Not Square, Not Plumb, But True


I cant paint you a colorful picture

I dont see the world that way

I do better with black and white

I might consider shade

If it made me feel a certain way

But you would still want detail

Intricacies, arch and bend

While Im wondering with each stroke

If the subject glowers in tempestuous winds

I assume he leans, twists and flutters, from banal progression

But you want to see it

Reinforcement that we discuss the human condition

Like an artist who draws puffy mountains

Because shes not good at jagged lines

I still want to make it pretty

If I draw you a sketch about ambiguity

Can you assume the boundaries I sketch beyond

Can you supply applicable color and texture

To remind you of the life you know

The world you see with your own eyes

Looking through a different lens than mine

Dreams fall and then they splatter

Erasure, eraser, at the ready

I try to sketch, catch the spell

Must I admit I lack the confidence

For pen and ink and cannot paint the rain

Some lines are crisp but some are blurry

And go off in impossible directions

To sunrise and sunset

Without color and of a different nature

The magical artist paints something pretty

With beauty, if not content, of universal recognition

And still something personal just within

That each viewers eyes can see

But sometimes those of us with limited stroke
Need to tell a story

It might be a good one but hack freely admits

It might also be difficult to assess

The depth of a pieces beauty from detail

When smudges may or may not be coincidental







From the short story: Volunteer

Sergeant Drill thought it might be a good idea to show off for the General. Hed have two, no three sets of combatants go at it simultaneously. He asked for two more body shields. Volunteer had just one more in the truck, he grabbed it and ran to the fight zone.

I wanted two more, Private. Two. Count now. One, two.
Im sorry Sergeant. We only brought the one extra.
Sergeant Drill merely turned his head in disgust. But the esteemed dignitary stomped over to Sergeant Herder and demanded, Are you in charge of these supplies, Sergeant?
I, uh, I, Sir, we, Sergeant Herder bumbled, knowing full well that the two body shields they had packed was the proper number but not wanting to blame Sergeant Drill.
Actually, Sir, it was my responsibility. I couldnt find another shield before we left the supply room. Volunteer felt he had to take the heat off Herder, who was red-faced, even shamefaced and completely flustered.
You think you have the right to address me? Sergeant, who is this incompetent, impudent Private? Why is he working on the Aid Vehicle? Is he retarded? How else can you explain the fact that he doesnt know better than to address me?
He - -, Sir, he is a Jehovahstat Witness.
What the hell do I care what kind of disease he has? Shape up, Sergeant. Whatever his problem is, hes your responsibility.

Sweat poured from Herders eyebrows, the tip of his nose, the corners of his mouth. He was waiting at attention for worse to come but the General had tired of the game, he gave a disgusted snort, stomped off and climbed into a waiting vehicle.

Herder took a little time to work himself back up, glared at Volunteer and shouted, I told you to bring three, didnt I, Private?
No, Sergeant, you didnt.
Private, count the stripes on my arm. Count them, now.
One, two, three, four.
Louder! the red-faced Sergeant screamed.
One, two, three, four.





From the story: Crusader Pony

Instead, Crusader bounded to a recess on the side of the cliff. He planted his hoofs just as Baby fell past him towards the hard gully floor. Crusader snapped his tail like a whip. It darted out to Baby, wrapped itself around the little Bear and then flipped him skyward. Baby just barely made it over the edge of the cliff where he landed at his anxious sisters feet.
Next, Mama fell past the spindly-legged appaloosa. Again, the tail snapped out, uncurling to amazing lengths with incredible speed. Crusader knew he would have to loft Mama with greater force to send her safely over the cliff edge. He overdid it. Mama landed in a tree several yards up the mountain from where Baby lay.
Finally, Papa fell past Crusader. The tail performed its magic one more time. Papa went sailing towards the Bear children. Higher and higher, but not high enough. Just a few feet from their outstretched hands, he began to fall once more. Crusader tried again, but he was weakening, the situation was getting desperate.
Sister ran to the sled and cut the leather tow strap free. She and Baby climbed down the drop-off as far as they dared and tied the ends of the strap to two trees jutting out from the side of the treacherous cliff. They stretched it as tight as their small arms allowed just as Papa made what might have been his final ascent.
Papa rose just above the strap and then started to fall. He stepped across midair and landed on the leather. It yielded under his considerable weight but snapped tight to boost Papa the final few feet necessary to land him safely on solid ground.
Crusader, Sister, and Baby were huddled around Papa when Mama Bear stumbled wearily down the mountain. It was clear the Bears were all just fine, if still a bit shaken. Mama and Crusader had been friends for a long, long time. So it was with good humor and without malice that she said, Crusader, I hate to look a gift pony in the mouth, but I think its about time you fine tuned your tail.