Front Porch Rambles

He was scrambling over the gnarled roots of the mangroves, fighting the sucking mud and the rising tide for his life.  That is, he was, until a flying Thomas the tank engine struck him above his right brow.  Confused for a moment, the cold gray blue of the oncoming storm had been traded for the bumpy white panels of the basement ceiling.  The shelter he'd sought where the shore rose up above the cold waves was a jungle of electronics and boxes full of papers, precariously stacked in a dim corner of the storage shelves.  The natives of this startling new world were restless.  He narrowly winced out of the path of a ninja turtle's flying kick, and looked for an escape route.  The old springs of the basement sofa hung low, and were scarcely easier to escape than the tide plain in his book.  Hastily grabbing the paperback, he juked and dodged his way past another flying toy. "How many times do I have to say it?! STOP throwing toys!" The three year old froze with a sha

Whisky, my love, We must call it quits, I ventured you loved me,  You gave me the shits.

It was late.  The sky blue quilt that lay kicked and crumpled at the foot of the bed glowed in the dim blue light from the digital numbers. 12:59.  Depending on the accuracy of the clock's atomic guarantee, it may or may not be Monday in the next time zone.  It certainly was, here. He counted back the hours from his wife's early departure for work. Five and a half hours still remained before diapers would need changing or eggs scrambling. To most this would be a regrettably late bedtime, but he knew he could easily spend the next 90 minutes tapping away at the keyboard. Or, admittedly, staring into space for indeterminate lengths of time as his mind scribbled and erased madly.  The words had been coming easily but what did he have to show but some autobiographical musings and thinly guised Star Trek fan fiction?  Was he getting anywhere? Where was he even going? So far, he'd let inspiration take the wheel, ignoring the terror of the blank white page for long enough to wri

The tree grew in unlikely soil, more stone than dirt.  In its growth it had cast aside boulders as if throwing off a heavy quilt after a deep sleep.  They lay solidly, looking at once unmovable and like so much litter cast idly to the side.  The rapid expansion towards the sun had left deep splits in the weathered gray bark.  A mans finger would fit to the second knuckle in the deepest furrows, and ants busily traveled up and down the shadowed path.  Overhead, some manner of tiny beast was chittering a rhythm backup to the rustle and low creaks of timber in a breeze.  The main trunk was relatively narrow, just wide enough to hold in embrace were one so inclined.  Two meters off the ground the tree split suddenly in graceful counterpoint.  One division immediately forked again, parting in a stretching yawn. The other frayed as it rose, an untended braid unraveling into the sky.  Thousands of thin dark lines sprouted from the trees arms. A few slack branches hung low, heavy with clusters

In the darkness, he heard the quiet crying of a baby.  3 am wakings were not unheard of in the Gabler household, but Charles wasn't usually out of bed when they happened.  He got up from the rocker and threw down his cigar.  Inside, he heard nothing but the loud breathing of the first-grader.  He stood outside the door like a ninja bodyguard, ready to pounce in silently and swiftly if the need should arise.  The silence persisted, he guessed the baby had settled back down.  With all three boys asleep in one room, it was seldom worth creaking open the door for an actual look. On his way out, he caught sight of the beer bottles left behind when date night relocated.  As he tidied up he thought he heard the cry not from within, but seeping through the screen windows on the front of the house. The moment he stepped outside, he knew the baby was somewhere nearby.  It was outdoors too, or he'd never have heard the low but clear garbles and squeaks.  The infant was tired of crying

Here was a man that knew her heart, and all the places where it was cracked and bruised.  He knew all the secret stories, had done his part through her grief.  She knew he was a good man. There were no obstacles between them. There was nothing. Grace arrived as usual, right at suppertime.  Carved hot dogs, shells and cheese, and canned veggies.  Green beans were the flavor of the night, judging by the hue of the infant's face.  Sweet little Benny was now testing the durability of the flatware, while Bobby, on the verge of kindergarten, carefully stacked green logs to be hauled away and consumed as a whole. Elvis the golden retriever was the self appointed janitor of the feast.  She found Carl in the kitchen preparing his own dinner, but her appetite remained silent.  Grace wouldn't put down her bag until she had reached the bedroom.  Behind the door, she went to the bathroom and shut herself in.  For a full minute she stared at her reflection, expressionless.  What was

The door to Mom and Dad's room was open, he could hear them chatting about who knows what.  He walked in slow and steady, and made straight for the dark place under the desk.  His parents leaned facing each other on the bed, Dad's back was turned.  It didn't seem like Dad was going anywhere soon, so he laid down on the floor and listened.   He didn't understand the words they were using, but the sound of it made him feel safe.  He closed his eyes and began to snore. He was just dreaming of pancakes when he woke suddenly at the sound of the bed springs shifting.  A familiar sound, one that for some reason always made him want to go outside.   Mom turned out her light and rolled over, snuggling into the quilt.  Dad stood up from the bed and pulled his gym shorts on. That was his cue.  He rose on all fours and poked his head out from his hiding place.   While Dad walked back and forth through the house a bit picking up dishes and finding his drink, he slunk past to wait in

I don't know you, but I've heard things for better or worse, Of who you are and how you do. You're on her mind when you succeed, or when you're blind, and when the world makes you bleed. I wish you the best and she is it. She doesn't wish, she further commits. She has children of her body, you are children of her soul. Never forget that your success is ultimately her goal. She will sometimes challenge, she knows what you can do. Don't do it for her, she'll just defer. She's in it because of you. She might give a push  if you needed it today or quietly ask out of earshot "Is everything okay?" There's a depth in her  that you don't know, but if you listen carefully, you'll hear the echo of all that you might be.

Her tooth swelled to cartoonish sizes, pushing others out of the way and sinking a chainsaw deep into her gray matter.  It lengthened, piercing her brain and erupting through the back of her skull. A throbbing pain echoes through her body, riding her nerves like electric death through a power line.  The frayed ends of the heavy electric cord were buried there in the small space between her teeth and deeper, pouring 10 million volts of pain into her very soul.   The tiny evil bone,  unrelenting in its persecution, begins to vibrate. Her molars clatter and they are made of glass. Every click of her jaws sends a fresh scream to her lips.  She digs her long fingernails into her eyeballs, but the distraction is momentary as the earthquake in her mouth comes to a violent head.  Some unseen force ignites the tooth in white hot fire, she can taste her searing gums.  The flames spread, and soon her throat is engulfed and she blisters her lungs with every breath.  The traitorous cani

They were just finishing the short demonstration on the faux-bouldered shore of Sea Lion Lake.  The leftover herring splashed in scattered handfuls as the keepers emptied their pails.  Fur glistened over smooth muscle and the animals dove into the water, where they became gliding shadows under the surface. The turquoise water gleamed beside the dark wet cement. So beautiful, the man thought.  Looks like something that belonged to some exotic destination like Hawaii, or the Florida Keys.  He'd never been.   A few last minute questions were called out and answered, but the crowd was dispersing and the man pushed his way through until he was pressed against the rail.  The animals were lazily gliding back and forth across the long pool, pausing to frolic here and there.  He could just see the underwater viewing tunnel at the far end of the clear waters.  Beneath the surface, Millie and Roscoe danced to the delight of children with their faces pressed against the glass and adults duti

Flynn couldn't understand his friend. He sounded garbled and terrifying. The front porch swing felt suddenly unsteady beneath him.  He turned into an ooze and slithered to the ground.  He found a wall and stuck to it. The wall may have been the floor.  The people, the porchlights, the dark and the bugs all whirled violently and Flynn knew they'd made an error.  His friend grasped the porch rail tightly, eyes tightly closed. The morning shift was 8 hours and 100 miles away.  If they wanted to party, they'd have to do it like rockstars.  A half-fifth of Jack Daniels was their only sustenance, and they knew how to make it count.  Each held a glass tumbler full like a massive shot glass. See you on the other side, they said. The midnight screening was over, and those Kansas kids had invited them to a party in Lawrence.  It was too far, but they each knew instinctively they would go.  They were already packed. They thought it'd be easier to procure flasks for the mov

The old man who lived across the street sometimes glared at Jeremy while he sat smoking, his lawn waiting very patiently for a trim.  In the 8 years he had lived here, he had never learned the man's name.  So long after moving to the neighborhood it would have been awkward to seek introductions.  Jeremy thought of him as a man with nothing else to do but dedicate himself to a nicely tended lawn and well maintained landscaping.  This was in part due to the spotless emerald carpet that left no doubts as to property lines, but also due to the 8 plastic cans in varying hues that appeared on the curb every Monday morning on yard waste day.  Without fail, Jeremy had never seen less than 3 bins out week after week.  He sometimes wondered if the old man was slowly digging out an in ground pool in the backyard, or perhaps something more nefarious.  No, there was the old woman, poking her head out to check on his progress.  This was real life after all, not a Hitchcock film. Jeremy's

Everyone froze when they saw. The women put their hands to their faces.  A little girl cried.   Yesterday after breakfast, Shay screamed from the backyard.  Maria's muscles untensed as she recognized joy in the piercing cry.  She was safe. A smiling, bouncing angel appeared at the back door. "What is it, Shay?" Her heart pounded from the jolt of adrenaline. "Momma!" The girl suddenly giggling. "I found bunnies!" She knew the newborns were alone in the world.  Maria had found what was left of their mother while mowing the lawn, and removed the ugly carcass to the woods. It was a world full of ugly truths, but Shayna wouldn't have to face them yet.  One day she'd know the truth, and she could deal with it how she had to.   It was a bit hot for all the games Maria had planned, and the flock of six-year-old girls and boys were scattered about.  The bunnies, snug in old dish towels, had been returned to their box in Shayna's new room. Maria reme

The dog pouted when told to remain inside, but Jeremy was tired of getting up in the middle of a thought to let the indecisive creature back in.  He needed his thoughts to flow smoothly, and his fingers to be uninterrupted. He was never an excellent typist, although he had once taken a class and fared well enough.  That was all fine and good though.  He didn't need sixty words a minute, he just needed the right words. He had been an avid reader since The Pokey Little Puppy and adored Probe, Scrabble , and any other word game he could find.  He would sneak peeks at his grandpa's crosswords, half-filled with scrunched letters. The nondescript ballpoint pen sat atop the paper like a silent guardian.  Mostly the puzzles were references he didn't understand, but he listened when adults talked to each other and had picked up some trivial knowledge from before his time.  He had never dared sully the clean newsprint squares, but in those times he'd felt empowered.  Even pla

Face The face is not the heart The face is a shield to protect it Not a soul but a mask for one,  with eye holes The face is not the captain The face is his command ------- Man & ant Who's that? an ant Why? in search On me? on anything Where do you come from? from here How long have you been here? always Well, don't crawl on me anymore. later then ------- Queen Luna's Tears Slow creak from the rocker Cricket heralds announce the march of the nighttime queen Cool sips from a beaded glass The high court is summoned, and arrive glimmering Sweet smoke curling lazily in starlight Majesty arrives, furious in cool shadows at her confinement Tangled green carpet on skin Tears land on the sky and shining, streak away Serene thoughts floating heavenward ------- Nantucket There once was a man from Nantucket, Who face had grown lined through the years, He'd sworn he would go,  and still meant to you know, As he dove in his bucket of beers. ------- My home is green Verdant held

He looked from the grey running shoes with red piping and matching paint drips to the faux croc sandals in gator green. He put the toe from his right foot into the opening of his left sock, preparing an evacuation from the surely pungent articles, but then thought twice and brutally stuffed his feet back into the still tied shoes.  It would have been extraordinarily easy for him to untie the shoes and slide his feet in as he had been practicing the task for the last 32 years.  Dan was the sort that seemed to enjoy making things difficult for himself though, so he ground his feet into the once nice reeboks, decreasing both their monetary and practical value just a bit more than was really necessary. If only he had untied his shoes when he took them off, he wouldn't be in this predicament. "Curse you, past Dan", Dan thought. He stepped outside, closing the locked door behind him then checking his pocket for his keys.  I warned you that he was a bit of a trainwreck, didn'

 Thom adjusted the small tubes until they were comfortably lodged up his nostrils.  The thin tubes clipped onto the bottom edge of his shades, then looped over his ears, where they met at the base of his neck and disappeared into the lining of his jumpsuit.  The oxygen flow was supplemental, making up for the low levels in the atmosphere, and the small cartridges on his belt would be all he'd need for his trip.  Terraforming a planet was a task for generations to undertake, and the process would be far from complete by the time Thom was dead and spread.  His offspring and theirs would have tubes up their noses too, he thought idly.  The view from this height was spectacular, he could just make out the distant glint of metal from the great dome at the Argus colony.  Climbing the Martian landscape came naturally to Thom, who had been exploring the wilderness for literally as long as he could remember.  His first memory was gliding over craggy red craters shining full of blue green li