Family Home

This was originally for a flash fiction contest so no more than 600 words this is 570. 

Alicia Bennett liked being a ghost the majority of the time. She never aged, and she got to see the tiny town of Blackburn go through so many changes. She did hate that she never got to go dancing and often wondered what it would be like to haunt a dance hall forever dressed in a fancy ballroom dress getting twirled around by a tall handsome stranger. She hated always being alone in the drafty old house. And although she never told the other spirits that she met occasionally, the lucky ones that got to walk around outside, she sometimes missed the sun's warmth on her cheek and the smell of flowers that she used to keep in her yard. Everything changed though when the Olsens moved into her home.

Mrs. Olsen was pregnant and Alicia could see that her and Mr. Olsen were very young and very much in love. She promised herself that she would help them and make her home their home. She cringed when the agent told them about her suicide. She knew for sure that the agent's story would scare them away and ruin all her plans. she almost clapped her hands in glee when the Olsens came back after a few minutes of talking time to take the house.

The Olsens came back the very next day and began working on the house. They painted the rooms, fixed the doors and cleaned the attic. They set mouse traps and cut the lawn. They fixed that annoying faucet and the insulation so the house was cozy and warm for the upcoming winter. Alicia helped the best she could; she held boards down so Mr. Olsen, Jay, could saw them and then she helped put them in just the right spot; she helped Mrs. Olsen, Amy, paint and decorate the nursery putting the letters in order for the baby's name and a beautiful poem above the crib. The Olsens occasionally talked about how things were working perfectly almost like the had an extra pair of hands; Alicia listened and laughed quietly.

When the finally brought little Eva home, Alicia fell in love with the pudgy little girl. She felt like she finally had a family and knew what love and happiness meant. She would stare for hours at this precious gift and occasionally Eva would make eye contact with her then gurgle and coo seeming to Alicia that Eva loved her as much as she loved that precious green eyed babe. She felt bad for Jay and Amy though the baby cried all through the night and her two friends never seemed to get any sleep.

One night she decided to help out and turned off the baby monitor and every time little Eva cried she would hold her, rocking and singing her back to sleep. She was doing exactly that when she heard the scream. She turned holding little Eva close to her bosom and saw Amy in the doorway.

“Get away from my daughter!” the crazed woman screamed.

Alicia was heartbroken and Amy grabbed the child from her limp grip. That night they left. Movers came and got the furniture. Leaving Alicia all alone again.

The other ghosts laughed about how she must have really scared them and clapped her congratulatory on the back. She smiled thinly and nodded and never told them that she wished ghosts could still cry.  

The Ark

This is a comic that I have been working on for quite a while thinking about picking it back up tell me what you think of page 1.

Two Headed Boy Pt. 2 - Neutral Milk Hotel

From one of the greatest albums of all time if you do not own it buy it here. Do it now.


Daddy please, hear this song that I sing.
In your heart there's a spark that just screams,
For a lover to bring a child to your chest,
That could lay as you sleep and love all you have left,
Like your boy used to be, long ago,
Wrapped in sheets warm and wet.

Blister please, with those wings in your spine.
Love to be with a brother of mine.
How he'd love to find your tongue in his teeth,
In a struggle to find secret songs that you keep,
Wrapped in boxes so tight, sounding only at night as you sleep.

And in my dreams you're alive and you're crying,
As your mouth moves in mine, soft and sweet.
Rings of flowers round your eyes and I love you,
For the rest of your life (when you're ready).

Brother see, we are one in the same.
And you left with your head filled with flames,
And you watched as your brains fell out through your teeth.
Push the pieces in place.
Make your smile sweet to see.
Don't you take this away.
I'm still wanting my face on your cheek.

And when we break we'll wait for our miracle.
God is a place where some holy spectacle lies.
And when we break we'll wait for our miracle.
God is a place you will wait for the rest of your life.

Two-headed boy, she is all you could need.
She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires,
And retire to sheets safe and clean,
But don't hate her when she gets up to leave.

Two Headed Boy Pt. 1 - Neutral Milk Hotel

Two-headed boy
All floating in glass
The sun it is past
Now it's blacker than black
I can hear as you tap on your jar
I am listening to hear where you are
I am listening to hear where you are

Two-headed boy
Put on Sunday shoes
And dance round the room to accordion keys
With the needle that sings in your heart
Catching signals that sound in the dark
Catching signals that sound in the dark
We will take off our clothes
And they'll be placing fingers through the notches in your spine
And when all is breaking everything that you could keep inside
Now your eyes ain't moving now
They just lay there in their climb

Two-headed boy
With pulleys and weights
Creating a radio played just for two
In the parlor with a moon across her face
And through the music he sweetly displays
Silver speakers that sparkle all day
Made for his lover who's floating and choking with her hands across her face
And in the dark we will take off our clothes
And they'll be placing fingers through the notches in your spine
And when all is breaking everything that you could keep inside
Now your eyes ain't moving now
They just lay there in their climb

Two-headed boy
There's no reason to grieve
The world that you need is wrapped in gold silver sleeves
Left beneath Christmas trees in the snow
I will take you and leave you alone
Watching spirals of white softly flow
Over your eyelids and all you did
Will wait until the point when you let go

The Cigar Girl

This is a new song that my brother and I wrote.

Sweet Mary, they found you in the Hudson Bay;
arms tied round you back and strangled with lace.
Bruises dotting your face, hands staining your hips
His cold blooded name, dead on your lips

Payne made you a promise to love and protect
and her blamed himself for the lace 'round your neck
With the kiss of a pill; nothing left but a note.
"I'm so sorry baby." The last thing he wrote

Oh Mary, Sweet Mary,
who did this to you?
The author? Your fiance?
Or the sailor that you knew?
With your dying breath
did you cry out to me?
Cause your cry is carried
by the waves of the sea.

People say you were walking with a dark, handsome man
Deep in the woods, hand holding hand
Could it have been the stranger named Poe
whose deathbed plea, "Lord help my poor soul."
His young wife near death, he was drowning in grief
Did he ever call you his Annabel Lee?

Oh Mary, Sweet Mary,
who did this to you?
The author? Your fiance?
Or the sailor that you knew?
With your dying breath
did you cry out to me?
Cause your cry is carried
by the waves of the sea.

Oh Mary, Sweet Mary,
I did this to you
Not the author. Nor fiance.
Not the sailor you once knew.
With your dying breath
you pleaded with me.
Now your cry is carried
by the waves of the sea.

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House - Billy Collins

This is by Billy Collins; he is one of my favorite writers and has been a huge influence on my writing for as long as I can remember. This particular piece comes from his book, The Apple That Astonished Paris, which can be purchased here. I definitely recommend him to everyone who enjoys great poetry.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Lot's Wife - Anna Akhmatova

This is simply a great poem and was a huge influence on my poem Survivor's Guilt. Buy Anna Akhmatova's complete works here.

 And the just man trailed God's shining agent,
over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:
"It's not too late, you can still look back.

at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed."

A single glance: a sudden dart of pain
stitching her eyes before she made a sound . . .
Her body flaked into transparent salt,
and her swift legs rooted to the ground.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem
too insignificant for our concern?
Yet in my heart I never will deny her,
who suffered death because she chose to turn.

Sunrise Theory

I used to wake up when the sun would first begin to rise
the first rays of sunlight would cover her
setting her red hair on fire.
On mornings like this, we would get up early,
and eat breakfast outside watching the sun begin its trek across the sky.
That is when I miss her the most.
It was late and she was driving home from Miami,
we spent a week there wrapped in each others arms.
On the beach, I asked her to marry me during one of our breakfast mornings,
She gave her answer with one of her perfect kisses.
I still see her in dreams, she comes, wakes me and whispers,
"I love you."
But she is always gone by sunrise.

Let Down Your Hair

I saw a girl today,
staring at me through the attic window
of a house her grandparents must own.
Her eyes sapphires piercing the window grime.
I doubt she is interested in me,
and probably just enjoys the way the sun warms her cheek
when she presses it against the double-paned glass.
I saw her again at dusk,
brushing her long blond hair.
I thought about Rapunzel.

You Belong to Me Page 4

Panel 1

Gabe: I wonder what he meant by

Panel 2

Caption: His Ladylove

Panel 3

Picasso: See the pyramids along the Nile
 Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle.

Panel 4

Picasso: Just remember, darlin’ all the while

Panel 5

Caption: You belong to me.

You Belong to Me Page 3

Panel 1

Wilkes: The media has started calling this bastard Picasso—Fucking ambulance chasers.

Gabe: Isn’t that a slur for lawyers?

Wilkes: Fuck off—don’t you have more important things to worry about.

Panel 2

Gabe: Who killed you Miss Parker?
—Tell me and I’ll make him stop.

Panel 4

Picasso: I believe you have something that belongs to my ladylove.

You Belong to Me Page 2

Panel 1

Caption: This is the 5th one since November; the media is going to castrate us.

Gabe: Why can’t I see him?

Panel 3

Caption: I’ve always hated this part-walking through the houses, it gives me the chills like I am walking on someone’s grave.

You Belong to Me Page 1

This is a comic book I started working on, it died out quickly but here is Page 1 of about 4, the dialogue, etc is listed by panel. Sorry if it is hard to read, I hope you like it.

Panel 1

Caption: Daphne can sleep through almost anything. A tornado could tear apart the house around her and she wouldn’t as so much turn away from the debris.

—But the minute I get out of bed…

Panel 2

Daphne: Gabe what is going on?

Gabe: He got another one.

Daphne: Did Wilkes call?

Gabe: He’s about to.

Panel 3

(phone vibrating)

Panel 4

Gabe: Okay, Frank – give me the address one more time.
—1708 Chestnut, I’ll be there right away.

Panel 5

Gabe: I love you Daph.

Daphne: I love you too—be careful Gabriel Damus

Gabe: bread and butter

Annabel Lee - Edgar Allen Poe

This is one of the best poems ever written, and is one of the main reasons I started writing.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Monster

I didn't want to hurt anyone,
when I split the first atom.
I didn't know the power of the weapon I had made.
I have since seen the ruins of Hiroshima,
and the family portraits burnt on stone.
I have seen families destroyed by death—
I have seen the ashes that were life.
I saw the devil at Bikini Atoll and at Oak Ridge, Tennessee.
I see him know; smirk on his lips
staring at me from the mirror.
I have created a monster-
I am Victor Frankenstein;
I will soon meet his fate.
I see the world ending in a flash of light and a cloud of dust.
I have been afraid before but never like this.
I am the monster.
I have killed thousands with my ignorance,
even more with my brilliance.
I have become death, the destroyer of worlds.

Waiting

She looks through the Venetian blinds
 where her lovely town used to be,
She used to see children playing baseball or tag.
And they would eat the cookies she baked.
She still bakes somedays,
others she sits on her windowsill.
Looking for God to fix his mistake,
Death has taken her town,
and now she waits for him to come.
She'll see him through the Venetian blinds.

Blind Mice

I like to pretend that I am blind.
Feeling my way around a familiar room--
counting steps between sofa and television,
a discarded broomstick a makeshift cane.
Curiosity and fear usually get to me before my intended goal
and I cheat looking for a coffee table or wandering canine
that has found its way into my path.

That is the excuse.

In the dark I feel claustrophobic,
trapped in the darkness, alone.
Horrible weight pressing down on me,
like six feet of dirt on decorated pine.

Wishful Thinking

I found myself wondering,
Why you always part you hair
where one eye is hidden from my view?
I probably should have chalked it up as fashion, but
I thought disfiguring childhood accidents,
and red robotic eyes scanning the room for Connors,
I began to imagine that you were starring at me from the cover of bangs,
The two of us the last people on earth that matter
dancing on a sinking ship
catching us in the moment,
Forever.

A Wedding Gift

I assume my invitation was lost in the mail-
with no RSVP all tables will be full.
Still, I arrive at the ceremony at the correct time
to take my place on the Bride's side of the sanctuary.
Ignoring the open-mouthed stares
and the sharp intakes of breath
Concentrating instead,
on bare feet rhythmically slapping on hardwood;
on brushing away the discomfort of the cold pew on my upper thigh.
The smooth, worn surface resting comfortably against my spine,
I wait in silence.

The opening strands of organ signal your arrival.

I stand, directly in your path
my arms spread like wings,my legs akimbo
Standing, like da Vinci's Vitruvian man
Baring my flesh, baring my soul.
Locking on you eyes

So I can become the man who ruined your wedding.
So I won't be the man who will always love you anymore.

Dirty Valentine - Richard Siken

This is something I wish I had written. It is available in Siken's book Crush which is available on amazon.com.

There are so many things I'm not allowed to tell you
I touch myself, i dream.
Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretending
that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands,
these shins, these soapy flanks.
The musicians start the overture while i hide behind the microphone, trying to match the dubbing
to the big lips shining down from the screen.
We're filming the movie called "Planet of Love" -
there's sex of course, and ballroom dancing, fancy clothes and waterlilies in the pond, and half the night you're
a dependable chap, mounting the stairs in lamplight to the bath, but then the too white teeth all night
all over the American Sky, too much to bear, this constant fingering, your hands a river gesture, the birds in flight, the birds still singing outside the greasy window, in the trees