Hoosier Poet: May 2026

Sunday, May 31, 2026

Prayer

Prayer

A lit Dutch Master,
smoke rising up like incense,
carrying my thoughts...

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Saturday, May 30, 2026

Pretend

Pretend

Look up and pretend
there are no cars or voices,
so the city fades...

Friday, May 29, 2026

Gliph

Gliph

Steadfast and Loyal,

Gliph reaches beyond the veil
to fulfill his work.

Thursday, May 28, 2026

All I want:

All I want:

Nothing more or less

than the promise from our youth:

Life! Not survival...

Denvil Caldwell stared out over the rim of his old round glasses at the back of his son as they rode towards the bend on the path to his own cabin. The still smoldering ruins they were riding from were enough to make any man go mute, but Denvil suspected the door had also thrown his son’s thoughts into a chaotic storm.

The door had lain as naturally in that bough of the oak as if God himself had allowed it to spring from the leaves. Denvil knew God had had no part in putting it there, though. The burnt husk of a cabin, Tom and Jessy gone, and the twisting of his guts at seeing his boy look so lost told him that.

Corvin was a silent thinker, so Denvil would never know the particulars of what was going through his head until Corvin had come to a conclusion and informed him of anything. He had been that way since he was little. He had once declared that he wanted to be an adventurer, and Denvil assumed that he would grow out of it once he was older. But one day, Denvil had come back from town and found Jane sobbing over his letter stating he had left home to see the world, with promises of returning.

Four years later, he had returned home with tales of his adventures, money to share with the family, and what had caused a real stir in the community: an Irish bride. She had skin as pale as moonlight, long and dark Raven hair, and the greenest eyes that Denvil had ever seen. Denvil thought she was as pretty as a flower, but as twitchy as a bird.

They had built her a cabin south of his own and had included a lot of her odd requests in its construction. Denvil once asked Corvin about it, but Corvin had just waved the questions off and laughed. The Irish are still a superstitious lot, he had said.
Once the house was built, she seemed to settle down a little, and they started having kids. Corvin’s Younger brother Thad had become a bit envious and decided to strike out and find himself an Irish gal, and departed soon after.

But now, after last night’s events and this morning’s discovery, Denvil wondered if there had been a reason for her twitchiness that they had been unaware of.
Denvil looked up at the smoke drifting over the trees ahead.

“Ma looks to be cooking up a storm, Cor,” He said. “They might be up there having some breakfast while waiting for us.”

Corvin didn’t say anything, but Denvil noticed he quietly heeled his horse to move faster, and he disappeared around the bend.

“Goddamn it! Pa!” Denvil heard him cry out. “Pa!”

Denvil kicked at ol’ Luke.

Wednesday, May 27, 2026

ER

Mi sidas sola,

mi atendas rezultojn,
flustrante preĝojn...

Tuesday, May 26, 2026

Final Draft Struggle

Final Draft Struggle

I flip and I flop
on whether to cut the scene
and change the ending...

Monday, May 25, 2026

Memorial Day

Memorial Day

In memoriam:
our noble dead, lives stolen

for the bankers wars.

Sunday, May 24, 2026

Whispers

Whispers

Hiding in the reeds,
ancient creatures whisper tales
tongues unknown by man.

Saturday, May 23, 2026

Ghosts

Ghosts

Kids hearing their names,
whispered when they are alone...

hums in the shadows...

Friday, May 22, 2026

Hyper

Hyper

Fit, energetic,
Fortuna's gift flows over:
unyielding success.

A Dream.

So, last night, I had an interesting dream.

I was in a park, and climbed a hill to where there was a Library Box filled with books, and before I could look through the books to see if there was anything good, I found a package inside, and it had a handmade PVC pipe pistol. I wanted to keep it, but John Travolta walked up, flashed me his smile, and talked me into throwing it away because I “didn’t actually wanna risk having it, right?”

So, I begrudgingly tossed it in the trash. He said Thanks, and that he owed me one. He shot me the double guns and grinned again.

Later, I am sitting at a meal with the family, they are chatting away while I am lost in my own thoughts trying to figure out how I am going to make ends meet, when My wife says that the bank shows a deposit from John Travolta for 3.5 Million Dollars. It was noted as “Thanks”.

I excitedly started calculating the pay off of my debts, and the purchase of a small fixer upper home for the family.

Folks, I tell you that waking up without the 3.5 million that you were going to use to change your life was...rough.

So, as I am getting started this morning, crying little tears into my coffee, all I can say is that if John Travolta asks you to toss a gun for him in real life, try it and see what happens....

Thursday, May 21, 2026

Native Blues

Native Blues

Hatian kids swearing.
Parents nearby say nothing.
I wish ICE would come.

Wednesday, May 20, 2026

Land of the Wholesale

Land of the Wholesale

Our democracy
is now proven a farce,
money buys the seats.

Tuesday, May 19, 2026

Carpetbaggers

Carpetbaggers

A fortune was spent
in a crucial election:
our Countrymen lost...

Monday, May 18, 2026

The West

The West

Gold painted chains wrapped
round our necks, and we pretend
that we are free men...

Sunday, May 17, 2026

Sleep

Sleep

Earbuds in my ears,
a soft voice whispers the lore.
I drift off to sleep.

Saturday, May 16, 2026

Birthday Wishes

Birthday Wishes

Happy Birthday to
My oldest daughter Lilith!
How time betrays me...

Friday, May 15, 2026

Action

Action

The knight draws his sword,
and cuts down the goblin horde
while others debate.

Thursday, May 14, 2026

Chaotic Mourning

Chaotic Mourning

First Peter Carroll,

now Gordon White has passed on.
The magick world mourns.

Wednesday, May 13, 2026

Can you smell it?

Can you smell it?

Laying the groundwork
for yet another lock down!
The bullshit grows deep.

Tuesday, May 12, 2026

Troubles

Troubles

Waves of nausea
hit me one after the next,
Tonight will be rough...

Monday, May 11, 2026

Ancient

Ancient

Every ache and pain
feels like it could be the end
when you hit forty...

Sunday, May 10, 2026

Mother's Day

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day
to the women who bore us,
our first lasting loves.

Saturday, May 9, 2026

Liberating

Liberating

Clearing the garage,
trying to let go of hard,
to not try is worse.

Friday, May 8, 2026

Puffery

Puffery

I am oft amused
at those who view silent folks
as safe to abuse.

Thursday, May 7, 2026

Killdeer

Killdeer

We slowly walk up

against momma bird's protests

to peak at her eggs.

Responding

Responding

“How you call the trash you write Haiku?

These are not about nature, or seasons!

You know it’s appropriation, don’t you?

Stick to forms written by Europeans!”

Some amusing feedback received today,

reworded from its original source

to fit this poem, and yet still convey

their stance (made anonymously, of course).

I adore the form, unlike Kerouac,

I enjoy its discipline and the thrill

of finding perfect words in which to stack

to capture a moment, to prove it real.

Though my Haiku may vary in subject,

I hold its artists with utmost respect.

Wednesday, May 6, 2026

Idiot

Idiot

Double lined school zone.
The idiot still passes,
while on his cell phone.

Tuesday, May 5, 2026

Primaroj '26

Primaroj '26

Ĝi estas farso!

Ĉar ĝi ŝanĝas nenion!

Kial voĉdoni?

Monday, May 4, 2026

Keeping Watch 3

Keeping Watch 3

Thomas sat awake with his back leaning against his father’s chair, his stomach felt like it was in a knot. He faced the door and the window beside it. His eyes bounced from one to the other, half expecting the deer looking demon creature to lunge through the window or force the door open, crossing its threshold to do God knows what to him and Jessy.

On one hand, he was jealous that Jessy was able to fall asleep in front of the fire so easily. Yet, on the other hand, he was glad that she wasn’t awake to share the same fear that gripped him.

She lay curled up under a half-finished quilt that Ma was working on. Maybe its warmth, and the warmth of the fire had lulled her to sleep.

A lullaby that was withheld from him.

Try as he might to close his eyes and keep them closed in the attempt to force himself into sleep, they wouldn’t stay closed. After a moment or two, he would swear that he heard something, and they would flutter open and focus on the window and then the door.

He had put the bar on the door and pulled the rifle from the mantle. He was ready for anything that dared to come in. Or dared to gaze in for that matter.

A loud thump came from above him on the roof, and he sat bolt upright, scooting further back against the chair as if he were trying to disappear into it. The thump was followed by what sounded like a pair of hooves slowly and deliberately walking across the roof to the south side of the cabin, before going silent right over the door. He looked up, holding the rifle close, not sure whether to shoot blindly at where the sound had seemingly stopped, or to hold his breath.

He held his breath, ears straining to hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his own chest and the crackle of the fire. Swallowing hard, he pushed himself to his feet. He crouched down, and walked bent over towards the window as quietly as possible. Pushing himself against the wall beside the window, he peeked out. There was nothing on that side that he could see. He crawled under the window to look out the other side. Nothing.

The outside was well lit by the moon’s silver light, but he couldn’t make out anything out of the ordinary.

Until he heard it.

It wasn’t the hooves on the roof, though. It was a gentle and yet earnest rustling that he heard. Not of leaves or weeds, but something else. Something he couldn’t quite place, though it sounded familiar. He pushed the side of his face into the cool wood of the wall as far as he could, straining his eyes as he looked every which way out the window that he was able to as he tried to see where the sound was coming from.

He saw it as it rounded the corner of the cabin and came into view of the window. He squinted at it, blinked, and squinted again. He had no clue what he was looking at. It looked about as tall as their old Billy goat, but it moved across the ground with the poise of a bob cat on the hunt. Thomas couldn’t see any legs on the creature, but rather root like tendrils fluttering back and forth on the grass pushed it forward. It’s body appeared as a mass of clumped up silt, and out of its back were a heap of reeds and cattails. A knot of reads and dripping algae formed a head roughly the shape of a dog with elongated muzzle, two blue glowing orbs flickered and danced within its head like small fires. As they slowly danced from one side to another, Thomas understood that these were its eyes.

“What the…” Thomas whispered.

The creature stopped moving and dropped to the ground so quickly that if Thomas had not been watching it, he wouldn’t be able to tell where it went. Even it’s eyes dimmed to the point that he didn’t know if the orbs were still there, or if it was the glimmer of the moonlight shimmering on the mess of reeds.

An ice-cold wave of nausea washed over Thomas. What had once been prowling just outside looked like it had been there all along. He swallowed hard and allowed his eyes to drift around the window a bit to see if there were any other clump of weeds or reeds in a place that he did not recall seeing them before. He heard the rustle again, and his eyes flashed back to the creature, that was now slithering slowly in his direction, tendrils spinning out, as if growing and retracting as it pulled itself forward. Its pale blue orbs no longer dancing but fixed upon the window.

Thomas pulled his head back from the window and pressed himself against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breath. This was not real. No more real than the deer demon he had seen earlier.

“Just a dream…” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Just a bad dream…”

At his words, the rustling stopped again.

Thomas forced himself to slide his face to the corner of the window just far enough that he would see with one eye a mass of weeds and reeds sprawling on the ground just in front of the porch railing. He slammed himself back against the wall. Trembling, he pulled the hammer back on the rifle. He didn’t know whether or not a bullet would do anything to whatever this thing was, but it was the only thing he had.

He took a breath and stepped away from the wall and turned towards the window. He almost dropped the rifle before he could bring it up to aim. The reed creature was at the window, its muzzled “face” now flattened as it pressed against the glass, its orbs trained on him and flickering fast.

He stared at it for a moment, unable to think, or move.

A hole appeared between the eyes and a godawful and warbling screech came from within the creature, its reeds and weeds shaking and vibrating with the screech as if amplifying the sound.

The window cracked and snapped Thomas out of his stupor. He screamed and brought the rifle up to bear on the creature, and pulled the trigger.

***

Exhausted

Exhausted

Night of restless sleep
Broken by nightmares and sounds
That keep me awake...

Sunday, May 3, 2026

See it

See it

On the count of three
Hold your breath and close your eyes,
Think: Your dream fulfilled.

Saturday, May 2, 2026

A win is a win

A win is a win

I scan my ticket,
"This ticket is a winner!"
A whole twenty bucks...

Friday, May 1, 2026

Pick me up

Pick me up

Afternoon coffee,

sits in my cup but briefly
desperately gulped.

Father to Father

Father to Father

I heard him before I saw him.
Turning, he waddled to me slowly
as if burdened by his own heartache,
and mournfully gave another honk,
sad and low.

At my fee he sat,
and stared up at me.
Was he after bread?
Answers?
The voice of a friend?
I could only offer one.
I knelt down,
showing my hands,
free of blood,
empty of bread.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Sad and slow.

He bowed his head briefly,
as if in understanding,
or perhaps his own sorrow.
I took my hat off
and bowed my own in return.
A prayer to Juno
that he and his mate,
wherever she may be,
make it through
this heartache and pain,
whispered.
Sad and slow.

Two fathers,
one in mourning,
the other in sympathy,
sitting together
in a broken and unforgiving world,
sad and low.