Friday, August 29, 2014

Holo Grammy, Finale

The Molotov Cocktails had landed on three of the leading tanks hitting the
napalm canisters and ignited. The halon fire suppression on those three tanks failed to
contain the flames. Fred’s tank was the first to go. Two more of the five tanks burst into
flames and exploded.
“We’re under attack. It’s a trap.” One of the remaining tank commanders radioed.
“No one told us there would be resistance,” the other commander radioed back.
“We didn’t sign up for this. This is a game changer. Fuck them all.”
The two remaining tanks stopped, jettisoned their napalm canisters and began
to pull back. The gunners kept the turrets sweeping back and forth shooting in a random
fashion. All the POWs had disappeared. There was no small arms fire. The only sound
was the whoosh of flames leaping from the burning armor, the occasional rounds cooking
off followed by the stench of petrol based fluids, rubber and eventually cooked flesh.
Not every soldier felt that way the commanders did. Some had family in those
camps. They kept their mouths shut. It was a job.

Peter stood in front of a small group of oldies. They were in the basement of a
small building in an undisclosed and shielded location. All of the oldies were armed.
Many were former military too. Peter had shown them a video of the battle with the
tanks. He also knew who commanded the lead tank.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” he said. “This is how we can stop them, if only for a
while. We will have to acquire better weapons and find people on the outside we can trust
to help us. We will need their support. The state has a near monopoly on force. But if we
just lie down...” he let it rest. He knew his history.
Peter was interrupted. “Why are you, a young man with promise, assisting us?
We’re old and...”
Peter put his hand up to stop him. He said, “A religious man was my first teacher,
No I take that back, my Grammy was. She taught me things most people today never
learn. I read all the old papers of state. I studied the history of the Republic that came
before this one and of its battles. I know what’s right. And I know of others who feel the
same way” He was interrupted again.
“Your Grammy?” someone asked. There was some laughter in the room.
“Yes, my Grammy,” he said smiling and tears running down his face. There were
chuckles throughout the room, and nods in his direction.

Holy Grammy Pt. I

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Dragon Spine

Her cold fingers tingled my dragon-spine.
I quivered.
She was exploring, seeking and I held back. It was pitch black, no moon, and her features are invisible to me.
Still, she probed the deepest,  I waited.  She would be like all the others. She would be gone not able to gain entrance.  In the cold, dark, hiding, I could wait. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I stood against her,
sentry to the gate.
They would not have to ever worry as long as I was here.
Yet, an eternity, she wouldn’t leave, surrounding me with darkness, from the top down slowly enveloping me and looking for that entrance,
she touched she probed,
And enveloped
Cold fingers, colder than I have ever experienced, I shivered. Me, the cold guardian, I shivered. She felt it!
My skin matches the temperature of the surrounding plain. It is done in order to maintain existence. Ice crystals form on my body, but are of no concern. They are shaken off, they slide off,
part of my protective sheath.
Her touch is colder yet. This is new, the desire, the unflagging effort, where does it come from?
I have never met one such as this.
The sun arises and she is gone. I know when the planet revolves to dark and the other suns shine their feeble brightness she will be back.
What do I anticipate? What am I looking forward to? Do I want her to be successful, to make, Love?
in her own universal manner?
Can I resist the constant probing night after night, time after time?
This will not be her world.
And she comes again,
not a sound just a touch here…. and there and then, that enveloping again so slowly and carefully. I do not give in. No entrée for you,
My dragon- spine tingles with anticipation.
Maybe she’s the one I’ve been waiting for? Be ready to greet her properly!
All these years, a sentry has been
Not from  boredom.
They all give up and leave, probe and leave, probe and leave. It is too easy.  I have nothing to do but stand guard. They cannot go through me. I am the gate keeper, the sentry, protector of the world
I come
And again
she is back only, something is different. The temperature is warmer. Her touch is warmer.  I have never felt this warmth. It is melting the resistance and I can not hold back.  She is the one I have been sent to protect against. Her warm evil is compounded by her wisdom, skill and … a new trick, she surrounds me with that warmth, the heat.
The explosion could have been heard throughout the ice kingdom.
“We have been breached. To the next dimension, escape now.” That message is relayed to a dead frozen world, but it is too late.
The smoldering sentry, feet planted firmly on the slowly melting, snow encrusted planet are the only things that remains of this sentient, guardian and created being.
She looks for the next set of resistance. Life is what she brings to the cold hearted ones.
She always wins in the end.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Holo Grammy, Part III

CHAPTER IV, About Ten Years Later
They weren’t all dead. The Past Old Workers, no longer contributing to the needs of society, were housed in Retirement Resorts. Past Old Workers and Retirement Resorts were the official names that he knew first hand. Fred remembered that day with his brother too. He had been so naïve then. Yes he had been correct in his sense of things, but reality was another thing all together. The planet needed people like him with sense and dedication to a moral and just cause.  
He turned the volume up to maximum on the satellite radio. The music kept out the sound of the thud of the bodies as his tank hit them and their screams under his treads. A 100 tons could really mess up your weekend plans, he laughed to himself.  He considered combat in the senior ghetto, against the Oldies, always a messy affair.  The soldiers called them oldies or POW’s, if only among themselves. The terms were used against all those that strained the resources of the planet and no longer mattered.
The small groups that had the independent resources to pay their way, or were still contributing to the good of the planet, were left to live as they chose. And these were the ones the propaganda machine utilized to assure the populations that their loved ones were doing just fine.  
That falsehood coupled with the improved holographic technology, one that captured each new POW in their entirety, allowed a Turing machine like response to family calls. It made the lie complete.  Visits were always promised, but for some official new reason for every request, never consummated.  The families never spoke up. They just accepted the official explanations
“Thank god”, said Fred and he laughed at the term god.  It was a term that would not go away no matter what was dictated by the authorities, “Thank god for satellite radio and especially for automated vehicle Wash & Decontam.”  Cleaning the tank manually after one of these excursions was disgusting at best.  The oldies could really gum up the works.
His gunner slewed the turret and immolated another group charging his tank, named Autodafe.  That name was painted in red/orange letters across the turret. “Shotguns and light semi-automatic weapons were they crazy?” he shouted to his gunner, as another group of oldies attacked from the rear. “They were either stubborn, or senile. They had no right to exist. They were drags on the planet.” Everyone knew that. 
“Kill them all. We’re wasting ammunition even doing this. We should just run them the fuck over,” shouted his driver.
“Fire in the hole,” laughed his gunner.  Another group of Oldies was incinerated.  They all laughed.
“Okay which building are they supposed to be holed up in and is next on the list? Give me the coordinates. We’ll end this group once and for all” commanded Fred. The five tanks sat there idling while the crews discussed the day’s events and some government sponsored event, and waited for Frank to give the orders to attack.
Glass crashed against the back of the tank. They all heard a thunk and the tinkle of glass over the idling engine as bits of the glass got sucked into the intake and chewed up.
“What was that, a beer bottle? What a bunch of idiots.” One of the crew asked. The gunner was about to swivel the turret. He was in no hurry. A fucking bottle he thought. What’s next, a baseball bat? He slowly turned the turret to the right and with a light 5.56 machine gun, cut a few of them down.
The com went on, “Lead tank you have….”
The fire alert and suppression system went on. Was his tank was burning.  Fred’s only words, “What the….?”   

Monday, August 18, 2014


Writing Swiss cheese and Genoa salami,
I eat poetry for nourishment.
Thinking cereal, yogurt and berries,
I eat words for dinner.
Observing OJ and coffee,
I drink thoughts as a morning start-up.

Quarks and communication, yumm.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Dust Bunnies

Dust bunnies come and dust bunnies go.
Where do they come from, can we show?
That very question was asked some days ago,
and posed to minds that ought to know:
Perplexed, puzzled, and  furrowed brow.
Eyes crossed with purpose and wonder, strained.
No answer forth coming, dumb as snow.
“As a fact, this we know.”
“They grow in corners, under sofas and couches.”
“As a fact, this we know.”
“They can double in size in a day or so.”
Again we’re asked,
“What do they eat? Where do they sleep?”
“Ah, um, ah …”
Another mind stumping,
exercise treat.
“But, they’ve got no feet!
Where are their ears”
“They’re faster than brooms.
They scoot in front or slip around.”
“And got no toes!”
“They scoot in front or slip around,
sliding so fast,  scamper to another room.
All the while,
they ride on the backs of dogs and cats.
Dare I say, they play with mice when you’re away.”
Quickly… they…collapse,
your guard comes down
touch to grab,
they jump-flit-away! They’re gone.
Playing peek-a-boo,
Do It All Over Again.
“You have a cure?”
It’s no use they’ll get away!
It always happens. There’s no…..!!!
Varoooom, varooom,  all gone, all gone.
“I got me, ha-ha-ha , an electric broom.”

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Some times an explanation is nice...

One night, a few years ago, My step daughter and her husband came home later than expected. My wife and I were watching her daughters. We thought they were asleep. This is some of the conversation set to verse when older one met her mom at the door. And the picture is based upon one photo in a  triptych my wife took. She's a nut case with a camera. This one sort of matched the poem. I had another one which when I completed it I decided to save for either a story or a poem yet to be written.

Saturday, August 9, 2014



BOO BOO BUNNY why are you still up?




You were out      and

I was     in.

And couldn’t close my eyes     till when

You came home and

and kissed me tight

gave me a hug and

said good night.



BOO BOO BUNNY your mama’s here

I’ll turn out the light

Take care of you have no fear…


I’m okay  well anyway,


Here’s a kiss now to bed you go

See you when Mary Sunshine shows.