Posts tagged ‘life’
PLUMBING PROBLES: PART VI
Jack continued, “I had spread word around the community that people should stay away from the property; there is something wrong about that place. Whenever I saw a car drive up, which wasn’t often because the place was so remote, I warned, “This place is no good. It’s strange.”
I asked him, “How can you say that?” The house is a wonderful place to live.”
Jack replied, “I know it’s a great property, but there is something wrong. I pressed him to go on. “One day, while walking through the field you now own, I found something strange near the pond,” he stated. “The first thing I noticed was the smell, a God-awful smell that made me gag; then I saw it. It was lying on the ground, about eight feet long. Been dead for some time I would say. Had a head shaped like a pipe.”
I looked at him, unable to picture a head shaped like a pipe.
He continued, “Had fins too, so I think it was some kind of fish. Damndest thing I ever saw. The fins at the bottom of its body were huge. I thought – what the hell is that doing here and what the hell is it. I buried the damn thing to get rid of it and the stench. There was also one night I couldn’t sleep, decided to take me a walk. I was at the edge of my property and looked over at your pond and saw the damndest thing. There were things in the pond glowing and swimming around. I said to myself, “That’s it! This place is no good. Then when I heard the owner had gone missing, I just tried to keep people away. Did a good job too, until you came along. Be careful in that house, something just ain’t right.” With that he walked to his tractor and continued his work.
I thought about Jack’s description of the strange occurrences on my property. A head shaped like a pipe, that was the part that made me think that Jack had a libation or two before he made his discovery, or maybe forgot to take some medication.
April 11, 2024 at 1:41 pm
This story was accepted for publication by Toasted Cheese, a literary journal, in April 2010.
The Gig of a Lifetime
Sweats Connelly was having the time of his life. He nodded to the rest of the band and played his heart out. A glowing fog obscured the audience, but he knew they were there listening as he gave them his sweet music.
* * *
Jerome Connelly grew up under the care of his unwed mother on the hard streets of an unforgiving city. His skin was a rich ebony, and from the time of his birth, he was rail-thin with the delicate features of a father he never knew. His nickname was Sweats, a direct result of the mean streets he called home. His friends gave him the name because, even on the coldest winter’s day, Jerome would arrive at school drenched in sweat.
His friends would ask, “Hey man, why you always sweating?”
He would mumble something about running late, wipe his face, and head for class. He couldn’t tell his friends that he was sweating from fear. The walk to school was through streets where drugs were dealt, where people were shot for no reason, where life was cheap and held no promise.
First his friends, then everyone he knew began to call him Sweats Connelly. It wasn’t long before there was no one who called him Jerome, except for his mother.
Sweats began playing sax in his middle school band. He continued to play into his high school years, but alone for his own pleasure. With money earned doing odd jobs, he managed to buy a used alto sax, which quickly became his most prized possession and his only close friend. Hours spent playing in the safe solitude of his bedroom sharpened his skills. He was good, and with time to focus on his playing, he knew he could be a lot better. Now sixteen, Sweats felt he was wasting his time in class. He had discovered the meaning of his life and none of the classes he took furthered that purpose.
Sweats returned to the small apartment he called home one day after school and carefully closed and locked the door. His mother, Martha, suspecting that something was bothering her son for some time now, asked him, “What’s wrong Jerome? You just not yourself lately.”
“Mom, I can’t take this shit anymore.”
“You watch your tongue,” his mother warned.
“Okay, I can’t take school anymore. I ain’t learnin’ nothin’. I want to play my sax, that’s all. I’m good Mom, and someday I could make some real money.”
Jerome’s mother bristled when he talked about dropping out of school. “I want you to do something with your life, Jerome. Not be like the bums you see everywhere on these streets.”
Martha said to her son, “It’s against my better judgment, school is important…
“I know mom, but playing my sax is important to me. I promise to get my GED, but I need time to practice.
“Oh, Baby,” cooed Martha.
Sweats knew he had her.
February 26, 2024 at 6:21 pm
THE PAST AND PRESENT
I recall the little boy
Full of hope
And no one
To give him
Guidance.
Thoughts beyond
His young mind
Could not understand.
He became a man
And as in his youth
There are no answers.
October 24, 2017 at 11:03 pm
THE SECRET MESSAGE
I know I promised to return to the art of writing, but thoughts and life interfere.
Life
We settle
For the superficial,
That is what we are taught,
What we are trained to accept,
But those
Who think beyond,
Pondering their existence,
Pondering questions
Their life does not fulfill
Risk madness,
Or perhaps,
True happiness.
October 12, 2017 at 2:15 am
EXISTENCE
Look to the sky
To see we are small,
In the vastness of space
What is our importance?
December 2, 2016 at 10:50 pm
I’m presenting a new category, mainly because it doesn’t fit with anything thus far presented in this blog. If you enjoy it, let me know. If you hate it, let me know, my skin is thick.
Day draws down as the beach empties, time to relax for the evening. Once at your beach rental, you sit on the sheltered porch and recall the release of tension the day has provided. Beer, cocktails and sodas are offered to those tanned and burned friends sharing this vacation day.
With the evening meal done, you all return to the porch and appreciate the view. Costal grass along with elegant birds provide a picture-perfect image.
Looking to the south and west you note dark clouds closing in. Flashes build within their ominous presence and dull thunder signals an approaching storm.
The turbulence of life is echoed to you as the storm draws near.
July 20, 2016 at 11:38 pm
Have you ever wondered
Of the giants,
The geniuses of the arts, the sciences?
How they suffered
Their daily lives?
The revelations and emotions,
The creations born
Yet the mundane thoughts
Crowding their existence,
Long gone
We put them on pedestals,
Gaze at their work in museums
Or read their efforts,
But remember,
Know they were human,
Lived day to day,
Dealt with life,
Some, their talent realized
Only once gone,
The gamble
Of being
Creative.
I try to appreciate every creative effort I read on the blogs I follow. To create something from nothing takes effort, whether grand or small.
March 25, 2016 at 8:24 pm
THE INFINITY OF LIFE
To enter the structure of an organ is to enter a world of vasculature and cell types striving to fulfill a function to keep their host alive.
But to enter on of its cells is to enter the journey of the infinite, the soup of life ever at work. Processes occurring at lightning speed not all fully understood.
The end result can be life-giving or fatal.
Such is work of the cell.
Such is the thin thread of our life.
July 14, 2012 at 8:10 pm
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