
But I cannot find my footing

"Why did I ever get off
In the first place?"

2007

2008-04-06T15:57:00.000-05:00

She's yanking on my hand
And begging me to stop
We're almost downtown now
I'm a stranger in a foreign land
Pulling her by the arm
Dragging her heels
I bring her close
Wrap our arms, shoulder to shoulder
But as I draw her in
For a kiss
She disappears before me
I spin around
But she is nowhere to be found
I cry; what a God-awful feeling

A hush in the dissonance
Shrouded by misery, and hate
Every face a mystery
I've done away with innocence
I rush through the crowd
Perhaps she'll be around
Another ugly corner
I haven't seen before
But all I see are shadows
Alleyways both lost and forgot
And as I draw my breath
For a second
I think I've found my way
And just like that, on the other side
The sun illuminates
My escape.

1991

2008-04-05T07:26:00.001-05:00

Spin-dizzy spin doctors
The clouds are hovering over now
I step to look outside my window
It's already here
I gather my belongings, but
They're slip, slip, slipping
Through my fingers
I run, but nothing moves
Padlocks break; the door swings open
Storms cover the sky
Swirling like a milkshake
Here comes the flood.

The twister takes me
Easy like a leaf to the wind
I lose control of my body
Being dragged helplessly
Soaring high above the atmosphere
My company is collapsing
The world is folding over
Silence now, so full of black
Darkness; a hush of calm
Eternity never seemed so real
I think, "This time will be different,
This time I won't wake up."

1990

2008-04-04T09:34:00.001-05:00

Where am I?
Hiding underneath my bed
Such convenience; such solitude
Dust pervades my nostrils
The rug is soft, yet rugged
My face is overwhelmed
I turn to face the support boards
Crayons spreading rumors
Of a child's simple romance
How can I be sure?
What I wish for here
May come twenty years from now
What I leave behind
Will be passed along to others
"I don't want to forget,"
I say aloud to no one
Where else will I keep my dreams?
My mind will some day wither
But soon so will these beams
I'll just remember for today
"Maybe they'll come true,"
I whisper,
"Sooner than you think."

1989

2008-04-02T10:11:00.001-05:00

Lions in their cages
The field opens as I roll over the horizon
Bristles and thistles all about
The path winds down the hill
My bike is locking up again
The stage is set, the carnival commences
I feel relieved to have arrived
For a second I wonder,
"Was this really my destination?"
But I guess this place seems fitting
I wander past the parking lot
The vast expanse behind me
Amusement to my front
I'm going home.

Lions in their cages
The tree swing tied to rope
The house is boarded up
Cars on their last legs
The wind seems so inviting
I peddle on the wisping plain
The grass bends in my wake
And for a second I wonder,
"Is this really where I'm going?
Nowhere?"
The gears are all tied up
Breaks failed long ago
I roll until I stop, and breathe
This awfully feels like home.

1988

2008-04-02T01:01:00.000-05:00

This is not protocol
I'm going to heaven, to the Sheot clouds
To destroy the moon and rip the sky in half
And so I say,
"Why will you not look at me?"
A film of water around his eyes,
"I haven't the slightest clue."
But never have I felt his glance on my back
Even as I fly away
To tear apart the universe
And find where the horizon ends
If not to answer the mysterious,
Then prove that all is unknown
"All is not lost,"
I whisper to the hills,
"And you shall weather this storm until my return."
My Lord! My Lord!
I see a Shepherd in the field
As stars begin to fall
He holds his children in His arms
Walls of water strike the shoreline
Where rock and stone fall from my hands
He is there to stay my blows
And the flock is not undone
Might I stop this cruel bombardment
For no one gains from idle sorrow
None but prove Your infinite grace
My Father! My Father!
Forgive this betrayal of my kin!
Call me "child" once again

The Shepherd King

2008-03-11T00:43:00.001-05:00

D Dm
Jesus was the Shepherd King x2

A G
He walked out on the silver sea

Jesus was the Shepherd Son x2
On His cross He wore our pain

Jesus is the shepherd's guard x2
He unlocked the gates to splendor

Jesus is the shepherd's love x2
Gave grace free when we proclaim His name

Jesus was the Shepherd King x2
Made a way for us to find the Father

Jesus was the Shepherd Son x2
Cleansed the faces of the weary wicked

Jesus is the shepherd's guard x2
Held us deep inside His loving arms

Jesus is the shepherd's love x2
A kiss of breath that washed us white as snow

The First Day of Spring

2008-03-04T13:10:00.000-06:00

Like leaves in the glossy rain
The everyday noise floating away
Rattle and patter; runs off the roof
Dripping wet, I lean off the porch

The spout presses through the ground
I hold the water in my palm
Watch as the sky restores my vessel
Drop by drop; all is anew

I find my way inside
Soft patting whispers me to sleep
How I long for my bed
But hold fast; the couch is near

What a slumber I may have!
The sounds of thunder lay me down
Mother, may you pass me by
Kneel beside me and touch my face

If you wonder what I'm dreaming
Keep this comfort in your mind
That if you really need me
I'll probably be outside

Our Hiding Place

2008-02-28T08:29:00.001-06:00

If you lean down as I stand here
On the water's edge with our shoes off
You know the path by heart and
The perfect place to stop along the way
If everything right in time could freeze
We would know that it was simply meant to be

We rustle in our house like a fortress
Made from twigs and grass; our hiding place
You've made a little nook to lay your
Delicate, yet rustic, city face
And if my chest could be your pillow
Would feelings arise that we have hid somewhere below?

Dreaming out loud at the camera
Reciting every line; we can sing them
The soft side of happiness as the
Earth crept up through your designer jeans
If you promise me it'll be okay
There's no way it could be like this every day

The Power House

2008-02-12T15:41:00.000-06:00

As quickly we remember
Which, often soon forgot
Our needs and necessities
Looked over as for not
No one knows
Where the power goes
It goes and goes
Does anyone care where?
Does anybody know?
Still it goes
In, around, above, and out
And even down below
The lights off lamps and music amps
Turns the power slow
A hum
High and low
No one cares from what
It passes by their ears
No one hears it as they grow
No one writes about it in their prose
Still the power goes
And goes
Whistling 'long its merry way
Hissing steam into the sky
Rolling, falling, all day long
Creeping softly through our home
Fuzzy lines to crystal shapes
Even then when it's displaying
It goes, and goes
...and goes.

Wait,
What was I saying?

The Son Will Never Leave Your Side

2008-02-09T16:42:00.000-06:00

Maybe you'll find
All the mysteries in time
Maybe the world will turn
Out from its insides

Seems fickle, but fine
'Least now it's my choice
But God I feel empty
Where did this emptiness come from?

The Son will never leave your side
Blood will fall from the martyr
Break the hardest of hearts
Melt the seams of true love
The Son will never leave your side

If I always ask up
Just to see if you'll answer
With tears and heavier breathing
I won't hear when You whisper

Where ever You lead
I surely will crumble
Jesus, I'm blind
Will Your hands steady mine?

The Son will never leave your side
His warmth unmistakable
With a call like the wind
Through the halls of the stable
The Son will never leave your side

I know You'll be with me
To the end of the age

The Boy & the Bay

2008-02-02T10:58:00.000-06:00

She makes me smile in quiet places
Over the bay in ardent dawn
May feel birdlike, less like a man
I am an impostor

Where the boathouse bends
Water wakes in silent motion
Going outside, bare feet and sand
Out to kiss the sunlight

I'll be leaving, just in a while
Don't let me mar your intentions
To keep on peacefully, beautifully
Making homes for common men

Oh, your waves are indescribable
You radiate and fill my every vessel
Keep me close to find your warmth
I don't ever want to go

Halfway home I'd never know
All the things hidden deep inside
Down and out, we're still so young
How can I be sure?

Scans 1-5

2008-01-28T18:37:00.001-06:00

"See-Through Desk"
Epson Scan
Made to look like the underneath of my desk is see-through. Has a very "I Spy" sort of feel to it. The pencils, sharpie, and scissors are mine, the Lego and spring belong to Adam Rebottaro, the button belongs to someone in the Auxier family, the toy car belongs to my brother, the USB cover and USB to Mouse port belong to my father, and the screw belongs to a resident in Millikan who moved out.

"The Impostor"
Epson Scan
Found some pills, threw them on the scanner. Then I threw in the impostor.

"Morning Prayers"
Epson Scan
The back of a book made to look like wallpaper. The bottle cap, pin, and button are supposed to be wall hangings.

"The Beginning & End"
Epson Scan
My USB drive held in the palm of my hand. I had to keep perfectly still for 2 minutes with my hand on the scanner.

"Static Burn"
Epson Scan
A little bit of playing and trickery goes a long way. I'll never be able to recreate this.

Big Spender

2008-01-28T00:11:00.001-06:00

Format less format
Flow less flow
Not so much of this
Row - Row - Row

Growth please growth
Rain less rain
Much of this life is so
Rat - a - tat - tat

Slow please slow
Pain less pain
Wishing this life away
Pat - a - pan - pan

Front less front
Go please go
Hasn't your heart ..?
No - No - No

The Air in May

2008-01-21T23:01:00.000-06:00

I imagine that your bosom is warm

Scented as flowers on a wet summer morn'

Yearn as I might, plead as I may

Another sun rises without you today

If only you knew what you were

To me, girl - come around to my window

You flutter through me like dandelions

Finding a cool wind for them to fly on

Your fingers are pliable; light and serene

Caught me off-guard with a beauty unseen

Fought long to ward off this insatiable feeling

Longing to hold you closely; deep within me

Sun goes down to the late evermore

My lamp burns softly as I wait by the door

Come 'round past midnight; burn until dawn

Curl your toes through the dew on the lawn

Crawl up to my face and sing me

Silence, now - I'm going to fall asleep

You whisper to me anyway

"I'll make the sunrise wait today."

Great Blue Heron

2007-12-29T00:54:00.001-06:00

Chapter 1. Swelling Wood

Knocked overboard like a flimsy doll, this wayfaring traveler fell victim to the beast. Armed, but never dangerous, with gun barrels smoldering as they climbed over the bulkhead. As the great beast's hind foot found my face, it was like a dream altogether realized. I was flying overboard turntables over the hoard, tumbling head over heals to the ocean. Not for my own reckoning could I recall what brought me to this. Not for my own life could I recount what step was amiss.

A crazed captain like a headless horseman bound to fall off of his steed raised up his sword against the shivering sea. Tied to the shore, men go loony aboard but all of their trust's in the gold. All those aboard won't get the pleasure of growing old. Never a time like the present to dastardly trap for a living. Ever there was a lot for a peasant to grow up some sea legs for a shilling. "Oh, there're risks," he said, "But brother, you mustn't fret! The winds and the currents can settle your debts!"

And I believed him. The fool in the air like a trapeze stunt gone horribly awry. My back to the surface ignoring my claws for the sky. Then I saw it out the corner of my eye. The clock stood still for a time, I fathom, and the sun settled deep within the clouds for only a moment. Locked and loaded there stood the captain, aiming a harpoon for her belly. The rope caught the wind for a moment, looped out the stern and grazed me in the chin. A truly mighty throw through the world of slow motion, water splashing the sharpened rod as she soared through the void. Nothing can stop her, nothing can stop her. Nothing but the belly of that gargantuan...thing. As her middle engulfed metal, her weight engulfed the captain, and both were dragged into the sea. Time let loose it's sympathy.

I found the depth appealing, up to the point when the ghosts started reeling. I heard the cries from the darkness below, lifting heads and beginning to surface. Begrudgingly, I too turned for the surface. While death would be sweet, the soul's of dead sailors await my defeat. Maybe greeted by Ahab and kind, maybe Mephistopheles would turn out to be a nice guy. I'd glide on his wings while he ravaged the weak, too timid and lost to leave the surface and swim with the fishes. Here he comes now.

A board on the wake, a current to follow. These were the things that I needed to borrow. For a time, yes, perhaps I would live. But salting my life line is cruelty's gift. Truly bitter irony. Water in my hair, sting in my eyes, filthiness in my mouth. All the crud left over from a long night in ecstasy littered my lungs and tattered my blood. Every breath was a pound in the wrong direction, every heartbeat a drum to the deep. The rope had cut my chin.

Alleviating my pain and replacing it with fear I remembered the facts my ocean schooling taught me this year. Sharks can smell blood from miles away. Years ago I didn't know that sharks could even have nostrils. A decade ago I would've asked you, "Please mum, what be a nostril?" This is no time for nostalgia. Quickly I must seal this wound. I grabbed a piece of swelling wood from the stray rafter, pressed its splintering bark into my chin. The salt brought tears welling, blood flowed for seconds after, sealed at last the wound on my chin. Ripped a strand of moist yarn from the shoulder of my shirt. "There, that ought to do it."

Chapter 2. The Arm of the Ocean

A sea tattered hood on a sea fearing captain, one who has found the Arm of the Ocean. Not a vague idea, or imagery of the sort, but a place to feed and humble beings gathered on the wharf. A lackluster pub, coastal center to cool the tongues of those weary of the wobbling waters. The Arm draws in most everyone at port, at least the poor saps the waves and fate can contort. To both wretched and commoner, scum and pristine, vile and astute, "Come crush a cup of rum, me hearties! Come! We've spirits, pales, ginger ales, and liquored birds to boot!"

Red the sign outside the stall where vermin go to who knows what. What filth and garbage can find their homage 'neath the roofings of this hut. Yet here he sits, in quiet abandon, lost in all his thoughts. He barely even lifts his lips to blow a smoky, aimless kiss that disappears into the crowd lost probably on someone's shoulder, or under their sweaty armpit. Fitting place for filth to land. Yes that's right, the Arm of the Ocean.

As luck would have it, a lass in drab walked right by the dinner slab roasting in the pit. She knows his name, she knows his schemes, but has not much to do with it. A gun in her satchel, a sword on her flank, and cunning enough with a well hidden shank, she walked to the table. Well, moseyed is more like. She sat down at once and pointed her pike. The muzzle and barrel shivered and rose to nuzzle right up to his shade covered nose.

"What brings you here, oh lonely traveler? Women, booze, or both at once? My name's Percy, I've seen your picture, posted 'round all'a the downtown blocks. I've heard your tales 'fore falling to bed, no come with me love. Come along on now. They've got a nice bounty on your head."

As he leaned in close and pulled the gun hand aside, his lips crossed the plain of darkness inside that ill covering hood, that raggedy drag. He hissed out a quip that might settle the score, "There's a big, ugly ego trapped inside yours."

She panicked. "Another move and you'll find your heart has exploded."
He didn't. "Doubt that ma'am, you're gun isn't loaded."

Shaky, finger-crossed, knee buckling terror lead the small gun to its leather-bound holster. He stood and threw coins to the table, paid for the drinks lest this dame wasn't able. The bounty on him was private sector business, and the hire is only particularly desperate. With that he departed, or so he had hoped. Percy had other plans clutched in her hand. She threw the pieces cross the room unleashing drunkards like pirates dashing for doubloons.

Unsheathing her terror to the people's dismay, and shooed all those begging for her to belay. With that he too unleashed his ferocity, demanding her sword be pushed aside. A few mighty strokes and she knew she was beaten, so she took on a new kind of defensive reason.

"Someone help! This man is attacking me! You wouldn't hurt such a delicate woman, would you?" she swooned and frightened the look on her face.

He paused, but quickly regained his composure. "No!" he said frankly, and made for the doorway.

Percy pursued her outsmarting bounty. "Have you know I could've easily killed you!"

"Please my dear, Percy. They've only use for me alive. Since you can't kill me, and you can't beat me, and you can't steal me, then what's there left for you to do?"

Percy pressed him back against the door frame and brought her face up to his face. Saying, "I can't kill, you..or any other man. I can't beat, you...or any other man. I can't steal, you...or any other man." She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, "Heaven forgive me, I can't even steal your heart."

"There's nothing good for you to steal," he said, "This heart grew cold many years ago, my dear. Dark and dead as the ocean, I fear. Not even a beauty warm as yours could bring fires of life to a place such as this. A place like my dimly lit heart." He parted Percy's hair and gazed in her eyes, and with that he departed the Arm of the Ocean.

Chapter 3. If Men Were Ships

He then began to muse to himself, "I'm a simpleton, but the Author of this world has called me to be captain. He asked me to be the leader of a lonely vessel called the Great Blue Heron. Shipping shipments and shipmates, codgers with canes leading protagonists in vain, off to rescue an unknowing princess. Lawyers and lawmen, judges and juries, even the ropes they tie to depart the lawbreakers with a lever-pulled 'Good-bye'. I've wandered every ocean, endured tempests Zeus himself could not have imagined, but love escapes my feral grasp.

"If this Author willed, all it would take is a swoosh of his pen. Even the costs of my living are void in his world. Lest for him the cost of ink, but even a good friend could loan him a bottle and bread to sustain. According to His law He could invent the laws with the ink He conjured from His fingertips, in fact He could write my life in His own blood. All I know is that my story must go on, just as the currents must always run their course. All must fulfill their purpose. My heart has longed for that wayfaring protagonist nobly rescuing that unknowing princess. To be the man that allows the story to continue, to unravel the plot lines as I lift the mainsails. To haphazardly fall headlong through my moral instability and be the one who destroys the enemy. I have grown lonely these days.

"I've never had another hand to hold but compass and bearing, no other eye to gaze upon but the stars in the sky. Only my own palm can be pressed by my fingertips. My quarters are empty and old, and my breath is the only one I can see glisten in the moonlight cold. Men are hardly fitting company when your business is loneliness. The blue seems eternal as it stretches over the horizon like a blanket.

"If men were ships, then our brains would be the captain. Then our subtleties would be the eccentric first mate; hatching daily his mutinous plot. He'd maroon our reason in a far away land. 'Course all his greedy longings would soon be forgot, like the last tide traveling out as fast as it came in.

"Sometimes I tread low; as if I were deep beneath the pressures of the sea. Walking with my hands hanging low like a primate island, where everyone refuses to evolve and start swaying their arms. I drag myself across the deck, every inch of me aches with an invisible longing; a longing to fulfill that ever-present need to be a part of this story. Perhaps even the days I'm an ape can be used to portray these character traits. Maybe in suffering I too can find solace; maybe the strength that I lack can be gleaned from the port to my back, the spray in my face, and the wind in my sails. Sometimes that's all that I have."

Chapter 4. Whispers in the Clouds

"Sweetheart, wishes cannot even begin to ask, must this time of ours depart?" whispered Jacob into Juno's ear.

"Why yes dear, nothing is built to last, at least not forever. Years, maybe, but not forever." replied Juno softly just above the soothing sound of waves intruding the beach outside their home. "The clouds are beautiful tonight," she continued, "But not even the clouds will be the same tomorrow. The tide won't come up to exactly this part of my thigh in three nights. Who's to say I'll even be out here? Who's to say either of us will not have already left this world?"

"Don't speak of such things, Juno. You and I are here, this is all happening now, and nothing - not even the difference of clouds in the sky, can change that here...and now," said Jacob.

The two embraced and kissed embodied by the rays of the sunset. It formed like a ring around both of their faces, an establishment of love with heavenly traces. As Juno lifted her eyelids a shine rose from the ground to her eye. Such a shiny pearl buried deep within the sand, or at least that's what it seemed at first glance. Kneeling down and pawing at the earth only momentarily, she excavated this glass bottle, a modern day fossil, and inside parchment no older than both of them.

"Look Jacob, a message in a bottle. Like tales of old, and tales I'm sure to be told, let's find what message there is inside to behold." exclaimed Juno, holding high her archaic prize. She reached up to break it open on a rock beside the fencepost, but Jacob stayed her hand.

"Just open the thing, we may need the bottle later," he said. After she pulled the note out of the bottle, she leaned up against the fence and began to read.

March 4th, near Echo Island,
The waters are calm and lonely today. Not a whale in sight. I hope she surfaces soon, I dare not draw much closer to this cursed island. This constant motion is driving me insane. Cabin fever waxes and wanes all throughout every single night. I'm sleep deprived, malnourished, and this vessel has certainly seen better days. Perhaps this catch will prove worthwhile. The men saw its size. They squabble daily on the girth of its gargantuan tail. "Thirty harpoons," they say, "And eleventy bullets."

The task at hand is suicidal, but I care not. This beard has grown to its extent, and my bones have aged to the point of decomposition. If my spirit could break free, it would have floated high above the waters and strangled the beast with ferocious magic this world has never known. Perhaps in my death I will by chance slay this monster. If for nothing else to be able to slay it again in eterni-

The letter suddenly trailed off into illegibility and then abruptly stopped. Strange as it was, Juno flipped the letter over.

To the finder of this bottle,
My name is Orion, son of Olaf Belton. I am the captain's aide on the whaling vessel Jupiter Moon. We were on our way to port when we ran across one of the largest whales the captain had ever seen. Short supplied and fatigued as we were, the captain insisted that we pursue. As we began to close on our prey, she turned for the ship and began to rip us apart. Large as she was, her agile frame eluded our barrage of gun fire and harpooning. At last the captain slay the beast, but not before its body cut our ship in two. I was able to float to a remote island on the captain's roll-top desk. Inside I found this parchment that he journaled on frequently. This island is inhabited by a strange tribe. Send help immediately. We were miles off course, but heading west and closing on this mysterious island. That is all I know for now. Hurry.

As the two finished reading the letter, they nodded with one another and headed into town.

Chapter 5. Fish Tower

The librarian led Jacob and Juno down into the library stacks for a look at the records. The chances of finding the Belton family name was about 5 to 1 against. No matter. The boy Orion was in need of help immediately. Librarian Melton was known for his great knowledge of the records, but he was also known for his haughty tongue and belittling attitude. He also knew much of the museum, archeology and geography. Whether he was the wisest man in all the land was debatable at best, for if there's anything common amongst the wise is that they must convince both themselves and others that they are the wisest.

"Here it is, the Book of B's," said Melton as he thumbed through the pages. "Says here that your Belton fellow is from around here. It's probable that this is their port city as well, and that the vessel wasn't terribly far from the mainland before she turned to chase the whale. If it were, in fact, nearing Echo Island then that must be where the boy and his roll-top desk ran aground."

"Do you know why the captain was afraid to go near that island?" asked Jacob.

"For that, we must go the museum." replied Melton.

In the next hallway, Jacob and Juno found themselves surrounded by artifacts. In the center of the room stood a plaque with a medallion displayed in front of it. Melton led them to the plaque and put his elbow up on the pillar. The medallion glistened in the light beaming in from the open ceiling. On the medallion was carved the image of a fish with a tower growing from its back. The image puzzled both as the looked on.

"You see," said Melton, "The isle in question isn't one of much dignity. For years we here have sent forth to the tribes dwelling there missionaries. Out of the sent fourteen, only one returned. The prize he held and said he nearly died to acquire stands here today, the last remaining memory of a doomed people. It goes without saying that these people were hostile towards visitors - ahem, intruders to their island."

"Who is the survivor?" asked Juno.

"The survivor," continued Melton, "Died years ago of natural causes. He left behind a daughter and three sons. All have left this area save one, Stanley, who resides here in town working for a commercial shipping company called Wings of the Ocean. He used to captain a vessel himself, a vessel called the Great Blue Heron. He now owns the better half of the company, and his son pilots the ship. I know him personally, he's a very dear friend of mine. The Great Blue Heron has shipped in our supplies a number of times, and the son - can't remember his name - well anyways he's a swell young chap. Very knowledgeable of cartography and creativity."

"Do you think he would be interested in aiding us in a journey to this island?" whispered Juno to her Jacob, "I'm sure that with the father of the Belton boy, the grandson of this missionary, and this medallion in hand, we might be able to free Orion from this hostile tribe!" She then turned back to Melton and asked, "May we please take this medallion? Perhaps it can help us to communicate with the tribe."

Melton smirked. "Actually, the only person left on earth who can speak to the tribe is me. The missionary left behind a book of translation. I buried it deep within the stacks, but often times it tickled my interest and I red of it. Though I'm not as well versed as he, if I took the book along, I could be of some use on this voyage also," he said.

"Also," he continued, "About this medallion. You'll have to ask Stanley if it can be yours to borrow. He is truthfully the rightful owner."

Chapter 6. Brothership

They called me in the evening on the fifth. They said to me, "Olaf, your son is dead." I would not believe, not for the life of me. Now from the sea arrives a glimmer of hope, a shining bottle in the reef with a note. Picked up and brought to me by three, who after scrounging up a forth, walked to meet me by the wharf.

Gathered at the sunset, I found the four of them on the dock head. One was Juno, the beautiful maiden of the north. Another her dearest, the one they call Jacob, who was found fond in his mother's eyes. Then the librarian, who knew nothing of doing, but much of saying and teaching. Then there was Stanley. If ever there were a happier man, even in these trying times, I would not know of any. His smile basked in the evening dusk, and his whiskers glistened with last hour's dinner remains. Even with a son so far gone, I could not help but smile at his unseen fortune.

My bag thrown over my shoulder, dragging along my satchel and such, I crossed the deck to meet with the folk. I was greeted with nods, simple hand shakes and solemn faces. All except Stanley, who smiled at me as his eyes opened their window frames and let the cool night breeze in. From deep within him hummed a boisterous housekeeper, and in his chest he clapped and danced in place. As we climbed aboard the vessel and he disappeared into the captain's quarters, it was as if two suns were setting. Stanley knew better than anyone on board that we would find my son, and find him well.

I found Juno and sat next to her by the steps. Within the shadow of the deck she was windowed in darkness. Her smile seemed to speak beyond words. She looked up at nothing, yet found so much joy in the nothing as to perplex even her. She didn't even know why she was smiling, and shrugged it off as if to say to herself, "I know! Crazy, huh?" Though her words were always few I found almost infinite comfort in her patience. She wasn't even pressing the deck hands to speed along the process. It was as if her walk in life had slowed into a stroll and she was loving every minute of it. Jacob came down to sit next to her, so I skated over the wet deck to where Melton was kneeling down.

He seemed intent on understanding this tribe's language. The boat to Echo Island would take at least a week, or so the captain said. This gave Melton ample time to study and at least grasp the basics of communication. It was imperative, he said, to discover the meaning of the medallion with the tower coming out of a fish. That must be why he keeps repeating the word for "medallion" in that tribal tongue. "I feel that this will be a most incredible adventure," he said to me after he noticed me standing above him.

The captain, however, seems less than optimistic. While he wishes us well in all that we embark upon this voyage, there's a subtle but unmistakable doubt in his words. Tremors in the waves of his voice, like drums in the depths of a cavern. Perhaps his fears are hidden because he hasn't found a way to express the things that he fears. He sleeps now on deck with his first mate at the wheel. I gather that these two have known each other for quite some time, and have bonded as only lifelong companions can.

They have traversed the same countless leagues and felt the same crisp sea breeze. They must have swallowed the same surf when the gulf proved far too difficult. They both would have died for the other, held tight within the other's arms. The living swaying back and forth leans in to softly whisper sweetly, "You know I'd switch places with you in a heartbeat." Proven and tried through lashing of tongues, it's obvious even to me, a stranger, this friendship - brothership - could not be undone.

"Take us out, Benjamin," the captain said, and we were on our way.

Chapter 7. Stowaway

From bellow the deck flew out a young woman who none of us had ever seen. She stumbled forward tied at the wrists and dripping with sweat. Her clothes were ripped to shreds and the bruises on her face looked like they were delivered fast. She fell forward and barely caught herself on the mast. She coughed as all of the air rushed out of her, then she fell to the floor. All the other shipmates backed up to the railings as the captain stepped up onto the deck after her.

He stood in front of her, just looking. He lifted his arms with a loss for words. He turned to face the horrified crowd, then back to her. After a few times with this dance of confusion, he finally stopped and knelt down to look her in the eye. He sighed, cupped her chin with his free hand and said to her softly, "What on Earth are you doing here, Percy?"

"To be honest, I don't know," she said, "Thought for sure you were traveling. Then I saw the others come on board, these one's I'd never seen before. Thought since they weren't business folks that some thievery was at hand. Didn't know much, to be sure, of this cursed island."

"I never spoke of an island," said the captain, "So you must be reading my journal there, friend."
"You know this woman?" chimed in a curious Benjamin, "I've seen her face before, always mulling around the dock. I took her for a beggar with that scurvy looking get up. She looks like about the poorest thing I ever saw."

"She's here to collect my bounty, Benjamin. Or at least, that was what she was here for originally," said the captain, "But forgive me madam, if you'll excuse me."

The captain pulled Benjamin aside near where I was standing. He gave me an glance to tell me to back away. The fury in them told me to make it hasty. I took Juno's hand and marched her over by the other crewmen. She looked at me, but I had no answers for her, even in the looks of my own. Looks, looks, everywhere there were looks. Eyes darting from Percy back to others, others back to Percy. With such a bouncing confusion, a ruckus was bound to begin. Pretty soon our tongues wouldn't stand for such nonverbal communication.

I couldn't hear what the captain was saying, but his gestures were intensifying by the second. I gather that he and Benjamin were discussing what was to be done, after all a stowaway is not something to be taken lightly, even one that looked so very innocent. After much deliberation, the captain moved his hands through his hair and breathed in deep. He was about to say something.

Lifting his right hand, the captain decreed, "The stowaway Percy will stay in my quarters. No one is to enter my bedroom but her, not even me. I will sleep with the crewmen until we return to port. If so much as a finger is laid on this woman, we will return it with lashings. No one may talk to her, and even glances are discouraged. We will all act as if I had not discovered her. That is all, men. Back to your chores."

Chapter 8. Sirens in the Night

In the night air they whispered sneakily. I doubt if they even knew I was listening. I heard their words, but never saw their faces. I couldn't look back 'cause they thought I was sleeping. "Do you think the captain trusts this woman to stay in bed this evening?" One asked.

"I doubt the captain trusts her at all. We must hold our tongues in front of him though, we know not his intentions," the other replied.

"Do you think he knows of ours? I'm surprised the captain didn't just turn the ship around. We'd best discover where this girl is from before we run aground. I wouldn't trust her for anything. She may compromise everything."

"Let's retire, down below. We will discover the origins of this girl soon enough. For now, keep quiet and keep your head down and leave everything up to me. I will keep the captain's mind at ease."

With that, the two sets of footsteps left the deck and went down to the crewman's quarters. I got up after they were out of sight and pondered how I would tell the captain what I heard. These men were obviously up to something, and something certainly no good. He lay fast asleep by the other crewman navigating through the night. I went to wake him but stopped dead when I saw the one they call Juno exiting the captain's sleeping quarters.

"Easy, sailor," she said, "The captain said I should talk with the stranger. I tried to calm her down and cool ourselves down. She is but a helpless girl, marooned by her parents before she was seven. She is sleeping soundly now, it's okay." Juno paused, "Forgive me sailor, but what is your name?"

"My name is Isaiah, after the fellow in the Bible who saw God," I said.

"Seen Him around lately, have you?" Juno asked, jokingly.

"I believe I see Him every evening in the stars," I said, "I believe I hear him groaning in the air when the sun goes to sleep. He whispers in my ear as He cools my brow with the breeze. When the whales sing as sirens in the night, I know they sing so that He might pass by. Hear them? Some nights I swear I could almost sing along. It won't take me a face-to-face to know that bowing before His throne is my only option."

We walked slowly over to the railing of the ship. I felt my way to a nook in the wood that I knew by memory. I circled the inside with my finger, too bashful to continue talking. She leaned forward over the board and looked out to the calm waters. Something about the moment cooled me to the core.

"You're a wise young lad," said Juno, "And your words are beautiful. You obviously know much of things unseen. I look forward to sharing happy things with you again in the Kingdom of Heaven. For now though, what has you in such a fuss this evening that you cannot go to bed?"

"It's funny you should ask, because I think God woke me up. He woke me to hear two men talking in a guilty sort of fashion. Secretly they whispered to one another of some kind of plans. What or where they will execute their evil is unknown, and I couldn't even see their faces. I must tell the captain before I lay down for the night," I explained.

"Let's go wake him then," said Juno.

Chapter 9. A Promise is a Promise

I woke hastily from my dream, a dream I dreamt so often I can recite it for memory. I stretched out over the enormity of the bed. The bed was so large, and the sheets were so soft. I could never find comfort like this in my loft. I rubbed my chest into the linen and moaned; felt for the pillow and cuddled with it.

In this place of complete comfort, the boat rocking and lulling me with creaking lullabies. I felt my bruises and groaned, let out my breath with a descending hum. Just as I began to drift back to sleep, the captain barged in with Juno and a strange young boy. He shut the door behind him and looked back at me.

"Forgive us, Percy. We need this room for an emergency meeting," said the captain.

I nodded and yawned. I was too tired to listen. I didn't care of what I was missing. As I fell back asleep I heard much of our safety. I heard so much of keeping "hush hush" that I forgot really why I was listening. It was imperative to keep quiet, apparently. I thought to myself as I turned back to slumber. I thought things like, Is talking about being quiet anything like quietly talking? If I talk quietly to Jesus, do you think that sounds like yelling to Satan? Jesus, if I make crapes for breakfast, will You eat some with me? Waffles or crapes, Jesus, go! Oh, oh, quiet...the dream is starting now. Oh I love this part, watch this! This is me dancing! Oh and there's my mother. She's so proud of me. She promised that she would always watch me dancing, and that she would never-ever let her eyes wander. "Never-ever-ever?" I asked.

"Never-ever-ever," she said.

Chapter 10. Warning Signs

Just as the sun broke over the horizon on the eighth day, there came about a mighty wind. We felt the chill and captain yelled, "Storm comin'!" and went about his work. I walked over to talk with him, but he didn't respond to any of my questions. He muttered to himself as he tied down some loose ends. "If it hits us before nightfall, we'll be fine. 'Less she's a squall of unusual size, then of course we're undone for sure," he said, "Damned if I'll die to some two-bit tempest come round our sails." He lifted his voice, "Full speed ahead!"

"Sir, it's too dangerous!" I insisted, "If we take the boat full speed into the heart of the storm, we'll capsize!"

"No!" He protested, "No, we're already at least a day ahead of schedule. If the storm doesn't hit us until nightfall, we'll be close enough to the island to weigh anchor and ride her out."

"I agree with the captain," said the first mate Benjamin, "We'll be close enough to shore, and this boat will not capsize. If we turn around now, the storm will catch up with us and we'll be hit by it anyways. If we're lucky she'll dissipate o'er the summits of the island and not rain so hard on us. 'Course that'd take a great deal of luck."

"Luck is something I've got plenty to afford," said the captain, "'sides I've been saving luck from the last ten voyages of mine. All ten went sour, and all the cargo was dumped, lost, or confiscated. That includes passengers, mind you. Of course it's always dangerous business ferrying known felons."

"You've ferried felons!" I stammered, "Just what kind of boat ferries felons?"

"Just calm down Melton, there's nothing to be worried 'bout," said the captain, "Ferry felons, carry melons, what's the difference, am I right? Besides, I didn't really know they were felons to begin with. It just sort of came up in passing, ya' know like one of those conversations like, 'So, what kind of business do you fellas have going for you in Cuba?', and of course when they said, 'Mercenaries hired primarily for guerrilla warfare,' I had no choice but to take 'em where they were going!"

"What the captain is trying to say," said Benjamin, "is that we've had our fair share of bad luck these days. So some good luck is bound to come our way. Right, Melton?"

"Right," I said.

Chapter 11. Voice of the Tempest

Through the torrential downpour I heard a voice on the air. I had heard this voice before, but only in my nightmares. She screamed as she ripped at the hull, howling and wailing like a banshee. I grabbed my ears and hurled myself against the railing. I saw the boat lift from the water and braced myself on the wood. The screaming became so intense that it pinpointed atop my ear drums and formed into a needle. It was so sharp and so elongated. Her inhale drew the needle back, and then...silence.

I staggered across the deck through the flailing deck hands and crewmen. Perhaps this too was a nightmare. An awful dream and I was sleeping with the crew. They must be standing over me making storm noises and screaming awfully loud. Perhaps I imagined all the signs of the storm. I looked into the sky as it opened before my very eyes. Only one other person saw it. It was that scrawny little mate called Isaiah. A flash of light filled the sky followed by a huge explosion that knocked everyone on deck to the floor.

Walls of water surrounded the ship on all sides. Like a puppeteer the Lord raised the waters up and down like arms and spindly legs. Suddenly the hands of the ocean lifted the boat in its palms and offered us to the hole in the sky. For fear that the Lord Himself may step down and touch our ship with ferocious lightning, I stayed on the deck with my knees planted so deep in the wood I dare not pull them up lest they be laden with splinters.

This, after all, was the worst storm I had ever encountered. In all my years at sea, every storm seemed trivial to me. They were difficult, sure, but never much challenge. This one, however, was truly remarkable.

A quiet calm found its way over the ship. We were lowered down with the waves momentarily, and slowly whispers filled the air. I ran about trying to grab a phrase coming from the wind. They say that if you listen carefully, you can hear all the voices of those who had just passed through the calm of the storm. You can even leave some of your own for the next group of people. I leaned in close to whisper, "Child's play."

After hearing several "Oh my God"s and "Wow"s I heard one in particular that caught my attention. It was the voice of a young woman saying, "Captain, turn around." I looked up to see that it was Percy, and she was standing right next to me. I turned.

A dragon cleave of water soared towards the ship. At once all on board fell to the ground as the wave engulfed the ship entirely. Suddenly below us the depths quaked and shoved her leagues upward and outward. Then everything went black, and I felt myself floating through the air.

Chapter 12. The Lord Created Nothing

Nothingness. Altogether nothingness. Not black or white, not a thing but nothing. There wasn't anything in the nothingness. It was the nothing that the Lord had created. The outside of space and time where all of the nothing exists. I imagine that if I was a part of the nothing, that surely others must have been part of the nothing with me. Unborn children lofting out of existence, people caught between the end of their lives on Earth and the beginning of their lives in eternity. They shared the nothing with me, and we molded together into nothing.

All that remains in my mind left of my experience in the void is nothing. A shrivel of a feeling I had just before it ended, a split second as I exited the eternity scope of nothing. It was like being at the corner of the universe, just outside on the edge, and flying back in within a fraction of a second. It was beyond description, a deep feeling that only surfaces in moments where you temporarily loose track of where you are, or when a lot of time passes without you realizing where it went. Except, of course, that there is no time in nothing. There is no place or universe or even eternity to return to. You've forgotten that they existed. You've forgotten you existed.

Then, at that exact moment, when ages or a millennium could have passed without you knowing about it, just when your mind has had enough of lying down, dead and useless, there is intervention.

* * *

"Where am I?" said Juno.

Juno stood still in an empty, all white room. She was wet and cold; all of her clothes were damp, and her hair and skin were lined with a thin layer of salt. As she looked around, she saw nothing but white everywhere. Juno was alway curious as to what an all white room would look like. She nodded and smirked in approval. "I must be dead," she thought. This thought was nothing new to her; she often thought the same in many of her dreams.

"Can I help you?" came a old, dank voice from behind Juno. I quick one-eighty turn around and there before her sat an surprisingly young, surprisingly pale-faced individual behind a large wooden desk. He was looking up from his writing with a feather pen and spectacles that he put down on the desk as he made I contact with her.

"Where is this place?" stammered Juno, "am...am I dead?"

"No, not dead," said the stranger, "But you aren't exactly living though, are you?"

He paused and leaned back in his easy chair. He explained, "What 'this' is...well let me break it down for you. When a person dies, their spirit is to be released from the body. This happens quite fluidly on most occasions, and it's really a rather natural process. Unless of course there is another spirit present attempting to hold you back from death. In that instance, in this case your instance, the spirit is then held in a holding pattern outside of space and time completely."

"So, what am I doing here now?" said Juno.

"In simplest terms, milady, your body could not take it any longer. Your self, your...conscious self is now attempting to in essence 'wake up', stop messing around with all this death nonsense and just go one way or another. This is your brain's response to the conundrum that at this point you no longer exist. In earthen terms or in terms eternal."

"Will I remember any of this if I do 'wake up'?"

"Hard to say really. After all, I am your creation for this situation. This is your reality. If you wish to remember it, I imagine that you will in some form or another."

"Wait, wait a minute. If I'm not dead, and I'm just making all of this up, then how do I - well how do you - know all of this?"

"That, miss is a bit tougher for me to explain. You are connected with the Father, hence your spiritual self does have an understanding of eternity. Thus, though it is buried deep within the recesses of your conscious self, you have understood all of these things all along. Right now, someone is trying to save your life, thus you cannot go one way, to eternity, or the other way, back to life, until their efforts are complete. Until their spirit has given up all hope, or accomplished its mission to save you, you'll be here."

"So who's spirit is trying to save me?"

Chapter 13. Jacob's Rescue

Sandy and wide-eyed, only one thought entered my head when I awoke scarred and muddied on the winding beach head: "Where is Juno?" I rose to my feet; slowly at first, but gaining altitude and speed with each passing breath. I had her hands clasped in my own the entire storm's length, but at some point they had been separated. For what reason, I could not remember. Perhaps it was all a test. Perhaps it was all a dream.

"JUNO!" I cried down the beach. I followed my own voice. Each yell seemed empty with nothing to bounce off of. No one was in sight, but I knew that Juno had to be close. "JUNO!" I continued shouting. I heard no response from anyone. Then, at the moment before I would loose all hope, I saw her hair, her face, and then the rest of her floating in the surf. I panicked.

The first thing any physician would do in this situation escaped my mind completely. I grabbed her around the stomach and dragged her lifeless body up the beach. I checked her breathing to find nothing. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the crewmen approaching.

"You there!" I yelled to him, "Yes! You!" He walked towards me, and I asked, "What is your name, lad?"

"Isaiah," he said sheepishly.

"Isaiah," I said, "Do you know anything about medical care?" He shook his head, and I figured it would be too much to ask of such a young fellow. "Listen, I know you don't know much, but I'm training to be a physician. She's not breathing, but I know how to revive her. I'm going to press on her chest a few times. When I say 'breath', I want you to plug her nose, and blow air into her mouth. Are you ready?"

The boy was hesitant, but I knew that he wanted to be helpful in any way he could. I began pumping, and slowly more people from the Heron began to appear. Among them were Percy, Melton, and Benjamin.

"Breath!" I shouted, and Isaiah responded with haste. I looked up to the now three people surrounding us and yelled, "Does anybody have some fresh water?"

Percy ran off to get her canteen, and I continued to pound on Juno's chest. Doubt circled every inch of me. Though I had no sense of time in the moment, I reasoned that it had been some time since she had surfaced. Tears welled up in my eyes, and nothing mattered to me but my want to see her live.

"Breath!"

It took everything out of me. I was exhausted, and I gathered all my energy into each thrust. She was worth every muscle grinding ache, and every shift in the sand that made my head spin. The salt water dripped into my eyes and made them swim. Every second seemed like an eternity. I never want to be back there again.

"Breath!"

I could see it all right then: the family condolences, the flower petals, the funeral at sea.

"Ah!" I screamed, all of me evaporating into the beach. I threw myself away from her and wailed. On all fours facing the sea I wept bitterly. I felt through the moist shore for answers, but there were none to be found. I looked over at Isaiah and found him crying as well, with his hands at his face in a complete, mystified horror. Percy returned also, dropping the canteen at her feet and lowering herself to the ground.

And then, right then, as all hope had faded away, new life sprung into Isaiah the youthful crewman. He rose and began pumping at Juno's chest, just the way that Jacob did. Over and over the boy just beat away at her cold chest. Percy tried to relieve him and pull him away, but to no avail. The boy simply would not give up.

Then, a cough.

The binds of the ocean gripping Juno's lungs were loosed, and I rushed over to her to hold her in my arms. Isaiah crawled backwards to give us room. As I cradled her on the beach, I cried the happiest tears I have ever shed. I looked at her, and she looked at me. Juno was looking all about, and when her eyes found Isaiah, she smiled.

"Thank you, Isaiah," she said, "Thanks for holding out for me."

Chapter 14. Shivering Coast

A shadow descended on the beach that evening. Crystal was moon as it hung over the beach, lighting our way into the depths of the jungle. A cold wind passed through the trees to the shivering coast, where the Heron lay sideways and immobile. I reckon that the boat is not completely out of commission, but that it will take several days or weeks to ready again for sailing. My son led the people away from the wreckage and into the heaping forests looking for this boy Orion who was lost in the thick of it.

No one shouted his name for fear of waking the tribesmen. The crew carried along guns, although many were appalled at the idea. We doubted very much that the locals would be hostile so long as we had the medallion. Benjamin thought otherwise. He assured us all that it was just a precaution, nothing more. True, it is only a precaution, until someone gets shot. Ben's own rifle was holstered at his side carried on his shoulder. He gripped it the whole way through the jungle.
We came to a clearing, and decided to set up camp for the night. In the morning, we awoke to the sound of drums. We followed the sound but found nothing for many miles. Some folk amongst the group thought it could be spirits taunting us. Others said that the letter could be a hoax. Olaf, Orion's father, assured them otherwise.

Pretty soon we were running out of jungle. We found ourselves on the opposite coastline, wondering where this tribe had disappeared to. Melton assured us on several occasions that the tribe should be all over this island. This prompted several to begin whispering that we weren't on the right island at all.

Then Juno found something in on the beach. Buried beneath a heap of sand, there was the captain of the Jupiter Moon's roll-top desk. Quickly, the crew and others uncovered the desk and opened it up. Inside they found several money pieces and letters. All of them were hand-written by the captain. Most of them, according to those of the crew who could read, made almost no sense at all. Needless to say, some of the newly learned readers began to have doubts in their abilities.

We were three days in searching for Orion. If the boy were still on the island, then it would be several days more before we would find him. Again, nightfall came and we were forced to bed on the beach. Melton poured over old manuscripts trying to reason as to why the tribe had abandoned the island. He several times got up to speak with Benjamin, but I could not hear what they spoke of.

In the middle of the night, I heard chattering from where I slept in the sand. I rose to find Olaf embracing a young man no taller than he. Orion had found us rather than us finding him, and slowly all awoke to find our mission was accomplished. Several broke into singing and cheering, others simply hugged the boy and cried.

With Orion was a young man whom none of us recognized. The young man's name was Beyotambev, and he was garnished in cloth and bone-like jewelry. On his neck hung a medallion very similar to the one I carried with me. It was a fish with a spear coming out of its mouth. Beyo introduced himself in rough French, a language which Melton and Orion both spoke. Orion said that Beyo was his body guard, and that the tribe had given him Beyo as a token of deep appreciation. Orion explained that he was with the tribe before they left the island, and that he had many stories to tell and much to show us.

Chapter 15. Ait'bourne du Khan

Led by Beyotambev, the group descended upon a pool ten miles from the eastern shore; a pool being fed by a slow running stream and a waterfall coming from the north. The walk was relatively easy, for even though we traveled inland the path was mostly downhill. The mud around the pool thickened as we got closer, and the entire area south of the waterfall was cleared. It looked as though this place was once a very sacred spot. There was no foliage anywhere, but grass grew in thick and moist. Beyo walked clear up to a rock mound just in front of the pool and placed his staff in a man-made hole.

He turned to face the group, inviting us to join him around the alter-like rock mound. Orion lept up with Beyo and began to speak.

"This is what the natives call Ait'bourne du Khan, or 'the blow hole'. This pool is being fed by fresh water, but the pool itself is salt water. The reason for this is that the pool has no bottom, and is flows downward into the sea. At the 'bottom' of this pool there is a rock pillar that reaches up from what the tribe believes is the very bottom of the ocean. In essence, the island is sitting atop an underwater mountain.

"It is believed that the ancients before this tribes' arrival once scaled this mountain and placed atop it gold medallions of the ancient world. There are said to be thousands of them atop the pillar, and even more scattered at the bottom of it. If you reach the top or bottom of the pillar and find a medallion, you can take it and keep it. However, you are only allowed to possess one. Since every medallion is unique, the possessor of that medallion will know if it has been stolen or earned under false pretenses.

"The tribe says that it is just as challenging to reach the bottom of the pillar and make it back to the surface alive as it was for the ancients to scale the mountain. This feat is heralded as the greatest thing a man can accomplish in his lifetime, and it also is told that reaching the bottom is like traveling back in time. In fact, some tribesmen believe that those who do not return to the surface have simply gone back into ancient times."

Beyo proudly displayed before the crown his medallion. It was obvious that despite his youth he was incredibly strong. He spoke to Orion in French, and then Orion relayed it back to everyone else in English,

"He says that you are all invited to dive into the pool and attempt to retrieve a medallion."

Benjamin jumped on top of the rock and pushed Beyo and Orion aside. "Good!" he exclaimed as he turned to face the pool. He took his rifle from his shoulder and leaned on it. He reached for something down his pants and turned with a grin. "After all," he said, "We wouldn't want to leave empty handed."

Benjamin turned back again to face the crowd, this time with a pistol pointed at my son. With that, several crewmen holding weapons pointed them at the ones without. Melton unfolded his nap sack to reveal a loaded weapon as well, and joined Benjamin by the alter. "Now," said Benjamin, "Let us retrieve these medallions, shall we?"

Chapter 16. Double Double-Crossed

"Put down your weapons!" yelled a strange voice from the north. All of us looked up to see a monstrous black savage standing atop the waterfall. What was even more surprising was that this native could speak English. "Put them down now, and we will show mercy!" I looked all around us to find that we were surrounded, and bodies began emerging from the tree line.

The captain spoke quickly to Benjamin, "Ben, listen to me now. I know we've had our disputes in the past, and right now it looks like a lifetime at sea has somehow not yet secured our friendship, but if you shoot me, any of us, or any of them right now, we are all going to die. Please, friend. Put the gun down."

"No more orders, captain," said Benjamin.

"You knew about this, Beyo?" demanded Orion.

"I had no choice, Or," said Beyo in French, "The medallions had to be protected. Once my father found out that you had sent word for the others, he had me and a group of our best soldiers stay behind to make certain that they were protected. It appears that you friends have compromised their security."

"The boy is as double-crossing as we are," said Melton, "He was going to wait for all of us to reemerge from that pool exhausted and helpless, then he and his hordes men were going to tear us to shreds. Don't think us so naive."

Melton froze. Blood suddenly sputtered from his mouth. Like a meteor from the depths of the wood came an arrow into the back of his head. He fell lifeless to the ground.

Benjamin lifted his pistol and shot once at the man standing atop the waterfall, but missed. With that, however, the entire tribe descended upon the group. Rifle fire went off all around us, and I ducked down to protect myself. The group of survivors without guns huddled in the center of the melee, shifting and dodging the crossfire of bullets and arrows.

As the fire fight continued, I heard the voice of my son yelling something at me. I couldn't quite make it out, but as I turned to face him it all became clear. He was reaching out to me shouting, "Dad! The MEDALLION!"

I ripped the necklace holding it from my neck and threw it. Just as I threw it, I ran into a crewman firing his rifle. The bullet lodged into my boy's left shoulder, knocking him to the ground. The medallion floated through the air, and I ran after it. Benjamin also noticed it and dove. But from behind another sailor soared Juno, reaching out into the air, connecting with her right hand. She collided with Ben midair and fell to the ground. At that moment, spears fell in front of every face in the group, and every hand rose helplessly as we all sat prostrate before the tribe.

Juno held the medallion up high so that everyone could see it. The group of us who were unarmed were all huddled around her facing outward. When the fight had ended, several crewmen and tribesmen were dead. Jacob had an arrow sticking out of his right thigh, and Percy was nursing a scar from falling on a rock. Melton was dead and lay face down in the mud. The man who was standing on the crest of the waterfall now stood above the group. He reached down and picked the medallion from Juno's hand.

"Where did you get this?" he said.

"It was my father's," I said.

"Stanley?" he asked, surprised, "My boy, it is me! Abner!"

Chapter 17. Return to the Heron

Har, har. It was a reunion of special magnificence. Whereas I was pulled away bound and shunned by everyone, Stanley was commended as a dear old friend. I suppose I deserved my fate. It was a valiant effort though. Poor Melton. I never expected the old coot to be the first one offed by the natives. When he came to me with news of the gold hidden on the island, I jumped at the chance not only to become wealthy beyond my wildest dreams, but also to finally have the opportunity to take control of the Great Blue Heron. Now, as we approached the ship on the shore, it would instead be a ferry to my death for mutiny. What a magnificent day for all.

Olaf and Orion spoke with Abner about their release. Abner of course agreed, saying, "Any friend of 'Ol Chuck is a dear friend of mine." Who's this "'Ol Chuck" anyways? While Stanley and Abner reminisced about their childhood and the adventures they'd shared on the island, I was roped to a line pulling the Heron back upright. With a heave from myself and several tribesmen, her body stood upright in the surf once again.

The captain approached me as I lay down to rest. He knelt beside me. "You know, Benjamin," he said, "I was going to carry you into port and have you hanged for mutiny. Instead, I will tell them that you stole from the ship. They will put you in prison for it, but they will not kill you. You will say nothing except to agree with the charges, and serve your time. Do we have an accord?"

I was flustered to the point of speechless. I coughed a bit to catch my breath, then said, "I'm sorry, captain...for everything I have done. So you have said, so it will be done."

He smiled and shook my hand.

Chapter 18. The Fate of the Medallion

The sea breeze shook my bones once again. We were off again and sailing, and the sun loomed high above us, warming my back. I turned around to see all who were left working and smiling, holding each other up with their strength and their words. I saw Juno approach Stanley with the medallion in her hand. "Here is your medallion back, Stanley," she said.

"Keep it," he replied, "I do not need it. I never have need it. That's why a lent it to the museum in the first place. And if not for you, I never would have gone back. Thank you, Juno. Be sure to give my regards to Jacob as he recovers."

"Thank you, Stanley. God Bless," she said.

She looked down at her keepsake. After a minute, she looked up and saw me looking at her. I quickly turned back to the ocean, but she found her way beside me anyways. "Here, Isaiah," she said, and handed me the medallion.

"I don't need this," I insisted.

"As well that you don't, but you did save my life," she said, "Besides, neither Jacob nor I need it. If you do not need it either, then give it to someone who does."

"Thank you," I said, "I will hold onto it for now."

I sat for awhile on the steps just staring at it. The spotted fish with a small civilization coming out of its back. It was so unique. I only regret not being able to swim down and retrieve one for myself. This was a rare gift. One to be given only to someone very special. Juno did not adore me as she did Jacob, but she did have a special place for me in her heart.

Then I saw her. She walked out on to the deck, her hair flowing in the wind. I had seen Percy many times before, but never gleaming as she did that day. She looked over at me as I noticed her. I hid the medallion quickly so she didn't see it. She came over at sat beside me. "Isaiah, is it?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "And you are Percy, the crafty stowaway."

She laughed. "I suppose I was quite the stowaway," she said, "And you are quite the hero. I couldn't believe you saved Juno's life. It was very brave of you. I shouldn't have tried to stop you."

"That's okay, you had every right to. I knew the chances of her pulling through were slim," I said, "Don't kid yourself, not even a physician could've done much to save her. But I knew that the Lord was on our side that day. I knew that He wouldn't let us down, whether or not she died."

"True," she said, "He gives and takes away."

We continued talking throughout the voyage. Every night while I was asleep she would sneak back on deck to wake me. We would talk under the stars for hours. We spoke of God, we spoke of the whales, and we spoke of Beyo and the tribe. Every time the captain saw us late sitting cross-legged by the railing, he wouldn't scold us or tell us to go to sleep. All he would say to us was, "Good night you two. The morning greets us soon."

THE END.

* * *

Epilogue: The Captain's Journal, Letters, and a word from the Author

The Captain's Journal

So is the journal of the captain of the Great Blue Heron. The entries therein follow much of the captain's viewpoint throughout the voyage. It was lost during the storm when the window in the captain's quarters broke. It was recovered later by Orion on Echo Island, the day that the ship arrived sideways on shore. He hid the journal from the captain up until the day that they set sail for home. When he showed it to the captain, he told Orion to keep it. Orion still glances at occasionally at the entries before the voyage, but he can recite all the entries pertaining to the Echo Island Adventures by heart. These are the entries between March 17th and April 23rd, or the "Echo Island Adventures", as is labeled by the captain.

Entry 1.

Morning of the third day. What happens to the morning dew when it has nothing to cling to? Heavy with salt yet light as a feather, the air was as thick as a well written letter. The ink does not run, the words are not scared to be harsh. Worse is it never leaves the forefront of your mind. Every sentence echoes as if she herself were reading it to your face. You can taste the speech never ending as it breathes in your nostrils. It wouldn't be so painful if the scent weren't so sweet, and the memory of the thoughts you were sure you'd almost forgot. But here it is, being reiterated over and over. Please go away, morning air. While you used to read so smooth and so clean, now all I take in is your bitterness.

Where has all of my happiness gone? What sunset took with it my fulfillment? These days at sea grow longer every year, and the pressure weighs down even my nostrils. Breath in, keep breathing, don't loose your nerve. It never ceases to get harder, but as my exterior deteriorates my mates lift my spirits aloft, and the Great Blue Heron holds both our aging bodies just above the surface of the depths.

Entry 2.

She's holding up rather nicely. It's almost evening. Echo Island is fast approaching, and the Great Blue Heron continues on the straight path there. How I have grown fond of every notch of wood, every swell in her body. Like imperfections on a woman's face I have grown to know them all. She is beautifully imperfect, and that is the miracle of her staying afloat adventure and adventure again.

Still, the island looms in my mind again. I wonder if this race of tribesmen will prove as hazardous as told before. Melton seems to know much of the tribe. And Olaf, the boy's father, is brave and up to the task of finding his lost son. My father would do the same for me. I admire him so much for that.

I do not know what fate we will meet in the days ahead. All I know is that the Lord has finally granted me a story to fulfill. Perhaps this time it will be happy, and I won't be left unsatisfied. In the service of the Lord, no one will be left unsatisfied. Maybe here, in Earthly terms, we won't feel as though our stomachs are full, but we will see the treasures awaiting us when we go home to be with old friends long gone. This I know without a doubt to be true.

Entry 3.

Percy sits in my bed this night. I cannot believe she is here. While I originally thought her to be a burden, I am slowly becoming acclimated to her presence on the ship. When I found her yesterday she was bruised and beaten; torn to pieces from lack of nourishment and exhaustion. Now that she has revealed herself to me and the crew, I am able to take care of her. This brings me great joy, but also great fear. I must not become attached, lest she become like all the others before her. Nevertheless, I find happiness in her comfort.

The boy Isaiah told me also last night about whispers of mutiny. Well, the possibility of mutiny. While nothing is confirmed, I told him and Juno to stay quiet about it, and to keep a watchful eye. I do not suspect anyone at this point, so any man on board could be questionable. I must trust in the Lord to protect us as I never have before. I pray that He is merciful if things get out of control.

Entry 4.

A storm is coming. I do not know if we will make it through this night. The men are stir crazy, and the women are frightened. Talk swirls around the boat to turn back, but the tried and true stay positive, even in their fear. I stay positive because I know deep down that we will survive, if not make it all the way to the island. This may be my last entry in this journal, so in the event of its loss or capture, please take the words in this journal to heart, as they are my only child. Care for them as you would care for a son.

* * *

Letters

Here are two letters written after the voyage and return to the mainland. The first is written by Juno to Jacob while he finishes his training to become a physician. The other is written by Isaiah from a port on the other side of the world to Percy, who awaited his return eagerly. He himself beat the letter home, and proposed the day the letter arrived.

Letter #1 - Juno Writes Jacob

Dearest Jacob,

I have missed the warmth of your bosom for many days now. The day I awoke from the darkness to find it again is now a distant memory, and indeed these times have felt dark while you are away. I constantly rely on the Lord for my strength, and my patience rests in His dwelling place.

I have long thought of my drowning experience. I barely remember anything about being in that place between life and death. In the end it wound up being like that place between being asleep and awake. You know, that feeling that you get just before you fall asleep, and that gap in transition between reality and dreams that you never remember when you awake? That is what it was like. Now when I sleep I dream of falling off of the Heron. I dream of loosing sight of your face as I was thrown overboard. I wake up gasping for breath when you are not near me. But when you return we will be married, and even when the Lord takes you away from me, your spirit sill still be with mine, somewhere deep down inside.

I eagerly await your return, dearest. Lord be with you in your final days at university.

Love,

Juno

Letter #2. Isaiah Writes Percy

Percy,

How your beauty fills my mind every night. No sight of land, even after weeks of anticipation, could compare with the happiness I will feel when I see your face again. The captain misses you, the Heron misses you, and I miss you most of all. What joy will be when I return to your shore.

I must keep this short, however. We will leave port soon and we are low on ink. I am running out of my ration now even as I write. But I have a special gift for you when I arrive. I will give it to you the day that you open this letter, along with a ring to lock my love for you in a promise. I promise to always love you, Percy. Even until we return to the sand.

I love you, and I will come back to find your wonderful face.

Love,

Isai

* * *

Author's Note

This is by far the longest, most challenging piece that I have ever written. It took me about three weeks total, and much of it was written while sleep deprived. If you've taken the time to read the whole thing, I applaud your efforts. Just so all the readers know, the idea for this came while I was scribbling on a piece of paper, and the image I scribbled slowly turned into the image of a bird. The title came, I failed at writing a poem using that title, and the rest is this story. I started and stopped on chapter 3, rewrote chapter 3, then churned my way through the other 15 chapters.

For those of you who waited patiently for this story, I hope it was worth the wait. If you want to know the meaning behind some of the themes, or the inspirations for some of the characters, I'd be more than happy to speak with you about it face-to-face sometime. You can e-mail me about it, comment on my Facebook or Blogger about it, or even AIM me about it. I would love to discuss this with anybody who cares to inquire.

Four Horns

2007-12-25T00:09:00.000-06:00

Where're the angels, O majesty
Then four horns declared His praise
With the virgin in the stable
In her bosom where He laid

Called her heart now, leaping livid
With the touch of Holy fire
Warms the tongues of weary travelers
Lends them songs of such desire

Now the wind is moaning softly
As the rafters flexed and waned
From the weight of God the Father
Stepping down from His great plain

To His servants, heir from lineage
And on down to you and I
From that place of desperation
Into our calamity

Kindness! Gladness! Christmas!

2007-12-10T23:45:00.000-06:00

Gather up the yarn and mistletoe
Sew yourself a scarf and tie it to your clothes
I ask you from the window for a kiss
Blow one from the yard and pray it doesn't miss

Thank goodness that it's Christmas!
Be thankful, son! It's Christmas!

Joyful we throw on our winter coats
Find a place for Joseph and ceramic goats
Fashion up a golden Christmas wreath
Angels from the closet and your mother's sheets

Thank goodness that it's Christmas!
Praise the Lord! It's Christmas!

Handfuls of the fluffy ginger snow
Shoving sweetened frosting up your button nose
I will take the candy with a smile
Leaving all the green ones is so infantile

Thank goodness that it's Christmas!
The neighbors know it's Christmas!

Push me Dad, and watch where my sled goes
Keep the sleigh bells ringing on our stereo
Fix the lights and star for our fake tree
Will the presents come? Well I don't know, we'll see!

Thank goodness that it's Christmas!
Thank goodness that it's Christmas!
It's Christmas!

Christmas Morning

2007-12-05T20:55:00.001-06:00

Did you watch the sunrise Christmas day?
The dreams I had told of such a story
Oh Mary, the Lord watched you smile that morning
Your beaming face over the Son of glory

Only Son of our spiritual marriage
The winds whispered Your righteousness
Oh Elizabeth, did you leap with your unborn child?
Your marveled eyes peruse the Lord’s finesse

Did you hear the angels sing on Christmas day?
The shepherd’s watch can testify
Oh Joseph, an obedient servant unto the Lord
Your protecting instinct intensified

First dawn rose with blessed Trinity
The stable beams flexed in morning breeze
Oh Lord, You brought a perfect child to us
My dreams still speak of Your newborn King

Autumn Songs

2007-12-04T00:51:00.000-06:00

"Autumn Songs"
A Poetry Collection by Christopher Sauer
Featuring the "Animal Shorts" series

For my sister, who I love

--------------------------------------

The First Day of Autumn

Well this is the first day of autumn
I saw you walking down the sidewalk
You had books in your hands
I felt like I should ask you but
I was just too shy

A chill fell when I looked into your eyes
They had fallen like leaves onto the pavement
Where once was just green
Suddenly all I could see inside
Was a golden, auburn ring

These are the words I hoped you'd say
I wish you had leaned in close to whisper
"If only it was like this,
Just about every day. I wish,
You'd never have to leave."

My feelings for you are often worn
Like a sweater I put on over t-shirts
I cover up who I am
And I make up a plan for swaying
Your body next to mine

What if I just want to be warm?
And you bring us some quilted blankets
Keep open the door
The outcome is unsure until
The moment we fall asleep

Won't you crawl into my arms?
I promise I'll hold you close and softly
And if we both dream tonight
I'll call you over from my
Lucid backyard fence

There you are again my dear
Has this whole day been just a vision?
Or has your beautiful face
Put my mind and my place out here
Since autumn of last year?

--------------------------------------

Crescent Moon

Burning autumn sun
We'll have a bonfire by the patio
Rolling smoke over ginger ale
We hear the weather from our radio

Crimson coated sky
Paintbrush strokes on the atmosphere
Buzzing and ticking in leafy grass
The grasshopper captivates our ears

Parking the pickup
Under the deck; we're awaiting the snow
Pausing at the sound of moaning rafters
We stop to wipe our feet below

Smokestacks billowing
Hissing fireplace at a whispering father
Why don't we hurry ourselves upstairs?
Bedtime lurks, but we never bother

Darkened bedroom views
Beyond the glass, a frosty night
My eyes behold the crescent moon
I wait in vain for lullabies

Robin bird's blue-song
I hear her singing outside my window
Morning after our daily adventures
I save my dream under my pillow

--------------------------------------

Illness

Monday rings the morning bell
The day after my illness fell
Upon me like a boulder on a leaf
My dry veins crack and bend beneath

A fire has been kindled in my head
Sweat and tears belittle my barren bed
For a sweet release I'm desperate
Yet every remedy seems counterfeit

So like an artful chemist do I prepare
The finest and sweetest of sultry ales
A tempest on the shores of an industrial city
Tidal waves of honey and succulent tea

I'll divide their streets and polluted mass
Like a scythe splitting blades of grass
Send forth agents to scour my disease
Lay my head to rest; put my mind at ease

--------------------------------------

Squirrel, The

Bury, bury, which to bury?
So many nuts, so little time
Hurry, hurry, scratch and scurry
Get your own tree, this one's mine!

--------------------------------------

Fall of the Empire
By Christopher Sauer

Clocks hang low
Midnight tolls for no one
The city streets are empty
The monotonous becomes necessity
Mankind is undone

Fury of a past forgotten
Snowballs into hardened oblivion
There are no more transmissions
Our bodies have yet to find remission
Loss; uneasy repose

Cots and sheets set ablaze
Fire in the cold air of a mattress factory
Using quilts to snuff this rabid flame
Destroying all for which we lay claim
Sleep so unsatisfactory

Symbols for syllables
Imagination for hard currency
Enlist the service a self-serving faction
With overflowing ideas but an absence of action
Like water in the Dead Sea

All things slowly fade away
Turned back to their original state
What good now serves the marquee?
Have moving pictures truly molded our identities?
Wandering eyes devote our fate

This is no distant future
The end has already begun to begin
The pain, the loss, the agony
Here it is inside, burgeoning
Destruction looms within

These abandoned city streets
Hollow skyscraper skeletons
The worth of man stands firm, yet empty
The words of wise are yet again buried
Only time we have yet to count

--------------------------------------

Quilted Comforter

Still beating, overflow
Still dreaming
Loss of control.I'll have a look in the mirror.
This is (my life)
all I have
(all I know to have)
a name and a face
labels of being
Bought (and ripped off)
a loose-fitting garment
vessel for seeing

Fear and doubting always the mirror.
Longing for my comforter
Still my heart echoed after
These tears hushed the laughter
These lashes bought my slander
This torn (and tattered)
loose-fitting sheet
(quilted comforter)

--------------------------------------

A Fall Song (For Children)

The rain clouds up in the sky
The leaves up on the trees
All come tumbling down at once
Like falling on your knees

So let's all come and join the song
That started way back when
A tune to haunt the morning sun
Oh here comes fall again

One-thousand, hundreds of thousands
Needles and seeds on the evergreen
Think of the time we spent inside
Sleeping through all our dreams

Two-thousand, all up around-sand
It's foggy and gray as the pavement
We'll spend our afternoons at your house
And build a fort in your basement

Raking tears at the leafy sidewalks
They gather up piles every day
Pumpkins and candy litter the sentry
Stationed to guard the cornfield maze

Golden sun let the rain pass
Neighbor this land with your smile
Rise up high on a mountain
And stay for awhile

Weather this time with the honest
And lift up high the small ones
By your presence I know
Another season has begun

--------------------------------------

The Cats, the Kitties, etc.

Hiding under stiff foundations
Curled in a loving ball
A furry, nestled kitty nation
There's room for one; there's room for all

--------------------------------------

VHS

A video home system
Wrapped inside plastic
Like-able gray fuzz
Humming something drastic

Tracking devices
Timely note takers
Rhythmic flashing lights
To watch again later

Clocking speed
Ticking and whirring
Fast-forward; pause
Shifting and blurring

Bunt, crack, fizzle, pop
Grinding our gears
Electric image automation
Spinning static wheels

Miles of videotape
Dizzying analog bind
Unfold a mystery
But be kind, rewind

--------------------------------------

The Bonfire

I see the fire stirring, swirling
The embers smoke and die alone
Ceaseless heat release, twirling
Above the maples gray clouds rose

I see the glow of cheerful faces
From a distance, from the road
Around the circle warmth embraces
All our friends from years ago

With outstretched hands and folding arms
We reached for what we could not see
As flame and forest display their charms
And dance to nature's symphony

The night air whirled about our craft
Another fight to keep our place
Around the bonfire where we sat
Until it smoldered in our face

--------------------------------------

Last Light

Arrive! Arise! There is a fire in the sky
Where the clouds reach out for the last light
Sentinels dance about her waning coals
Orange and glowing like days of old

The moon peeks above in the shadows
Her face lifting from her purple pillows
Thoughts ignite one by one behind the fold
As the sun lowers his broad shoulders

I stand in a field and lay on the hillside
The grass is wet with auburn highlights
As I bask in the final hours of daytime
The chill I feel; the warmth I delight

Street lamps flicker to a soothing hum
One by one as the stars above
Leading my eyes to the pathway home
Little do they know I'd rather be alone

Deep inside the Earth's golden locks
There I find the feelings I forgot
Though light disappear, I am fain
I pray that he may fall by me again

--------------------------------------

Confronting the Conifer

Gonk! A cone just hit my head!
Take those lights down! Time for bed!
It's not even close to Christmas!
Stop that poking! I mean business!

--------------------------------------

Timbre

In the forest by the maple tree
A southern voice has called for me
I'm restless for a winter hearth
Following my honesty

I stand still, counter coursed by leaves
A basket dangling in the breeze
Like my calloused winter heart
Over empty melodies

I lift my eyes to the chickadee
Who pulls air from her lungs to sing
Calling the majestic start
Of autumn's grand finale

And as the wind begins to cleave
Through woodland season harmony
Try my best to play the part
In nature's somber symphony

--------------------------------------

House in the Valley

I'm not afraid to leave you
If I am a bit too unreal
If my hands are to shy
You can delay for a long time
You're fine being just who you are
In a home far from mine

I may feel raw for a season
The ghost of our former selves
Has been haunting my recent prose
Warming my feet, I'm reminded
The slows of our dancing minds
When we turned on our TV shows

Since last year I thought I knew much worse
(Things we felt but we could never say)
Pain I felt with time I would forget
(Unsaid things begin to take their toll)

You were the heart I thought was
Beating in time right with mine
But you were the rain of leaves and
It's only fall again.

* * *

I'm not afraid, but I miss you
At least I can fix my whole gaze
On the gospel of peace
Here in this house in the valley
The trees lose a lot more this year
They've cried a lot more than me

Bailing the clouds with a back wind
The Lord lifts the sky from the hills
And the wolves from my door
Here is our God, He's the sunrise
He shines through my window this day
In my heart and my mind

From the day I found my love for Him
(What a joyous lot for me to hold)
Thought to share this love with my dear friends
(Painless loss would not be sacrifice)

For this frail heart I must be
Reconciled with my Father
All this in time for winter
It's only fall again.

--------------------------------------

Midwinter

Breathing softly deep within her
Arms the sun sit still in winter
Leaves below collapsing season
Calls upon synaptic reason

With every icy exhale new
Breeds frosting of the morning dew
Dark will come earlier this year
But fire leaves us none to fear

Burning softly throughout the night
Lights your face, blanketing your eyes
You nuzzle with me underneath
And touch my face with your long sleeves

My fingers find your hands so cold
The night is young but growing old
We'll slip into the morning's love
When Earth puts on her winter gloves

--------------------------------------

The Shepherd

He's looking over on the ridge
For wolves and thistles 'round the ledge
All for one, the Lord may give
Silly lamb, don't leave again

--------------------------------------

Midwinter

2007-12-02T16:06:00.000-06:00

Breathing softly deep within her
Arms the sun sit still in winter
Leaves below collapsing season
Calls upon synaptic reason

With every icy exhale new
Breeds frosting of the morning dew
Dark will come earlier this year
But fire leaves us none to fear

Burning softly throughout the night
Lights your face, blanketing your eyes
You nuzzle with me underneath
And touch my face with your long sleeves

My fingers find your hands so cold
The night is young but growing old
We'll slip into the morning's love
When Earth puts on her winter gloves

The Moment I Reappear

2007-11-30T22:00:00.001-06:00

The moment that I disappear, I reappear in lights
Where darkness and silhouettes seem so very trite
But three of me could not agree who of them was real
'Cept the one standing above their repetitious veils

As I pass between the lamps to my unknowing destiny
The whispers hiding in the thistles plot their complex schemes
I find myself surrounded, nay, entrapped by common thieves
Though twilight circles all about, they're always dressed as me

Just when you think that I have disappeared
I'll find my way back to the surface
And in the moment that I reappear
I'll be more perfected than the last

Watch me as I dance into the shadows

Opening Titles

2007-11-29T16:51:00.000-06:00

Well, this is not my first official blog, but it is my first blogger effort since a well-off idea that turned sour after I realized that writing directly about nature can be kind of a snore. Nobody read it, and linking to it would have been utterly disastrous. I won't even link back to it on this new one...it's really quite useless.

Anyways, I established this blog as a way of displaying my creative efforts: written work mostly, along with photography and maybe even some video work later on down the road. The intent of course is to get feedback, and hopefully as I pass around this URL to my friends and family they'll start linking to it or maybe even start an RSS feed. If a great deal of creative work finds its way onto this blog, I'll probably just use it as a template for my portfolio site, hopefully being transferred to the future URL chrisjsauer.com.

I'll probably be transferring a lot of my old poems onto this site in the coming weeks, along with my most recent collaboration, titled "Autumn Songs". Next semester, you can expect a wide variety of media, seeing as I'll be taking classes in Javascript, Digital Photography, Audio/Visual production, and advertising strategies. If I can find a way to embed them, I'll also include some old projects done in Flash, InDesign, and Illustrator.

As for my old blogs (LiveJournal, Facebook Notes, etc.), don't count them out just yet. However, I'll probably make the full on leap from those to platforms to just this blog soon enough. My Facebook group dedicated to my writing work will probably be redirected to this site in favor of driving traffic to it rather than my Facebook Notes. Besides, if members of the group become registered users with blogger (which is so much easier and cooler than anything else out there), then they can subscribe to my blog. Heck, they could even do it with their Yahoo! or Google e-mail accounts. How exciting!

Enjoy.