unencumbered by bodies they passed by
a flock of traveling souls soaring in the sky
a grieving widow saw them giving her hope
of eternal life and the inner strength to cope
Call of the Coded Words
they’re a siren’s call to mystery and intrigue
laced with meanings from a special colleague
coded words that creep into conversations
secrets exchanged between rival nations
words so fraught with hidden meaning
can also contain something demeaning
peeling away layers of deep mistrust
that if decoded could easily combust
turning a questionably civilized society
into a maelstrom of vicious impropriety
Frog Night Serenade
ribbit! ribbit!
went the big bullfrog
while sitting on a floating log
ribbit! ribbit!
in a basso tone
making the lady frogs groan
ribbit! ribbit! ribbit!
the bullfrog sang
before he suddenly sprang
ribbit! ribbit!
taking everything he had
to land smoothly on a lily pad
ribbit! ribbit! ribbit!
excited girl frogs were arrayed
waiting for the bullfrog’s serenade
ribbit! ribbit! ribbit!
sang the bullfrog under the light of the moon
while his delighted audience tried not too swoon
Rebellion of the Clocks
time was lost when earth’s clocks rebelled
against constraints man’s science brought to bear
triggering deafening alarms and chimes everywhere
shattering clocks of every type and style
leaving broken timekeepers behind in a pile
of wristwatches
pocket watches
novelty watches
and other mechanical cousins
products of man’s efforts to capture time
such impunity
bending universal physics like salt water taffy
in order to control society
making people account for every hour of the day
and when to pray
until cosmic forces finally intervened
against the invention by human beings
The Rum Seekers
75 words
the bottles stood intact in a ragged line on the beach’s burning sand silent sentinels taking a stand as the hypnotizing waves lapped nearby telling a tale of drowned sailors and a ship’s sad demise so near paradise and mere meters away from an island fit for castaways to live out their last days after a lifetime of piracy on the open sea searching the beaches for booty and unbroken bottles of good British rum
Riffing on Living
205 words – free verse
life in the fast lane of concrete jungles weaving through cities and states seeking altered states and the key to paradise while cities burn from fires caused by climate change and a whole range of environmental disasters brought on by corporate behemoths that breath life into Wall Street’s secrets corridors of power looking down on the average citizen nearly powerless trying to fight Goliath with a cell phone tapped by the FBI and marketers vying for the masses money in cyberspace a dangerous place where saints and sinners trumpet their wares to the unwary visitors responding to special sales for limited times – but wait there’s more – in the pursuit of happiness religions and cults seek converts with promises of saving souls and access to elite Hollywood parties where the wealthy meet to greet one another and brag about big contracts and casting beds while women fight for equality and freedom from perverted movie execs soaked in their huge egos looking for the next star in an industry of dreams where viewers suspend reality to escape a world of lies that have formed like cobwebs in our society holding the average person victim with fake news and rhetoric straight from hell and premiering near you soon.
205 words – free verse
A Tribute To Lawrence Ferlinghetti
he captured the average American experience
with words woven with activism and skepticism
an insurgent in the literary world with no allegiance
to traditional poetry and using abstract expressionism
he confesses to being an anarchist at heart
encouraging poets to write about political and cultural
aspects of their country like laws and local art
Lawrence Ferlinghetti who turned 100 the other day
still burns brightly in the world of poetry
an icon with plenty left to say
about the world and our society
My Bangkok Tour Guide
Essay – 246 words
While walking down a street in the Kingdom of Thailand where ex-pats from around the world land, blending seamlessly into the local 1970 economy, I met a young boy with a man’s eyes.
He was probably ten – going onto forty – with worldly knowledge far beyond his tender years. Anuia was a frail street waif with the wisdom of the local marketplace for sale. He promised the best place to stay, my drug of choice, and prostitutes with breathless beauty, if I hired him throughout my stay.
We toured a banana plantation, and a red light district called
Pattaya, with outrageous sex acts they were not even considered risqué in the day. Creedance Clearwater Revival rocked the bars with “Looking Out My Backdoor.” I smoked some of the best weed in my life, comparing it to the Vietnamese strain that made you forget your name.
We watched kick fighter’s knock each other out, only to get up afterwards and respectfully bow to one another. Anuia shared his best curse words to get quick results, and bargained over every transaction like it might be his last. He was shrewd and a survivor, with no parents or family.
The thing that impressed me the most was he was always smiling – except when he negotiated a deal. His smile seemed to defy the life he led. When my time was up, and I had to go, he shook my hand, then turned to greet another group of visitors deplaning nearby.
TV and Reality
we have to be careful not to believe everything we see
on TV
the line between reality shows and reality
has become murky
a parade of partisan petty bourgeoisie
on TV
from entertainment to ideology
a warped view of what the world should be
based upon viewer popularity
on TV
where talk shows hosts spew witty repartee
and political pundits dramatically can’t agree
instantly becoming must-watch insanity
on TV
where we can be fooled by technology
into seeing something entirely phony
gleefully watching a bunch of baloney
I think that I’ll never see
anything more deceptive
than a TV
Dial for Love
Flash Fiction 400 -words
Deuce McCutcheon went to her funeral a year ago, but was still having trouble believing she was gone forever. Freyja was the love of his life. She was the first, and only, woman who could see behind the hideous mask of his contorted face, which was a result of a terrible childhood injury.
She never hesitated to kiss his twisted lips in public or private. They were soulmates, spending endless hours talking through sleepless nights. Sharing their dreams and inner desires until exhaustion overtook them both. Their years together flew by like days as the lovers languished in the security of one anothers embrace.
As lovers often do, they talked about life after death and what they would do when the horrible time came when one was left without the other. They weighed in on his Christian Heaven, and her Norwegian Valhalla. They explored the concept of life energy moving from one host to the next. They planned elaborate ways of communicating from one realm or dimension to the survivor’s world.
But nothing worked. Deuce grew more depressed every day. On the anniversary of her death he visited her grave. Pulling out a sprig of sage he lit it and passed the smoke back and forth over her resting place. Next, he pulled out his pipe and packed it with a strain of their favorite cannabis, and puffed on it thoughtfully as he looked at her photo which he brought with him.
A thought entered his grief. Hazy and unformed. He realized that he had saved more than just photos of her. He had saved her old cell phone number. He was fumbling for his old-fashioned flip cell phone when the sun parted the dark clouds that hung over the cemetery.
Opening it, he went straight to his address book. There it was. Freyja’s phone number. The chill seemed to go away and he took his jacket off while staring at the number. He was experiencing a strange sense of peace. He pushed her number…and waited. It rang three times. Then he heard Freyja’s high voice…”I wondered when you would call,” she teased him.
The next day a ground’s keeper discovered Deuce’s body, curled up on a grave. He was still clutching his cell phone. Later when asked about his discovery by a reporter, he said, “You should have seen the smile on that guy’s face!”
The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 