aweekof

I’ve always loved to write.  Though I’m not great at it by any means I love creating something.  Each of the words I lay down represents a somewhat original thought coming from me.  It’s a very far off substitute for children you could say…very far off.  It may not scream in the middle of the night, poop and pee all over me, or be the fruit of my loins (I know, I’m making myself feel awkward right now too), but my stories and poems are my fruit of a sort.

Despite my passion for fruit, children, loins, and poop…sorry.  Despite my passion for writing, I don’t do it very often for recreation or personal enjoyment.  So I decided to do a week of writing, devoting one measly hour a day for five days of the week to writing whatever my gargantuan heart desired (little heart is overused, and I think mine is big for my person.  Just a theory) desired.

It turned out well.  Here are a few pieces that I wrote.  I hope you enjoy them.  If not, I enjoyed writing them, and that’s what this week was about, doing something that lets me feel like I’m adding something to the world.  Letting myself create.

The Real Tyler J. Morgan

Tyler J. Morgan Poem

Before his three week vacation Tyler J. Morgan said,
“I’m leaving, but don’t worry, I’ll leave a horse in my stead.”
His co-workers were a bit concerned
but Tyler assured them, “By this weekend he’ll have his spot more than earned.”
He does dishes, guts fishes, he even grants wishes.
“You’ll thank me soon enough.” Tyler J. Morgan guaranteed,
not knowing that he’d soon be completely replaced by the steed.

Three weeks came and went by
but nobody, not even Mrs. Morgan started to cry.
The horse was greeted daily with a, “Tyler, hey.”
To which he’d kindly shake his head and reply, “Nayyy.”
No difference could be told between boy and horse,
so everybody continued on their current course.
Dishes were cleaned
and fish gutted at the seam.
One woman was heard to say, “Tyler, how your eyes gleam!”
“Nayyyy.” the horse replied,
blushing and wide eyed.

With his vacation done
Tyler J. Morgan returned from the fun.
However, things had changed,
Tyler’s life had been rearranged.
Instead of his bed, a TV, and cable,
his room appeared a horses stable.
His co-workers stared strangely,
as Tyler J. Morgan entered the restaurant Grangeley.
“Get out of here.” they yelled
as if put under a spell.
“Get rid of that horse.” Tyler replied.
“Really, has nobody cried?”
As Tyler bent down to pick up a straw of hay
he heard a single, “Nayyyy.”

Squirmy Worm Bait

Bob’s fishing pole was all he had. Everything else he didn’t need. Elaine, Bob’s wife, explained this to him some time ago, a short time ago, yesterday, and a minute ago as she packed their belonging in her suitcase. Lifting the overall blue jeans she’d bought Bob on his birthday last year under the light, she said, “Yeah, these will fit Francis perfectly.”

Hearing her voice, Bob nodded his head in ignorant agreement. He was annoyed with Elaine seeing as how her suitcase clutter made reaching his tackle box difficult.

That was a special day for Bob. The Northern Sea Bass were rumored to be arriving which meant the river across town, where Bob usually fished, but seldom caught due to “stiff competition,” would be his for the picking. “Giddy up,” Bob thought, “Here I come, like a bass-out-of-hell.” Quoting an album by that “manly sounding meatpatty” singer, as he put it, and using the word bass in the same sentence led Bob to lift his head and snicker in prideful admiration of his wit.

“You hear that sweet cheeks, I’m off to a good start already. Them fish are going to jump right into my plastic holding bag. I can just feel it,” Bob said lowering his head to work on setting a series of hooks on his line. “We’s going to feast tonight.”

Though very aware of Bob’s enthusiastic statements, Elaine was too busy cutting her husband’s face out of their wedding pictures to respond. Francis didn’t have a job so there would be no wedding, much less wedding pictures in the near future. They’d have to make due with Elaine and Bob’s set, a bit of glue and some creative scissor-work. Elaine didn’t mind though. Francis had already given her a gold laced, partially encrusted, and soon to be mounted crystal ring.

“Get the fire going babe. I’ll be back in a minute with some meat. For the bible says that men shall not live off of bread always,” Bob quoted. He was now even more confident in his fishing abilities as he’d produced a second witty quote in a matter of minutes, a sure sign of the good karma the day had brought. Pushing a suitcase full of his own under pants to the side, Bob bounded out of the house geared in plastic overalls and holding his lucky pole.

Finding that Elaine had not packed his squirmy worm bait as usual, Bob

Short Story

attempted for hours to fish with a piece of bread his neighbor’s five year old son, Billy Joe, had brought. “All that good karma just shot down the john by Elaine’s thoughtlessness,” Bob said to Billy Joe, who didn’t respond. Bob continued to show his frustration saying, “I swear she’s living in another world.” Billy Joe nodded as he was the only other person at the river and felt obligated to acknowledge Bob somehow despite not understanding Bob’s frustration. Billy Joe’s attention however, was short lived. The five year old had found a frog to play with and no longer felt compelled to listen to Bob.

Packing up and remembering how Elaine had forgotten to pack his squirmy worm bait, Bob acknowledged his defeat at the river, despite the fact that it wasn’t his fault. However, in a strange way, Bob realized that he’d actually accomplished exactly what he’d taught Elaine earlier that morning. “For man shan’t live off bread alone,” Bob said quietly. “It’s just like I said, not off of bread alone. And what did I fish with?” Bob asked himself. “Bread! I fished with bread alone.” Though both the fish, who wouldn’t bite his bread, and his wife, who didn’t pack his squirmy worm bait had betrayed him, Bob felt a sense of pride knowing that he’d spoken the truth.

Bob was frustrated with Elaine from the moment he’d stumbled over her bags and out of the house in the morning till the moment he came back fishless at night. “Well, you really did it this time,” Bob announced as he strutted through the door. Even as he said it though, he knew he’d better take it back. To Bob’s delight, Elaine had cleared out all those bags and the house now appeared much more open. “Tomorrow I won’t have to step over all that clutter to rig up my fishing pole. Tomorrow’s my day! Giddy up.” Bob thought.

“Well darlin’,” Bob said, while unknowingly stepping on a photograph cut-out of his own head, “you are something else cleaning up the house like this. I guess we’ll just have some beans and bread for dinner tonight. The river was crowded again.”

Elaine didn’t answer. Bob figured she must be sweeping up in back. Leaving Elaine to her work, Bob sat down on the couch to get an early start on his pole set-up for the coming day.

A Question of Gender

She could appear to be either in her surging strength or placid comfort,
But as I sit within bobbing as a one man boat in jagged waters
Her churning roar clutters my ear and wraps around my thoughts,
The stringed blue stings of her veins contort my once unknotted face.
And yet, day after day, from the hospice of a lone shore

A Question of Gender - Poem

Her roaring sounds a melody
Sung to my hung will.
And through sinking grains I run closer,
I Run,though her lapping waves will pull me down the  shore to deeper waters.

She calls me as only a woman could…