Baker. Frank Baker. 1976. String cheese. – “Look, it’s Frank! The string cheese guy!” “String cheese! Yeah!” Thunderous voices found Mr. Baker, and all he could do was smile with a wave of his hand. He was old now, not yet dead but making great strides towards his headstone. “Do you happen to have any…
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Stairs to a Gaze | Poem
Put down in a pasture Meandering tongues and hands Counting, counted, and counting on more Never once thought of again, never spoken henceforth. – A time and temple of thought and solitude, more of bitterness and less of love Now just a deserted place that no person should enter Wondering, wondered, and wondering again Divine…
what did they do before they invented the silence?
I wonder if I’m as loud as my cells and organelles. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder. ~ What did they do before they invented the silence? What could they have done before its existence? It must have been an impossible time, because I can never find it. Outside, I hear the animals. Inside, I…
The Sad Man’s Rambles | Of Christmas and Stuff
Of Christmas and Stuff The man knew a few things for certain. He was no Scrooge. He was no Grinch. But he sure as heaven knew that he was no Santa. He didn’t mind the fact that at the tender age of four his parents had told him that Santa was a nonexistent being, one…
Boy in a Well | Part 2
His face is plain and new and too small to really see. I had never seen this boy before. Before he can throw another rock at me, I call out to him: “Hi!” He can hear me. I wonder how he got in there. I wonder for how long. I ask him this. Maybe he…
Boy in a Well | Part 1
There would be moments where I would find time to be alone. I leave the cabin and sit along the river bank and toss stones into the water. It was nice, nice to think about anything and do nothing. For most of my life, I was an only child. That changed two weeks ago. It’s…
2 Conversations I Overheard Girls Talking About
First Conversation: Boys & Stuff “Yeah, but what’s your body count?” I hate when I’m in the bathroom and a group of girls start having a loud conversation. Their words tend to bounce off the walls to make even their whispers sounds like screams. Since I drink about 100 cups of water a day, I’m…
Squirming Worms | Poem
Squirming worms of dread,
on the walls and in my head.
for now, i’m not enough | poem
i’m not beautiful enough to know you you’re too good to look at me. – is this what you think of me? or is it what i think you think about me? it’s too late. i can’t change. there’s no point to redo. i move on, i give up, and i’m gone. i move on,…
hang with the greats | poem
and the fears i’m too afraid to face alone and it’s so hard to do so and it’s so hard to do so and i know you’re not afraid so take my hand you’ll hang with the greats
Sammicakes 