Here are a few more of my contributions to the literary arts. The first two are poems, the third is a short story I really quickly came up with.
The Truth I went to the store to buy some truth. The storekeeper said I could not buy it. So I went to the chapel to pray for some truth. The preacher told me I could not just pray for it. I went to the monastery to wait for some truth. The monks wrote that I could not wait for it. I went to the mountain top to shout for some truth. The echo told me I could not shout for it. I went to the ocean to beg for some truth. The ocean roared that I could not beg for it. I looked in the mirror and demanded the truth. I found it. Youth The wide eyed child knocks again at the door. Just as he use to years before. And I see him in the days of my youth. The child like fantasies that dissolved into truth. It is the child that used to play at our house. Scurrying around as though a little mouse. And his toys and games would litter the floor. As he would act out his own little war. He still visits from time to time. His childlike innocence, sublime. As honest and kind as any man. As pure as the day this all began. And I longingly wish for the days of the past. To return once more and not leave too fast. For when that child once more knocks at the door. I hope to be him like as I was before.
Stuff Stuff. Stuff, stuff, stuff , stuff, stuff. Jake Jones just couldn’t get enough stuff. His car and his house were just filled with stuff. Phones, MP3 players, radios, computers, art, aquariums, silverware, watches, and money were everywhere. The money was to buy more stuff of course. His nice three storey house was just filled to the brim with stuff, and his Mustang was filled with even more stuff he was bringing home. His house wasn’t a home so much as it was just a place to store his stuff. He didn’t mind the fact that it gave him an excuse not to have his brothers or parents over. The stuff took up too much room for any of them to even get to the guest room, let alone stay in it. Even his lawn was filled with stuff. Pretty trees and bushes obscured the path that wound up to his front porch, giving the house a very regal look that Jake liked. Of course, it didn’t matter if you couldn’t see the path to his house as it was shut off from the road by a looming wrought iron gate. It kept people out of his house, and out of his stuff. Jake liked his stuff, and he felt proud of his stuff. He had spent a lifetime getting where he was today. He spent years in college learning the ins and outs of the business world, he had climbed to the top of a major oil company, and now he was only 30 years old and was already raking in money hand over fist. He could afford stuff now, whereas before he couldn’t. Why shouldn’t he enjoy stuff? He earned that right through his years of labor. He had spent his time at the bottom, and now it was his turn to be at the top. He had no qualms about driving his Mustang into town and picking more stuff up. He had decided he didn’t particularly like the suit he had bought a month ago. As he went downtown he went under overpasses, and through people’s homes. They didn’t have stuff like him so he didn’t give them another look. As he pulled into the mall he got out of his car and passed by the same old bum who sits outside every day, just looking for some money to bring home to his wife and kids. To save face Jake of course drops a quarter in his cup every day, without ever saying a word. It wasn’t that Jake felt bad for the man, he just didn’t want to be bothered by his sob story about losing his job at the auto plant again and again. If anything he wondered why the lazy bum didn’t just get another job so he could get stuff for his family. As he exited the mall, carrying his nice new suit with him, Jake was stopped by the bum outside. He was about to go for his wallet to break out more money to give him when the man grabbed his arm. “I don’t want any more of your money.” the man said in a very calm and collected voice. “You put your wallet away. Instead I want to ask you something.” Jake was very suspicious already, and didn’t want to be held up for a very important business meeting but the old man’s calm gray eyes held him tighter then his hands. “What do you go home to, young man?” the gentleman asked. Jake scowled and responded. “A nice house, which is more than can be said for you. So get your grimy hands off me.” The man let go but still looked very intently, yet calmly into Jake’s eyes. “Do you have a kids?” “No.” Jake responded. Annoyed by the man’s inquiries. “Do you have a wife?” “No.” He responded once more, his expression softening somewhat. “Do you have a girlfriend, at least?” “No, I don’t have the time.” Jake answered even glummer. “Do you have a roommate? Or Friends who come over?” “No, I’m usually at work, or out.” He answered with a lump forming in his throat. “Do you even have a dog? A pet to care for?” “No…” Jake trailed off. “Then maybe you need to find a home, instead of a house. And maybe you need to find people, instead of things. Your stuff will not love you. Your stuff will not hold you when you find yourself at the end of your rope. Your stuff will not keep you from dying in the pit you’ve dug for yourself. Your stuff will not attend your funeral and say what a great owner you were. So tell me, young man, who has the nice house? Tell me who!”
Jake backed away shaking. He turned and began to walk as quickly as he could towards his Mustang. As he reached for his keys he could hear them rattle in his shaky grasp. As he drove home he saw faces stare at him from behind drawn curtains underneath overpasses. He held the gas down, and simply drove as fast as he could home. He left his suit in the car and got out. As he pushed open the gate outside his home he didn’t turn to lock it. He left his front door open, walked to his phone and picked it up. He waited, thinking for a moment. He punched in a number and put it to his ear. As it rang his thoughts raced and heart thumped. Finally someone picked up the other end and he slowly spoke into the phone.
“Hello. Yeah, it’s Jake. How about having Thanksgiving at my house this year?”
P.S. There are still some errors I need to work out, so I apologize for any strangely worded sections.
Heaven's gonna burn your eyes
16th April 2005
The preacher told me I could not just pray for it.
Broke the flow for me, a mistake?
I'll consider the others in the morning.
Old school pimp
10th February 2004
Personally I intensely dislike all poetry that rhymes so it's hard for me to take this seriously. The short short stories I like, those are good.
masked_marsoe;4358470Broke the flow for me, a mistake?
I'll consider the others in the morning.[/quote]
Hmm, It wasn't a mistake, but after re-reading it it does break the flow a little. Thank you for pointing that out.
[quote=n88tr;4358603]Personally I intensely dislike all poetry that rhymes so it's hard for me to take this seriously. The short short stories I like, those are good.
I'm not a huge fan of rhyme myself, but I use it as part of the poetry to convey the meaning. If the poem has a rhyming couplet scheme (aabbccdd) such as the youth one its supposed to me a little more light hearted. The first poem doesn't technically rhyme, since the ending words are all the same.