The Wind and Whistle Operator

The wind swept through the bricks.
It swept up my stairs.
Beneath my closed door, it whispered its cold call.
Like an operator
An operator of wind and whistle
That scoot under my door and through my window.

It's cold outside
Cold enough to ice skate, no
The pumpkins look like giant crystallized candies.
The cow bucket had a sheet of frosty ice.
A Rain gage is no measure in times like these.

The sun sheepishly peaks through the clouds
On this bitterly cold morning.
Like a tardy student quietly coming into a classroom.
The sky is baby blue like freshly pulled taffy.
Straight from the candy creators.

The night wind sweeps its thanks through the trees.
Like a silently kept night vigil. 

A Season's Bows

The Snow on the mountain bows its head to my step as I wander through their hills. Dew clings to the lambs ear that huddles next to the ground as if it were trying to cuddle with its despondent lover. Puddles deck the muddy ground and a fresh rain drips from the grasses swaying figures. A red gnarled feed trough lies in the pasture holding today's rain. My mint and grey shoes snap twigs and Reizen the petrified grasses. The hills are quiet and the clouds float on like impregnated elephants.

The White House on the Beach

Wishing thoughts of a far off land I can see you standing in the sand
There's a colored striped ball by your feet.
Your feet covered in small crystals of sand.

She is laughing
Her bright red lipstick
Perfectly carved
Onto her laughing lips.

She can see the gulls swooping ahead.
Bombing into the ocean
After squirming fish that struggle in their craws.

A crab wanders across the beach
it legs scratching the seashore
Leaving little-scuffling imprints.

A white house is overlooking the sea.
It has a tower with a light.
That shines into the sea at night.

The air seems light with a brisk salty breeze.
It smells of waves and sun kisses.

Then,
I realize I'm home.

Clara the Bride of the Ship

The black ladder tilted across the mizzen as it grew darker in the brilliant glare of moonlight. Pollox watched the black sky. Their sailors heaved the mast on board as the moon shown bright upon their rusted daggers. It was that time of night and the men were heavy with want for their bride: the sea. Uncorked the shattered glass of the night lay gathered on the deck.  Like moon beams cast across the ship's stern. Withered the sailors had become, rejoicing and shouting. Behind the mast, she was the bride of the ship. Mounted to the mast her bosom rising and falling with the sea's tide. Lay the beloved Clara tied to the ship's mast. A woman apart from her old world. Letting herself, unwontedly becoming part of the ship's crew. A gazed upon part of the ship, like some needed accouterment. A necessity to keep the ship afloat.
The mast held her back straight as the waves shook the vessel sending it headlong into the spitting Atlantic ocean.

A shout comes from the poop deck and a man climbs down the rope ladder to the deck.
The ship has seen land ahead. The crew breathes a sigh of relief. And Clara stifles a shout of joy.
Maybe her life could be better now?
She could run away from these fiends that had held her hostage for so long. Maybe...
But fate held her captive.

A seagull squawked his war cry as he dove fearlessly into the water skimming its surface pouncing on its struggling aqueous victim.  Clara watched as the fish struggled within its captor's jaws; with a quick toss in the air, the gull swallowed the fish whole.
Maybe she was being overly sentimental but this brought tears to Clara's eyes. What if her fate were to be the same? A quick struggle but an authoritative grip to silence any wish for escape.
The sound of sailor's feet bounded down the galley to her door. The mutter of wind forced a whistle through the door which opened quickly to reveal not a sailor but the captain himself adorned in his best coat and Bi-Corne hat.

"Come on lassie were goin' out to thee' docks for a swagger."
With little resistance from the weakened Clara, she stumbled across the deck to come face to face with the sharp glare of her conniving captor, Ralph P. Vertnik...

A Desolate End

Malory's aunt condescended her excuses and banished her to her room. For present, Malory sits sullenly looking outside at the bright clouds, and despairs. The outside view provides no escape from her captivity. She sees her friends outside playing soccer, joyfully kicking the ballback and forth, across the field. She turns her back, she cannot stand looking, her confinement is two hours longer. In the heat of her emotions, Malory glances outside to see a hot air balloon, rising directly above the house. She thinks about what she'll do when she gets out. Will she shout thanks to the Heaven's? No, she never was very religious, even though her aunt had always had the famimly sit down after dinner and read psalms. Maybe she would just run. run. run. Run away from this place people considered her home. She wasn't at home ever since the Break she had stayed here, in this clad walled house, more of a prison really.
              After her escape she skirted the house and took off through the burned stubbles of the corn field. She had nearly been caught by her aunt who stood near the house waving a broom menacingly. Malory ran deep into the forest, pausing once to catch her breath, but then hearing the not so distant yells, running farther deeper into the woods, that choked her image from the house.
             The night was growing cold and the ground provided little comfort for a bed. No blankets, save for the leaves and dew drenched grasses. She was hungry. She was hungry for many days until the end.

Battle on the High Deserts

A lonely soldier stumbled through the desert. His parched throat held him silent. His shrunken stomach told of the last meal he'd had. He was camped near a massive boulder which provided some shade. That is for him and, "the boys", his fellow soldiers who had borne the suffering of heat and famished bellies with him. They had travelled many miles through this lonely dessert, with no sign of life, save for one chameleon. After dinner that night the boys decided their was certainly no substinence in chameleons. Sleeping in the heat of the desert sands proved a trifle uncomfortable; all the modern conveniences of home gone.
                            By morn the sun reflected off the shining sands, creating an explicable heat. But alas the poor heat-stricken soldiers stumbled on watching the sun skirt the hill and eddy upward. They were all beat.