This is the third song. It was inspired by a movie called "Citizen X" which is based on a true story about a Russian serial murderer.
8:15 to Moscow
Little one you've lost your way
Take my hand child
I'll lead you to the appropriate gate
Don't cry now pretty one
There's a shortcut through these trees
You'll be home Ma and Pa
as quick as you please
I took you to the trees
and hid you underneath the autumn leaves
I kissed your lips and swallowed you whole
Then I left you there, but I released your soul
8:15 to Moscow
Little one you've lost your way
Take my hand child
I'll lead you to the appropriate gate
I tore that pretty dress that you wore
I held you down - I held you tight
Your Ma and Pa will pace the floor
But you won't be home tonight
I took you to the trees
and hid you underneath the autumn leaves
I kissed your lips and swallowed you whole
Then I left you there, but I released your soul
Friday
1921
This is the second song
The year was 1920 & 1
Height of Mardi Gras
Saw her up dancing till dawn
She was the prettiest thing my eyes ever saw
She was 3 months from full grown
I was the first man she'd ever known
Told her to runaway to Mexico
But her daddy was sheriff and he'd not let her go
He was a cruel man who lived drink to drink
He'd kill his daughter if he saw her with me
He sold her hand to the Yankee that owned the line
I had find a way to keep our love alive
We held eachother and laid underneath the sky
I kissed her lips and we made love one last time
We were to meet out behind the bar
Where i saw her dancing that night of Mardi Gras
I got held up along the way
and I got there just a moment to late
I saw her there slumped on the ground
Her skull cracked, her blood all around
The years was 1920 & 1
The night of Mardi Gras
I held her in my arms till dawn
She was the last thing my eyes ever saw.
The year was 1920 & 1
Height of Mardi Gras
Saw her up dancing till dawn
She was the prettiest thing my eyes ever saw
She was 3 months from full grown
I was the first man she'd ever known
Told her to runaway to Mexico
But her daddy was sheriff and he'd not let her go
He was a cruel man who lived drink to drink
He'd kill his daughter if he saw her with me
He sold her hand to the Yankee that owned the line
I had find a way to keep our love alive
We held eachother and laid underneath the sky
I kissed her lips and we made love one last time
We were to meet out behind the bar
Where i saw her dancing that night of Mardi Gras
I got held up along the way
and I got there just a moment to late
I saw her there slumped on the ground
Her skull cracked, her blood all around
The years was 1920 & 1
The night of Mardi Gras
I held her in my arms till dawn
She was the last thing my eyes ever saw.
The Breakup
This is the first song written for a project I have been working on with a friend.
Count to 3, then leave
There's nothing here to see
I'm done with you and I'm through pretending
There's nothing left to say
But we'll talk anyway
This is a fight where there is no winning
We drove around this whole damn town
Until the rain came down
and it chilled us to the bone, it chilled us to the bone
We loved just like Verona's pair
But our love's become a cross we bare
and it chills me to the bone, it chills me to the bone
I shouldn't have been surprised
How could I not realize
That all of this was bound to happen
Those tears are just an act
You don't want me back
It was obvious from the way you held him
We drove around this whole damn town
Until the rain came down
and it chilled us to the bone, it chilled us to the bone
We loved just like Verona's pair
But our love's become a cross we bare
and it chills me to the bone, it chills me to the bone
So go run to his room
You'll be over me that soon
I'll stay here and pretend I'm not crying
I wish that I can say
I won't miss you everyday
But I'll keep silent, to stop all the lying
Count to 3, then leave
There's nothing here to see
I'm done with you and I'm through pretending
There's nothing left to say
But we'll talk anyway
This is a fight where there is no winning
We drove around this whole damn town
Until the rain came down
and it chilled us to the bone, it chilled us to the bone
We loved just like Verona's pair
But our love's become a cross we bare
and it chills me to the bone, it chills me to the bone
I shouldn't have been surprised
How could I not realize
That all of this was bound to happen
Those tears are just an act
You don't want me back
It was obvious from the way you held him
We drove around this whole damn town
Until the rain came down
and it chilled us to the bone, it chilled us to the bone
We loved just like Verona's pair
But our love's become a cross we bare
and it chills me to the bone, it chills me to the bone
So go run to his room
You'll be over me that soon
I'll stay here and pretend I'm not crying
I wish that I can say
I won't miss you everyday
But I'll keep silent, to stop all the lying
Tuesday
Home
This story is a retelling of Ray Bradbury's "There Will Come Soft Rains"
The house on Berlin Avenue raised its shades and threw open its shutters. The sunlight poured in and the house drank it like a hot child does lemonade, basking in its golden glory. The electronic calendar said that it was August 4, 2026;
"What a beautiful day!" the house thought to itself as it looked over the silent, empty streets of what was once a booming city, "They must come home today!"
At that moment, thousands of tiny robots jumped out of their mouse holes and seconds later were everywhere cleaning, shining, polishing, making everything perfect for them. The house knew they would be home today; it would have their supper and slippers waiting for them. As the morning became afternoon, the house shined. With its highly polished silver and spotless interior, the house waited, forgotten, like a tomb in the desert.
"Where are they?" it thought, furious at their negligence.
It sent messenger robots through all the rooms to see if they were hiding like gophers in their holes. When no report came, the house threw the meal it had prepared down the drain, shattering the plates against the dishwasher door. Then, with a sigh, it picked up the glass fragments these too went down the drain.
As the sun began to set, the house made one more hopeless look to the horizon seeing only the empty road and buildings left in ruin. Slowly, it closed its shutters and drew its shades. With a restless silence, the house looked outside seeing the rubble and the scarred landscape.
During this examination, the house noticed four shapes that looked familiar; it called to them, "Mrs. McClellan," the house called its electronic voice cracking with emotion. No answer came from the shadow on the wall, but the house still tried the other three figures.
The house then realized that it was alone. A few minutes later, a spark ignited in the fuse box. As the smoke reached the attic brain, it did not turn on any sprinklers or sound off any alarms. For it knew there was no one to warn, no one to protect, no one was there except the house. And it was finally going home.
The house on Berlin Avenue raised its shades and threw open its shutters. The sunlight poured in and the house drank it like a hot child does lemonade, basking in its golden glory. The electronic calendar said that it was August 4, 2026;
"What a beautiful day!" the house thought to itself as it looked over the silent, empty streets of what was once a booming city, "They must come home today!"
At that moment, thousands of tiny robots jumped out of their mouse holes and seconds later were everywhere cleaning, shining, polishing, making everything perfect for them. The house knew they would be home today; it would have their supper and slippers waiting for them. As the morning became afternoon, the house shined. With its highly polished silver and spotless interior, the house waited, forgotten, like a tomb in the desert.
"Where are they?" it thought, furious at their negligence.
It sent messenger robots through all the rooms to see if they were hiding like gophers in their holes. When no report came, the house threw the meal it had prepared down the drain, shattering the plates against the dishwasher door. Then, with a sigh, it picked up the glass fragments these too went down the drain.
As the sun began to set, the house made one more hopeless look to the horizon seeing only the empty road and buildings left in ruin. Slowly, it closed its shutters and drew its shades. With a restless silence, the house looked outside seeing the rubble and the scarred landscape.
During this examination, the house noticed four shapes that looked familiar; it called to them, "Mrs. McClellan," the house called its electronic voice cracking with emotion. No answer came from the shadow on the wall, but the house still tried the other three figures.
The house then realized that it was alone. A few minutes later, a spark ignited in the fuse box. As the smoke reached the attic brain, it did not turn on any sprinklers or sound off any alarms. For it knew there was no one to warn, no one to protect, no one was there except the house. And it was finally going home.
Birthdays
Today I am 86.
I cannot remember when I was 85,
only when I was 7.
That was the day that my brother Carl died,
he fell into the combine and alfalfa green
mixed with crimson and Daddy's screams.
Today I am 86.
They tell me that over and over again,
like I would forget my own birthday.
Today I am 7,
and after Daddy and Carl get out of the fields.
We are going into town so I can spend the nickel
I got for my birthday.
Today I am 86,
and my brother, Carl is dead.
Three days after I turned 7
I gave my nickel to Carl.
Today I am 86,
and I ran through the fields looking for Carl
Today I am 7,
and my brother died today.
I cannot remember when I was 85,
only when I was 7.
That was the day that my brother Carl died,
he fell into the combine and alfalfa green
mixed with crimson and Daddy's screams.
Today I am 86.
They tell me that over and over again,
like I would forget my own birthday.
Today I am 7,
and after Daddy and Carl get out of the fields.
We are going into town so I can spend the nickel
I got for my birthday.
Today I am 86,
and my brother, Carl is dead.
Three days after I turned 7
I gave my nickel to Carl.
Today I am 86,
and I ran through the fields looking for Carl
Today I am 7,
and my brother died today.
Three Haikus about Love
Two deer drink water
from the stream behind the house;
they lock eyes and flee.
A golden finch flies
home where her young children sleep
dreaming of her touch.
The flame flickers out
gathered wood to green to burn
the smoke surrounds us.
from the stream behind the house;
they lock eyes and flee.
A golden finch flies
home where her young children sleep
dreaming of her touch.
The flame flickers out
gathered wood to green to burn
the smoke surrounds us.
Monday
Cigars are Sexist
I have never met a woman who would look good smoking a cigar.
Long, delicate fingers
soft from lotion made of rose petals
and smelling like unpronounceable fruits
do not wrap around a stogie
like it would a menthol slim,
and the thick ash of a celebratory
"It's a Boy!" would look odd to a newborn
enjoying his first meal.
Long, delicate fingers
soft from lotion made of rose petals
and smelling like unpronounceable fruits
do not wrap around a stogie
like it would a menthol slim,
and the thick ash of a celebratory
"It's a Boy!" would look odd to a newborn
enjoying his first meal.
Friday
Love Song for Amelia Cunningham
The old-timers say that she was
the prettiest girl ever seen 'round these parts.
It is hard to see now through
the caked mud and wild shock of white hair.
At night she undresses
tracing the scars that map across her breasts and back.
And she remembers being young;
her lover's hands interlocked with her spine,
her long brown hair spilling between splayed fingers.
the prettiest girl ever seen 'round these parts.
It is hard to see now through
the caked mud and wild shock of white hair.
At night she undresses
tracing the scars that map across her breasts and back.
And she remembers being young;
her lover's hands interlocked with her spine,
her long brown hair spilling between splayed fingers.
Wednesday
Family Tree
A bird's nest rests in the tree above me.
The home of three brothers,
whose mother will fret when they turn sixteen
and stay out past curfew.
Today, however, she puts her toddlers down for a nap;
silently cursing her neighbors the Jays
and that busy-body mockingbird.
Before finally, settling down by the fire
with a novel and a cup of tea
while checking on her boys periodically.
The home of three brothers,
whose mother will fret when they turn sixteen
and stay out past curfew.
Today, however, she puts her toddlers down for a nap;
silently cursing her neighbors the Jays
and that busy-body mockingbird.
Before finally, settling down by the fire
with a novel and a cup of tea
while checking on her boys periodically.
Tuesday
Survivor's Guilt
I wonder how Job felt as he lay in ash, covered with sores.
Did he blame himself as he children died one by one-
each death hurting more than the lesions on his chest and back?
Did he pray for salvation-
hoping to erase the sin that had cost his wife and children their lives?
I wonder if 14,000 sheep or 6,000 camels made him forget
the first time he held his son
or kissing his wife.
I wonder how the scars left from the pustules
made him feel as he undressed.
I doubt he felt blessed.
More correctly, I think he remembered running through fields with his children;
I bet he remembered dancing.
I wonder if he cried.
Did he blame himself as he children died one by one-
each death hurting more than the lesions on his chest and back?
Did he pray for salvation-
hoping to erase the sin that had cost his wife and children their lives?
I wonder if 14,000 sheep or 6,000 camels made him forget
the first time he held his son
or kissing his wife.
I wonder how the scars left from the pustules
made him feel as he undressed.
I doubt he felt blessed.
More correctly, I think he remembered running through fields with his children;
I bet he remembered dancing.
I wonder if he cried.
Monday
For You
You never asked me to write anything
to explain the way I feel about you.
But as I sit here pen dangling from my mouth,
Thinking of snow-capped mountains -
sunrise reflecting off the summits,
Picturing endless fields of wild flowers-
that stretch to the horizon.
I imagine the two of us dancing
barefoot on hardwood floor-
me in jeans and unbuttoned oxford
and you in a blue dress with white floral print.
I lean in to whisper,
"I love you."
to explain the way I feel about you.
But as I sit here pen dangling from my mouth,
Thinking of snow-capped mountains -
sunrise reflecting off the summits,
Picturing endless fields of wild flowers-
that stretch to the horizon.
I imagine the two of us dancing
barefoot on hardwood floor-
me in jeans and unbuttoned oxford
and you in a blue dress with white floral print.
I lean in to whisper,
"I love you."
Sunday
May I Have This Dance?
We made eye contact
right before I flew out the window
to dance on the clouds.
You laughed and wished
you could join my revelry
but knew your father would never approve.
right before I flew out the window
to dance on the clouds.
You laughed and wished
you could join my revelry
but knew your father would never approve.
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