Bear Toonies and Loonies

To visit Grand Forks is like stepping by in time to the 1950's. A lovely main street with Christmas lights reflecting through prisms of glass and ice. Several folks sit around outside coffee shoppe tables, wearing warm wool scarfs, colourful hand knit hats and gloves, as winter armor against the cold. Paper cups steam, ribbons of espresso drift to delight the senses as afternoon fades into night.

Across the street a hippy dressed women steps into the theatre ticket booth. Three toonies, is the price to escape, as the big screen awaits hungry eyes. Two seven-year-old girls past fifty smile while grinding their roll-your-own cigarettes out in a thin tin ashtray. A light snow starts to fall, a few thumb sized flakes catch eyelashes as they dash under awning cover.

"Two please." says the oldest, "My treat."

Popcorn smells roll out as the door is held open. An out-stretched hand, a tattooed arm, heavy with charms and beaded bracelets, accepts the magic tickets. A glass case of sweet goodies in cadence call out.

"Pick me!" yells a box of mini Butterfingers.

"No me!" shrieks the dark coated Goobers in a nutty high pitched shrill.

Intensive is the clammier, a reeling mix of what to choose.

"A big bucket of popcorn please." says the younger.

"Extra butter" coos the silver looped-lip hippy, her spiked hair tipped in red.

"Oh Yes, of course," voice the two as one.

With a fist full of napkins, cradling a bucket of gold, the two walk through the inner theatre doors to be swooped away in an adventure of another world.

Christmas Eve

Blessed be this county,

No lights, no plumbing, no TV.

Soft ice-balls fall thick as thumbs,

Warm fire thaws the numbed.

Where big birds come for scraps,

Thrown out kitchen window.

Meleagris Gallopavo!

I'm surround by turkeys.

As my eyes stare at the marvel,

They are hunting, scratching, pecking.

Round and round the cabin they go,

Now by wood pile covered in snow.

Long beards drag as feathers ruffle,

Big Tom is first in line to find gold mine.

Excitement builds, fast food thrills,

On December's table cloth of white,

Gobbler's corncob Christmas dinner.

I am no able,

To kill the life I see.

Green eggs and can Spam, road kill jerky,

That's good enough for me.

Look! See! Beauty's free.

Blessed be the bounty.

I know expect you understand,

Unless you know this Highland man.

Meleagris Gallopavo!

These eyes stare at the marvel.

Blessed be the free.

Blessed be the Wild Turkey.

Circus Ring

Under the Big Top of starry starry night,

Lolly pop sucker's pay to see fool's sight.

Peanuts! Buttered Popcorn! Hot!

"Pink Cotton Candy Dandy, your ticket please."

Crowds wait, anticipate, stir on,

Benches full in moving bright light of yellow.

Circus noises, a mix, lions roaring,

Elephant trumpet,

Plumed horses prance, and whinny,

Awaiting ring master's pro-fun treasure.

The dance of fear for money, sweet as honey.

Tent flaps flutter in summers breeze.

"Center Ring, all eyes please."

Tall silk hat with bullhorn,

Mustache man waves his hand,

Hushed murmurs low, excitement builds,

Ready for the thrills in traveling circus show.

Sitting next to papa, sissy's all aglow,

When melting ice cream cone finds home, in lap land.

Oh No! Her clean white pinafore!

Breast pocket hanky comes to rescue daddy's little girl,

Two scoops in lap, slide down, and whorl away.

Now everythings, Okay.

Lights dim then brighten, Lions,

And Tigers, and Bears to frighten,

Jump through hoops of fire.

When under rainbow blanket,

in comes Dumbo elephant.

Tiger leaps to thrill of people,

Teeth and claws well trained.

Heavy swaying mountain steeple,

With trunk held high...the chase.

Tiger rides holding, in rhythm of the race.

With chair in hand is the man.

Whip says, Snap! Crack!

Small town crowd purr,

For more, applauding tamers knowing.

Just then, trunk grabs tiger's tail.

Black and yellow blur, rainbow faster,

Round and round,

Then up up the clawing tiger.

Up the swing, through tent tops dream.

Wide open mouths, the sight sent such a shock,

When Dumbo grabbed a feather from,

Front row greenhorn's cowboy hat,

And took off flying right behind,

That long tailed pussy cat.

Top hat tips back,

looking up in awe and wonder.

Now two stars burning in the night,

Their flight so bright together.

Twin comets on their way,

To play, "The Big Top Circus Milky Way".

Christmas Day

A moist fog rolled under the full moon after midnight, flocking the forest trees in a thick blanket of ice. Deer tracks weave crisscross designs in the crusty snow over the frozen river. My coffee sits on the window sill, swaying steam melts a frosty pattern on the silver-white glass. This is a winter wonder land of beauitful sights, as an orange-shafted flicker with feathers ruffled, calls out in a clear voice as it flits from tree to tree looking for food. Sarah my dalmatian-boxer and Micky my fox terrier, nap on the rug near the wood stove as it snaps, crackles, and pops, and I count my blessings.

This year I have a warm cabin, food, and hot and cold running water. I do my best at not letting the ghost of memory past invade my heart with sorrow. Holding myself tight, I fight off emotions that try to spoil this Christmas day. Writing helps keep me sane through the loneness, and so it's time to pour myself another cup of coffee, and put another log in the stove.

This afternoon I'll have Christmas dinner with good friends.

This is to Wierd to Weed

Wellaway wierd wonders,

These warren will wett,

With weapons wheeling wield.

Witan wit we wite the witless weight,

Thus win wilding whoo wide awake.

Wont we well to woo wolfys whey,

In the wilds of winter.

Haven't been to a movie in what, five, or has it been six years?
Next week I'm hauling my ass over the boarder to see,
"The Golden Compass."
I have no idea how many loonies it will cost me. It bears repeating, I think toonies are going to be a hot item, even in the states.

Have Mercy

Humans, my children will have no place to live in the future and neither will yours if you continue your blind greed for more, more, more. How much are your children and your children's children worth? I will fight for mine, will you?

The Magic Cook Book

The mysterious Mr. Victor Pendragon is a rich man, rich beyond most peoples ability to know, he is also a fat man, yet surprisingly light on his feet. He wares expensive smoking jackets, brightly colour ascots, and purple silk pajama bottoms, no matter what the time of day. Of course his outfits are all tailor made, as are his amber velvet slippers, which curl up slightly at the toes. Those slippers, which he calls this ground grabbers, are elaborately embroidered with winged dragons in a emerald green satin stitch. He moves with a grace many would mistake as dainty, perhaps he is. Being a multifaceted personality, he honors all aspects of himself. Rarely does he leave his home, except to work outside in his beautiful fascination garden. Victor leads a quiet life, and of the few close friends who come to visit; none of whom think it unusal that such a large man seems to float about, his small slippered feet barely touching the many priceless Persian carpets throughout his simple home.

That is but one...Gertrude Elizabeth Pearlskin. Gertrude Elizabeth (never called Trudy, or Liz) is short, thin, and frail looking. A deceptive judge is looks. Indeed! Her long greying hair she wares stylishly piled on top of her perfectly shaped head, which she says mades her look tall...and she is always right of course. Her bright blue eyes and sharp featured face look stern, and yet her smile can melt the ice of cold heartedness. She wares no makeup and confesses, "It wouldn't do much good, because what you see is what you get... á la natural." Shape shifters know how to get what they want. Gertrude is a master shape shifter, and a honored member of the Scottish rite of the thirty-three degree. Not that any knowledge of such things can stop the passion that burned in her heart for Victor Pendragon. It's a sad thing to love someone yet pretend you don't, almost as sad as not feeling loved at all. Victor seems to be content with his life as it is, and if that mades Victor happy, it's okay with her...that is to a certain point. There are times when a full moon-shadow covers the low rolling hills above the heather covered moors of lockmab. In those times, a special magic is a foot, and the lonely crys of a spirit hound can be heard thought the fog in the wee hours of the morning.

Now Pendragon is in the habit of giving small get-to-gethers. Afternoon teas and dinner parties are his forté. Needless to say, the man can cook, and his friends are whizzes in the kitchen as well. The joys of friendship and good food are not wasted on those who entered 512 Banister Lane in the quiet village of Lockmab Scotland. The highland moors is were magic is an everyday thing, and "Shaking-a-stick" is taken very seriously. Both Shay O'Brannon and Bobby Twofeathers are also big men. Jeff Fruitnick on the other hand is tall, thin, and distingousingly bald, and he is very picky about what he eats. These four men with the addition of Gertrude Pearlskin makeup a motley cadre of friends. Indeed! Each have their strong points, each have a secret, and each have no idea of the wondrous adventure they are soon to be drawn into while sitting at the dinner table of Victor Lightfoot Pendragon, who is sometimes lovingly called Twinkletoes behind his back.

On the wall in Victor's dinning room hangs a large medieval tapestry, a courtly scene of elegant dressed Ladies, and several Borzoi dogs on the steps of an mysterious old manor. The tapestry had been a precious gift from Victors mother. The gift which always brings him a myiad of fond memories of his childhood days. Below the tapestry sits a birds-eye-cherry credenza, a Steuben crystal decanter with six cordial glasses arranged in a circle sits atop a heavy silver tray. There too sits a tall luster-blue porcelain vase over flowing with deep purple lilacs, the scent of which drifted in invisible ribbons throughout Victor's home.

"Ding Dong" the doorbell rang.
"Ah, that must be Robert, he's never fashionably late."
Pendragon in his usual attire dances through the kitchens archway, and down the hallway to the front door, leaving several copper pots and pans steaming and bubbling on his prize Vulcan stove. Two cutting boards arried with: sage, tarragon, basil, marjoram, mint and flat-leaf parsley awaited his return. Pendragon hums and waves his french knife to the sound of music as if it were a baton. He opens the door knife in hand.
"Whoa Maestro! Is this going to be a dinner party, or a Dante's nightmare?"
"You're just in time Bobby, this knife could use a keener edge.
"Both Bobby and Pengragon shared a dislike for electric knife sharpeners as a means to rune a perfectly good knife.
"What are we cooking up tonight Maestro? By the way, your fresh-cut lilacs smell wonderful."
"Let me say this my dear man, no opossum roadkill nor toad legs are on the menu tonight, now into the kitcken with you. Do chop the rest of the herbs I have prepared, and when you finish, please sharpen this knife."
Handing the knife to Bobby, both leisurely amble into the kitchen.
"Real fine like mincemeat?" Grinning Bobby washed his hands: rolled up his sleeves, sharpened the french knife, and commences dicing the herbs, stoping only for a sip of sherry from the crystal tass that Pendragon had placed on the marble countertop.
"Yes, real fine, the salad dressing you will create is pure magic. The recipe came to me in a dream. It's already worth a fortune, and you my dear boy will be the first to put it together."
Bobby's smile resembles that of a small child who has done something brilliant in front of his parents who are pleased.
Again the doorbell rang, this time it is Shay O'Bannon and Jeff Fruitnick.
"My Word Jeff, you look like Larry lizard suit. Where ever did you get that outfit?"
"Now don't be cruel Boss, or I won't let you win at chess anymore. I picked this number up at Antonio's on Hill Street. It fits, I like it, and you will get used to the bright colour."
"Victor you look charming as usual."
"Thank you Mr. O'Bannon. Is that a new bow tie your wearing?. I don't believe I ever see a rainbow bow tie before...it suits you."
Shay O'Bannon adjusted his bow tie as both he and Jeff stepped through the ivy festooned front doorway, and follow Pendragon into the kitchen.
"Nice outfit Jeff." Bobby whispers with a sheepish grin, and polishes off his sherry as if it were whiskey in a shot glass.
Ding Dong! "Ah, that will be Miss Gertrude. Please excuse me for a moment...

Mountain Mother

On days I see your beamy smile,

My spirits climb, hours pass so easly.

On days I hear that chainsaw drone,

You don't seem to see me,

Lost in that labyrinth of grey.

Hours pass, each one a day.

Yet long I suffer in hopeful attitude,

To keep you safe, my shielding shelter.

With soft warm words,

"Now, now", I would say'

This corona dream,

A pink blanket against cold steel teeth.

The pitch of my love rings with passion.

Trust this truth, always to remember,

From the snows of December,

Comes April's most noble timber.

Noblesse Oblige

A writers curse to stand in the middle.

This pearl tossed into,
The pool of time and space.
I am ring going on forever.
Each now moment,
Never to be again.
Expanding galaxies,
Alone never,
Together forever.
Always to remember,
We exploded in,
Life, kiss sleep awake.
Dream, you sleeper...
Sleeper, I dream...
In love to awake,
Courage from fear,
Light in darkness,
Becoming thus going,
Expanding galaxies.
Energy we touch,
Remember my love
This Life's Gift.

This November Day

A blur seesaw,
push-pull of teeth dulled by effort tearing through.
Pressure finger holding,
numbed, but focus tight to true.

Oily pungent ribbons streaming,
High pitched wail, a screaming sound-
Bits of flesh teaming,
piles upon the ground.

The effort of the pressure-
The focus of the task,
Burning, biting, delighting-
the terror tearing of the mask.

If by chance you've been there,
and have cut a sapient pole-
How many cut cords,
to warm winter's icy soul?

Mountain Fruit

As summer days slow to fall, so soon to silver moon.
On winding mountain road most tempting, yet just out of reach.
Lessions to teach, how to aquire the objects of my desire.
Timeing is everything in knowing- sweet!
The method chosen to the apple of my eye.
Close is my reach- higher ambition with hand and claw.
Summer apples, first before all others.
Yes! Me a hungery mountain bear.
Dare and delight to climb up,
You that lovely Highland Apple Tree

Cool Clear Water

"Life's journey is not to arrive at the gate safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid sideways totally worn out, shouting, Holy Cow! What a Ride."
Todd Robison, may he RIP.



Each new day I try and remember some little thing that I've learned which will inspire me to live every minute to it's fullest. Yesterday I walked on a mountain top with a good friend and gave a song, a prayer to the spirit who makes life possible.












The water of life is a true blessing.

I Think I Can

I may not know where I'm going, but I'm still on track, and headed for Spring Time in the mountains. Ah! The adventure of life... a true blessing.

A Mother's Prayer

As an early morning blanket mist folds up along the mountain peaks waiting for the first warm kiss of sun, I think of you. A cornucopia of memories flow like clear water on its voyage to the sea.
The silence is gently broken. A yellow-breasted meadowlark atop a fence post sings the only sermon it knows. It's song of hope surpasses the loud ear-splitting sound of man's weapons of war.
Somewhere the edge of night is falling, and a mother holds a wounded child to her breast. Black clouds of burning oil fill the sky. Cries of sorrow fall on the malefic ears of the deaf. Blind eyes see only the gain of more mammon as innocent blood soaks through the cloth of peace.
The droit seeds of truth are planted deep into all crazed hearts of stone. The poets gnomon of hope beats...

The Canyons of Time

"Who kissed me from my dream to know that I am still dreaming in another?"
How many lifetimes have passed in sequence as I track her footprints from the sands of Egypt to the snows of Aksehir? To awake from a night dream and know you are in a daydream of your own making is a reality few comprehend. This is my dream, and yet...I am half asleep.
I am in love with a woman who comes willing to me in the night. She is the scent of wisteria, the jasmine that ribbons through the hot summer air of Izmar. Sugar ripe grapes pile high on palm woven disks, fat figs fill baskets, Smyrna casasbas and curshaw melons lay on mlticoloured carpets from the markets of Algiers...none are as sweet to my taste as her smile. The silk of her touch lingers on my lips. The murmur of her voice like music fans my pulse. My dolor cry is carried on the khamsin breeze through the canyons of time...the memory haunts my waking with questions.
Once again, I am born in a desert land. My childhood friends and teachers; the slow moving tortoise, the ever watchful lizards and najas who bask themselves in the spectral waves of the sun's radiant warmth. Wide spread wings of the high soaring condors cast slow moving shadows at my feet, and the whistling cries of the noble sparrow hawk has always filled my heart with remorse and great joy. A paradox of the remembered past and the life I live now, both alive in this moment as I write. Do you think me mad? Perhaps I am.
From the other side of the galaxy I close my eyes...you're here.
How I yearn to touch you and whisper, come nearer, come here my dear.
Must the fusil gain come through the pain?
Our children a delight for all to see, conceived in our fertile bed.
Night's breeze whispers through the palms, dates fatten like their chubby arms.
In the garden they run and play, and laugh and sing.
Is it enough for you to wear my hidden ring?
Hold them close as I hold you in my memory.
The words of love spoken, let nothing be unsaid.
Our passion fruits...each with a name well chosen.
The peg plunged deep, red drops of life like tears weep from my heart.
Me a lonely gypsy...you a high born Noble Queen.
It is a new day. How many light years have passed? An orange and yellow orb peeks over the snow blanketed mountains. The pink and blue of the morning sky separate gray clouds. It is snowing slow falling flakes, which are mesmerizing, yet my senses are keen. The beauty in watching the snow through the bright morning sky is not lost on me. I see it as a gift and yet...
Reality has a curlicue twist in this my current incarnation. Such things I did not believe possible before a cosmic vortex ground me in a mortar to dust. The pestle was fear, she name Moera. Was my cold-blooded murder our of revenge? Was my crime not remembering in time, not being smart enough to look the other way? She, knowing full well I would never turn away, resolute...always searching.
Different, yes I am different now. Moera can never kill my resilient love. I am a respecter of life in all its forms and so forgive. It is true I have killed many, imbued in a fever of fear and a righteous anger at the injury to the children of innocence, but never do I remember the feeling of pure hate. Seeing the ramifications of hate in the blood lust wars of men causes my tears to flow into an ocean of why. All suffer in the pain, innocent, and not so innocent.
My term as an official of holy judgment has ended for this lifetime, and for that I am truly thankful. The aureus diadem of the divine fades like pressed carnations and fragrant gardenias in the family book of my life. What remains, a garland, pearls of wisdom. I can only hope I was of some assistance then and in what life there is left to me.
The water of life is sweet, the cup fashioned by the hand of the maker, a gift. How others think of such things, I cannot say for sure. To speak brings the possible label of madness, but I do not fear...to ask with a humble heart that my be compassionate and merciful seems logical. Who judges me harsher than I judge myself?
Call me quite mad, but I love. I love a queen who has killed me with her sword of truth...her eyes are the colour of the sky on the clearest of days. In my darkest hours she was with me. Through the maelstrom of the unknown I called her name and she answered. No swan on a lake calling to its mate flying high above, could have been more reassuring as her words to me, her guidance brought me home to her side.
As the warm sun rises like the lucent moon, do we forget the spiritual spice of each days lullaby? Say not so. Perhaps she remembers more than I do, she has always been wiser and swifter with a blade, her quill of truth. Is my head hung on her door, my heart at her hearth floor? So let it be written, so let it be done. Even a headless wonder knows happiness is spelled...WOMAN.

Blue Fire

Throughout my days and into night, I search for this and that. This is my life here on planet Earth. This is where they left me. I was to young to remember much; a port window of sorts, the soft black of the always night, and the pointed tip of a long blue flame framed by that window. Not much of a clue, but enough for me to know, Earth is not my only home. Home ha! I have always been a stranger here. From time to time I have seem others who may be like me. The truth be known, we cover the secret of our alienation well.
Deep poles stand tall. Shadows cross mark time. I parry and fence around them. Rusting broken cables loop back to hold tight my mind. Like a bird on a string I long to be free. This place of hooks that hold, is a prison of things that begin one way and end in another. For years I have tinkered, building my craft from bits and pieces found while wondering.
In the darkest of nights I have seen the thin blue flame of those in the sky overhead. I am not a lone eprist. Now through my days and nights, I plot my unfolding parchment scroll. This chart and my ship, Blue Fire will thrust home my alien soul.

Sweet Murmurs

Clio... "this bumpy
ride makes me
horny honey."
Clyde..."you're so
full of s--t."

Fontona Di Treve'

Why are we here?
Like little children,
to play,
to learn and grow,
then go
back from whence
we come.







That summer in Rome when I was passing
the Fontona Di Treve'
With winged-words a wish was made to
the fontona's waters wet,
and tossed a coin for Gods to smile on me
in memory never to forget,
the love within my heart to give,
to each that pass my way.
One of three is chosen.
The blessing to touch your hand,
love and hope remembered says, yesWE can.

Arrow of Gold

The Hisser moved gracefully through the taverns doorway ducking his head slightly under the lintel. He stood a moment sniffing the morning air before stepping down the rough-cut planks that served as steps. The boy followed at a respectable distance and noted the multicoloured hue of light reflecting off the Hisser's brightly scaled neck and head.. An orange orb was rising in the east, casting warm rays that lit the shadowed street revealing the vile accumulation of garbage not seen in the darkness of night.
The Captain stood outside the doorway, each step groaned and creaked under his Bigfoot weight as he stepped down onto the cobblestone street.
"ssSo you ssay the quartermaster iss a friend?"
"Your in luck Snaky my friend, I spied a new book in his possesion...one from your very own planet. The script was rough, but a I did manage a few words and symbols here and there." The Captain chuckled. "I think the title was something like, Swissher's Kill and Grill, a cookbook of the cosmos. Snake and eggs...I mean, steak and eggs sounds good. I'm starving! How about you?"
" Not funny Captain, not funny at all." With narrowed eyes the Hisser glared at the Captain as the three walked down an alley leading to the spaceport.
"If it's all the same to you two, I would like to return to my ship. Sleep is all I need at this point." said the boy.
"No!", replied the Captain and Hisser in unison.
Two massive towers of the spaceport dominated the morning skyline. Native stone and brick buildings clustered around shorter and less sturdy shacks like the one they had just left. Amber dust swirled down the alleyway. The hisser raised the hood of the long flowing cloak he wore and gathered the bellowing material close to his body as he folded his arms across his chest.
Nashing his teeth as if in frustration the Hisser said, "He doesn't seem to have much of a clue as to what's involved here does he?"
"Aye!" The Captain growled, he stopped mid-stride in the shadowed alley and turned to the boy in a quick jerk. "Let me see your hands boy. Just as I suspected. Look at those hands, they are as soft as a baby's bottom. Looks like you've never done an honest days work in your young life boy."
The Hisser snickered. "You've have your work cut out for you Dada."
"Aye, and the orphan pup will look to you for his milmoo. What position does that put you in Snaky?"

Arrow of Gold

The Captain and his friend the Hisser sat across the round table eyeing the young tyro.
"Please forgive my seeming ingratitude, but please tell me... why are you two willing to teach me?"
The Hisser whistled through his sharp teeth. "It is at the behest of the council table of Copious- I mean- Copula, of which your father was a member." He cocked his head and lightly touched his heart. Strange, no slur was noted in his speaking these words.
"My Father! What do you know of my father?"
The Hisser leaned in close across the table, his gills delicately undulating. "The Captain here recognized you as soon as you walked through the door. Fool!" He leaned back in his chair nodding his head in the Captains direction. Yellow-green eyes glittered in the light cast from the overhead hanging lamp. An opaque lid slowly closed over one eye as if it were a wink. "You are the first born of two great houses are you not? There are certain facts you know nothing about."
"What facts?" The young man sat back forcefully in his chair. A loud high pitched shrill was made as the chair legs shunted on the floor.
"Calm, calm yourself.", said the Captain. "You have be raised in the dark for a reason young Persoos, it was apparently for your own protection. You are not ready for the truth we will teach you, but in time, in time."
The Captain's voice was calm and reassuring, with a hint of authority that the boy knew he could depend on.
"My Name! How do you know my name?"
"Don't be foolish boy, pay attention ...you will learn all that you need to know soon enough. All is not what it seems here on the Rim. A Topsy-turvy place this is you might say, but changes are imminent. You must learn to use your head and balance that with what you feel in your heart to be true. Many things have been put in motion to get you thus far. Do you think you have come here on your own vicissitudes?" Again the Captain lightly touched his chest as if caressing something under his spacesuit.
The boy smiled to himself in spite of his fear. He could not denie the fact, the two knew much about him.Taking a deep breath he felt a reaching in his stomach... shaking his head to overcome the reeling feeling. The effects of drinking and the fact he had not eaten sense landing his ship... Dazed, his head start to spin out of control.
"Captain we have work to do.", said the Hisser.
Raising from his chair, the Captain returned his gun that lay on the table to its holster fitted snugly to his thigh. A magnetic click sounded as he did so.
"The quartermaster in the spaceport cafe is a friend of mine Snaky. Even in this backwater hellhole there are many who know the merits of a good meal and a bath." The Captain straightened to his full hight, stretched both arms to his side... knuckles popping loudly as big fists opened and closed. "From the look and smell of you kid, you could use both."
Young Persoos nodded in agreement. He was to, to tired to think anymore about all the questions that were buzzing in his head. Both the Hisser and the Captain knew his name and something about his family. "So what!", he said to himself.

First Draft

The Captain's arched a brow, his eyes focused on the lizards staring orbs. "Well snaky, shall we play one more hand, say double or nothing?" My eyes widened as I started to rise from my chair. "Sssit down boy." The hisser said as he jerked this eyes from the Captain to me. Normally I would objected, but nothing seemed normal about the tavern, or those seated at the table. I dropped back in my chair feeling hammered. The Captain nodded in agreement. "Hang around sson, you've a lot more to learn, ssschool is just sstarting."
I know what you're thinking... so who won that last hand? Well, who am I to tell all the goings-on in dim lit taverns that are sprinkled through the far reaches of the Rim? I still might be young, but stupid I'm not. It just could be that all the players walked away winners. For me it was a lesson, one I will never forget.
The three across the table staggered down the back alley to their ship docked in the spaceport. Draped around each other for support...three drunken space buddies singing some rowdy song about a lighthouse keeper and a mermaid. To read any more of their words would make you blush as red as the Hisser's tongue.
The Captain and the Hisser are still friends, they have a strange relationship to say the least. For some reason, I believe those two will be famous some day, not that they care for such things as fame or fortune. It's kind of like that first drink...what did the Captain call it? "Grand Mariner", it's the stuff those two are made of.

A friendly Game of Poker

A Hisser stepped from the shadows into the circle of light around the table. I had heard of such creatures, but had never seen one. It was from a far off planet that no sane ship would dare approach much less land on, those that did, (who knew how many) never returned to tell the tale.
The Captain stood, "If it's a friendly game of poker you're after Hisser, sit and be welcome". My knees bounced up hitting the bottom of the table. Fear is a healthy thing when it comes to encounters with a Hisser...so I've been told. With a meaty paw the Captain slowly pulled his laser pistol and placed it on the table so all could see. The Hisser jerked the only empty chair back from the table, his thin tongue whipped across his upper needle sharp teeth. My knees were knocking already, one knee hit the table so hard the glasses shook. With a hand lowered to my shoulder the Captain said, "Easy kid, believe it or not, this Hisser and I go way back". I slowly sucked in my breath trying to calm myself as the reptilian creature snaked its way into the empty chair. With a shaking hand the barkeep placed a glass on the table as far as possible without getting to close in front of the Hisser. "No need for namess at thisss table boyss. Isss that not correct Captain?" The lizard's lips hissed in a cool voice.
The bartender caught an outstretched leg and tripped in his hurry to get back safely behind the bar. Once there, he promptly grabbed a bottle from the rack, poured himself a stiff drink and with shaking hand down it in one fell swoop. All eyes, mine included, flashed back and forth between the Captain and the Hisser. It was apparent as the Captain had said before...they knew each other.
The Captain poured the lizard creature a full glass while still standing, and then sat down. "This is better than that rotgut swill you made me drink in the name of friendship...snaky, and more expensive too I might add. "The Hisser's head went back, it's mouth opened wide as it's body rocked back and forth in what looked to be a belly laugh, gill-folds on either side of its neck flared. "What'ss your ancient human saying Captain? When in Rome... ex cetera". A clear opal membrane slid half across the Hisser's large yellow-green eyes.
My nerves had eased somewhat and the cards were dealt. The first hand went to the big man next to the dealer, a sizeable sum, to say the least. From his accent, short military-cut hair and dark eyes, I guessed him to be a Highlander from the planet Malos. The finesse in his language patterns led me to believe he was from a noble family. Later I was to learn he spent his time gathering information in such outback watering holes to spice up the stories he writes. Although his rough looks seemed coarse, on his home planet, he is widely known. I have several disk-books that bare his name, and so does the Captain...who knows if that Hisser can even read.
We played the game of poker all night. Drinking establishments on the Rim never seem to close. It was morning, the bottle empty, smoke hung thick and moved in opaque ribbons under the low hanging light. I had lost almost half the contents of my money belt, but it was well worth the lesson. All the chips were piled in front of the Captain and the Hisser.

A Space Pastiche Passageway

Of course I will tell you of my run past the Rim and through the void of space and time. Why do you think I came back? It wasn't just for myself you know, although, to tell the truth, fear was the prime motivator that sent me off in such a hurry. My life was on the line. Actually, there was the first trip just over the Rim, call that a test-run if you will, a picnic compared to the second launching. Having no idea of the rules, or regulations time and space travel, yet owning a topflight ship of the Ambassador class, sent me reeling almost out of control. What did I know of time-warps, wormholes, folds-in-space and other dimensions? Ah, the joys of adventure.
Being one who loves to learn set me up to do just that, and boy did I learn. Call it the hard way if you will, but well worth the effort, not only for myself , but for all my friends as well. This is a story about adventure, love, friendship and family ties, and how belief in hope for a peace treaty between warring planets came to fruition on the edge of space called, "The Rim".
As a child I remember standing on the sun bleached rocks and sand of the Sacra River on Caligymnos; it is a hidden planet, seemingly cloaked in a vapor of gas which hides it from the prying eyes of it's enemies, for it is a golden planet of the first magnitude. Many have plotted invasion to plunder her great wealth, but all have failed. Why, you might ask? Ah, this is but a small key to the story you read now. Only those who wear the space pendent of Caligymnos understand how to land their space ships on the errant planet of my birth. Others knew little if nothing of its very existence, until treacherous plots were put into play...thus the need to tell this tale.
In that time so long ago, as I stood by the wide flowing river of the sacra looking up to the vault of stars, a sense of wonder and auspicious grace flowed over me as if I were a boulder, and the water of life flowed around me as it does to this day. The pungent smell of willows and river weeds filled my nostrils, and I knew I in for in for the ride of my life.
This is also the story of my red-headed partner, a rough of the first class. To look at him you would know exactly what I mean. Tall with broad shoulders, an ugly scar cuts across his right cheek. My Captain, for he'll always be my Captain as well as my teacher and friend has the biggest feet on any man I've ever seen. His flight suites are tailor made as well as his big-foot boots. Like a ursaline bear he walks with confidence, ambles is a better word. His long red hair is tied at the nap of this bull neck, pirate style, which suites him well. You must have guessed by now he is my hero, for I am young and after all, he did save my life.
Strange how things begin one way and end in another isn't it? Here is some advice on galactic gallivanting. Never, never step up the bar, or any bar on the far-flung fringes of the rim and order Milmoo, Milgoo, or however it may be pronounced in the local tongue. You smile, you know of what I speak? All heads will turn, conversations will stop, sneers and hisses will be heard...the scrapping of chairs on dirty whiskey stained floors will grate louder than the local music.
Somehow I had made it through the landing procedure on a small backwater planet I had never heard of. Okay, I was lost in space, go ahead and laugh. My on-board computer systems were shutting down faster than I could reboot them, coming in blind would be an understatement. Rules are rather lax on the Rim, otherwise I think the Port Officer would have fined me more than I could have hoped to pay.
After filling out all the forms and a raft of apologies, it seemed like a good idea to take a walk and stretch my legs. It was not a long walk from the docking port bays to the garbaged-lined alleys, and the seedy center of the fronter town. In the confidence, or stupidity of youth, I walked into the first place that was open and ordered a Milgoo.
Thank my lucky stars for my red-headed free-trader Captain, who grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and ushered me out the door for a little man-to-man talk. A boy has to learn, isn't that what mistakes for?
A whale of a tail this is... call it luck if you will, but in that very same bar after having our man-to-man talk, the brute of a Captain still having me by the collar of my flight suit dragged me back into that smoke filled ill lit bar room, and slammed me down on an empty chair. My head hit the overhead light that hung over a card and chip strewn poker table, sending it to sway back and forth like a pendulum. Raising my head and looking from side-to-side, I could see all eyes were in wonder as to why the Captain had saved me...I wondered myself. Counting myself, five of the worst liars, cheats and roughs sat at that whiskey stained, cigar burnt green felt card table. No one smiled, and narrow eyed stares greeted me.
"The kid is in". His voice was deep and menacing, then he gave a bright-eyed wink and all reached for their whiskey glasses as if on cue. "Hold it, hold it, get the kid a glass". The three across the table stopped midway between table and thirsty lips with their glasses sloshing whiskey, each mumbled a superlative that will remain unsaid. A glass was slammed down so hard on the table, it made me jump. I could smell the foul stained apron of the barkeep as he leaned over me, as he slamming down a full bottle of caramel coloured liquid known to most as rotgut. "Not this you idiot, bring a bottle of the real stuff, your best", the Captain bellow. With thirsting toughs the three across from me grumbled and lowered their glasses to wait for the new bottle which was hastily brought to the table. "Put it on my tab", the Bigfoot Captain said. "Drinks are on me boys". A tall gaunt man with an opaque eye leaned forward, his long neck and head tilted sideways, his ears were pierced with many gold rings. Minding my manners I tried to focus on his good eye, but failed. He leaned back. The Captain twisted the cap on the neck of the bottle with such force, that I sucked in air thinking of what those meat hooks for hands were capable of, being glad the man was on my side.
All three across the table quickly polished off their swill in one gulp. Their eyes glazed as they nodded their heads, coughed and choked, lowering empty glasses to be filled promptly by the Captain. "Ya best not waste this prime stuff, this is sipping whiskey", he growled. He filled my glass to the brim. I knew I had to drink it, all the while wishing for a glass of Millmoo for a chaser. I closed my eyes and took a healthy drink. Since this was my first taste of such spirits, and being desperate to fit in, I swished the amber liquid from one side of my mouth to the other and swallowed. My throat on fire, sucking in air, my eyes popping, culminated by the big paw of the Captain coming down on my back. "That's the spirit kid!".
Through my watering eyes...did I see what I though I saw? Yes. They tried to hide it with their dark slit eyes, but a faint grin flashed before my eyes closed to wipe the tears away. "You'll learn to like it Laddie. We drinks what we gets here, dregs or cream de la cream is all the same to us." They tilted back their heads in a laugh that made me shudder. The opaque eye of the thin man rolled as he , "Let's play cards boys". They all licked their lips knowing full well my money belt was full. With a smile of innocence I took another sip from my sticky stained glass."What did you say the name of this stuff is?" My ears were ringing. "Grand Mariner, you like it kid? Over eighty chips a bottle in these ports of the outback". My eyes widened as I jerked my head to see a smile cross the Captain's face. The thin man wiped his beard with the back of his hand while holding the cards tight in his fingers. "Enough small talk, deal the bloody cards", came a reply from a hulk of a man that sat next to the dealer, "The Lad will start to grow a beard if you tarry much longer".

To Walk in Balance

Well! As you can see by my writing, some of my moods are better than others. Yes, I do tend to run hot and cold... my paintings are even more graphic if you can imagine that. I don't believe in the "starving artist" idea. I want a happy ending to this story of mine, and censorship of any of my thoughts or feelings only act as chains to tie me down. I'll take my ups and downs in this life. It's true my highs are high, and my lows are low... I've no need to mask them with drugs, I've been down that road before...no joy there.
When I make mistakes, they are just that, mistakes...I'm no mistake. What's the saying, "When you are green you grow, when you are ripe you rot ". Guess that makes me an old sprout, but I'm still growing, learning, trying to better myself. Who said, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks"? Just sitting here this morning I've learned quite a lot and had some fun in doing so. My blog is up-to-date, and best of all, I can post pictures to go along with my scribblings.

The Open Window

The Rose of love fills my heart,
when thoughts of you drift like mornings mist.
It is a passion you fill me with,
my rational senses cannot resist.
A breeze fans the raphia,
clouds mingle like memories of Algeria,
that float with sweet scented spices.
The murmur of the market, the call from minaret-
The thousand nights spent with you,
that smile, your touch, the stories,
never will I forget,
but that was long ago, and this another day.
With words of love I write to you,
to Arcadia you choose to fly away.
A yellow bird sits on waving frond palm,
there he sings his lonesome melody.
Those sad notes he sings, stirs even more
the emotions so deeply embeded in me.
For me, there is no other, a thousand reasons why,
come home to me my love, or this beast will surly die.
The thorn of pain, well worth the gain-
please, no more time to tarry.
Stand face to face with me my love,
it is this gentled beast that you should merry.

Feisty's Fantasy Fairy Tale

She sees no trace of Tiger in me, but a lamb hung on a rack.
She tortures me for all to see, yet I remain quite humble and smile back.
But I have got what she has not, the coin can fall either way.
This Tiger with all it's hunger, is just waiting for it's day.
In the night where I fight, my claws upon the prize.
She racks me no more, and begs for me to kill her,
but it is my joy to play,
thus while the hours away,
and choose as I will, ah! the thrill of the kill.
Muted murmurs, whimpers her only reply,
when I say, "Now's time to die".
A feast her feet, her arms, thigh and legs,
her back of neck so sweet-
I feast where and when I choose,
to(naw)on bones with teeth and tongue to tickle-
But wait! I thought her dead!
What's that I hear? A giggle!
And me practiced in the arts of savoring body parts.
With daring taste, there is no other for this flesh lover.
Did her mother never tell her,
"Judge not a book by it's cover"?
You know in the end, I had to kill her again,
and again, and again, and again.
She in essence, my food in life.
How else can a Tiger live?
The ups and downs, all the world goes round,
she is at my center.
Will words of love, or sharp claws be enough to win her?
Oh No! She has me on the rack again.
Such innocence in that look,
My tongue tied in a knot,
a hundred verses written, a thousand I forgot.
The forest is alive, and always that sounding "hummm",
she crooks her little finger, and again I'm on the run.
If looks could kill, you should see her displeasure,
but it is in the night, when we fight,
that with her, I will always win.
She awakes every morning and I must, I must,
kill her all over again.

If a certain someone ever reads this, I'm dead meat.
I had more fun writing this, it still makes me laugh.
Yes! I've got "SnowBalls", tis the season.
How do you spell "naw"?

Tweety Twig

Should I hold my words, or let them flow,
inspired to write as I do.
Like a dappled bird, to flit and fly
with soaring thoughts of you.
The fancy dance, the lofty zeal,
that lighter than air feeling,
tumble, spinning, reeling,
quilled words dipped in meaning.
In my dream, two birds flew,
a Hawk and Dove held hands above,
where no one knew just where they flew,
behind a cloak of clouds.
Their love affair was in the air,
beyond the whispers, the prying eyes,
or hurting mocks-
The Hawk and Dove ever in love,
a social paradox.
As stars burn bright on this night,
with words my passion of heart.
You fly high with me,
I hold you without fear,
these words for you to see-
Here you hold my hand, and
we fly behind clouds of judgements reality.
To soon dawn breaks,
and so my heart filled with love-
Another day, each goes their way,
the motley Hawk and gentle Dove.
No one knew how high they flew,
in flight always together-
Yet in these words, the joy of love,
forever and forever.