¡Arriba!

¡Arriba!

Spain has seen far worse,
And against worse odds triumphed.
So they shall again!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Grill

Grill

Hamburger and Dogs,

Potato salad and chips, 

A glass of Iced tea....

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Systems

Systems

Trying something new

Goals supported by systems

And not mere focus

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Honored

Honored

Pinch of tobacco, 

A libation of whiskey, 

Blood past and flowing.  

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Chalk

Chalk

A ship, Tic-Tac-Toe,
A few scribbles here and there,
All before the rain. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Bothersome

Bothersome

How disappointing!

No answers at the bottom!

The search continues!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Hodiaŭ

Hodiaŭ

Ni sunbruliĝis 

dum naĝis ĉe la lago,

sed amuziĝis!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Sorry

Sorry

I apologize
for the lack of a Haiku...
Oh. Wait. Never mind.  

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

A Pillager Rises

A Pillager Rises

A Pillager stands
rallying his troops before
they raid the village.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Serv

Serv

Swirls and twirls and twists, 

Like a tornado it moves, 

Quickly to it's goal.  

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Reflection

Reflection

All my life, I've tried to play by the rules, 
and now it's half done, i find it's for naught
that men like myself have been played for fools 
that this world is nothing as we were taught.
Equality is fake, fairness a lie,
the rich buy their dreams, the poor drown in debt
so few breaking even before they die,
all 'cause they follow the rules that were set
by men who already own the whole world
to the point good men can't live a good life
even a decent life few can afford,
so we work and work to barely survive.
Is there no happy ending for good men?
Mere existence in a game we can't win? 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Pitter-patter

Pitter-patter

I gained a minute. 

My mile at roughly fifteen.

Pick up the pace, Heath...

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Another

Another

Another chapter
and I am one step closer
to start the redraft.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Bike

Bike

As the sun rises
she quickly learns how to ride
as her old man beams!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Weep, Western Man!

Weep, Western Man!

Who in their right mind
Would spend five bucks for four cubes?
I weep for the West!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Scout

Scout

He got past the door, 

and crossed the entire house

before getting shmooshed. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Playtime

Playtime

What do you reckon

these creatures could talk about

other than numbers?

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

How Tempting

 How Tempting

Dare I step inside
to be whisked to unknown lands
by the trickster folk?

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved  

Any interest?

 Any interest?

Out of curiosity, is there any interest of anyone visiting for me to continue with the Keeping Watch story?
If there is, please let me know, otherwise, I will stop with the installments, and just wait to publish once it is finished. 

Lemme know

Endure

Endure

A kick to the gut, 
the silver bullet has failed, 
collapse continues.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

New

New

By the new moon light,

A new path to be revealed...

Truly a blessing!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Overburdened Beast of Burden

Overburdened Beasts of Burden

How should a man spend his time on this earth?
Chasing paper like a dog would its tail,
that he should crawl on his knees from his birth,
a slave to the rich for years without fail
filling their bank accounts beyond the brim,
yet his children hunger while the rich feast...
He buys the lands that they rent back to him
at such a price he must work like a beast
still barely providing for his own blood.
When the rich man dies, their children are set,
The rich get their tombs, the poor man his mud
Still buried beneath a mountain of debt.
Their last hope: their kids can break the cycle
No longer chained by bastards with titles.   

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Road Running Beauty

Road Running Beauty

Up before the sun, 
watching it rise in the east
as I speed northward.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved  

Morning Reflection

Morning Reflection

I don't know what's worse:
A dream I can't remember
Or no dream at all?

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Friday Frustration

Friday Frustration

Cold sweat, nausea,
Back pain doubles me over...
May the Gods save me!

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Windmills

Windmills

They call it progress.
My kids call it pretty neat. 
I find myself torn. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Imposter

Imposter

I tell the machine

a few prompts to write a book. 

I aM aN aUtHoR

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Corvin? NO!

Corvin? NO!

Folks, I have been (VERY) slowly writing a wee book, with the plan of dropping it on my blog for any and all to read piece by piece. 
As I write, I use Google Docs. 
While writing, I sought a strong name for one of my Characters that was popular for the area I am writing. 
Corvin. 
I say that to say this.  
In the past two weeks, I have heard the name used in no less than four...FOUR... AI sci-fi Slop stories. You know AI Slop stories, right? Stories that are SUPPOSED to have been written by the author,  but you slowly and surely realize is AI generated?
I've not got money to throw around (yet) so I use Google Docs for my writing in progress, and lately I've been informed that Google Docs lets AI scan to improve its own writing. 
So ultimately, I can't help but Wonder if by my posting on my blog has opened my stories up and my poetry up for free review by AI or, if the rumors of Google Docs allowing AI to scan with abandon the works contained within it by unsuspecting authors are true...
I admit that I have used an AI music generator to put music to my own poems to turn them into songs as I do not know how to play an instrument yet and I'm 50/50 certain that people's ears would bleed if they heard me sing. But I've posted those songs with the note that it was a tune generated to go with my song/poem, and have never tried to pass it off otherwise. 
Folks, I deplore the idea of stories and novels being generated solely with AI with mere prompts and no human creativity involved whatsoever. (Or the only human creativity involved being that which is 'stolen' via scanning or copy and pasting). 
The fact that these stories are being offered up by so-called authors who hide the fact that they are using AI and an attempt merely to make money is a shameful and contemptible fact. These self described so-called "authors" would rather dilute and pollute the zeitgeist with AI slop in order to make a fast dime without regard for the detrimental impact that it has on human Poetry and Prose, and once discovered, they should be ostracized from any platform they attempt to use. 
I have absolutely no problem with people using AI for what it is: a tool. Using AI for editing purposes grammatical clarity or even bouncing ideas off of to fix plot points that they just can't quite get through, I cannot argue with them at all for this purpose. But for them to use AI to generate an entire poem short story novella or novel to pass off as their own should be in its own right considered a crime against humanity or at least a crime against human creativity in its most vile form.
 So, I do not know if my work as labored as it is with my tight schedule, is being scanned by AI by Google, or some one is using my free posts as their own copy and past bin, but the idea that anything that I create being used to further these lazy and pathetic crimes against the intellect is sickening as it is disgraceful.
 Of course who knows? Maybe I am just being paranoid and Corvin is a more popular name than I could have imagined when I plucked it from the records...
... but in the event that what I feel has happened is accurate, I am nauseated. And I will need to seek a new process in which to write to keep it from being used to generate AI slop from either Corporation or individual greed. I appreciate everyone who reads my work as lame as it may be and as labored as it may be in the time constraints that I have had lately. It is my intent to double down on my time schedule and daily organization in order to write more consistently and finish more work in general. 
I hope that my work reaches those who genuinely like to read ACTUAL human created content, and is successfully veiled from the Bots and the AI bottom feeders who prey on us all. 
I know I don't have a huge fan base, and so this message may just be its own intellectual scream into the void...yet scream I shall. 
And the few of you who do read my poetry, my stories, and reach out to me: Thank you for actually doing so. 

Humanity will prevail.  

Watchful Eye

 Watchful Eye

He poked his head out

to make sure I was leaving

before coming out. 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

What Luck!

What Luck!

Look at this beauty!
It fluttered by and landed
right in front of us!
 

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Memory

Memory 

Playing memory,

my youngest is so happy

making memories

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Independence Day '26

Independence Day '26

Two hundred fifty.
We are still a young nation,
with work to be done.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Komencanto

Komencanto 

Mi ne parolas
sed mi tre volas lerni,
kaj do mi provas.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Well... damn

Well…damn.

 
He flew around me
And dove straight into my ranch,
Thrashed a bit, then sank…

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved 

Still Standing

Still Standing 

There once was a home
where an empty field now stands...
now a memory.

© Jeremy L. Heath, 2026. All rights reserved

Author note: Demolished in late 90s. But I remember it well. It sat up long drive way, surrounded by fields and a patch of woods that we would hunt with our old man. An Oak in front, and a giant proud Elm in back.

I went to see it last year, and the Trees are still there, a bit weathered, but still standing proudly as ever. There is still the barn where the current farmer has pigs and there are various equipment sitting here and there.

I crossed the covert at the end of the lane that served as our boundary for riding our bikes and walking around, drove up past where there used to be tangles of Mulberries growing in the fence line that is now gone. I parked just at the head of the drive where we used to park and got out.

The lot where the house stood covered in farm equipment, but I could still see what it looked like so many years ago when I closed my eyes.

The porch with a wooden roof, covered in a pale green tin where we sat watching the storms roll in. Where we sat and watched the rain splash down and listened to it bounce off the tin above us while my old man smoked his cigar, or had a beer, and my mother read by the light of the single exposed bulb by the door. The same porch that they watched us try to learn to ride our bikes once they showed us how it was done, and where we would run around to catch lightning bugs before bed.

It opened into the Living room where the wood stove sat well tended, providing a warmth in the chill of winter that I feel a shadow of whenever I am by an open fire. The front room where we would watch scary movies and then go outside at night to play "Grave Yard" tag; the kitchen where dad always had us well stocked with food though money was pretty tight for a good while.

From the upstairs bedrooms with the creepy attic entrance, to the downstairs storage room remodeled into a bedroom with easy access to the storm cellar...it all stands there perfectly in my mind when I close my eyes.

The rustle of the leaves in the breeze almost lullabied me into the lie that when I opened my eyes I would be transported back decades to see my mom on the porch, my siblings on their bikes, or my dad riding back from the woods on the old farmall with a load of wood in the trailer behind him.

But when I opened my eyes...I was met with the relative emptiness before me.

Now, I confess, it is my hope one day to have a property of my own to offer such memories and happiness for my own kids. One where they don't have to return to in memory, but in real time and happiness.

But as far as the farm house is concerned, perhaps it's full memory will pass with me and my siblings...but a glimpse of it has now been shown to you, and at least in that aspect the memory that once there was a happy little home in that empty lot in rural Indiana will live on with you.

And I wish you a long and happy life with that thought.