March 26, 2017

They do not see:

As deadly demons wait at my door
I fear of things, that will be forevermore
Of screams roaring within my ears
Of the sins I’ve done, throughout the years
Of my flesh burning from these bones
Because of deeds that were mine alone   
Why do no others truly understand
Of the fear I have for my fellow man
They say I write about just me
But yet it is them I also see
Because in hell most of us will roam
Tho none believe it will be their home
For they say they walk the one true path
And fear not of our makers wrath
And yet on that faithful day
We’ll all beg him not to send us away
I know, I’ll only have me to blame
And they’ll point at others for their shame

February 28, 2017


Five O’clock and not all is well
For I’ve died and went to Hell

Bitter screams heard all around
My life’s clock has ticked down

Darkest gloom fills my very soul
No light from this body glows

Gutter sounds erupted from within
As hells fires around me spin

My flesh consumed by burning coal
There’s no help for me, now I know

I had my chance to make it right
But I turned from his loving sight

He begged me to come, bide with him
But I know best, for I was a man

From Hell I’ve screamed and said
If he calls, fall to your knees and beg

February 19, 2017


People wonder
what’s wrong with me.
Why do I have
that faraway look in my eye?
They say I have
too much time on my hands,
I have better things to do.
They tell me they see
no good reason for my inquiries.
As I ask myself
why is it this way or that?
Yes I’ve seen stars 
bright in the night sky 
that are long dead
before man took his first breath.
In a cup of coffee
I’ve seen galaxy’s spinning
then slowly die and
witnessed the heartbeat
of our own planet.
On an orange I’ve watched
the fate of our earth
played out in just days.
Still they ask
what is wrong with me
because I’ve watched
a leaf dance to its death
and asked which one
they thought was next.
Who then is insane?
Me or those standing around
in dark glasses and ear plugs
letting the wonders of life
pass them by.
Is it because they fear
that others might point 
a finger at them and whisper.

February 13, 2017


Life is fleeting yet death is eternal
Still we cling to life like the Insane
clings to their crayons
We both have no control
over either for our life is but a
flicker on this ribbon of time
Why do we strive to learn
more and more knowing
it will be lost forever
All the possessions we gather
we think we’ll take them with us
Even our loved ones we leave behind
will mean nothing beyond
our final breath still we’ll cling
tightly to our few crayons

January 16, 2017

I’m not Insane

You read what I’ve written
and tell me that you know,
what is inside of me as
you try and read my soul

From my writing on the wall
you tell me I am insane
But is it me, or yourself, you see,
when you analyze my brain

I know you think my writing
is dark and that’s just fine
but I have to ask you please
stop reading between the lines

Just give me a break people
when you read what I write
It’s not about how I feel,
so try and get that right

What you need to know
when my words you’ve read.
Is I’ll be just fine because,
I don’t want this body dead

If you understood my words
they’re not all gloom and dread
You might see a bit of humor
in what, you’ve just read

January 13, 2017

My Soul Rest:

Red droplets of my blood
fall on the wooden floor
The rope around my neck
won’t tighten anymore

Swing in the gentle breeze
my soul now long gone
Will anyone find me hanging
I hope it won’t take long

Standing around, some will cry
yet none will know why I died
If I said that I understood
we know that would be a lie

The words I wrote upon this page
most will say, I’m not thinking right
But if they’d lived this life of mine
They too would’ve died last night

I’ve thought about what I did,
and it was for the best
Because of what I’ve done
my soul is now at rest

December 14, 2016

Utopian Dream: right

  A Utopian Dream I’m asked to write about
  Some perfect world I have no doubt
  A sun that shines softly every day
  There is never work only joyful play
  Love is forever, true and never dies
  To their fellow man, no one lies
  The birds sing the squirrels run free
  My God that place is not for me

  I try and write about the truth my eyes see
  Of the trials God gives us to help us be free
  Is there really a place for this Utopian Dream
  Where life is so good, there’s no bad it seems
  One’s mood won’t ever go up or down
  Where there is only smiles and never a frown
  How do you know it’s right if nothing goes wrong
  How can one sing, if just one doesn’t hum along

  Give me a break on this Utopian Dream 
  Every now and then I need to hear a scream
  I need to know my world has fallen, into a loop
  It’s in a bit of a pickle, face deep in the soup
  So give me a dream that’s as nice as can be
  But put in a demon that’ll pop out at me
  Nothing is that sweet all the blessed time
  All worlds are full of poisons vines

  Here is to show you my writings won’t stray
  This Utopian Dream post at your feet I lay

December 6, 2016

Wake up! Please wake up

Am I dreaming, to hell I’ll go
How long it’s been, I do not know
Flames burning away my flesh
Demons not letting my screams rest
The smoke is hot with embers aglow
Rivers of fire, around my body flow
Pain so great only dusty tears I cry
Is this how hell will be when I die
I wish I’d wake from this dream
My ears bursting from other’s screams
Deep down in my heart I moan
For this is now, forever my home
It seems this dream is way too real
On Potters Hill my coffin was sealed
No one came to say goodbye to me
As my body rots there for eternity

October 20, 2016

Flash Fiction: Halloween

Death of a Blogger:

We’ve lost another
As in gone
Passed on
Never to return? 
Someday me too. 
So shall you
Those over there
And even him. 
Sooner for some
Later for others. 
We will cry for
The ones we know
And some we didn’t
Yet tomorrow
We’ll go on as always
Most we’ll forget
Others maybe not
Until we’re gone
And forgotten forever

I sat staring at the screen.  A thousand words… why do I keep taking on these challenges?  All my family and friends at the coffee shop tell me I’m not a writer.  My wife hates my stories and all she does is yell at me to get a job— a real man’s job.
God, I’d love to have them meet my blogging friends.  They’re always telling me how good I am.  They read what I put my heart and soul into and they tell me the truth.  Hell, I have to stop dwelling on this.  I have a thousand words to get out before October the 16th.

Anna is coming over to help with my spelling.  If not for her and what was his name?  Harven! Hayven! No, Hayden/ Yes, that was his name.  Now, he could write.  Every time he entered one of these writing challenges you could put money on him winning.  We heard he died.  Well, we think that.  He just stop showing up.

I wish Anna would get here.  She is a great spell checker.  She said she had to stop by and get something that would really help around here.  The wife meet her in a blog site and they’ve become great friends.  That is what I like about blogging.  Hell, they even have their own blog site where they type back and forth.  One would think it’s more like a wife support group.  I told Margret blogging would help her get through the hard times.

What dear?  Yes, I’m on the internet looking for a job I’m just taking a break.  Yes, I know I’ve been out of work for a year.  How could I forget?  You remind me fifty times a day.  I’m reading a blog right now it’s Saturday night for God’s sake.  I can’t go for any interviews till Monday anyway.  Tell me when Anna gets here.  I really need her to look over this story.

Margret looks at Anna.  “I don’t know how much more I can take.  We’re going to lose the house and everything.  He spends all his time blogging.  I’m willing to try anything to get him to help out around here or to do something to help pay the bills.”

Anna smiles.  “Margret, this has worked for me, Joanne, Shelly, Dora, and it will work for you, too.  Some husbands just need a little push now and then to get them to where they belong.  Are all those empty beer bottles his?”

“Yes, and that is another thing he seems to be drinking more and more these days.”

“Help me make Ellis a sandwich and hand me another beer.”

“Anna, could you check on Jeff when you go up?  He was a bit restless early tonight.”

“I’d love to.  He is such a darling boy.  We should have a play day for the kids soon.  Mike and Jeff get along so good.  It’s like they have been the best buds all their life.”

Margret smiled.  “I don’t know what I would have done without you and the girls.”

“That’s why we’re here.  Now hand me that sandwich and let me get upstairs to read over his story.”

I was trying to add a few more words when I heard a knock on the door and like to have jumped out of my skin.  I miss the cracking of the floorboards as people walked up and down the hallway.  Why did I let her talk me into putting in that carpet?  “Who is it?”  I asked.

Anna opened the door.  “I brought you a sandwich and a beer.”

I looked up.  “Thanks.”  I need one.  This story is driving me up the wall.  I have more red lines than spell check has words.  That’s not counting the ones spell check didn’t catch.

Anna sat down at the computer.  “Let me have a look and see what I can do.”

About the same time I finished my beer, Anna looked around at me.

“I’m thinking you have had way too many beers,” she said.  “You’ve done better.  You seem to be floating around between thoughts and jumping back and forth on the story line.  Why don’t you go down and get Margret to make me a sandwich and I should have the last two pages read before you get back.”

I went to the top of the staircase and yelled down for Margret to bring me up another sandwich.  Then I was falling forward.  No, I didn’t fall—I felt a hand on my back.  I laid at the foot of the stairs in great pain.  God, I’m still alive, I thought, but I can’t move.

Margret rushed out from the kitchen and stood there looking down at me.

“Call 911,” I whispered.  “I’m hurt bad.”

“Anna! He’s still alive!” Margret screamed.

Anna walked down the stairs, knelt down beside me, running her fingers through the hair on the back of my head then grabbed my beard, quickly twisting my head backward.  The bones in my neck cracked like green limbs in a campfire.

Margret went to the front door and got some old roller-skates Anna left there when she arrived and put one at the top and the other at the bottom of the stairs.  She picked up the phone and started to call 911.  She stopped.  “Wait! Anna, what is your last name?  I’ll need it for the police report when I tell them you were standing next to me in the kitchen when he fell.”

            “I’m Anna Hayden—the late Eddy Hayden’s widow.  I think Ellis might have known him.”

(W.C. 999)

October 8, 2016


Another night another try
Another who is who
And yet will we find
What we know we knew

Life hands us little gifts
That we just pass by
If we knew what they were
Would our hearts not cry

Tomorrow is not today
Tho we live as it's so
There’s so much we missed
And love we'll never know

Look not back at this time
For it has passed us by
Only today can make tomorrow
And stop the tears we cry