Our Ward

Take me somewhere else.
Away from this world
That cannot contain us.

Take me away from schedules,
Plans and a future.
No one will know our past.

A place to be
Where our hearts may speak,
In the place of poems
And others’ pretty words.

Take me far from this.
This solitude, these sores,
And these sandblasted walls.

Take me with you.
Somehow get me out
The way you are going.

These goons in the room
Who gave me 8 to 9
Now say that I’ll be just fine.
A mixed miracle in my mind.

You’re a ghost in the making
Lying before my eyes.
Speech abandoning you,
Hope not far behind.

Take me off this plane.
Free of conscious pain
And the sight of yours.

Take me on your journey.
Don’t leave me with this,
A life of your lost fight.

Your speechless lips move.
I force my eyes to read them.
“I’m being taken away.”
You leave in two minutes time.

The sun shines into the ward
On a day you will never see.
My shirt seems to button itself
As I’m severed from reality.
Into fresh air and open arms,
I’m leaving out a different door.
Survivor’s guilt has struck me.
As much punishment as reward.
It will take its toll slowly,
Eroding me from within.
Your final words were silent,
But your impact left a din.

Us Today

What have we learned?
There are no Gods, messiahs or saints
But from us you’ll hear no complaints
We’ve lost hope in miracles and prayer
But none of us really seem to care
We live in a life of hustle, bustle, and hurry
But we live our lives without a worry
The face of America has become more mottled
We all share childhoods being overly-coddled
The country is leaderless, led by buffoons
Spewing enough hot air to fill a billion balloons
No more Washingtons, Lincolns or Roosevelts
Nothing left but fatcats with bulging belts
Pockets full of lobbyist money
Bastards they are, deceptive and cunning
Laws more invasive, ads more persuasive
Authority more abrasive, answers more evasive

What has our generation become?
We’re more logical and rational
Aware of issues local and national
Going abroad, growing international
Less evangelical, closer to skeptical
More scientific and medical
Experts in things electronic and mechanical
We are Suburbia-bred
We are fast food fed
We are always wondering
As our lives are sundering
What it would be like to be dead
A suicide culture has emerged
Teenage drug use has surged
Popular notions become absurd
Fact and fiction are now blurred
Witnesses of terror and two wars
Saluting soldiers who’ve done three tours
We’re a society of smartasses and cynics
Who dismiss and belittle our critics
And while our case may not be clinical
It’s a concern that has turned critical

Are you happy with this state of our being?
Or are you offended by what you’re seeing?

Brothers, sisters, do you see what we are?
We are not all special little stars
Some of us will fail or become ordinary
Even if we’ve been raised to believe the contrary
It’s on you.
Mark out your own path and goals
Fire yourself up about your life
Throw on some more coals
Laugh at the world, laugh at death
Laugh every second ‘til your last breath
Your philosophy should be against the grain
Anything less and it’ll drive you insane
We’re better than our ancestors
Improvements of our predecessors
You need to break the mold, raise your voice
Don’t be afraid to make an unpopular choice
You don’t want to be the average
Become the savage

What will you do with your life?
Will you embrace love in the face of strife?
You do, and you’ll become the topic of the conversation
The idol of admiration
The fawned-over fascination
The incendiary sensation
The formation of a new foundation
Go ahead
And redefine our generation

Do nothing less.

I Have Seen Paradise

It all came before me, as my boat sailed on
A warm, heavy sun fell upon me swiftly,
I had not a clue where I had gone.
The river had suddenly opened up to sea,
And there I was, just paradise and me.

To my left was the grandest of all sights,
A high cliff decorated with waterfalls and vines,
With lush jungle sitting just above the heights.
Clearly a landscape crafted from impeccable designs.
Yes, mine was the greatest of all man’s finds.

The water all about seemed enchanted in some way,
Sparkling with such avidness and glee.
I was in a sea that left me with nothing to say,
My tongue speechless, mind in jubilee.
There was never a moment where I felt so free.

I was happy in this land beyond imagination;
A feeling of peace never before tasted by my lips.
But I knew I’d never again know this sensation,
Though I would have the memory of this, finest of all trips.
And it was then that I saw, in the distance, ships!

Classic frigates floated near the cliff,
Hundreds of feet up, their masts shot into the sky.
Even with just light winds, all their sails were stiff.
Yet the vessels’ appearance were no fright to the eye,
No more than that of a common fruit fly

At the center of them all was a behemoth to be true.
To the clouds and beyond did this one extend,
And just as I saw it, I not only felt, I knew.
My boat was leaving the sea and entering a bend,
I was leaving paradise, my visit at an end.

But, I would remember this place without a doubt.
I’d think about it in class later on and pray,
Praying to be able to remember that route.
That route that led to the deep blue bay.
That bay that I pray above all to return to one day.

"A Dive into Wet Cement" and "The Pitch (First Edit)"

These two stories cannot be posted onto my blog, so if you would like a copy of either to enjoy, please send me an email @ ghostdj42@gmail.com

A Dive into Wet Cement had to be taken off as a precondition when submitting it to literary journals. It's the story of a teenager teetering on a bridge as part of a rite of passage, while also teetering on the bridge between adolescence and adulthood. Personally considered to be my best story.

The Pitch (First Edit) is a multi-layered story about a writer trying to pitch a story, and so much more. In it, the writer toys around with the conventions of writing a story on his way to pitch it. He's both a character, in two ways, and also the writer. It's complicated, postmodern, and has laughs. If you like Adaptation, Eternal Sunshine of the the Spotless Mind, or Donnie Darko, you'll like this. Hopefully. Because of its varied fonts, strike-throughs, and variety of colors, I couldn't post it in its perfect form on the blog, so I chose not to post it at all.

-blogfully, Derek

I'll Meet You in Dreams

I'm in a place I've seen before. I've never been there, per se, but I have seen it. I think I'm in a level of a video game that I've played before, something like a World War II game. I'm walking along, carefully watching my feet, planting on foot in front of the other as if I'm doing a sobriety test.

You're there above me, to my right, walking along a ledge like a gymnast on the balance beam. Your hair is down, aside from a few hair clips, and the winds that come along blow it around and give you the aura of a goddess. As in most dreams, I don't know how I know things, I just know them. I'm taking you to the train station to see you off. This I know, though neither of us have made mention to it. The carnal thoughts in my mind begin to multiply, and I can barely hold back my feelings for you.

You begin asking me conditional questions, "Would you love me if..."

To each one I say, "Yes." To each "Yes" your smile grows brighter than all the sun's rays. I've never seen you smile that big in reality, and the sight causes me to freeze in my steps. You're so incredibly beautiful when you smile like that.

We turn the corner and find ourselves at platform where we must go our separate ways. You turn to me. The tension between us grows. Your face flushes. I look at your lips; a lighter shade of rose. I have so many things to say, but there's no need. We both know it's inevitable now. We know it's now or never. We move closer than ever.

Our lips, about to come together at last. My heart races, knowing it's you I'm about to feel. The first encounter is ever so brief, with my bottom lip brushing your top. We separate and look at each other in surprise. We've finally kissed. Now let's never stop. Let our next one last forever. My left hand find the bottom of your back, the right one finds your thigh.

This is the greatest feeling in my life. We're not thinking, we're just doing. That's how we know what is between is real. I make my way to your neck but then it strikes me: I can go no further. I must come to halt. You have to go and so do I. Our chins hover just above each other's shoulders. We must depart.

More than anything, I want to commit the greatest sin, to just to stay with you and touch my lips to your skin.

Instead, I smile at you in a reassuring way. At the very least, we've taken that next step, and for that I should be happier than any man alive. One last look into your eyes and I take my leave. As good as this dream is, I must go, I must go wake up. I leave you standing there, watching me walk away. We can't see each other now, but we both know we're smiling.

And then I wake up.
_______________________

I walk out of my room and into the kitchen, looking for a midday snack. Before I reach the fridge, I look out the back door and see you there. You've returned to me. I can't believe it, to be honest, and I just stare with a slack-jaw in your direction. You're shooting me that smile from that night at the train station. That smile breaks me from my spell. I rush to the door and jump outside to see you. You take a step forward and we meet. We embrace in a full body bind. I just keep thinking in my head, "I love you, I love you, I love you." I pull back so I can get a look at your face.

Though it's only been one day in between my dreams of seeing you, it's felt like ages. You're wearing those glasses that I adore, the ones that make you look devastingly brilliant, which you are.

You begin asking a thousand questions. I cock my head to the right as I listen to you, barely hearing the questions, but losing my breath at the soothing and comforting sound of hearing your voice again. I nod my head and recall saying, "Really?" to something you say. The only question I remember fully is when you ask if I saw you in the paper.

"I did. It was lovely."

This sudden surprise appearance has caught me off-guard, however, and I realize it's but a dream again. You're slipping away from me quickly. Your visage fades to white. I'm losing you again, with only a fleeting memory to take with me.

I love you dearly. Goodbye.

I've awoken.

Why Pittsburgh Always Loses - A Lesson

A boy and his father have just finished watching Game 2 between the Detroit Red Wings and the Pittsburgh Penguins. The boy, inquisitive, turns to his father.

"Dad, why are the Penguins losing all the time?"

The father smokes his fancy pipe for a moment before answering his young son's question.

"Well, son," the father begins, "For starters, the Penguins are captained by a preteen boy, not much older than yourself. That's Sidney Crosby, the little fella out there with the scruffy facial hair getting double-teamed all the time. See, our captain, Nick Lidstrom, is an experienced veteran who earned his captainship by playing for years as an intelligent defensemen and one of the best in the game, not because the NHL executives, especially Commissioner Bettman, hyped him beyond belief as being the poster child and future of the league when really Mr. Ovechkin of the Capitals is. Oh, also, Lidstrom's a future Hall of Famer."

"But their captain got a lot of points during the season. Why isn't he doing anything?"

"Good question. Easy answer. It's because he doesn't play Detroit 82 times a year, otherwise you wouldn't see those kinds of numbers. Also, Crosby isn't good enough to handle Detroit defense, which is widely-regarded as being the most efficient for nearly a decade now. Zetterberg and Lidstrom in particular make neutralizing Crosby look like a breeze."

"Neutralizing?"

"It means to make Crosby look like he's never played hockey against a professional team before."

"Oh...so that's why they're losing?"

"Oh no no no, buddy. There's a lot more."

"Like what?"

"The Penguins' leading scorer, Evgeni Malkin, is also the Hunchback of Notre Dame."

"Like in that Disney movie! He's Quasimoto!"

"Exactly. His face is grotesque, but because the Wings have been playing ugly mugs like him for so long, his face has no effect on them. During the regular season, defensemen would move out of his away to avoid looking at him, giving Quasimoto...er...Malkin, an open lane to score all the time. But our guys, like Zetterberg, aren't afraid of him, and will even fight him, like you saw at the end of the game."

"But Zetterberg was defending Ozzie after that bad guy knocked him down after the whistle. Why didn't Malkin like that?

"Because Malkin isn't a classy player, and he's upset that his team is doing so badly. You know how you get mad because you can't beat your video games and you slam your controller on the floor?"

"Yeah."

"That's why he got mad, because Detroit is like your video game, set on 'All-Star,' and Malkin and the Penguins aren't good enough to beat them, so they get mad and push and fight."

"So...the Penguins are losing because Crosby isn't experienced enough to lead his team, isn't good enough to beat Detroit's defense, and because Detroit isn't afraid of Malkin."

"That's right, and because Malkin doesn't have the discipline to control himself when his team is doing bad."

"Ok. What about their goalie? Why does he let in so many goals that Ozzie would stop?"

"That's another good question, pal. Marc-Andre Fleury is a good goalie, but he isn't a great goalie, and has a tendency to let in easy goals that even your mother could save with her Ove-Glove. He doesn't have the kind of mindset to get over those goals, so once he messes up, he keeps messing up. Oh, also Detroit's offense is relentless and has immense depth, meaning anybody on our team is a scoring threat. That means that Fleury never gets to rest and must always be afraid, which he is already."

"He's afraid?"

"Very. Remember last year when he fell coming out onto the ice?"

"Hahaha yeah! That was funny!"

"That's a tip-off to how anxious and nervous he was to play the Red Wings. A year later he's still afraid of us."

"Wow. Is that all?"

"They also have a player on their team named Satan. Which is spelled S-A-T-A-N, just like Satan. And what did we learn in church?"

"Satan never wins!"

"That's right! And neither does the team he plays on."

"Dad, what about Marian Hossa?"

"What about him, buddy?"

"Why did he leave to come play with us?"

"Well, a lot of folks say it was because he wanted to play with a team that had the best chance to win a Stanley Cup, which is partly true, but also because he realized all the stuff I just taught you right now. That with a little boy leading the team, a half-man half-Picasso painting leading in points, a sissy-pants-wetting goalie in net, and Satan on the ice, that Pittsburgh would never help him win a Cup. So he came to Detroit."

"Wow, Hossa's smart!"

"He sure is, son. That's why he's wearing the Red and White."

"Pittsburgh doesn't seem like they have a good chance to win this series, Dad."

"No chance to be honest. Wings in 5."

The father goes back to smoking his pipe and watching the post-game show, but the son has one more question.

"Dad, is Mickey Redmond crazy?"

The father puts his pipe back down.

"This is going to take a while, son. You might want to go get some ice cream."

"YAY!"

Warwolf

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warwolf

Towering in height, to the Brits t’was a sight
And they christened it the loup-de-guerre.
It would frighten their foe, and leave them in woe
But as in love, all in war is fair.

Quite a distance it could throw, and to Scotland it would go
By order of Edward the King.
Stones three hundred pounds or more, would be sent in the air to soar
With just the lightest fling.

Approaching the castle Stirling, it was ready to do its hurling
Only to be told to halt.
The Scots caught its eye, and rather than die
Asked that there’d be no assault.

The battle had not even begun, but the Brits had it won
And the conflict had been defused.
But as the swords fell, Edward let out a yell,
“Fire!”
Saying, “I’d still like to see it used.”