Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Boat









A shell
A dream
Oar and water

My friend
We have
Gone on adventures

Through still
and wild
Wet and wonderful

My soul
Must go
Back to water.

©Christopher Mitchell  2009, 2012

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Majestic Nights



Walking in at 3:00AM
Drunk and hungry
I place my order

Washed out waitress
ragged
 
No hope

 
Pouring a cup
of hope and joy.
 
Majestic's reality

The hookers and junkies
Painted in their booths
As the she passes them by

No one speaks, breathes
It might as well
Be a cemetery

Two over light
Sausage and grits
Fight the demons away

At the end of the night
I come back to her and say
"You make me feel alive!"

Friday, February 24, 2012

Acela (Blogophilia 52.4)















Acela arrives at Grand Central
Shuffling off
Looking for the 6 train
Waiting to take him home.

Silver bullet appears. 
Magic doors open
Pulse inhales him in.

Drifting into a nap
Dreaming of
The unfriendly ferrets in DC.

Running like rabbits
At the first hint of trouble.
And nothing seen
Is as it seems.

Thoughts drift
To Oak Beach
The surf soothing his soul.

Reverie is shattered
By a detached female voice
“No Stop until Brooklyn.”

Crap.

Wrong train again.


Saturday, February 18, 2012

Chamboida




The yellow brick road
Runs Northeast out of town
Miss Liberty relocated south.
For lower labor costs
And friendlier atmosphere

The rednecks are bewilered
Nobody speaks English
And their neighbors?
Eat nothing but fish.

The signs in twenty languages
Are the new seed for
The next generation.
As everyone looks for the wizard
Who isn't there. 

© Christopher Mitchell 2010

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Restaurant (GBE 39)



In a restaurant
Off Sunset
She is there
Looking out the window.

Not expected
Been too long
Since you
Walked out

Pensive.  Alone
She stares into
Her coffee.

Should you?
Would you?
Could you?
Step up.

To ask forgiveness?
To Do it over?
To start again?


You walk away.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Virtue (Blogophilia 51.4)


Virtue is defined as a pattern or thought or behavior based on high moral standards.
So, isn’t a virtue choked with something hypocritical?
Like me eating other delicious hot Krispy Kreme doughnut, while bemoaning my waist?
And dreaming of camping by the Grand Coulee dam, only to while my time here at the screen?
Waste and sloth are not high moral standards in any religion.
Even Atheists hate them.
Maybe I should be doing something else?







Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Streetlights-Conclusion



Running through thick woods, he wondered why?  Branches and rocks littered the way, reaching up to grab and scratch his body.  Feet about 25 feet behind him.  Hurry up.  The fetid smell of rotted leaves and bodies ran up his nose as he jumped a large log.  The path cut sharply to the right here and broke into a large pasture.  He heard a thump and the cursing of his stepfather as he hit the log.  

Across the field was an old farmhouse.  As he started towards it he wondered if there would be anyone there to help.  Over toward the right was a herd of cattle with a large bull standing guard.  The bull just stared as he came across.  As he approached the house, he could hear the clank of the shotgun.  He hits the steps….

“Randi!  Honey, are you alright? Wake up. “Kari asked as she shook him.  “You were yelling so loud I could hear you over the engine.  Anyway, we are at my house. Come on.  We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Disoriented, Randi slapped out at the Geisha face.  She took his cold, shaking hand gently and kissed it.  Then she put the hand back against his chest and kissed him lightly on the lips. Another strung dude coming off a binge.  He’ll sleep it off.  Kari stood over him and rubbed his head and arms until he calmed down.  Then she gently lifted him off the camper’s bench and on to the cracked driveway.

A forlorn structure, the house’s  grey and white paint had chipped and faded over the years. The porch looked like it covered the gate of hell.  Tuning his head, Randi saw the abandoned rail yard at the end of the street and wished there was a car he could hop.  But he was too weak to even considered escaping the grasp.  A small black boy stared as the two lost souls staggered through the door.  

The living room was mess.  Ashtrays were scattered around the room unused, but the cigarette smell was everywhere.  A pack of Camels and a small Bible sat next to an easy chair, with a sofa sitting sideways along the wall.  Strange.  She wasn’t smoking last night.  No plants or indications of animals.  The house had an air of quiet desperation.  

“Sit down, Sweetheart.”  Kari said “And I’ll make some tea.”

Stepping over to the sofa, a framed poster of a skull caught his eye. “Those who live, live off the dead.”  It startled and disturbed him.  He wasn’t where he should be or wanted to be.  Can’t he just spend his time in peace?  He was part of the dead and he resented this bitch’s attempt to live off of him.  The bank across his chest tightened.  He began to cough.

Kari brought in two cups full of steaming liquid.  Smiling, she handed him one.

“Sorry about the mess.  I really haven’t cleaned this place since Mom died.”   She paused.  “She used to sit in that chair smoking and reading Bible and rail at all the sin in the world.  It seemed to bring her comfort. But she couldn’t see the burning stick in her hand was just as bad.   I never did see the use for it.  All I knew how to do was party. “

She flipped on the IPod and set it in the dock on the side table.  Harry Chapin’s scratchy voice began talking about a better place to be.  A slow smile came across her face.  She looked up at Randi and it disappeared. 
 
“You don’t look good.  Let me feel.”  She touched his head.  “Lord.  You are feverish.  Wait here”  

She came back with a towel, blanket and a couple of aspirin.  

“It’s all I have right now.  Let’s get you out of those wet things.”

 He was too weak to resist as the blouse and skirt disappeared.  His hairless chest shown like the sun, ribs prominently showing through the skin.  He reminded Kari of an injured bird she had found when she was little.  She cried when it died in her hands.  Lovingly, she dried his small, naked form and wrapped the blanket around him.  The question came to her mind.  

“Honey.  Are you positive?”  She asked as she handed him the aspirin.  

The cup shook in his hand.  He nodded slowly and the tears began to flow.  The shame of his condition was finally released.  No longer in control of his fate, he began to cough.   She knew and the whole world knew he was lower than dirt.  He had sinned against the world and was now paying the price.  The revolting Geisha face began to waver and the room spun.  

 Kari helped him drink the warm liquid and wrapped her arms around him.  

“It’s alright, Baby.  I am, too.”

Randi’s body convulsed.  He was more confused than ever.    

“You’re safe.  If it is your time, I’ll help you there.  No one should go alone.” She began to sing to him softly.
Randi kept shaking.  A hole appeared in the floor and he could see the farmhouse again.  He saw the belt in his Stepfather’s hand.  He also had a hole in his chest where Randi had ducked the shotgun.  He relaxed a little.  The end was in sight.  He was aware of the Geisha’s soothing contralto lullaby.  He turned to see her smiling face, thankful she was there.  

There was a light under the front door of the house.  Better and brighter than any he had ever seen.  But his stepfather’s corpse was there.  He had to get past it to go in.  He felt the Geisha’s lips against his own.  It was the deepest, most loving kiss he had ever known.  As she loosened her grip, he felt his wings unfold.  He looked and hers had unfolded as well.  The Angels had claimed him.  Randi flew over the body and joined the rest on the other side. 

Bittersweet tears ran down Kari’s face as she finished her duty.  It wasn’t the first time she had helped someone as the Angel of Death.  The pain of the finish was always there.  The poor and broken helped through the transition not of their own making.  After a brief prayer for the healing of their souls, she reached for the telephone.  She winced as the cramp went through her.  She went to the bathroom to change. 



Friday, February 10, 2012

Autumn Lake


The sun is setting low
As she sits on the moss covered bank
Her line drifting with the blow
Of the brisk autumn wind.

She dips her toes in the cool water
And sniffs the change in the air
As the fire begins to burn behind her.

Her partner has gone
Her fields long been fallow
She pauses and remembers
As the light gradually fades.

She takes her catch over to the fire
Sets in on a small pan
Translucent smoke rises above her
As the vestiges of day come to the end.

Finishing grace a sense of calm surrounds her
An epiphany of life in Autumn.
Her winter is coming and she knows it.
And the hope of the grave.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Night Walk


A quiet night walk
Listening to the dog's conversation
Under the full moon.

The celestial sheet
Of washed out grey
Makes me remember you

Of our nights 
Of our days
Of the anticipation
Of what never was to be.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Asleep, A Haikai (Blogophilia 50.4)


Asleep on the shore
Dolphin and shark awaken
With all protection

All thoughts of grandeur
Swim lazily around me
The storm is off shore

Where there are humans
There are flies, and Buddhas
Which of these am I?

The sun warms gently
Wife approaches, saying harshly
“Take out the trash!

Saturday, February 4, 2012

The Transfer (Blogophilia 49.4)



“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking.  We are on our final approach to Atlanta and Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.  We’ll be disembarking at gate E-63.  We at Delta Airlines appreciate you flying with us and we hope you will remember us for your travel needs.  Please prepare for landing…”

The droning voice faded away. Bill had heard the speech too many times. Mechanically, he shut off his laptop and put it in his case.  He took one last sip from the soda can and gave it to the attendant.  There was weather and the view out the window was completely gray.  The only indication the plane had touched down was a small bump and the high pitched whine of the reversing engines.  

It had been a long trip from Gatwick. And now there were three hours to spend in the terminal before connecting  to Louisville. At least he was going through Atlanta. You can actually find your way around there, compared to JFK or Newark.  Traffic from Aylesbury was worse than usual.  But that was still better than Heathrow, with the crowds and all of the soldiers standing around.  

The text from Corporate had come whilst he was in security.   There were going to be guests at the product rollout. Lovely. No indication of who they might be. He guessed it was going to one of the Chinese widget vendors.  They were polite enough. But this was one of the most important presentations of his career.  He didn’t need another group of people judging his performance.  But he soon put that out of his mind. 

The flight itself was uneventful. Six hours alternating between PowerPoints and power naps.  Of course, all of this did provide a nice lifestyle. Nice detached house in the suburbs.  A wife that put up with him being gone. He’d been doing it so long, that nothing ever surprised him.   Weather, arguments, death.  He had seen them all.  He always looked on the bright side of life.    The attitude just worked for him.  

The attendants performed their normal routine as they pulled into the gate.  They wished him a good day as he went down the gangplank and started towards Customs. He stopped a moment as he entered the concourse to get his bearings. As he walked towards the customs desk, a muffled sound came into his ears.

“This is Delta Airlines paging a Mr. Bill Henderson.  Mr. Henderson, please report to the nearest gate agent.  Mr. Bill Henderson...”

Really?   I haven’t been on the ground three minutes and someone wants me?  There was an information desk just to his right.  A bored blonde woman, looking like she wished she was anywhere but there.  Bill gave her his name and she handed him an envelope.  Inside was a note with a new itinerary. The flight to Louisville was departing from gate T-16.  T Concourse? That was all the way back at baggage claim.  At least the departure time was a few minutes later.    

 He looked at his watch and wondered who sent it.  Corporate would have just sent a text.  No, this message had come from somewhere else.  The agent didn’t know anything other than it had been passed along from someone at security.  It probably didn’t matter.   There was something else in the envelope.  A printed sheet of paper with his name and what looked like a credit card account number.  No other explanation. Corporate must be up to games again.  He shrugged his shoulders and ambled over to Customs.   

The Customs agent was an affable fellow.  Bill handed the bag and itinerary over.   The agent smiled through the talk and grope session, returning the bag none the worse for wear.  There was an agent with drugs dog that was casually strolling through the crowd.  On a prior trip, he witnessed a rather scruffy fellow taken away after the mutt sat down beside his bag.  Apparently that was the signal for the arrest.  No such drama this time.  

Bill moved on towards the people mover to the T concourse.  The sleek tube was cleaner than any subway he had ever used.  Fellow travelers stared blankly toward the center, only moving when their stop is reached.   A detached feminine voice announced the stops.  

“We are approaching terminal D.  Please stay seated until the mover comes to a complete stop.  Please check to see you have your belonging before you exit…”

His fellow travelers flowed off then on the tube as the doors opened and closed.  Bill thought about how many times this was repeated during a typical day.  So many people going different places and most of them have no idea where they want to go.  

This repeated until they reached the T Concourse.  As he was exiting, he noticed a woman holding a baby.  She was holding a piece of paper similar to his.  He wondered if she was going to be on the same flight.  The thought of a baby crying, even on such a short hop, made him wince.  He decided not to say anything.

Finally, they reached the correct concourse.  Stepping on to the main escalator, he tried to think which way he needed to go.  At the top was a sign saying: T8-15 to the left, T1-7 to the right.  He looked down at his paper.  It definitely said T-16.  A chill went through him.  Something wasn’t right.  It must be over by T15, right?  

As he approached T-15, he noticed a door on the hall opposite the gate.  T-16 was posted in small letters.   Bill paused a moment.  He knew that most of the solid doors were secured areas.  As he was standing there, the woman with the baby opened the door and disappeared inside.  It must be the gate.  He pulled the door and went inside.  

The gate agent here was a small man.  His uniform coat looked to be about two sizes too large.  He reached out his hand. 

“Itinerary, Sir?”

Bill handed it over.  The agent nodded and gestured to his right.

“Have a seat over there and we’ll be calling for boarding shortly. “

The chairs in this section were plush leather.  Very similar to what was in the Crown Clubs.  The ones on the other side of the room looked like broken benches.  Looking at the paper, there wasn’t a departure time listed and the destination had disappeared.  Another chill came over him.  He was going to get up to say something when the gate agent came over the speaker:

‘Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen and welcome to Saint Peter airlines.  Most of you have checked in and have had your flights assigned.  But as a reminder, flyers to my right, your left.  Your flight to Heaven will be departing in ten minutes.  For those on my left, the flight to Hades has been delayed.  And as always, we thank you for letting us interrupt your destiny.”