Arsenal [Classic] (12 line poem)

Wait! I found another horrible old poem. If you’re just starting to read my old stories and poems, I should warn you that many are dark, with frequent violence and death.

You can find some lighter poems in my collection destined for my longer connected narrative here.


Armed with but a memory
Sentiment my shield
I attacked her for her callousness
My army took the field

I played on her compassion
“Remember how things were…?”
Complaints about her cruelty
Meant not a thing to her

Armed with but my hunting knife
I visited her home
We left the world together then
No more to be alone

Punctuation

I’ve noticed that, now that I’m typing things up, I’ve gravitated away from ending my poem lines with punctuation. I find that the structure of seeing it all cleanly laid out in type on a computer screen seems to reduce the need to separate each line with specific punctuation. In my head, it’s as if each line ends in an implicit comma, and each verse ends in an implicit period.

Is this direction a good thing? I don’t know.

Pursuit [Classic] (30 line poem)

To round things out, since today is (apparently) ‘Demon Day’, here is another terrible but silly old poem about death and hell.


They stole my heart
They took my brain
They threw my body off the train
Yet magic made me whole again
But now I’ve witnessed death

I stalk them now
I roam the night
My body whole, my mind not right
I see ahead a distant light
And draw a rasping breath

I shuffle nearer
To the place
A look of menace on my face
My anxious steps become a race
I open up the door

I step inside
They scream, “Surprise!”
And poke their fingers in my eyes
But I choke each one till he dies
Then throw him on the floor

The episode
Has just begun
Now it’s time to have some fun
I look around and find a gun
And blow my face away

Falling, falling
Down a well
We land amid the fires of Hell
I grin a grin so they can tell
That now it’s time to play

Hero Quest [Classic] (unfinished poem)

I was going to post another ‘going to Hell’ poem — damn, I have a lot of them — but I decided to mix things up instead and post something entirely different.

Why are the nouns capitalized? Who knows, but it seems more dramatic, doesn’t it?

Anyone notice the structural similarity to Longfellow’s ‘Hiawatha’? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?


And then the mighty Dragon spat
A Gout of Flame to sear his Foe
But on and on our Hero fought
Full safe within his Suit of Mail
The clever craft of woodland Elves
Designed to turn the sharpest Blade
And save the Wearer from the Fires
That of the Dragon burn within

Some Other Kind of Love [Classic] (4 line poem)

It would be a nice story if I wrote this after some sad breakup, but in truth I think I spent more time writing about love than experiencing it.


There must be some other kind of love
A kind that gives as well as takes
A kind forgiving and forgetful
That doesn’t dwell on past mistakes

Possession [Classic] (20 line poem)

Must be ‘Demonic Day’ or something like that. Including this poem, I’ll have posted, within the last two days, 3 pieces about demons and hell.


A name from out of nowhere
A word from ancient lore
Summoning forth memories
That were not there before

The echoes don’t diminish
But fill my empty brain
Extinguish personality
Till nothingness remains

My mind cries out in anger
And then whimpers in fear
I lose control, give up my soul
To thoughts I now can hear

The purpose is apparent
It reeks of evilness
Again I fight, again I fail
Fall victim to the stress

I perform its vile actions
Then with a piercing scream
As the Presence leaves me, wondering
Was it real or just a dream?

Hell is Hell [Classic] (20 line poem)

Every day I relive
The day of my demise
My body from the gallows swings
Beneath still, cloudless skies
Hell is hell

I lived a life of ruthless crime
Throughout the old wild West
At the time I thought what
I was doing was in jest
Hell is hell

Every minute of my life
I vividly regret
I thrust the memories from my mind
But never can forget
Hell is hell

The torment’s indescribable
I wish the hurt were done
I’ve nothing to look forward to
Except more pain to come
Hell is hell

The Origin of Man [Classic] (625 word story)

This is another story that I wrote for a high school mythology assignment. More old stories here.


“Demetrius! Jacasta!!” My wife, Diana, called for the children.

I glanced over to the yard where they were supposed to be feeding the geese. A few handfuls of grain had been thrown on the ground, but the feed sack had been left against the storage shed and some of the geese were eating grain directly from the sack.

The sky was darkening quickly.

“Children!” Diana was standing in the doorway of the house holding the curtains aside. She saw the sack, and hurried toward it as the geese scattered and sought shelter.

It was not until it began to rain that the twins came running from behind the shed laughing, and ducked into the house under their mother’s halfhearted swing. I believe that Diana would not have missed had she not been encumbered by the sack of grain.

I unhitched the plow-horse and led it to the stable, then came in myself – stripping off my wet clothes and placing them near the fire to dry. The children came into the room wearing fresh clothes, and sat down by the fire looking glum.

They called to their mother in the next room, “Mother, why can we not play in the rain?”

“Ask your father,” she called back.

Jacasta turned to me. “Why, father?”

“And where does rain come from, anyway?” added Demetrius.

So I told them the story of the origin of man.

“A long time ago, when the earth was young, Kodimo, the father of gods, decided to create someone to rule under the gods: man. He asked his three sons – Hostum, the earth; Maiko, fire; and Carlus, water – to find a suitable place for man to live.

“First, Carlus took man to the water. Man seemed to be all right for a few moments but, when man tried to breathe, he began to drown. So Carlus quickly took man out of the water. Water would not be man’s home.

“Then, Maiko took man up to the sky where the sun is. All above the earth was far too hot for man to live, and again man took ill and nearly died — until he was saved by Maiko. Fire would not be man’s home.

“Finally, Hostum took man down to the earth. Maiko, the hot-tempered and jealous fire god, hoped that man would not survive on earth either, but man took an immediate liking to the earth, and all could see that the earth was the perfect choice for man’s home. Carlus, the cool-headed and sensible water god, accepted this, and even decided to aid man as needed.

“Maiko remained very angry, and continually tried to strike man dead with lightening. Every time there is a rainstorm, it is Maiko and Carlus battling over man’s fate and, as Maiko strikes to kill and set fires, Carlus does his best to undo Maiko’s mischief by raining water from the sky to quench the fires and aid man in growing food.

“That is why you can’t go outside during the battle between Carlus and Maiko that you hear as thunder. That is also why it is difficult to get reluctant Maiko to appear in the form of the fire we use for cooking or, as this fire now, for heat.

“Until this very day, Carlus, the water, and Hostum, the earth, work together to help man. Hostum watches over man and brings forth seeds, while Carlus helps these seeds grow. Maiko unknowingly aids man with his heat and light.

“And that is the story of rain, and the story of man.”

The children kissed me. “That was a very good story,” said Jacasta. “Yes,” said Demetrius, “thank you, father.” And, because it had stopped raining, they ran back outside to play.

Convert [Classic] (1000 word story)

Another dark story, but no one  — at least, no human — dies. More old stories here.


Father Daniel was extremely pleased with himself, though he cautioned himself not to be prideful. There had been no one in the recent history of the Catholic Church who had been elevated to pope as quickly as he. But he hazarded to think that no one was against his advancement. With all modesty, he believed that he deserved it and, in truth, no one previously had been able to accomplish what he did. Father Daniel (he still thought of himself as ‘Father’) had conquered the Devil. He did not do it figuratively, or on a single individual level — as one might during an exorcism — instead he actually and literally conquered the evil persona known as Satan. This is how it happened.

On Sunday, October 25th, the beginning of that fateful week, Daniel had just completed saying 11:30 mass when the visitation started. It was his first year in the priesthood and he didn’t consider himself particularly devout or sinful – though, in truth, he was more of the latter. During the visitation, Father Daniel was not visited by anyone, rather, he was the visitor. He had been walking from the church to the rectory when he suddenly found himself in Hell.

Daniel found himself in the center of an enormous throne room lit with flickering torches set along the distant walls. At the end of the room toward which he was facing was a glimmering throne, and seated on it was a dark, impressive figure. He immediately knew that this was Hell, and that the being on the throne was Satan.

Satan spoke: “Greetings, Daniel. I challenge you to a contest. If you win, I will amend my ways and allow you to convert me to Catholicism. If I win, I get your soul.”

Father Daniel knew there was no choice. However slim the possibility of defeating the Devil, he must take it. But still he hesitated: “What kind of a contest?”

Satan smiled at his reluctance. “We shall see which of us can got a small animal to come to one of us.” He gestured to a point on the floor midway between them and a squirrel appeared, and sat completely motionless as if it were not alive. “The winner will be the one to hold it in his hand.”

“Why did you pick me?” asked Daniel, still stalling for time to absorb the situation.

“No particular reason,” replied Satan. “Enough of this. Do you accept the challenge?”

Daniel took a deep breath. “I accept,” he said.

“The contest begins,” announced the Devil as, with another gesture, the squirrel stirred.

Father Daniel did not know whether the squirrel would come to him, sensing him as the proverbial ‘lesser of evils’ or if Satan has some trick up his sleeve. But Satan had.

The squirrel regained its senses and looked around for a place to hide. It began to move to the side of the room, moving slightly closer to Father Daniel than to the Devil. Daniel bent toward the squirrel and began to call softly to it, trying his best to act welcoming. Suddenly the squirrel froze and turned its head stiffly towards the throne. Then, moving as an automaton, began plodding its way toward Satan.

He’s controlling it! thought Father Daniel, as the squirrel continued toward the throne, its head occasionally twitching as if its feeble mind were trying to fight the Devil’s control. So he doesn’t have complete control!

Daniel had an idea. He let out a shrill beckoning whistle and watched as the squirrel shot a yard in his direction before the Devil regained control.

Daniel tried again, repeatedly, but his whistles had less and less effect until eventually, the squirrel did not even pause. It had now made half of the journey from the midpoint to the throne, and Father Daniel was out of ideas. Unless…

Daniel reached into his pocket and produced some coins, which he let go rapid fire to land in front of the squirrel — between it and the Devil. He had gotten a few of the coins into the air when something appeared in the corner of the room and said suddenly, “Master, I…” Satan jerked his head in the direction of the newcomer who, Father Daniel could see, was in the shape of a demon with horns atop his head and a barbed tail. As Satan turned his head, the coins that Daniel had launched began landing, and Satan lost control of the squirrel.

The squirrel moved faster than any living thing that Daniel had seen and, before he knew it, the squirrel was running up his left leg. He scooped it up and held it to his chest as the Devil turned away from the charred husk that had been the demon, and he looked toward Father Daniel with comprehension and fury.

“I won,” said Daniel meekly, and then more loudly, “I have won!”

Surprisingly, the Devil accepted his fate and came along willingly, and he, Daniel, and the squirrel appeared outside the priest’s rectory exactly one week after he had disappeared. It was November 1st – All Saints Day.

When, with the unexpected death of the old pope, Father Daniel became the new pope on New Years Day, he was still in the process of converting Satan to Catholicism.

For centuries, men believed that the insane were possessed. Despite modern psychiatry’s conviction that insanity had some biological cause, the Devil knew that insanity was in fact his foothold in the world to accomplish evil. His plan had worked to perfection, and he now stood in control of one of the most-powerful religious organizations in the world – the entire Catholic Church. For how could Pope Peter the 2nd – a name chosen by Daniel to celebrate the Devil’s defeat – not go insane after having to listen to Satan confess his sins?

Progress

Just counted: I have about 15 completed stories and 30 completed poems posted here — good, healthy numbers. That’s about 10,000 words in stories and 500 lines in poems. Plus I have more than a dozen unfinished pieces posted. I’m happy with my progress.

It’s especially exciting to get some of my old stuff typed up — though I’ll be happy when I get the remainder of the old stuff typed so I can focus on writing new.