A Ordinary Day Read online

who know no comfort from their loss,

  who drown in their own pity

  and live only in their memories,

  death does not come for them.

  They are the walking dead

  and are as real as the wind

  picking his teeth with the tree branches.

  They are shadows that cry in the night,

  a hunger that can’t be satisfied.

  My dogs sniff the air as if they anticipate

  the arrival of some unforeseen visitor.

  The moon is full and heavy as if in its ninth month.

  It hangs behind my house and waits for us to return.

  So, we do

  and I close the door on the shadow world-

  its hollow secrets-

  and the walking dead.

  When I Go

  When I go what will I leave behind?

  Will it be desired? Loved?

  Or just old and falling apart?

  Will it have the power to heal the human heart?

  Will there be music and dancing?

  Or just apathy and strife?

  Will I have been able to change a life?

  When I go what will I go to?

  Will there be angels and singing?

  Or will it be shadows? Gloom?

  Perhaps just the darkness of the tomb?

  I'll go it alone as we all must

  Until my body returns to dust.

  But before I go drifting away

  To join that primordial soup,

  I want it to be said that

  I laughed from my gut frequently,

  Loved from my heart always,

  Forgave every chance I could

  And tried to be as annoying as hell.

  Oh, and I spent all the money.

  That'll teach them!

  Night

  While no one was watching

  Night, like a silky-smooth glove,

  Slipped in.

  It slipped in through

  cracks and crevasses;

  through rips and tears

  and holes in the walls.

  It invaded the streets

  between tall buildings

  made of brick and steel and glass.

  It surrounded vehicles,

  pedestrians, signs,

  lampposts.

  It overtook cities,

  towns, fields

  and farms.

  It shared its presence with

  mountains and valleys,

  oceans and woods.

  It provided cover for

  the lover and the derelict,

  for the addict and the killer.

  It is the keeper of secrets,

  holding close all events,

  both good and bad,

  that happen under its cloak.

  It is the seductive drug for

  lovers and poets

  who desperately seek moments of

  ecstasy and understanding.

  It is the henchman,

  the second-hand,

  that holds the victim

  so the madman can

  go about his business.

  It is the dark, seemingly eternal,

  corrupt governance that hides

  in the guise of “a benevolent protector”

  but whose intent is as sour as a cesspool

  and as black as night.

  (for David, my night, your dungeon. Thank you)

  The Woman

  The woman, wakeful, stares

  At the face of the moon

  The stars dancing ‘round,

  While her babe sleeps at her breast.

  Slowly, she rocks, now and then

  Stares at the moon again and again

  Softly, lowly, she hums,

  While her babe sleeps at her breast.

  A soft, gentle breeze blows

  That tenderly kisses her cheeks

  As her eyes slowly close,

  While her babe sleeps at her breast.

  (written in high school as a class assignment)

  Insomnia

  The night didn't fall; it crashed upon my bed.

  Attacked me while I lay there, instead

  Climbed up me like Hillary up Everest

  Staked its claim for the moon to see.

  It wrapped me in its velvet arms

  Caressed me softly with it's charms

  It poured over me like a lover’s tongue.

  Whispered to my very soul with its song.

  I lie there awake yet dreaming.

  In my fevered state, it came sneaking

  To steal its way into my brain

  Over my skin and through my veins

  Like a drug, it coursed through my body

  Pulsating, throbbing, intensifying

  Until it exploded behind my eyes

  Then gently kissed the corners of my mind

  Before it left me crumpled in disarray

  Vulnerable and exposed to the oncoming day.

  Ode to Attila

  (may you live on in infamy)

  Along the ridge side by side

  Roman and Goth did meet

  To await the arrival of their mutual foe-

  The Terror of the East.

  In clouds of dust the hordes came

  The Evil under the Sun-

  The Goths and Romans did steady themselves

  Prepared for the mighty Hun.

  Somewhere down in the depths of their bowels

  Came their battle cry!

  By stomping hooves and the clash swords

  Many men did die.

  The land was ripe with blood that day

  Metal, flesh and earth became one.

  No Roman or Goth would stand alone

  Against Attila the Hun.

  But the scourge of the earth road onward

  Raging his bloody cry!

  As he raped and ravished poor Italy--

  Only Rome would not die.

  On to Rome the marauders would go

  They left destruction in their wake

  But Rome was fortified and ready

  When the Barbarians arrived at the gate.

  Ah, but even Attila had his Achilles heel

  In this case, it was Caesar's daughter

  In exchange for her he would leave Rome

  And not lead it into slaughter.

  But Caesar became enraged!

  This insult he would not take!

  The Romans indignantly took up arms

  Causing Attila to consider his mistake.

  Long is the day for a worn warrior

  And the Huns were worn through and through

  Their energy spent; their resources depleted

  Retreat was all that Attila could do.

  In the eyes of his people Attila was a hero

  And a hero's welcome is what he received

  Victories of the Hun were widely celebrated

  Stories of glorious battle believed.

  As the custom was with his people

  Attila had many wives

  None had ever claimed his heart

  Assuming they even tried.

  There was one woman, however, young and fair

  Who seemed to be sent from above

  One simple glance and the fearsome warrior fell;

  Attila was in love.

  Soon a great wedding was made;

  A feast to end all feast

  People came from near and far

  To see this beauty of the east.

  Now there is nothing more ridiculous as a warrior in love

  Their commonsense and boldness are sunk

  So, Attila did what all besotted warriors do

  He wholeheartedly got drunk.

  Now, as with most great warriors of his ilk

  Attila wanted to die a warrior’s death.

  Engaged in combat on the battlefield

  He wanted to draw his last breath.

  But for poor drunken Attila


  It simply was not to be

  He suffered, you see, a bloody nose

  And died unceremoniously.

  No hero's death for him

  No warriors last stand

  Nature did for history

  What could not be done by man.

  Thank you. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Would love feedback or if you just want to shoot the breeze.

  ☂