Cap-Ture

Traditionally a concept not worth viewing
His mind not of the seventh tradition
Basically a leader among the minute and poor
Leaving his mark staying behind for more
Painting a picture of red and blues
Blood and makeup thrown across canvas
Telling the story no one wants to hear
Making a blame of your own self and being

The ridicule is too much for a man
So the flight of many birds is a storm
A tornado that sweeps through and devastates
A thunder cloud that burns its mighty crown
The rain forward showers blankets of sheets
Rice and ice, a pool of flooding fur and shame
It is not for one to cry out nothing
But for all to keep quietly to themselves

So a disaster, holding in my arms
Like a bowl of envy and worry and hate
Dropped into a pit of the human souls
A box of evils that you can release and
Only one can tame and control, but not keep
Such a light to stop the dark, it is there
But you hide from it, dwelling in pity
You rule out all need for sanctity and measure

So back up, the shore is creeping towards you
Grasping at your feet and ankles craning its neck
It has to eat, you have to feed
It has to swallow you whole before it grows
If you want to be free, the chains are broken
The clouds will cry, the wind will be hesitant
The shouting won't end, but you will die
All death will take up
And then eternal life...

What a weird dream...

He switched the station and looked down at the cup of juice in his hand.  He swirled it around and then took a sip.  He rolled his eyes.  It was warm.  It was so hot out the ice had melted and the drink had warmed up.  It was so hot out he was sweating just sitting down.  He watched as the talk-show host prattled on about something that was of no importance.  There was nothing good on the television.  The room smelled too.  It smelled like week old Chinese delivery, and possibly a mixture of old pizza and bad milk.  The windows had stayed closed, the blinds drawn, the only light coming in through the skylight overhead.  But it was so caked with dirt and muck that it barely let in any light anymore.  He looked down again.  There were stains on his sweatpants...they probably smelled a bit too.  His shirt stank for sure, though it had fewer stains; mostly it was just wrinkled and squashed, a few holes in it here and there.  But he really didn't care.  It didn't much matter what he looked like.  He hadn't left his house in over a week.  He hadn't even answered the phone, and there were countless messages beeping for his attention.  His voice box was full he was pretty sure.  But he really didn't care at all.  No one had come to visit him...at least not that he knew of.  He sort of tuned out any sound other than the television, and his door was padlocked.  But obviously no one cared, or they would have tried harder to see if he was alright.  But hey, he didn't care.

He woke up with a start and looked around the room.  It was clean.  He squinted as bright sunshine shone in through the window, which was now open with the blinds drawn back.  Fresh air streamed in and a fan was set up across the room, helping to keep the air circulating.  The smell had been much reduced, and was now replaced by the slight smell of lavender from a purple candle that was lit on the small table next to the couch.

His cloths were the same, still stained, wrinkled and ripped.  He sat up.  The television was off and he heard someone in the kitchen.  He walked towards the noise of dishes being moved about and entered through the doorway.  Standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes and humming quietly to herself was his wife.  She was dressed in one of her short, low cut summer dresses with the flowery pattern.  She had flat bottom shoes on and her curly, brown hair was hanging loosely around her face.  She looked up when he walked in and smiled at him.

"Look who finally woke up!" she said playfully.  He looked puzzled.  She cocked her head to the side.  "What's wrong honey?  You look like you've see a ghost."

"Are...you...you a ghost?" he asked frightened.

"Silly...what are you talking about?"

"You're...you're dead...I saw you...you were dead..."

"Do I look dead to you?  Honestly...you must have been having a bad dream is all!  I'm perfectly fine, standing right here in front of you!"  She dried her hands and walked up to him and kissed him on the lips.  

"You feel real enough..."

"Of course I do, you silly boy...but goodness, you need to brush your teeth and take a shower baby, you're smelly."  She rolled her eyes and tapped him on the nose and went back to the dishes.  

He turned and went into the bedroom.  He undressed and stepped into the shower.  He washed up, shaved, and brushed his teeth and then put a pair of clean jeans a t-shirt on.  He looked at himself in the mirror before he left the room.  He looked much better now.  He went back to the kitchen.  His wife was now standing at the counter chopping vegetables for soup.  He walked up behind her and put his arm around her and began kissing her neck gently.  

"I'm sorry...I guess I had a dream and was just a little groggy still..." he said in between kisses.

"Obviously!" she said with a laugh as she turned and kissed him.  They kissed a bit more and then she looked at him, still smiling happily.  "What shall we do today?"

"I don't know...maybe go to the park?  How about a picnic?"

"Oh good choice...we haven't been on a picnic in a while!  Let me finish getting the soup ready for dinner tonight, then I'll pack us a lunch and we'll go."

"I'll go pack up the car?"

"Sure!"  she turned back to the soup and he gave her one last kiss on the cheek before going out to the garage to grab the picnic supplies.

As he loaded up the car a man in a dark suit approached him.

"Mr. Gable?" the man said.

"Yes?" he replied turning to face the man.

"May I ask what you're doing?"

"...I'm going on a picnic with my wife...who are you?"

"Detective Rice with the Branson PD.  Why don't you come with me a moment."

"Why?  What did I do?" he was starting to feel nervous...something didn't feel right.

"You've done nothing...I just would like to talk with you."

"We can talk here..." he said.

"Who's there honey?" asked his wife coming out of the house.

"A detective Rice, he's with the police...I'm not sure what's wrong..."

"Who are you speaking to?" asked Rice.

"...My wife..." he said looking from his wife to Detective Rice.

"Mr. Gable...your wife...she's dead..."

"What?" he said almost laughing.  "She's right here!  Is this some sort of joke?  Alright, who put you up to this, buddy?"

"Mr. Gable...your wife died a week ago...no one has heard from you since...your neighbors said you were still in your home...but we've been keeping an eye on you...your sister is worried about you..."

"No...my wife...she's right here...honey, tell him you're right here..." he said turning to his wife.

"I'm here Detective Rice...I'm as alive as you are!" she said with a look of disbelief.

Detective Rice looked at Gable as he continued to talk to thin air.  The man was crazy.  A week of solitude after his wife's death had sent him over the edge.  Rice had seen this happen once before, and this was just as sad as the first time.  

"Mr. Gable...please just come with me...you can go on a picnic with your wife when you get home..."  Gable looked at Detective Rice and then said goodbye to his wife.  He kissed the air and then followed Rice to the car across the street.  Rice put him in the front seat and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Bye honey!" called Gable from the car as they pulled away. "I'll be home later, I love you!"

Constant

The bus pulls up to the stop and I climb aboard as I have done for the past few months.  It's nothing new, and I am quite used to it by now.  But this time there is a man on the bus that I have not seen before.  I don't know him at all, but for some reason I like him.  Maybe it is just because of his appearance.  He's dressed in slacks with a pair of nice dress shoes, a button-up shirt tucked in and a belt.  He has a solid, manly beard, and on his head he is wearing a neat, old-fashioned hat.  Everything about him seems to shout integrity, hard-working, honesty, and I just like him.  It's sort of weird.

I sit down, and nod at the man, he returns a nod.  That is all.

The next time I see him, I am once again impressed by his appearance, and for some reason am glad he is aboard the bus.  I sit down and once again there is no real interaction between us except that we acknowledge one another.  I know he remembers me, just as I remember him, though I doubt he has the same strange fascination with me as I do with him.  So once again, a quiet bus ride home, nothing new.

The next time I see him, we actually talk briefly.  I compliment him on his hat, and we exchange the usual pleasantries that are often exchanged by strangers who dare to speak to one another.  The exchange is short, but friendly, and I am happy with it.  I wonder if maybe we will introduce ourselves next time.

But then next time is met with a simple nod and smile from him.  He knows me now for sure, by my face.  But we do not talk this time.  I decide that either we will continue this usual acknowledgment of one another or one day actually know each other's names.  Either way, I don't mind, so long as he is there.  Why?  I have no idea.  I guess, this total stranger has just become a common thing in my life.  He's become a constant.

Waiting Reason

Waiting, hopelessly waiting
A simple predicament, a valid excuse of reason

Causing pondering, wandering of the mind
A not lasting fear, a hope of treason

Crowds made up of a various kind
Speaking voices honestly bound in a gloomy season

Happenings, whispers, solid sounds of echoing footsteps
Breaking the soul for no apparent reason

The Flesh Eaters and Sleeping Gorgeous

The swamp bubbled sickeningly and the moon cast strange shadows across the surface.  Some dark clouds floated menacingly about the sky, and what stars could be seen were faint and unfriendly looking.  The dead trees that stood as sentinels on the shore around the swamp had branches like claws and their trunks had eerie knots and twists in the wood that made them look like they had faces.  The only sounds were that of the thick swamp mud churning and the howl of wolves in the distance.  There was a very slight breeze and a fowl stench filled the air.

A cloaked and hooded figure stood on the edge of the swamp, face hidden in shadow, eyes faintly glowing a dreadful shade of blue.  The figure stood absolutely still, watching the center of the swamp as if waiting for something to happen there.  After a few moments the swamp mud began to bubble and spit more violently and slowly a second cloaked figure rose from the muck.  It rose out of the slush and slowly glided over the surface to where the other figure stood.  The made a soft hissing noise at each other and then made their way away from the swamp towards the trees that grew thicker until they were enclosed by dead tree after dead tree in a small forest.  The moon was blotted out by the man branches that hung over the two hooded figures like hands waiting to snatch them up.  The figures walked silently through the forest until they came to an open area.  It was flooded with moonlight and the large rectangular stone table in the middle of the clearing was lit up brightly.  Tied to the table was the body of a beautiful woman.  A lifeless, motionless body that was pale and stiff.  The eyes were staring endlessly into nothing.  The two figures approached and stood on either side of the stone table.

"The others shall be arriving soon," hissed one of the figures to the other.

"Good," it hissed back.

They stood still and silent for almost an hour before more hooded figures began to emerge from the trees.  They all gathered in a large circle around the body tied to the table.  One figure, taller than all the rest spoke up in its hissing sort of voice.

"Brothers," it began, "we have been in hiding for hundreds of years.  The light kept us away.  Cowering in our holes, in crevices, in he deep murk of the swamp.  But now, our time has come to emerge.  The darkness is taking over once again.  Tonight, we perform the Flesh-Eating Ceremony, causing the darkness to become more powerful destroy all light.  Brothers...let the Ceremony begin.  Feast on the flesh of this lifeless mortal."

The Flesh Eaters began to move in towards the body on the table.  Then out of the forest burst a bright light.  A tall, broad-chested man astride a snow white horse rushed forth, followed by other mounted knights as well.  The leader was dressed in golden armor with silvery-white trimming.  The other knights were armored in white armor, all mounted white steeds.  They trampled down the dark hooded figures, cutting at them with shining blades of glory.  After the short battle the leader dismounted and approached the woman's body tied to the table.  He drew a silver dagger from his belt and cut her bonds.

"The Lady Emily!" said the knights as they bowed on their knees.

"Is she...dead, my lord?"  asked one knight looking up at the leader.

"No, she is not," he said sheathing his dagger.  "She is merely sleeping, but she is close to death."

"What can we do?"  asked the knights.

"You can do nothing...but I...I shall kiss her upon her lips, and breath life back into her body," and with that the leader bent over and kissed her.  Her skin became colored again and she began to move.  Her eyes closed and then opened again as if she was just waking up.  The leader stepped back looking at her lovingly.  She smiled at him and sat up.

"Thank you brave knights," she spoke to them all.  "You have rescued me and shall all be rewarded greatly.  Not only that, but you have destroyed the dark lords of the underworld and helped restore light to our kingdom once again!"

The knights all cheered and mounted their horses and began to ride back towards the castle.  The lead knight mounted his horse and held his hand to the Lady Emily.  She smiled and took it and he pulled her into th back of his horse, and they rode forth into the light.

Tickle Me Pink

On a blood red sky is painted your hands
They're spread wide in a flowing manner
Scooping the moon and stars into your eyes
The sun has swallowed your voice
Your skin is glowing from the ocean salt
It makes you sparkle and shine like a gem
Gingerly so gingerly you walk along the beach
Your hair blowing in the sea breeze
The sand isn't like normal sand, it is soft
It feels like silk over the skin, soft to the touch
I am breathing, softly and slowly
Taking in the uplifting moment
I'm happy, for what feels the first time
We're together, on an adventure
With the real world at our heels
We forget time and just forget life
If only for a while, we'll pretend we're free
From everything that holds us back, just you and me

Tackling The Bear

If I were a mountain man I would probably have a goal, and one goal only.  Every morning when the sun creeps over the pointy peaks of the Sierras and the trees just light up green I would wake up in my log cabin.  One room, nothing fancy.  A nice little stove fireplace deal going on, a small one man bed, maybe a dresser and a desk and chair and table too.  Nothing much, simple but just enough.  I'd probably have a wardrobe or something, because I have to keep my cloths somewhere you know.  I'd mostly wear cargo pants so I can carry lots of stuff in my pockets.  There are always cool sticks and rocks you find in the woods.  I'd probably have a cool rifle too, and I'd need ammo of course.  I'd also have a big knife, something practical, but deadly.  I have to stay safe you know.  And with my stuff, I'd get all ready to go on my hunt to reach my one goal as a mountain man.

I'd suit up eat my breakfast and leave the cabin into the mountain air, breathing in the freshness.  The crisp smell of the pines filters through my nose and my lungs and back out through my mouth.  Today is the day, I feel it in my bones.  It's an interesting thought.  People use the phrase "dry as a bone."  But if the bone is in someone's body I imagine it would still be sort of slimy with all that blood, flesh, and muscle around it.  Just saying.  So my slimy bones feel it, they aren't dry of course.  I feel it.  Today is most certainly the day.  I set off up the mountain.  Birds chirp at me, and I'm pretty sure they're cheering me on, but you can never tell with birds.  They can be very rude sometimes.  I met a crow once who had the audacity to call me a pig over and over again.  I shot him.  So he doesn't call me a pig anymore.  Because he's dead.

So anyways.  As I'm walking I hear this loud roaring from my right.  That's him alright.  I approach cautiously.  Well not really, I'm loud as can be because  "Loud Stupid Fool" is my middle name, as is "Danger" and "Lovestotakerisksbecausehethinksitiscooltodothat."  (If you can read that middle name then bravo).  So The bear does nothing.  The poor loser is stuck in a bear trap, his fat hairy leg all bloody and stuff.  I feel bad you know, like, am I supposed to kill me a bear when he's all caught up and stuff?  No, I don't think so!  So I decide I should maybe help him or something.  Again I approach not cautiously and poke the bear with my rifle.  He roars and motions to the bear trap.  I give him the thumbs up and he nods.  He doesn't want to be trapped I guess, well obviously not.  So I just take out my crafty big old cool neat awesome sharp worksforeverything knife and pry open that there bear trap.  The bear is all, roaring and runs away and falls because he's hurt and stuff, he can't go far.  You know I just feel bad and stuff, so I tell him I'll help him out.  So we walk back to my cabin and I bandage him all up and he's like that's cool and so we're both cool with each other now.

So my goal of catching that bear weren't exactly the way I planned them.  Instead of getting a cool rug or something like that I made a new forest friend.  But that's pretty chill because now I have another way of survival up here in the mountains and stuff you know.  So it's all good, I'm totally alright with it.

But yeah, that's only if I was a mountain man.  I'm actually just an astronaut.  I've got nothing better to do, I'm a little bored of the view, and the extraterrestrials are only such good company.  But what ever.  I can dream about the earth I see far away from me and my beautiful mountains.  So  it's all good.  I'll tackle a bear another day, or make a friend with one, whatever.