Midnight All Hallows Eve

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Ghost Stallion and Spirit Bones of Fear
Entered the stage one eve of Halloween’s midnight
But, without one single solitary human cheer
And the men folks teeth chattered exhibiting fright
The more they trembled, the more the apparition neared,
Simultaneously, the ghost stallion challenged and reared

~

Shaking, my scrawny knees clattered
My fingers turned blue gripping
Frozen to my spot my body faltered
My legs won’t move while they’re sitting
And, there my body exhibited fear and halted                                                                                                                                                                                

Then, my mind told those frozen appendages to “GET UP and GET GOING!”

~

So ~ Courageously I stood with bones clattering
Shaking my voice sounded shattering
Muscles strengthening with sinews firing
Standing at that stallion and pointing down it’s hammering
Stood there, I without quaking
I told that SOB to go to HELL without my voice breaking

~

And that dark spirit left when I became The Sons of God whilst in the making.


*Note: Poetry challenge at A Poet’s Haven hosted by Alan Boles FB 2015

The Ghost of Mercy

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 Madness! The voices of accusation, the finger that points and all the screaming, I heard, coming from the other side. There were fingers clawing at me, though a division of atmospheric fog separated us. I saw, I heard and I felt them. Their faces were burned to the bone and their flesh looked like branded hide. Their teeth black and grey were imperfect and missing here and there. I saw no babies or young ones. Just old bodies in a heap of scrap yard flesh burning, forever more. The stench of all this was eternal.

I asked, why? Where had love gone? Was there no kindness or mercy left to save old souls, like me? For that moment feeling sad, I must have felt compassion for the heap of abandoned godless lives.

I asked something or someone, why was I here? I assumed then, there was no God, as I had believed. But then I rationalized my thoughts. If my ideas were true, then why wasn’t I burning? Or was that coming later? Why am I observing this devastation and is there a lesson that I had to learn?

With that last thought I was sucked through the vacuum of swirling grey bleak fog. It was hot, then cool, then cold and finally comfortable like a tropical warm breeze and then, I looked and felt.

A simple green field of tender grass was under my bare feet and as far as my eyes could see. A tree line of Oaks in the near distance serenely invited me. It looked like a painting. Yes, a painting that I painted years ago. The field was peaceful, and there in the painting was total solitude! I was alone! Just as I chose to be. After all, the drama in this world was unending, And, this was my place, I had created the safest place in the world.

However, for some dad-gum reason, I battled with myself. The field was so beautiful, but on the other hand, so lonely and the place of eternal death was worse! And back and forth, my mind played. Then, asking something, what is it that the two places had in common and what was the comparisons that I am to understand?

The answer came. Quietness within one, and the eternal constant horror within the other, and that’s all, there was to consider. Only the visions of the two different places going this way and that, tangled my mind. Such, an internal battle. My sourish ego, wanted peace and the meadow offered just that. On the other hand, the faces and screams and fingers clawing were so present, but there were people present, but in torment. I had to choose isolation or tormenting souls.

Then, I considered my options. I could run to my pasture and forget the burned bodies with all their despair and screams. I could go to the field of fresh sweet greenness. I could. It was my choice. There was no God or gods forcing me. The decision was mine to make.

So, I asked myself questions. What is my mission and why would there be a need for me to go to that hellish place? What could I do there better than some other person who wanted to be there? After all, I liked solitude much better than those suffering screaming human souls. To add, I liked peaceful music, little talking and happy chirping birds and zero drama.

Those zombie souls facing hell, fire, and brimstone flashed back in my mind. This place was not my first choice. I mean, I bargained and asked if there was any payment for venturing there? Would I be rewarded monetarily? What is my gain, should I grudgingly choose this place of torment?

There were no real answers. Just a reminder of my future if choosing the green pasture. Quiet soundless lonely silence forevermore. I immediately decided upon the green pastures and was immediately transported to my place under The Sycamore Tree.

Suddenly, Ring Ring Ring! Roaring sound! Obnoxious. My hand grabbed the son of a bitching clock. Grimacing at the damn thing saw the small hand was on 3 and the long hand was on 00. Three AM, really?

Then, my eyes half shut, caught the landscape, the portrait that had hung on my walls for decades. Noticing that it was familiar, noticing that I had just been there under that particular Sycamore Tree, I got up and had to look closer. The sheets were around me while I stood gazing in the coolness. With the cell phone flashlight shining on the scene, I inspected the art. Well, I had been there. I was most certainly under that tree. This artwork was so boring and QUIET!
I grabbed it off the wall and threw on the floor. Stomping on the everlasting silence like a mad man.

Crazed! What are my options? I cried out. OH NO! No, not death by isolation, nor burning flesh? Then, all of a sudden ~ Huh, what’s that sound?

What? What do I hear?

Knock, knock. knock on my door.

Someone’s at my door! It’s 3:05! No, who’s there? I wondered. I moved to the door and stood frozen.

Again! Knock, knock, knock, ever so gently it rapped.

I had no choice but to open. I had to save myself from eternal silence and loneliness. I had to open. But, I was scared. Frightened of seeing the burning flesh and smelling the stench! Please. I cried. Help me. I must have lost my mind.

knock knock knock.

The peephole was covered with drops of water. It was raining. And, opening the door, which was made of cold hard steel, I tried my damnedest to move it. Slightly, it opened an inch, then two. Finally, with a great struggle it was opened enough and there in the passageway stood a young girl, in a red robe, with beautiful blue eyes.

She held a basket that held a kitten that was wet from the pouring rain. In her basket was a loaf of warm bread, cheese and a bottle of fine wine. Her cheeks were covered by the hooded cape, and she looked up so kindly and endearingly.

She, the young child of maybe of nine years said, “This basket is a gift from my father. He wants you to have this.” And, she lifts it to me, then, turns to go.

I said, wait! What is your name young girl? Please, don’t go … My voice trailed off as she turned away.

With rain falling so hard and from her hooded cloak, she turns to say, “Mercy, my name is Mercy.” And then, she disappears, she vanishes in front of my eyes.

I think the rain and moisture were playing a trick on my eyes, but then again, I’m not certain of anything. Standing for a moment in the door-sill, I hear the scrawny kitten meow.

Here, It must be said, that I don’t like cats. But, sensing it was a gift from a father, as the young girl said, took it inside, and soon thereafter, I named her Mercy. The cat grew to have very blue eyes just like the girl. And for many years, Mercy and I sat on the couch cuddled together. I often reflected on the ghost of memories past, which I call her, the young girl named Mercy. And, often thought I saw her dancing in Mercy the Cat’s blue eyes.

When Mercy, the cat, passed away, many years later, I realized that I found out what the meaning of mercy meant. And it was simple lesson; however, it took many years to understand the long-suffering meaning of mercy. The lesson of love came one horrifying night when a little wet scrawny kitten came from a little ghostly girl. She brought me a valuable lesson which was sent by The Father and it took years for me to understand, mercy. I loved that wet scrawny kitten that became a cat and today, I deeply miss her. My blue eyed cat was rightly named, Mercy.

To this day, I think about both Mercies and one other, God’s mercy. He had been merciful to me that cold rainy night so many years ago.

 

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 Note: this is a fictional story written for a Halloween contest about ghosts. ©2015

The Girl Cuts

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The girl cuts

She carves her skin

Girl interrupted lives within


She struggles now

Silhouettes and mirrors

Girl’s reflection makes tear-ors 


The fashioned peers

Do the same

Popular statements of shame


Troubled young society

Borderline values

Social dysfunction morales devalued

 

The girl cuts

Poetry Challenged for October 2015 @ A Poet’s Haven or Tessha’s Poetry on FB hosted by Alan Boles

These poems are a collection of challenge poetry that I wrote at A Poet’s Haven or Tessha’s Poetry that is hosted by Alan Boles on FB. If you are interested in these kind of challenges please contact Alan Boles at any of these FB sites. He actually has Tessha’s Romance group and many other types.

 

October 2015 All Poetry by Bonnie Jennings

Images from A Poet’s Haven stock and Tesshas’


Come and enter The Autumn 2015 Poetry Collection

Sometimes spooky and sometimes not, so scary. But, welcome!

 

Dreaming and entering life because we choose to fight our human battles... Now fight with faith Believe

The lights in the forest blinded my eyes

Beams shining everywhere, from up above

There was a haze on the floor over the dew

The sidewalk lit from the rays, rain bowed hue

See! There walking a woman amidst the ruins

Passing, without being, a part of our world

I wondered  who she was and where she’s come

And thought of where she was going ~

And where she belonged


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She began to dance with the red dress twirling

An old woman she was when the dirge started

Then a girl appeared within the swirling

The music changed when the old women departed


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The Fairies Ring sought I their power

Kneeling to listen to hear over their tower

Yielding my strength, humbling, not cowering

They hold mysteries that maidens desire


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The blood red streamed visibilis for all to see

The white snow tainted with murder or so it seemed

The detectives studied the patterns that it flowed

Noticing a woman at the end of a robe

The smell of death permitted the scene

Fear and evil robbed all tranquility 

A Pine limb snapped with ice from a breeze

A shiver of aloneness over came any beliefs

What ever happened took away his peace

The sergeant touched the blood dripped leaf

Then noticed it was simply a ribbon that fell from a tree



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Blue and multi greens the eyes of red within the dream

Male or female the entity never stated

But, wondering what it wanted of me

It stood like steel in my memories and themes

Then left abruptly without making a scene

Faintly remembering when showering within the steam

The blue face of a being who said its name “Memes.”


The life circle. The Golden Ratio, Fibonacci
The life circle. The Golden Ratio, Fibonacci

There are stairs that I climbed

Obscure and vague

Stars shown in the darkness

Not a cloud in the sky

And I climbed toward the blue cloud

Angels peeped and watched silently

A place called dreamland lay sublime

Not our place, but another quite unusually divine

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While ascending she bit an apple and smiled

The spirit seemed twisted, not right

Fingers signally, “come hither.”

Ignoring the voices, I moved forward

They were dim, not bright as Elysium’s promise

But while I traveled, they sought to distract my flight

Again, moving away as best one could

They grabbing my shins and touching my hair

Spit down the mouth from the apple, she glared

Provoking my thoughts, Succubus dared

 

The chasms before reaching the blue cloudy space

Yelled and screamed demanding their voice

Steadying and sober moving way past their daunts

They got angrier and madder as I progressed

It seemed forever my flight on the escalator divine

Learning to close my ears and my eyesight

And once I learned how to ignore their threats

Their screaming dissipated and all my fears regressed

And Elysium’s doorway opened when I turned away

She then welcomed me with endearing arms that day


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Reading the spells carefully memorizing the lines

Practicing the rhythms with certainty of time

Purposed intently the mantra heralds harbingers

The creatures it brings by wagging the forefingers

 

Birds flitting surrounding her hair

Pearls and black lace and  a key of the heirs

Tempestuous tendrils for God’s sake

Tattoos with his name and a book of snakes

 

There will be no escaping the spell that she casts

The prince has no hope unless he reverses the past

The Gothic Red Witch has spellbound him again

And that, my friend, is simply sad and grim


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The guardian walked through the infinite universe, inspecting

How the systems were spinning and kept time

Wading through space like water, and

Swimming to distant lonely spaces, waving

The hands as if they were wands, creating

A place called Heaven, and a place called hell 

A place called Elysium, the home

Where souls gather and swing blissfully on

Seats hewed from magnificent wood, on

Days when springtimes don’t end

Awaiting forever the solstice return

Believing that one day soon

That God shall lead us home


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Would you care for tea, my dear?

The Thyme and Mugwort will close your perfect blue eyes

Rest easy my love while this hare is near

And I shan’t tell you lies.

 

Now follow me into the forest of dreams

Stepping on wet twigs and leaves

The dew and damp of the forest floor

Will silence your steps from thieves

 

Fear me not, fair lady, as I lead you this way

Come hither, now quickly, my dear

The evening is come; it’s the end of day

What’s that on your cheek, ah, but ~ a tear?

 

How silly it is to cry for your hope

When nothing is happening here

Have more tea, pretty one, and do not mope

For into the woods, now bid, your adieus

 

Say goodbye, my dear

Now you’ve sipped the tea

And the path shall vanish with tears

Into the woods forever, that’s eternal with me

So say goodbye now my pretty pretty pretty blue eyes

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I refuse to open my eyes and if I could, I shan’t hear

You called me beautiful, but you lied, I have just one tear

The crevasse have bolted their paths getting at my soul

But nothing will take it from me, never sold.

It is mine alone to give on any day

And I will not give lest you try to slay

You are dismissed now, go far far away

Forever isolated in granite I will exist, dethroned

Alone! This woman’s heart has turned to hard cold stone.

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Awe fair maiden why can’t you see

My love for you grows as the swells of the great sea

Locking your love far away from me

Tis surreally a shame for you and me

I but a man of fancy and lust

Still look upon you without as animals must

Fairer are you than the green meadows of Lark

And dreams of kissing you are left now in dark

I shall miss your heart so warm’

And I will never know how much we belong

Goodbye beautiful lass whose breasts are granite

Tis a shame your soul left this planet.


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The evidence is everywhere simply look

A bubble of fluids and shattered glass in the sink

A curtain veil torn down the center

Life as it seems is not existent

 

Say what you want or say what’s told you

But just glance around this way and that

Notice the little things called Deja Vu

Then observe the mysterious black cat

 

If you don’t notice little nuances

Then, keep on without taking glances

The world as it seems will keep on going

But, noticing a difference, then maybe you’re all knowing


 Lastly, A Boy Runs Away

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Running away, the adventurous road before me

I, a young boy, but older than they think

The road up and down, I’ve traveled before

I’m running away, just let me be

 

My Pa died and mama’s always crying

No money it seems,

It’s destroyed her dreams, and

I’m running away, cause mama’s dying

 

The church steeple stands out

It’s a little bit away

I’ll stop for a drink ~

Then, I’ll be on my way

I’m running away, can’t really stay

 

While walking to the church, and

Along the way ~

My mom pulls up in our old Chevrolet

“Where are you heading? Jump in the sedan.” 

“Going to work, because I’m a man.”


I hope you enjoyed some of the 2015 Autumn Collection

©2015 Bojenn @ WordPress.com. All Rights Reserved (for each poem).

Thank you for asking permission. All photographs or images came from A Poet’s Haven or Tessha’s Poetry

Halloween Poetry Challenge @FB “A Poet’s Haven”

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The blood red streamed visibilis for all to see
The white snow tainted with murder or so it seemed
The detectives studied the patterns that it flowed
Noticing a woman at the end of a robe
The smell of death permitted the scene
Fear and evil robbed all tranquility 
A Pine limb snapped with ice from a breeze
A shiver of aloneness over came any beliefs
What ever happened took away his peace
The sergeant touched the blood dripped leaf
Then noticed it was simply a ribbon that fell from a tree



By Bonnie Jennings ©2015 AllRights Reserved

Weaving at Halloween by Bonnie Jennings Poetry Challenge for A Poets haven

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Weaving a spell without using a bat 
I need a word about a black cat. 
Hair of blues and skulls with bones 
A hat of grey when rhyming a song 
Autumn is here and my witches brew 
My life forlorn without the likes of you 
Casting this spell to bring you home 
Rattling the skull and shaking the bones 
All the while dost singing a song 
Upon the mist of the forests dew 
Bringing together the form of you 
Seeing the future in the now 
Dang the current, Here stands the cow 
Then, Ba-Boom, and pow-pow! 
And here ye be, now, taking a bow. 

Dreams Sublime By Bonnie Jennings

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Dreams Sublime 
By Bonnie Jennings

There are stairs that I climbed
Obscure and vague
Stars shown in the darkness
Not a cloud in the sky
And I climbed toward the blue cloud
Angels peeped and watched silently
A place called dreamland lay sublime
Not our place, but another quite unusually divine

While ascending she bit an apple and smiled
The spirit seemed twisted, not right, she implied
Fingers signally, “Come hither.” 
Ignoring the voices, I moved forward
They were dim, not bright as Elysium’s promise
But while I traveled, they sought to distract my flight
Again, moving away, as best one could
They grabbing my shins and touching my hair
Spit, from the apple, drooling, she glared
Provoking my thoughts, Succubus dared

The chasms before reaching the blue cloudy space
Yelled and screamed demanding their voice
Steadying and sober moving way past their daunts
They got angrier and madder, as I progressed
It seemed forever my flight on the escalator divine
Screaming to close to my ears and eyesight
And once I learned how to ignore their threats
Their screams dissipated and my fears regressed
And Elysium’s doorway opened when I turned away
She then welcomed me with endearing arms that day

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©2015Bojenn@Wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved

Halloween Poem Challenges at A Poet’s Haven

A Poet’s Haven Challenge created by Alan Boles

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This poem is written by Bonnie Jennings


Reading the spells carefully memorizing the lines
Practicing the rhythms with certainty of time
Purposed intently the mantra heralds harbingers
The creatures it brings by wagging the forefingers

Birds flitting surrounding her hair
Pearls and black lace and a key of the heirs
Tempestuous tendrils for God’s sake
Tattoos with his name and a book of snakes

There will be no escaping the spell that she casts
The prince has no hope unless he reverses the past
The Gothic Red Witch has spellbound him
And that, my friend, is simply sad and grim

So say goodbye my pretty pretty pretty blue eyes.

This is another Halloween poetry challenge picture and my entry into Alan Boles A Poets Haven on FB

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Would you care for tea, my dear?
The Thyme and Mugwort will close your perfect blue eyes
Rest easy my love while this hare is near
And I shan’t tell you lies.


Now follow me into the forest of dreams
Stepping on wet twigs and leaves
The dew and damp of the forest floor
Will silence your steps from thieves


Fear me not, fair lady, as I lead you this way
Come hither, now quickly, my dear
The evening is come; it’s the end of day
What’s that on your cheek, ah, but ~ a tear?


How silly it is to cry for your hope
When nothing is happening here
Have more tea, pretty one, and do not mope
For into the woods, now bid your adieus.


Say goodbye, my dear
Now you’ve sipped the tea
And the path shall vanish with tears
Into the woods forever, that’s eternal with me

So say goodbye my pretty, pretty, pretty blue eyes.

Poetry challenge from A Poets Haven

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Image from A Poet’s Haven poetry challenge

The evidence is everywhere simply look

A bubble of fluids and shattered glass in the sink

A curtain veil torn down the center

Life as it seems is not existent

Say what you want or say what’s told you

But just glance around this way and that

Notice the little things called Deja Vu

Then observe the mysterious black cat

If you don’t notice little nuances

Then, keep on without taking glances

The world as it seems will keep on going

But, noticing a difference, then maybe you’re all knowing


Thank you Alan Boles for inspiring the love of writing poetry

~ Into The Woods with Fireflies, Fairies and Gypsies

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In the cold dank misty springtime and dew

The fairies and the gypsies stew, brew
The dancers heels tap in one accord
As the castanets clap clap with the classical guitars
The heat of the fire and the sweat from their tango
Makes the night pass with no thoughts of tomorrow
The twirling whirling of the situation at hand
Makes me sick with puke, you’d understand
But the gypsies and the fairies steal the souls
And their lures so attractive; the human is too bold
Making it home by morning is a sure goal
Good luck my friend, because now, you’ve been told.

The Gypsy Man

He mastered the pulsating lights by maneuvering hands like molds.

His hands advanced and shifted the warmth and the cold.

Skin so red burned by the flames.

Though he continued seriously; he wasn’t playing a game.

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I Knew him well, or so I thought.

Magnificent arts, talent in his creations, many bought.

Watching to learn, to gain a tip or two,

Watched the master throw the flames that he then whistled and blew.


The art was purified from the scorch.

The blasted heat came from his torch.

The beauty of the diamond gently rested in his rough hand.

He smiled at me as he turned it back to sand.


I watched him nightly as he was a mere gypsy.

Who often, well, was more than tipsy.

He who torched the sand.

Which he then, created from his hands.


Amazing work the artisan mold.

While traveling from towns its told.

Dancing for a life and mesmerizing the ladies

Running away, capturing them for Hades


The gypsy man that stole women hearts.

From coast to coast, moved and played a game of darts.

The men that lost found their brides taken

Traveling across a country and soon to be forsaken.

The Forest of No Return. A Halloween Tale

 

The Forest of No Return
The Forest of No Return

 The Forest of NO return

Time stood quietly still, inside the thickets, of the cold dank foggy woods.

The path’s invitation beckoned me, but I was afraid, but did as a child should.

I’ve traveled this way once before when daddy steered.

But today, the carriage stopped as the horses butts reared and hooves that slipped from the dew.

 ~

Their whinnies and their heavy snorting chortled from their wet snouts,

The warmed air from there nostrils looked like billowing smoke.

Father demanded that they go, so as to finish our journeys Un-choked.

But mama knew the horses and suspected something wrong.

 ~

 Mama said, “No. No, we mustn’t go.” She stepped down to see how long.

She read the animals, as she’d been taught, by her father an indian tracker many years apart.

 ~

 But, daddy didn’t believe in ghosts, and he said, “Move out, and shut up!” Thinks, he’s smart.

~

Daddy scares me so, as I believe just like my mama,

Who knows these woods look suspiciously uncommon.

 ~

 Daddy pushes the team further using his verbal tones and fright.

The horses neighed loudly and I had no sight. All along, I knew mama was right.

“Stand up to him, mama, unless we’re killed and the forest goblins eat us and we not return!”

 ~

 SO, mama climbs out from her stance and took the beasts reigns

And led those horses away from what seemed untamed.

 ~

 The equine was now settled down, and Papa still taunted Mama for “creating more problems. 

~

Today we can’t get through the wood today, woman! All because you disobeyed!” He sneered as always with his terrifying grey eyes. I think he felt belittled. 

 ~

 She glared with her steel blue eyes of threat,

“Go ahead kill us, but remember and regret.

The forest is alive with goblins and cats and flying creatures similar to bats.”

 

 

When I grew up another forest was laying before me. I had two children holding my hand, but there wasn’t a “papa or a mama.” It was me and my two children, alone entering The Forest of No Return. How I then wished for a papa or a mama, but the reality was ferocious and I was it, the one who is to lead us through.

 

 

Should I pray for a man? What is a man that we should need one in such times of fear and dread? I didn’t know, as I had not found one, yet who’s stood up to goblins, ghouls and witches. 

 

 

They, the host of evil dreads, suck the life from lost families that travel through woods and this I know first hand. And, I am unprepared for storms. Especially when the downfall is in The Forest. I understand, those who can’t win battles, get gobbled up by those evil dreads. And the terrors seem greater than cattle, birds, foxes and wild hogs and especially larger than a mother and two children traveling alone. Surely we would be devoured and not see the light on the other side. Surely, we will faint from the taunting of the ghosts, ghouls and witches.

 

 

And this is what I know to be true. Prepare for all wild things to bombast you before you enter The Forest of No Return. Lead your horses to the gentle waters to drink during the journey. Sit there with them and rest by the rivers’ shore. 

 

 

When you do reach the other side, your daughter will be a grown up and your son will be a man. She will look like you. She will take her offspring to the forest’s edge and she will stand similar to you and he will be strong just like papa. He will bring the food and prepare the meals as you walk through the winter trees until the spring has turned the tender leaves green. 

Am I a victim and are you?

image

Am I a victim and are you?
What occurred that made us different from those few?
A life always rosy with white picket fences
Is a life of naïveté run by dunces and Denis The Menaces
Celebrating laborious sweat and difficult hard times
Brings folks together while earning an almighty dime
So victimhood cries screaming across a land
Should not be regarded as undue suffering for any man
Lest death take us under the lash of pharaohs whip
And forever victims perish by shoulders baring chips.

I Live in Someone’s Mystery

“Turn the show off! I don’t want to watch, see or hear it! Understand?” She looked away from the thrill seekers and the wanna-be PI’s who religiously watched CSI, Enigma, The X Files, The Bourne Identity, The Matrix, or even, The Men in Black, furthermore, any other similar movie where adrenalin is off the charts. “Damn-it! They ought to live inside one of those stories. Maybe they’d change their minds.”

He called her last night. The plan changed like it often does. He wasn’t supposed to ever contact her again. That was the agreement and even though it was a painful one, it kept her safe, for a while anyway. But, he blew it. Her sister lived up to the bargain. She left 50 years ago and never looked back. That’s what working for The Government of The USA will do to a family.

They are after him. Protecting him would put everyone’s lives in jeopardy. Should she take the risk? Should she blow their hidden agenda? Would it cost her life? Was it worth her life or anyone else’s? To tell a truth that was merely a small piece of a huge puzzle that would prove to be minuscule, perhaps insignificant in the grand design of this plan by them, not even Americans, at all, would it be worth all this drama? Would anyone get it, understand or care? After all, human life was totally captured by everyday life and problems and birthing of human babies, marriage and the deaths of the elderly that if a puzzle piece that cost a life were given to them, could they see it? Would they care or comprehend the idea that this life was a facade, a game, a nonspiritual existence that would shatter all the good thoughts about the reasons we live and die and take all reasonable arguments about heaven and hell off all records because the answer would devastate most of us, including the woman.

She had to believe, after all, what else would make life worth living?

So how did this begin? Reflecting on her family ancestry, the furtherest back she could bring some of the enigma together was remembering her father.She was in first or second grade. That was the easiest of times. She wrote a story once about him.

He was a mechanical engineer who graduated after WWII was over. It was around the year 1946 when he graduated top of his class at Georgia Tech. During The Great Depression his Mississippi family became dirt poor. He had to live in California with Old Maid aunts when he was a boy and they raised him strictly, but because of them he did very well professionally.  He went on to design missiles and rockets for Mortan_Thiokol. Some of his work included The Nike series, The Hercules and The Zeus. He loved what he did and couldn’t believe The USA government would pay him, he loved it so much. So, it all began with daddy.

Daddy later had an encounter of the 4th kind. Alien encounter. Apparently the men in Black debriefed him rather abruptly after flying him to Washington, DC within a few hours of the incident. There he was threatened and sworn to secrecy. Except he told the young girl of 7, 8 or 9. Everything. He thought she wouldn’t understand or remember. But, she did.

Now, soon there after, her sister, who spoke 5 languages and her husband who also spoke several languages moved to Santiago, Chile. It was 1966. Not long after there returning back to The USA that the daughter contacted the family and disowned them. The year 1968. She never wrote, called or sent a Christmas Card ever again. However, the mother and father knew she was alive and live in DC, thereafter. The strained daughter never attended a funeral or marriage, birth or any deaths after that letter that ended all family connections.

That letter of farewell was similar to the letter of cease and desist that she was sent by him, her child.