Daily Archives: July 7, 2007

11 posts

“Terry” by Gina Bender

"Good afternoon Angee B'z," answered a soft delicate voice on the kitchen's cordless telephone. "Hi, Terry, how are you today?" She replied back to the man, in a higher more perky voice than before. "Would you like your usual pick up order today?" She waited a few seconds even though she already knew his answer, "Okay I'll see you in ten minuets!" She said in her overly happy voice. Ang always had a way of making her costumers feel slightly uncomfortable when she tried too hard to satisfy them. She started writing Terry's name on the top of a long and narrow pick-up slip, and put it in a shinny silver clip. Kathy, who is Ang's mother, began making the two subs for his order, even though nothing was circled on it. She, and everyone else who works there, can practically make his order with their eyes closed. It's the same thing every time; one number four (Stacked Turkey Breast), nine inch on White French bread, with mayonnaise, extra meat and onions, along with one number three (Roast Beef and Swiss), nine inch on White French bread with mayonnaise, extra meat, and onions.

"Clink, Clink," The old bells, that are tied around the door handle, ring tiredly from years of use. A mysterious man with a skin lesions on his face walks in, wearing a blue-grey knit beanie, a crewneck sweatshirt, and sweat pants with elastic bands at the bottom around his ankle. Before he can even say something in his deep raspy voice, Ang walks up to the front counter with his two subs that her mom just finished making about a minute before he walked in. "Your total is fifteen dollars even," she said. Before she finished speaking he already had the money ready for her on the counter, along with his Angee B'z punch card. Ang pulled out a thin drawer from the top of the cash register and grabbed the star hole puncher from it. After she gave the card a quick punch she proceeded to walk back toward the kitchen while saying, "Thank you, Terry, and have a great day."

The man replied in an autistic sounding voice, "My name is Jerry."

"I'm sorry," said Ang, "Well, have a nice day Jerry." His grayish hair swept his face as he nodded his head to say goodbye.

Kathy immediately began talking when Ang entered the kitchen. "What is his name?" She asked surprisingly.

"Jerry," Ang replied with a raised eyebrow.

About a week went by, and Terry and Jerry were still the talk of the Angee B'z kitchen. For years the employees have been calling the man by the wrong name. The minute Gina walked in Kathy started telling her the humorous story before anyone else could. After she finished explaining that Terry was the man that called the orders in every time on the phone, and Jerry was the man who picked the subs up each time, things began to make more sense for the rookie worker. She, and everyone else who worked there, now figured out why the voice of Terry sounded so distinctly different in person from on the phone. "Terry and Jerry's pick up is already made for you in the cooler." Kathy said, before she finished her shift. "So be sure to call him by the right name this time."

"Oh I will." Said Gina giggling. Almost simultaneously, Kathy walked out the door, and Jerry walked into the sub shop. "Hi Jerry," I said as I grabbed the brown paper bag with his subs inside. "Your total comes to twelve eighty eight."

"You forgot to charge me for the extra meat." He said.

"Oh yea! Whoops, sorry." Gina said, as her cheeks turned flush. "Fifteen dollars is your total." She said, as he pushed the money closer to her. "Thanks and have a good day." She stumbled her words slightly, because when his hand reached over the counter, his sleeve crawled up his forearm, and she saw lesions that matched the ones on his face. He said nothing, but nodded.

The next day Jerry was once again the main topic for discussion. He will forever boggle the minds of the Angee B'z workers because of the many unanswered questions they have about him. Like; What type of skin disease does he have, how come he dresses like a homeless person, but drives a decent car, what does his brother look like, and how he was so honest that day, when Gina told him the incorrect total. They may find some of these answers over the course of time, but not all of them. So, he will remain as mysterious as he was the very first time he walked in Angee B'z.

“I Made You a Tape” by Bruce James Bales

The sight of struggle and unrest. He was struggling with his own unrest.


Just as the people who lived in Rock Island, he was falling out of his beliefs, finding new, more concrete substance to live by.


The city was an example of the failed American dream. Beautiful houses and scenery, choked out by civil unrest, violence, and a booming drug economy.


The Victorian homes seemed to be dwarfed by the street corners.


He had decided to begin making cassette tapes with music on them that would make people wake up, become aware, and search for truth.


He was not seen as a savior, but as insane. When really the word insane, to him, meant inside sanity. He was stable as could be, but on the edge, tilting down to look at the drop others have longed cascaded down.


His deliveries were simple. He would approach random civilians and say, “I made you a tape.”


Today was no different, his plan was the same.


On a trek to the gas station, he came across an usual sight, two younger adults sitting on their porch.


He approached them calmly disguising something inside of his tarnished jeans.


The women saw him approaching and tensed up. She slid back in her chair, scared.


He walked up the creaky old steps, eyes full of fire and fight. He gaze sharpened onto the couple, his fists ripe with rage, and his face full of fury.


The woman held back a scream, tightened her grip on the chair, and braced to be shot.


He reached into his pocket for his weapon.


“I made you a tape,” he said as he gave it to her.

“Iced Up” by Bruce James Bales

Winter came and the usually cobalt lagoon was frozen into a black slab. Pulling up was a matching Cadillac with tinted windows just to prove something.

"Butcharelli. Nice to see you," Marian Falzone cut the cold with his speech.

I didn't say anything. Just stood frozen.

Two of his bigger men jumped out behind him. I was frozen. Not that I couldn't tell you how I felt.

"I'm surprised your coward ass presented itself today." Falzone was now hissing like a badger. "You know why we're here and we intend to handle the situation."

His men were on me before I could blink. They drove me back towards the lagoon and took me off my feet. The sky looked cloudy and black. My head felt the scrape of the cement around the lagoon. I knew what was coming. Ice.

"You take a man's life, put him on ice, sometimes it comes back," the reaper Falzone was preparing to give me a touch of death.

Our eyes met for a brief second. He couldn't be cold, his eyes were full of flames. His head nodded and the cold air was turned into a refreshing bath.

Into a sub zero pool, with its winter lid I stabbed head first.

“Ode to My Agony” by Serena Spinello

I awake in a sweat, surrounded by empty pill bottles.
I am nauseated by the scent of decay and rot.
I'm unsure whether it is seeping out of my pours,
or seeping out of my foul soul.
I rise, stumbling to the mirror to see if I am really still here.
My skin is pale and my body is frail.
My bones protrude out, as if they too are trying to escape from me.
I run my worn fingers over my tragic arms.
Those are not scars I tell myself, they are battle wounds.
My veins are salient and ripe for entry.
Where did I put my antidote?
I hope to find it in the carafe of aqua vitae
that is always strategically placed by the mirror.
It is no match for my dry mouth
and no liquid can extinguish the fire that burns deep within my core.
My reflection screams of inadequacy and worthlessness.
I yell back it, but I am an unworthy opponent.
Slaughtered by darkness, I black out.

“Thirst for Destruction” by Serena Spinello

I watch him wander away and beg for him to return.
Cheers say he, foam brewing from his mouth, rage igniting in his eyes.
He thinks he's invincible now.
His past can not catch up with him and his inevitable destruction
will for now be vindicated in the bottle that he so aggressively drinks from.
I still gaze at him adoringly though;
I am attracted to his pain and corruption.
I lust for the taste of his tainted lips and
I want to drown myself in his juices that radiate his impalpable affliction.
With each sip he descends further and further into oblivion.
I am torn.
My head wants me to chastise him for being a fool
but my heart wants him to penetrate me and rape me of my innocence.
I reach out to stroke him, craving to be infected with his madness.
He riotously pushes me away, spewing obscenities in my direction.
Now I want him all the more.

“A Painter Comes Across Ariadne Sleeping on the Island of Naxos” by Ami Kaye

My wooden barque draws near
from murky green depths to
gloomy shoreline;
for the trees are big and leafy
and scare admit the setting sun.
Few rays can penetrate
the deep dark forest,
Yet why have I come?
to find something- A lost dream?
That once I had in tender years
But which I know shall find me no more.

My vessel touches the sandy shore.
I walk toward the deep.
An eerie atmosphere I think;
for though 'tis dark,
'tis lighted just enough
to see the shadowy silhouette
of rocks and leaves.
Though silent
'tis full of muted sound.
I walk warily.
I see two beams.
Two rays of liquid golden sun,
I follow them.
Follow their faint but easy trail
and I stand still!

My breath suspended
I see asleep
The purest poetry
Who she is or from whence she's come
I know not,
nor I care.
I only know these eyes and more
Have never gazed on such a sight
Lovelier than any woman;
anyone by far,
She is beauty incarnate
A veritable Venus
She is Ariadne asleep

I come closer
Draw my breath in wonder
She is a painter's dream
A lover's paradise;
And I who am both
can early recognize perfection.
Consummate woman, lies she there
Unconscious of her might,
Her slumber renders unaware
the havoc she stirs
Within my heart
I edge closer...

I see her graceful limbs encased
With pearly tints but unencased,
Yet none of marble do they have;
They have a glowing flushed aspect
That speaks largely of life.
These feet, those hands so delicate
So fine yet with a latent strength
I cannot resist coming closer
I slowly kneel down.
Her streaming ebony hair
missing me by a tantalizing inch.
I bend over her face
and gaze
Her eyes closed. Their lashes
rest on rosy mounds.
Straight nose and noble expanse
of brow just escape the stern, the stark.

Yet I cannot analyze
parts in her separately.
Nothing is significant
without the whole.
In her combines all beauty
all creation, all women
her soul breathes out;
She is not a face
A body or form alone;
She is beauty incarnate
Flushed in warmth
of sylvan slumbers,
by sounds of creatures.

Shall I steal a kiss of
bulbous cherry lips?
but then those eyes will open;
she will spring up startled
and if she does awaken
in part her beauty's fled.
For me her charm doth lie
In her unconscious attitude,
and yet do I not want to awaken her?
-Nay, I do believe I prefer
Ariadne asleep.

“Around the World” by Ami Kaye

I travel to foreign lands

In the vessel of my making;

My mind is a hot air balloon

The ballast, my imagination


I dangle happily in

A swinging wicker gondola

Gazing upon the huge stripes above

Crimson and copper bright

Against the azure and white


I carry a basket of apples

And cask of wine,

A crisp croissant.

Opera glasses to better espy

The vignettes of summer

As I journey on


I shall travel far in my musings

Wide around the globe

Experience facets of summer

As in various countries

I roam


Swaying, bobbing in the air

Floating with a lazy grace

As the world spins on its axis

Comes closer to the sun, liquid gold upon us

The mighty star, now at closest point in time;

For summer has begun


Globe spins closer, continents, countries;

I can see in my mind’s eye

Slowing down, coming closer;


And I am there

Before I know it

Places that I’ve been

How is it that

I can see so clearly

Through a fog of hazy memories and



Bermuda brimming with sunshine;

Sizzling Caribbean heat

Golden afternoons

In sleepy daze

Oceans warm with pale green waves

Sand that sifts through toes like silk

Snorkeling and the coral reef

Wide straw hats and beach bums

Sunglasses and the finest rum



The heat of the balmy nights

Sensual with the heated moments

Where every kiss of the Breeze

Is a caress on the skin

In Puerto Vallarta, the filigree dome

Stand alone in arcane splendor and views

Sunsets from a pirate ship;

Dolphins silvered in the salt waves

Margaritas and guacamole,

Metal stars with candles inside them

Throwing fevered light from tiny holes


Moroccan nights

Recline in gauzy purple

Romance of Marrakesh

A veil covers my mouth

But eyes flash in sultry languor awaiting the

Final touch of a dark and mysterious

White garbed man;

Wine and grapes and poetry

Like Omar Khayyam


In London we see

Shakespeare’s “Globe” and

The Tower jewels;

Queen’s guards sing

“God Save the Queen”

We journey on-

Stand in the Druid’s Circle

At Stonehenge and finally

Screw our eyes shut

And heroically taste

The green brackish waters at Bath

And stop at a pub on the way, peeking

Into a thatched cottage of Anne Hathaway


Paris lit up, myriad reflections in the Seine;

Follies Bergere and Moulin Rouge,

Sitting in outdoor cafés with magenta umbrellas

On the “Champs des Elysee”

People watching; sipping a “verre de vin”

Trying to look as

Sophisticated as the Parisians

-But you fool no one

The Parisians are all gone to “vacance” in summer

Only the tourists remain

Looking for a place that sells berets

Licking their lips after

Eating flaky millefeuille

They stroll over to the Louvre

To take the Da Vinci tour, then step out

And walk past to the Luxembourg gardens

Where the children race their little toy boats

And crunch on crispy baguettes with jambon;

Dart into a little tea shop at “Rue de Rivoli” and

Eat petit fours on exquisite floral china

Stand at the highest point at Montmartre

Say a quick prayer and watch the devout

Light their candles at the “Sacre Coeur”


The strings of Flamenco guitars

Senoritas clapping their castanets

And dancing with a noble straightness

Aristocratic in mantillas and lace.

In Spain, as the matador prepares

Resplendent in gold edged cape

For roaring crowds, waving and shouting

Some in excitement, some in disgust

And a little boy feels sick, not with the heat

But with the blood and gore


In Venice the gondoliers serenade

Arrayed in straw hats and striped shirts

Singing “O Sole Mio”

As their oars cut through the green waters

And the gondola glides gracefully past St. Mark’s Square

The vaporetti taxi past

Rudely awakening an afternoon nap


White peaked mountains watch over the world

as Switzerland sleeps

and a glorious sunrise

Ushers in a new day

Bells on dappled cows echo gently

In lush emerald valleys where

Bluebells and edelweiss dance


In Salzburg

Where the “hills are alive”

As I sample a Sacher torte;

I can hear

Music everywhere;

The Mozarteum

And the Marionette theatre

Close my eyes and filter in

The strains of

“The Magic Flute”

And finally,

The adventure of speeding down

Deep in the salt mine chutes


In India, the haze before the Taj Mahal

Transforms it to shimmering mirage

A monument to the beloved wife

Of Emperor Shah Jahan

Locked forever- the love of all time

Down the white gleaming paths and waterways

Stroll sari clad women in brilliant silks

Manicured lawns and sparkling ponds

Mosaic inlays with gemstones and marble

Peacocks dance with crowns of gold

As ivory-tusked elephants parade


Japanese gardens and

Bonsai trees

Ladies in kimonos

Swirl their parasols

Demurely casting down their eyes and

Beautifully dressed Black hair

Adorned with Mikimoto pearls

That pearl fishers collect

At peril to self


New York comes alive as

Women in impossibly high heels

Stride down Park Avenue

As if it were the runway in Milan

While suit- encased men

Run world economy and create

Madison Avenue fare

Hot dog vendors hand out salted pretzels

Street rats sell cheap imitations of

Gucci and Coach Bags, not to mention

Gleaming Rolexes

Tickets for shows being sold at half price and

Central park teeming with mankind

Every race and color

Enjoying summer peacefully

A delicious crush of humanity



Back to earth

Wake up now

At home in my back yard again

I am not sorry;

It is still summer


A stroll to the end of the block

Will bring me to the

Children’s lemonade stand

I see them run bare feet in the grass

The smells of summer thick in the air

Behind us someone is cooking dinner

On a fancy barbeque grill


Its eighty degrees

And in my dreams

I have been around the world

If only I could hold summer

In the palm of my hands

So much to cram into a short time

Fleeting; evanescent

Gone before you realize

Until the next time around.

“Hearthside” by Ami Kaye

Banked fires, smoldering taut;
consuming, devouring flames.
Dancing flicks of orange blue,
power barely tames.

Inside, upside, all around-
bright heat radiates.
Fascinates the senses,
and never satiates.

Glowing embers,
sparking wood,
showers of light
under fireplace hood.

In the deep of winter
when snow-sky's your dome,
swaddled in cocooned warmth
near the hearth at home.

“Last Wish” by Ami Kaye

Come soft breeze and blow this way;
you have come from far away
where my heart lies.

I know well my days are done.
If only I could see my love
for whom I pine.

Touch me then, since her you have kiss'd;
let me feel just that one bliss
before I die.

“Allegory” by Ami Kaye

Beauty walks alone on hallowed ground.
A maiden innocent, weary of life,
too soon aware of evil's alchemy,
she seeks to banish pain and end her strife.

She lifts the silvered water to her lips-
A saddened dove glides gracefully, and lands
upon the laden branch above her head,
calls out his song of love in lilting strands.

"Drink not," he sings, "you have more time to live,
to taste life's pleasures and its softer rain.
Go forth in peace and find your purpose here
before this world may prove to be your bane."

Attentive to these tones of clarity,
she stills her hand and rests her almond eyes
upon his glowing paleness as he flies
So earnest he, so tranquil-eyed and wise.

He flutters to her, begging her to wait,
she holds her breath and soon forgets her woes
as the dove soars high above her head,
and drifting down, transforms into a rose.

“The Storm is Over” by Dave Sanderson

Tendrils of clouds reach down to tease the earth,
Like ghostly fingers
As they reluctantly follow in the wake of the storm.
Softly brushing the fronds of bracken,
And ferns,bedecking them
With sparkling diamonds of raindrops,
Glistening, multi coloured,
As the watery sunlight breaks through
Once more.
The storm is over,peace returns
To the high fells.
The warm peat creates a thin veil of mist,
Drifting over the landscape.
Phantom shapes appear,swaying in the breeze,
Then melt away again.
Life returns,
A stag, leading his concubines,
A fox,
Stalking an unwary grouse,
Kestrels hovering on an updraught,
Buzzards wheeling, mewing like kittens,
Both seeking
Their last meal of the day.
As the storm passes,
The fells remain,
As they have for aeons,
Wild, desolate,