Perchta

Squeak...squeak…

Squeak...squeak…

The metal chain of the swing set made a much louder noise in the silence of the night for how little Beth was moving it. Every small move brought a long loud squeak that would have desturbed the neighborhood if the property lines were a bit smaller.

The noise seemed to echo through the yard, and bounce back to her from the small line of trees and bushes in the back of the property. The trees and bushes seemed extra dark, even though the moonlight reflecting off of the snow lit up the night a lot brighter than it had the night before. 

She had been on her swing every night this week. The metal squeak surprised her each time, as if she forgot just with how loud it was,but it would always slip from her mind as she moved about an inch forward, and inch backward. Her eyes became more and more unfocused as the snowflakes fell in front of her, until finally she seemed to lose herself to the flurry, thinking absolutely nothing, hearing nothing...most importantly: feeling nothing. 

Her much desired trance was broken by the quick darting silhouette of a black cat dashing through the sparkling snow towards the darkness of the tree line. It’s sudden appearance snapped her back to the moment. As she turned to look at it, it froze, and it slowly turned its head to look towards her. It slowly took a couple more steps, and then froze again to look at her. After a few more steps, and additional hesitation, it then continued towards the darkness that lay twenty feet from the swing, where it was quickly absorbed as if it had never been. 

Lucky, she thought, as the idea of being a cat that could just melt away struck her. 

Squeak...squeak…

She started to move again, hoping to find that state of nothing again that the cat had disturbed.

Squeak...squeak…

Crunch…

The crunch of the snow made her jump slightly. She looked towards the treeline where the crunch had come from, where another shadow began to emerge. Beth stopped moving, and held her breath. 

Crunch….shfffffft.

Crunch...shfffffft. 

As the shadow emerged from the dark harbor of the treeline’s blackness, the light of the moon began to give it form, and Beth was able to see what it was that was slowly stepping towards her. It was an old woman, slightly hunched, with an apparent lame foot that the woman dragged slightly with each step. She was slowly making her way to where Beth sat on the swing. 

The old woman was not very well dressed for the chill of the night, or for the snow at that. She appeared to be wearing a layer or two of oversized and very tattered gowns that hung down to just below her knees, and around her waist was a single rope, tied in a simple knot. Beth looked towards the woman’s feet as she shuffled closer step by step, and noticed that there were no shoes, boots, or even socks. Rather, the woman was walking through the snow in her bare feet, stepping with one foot, which sank into the crisp snow with a crunch, and dragged her other foot which was roughly double the size of the normal one. 

Beth watched the old woman as she crossed the twenty foot divide between the swing and the treeline from which she emerged. The whole time she was walking, the old woman never took her eyes off of Beth’s own face. She walked slowly as if not to startle Beth, in the same manner Beth had seen people approach animals that they didn’t want to scare away. Beth had an odd thought that being a stranger, Beth should run, but in the back of her mind, a voice urged her to stay put. It was warm, and reassuring. So Beth stayed, and continued to watch the woman’s approach.

She stopped a foot in front of Beth, who looked up at her, curious, but expressionless. The woman’s hair, even though it was held back by yet another scrap of tattered cloth, seemed to stick out everywhere. Her face was the most wrinkled face that Beth had ever seen, but her eyes seemed to shine in the moonlight, and they seemed to have more clarity to them than she had ever seen in an old person before.

“Aren’t you cold?” Beth finally asked the woman. “I can get you socks from inside.”

“Aren’t you cold?” The old woman asked in turn, pointing a gnarled finger towards Beth’s shoulder, which was exposed to the falling snow. 

Beth forgot that she came out tonight still wearing the dress from the party that her mom and dad had taken her to. Her coat lay forgotten on the counter where she had set it after the sitter had told her to go to bed and then promptly passed out on the couch. 

“I am used to the cold,” Beth replied. 

“As am I,” the old woman said finally, still staring intently at Beth. 

“Are you looking for your cat?”

“My cat?” the woman raised her eyebrows. She then had a look of understanding on her face before giving a lopsided crooked-toothed smile. 

“No. I was just out for a walk, and…” she hesitated. “...and I saw you out here, and was curious what would make a small child-such as yourself-be out so late-on a night such as tonight-all by herself...Not properly dressed for the cold…”

“Forgetting, mostly,” Beth said simply. 

The two stared at each other before the old woman motioned towards the swing beside Beth. 

“May I?”

When Beth nodded, the old women shuffled over, turned, and attempted to sit in the swing. She missed, and plopped firmly in the snow. 

“Oof!” She shouted. 

She gave a small smile when Beth giggled and asked if she had ever sat in a swing before.

“No, my child, I have never had a need to.”

Beth stood, and held out her hand. The old woman took it, but without using her help, stood almost effortlessly from the snow, smiling even wider. 

“What is your name, young miss?”

“Beth.”

“Do you live here?”

Beth nodded. “Do you live around here?”

“No,” the woman replied. She sat and gave herself a small kick on the swing. “I am merely visiting some friends out in the woods.”

“I thought it was just woods out there,” Beth said, frowning. “I’ve never seen a house out there.”

The old woman burst into laughter that had more gusto than she had ever heard before, especially from an old person. It seemed to echo from everywhere all at once. Her wrinkled face crinkled even more with the laugh, which Beth thought to be another impossibility.

“There are plenty of homes in that woods, my dear,” the woman said, “You just have to know where to look!”

She paused and studied Beth as intently as Beth was studying her. 

“Why are you out here, little one?”

“I..”

“No lies now,” The old woman said sharply with a stronger voice than she had spoken with mere seconds before. 

The sternness in her voice surprised Beth, even as much as the laughter had. She had given a quick thought as to what to claim she was doing out here past midnight in the snow, wearing just the dress from that party. The old woman’s voice seemed to command her beyond just her words to tell the truth. 

“I won’t sleep tonight,” she sighed softly. “I never do after the parties they take me to.”

“You do not like parties?”

“No,” Beth whispered. “Not these. Mom and Dad are celebrating, and are never by me the whole time…”

Beth turned back towards the swirling snowflakes. They were lit by the moon as they fell on the backdrop of the dark woods, shining almost as if each flake were a tiny light source itself. As she attempted to get lost in them once more, she could feel the old woman’s eyes continue to stare at her, waiting for her to finish her answer. Her voice faltered when she attempted to speak again.

“What are they celebrating at these parties, young one?” The old woman pressed softly.

“Sometimes they are celebrating political things,” Beth finally said. “Sometimes...they are having the party as an excuse to...well...as a distraction, I guess.”

“Look at me, girl,” the old woman commanded her voice firm once more. 

When Beth looked at her, the old woman leaned closer until her face was mere inches from Beth’s. She stared intently into Beth’s eyes. Beth was startled at how blue the woman’s were, and how brilliantly they shone in the moonlight. 

As she stared into the woman’s eyes,her stomach lurched. A wave of unwilling memories flooded over her as everything that happened at one party or the other surged to the front of her mind. It felt almost as if the thoughts were being played in order like a TV show recap. A bitterness stung at her throat, and she barely moved fom the woman in time to vomit into the once stainless snow at her feet. 

“I..I am sorry!” Beth gasped, wiping her mouth when the final convulsion left her. “Did I get you?”

“I...see…” the old woman sighed. She ignored Beth’s question. 

The sadness in the old woman’s voice surprised Beth. She stopped looking for traces of her vomit on the woman’s feet, and looked back at her face, where the sadness in her voice was very clearly in the woman’s eyes. 

“What?” Beth asked.

“Nothing, dear child,” The woman said, giving her a sad smile. “I just want to give you a present.”

Beth stiffened. She had learned to never trust a ‘present’ from an adult who was not a family member. However, the warm feeling that Beth felt from this woman, as well as her own curiosity kept her from running inside her home. Beth could not see what the woman could have as a present, or even where she could possibly be hiding it on her, since there was nothing but tattered clothing. 

“A present?” Beth asked with hesitation. “What is it?”

Still smiling her sad smile, the old woman leaned forward and tapped her finger sharply against Beth’s forehead. 

***

Hunter rubbed his eyes as he stumbled towards the door. People knew better. People knew better than to bother him after his parties. Either he was sleeping, or indulging, and neither one of those should be disturbed, damn it. 

“What?” He shouted as he swung the door open. 

He blinked in surprise. All the sleep that had been clouding his eyes was whisked away from him by a combination of the cold air on the other side of the door, as well as the woman that was standing at his doorstep. 

She was tall, blonde, with striking blue eyes and she was dressed in a sparkling silver gown that was low-cut and clung tightly to her very generous body. 

“I..uh…” he swallowed back a stutter and cleared his throat. “I mean, what can I do for you, miss?”

“I hate to bother you at this hour,” she said. She flashed him a perfect smile of brilliant white teeth.. “I think I left your party without my purse.”

He gave her a grin of his own, and stepped back, motioning her to come in. 

“Again, I am terribly sorry, I will just be a moment,” the woman said, still smiling.

As she walked by him, he stared at her for a moment before he shivered, and remembering his door quickly closed it. Then locked the deadbolt. She turned look at him after she heard the shliiiick of the deadbolt. She tilted her head, as if curious, but still smiled. 

Playing coy, he thought. I like it.

“I’m going to be honest,” he said, walking towards her. “I think I would have remembered someone like you being at my party.”

“Oh?” She asked.

Hunter looked her up and down slowly, making a show of it.

 Still Smiling. She wants it. Just like the rest of them. 

“Ooooh, yeah,” he said. “Most definitely.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Girl, I can tell you right now, I wouldn’t forget you by this time next week.”

“What about Beth?”

Hunter coughed as his throat suddenly went dry, and he stopped midstep about a foot from her, and narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Beth?” the woman said again. “About 14, green eyes, black dress, and unforgivably inattentive parents?”

“I..uh...don’t know what you are talking about.” Hunter swallowed and took a step back. “I don’t see your purse anywhere. I think you should leave, miss. It is getting late.”

He turned and quickly walked back to his door to open it. 

“Maybe you would prefer I stay if I looked like this?”

“Listen, it's late,” he said, turning to look at her again. “I don’t have time for…”

He froze as he saw a little girl who looked about 12 or 13 standing in the room where the woman had been. She looked just like the woman, only younger, as if she could have been the woman’s daughter or little sister. He rushed back into the room and looked around. The woman who had been there just a moment ago was gone. Hunter rushed through his home, looking for her, poking his head in doors and flicking on lights. Finding no sign of her, he stomped back into the room where the girl was sitting on an armchair twirling her hair. 

“Get the other one from wherever she is hiding, and get out of my house before I call the cops.” He shouted.  Any other time, he would have relished someone like this girl alone in his home, but with the woman nowhere to be found, and what the woman had said...it was a bit too much for him. 

“Awww….What does Beth have that I don’t?” The girl stuck out her lip and pouted. 

“I..I have no idea what you are talking about, but you need to leave!”

He looked around for his cell phone, and spied it on the table. 

“You have exactly five seconds to leave,” he said while unlocking his phone. 

“What if I want to stay a bit?” The girl continued. “Oh! Here is my bag!”

She suddenly had a small bag, bound by a silver cord in her hands. She opened it, and pulled out a long silver dagger that was much too long to have been able to fit in the bag without tearing it through. 

“Put...put that down right now!” Hunter stuttered, heart pounding. “The cops will be here in no time. You have no idea who I am, or who my dad is!”

“Oh...I know more than you think, Hunter,” the girl said. 

“I...I don’t know who you are, or what you think, or where your friend is,” he choked out, backing away. “But you need to get the hell out of here! The world is going to come crashing down on you, you little shit!”

“That isn’t nice, Hunter,” the girl said. She continued to walk towards him. “Indeed, I was supposed to be sharing a feast tonight with my friends. Instead, I had to heal a little girl mentally and physically. I have had to find two negligent parents, and change their thoughts around so as to be more attentive and loving. I had to change their world view to be more...human…. Do you know the effort involved in changing a human’s personality? Especially ones so broken and deceived by people like you?” 

 All the playfulness was gone from her face. Her eyes were narrowed, and her voice didn’t match her body. It was older, mature, angry, and every bit as cold as her now icy stare.

“Who...Who are you?”

“Someone whom the world has forgotten,” the little girl said, nearly snarling. “But it is of no concern at the moment.”

As Hunter tried to turn and run, he fell. Pulling at his feet, he looked down to see them frozen to the floor, covered in a small, yet incredibly strong layer of ice. 

“Hello?” A small voice said from his phone. “Emergency 911, can you hear me?”

But his phone, and the call lay forgotten beside him as he flailed his arms at the approaching girl and pulled desperately at his trapped feet.

“Please! No!” Hunter cried out. “I will give you anything!”

“How often did Beth beg you?” the girl growled. “How many others have begged you?

“...units are on the way! Can you hear me sir? Units are on the way, please remain on the line!”

“Now, I am sure you will forgive me if I am a bit rusty. I haven’t done this in a few hundred years,” The girl’s lips turned up into a smile. “So, this may take longer than it used to.”

Just as he began to scream, the wind outside picked up into a snow filled howl that seemed to mock him.  

***

The officer on the scene radioed back that the door was open, and snow was getting inside. Having been told of the ungodly screams through the phone from dispatch, he waited until another officer arrived before they stepped in, weapons drawn, and slowly looked around.

“Put your hands in the air!” he shouted when he saw the back of a head in a chair.

“Stand slowly, and put your hands on your head!!” the other officer yelled when the seated man did not acknowledge them. 

The first officer slowly walked around the man, looked down at him, and then turned to puke all over the floor. 

The second officer lowered his weapon and walked over. The man’s stomach was cut open, and looked to be completely filled with straw and gravel which was falling out of the open hole.  As more officers and the Paramedics poured through the front door, he too vomited. 

***

Beth blinked, and then looked around. 

“What?”

She was sitting on her swing in the backyard. She shivered and looked around at the falling snow.

“Where...Why am I…?”

Still shivering from the cold, Beth stood from her swing, and felt something fall off her lap. A small bright blue box with silver sparkles and a Silver Bow had fallen into the snow at her feet. She bent down to pick it up and dusted the snow off. A small tag was attached to the bow, and written in tiny, yet fancy writing, was her name. She looked around. She had no clue why she was outside, or who had given her this gift. Her curiosity overwhelmed her confusion, however, and she carefully pulled the lid off of the box.

A small piece of paper sat on top, inscribed with the same fancy script as the tag. 

“A coin for your thoughts, my dear.” She read slowly. “Your friend, Perchta.”

Beneath the paper, was a shining Silver Coin with a woman with Flowing hair flanked by stars, with the words Liberty above her. She picked it up and slowly rubbed her thumb across the date:1794. 

She looked around again, and clutching it to her chest, she ran inside, a small black cat watching her, unseen from the shadows of the treeline.

~~~

The November Question

 

What can be done in this situation?
What can be solved with just talk or reason?
When we’re watching the theft of our nation,
When we’re watching the left commit Treason?
Over the years, we have endured insults,
we have suffered through assault and abuse,
suffering in silence, to what results?
Violent leftist mobs are running loose!
Our history rewritten, and replaced!
Statues of Heroes are torn to the ground…
and now a coup right in front of our face?
Are sullen words the only allowed sound?
Or shall we cry out and march? Shall we act?
Shall we move to take America Back?

The Rake

When silence falls upon the house, 

He creeps softly as a does a mouse 

And through the door he hurries quick 

There is no lock that he can't pick 

He hurries to the room he needs 

No stopping for an Earthly greed.

His prize, his prey, lay unaware 

That anything is different there..

As swiftly through the bedroom door,

He crawls across the bedroom floor,

Sitting at the foot of the bed,

Or inching closer to the head,

Listening to the beating heart

Of the one he will tear apart,

The one who will become his meal,

Who never thought he could be real...

Now, wearing shadows as his cloak,

He awaits that fateful clock stroke 

Before he carries out his crime.

First one, two, and then three bell chimes.

He grabs his prey before they scream

Or even awake from their dreams!

Then Through the window with them bounds Making not the slightest of sounds!

Where he takes them, we cannot know,

Some places mortals cannot go...

Pray it's not you he's there to take 

That wretched beast known as the Rake...

Humanity's Light

Civilized man, in a chaotic world,

filled with savages and the darkest night,

Carry high our civilization’s torch,

to enlighten lands, or if need be scorch

the land to rid it of the savage blight,

doing so proudly, our heads high, and flag unfurled.

We have built for ourselves most hallowed halls

to pay homage to our fathers long passed

to whom we owe the greatest of all debts

for they fought the good fight, and did not let

themselves fall to disarray; they held fast,

Never ceasing to answer our destiny’s calls.

We build hospitals to aid all our ill

and we’ve made great strides to stamp out disease.

We’ve built the finest centers of learning

to safeguard the sacred flame that’s burning

within our youth, who shall seek what they please

endeavoring to carry our light further still.

We’ve conquered the fiercest of our Earth’s seas;

The skies no longer forbidden domain;

We’ve reached out to caress the very stars

laying claim to that once proud moon as ours,

No limit exists to our right to reign

those who challenge our right shall be brought to their knees.

There is no sympathy for savages,

Those rejecting civilization’s light

Those whose seemingly only goal in life

Is to cause others undue pain and strife,

Those who denigrate all within their sight,

Who never create…who only steal and ravage.

It is the duty of civilized men

to safeguard Humanity’s destiny

and in so doing, honoring the name

of those before who worked hard for the same…

Those civilized men, proud as they were free

immortal in fulfillment of our Destiny.

Fortuna

Did your mind turn to her in that hour?
When you saw the walls begin to give way,
under the relentless firepower,
did you offer a prayer to her that day?
Fortuna, fair Goddess of your city,
Cast aside and ignored so long ago…
Did you hope, perhaps, to gain her pity,
and now, in your need, her blessings bestow?
With a flourish of that fair divine hand,
her light could through the dark clouds of war
and strike the enemy swarming your land
sweep them away, and divine peace restore!
Or did you call Mighty Jupiter’s name,
to beg he save his people one more time?
Or did you cling the new faith in vain,
and become the very last of your line?
A prayer, an utterance, or a word
breathed to Fortuna to invoke her aid
and the Gods, with great zeal, would have returned,
forgiving the people for having strayed…

If only, Emperor, you gave it thought,
and with repenting supplications sought
aid for your people from the Gods of old,
How differently this story would be told:
As the walls tumbled, you cast off your crown,
tore off your garments, threw them to the ground,
and with one last defiant battle cry,
you rushed with your men,  to fight and to die.
No shrine or marker to denote your grave
in the renamed city you tried to save.
Now we must mark this day every year
with sorrowful thoughts, and eyes filled with tears
If only you had breathed her name at all,
The last of Rome would not have had to fall.    

Pandemic Panic

Has the whole world gone entirely mad,

or have I just not noticed it before?

I know with this virus, things will be bad,

but why are people beginning to hoard,

not leaving things for those who are in need?

Consumed by panic, or pushed on by greed..

You do not need that much toilet paper!

You do not need that much sanitizer!

For years, people made fun of the preppers,

but now realize they were the wiser.

They say that ‘He who laughs last, laughs the best”

Well, guess who’s laughing above all the rest? 

If we do things right, and we keep our heads,

we can weather the coming storm’s effects.

Make sure our elderly and youth are fed,

and not lose ourselves hoarding mere objects

greed and selfishness must lose their place

if we are to move forward as a Race.

 Let it not be said We fell apart here,

clutching our purse strings out of financial fear

while abandoning those that we hold dear

to a dark future bleak, hopeless, and drear.

When we can still stand and do what needs done

for it is certain our fight can be won!

Lock Down

He has shut down our state!

In violation of our Constitution,

without proper debate,

and without the people’s representation!

Let all Hoosiers remember

what he has done on this day,

and come election in November,

we shall send him off on his way

out of the Governor’s chair

and to the unemployment line

or where ever, we don’t care

as long as he’s gone, we’re fine!

Every leader who applauds his deed

we shall give you the same token

for following tyranny’s lead,

and parroting what he has spoken.

The people will speak soon enough

and when it is all said and done

you will find our anger is not a bluff

when we oust you all…Every. Last. One.

To the Victor go the Spoils

“This is a duel to the death! The only rule is that there can be no interference from the crowd!” The orator shouted. “This is your last chance to bow out. If you accept fate, draw your weapon and…”

Preston could barely hear the words after that point. His opponent drew his sword, and the crowd around them burst out into thunderous approval. His hand tightened on the hilt of his own sword. This was it. If he drew it now, there would be no turning back.

Almost on its own accord, as if it knew that he was contemplating submission, his hand pulled his sword from its sheath, and leveled it towards his opponent. The crowd went wild. There would be death.

He didn’t hate his opponent. He didn’t even know the guy. He merely got the luck of the draw in the duel rotation to be put against each other. He looked as fierce as one could imagine. He was big and hulking, and well fed.  He was obviously a veteran of the duels, as his sword was steady with no trace of a tremor, and he had cast his shield off to the ground beside him.

Preston’s own shield was a lot heavier than he imagined, but he held onto it for dear life. A lot rode on this duel. He stood still, waiting for his opponent to make the first move. He tried ignoring the pounding in his chest, the roar of his blood in his ears, mixed with the noise of the crowd.  The tremor in his sword betrayed him, and his opponent smiled. He’d obviously seen similar tell-tale signs, and like a cat moving in on its prey, he moved in for the kill.

The first sword strike might as well have killed him. He flew backwards, and landed roughly on the dirt. He felt as if his entire left arm had been cleaved from his torso. Everything that didn’t hurt was tingly and numb, but a quick look down, showed everything intact. His shield was dented in, and his forearm was held in place by the dent and the handle.  He tried to shake it off, but it held tight. His opponent merely stood there, several paces away, a smirk on his face. He was waiting for Preston to stand up. He was going to toy with Preston before he killed him.

Shakily, Preston used his shield to prop himself up on one knee, and then stood. The crowd cheered again. The show continued.

Not waiting on the guy to end him, Preston charged, sword overhead, shield in front of his chest. The man laughed, and with a superfluous twirl, stepped out of Preston’s line of attack, and merely brought his foot out to trip him.

Preston fell. The pain in his shield arm exploded. He had never known a pain quite like this. It had to have broken, but he couldn’t get it free form the shield to see. He swung the shield up, to prop himself on it, screaming through his pain, he tried to stand again.

Just as he gained his footing, his feet were kicked out again. He landed on his shield again, and realized in horror that it was the only thing he was holding. His sword lay several feet away from him, and his opponent had just put himself in his way.

“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!” The crowd cheered.

His opponent, now standing over him, stretched his arms out in triumph as Preston knelt in front of him. This had probably played out for him multiple times, and he was obviously relishing the moment. With one burst of energy, fueled by desperate rage at his impending death, Preston swung his shield.

Screaming through the pain, he brought its corner up into the groin of this surprised opponent with enough force that the man dropped his own sword in pain. The crowd fell silent as the man fell sideways, screaming as he clutched his groin.  Preston did not waste his time trying to grab the man’s sword. He climbed onto him and brought the edge of his shield down on the man’s throat. Again and again, ignoring the blood as is sprayed onto him.

The screaming man was silent.

The crowd was silent.

Only for a moment. It roared back to life with surprised enthusiasm. The orator ran out to Preston and helped him to his feet.

“The champion is deposed!” The orator shouted above the noise. “Behold our new winner!”

The man led Preston away from the dead champion who now had several men over him pulling at his belongings.

Preston was led to a room with a table, guarded by several men where he would be able to accept his prize for winning the fight. As a man helped pry the dented shield off of his arm, the distributor looked at him with some surprise, but began gathering his items.

“Here you are,” the distributor said. “This is ten pounds of meat, ten pounds of vegetables, and five rolls of toilet paper.”

“Thank you,” Preston mumbled, as he felt his now free left arm.

“What were you before, Gladiator?” the distributor asked, curious.

“Office clerk,” Preston mumbled again as he moved the bags of food and toilet paper into his cart.

The guard who had taken his pistol when he walked into the building returned it to him, along with the sword and shield of his dead opponent.

“These were his, and they are yours if you want them. Spoils of war,” the man said with a smirk. “Besides, you will need them when you come back for more provisions, right?”

He had no desire to return, but with a family to feed, he didn’t know how the next few weeks would go hunting wise. He had been told many duelers return again and again until they are killed by someone else. Just as his opponent had done.  Preston gave a halfhearted nod, and took them from the man. He still had an immense amount of pain in his arm, but he could move it, and he could at least push his cart.

He left the building, pushing the cart with his prize. He was wondering how he would explain the risk he had just undertaken to his wife when he heard the cheer of the crowd as a new duel began.

Right-Wing Laureate

I’ll never be chosen as Laureate

Or handpicked by my own generation,

To be a name the world should not forget,

Or voice of my home state, or nation.

Even though I pen what is real, and true,

They belittle me to the last letter

Because they cannot stand my point of view,

And I know things won't be getting better.

It is the Poet’s burden, I confess

To write knowing you’ll be called a failure.

But those who pluck Right Wing verse from their chest

Don’t get called “Poet”: they get called “Monster”..

I write what I know, and try to reveal

Our own point of view to give it some light,

But the snob elite don’t care how we feel

For the Right is wrong and the Left is right

But I write on, so my children can see

That I cannot be laughed into silence, 

Nor is there a chance that I'll ever be

Made to apologize, or do penance. 

So, read all my work, and say what you will!

Say it is soulless, and without merit!

Inform all your sheep that I have no skill!

Say what you will, I will grin and bear it…

I’ll be voice to the traditional ways,

And shall humbly serve as their outlet,

And in the end, when I run out of days,

I will remain my Family’s Poet.

Corporal Long

A lot has been on my mind of late,
Concerning Life, Choices, and of Fate,
Paths not taken, Regret’s crushing weight.

And though I’ve tried to just let it go,
each day offers a bit more ammo,
allowing tormenting thoughts to grow.

Like these things do, it came to a head,
one night I found no comfort in bed,
With a bottle of whiskey, I fled

Into the night, not sure of my way,
Knowing only that I could not stay
and listen to what my doubts would say,

As I stumbled out into the night,
Staggering beyond the City’s light,
I found myself awash in moonlight.

Comforted by the moon’s silver glow,
I stumbled along, steady and slow,
my whiskey continuing to flow.

I found myself in a field of stone.
Newer ones polished until they shone,
Older ones abandoned, on their own…

I paused at a slightly tilted one,
Weeds all around, almost overrun.
Corporal Long, Died in World War One.

A mere boy, nineteen, still in his youth.
I sat on his grave, drunk and uncouth,
Slurring my words, asking for a truth.

Then I poured him a shot of my drink,
gave my bottle to his stone to clink,
then sat back against his stone to think.

Then I saw the most curious sight,
a sober man would have taken flight!
before me rose a small ball of light!

Before I could shout out in surprise,
at the scene playing before my eyes,
the small orb halted its rapid rise.

Quick as a flash, it took a new form:
A Boy stood there in Dress Uniform,
I then shivered though the night was warm.

He looked at me with curious eyes,
and then to the bottle at my side,
He motioned to pour: I poured it dry.

He gave me a smile, his face aglow,
“Fine libation, you chose to bestow!
Now, sir, what is it you wish to know?”

“What is it like, sir, to know glory?”
His face turning sad, he sat before me,
and almost whispered out his story.

“Born and raised in our dear Hoosier State,
Too young for the war, I had to wait,
my thirst for glory would not abate.

Many a night I would lay and dream,
Of guns, and swords, bayonets agleam,
of medals, honor, and high esteem!

I turned of age, and rushed to enlist,
saluted my Pa, gave Ma a kiss,
then deployed overseas to assist.”

He looked at the stone behind my back,
words nearly faded, stone chipped and cracked,
above a faded engraved lilac.

“I died over there, you may have guessed.
Took a Kraut Bullet right to the chest.
It broke Ma’s heart to lay me to rest.

There is no glory in what I sought,
I was handed a gun and I fought.
And why I joined? It was all for naught.

Sure they will speak highly of your name,
and for a spell will hold you in fame,
give you medals, but it aint the same.

Soon enough, their memories will fade,
of who you are, and the price you paid,
what you fought for…and where you are laid.

Soon enough they will always forget,
no human eye will ever stay wet,
for souls caught in the War Reaper’s net.”

He turned to me, and shook he shook his head.
“I dreamt of glory, and now I’m dead,
My dreams died with me, and share this bed.”

“But you served and died a hero’s death!
You gave it all, even your last breath!
You loved your nation more than yourself!”

With that, he gave a sigh and he stood.
“Now you listen, and you listen good:
If I could change what happened, I would!

“I should have worked hard till I could buy
that little piece of farmland nearby
and made me a life before I died.

Maybe found myself a loving wife,
raise us some children, no less than five,
and see what they accomplish with life.

There is no glory among the dead,
their only reward is the grave bed.
Just ignore what is otherwise said.

For everything that you do in war,
has all been done countless times before,
and when you’re gone, will be done some more.

My advice is simple, my good man,
Stay a civilian, long as you can,
Embrace the fullness of your life span!

Fight, should the necessity arise,
but don’t throw away your precious life
chasing war’s glory, and other lies.

As I watched him, his glow grew dimmer,
returned to an orb and its shimmer,
Till he disappeared altogether.    

Just briefly, I continue to lay
Still stunned, and now sober as day
before I stood and went on my way.

As I walked home, I felt calm inside,
the conflicting feelings swept aside,
New focus from an unlikely guide.

Now, weekly, it is my solemn deed
To pour him a shot, and pull up weeds
Honoring the aid shown in my need.

~x~