Friday, December 14, 2007
Title Here Poem
There is a storm a comin', oh yes, a storm approaches. It reeks like Kentucky moonshine and wears is hat askance. It is immune to screaming or feigning innocent, it is an honest storm, like hell for everything.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Wheat from Chaff
She would lay draped in a towel, lips agape and waiting for a plate of toast. It was dreary. I had a limp from a skeet-ball accident and exaggerated it for effect. Toast will make you chubby I said, and watched for her underweight face to pinch. The toaster clicked to a halt as I appeared and it lobbed it's wheat payload above my fingers as i snatched instinctively. Too late; the toast spiraled around its vertical axis on a thin trail of smoke and out of my view altogether.
I was miffed, and the girl did nothing but huff a menacing huff. Toastless and desperate, I had no choice but to buckle into my tractor and peel down a bushel or two of grain to dry and pound into flour. This was a promising task, but before I could limp out to the tractor the sunny summer sky faded to a winter dusk and I was threatened by the whir of frozen tumbleweeds. Grabbing the short shovel from the barn, I made my way out into the simmering ice storm and slapped at every icy thing flying at my head.
I spied my decimated crops out of the corner of my eye, and shed a lonely tear.
The tractor would not start, being instantly frozen by a harsh new season, so i pushed it for 17 miles until I realized my legs had frozen together. My limp finally cured, I crawled to the nearest house and rapped at the door. The family dog let me in, dragging me by my limp arm to the fireplace. I started to warm instantly, though too late for comfort as the lady of the house entered the living room and let out a mighty scream.
I was frightened and literally frozen. With no way of protecting myself, she proceeded across the room and grabbed a large broom and brought the handle down upon my head, shattering me instantly to bits. Since then, I have lived mostly in study wastebasket and am lavished with fresh scraps and plenty of appologies.
I was miffed, and the girl did nothing but huff a menacing huff. Toastless and desperate, I had no choice but to buckle into my tractor and peel down a bushel or two of grain to dry and pound into flour. This was a promising task, but before I could limp out to the tractor the sunny summer sky faded to a winter dusk and I was threatened by the whir of frozen tumbleweeds. Grabbing the short shovel from the barn, I made my way out into the simmering ice storm and slapped at every icy thing flying at my head.
I spied my decimated crops out of the corner of my eye, and shed a lonely tear.
The tractor would not start, being instantly frozen by a harsh new season, so i pushed it for 17 miles until I realized my legs had frozen together. My limp finally cured, I crawled to the nearest house and rapped at the door. The family dog let me in, dragging me by my limp arm to the fireplace. I started to warm instantly, though too late for comfort as the lady of the house entered the living room and let out a mighty scream.
I was frightened and literally frozen. With no way of protecting myself, she proceeded across the room and grabbed a large broom and brought the handle down upon my head, shattering me instantly to bits. Since then, I have lived mostly in study wastebasket and am lavished with fresh scraps and plenty of appologies.
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