poem 29

by dog e relaford

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peace on earth would be nice but who wants to pay the price? if heroes never went to war what would a story be for? no more enemy faces in the dust no more triumphs of the just all your toy soldiers would go back in the box if peace talked the sun would come up every day in its usual way and the clouds would drift around occasionally watering the ground and the sun would go down over the sleepy little town but who would sit enraptured at tales of maidens captured and rescued by warriors bold epics that never grow old if the drums were never heard to arouse the slowly chewing herd next poem

poem 28

by dog e relaford

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my hat was gray and my briefcase was brown or maybe it was the other way around the people in the street all wore a frown i was lost in a strange town down the avenue flags were flying messages flashed but they were all lying drums were beating players were cheating i had to get back to the important meeting i could not very well ask my way back to the hotel because to my eternal shame i had forgotten the hotel’s name the grand? the biltmore? something like that a bird flew past and stole my hat next poem

poem 27

by dog e relaford

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a flower said to a raindrop why have you traveled so far? why have you strayed from your homeland? do you not know who you are? the raindrop replied to the flower who are you to ask? you do not even know me or what is my appointed task i have traveled from the heights with the world spread before me and you who have never been anywhere can only hope to bore me well excuse me, replied the flower with a nod and a wink while you have been busy traveling i have has time to think to contemplate eternity and all that has happened in it i could tell you all about it if you could spare a minute so spoke the flower firmly while waving in the breeze but the raindrop had dried up and gone just as cool as you please next poem

poem 26

by dog e relaford

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i went down to the river to see the gypsy baker to buy a jelly doughnut before i met my maker i went to the mountain to see the candyman i was no expert cardiologst i was only a handy man i crossed the burning desert to see the boddhisatva i asked him for his wisdom and he only said ha ha ha i put my thumb out on the highway and was picked up by old joe i asked him where was mercy found and he said, how do i know? i went down to the dockyard to sail the seven seas i asked the captain for a message but forgot to say please i went down to the corner to bet on the last race i put two dollars on armageddon and judas laughed in my face all these saints and sages could not give me the time of day i scan the ground for dimes and nickels as i go my own way next poem

poem 25

by dog e relaford

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i write this little rhyme of a long ago time of lovely ladies and lordly lords and knights with flashing silver swords in it i am sir john standing on a green lawn expounding in a manner adroit on my heroic exploits to princesses enraptured by my words they are captured like myself they wish to flee to a world of magic and mystery eternally unsatisfied from their own world they would hide why does it distress them so? where fo they wish to go? and so i tell my tale until the moon grows pale and the princesses depart with sighs no more enlightened, no more wise i am no longer sir john in the cold dawn the dragons and ladies have departed before the story even started next poem

poem 24

by dog e relaford

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in my old kentucky home i built a pleasure dome with lots of toys and games and hundreds of friends with no names i was number one and had a nice run but i tired of having fun and knew my day was done one dark morning before dawn i put my best clothes on and packed a bag mostly with rags and hit the highway alone i no longer had a home and put my trust in fate because i could no longer wait to find out who i was and if i had a glorious cause or was only a shred of muck running out of luck i came to a building high outlined against the sky i knew i would find inside the humbling of all pride the truth revealed at last of future, present, and past all you malcontents may scoff (here the manuscript breaks off) next poem

poem 23

by dog e relaford

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arthur had a lion mary had a lamb mickey had a monkey who liked eggs and ham morris had a goldfish who was named big al donna had a python and treated him like a pal eddie had a rabbit who treated him like dirt georgie had a million friends but still he felt hurt laura had a cadillac and polished it like the sun nick had a billion dollars and hated everyone olive lived in a little house outside the city line pete asked olive to marry him but she politely declined they all lived together in a planet in the sky things were supposed to be different there but i don’t know why some folks will complain if you hang them with a brand new rope others are always smiling so maybe there is hope next poem

poem 22

by dog e relaford

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i am a child of the stars a wanderer in the night when the world is asleep my soul takes flight what care i for riches or the unhappy joys of fame if the spirits of the earth and the angels know my name the ancient spirits speak to me of days of long ago and whisper to me secrets that humans dare not know if you see me walking down the street on a cloudy day how you would be astonished if my mask were torn away the golden age returneth sooner than you think the cup of wisdom will be offered will you dare to drink? next poem

poem 21

by dog e relaford

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joe had a friend named jerry jerry was pals with jack joe wanted jack’s girl billie and stabbed jack in the back this left poor jerry with nowhere to go to tell his troubles and unpack his woe and no shoulder to cry at night upon he tossed and turned and woke at dawn the sun did not shine and it rained all day why did things have to be that way? jerry decided to start over again he might find a new friend but he did not know when he turned on the tv and watched the news not the best way to lose the blues the market was down and the bad guys were winning jerry felt sleepy and the earth kept spinning i wish this story had a better finale dogs fight in the street and cats fight in the alley next poem

poem 20

by dog e relaford

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the world might be a nicer place if everybody wore a smile on their face people might better get along if they sang a happy song no sense being glum it won’t make better days come if of happiness you can summon a ray and put it in play do it, i say if in the darkness you grope do not give up hope if you can dream happiness your life won’t be such a mess write a happy thought on a page you might start a golden age next poem

williams, part two

by nick nelson

part two of two

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walt walked up the hill, toward the broad front door of williams’s castle. the lights in the lower floor were off. there was a big tree just to the left of the front door and a man stepped out from behind it. it was connolly. what are you doing here, walt? connolly asked. i came to see williams. you are a little late. oh? and why would that be? some of us have prepared a little surprise for williams. he’s done too many guys wrong. that’s for sure. and nobody wronger than me, walt said. that’s true, walt. that’s so true. why don’t you come on upstairs. the meeting is just about to begin. i came to put a slug into williams’s rotten guts. connolly laughed. maybe that can be arranged. walt followed connolly into the house, and up a long winding staircase to the top floor. there was a light on in a room. connolly and walt entered it. williams was sitting in an easy chair in the center of the room. but he was not sitting easy. a bunch of the boys surrounded him, with guns drawn. look who is here, connolly said. walt! a couple of guys exclaimed. walt wants to do the honors, connolly said. i say, let him. nobody got done over as bad as him. that’s a fact, motelli said. any of you mugs disagree? sounds right to me, big shoulders said. none of the others said anything. all right, then, connolly said. do it, walt. walt drew his gun and stepped in front of williams. well, boys, walt said, i would like to do this nice and slow but i know you guys must want to celebrate so i will just get it over with. i won’t no speech because he ain’t worth it. * down in the car, harry heard the single shot. he had kept the motor running and took off like the rabbit at a dog track. * harry smith is waiting for me, walt said. i should go down and invite him up here for the celebration. i’ll do it, connolly said. benny and dave, you guys go get the booze. don’t wait for me to start. connolly returned in a few minutes. there’s no harry down there, he said, and no car either. the rat! walt exclaimed. the yellow double crossing rat! he ran out on me! connolly shook his head. i don’t like it either, walt. i’m in change now, and i will make sure he pays. we will hunt the sorry bastard to the ends of the earth.. hear hear, motelli said. we will drink to that, won’t we, boys? connolly continued. i swear to you he will spend the rest of his life, what there is of it, running, always running, from town to town, always looking over his shoulder, never able to relax, to enjoy a good night’s sleep, always waiting for a sound at the door, never able to sit in a bar and enjoy a drink without looking at the door… always on the move… down a hundred dark highways… in the wind… in the wind and the rain… forever. the end

poem 19

by dog e relaford

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i had a parrot named joe who had no verbal flow i had a cat named patch who never scratched and a cat named billy price who never caught mice i had a dog named al clark who never barked i had a cow named jude who never mooed i had a bull named porter who never snorted i had a lion name laird who never glared and a lion named joe ford who never roared i had a tiger named bob who never held a steady job i had a lamb named sam who liked strawberry jam and a goat named cy who was fond of apple pie i had an uncle named morris who liked girls in the chorus i had an aunt named claire who liked to polish silverware i had a cousin named jake who never gave me a break fred was my best friend he came to a bad end we all lived together in the branch of a tree which never made much sense to me next poem

williams, part one

by nick nelson

part one of two

you know, walt, this doesn’t make much sense. i didn’t ask you if it made any sense. i am asking you if you are with me. you owe me, and i am asking you if you are with me. of course i am with you, and i admit it - i owe you everything. but just hear me out, all right? all right, say what you want, if it makes you happy. you just got out of prison. you were in for fourteen years. your health is not the greatest. if you go back in, you will never get out. never get out alive. i know that. now consider williams. he owns half the state, has owned it for a long time. he’s lived the life of a king, surrounded by servants and babes and bodyguards, all the time you were in prison. and now he’s an old man. how long has he got to live? if you leave him alone, he might die a long slow miserable death. .you might be puttng him out of his misery. are you with me so far? of course. keep talking. he’s surrounded by cops and guards. his own, and the taxpayers. even if you get to him, they are just about sure to take you down. and if, somehow, you manage to get away from them, and they don’t kill you, and they don’t sent you back inside, they will hunt you down forever. how will you like it, walt, a man of your age, in your condition, running, always running, from town to town, always looking over your shoulder, never able to relax, to enjoy a good night’s sleep, always waiting for a sound at the door, never able to sit in a bar and enjoy a drink without always looking at the door… always on the move… down a hundred dark highways… in the wind.. in the wind and the rain… forever. o k, harry, you’ve made your point. but i don’t care about any of that. i only care about one thing. one thing. and that is seeing the look on that son of a bitch’s face when i point a gun at him and he knows he has two or three seconds to live….after that, i don’t care what happens. do you understand? all right. when do you want to do this? tonight. if you can fit it into your busy schedule tonight it is, then. * three o’clock in the morning, twenty miles of town, in the rolling hills where the rich folks live. harry parked the car, which had been outfitted to look like a cab, at the bottom of the hill that williams’s mansion stood on. walt got out and headed up the hill. there were only a few lights on, in the upper floors of the mansion. it was quiet, but harry knew that the place must be swarming with invisible guards. at any minute one of them would shoot walt, or at least shout at him. harry had promised walt he would wait for him. yeah, right. with the brooklyn bridge and a bottle of champagne and a couple of babes in the glove compartment to help walt celebrate. at the first shot, or the first shout, harry would have his foot on the gas and be on his way. if williams’s men, or any cops or state troopers stopped him he would just say he had been paid by walt to drive him out here. he had a roll of bills to prove it. he had cleverly arranged for walt’s fingerprints tp be on the bill on the outside of the roll. not that it was likely to come to that, but harry prided himself on anticipating all possibilities. walt, of course, would be dead. part two

Boris Yeltsin Standing On A Tank

poem 18

by dog e relaford

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in the eighteenth minute of the eighteenth hour jonathon watson picked a flower then the hitchhiked into town because the country was getting him down jonathon’s driver wore a frown his name was william brown his brow was furrowed and his visage grim something about jonathon bothered him as they pursued their destination william tried to start a conversation he tried more than once but jonathon responded with grunts outside in the darkness a snake slithered william felt his being wither why he had done this he could not say would he live to see another day? the road sped by like a cat smooth black and flat william looked from the corner of his eye jonathon looked like he was starting to cry suddenly william’s brain was clear he knew there was nothing to fear in the nineteenth minute of the nineteenth hour he would pick his own flower next poem