JUST A POEM

Just another breath,
Another whine,
Just another fall with cold wind blowing in my face
Just another person telling me I am wrong,
Just another story
Just another song
Just one more love to shine on my face,

Just two green eyed monsters to replace.
Just another soul to catch
“Just” Just-i-c-e

 

THE SHORT LIFE OF THE PURE WHITE CALF

The white-out blizzard continued for two days, leaving it impossible for James to check on the barn. Although it was half a mile away, he knew he would surely be lost if he ventured out. The animals had food and water and would be warm enough with their wind turbine heaters.

THE BLIZZARD

THE BLIZZARD

What James did not know is Marsalis, his favorite cow, was giving birth to a pure white calf, with sparkling green eyes. Marsalis had delivered six calves already, so James was not worried as the previous deliveries were so easy. They were finished ten minutes from start to finish. This birth was not the same. Marsalis was in labor for twelve hours as the calf refused to come out. Knowing what was facing it, it wanted to stay in the dark warm comfort of its mother. Hearing her mother’s heartbeat growing slower and slower, she decided at last to emerge. Sadly, it occurred too late. With a final push Marsalis pushed out the calf and her heart gave out before she could even see what she had made.

The gods and goddesses looked on at the calf, knowing it alone could defeat Fenrir, but only if the farmer was quick to sacrifice it in its innocence. So they clamored their powers against the ice giants and calmed the storm around the farm. James, believing he was in the storm’s eye, took the moment to go to the barn and check on his family’s future. Finding the calf covered in blood and filth, he half-expected it to be dead. Instead, upon closer inspection, he found his childhood friend Marsalis had died instead. Cursing the gods and not having a way to feed it, he killed the calf. He butchered it. His family ate veal that night. What they did not know was, with every bite, every morsel they swallowed, they were devouring humanity’s last chance at surviving a frozen death soon to take them all.

 

THE LIBRARY IS A MAGICAL PLACE

The library is a magical place, but this one was especially magical. Its’ books could think, and even change if they chose to. Often authors would come here after death to check on their books, and chat with the wizard that ran it.

THE LIBRARY IS A MAGICAL PLACE

THE LIBRARY IS A MAGICAL PLACE

One particular book was most problematic. It believed it would stay forever young, so it always came back late, and then would quickly fly off the shelf. Peter Pan was the most mischievous book, followed closely by Tom and Huck, but never surpassed. Peter Pan caused the young to dream and hope for a world they could never reach, and have grand adventures that most of them outside of the book would never have. The book didn’t care; it would replace the name Wendy, Michael or John with the name of the one reading it. Unless it was a grown up, then Mr. Darling, and Captain Hook’s name would be changed for the readers. This caused great distress for adults who came back to read their favorite childhood friend.

Peter was finally lost by a clumsy lad who on the way walking home dropped him out of the hole in his bag. Never frightened Peter lay there waiting to be found, knowing a real life adventure was soon to abound. One day…two days…he lay on the street being trampled over by many feet. Passersby not having a clue about the magic that was so close. Finally, Peter having enough, flew to the home of the boy who had lost him to find him waiting as his perfect companion. The boy did not search for him, as his body never made it home. He would never more age, but stay forever young. Peter opened his pages and let the boy’s spirit into Neverland where they were forevermore friends. With his pages much heavier, he flew through the air, carefully landing himself in the library. For once he wasn’t late. No fee to be had, and Peter the book was forevermore glad. His mischievous ways were finished, for what is said is true–“a book is only lonely if it doesn’t have you.”

 

PENCE AND THE PINING TREE

The tree longed for a companion as it was planted in the center of a grave yard. Squirrels did not even dare to cross the cursed graves of the young ones buried there. Under and around their small coffins the roots entwined. Sucking up the nutrients, pain, and sorrow left behind. Its trunk twisted as the sorrow it felt with no comfort from the spirits about it turned inward, growing fat and its needles half-falling down.

A PINE IN THE WINTER

A PINE IN THE WINTER

With age it grew bitter at the lack of visitors who came, save for one caretaker that during the summer, a few times, would mow. His sister was one of the carcasses left without rest, never at peace. The babes were killed for one reason…unjust, they were the offspring of those the government did not trust. So they snatched them up out of their cribs, while the conservatives cheered and the liberals mourned. Children of the LGBT buried better off never born. The pine tree grew angry and at last was cut down and his body used as a coffin of the infants’ killer (profound). Yes, Pence, will be buried in the pine and his soul trapped inside, the angry wood trapping his soul for all time.