Daily Archives: August 19, 2009


“The Last Stump” by Edward Rodosek

A sharp morning frost woke me up from a restless slumber. I rose stamping my benumbed feet and put a thick bend branch on the glowing embers. Now remained only one great stump from the whole pile of firewood that he'd gathered last evening. Soon he has to set off to the shore and look for some driftwood, to–

I shook my head without finishing my senseless thought.

I looked at my sleeping father. When I stooped down to him I noticed his slightly trembling eyelids.

"Why don't you sleep, daddy? You should rest so you'd be on your feet soon."

Father's turbid eyes stared at me. I clearly felt he sensed my deceit as always when I'd as a child tried to lie to him.

"Do you remember–" A spasmodic cough interrupted his sentence and he had to wait till he recovered his breath. "Do you remember, many years ago, when you and I searched something edible all day long? But we found nothing except a tiny squirrel."

"How could I forget that day? Then you allowed me to shoot the animal but I missed it – what a shame!"

My father shook his head. "No harm done, sonny." The squeeze of his hand was surprisingly firm. "And then we suddenly–" His gasping prevented him from continuing talking.

"Yes – we heard a distant howling of a wolf. There must be more then one, probably a whole pack of wolves. Oh, god, how we ran! And then I stumbled and hurt my knee so you had to keep me from falling and then carrying me up to our hamlet. But then my uncle emerged with a burning branch in his hand – and the wolves took flight in panic fear."

My father nodded feeble. "The wolves are not afraid of yelling or drumming, even the shooting wouldn't scare them for long. Only the fire..." He sighed and the squeeze of his hand released. Only the hardly audible gurgling from his throat showed he was still alive.

I stepped to the lessening fire and with some difficulty managed to roll the last stump on to the ember. I shouldn't wait longer for later it probably wouldn't inflame at all.

I put my snowshoes on and meanwhile my malamutes leapt up, shaking the snow off their fur, and whimpered from eagerness to haul my sled. They knew I'd give them their first meal of frozen fish only after two hours of the trip.

At that moment I heard from the distant the well-known sound – a dreadful howl of the leader of a wolf's pack.

I wasn't able to look back to the linen shelter behind which my father was lying on the pine branches. How far the others could arrive till now? Probably up to the 'Two creeks' if they've travelled all day. All their sleds were fully loaded and I worried if they'd manage to overcome the Moose Slope. Who knows how many of us would succeed to come to Fort Laradell, where food and shelter were waiting to us.

I said, hoping my voice wouldn't tremble, "You have two dried salmons within reach."

My father's eyes avoided meeting mine. "Off with you, Kanak. You have to catch them up before dark or else–" A fit of cough interrupted him.

I didn't look back when I shouted at the dogs and cracked a whip over their heads. I heard the wolf's howl again, nearer than before.

I wiped my humid eyes with the backside of my fur gloves. Luckily, my tribe was far ahead of me so at the moment nobody could see my face, an image of their best hunter and bravest warrior.

Anyway, these tears must be from the cold wind.

“Purple Rain” by Pyerse Dandridge

I thought of you
after some rum and cokes
and I started wishing
I could tell you
I'm sorry.

Shouldn't have said that joke to you.
Honestly I said cause I thought you'd laugh
That's all I ever wanted from you
because I hated seeing dealing with
family deaths
and that painful breakup —god—
even your health problems.
I was trying to give you something
to smile about, even for a second.

That's what friends are for right?
To be there each other
not to take you from your spouse,
family, or other friends, but
pick the other up.
Like I always do.
I don't understand why you didn't see that.

Damn it,
this is suppose to be you,
I'm talking to about junk
and drinking with at this bar.
Really miss those one-liners
and snarly comments
you had about everything.
"It's such a shame our friendship had to end."

This is stupid dude.
You're stubborn,
but you're always indecisive.
I say have a little faith,
take a chance,
and let me guide you to that Purple Rain





NOTE: Contains samples from Prince's "Purple Rain."

“Everlasting” by Samantha Shipman

He smiles.
As though there were something on his mind,
yet he never tells me.
I laugh.
As though I really understood.
Maybe someday I will.

You are
on the outskirts.
Always leaving
but never gone.
Constantly waiting
for something to carry you away.

I am
always leaning.
Tipping first one way
then the other.
Weaving back and forth
between who I am
and who I could be.

He smiles.
In the back of my mind
it's all I can remember.

“She Is…” by Samantha Shipman

As she changes the stations
she changes your view
of the girl that you saw
when you didn't know what to think.

So she leaves you with a forced smile
and nothing more that you can do.
She'll refuse to stay the same
to cover up the fact that she can't change.

Even as she gets with the program
all you can do is fall apart.
What you thought was finally ending
headed back to the start.

Still she continues to hide
putting on yet another disguise.
Pasting on so many different smiles
you can't recall which was your favorite.

She was something so awkward
and something so strange,
that you labeled her "sweet"
then abandoned her after slight hesitation.

Yet you cannot forget her
singing in the front seat.
Clinging to the past
as you bolted for the future.

“Stimulus” by Robert O. Adair

Rolling drunks
on a Saturday night!
Me oh my!
Such a delight!

Having trouble
making ends meet?
This is really neat,
a treat that can't be beat!

A moderate investment
in a little booze,
you can make money
as much as you choose!

Good looking lady
in a slinky gown,
this is your oyster!
Go out on the town!

In this time of
great recession,
think of this stimulus
as anti-depression!

“The Stolen Rose” by Jimmy Jazz

I stole a rose
From my neighbors yard.
I clipped it in the dead of night.
Now its magnificence makes my kitchen bright.
I wonder as I gaze at it-
Was it wrong to pluck this rose
From the rose-tree stem?
She'll never know.
At least not that it was me,
Who surreptitiously
Clipped her rose
And brought it home.
O! The thievery in the night.
All to make my kitchen bright.

“My World” by Jackie Roy Bosworth

When someone gives me a penny for my thoughts
They end up putting their two cents in
Because by then they are actually caught
Deep in the intense, immense conversation
How would you handle my situation?
Better be carrying a big pair of balls
Or you will surely fall
(Too weak to defeat the devastation)
Look at you how
You're lying on the ground
Feeling like a pussy now
(After your castration)
The road I tread is a hard walk with the dead
Full of potholes in the dark
And a smoke-ring as a halo on my head
If you think you can see like me
And you think you can suck up a long journey
Then live in my world and try to endure
A living hell on this wicked/beautiful earth

Maybe, just maybe
If you get lucky
You will eventually
See the wicked world through one eye
And a beautiful life through the other
At the same time
Side-by-side at the nasal line
And that I say is the only way
But why would anybody want to try
To live my life

Want to feel my pain?
How much you think you can take?
I couldn't give it to you
Even if I wanted to
So don't bother because you can't relate
Don't ever speak out against me in a debate
I will verbally leave you trashed
Probably shitting in your pants
Don't get me going because once I get started
Missiles will be flowing in your ears and blowing
Down at the little man getting bombarded
A feeble mind now feeling retarded
-- And before you shit your pants, you farted –


My words will lobotomize
Synthesize a tone
That's set to hypnotize
And place you in a zone
So prepare to set your bones on the grindstone
If you dare to go where I roam
Because in my world you're a long way from home
-- Experience the terror, walk in these shoes alone –

Do battle with a deadly disease
Alone with no wife because she's a cheat
Now you looking like a freak (so you think)
And you don't sound normal whenever you speak
(You only have half a tongue and no fucking teeth!)
You wear a hard scar for all to see
A hook of a mark that will now have to be
Accepted and respected and sported proudly
Expect to get rejected when you're fishing in the sea
Because remember you look like a freak (so you think)
And you don't sound normal whenever you speak

Have you heard enough? Still think you're tough?
I'll stare right through you and call your bluff
See, you'll never have the upper hand
When dealing this hand
Understand little man?
Do yourself a favor
Go savor the flavor of ignorance and bliss
Because nobody wants any of this
Do you prefer the flavor of eating shit and piss?
Didn't think so, so you better go and hurl
And forget you ever stepped into my world
Go back to the land of "love, hugs, and kisses"
Because I'm getting tired of talking
Besides, by now you should really miss it

Stay away from my domain
Or remain terminally insane
Walking around tweaked-out in the brain
Just leave me alone to deal with this shit
But before you split, you have to admit...
...Isn't life a bitch?

“Women” by Jackie Roy Bosworth

The rest of my days
May be spent alone
With standards so high
She'd have to walk a straight line
-- That woman to me is unknown –
Does she exist?
Perhaps some day
Chances are slim
I've accepted them
So my logic will lead the way

Zero tolerance
For insubordinate behavior
Because too much slack is what I gave her
I've been pushed beyond
Normal capacity
And have sustained the blows
Of infidelity
So just, what is it that you seek?
When you come asking about me?
I walk with a stone wall
With my guard up, I will never fall
She who can break and take down
All the stones
Will succeed in sharing my ROYal throne

-- So again I say
For the rest of my days
I will continue to roam alone
Until that woman, if ever, becomes known...

“No Clue” by Kim Johnson

I have not a clue of the future.
Of what is wrong with me.
I have not any idea of what path to take.
Although I think it is because there are too many choices,
too many paths. So right now,
I write,
that is the path
I've chosen.

“Vulnerable” by Kim Johnson

Vulnerable; decomposed
like sharp and twisted knives clawing at my chest
Exposed
how a baby bird feels stolen from her mother's nest
Why?
because I feel bare naked again
in which I deny
caged up; no way out; they've got my brain
Weak
open like a huge, gaping hole
that tweaks
my ever anxious soul

“August Nights – Another Eulogy” by Doug Miller

I've earned this sadness, hide hardened and tanned,
With ancient sins never truly paid for,
With trails of betrayal and flippant wounds delivered
To ones loved and left behind,
To embittered souls who still damn me
With their evening prayers.

"Fie, fie... a soldier and yet afeared..."
And yet fear is but the crux and driving force –
Hidden beneath this physical belligerence,
This offhanded arrogance casually delivered,
This cloak of deceit, frail harbor of battered ships,
Pretense of fools and blemished ones.

The building heat of late summer evenings
Is unabated by alcohol or regret.

Once there was a face, and a wounded heart,
An orphaned beauty in need...
And she would accept me, and hear me out,
Mirror the longing and the lack
Of that essential bit... long ago,
In the dawn
Of what devolved to this.

The core of Hell is surely made
Of evenings like this,
Begrudging night, or relief of any kind.
Before dawn, I'll run the path that separates
Canal and river, and think of her...
Of the waning days of an old and broken man,
And the shortened stride, and the altered pace,
And of the paths taken to this place.

“Burn a Memory” by Jackie Roy Bosworth

tears...
filled with the years of a love lost
...and of the cost
they have shed as i have bled
-- left scarred with wounds that never heal --
the kind of shit that stays in your head
...just can't forget but can never reveal
-- man with an iron will --
determination of a mission
keeps "sanity" at the helm
patience is the struggle
that time must endure
to regain a new life
and a love re-born




*[ chorus ]*
burn a memory to fuel the fire
that drives desire even higher
no matter how much the mind will tire
endure what transpires or be labeled a liar




sworn to a quest with no end
this was known before it began
complete another cycle
and come back empty-handed
then start all over again
...this is how it is
...this is how it's been
good men commit to righteousness
while sinners continue to sin
where shall the pain be sent
to keep the shame dormant?
walking around in circles
feet now swollen and purple
precious time was ill-spent




*[ chorus ]*
burn a memory to fuel the fire
that drives desire even higher
no matter how much the mind will tire
endure what transpires or be labeled a liar




a lesson lived is a lesson learned
to look the other way
your head must turn
and to put it behind you
...just keep on walking...
ignore the ghosts of the past
that keep talking
haunting thoughts of an era forgot
-- some things are better not remembered --
all the blood dropped
from a merciless onslaught
just because no one surrendered
this is when no one wins
the pain still lingers
let's not pretend...
no need to point fingers




*[ chorus ]*
burn a memory to fuel the fire
that drives desire even higher
no matter how much the mind will tire
endure what transpires or be labeled a liar




no coward nor a quitter
more like a go-getter
never a bullshitter
staying clever is far better
walk with a clean conscience
factor out coincidence
mind set on retrieving the one thing
that is now just a memory
...forever wondering
-- surrender to the suffering --
strong is he
who overcomes misery
and doesn't proceed
to feed on self-pity

“The Old Caboose in Autumn” by Robert O. Adair

Past rows of trees
beautiful in autumn,
red, yellow, and orange;
he walked down the lane
under the lowering sky.
As he reached the door
a light drizzle was coming down.
His house was an old caboose
retired from service,
shorn of its wheels.
Inside the tiny kitchen
he brewed a pot of coffee
on top of the old
pot belly stove
taking the chill off
while the rain thundered down
on the wooden roof
pouring over the windows
of the cupola
and a book took him
worlds away.

“His Paper Heart” by Lynn Ciesielski

The tissue paper twig that is his heart
is torn again.
Words like scissors cut, so easily snip away
what's left of narrow membrane,
his fragile hold on life.

Unknowing she severs, no harsh intent.
No vindictive wish urges her
to commit the accidental crime
that rents him
on the insides.

Tears spill once more.
Paper is wet.
She cannot bear to watch,
admit to herself that maybe she has watered the rain,
prompted the storm that pours inside him.

It saddens her
to know where he has been
and why it takes so little
to damage him.

Although his heart is harmed easily
she gathers strength from him,
yet he struggles to stand upright.
At times she carries him.

She must cradle his brittle hear.
His gentle nature lends him power
but not always control.
He will someday grow to trust,
learn to hold his own.

“My Dear ” by Desideria von Schalien

Smiling in caution
Gentle tendrils
Thorns growing on your pale skin
Tearing, clinging, catching

You say we two
Are the same
Twinkle, twinkle
In your eyes

Sharp as the blade
Of your secrets,
Hold you steady
Keep you stuck

Loyalty and compassion
Crowded in that space
Devoted to you
There are etchings
A little box

Your eyes,
busy all around.
Never taking notice
Of all those falling down
Then I whisper a word of caution

That box
It grew in your mind
A world
Just your own

It's fine
Nothing ever gets to be easy
But this is you
In my soul
Stabbing gently
Blood soaking our sheets
of common history

But you never listened,
did you?

My dear,
Time is running out.
Slowly but surely
Growing is the darkness
Looming in the shadows

And on my tongue
I just barely contain the poison
Threatening to spill
Along with my already dripping blood