Remember

Remember

Betrayal's dagger
can only strike from behind,
held in a friend’s hand.

 

Therapy

Charlie turned on to McGary St. He didn’t really have anywhere specific to drive, he was just driving.

He had Hank jr. cranked up on his radio, and his windows down with the air conditioner on. While his day had started crappy, this was improving it. This was more therapeutic and effective to deal with his stressors than any plans or processes that some over paid counselor could come up with.

Half-way down the block, near the bus terminal, a couple men decided to cut across the road. One saw Charlie coming and jogged across the lane so that he wasn’t in the way. The other made eye contact and threw his arms out as he slowed down.

He looked every bit like a walking cliché of a junkie. Barley shaved hair, sickly pasty skin even in the sun, scabs, and a beard that just didn’t seem like it could grow. Sporadic shitty tattoos, including a large red and black one on his arm that Charlie could just make out as “Judgeless”.

Charlie almost felt a pang of pity.

 “What?” he shouted at Charlie. “I said WHAT, mother fucker?”

The pang of pity disappeared.

Charlie, forced to a crawl in order to pass him, leaned out his window, and pointed up the street to where the crosswalk was.

“You’re outta pocket, Man,” Charlie said. “You’re supposed to use the crosswalk so that you don’t bounce off a hood.”

“The fuck you gonna do, boy?” the man sneered. “Get on outta that truck and teach me the law? Try it! Try it!"

Charlie laughed and shook his head. As he started to drive away, the man spat on the back of his truck.

“Ok,” Charlie mumbled. “Ok.”

He drove a block up and turned the corner. Finding a parking spot, he got out and pulled off his hoodie. He threw on his flannel jacket from his passenger seat, his ballcap and sunglasses, and started walking back towards the bus station.

On principle, he crossed at the crosswalk, but his eyes were scanning the people milling around at the terminal. Half of them looked lost, listless, or strung out. The other half looked terrified that the others would approach them.

Then Charlie spotted him. He was standing off by the corner of the bus terminal by the sidewalk and some bushes with the man he had crossed the road with. He was smoking a cigarette and laughing, presumably about his theatrics in the middle of the street.

At first, Charlie wasn’t sure, but after a moment of staring, Charlie knew it was the guy. The blonde stubble on top of his head revealing inevitable impending balding, the patchy face hair that looked more like mange than a beard, and the scabs on the side of his face hinting at a more serious addiction that the cigarette he was currently smoking. The “Judgeless” tattoo on his right arm was the clincher, however. It was Meth Man.

Charlie slowed down and looked around. Everyone seemed caught up in their own little world, and the cameras were all pointed towards the terminal area, not out towards the street or edges of the lot.

Perfect.

He was an arm reach away now.

“Hey, got a smoke?” Charlie asked.

As the man turned, Charlie swung, connecting true with the joint of the man’s jaw. He fell sideways into the bush. Charlie grabbed the man’s leg and dragged him from where he landed. The bush and the rocks beneath him scratched at his skin as Charlie pulled him out and onto the dirt beside the sidewalk.

Charlie looked over at the other man. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

The man threw his arms up and backed away, eyes wide.

Charlie knelt beside Meth Man, who didn’t even attempt to stand or fight, but was now cradling his face and screaming.

“Crosswalk,” Charlie said loudly. 

Meth Man kept screaming, so Charlie gave his face a slap. “Hey, shut up and focus on me.”

The man’s screaming turned into moans of agony, but he was staring straight at Charlie with his bloodshot eyes that seemed filled with equal parts hatred and tears from the pain. 

“Good,” Charlie said. “Now, the next time you cross a road, use the crosswalk. And if you ever, and I mean ever, get the gumption to spit on a man’s truck again…”

Charlie leaned in and drew his fist back. The man flinched and pulled his arms over his head.

“…reconsider that gumption.” Charlie said. Instead of punching, Charlie patted the man’s shoulder.

 As he stoof up looked around, leaving Meth Man holding his head in the dust at his feet. Meth Man’s friend was still wide eyed and holding his hands up like he was in a hold up scene from a movie.  No one else was even looking their way. Most were too busy staring at their phones or nodding off from whatever substance was in their system.

He dusted his jeans and walked back the way he had come. His hand hurting like all get out, but otherwise, he felt great.

Best Therapy session in a long time, he thought to himself as he waited for the crosswalk light to change. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

Celoj

 Celoj

Mi provas lerni

la lingvo Esperanto

lerni aliajn.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

Lundo

 Lundo

Ho, kia honto!
Estas tre bela tago,
Sed, mi laboras!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

Authors note: Readers of the following poem should note that is a sort of reflection of WB Yeats poem 'The Second Coming'. While mirrored in its composition, it also seeks to be a continuation of his narrative,  an updated answer to his question of what beast slouches towards Bethlehem to be born...

A New Dawn

The widening gyre continues to turn,
The falcon continues without concern,
Ruins more common, the center falters,
society sprawls upon dark altars,
Hateful, their bloody thirst can’t be sufficed,
our innocents stolen as sacrifice;
Our potential heroes refuse to act
for fear their families will be attacked.

Surely our people will wake and notice,
Surely a New Dawn will burn the lotus.
A New Dawn! I can barely pen the words
without visions of that dark silhouette:
the bloody lion of a bloody god
demanding blood tribute without mercy,
moving to and fro with its dark purpose;
Sunbirds drowning en mass in its shadows.
Robes attempt to veil our eyes, but we know
those centuries of calculated lies
we were force-fed with that desert lotus
for this dark hour of culmination:
The foul desert beast set loose on the world. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

Shadows

Shadows

How they swirl around

To fill my thoughts with terror
That I'm losing hold. 

Suppress

Suppress

Breathe in and Breathe out
this can't control you
if you control it. 

Morning Elixir

Morning Elixir

A lemon juice shot,
Potassium, Salt, and water...
Stir, then down the hatch!

August

 Black marker. 
          One swipe.
Another day gone. 
Black marker. 
          One swipe.
Another day gone. 
Black marker. 
          One swipe.
Tear off the sheet. 
I stare at the paper, 
          Covered in one black swipe at a time
Before crumbling it and throwing it away. 
I stare at the new sheet. 
         No swipes, no black, 
But full of darkness in its own right. 
A new sheet for a new month
          Last month trashed...underutilized...
Joy, fun, memories,
         Intended,  postponed, dreamt of...
Swiped away with each day...
This new sheet...
         Fresh...pure...promising...
Marks the new year for me...
         Marks another year gone
Lost to complacency and distraction....
         But...perhaps...as I notice: another chance?

Aurora

 Aurora

Hail to Aurora,
who has risen in the east
to grace us with light!

DC Graffiti

 

DC Graffiti

“You’re making the loops too small,” Danny whispered. “No one is gonna be able to read that!”

“You don’t like how I paint, get your ass over here and do it,” Gavin hissed back. “Otherwise, just keep your eyes open for scouts.”

Danny shook his head as he looked at Gavin’s letter C.

“Too small,” he muttered as he looked back out of the alley to the main road.

Nothing was quite the same since the federalization of the city. While it had been welcomed at first, it turned into a nightmare of providing documentation just to get through “criminal check points” on a day-to-day basis. Danny’s dad had refused once, video taping the interaction for social media as proof of the unconstitutional actions of the troops.

He was swiftly detained and had been in detainment ever since. Three months later, neither Danny nor his mother were able to talk to him or even get a lawyer to him. “Security reasons” being the cited reason by those who would actually talk to his mother. The video had disappeared with the phone and was never uploaded.

Gavin’s old man just disappeared one night on his way back from work. No one talks to Gavin, being a minor, and since his dad was his sole parent, Gavin lived with Danny now. While his mother was distracted with overtime now that his dad was “detained”, it left Danny and Gavin some time to work with the resistance.

Mostly other Teens who snuck out on various nights to tag buildings and bridges with messages of discontent over the military occupation of their city. Danny looked back at the small c loops in “Occupied” as Gavin stepped back to admire his work.

“Loops are too small,” Danny whispered again.

“Shut up about the loops,” Gavin said. “We got it done. Let’s go.”

“Stop where you are!”

They both jumped and looked around, pressing themselves against the alley wall. 

“Stop now, or we’ll be forced to shoot!”

“We aren’t moving!” Danny tried to shout. His voice, however, seemed lost somewhere between his throat and his mouth. All that came out was an squeaky yet guttural croak that sounded more like a dying frog than a boy’s voice.

He didn’t have a chance to try again when the shots rang out. A body slammed onto the pavement in front of the alley way and skidded a bit before coming to a halt. Something metallic rolled from the body towards them and stopped against Danny’s foot.

Danny grew cold and tried to fight back the bile that surged into his mouth.

He lost the fight.

Danny lurched over and vomited all over what was at his feet.

“It’s paint,” he said spitting out the remnants of his vomit.

“Is that Clark?” Gavin whispered. He took a step towards the body.

Danny looked at the face. It was a vacant look in newly dead eyes that somehow seemed to be staring at him accusingly.  

“We have to go!” Danny hissed. He pulled Gavin’s arm just as Gavin had started to walk towards Clark.

The approaching footfalls of others registered in his ears, and it snapped his mind back from Clark’s face. Gavin dropped his own paint and ran as hard as he could.

The next few blocks would be a blur that neither of them would remember for a night that neither of them would forget.

***

The soldiers began setting up a small perimeter around the body to ensure no one could get close to it.

“Another kid?”

“They didn’t know it was a kid, Sarge,” a soldier beside him replied. “They saw a glint from the can and thought it was a weapon.”

“Looks like there were more down this alley,” came a call behind them. The Sergeant looked towards where the soldier was shining his light from the cans of paint, the vomit and then up to the graffiti.

“Do the C’s look weird?” the soldier asked. “Do you think its code for something?”

“Who knows?” the Sergeant replied.  He turned back to the body at his feet. “Let’s focus on saving our asses on this issue first, and then we’ll figure out your conspiracy theory on another day.”

“I dunno. I think it’s the small loop of the Cs that are throwing me,” the soldier continued. “They’re too small, don’t you think?”

The Sergeant sighed as he stared at the boy lying at his feet.

“Yeah. A lot of things are too small lately,” he muttered to himself.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

 

A MAGA purist speaks out

They come to Indiana, but who cares

other than all the faux MAGA red hats,

who care more about Israel’s affairs

than rooting out the traitors and the rats

who rub elbows with the Pedo elite,

hoping for scraps that fall off the table

as they just lay there, purring at their feet

pretending Epstein’s list is some fable!

A political myth meant to disrupt,

to spread chaos amongst the rank and file,

as they pray that their own are not corrupt…

May the Gods damn their eyes, since they shut them

against horrors committed on our youth,

choosing instead to insult and condemn

Americans who are seeking the truth.

Damn their ears, since they will not hear reason,

screaming instead that we are the traitors,

as though demanding justice is treason

and that we are merely trouble makers

who fell for some propaganda and lies

and they insult us, and they laugh and sneer

and do their very best to ostracize

MAGA purists and silence us through fear.

Damn their forked tongues, as they spin their tall tales

trying to pull the wool over our eyes,

even though we see clearly through those veils,

pitying them as they buy their own lies.

Damn their hearts, which have already turned cold,

frozen by the temptation of power:

for the sake of office, they’ll do as told

and stand by as the elite devour

the pure innocence of child after child

for their own evil rites and dark pleasure.

Truly, we can no more be reconciled

by any plan or desperate measure.

When did saving the kids take a back seat

to running protection for the elite,

to laying worshipfully at the feet

of those who wantonly peddle deceit,

demanding to open our mouths to eat,

the absolute bullshit their own mouths excrete?

I don’t care what they say, I want that list,

the one they themselves were demanding

and yet now are claiming doesn’t exist.

Others may sit, I will remain standing.

As a father, I cannot just sit by

and allow this crime to fade day by day,

and so I will continue to decry,

their attempts to make it all go away.

This betrayal will not be forgotten,

and though there are many who may doubt it:

all the fruit on the tree that is rotten,

those who covered it up or allowed it

will one day be revealed for what they are,

and with their darkness brought into the light

so then in a blink, fall like a star…

True Americans will cheer in delight,

with passionate joy that is unreserved

when Justice is honored, and Vengeance served.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

Trust

Trust

Like an ice-cream cone, 
neglected in a child's hand,
It all melts away...

Happy?

Birds sing in the trees
all happily unaware
without consciousness

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

Disappointing

 Disappointing

A punch to the gut:
the job will disrupt far more
than it stands to fix.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved

Clean Fun

 Betsy left the office crying. Everything that could have gone wrong in that interview did go wrong, and it was the first time an interviewer had told her during the interview that they would be going with other candidates. 

As she walked through the lobby, just before the escalators, she saw a janitor struggling to move a step large ladder by himself. She paused, and tears still in her eyes, picked up one side of the step ladder and waited for him to take it in the direction he needed to take it. 

The man looked at her for a moment, and then moved the ladder over to just under a light fixture that was slowly blinking its light.

After setting the ladder in place, he turned to her. 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he said. “But why would you help me?”

“Well,” Betsy shrugged. “I dunno. I was always told to treat the janitor the same as you would a CEO, and you just looked like you needed some help.”

“You believe that, do you?” He asked.

“Yes,” Betsy replied. She gave him a small smile. “Besides, I am having a bad day, so I may as well help someone else before they have a bad day.”

“What is your name?” 

“Betsy.”

“Well, Betsy, I’m Joe,” he said. “As it happens, I am the CEO of this company. I have done this test on every single applicant that has come through today, and you are the only one who stopped to help me!”

“Really?” She sniffled, and wiped at her eyes.

Joe gave her a warm smile and patted her shoulder. 

“Really,” he said softly. “I know from your tears that you think you didn’t do so well, but I make the final call on all hires. I need more people like you on my team. I want you here tomorrow when these doors open at six AM to start the first day of your new career! Can you do that?”

Betsy beamed at him, and grabbed at his hand.

“Yes! Yes!” She enthusiastically shook his whole arm. “I will be here! Thank you, sir!”

Joe watched as she walked quickly over to the escalator and went down, before she reached the bottom, she turned to wave at him. 

She raised her cellphone to her ear, he could just barely hear her voice. “I got it! You will never believe…”

“Why do you keep doing that?”

Joe turned to see Dayle standing there with more light bulbs. He grinned. 

“That makes three this quarter,” Joe said. 

“The last guy almost got wasted by Security when he kept demanding to see the CEO who hired him for watering a plant.”

“First off, it was the plastic ferns over by the elevators, Dayle," Joe said. "Besides, doesn’t it piss you off that they act like we are some sort of untouchables who deserve public displays of compassion to make themselves feel better?”

“I don’t think about it,” Dayle said as he climbed the ladder. “I try to just do my job and go home.”

“Well, it pisses me off,” Joe said. “Besides, she touched my ladder.”

“Well, I am off tomorrow, so if there is another scene like last time, try to catch it on video for me and let me know what happens.”

Joe chuckled and was about to reply when he felt a tap on the shoulder. 

Joe looked at his shoulder before turning to see a man in a suit looking up at Dayle opening the light fixture. 

“You need any help with that?”

Joe smiled. “What is your name?” 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2025. All rights reserved