Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Slant Ways


Slant Ways
By: James Dubeau

The night before last
When day turned to the
The moon was falling
Slant ways
Shouldn't that orb
Always be rising
When darkness freshly falls
I wish it were so
But no
Luna was setting
In such a way
That made me sad
Behind the trees
Never to be seen
In all her glory
Falling
Slant ways

Friday, July 27, 2012

Tequila – Part 3


Tequila – Part 3
By: James Dubeau

“You can’t burn down my cantina just to kill a couple of train robbers. That building is my livelihood. I’ll be in my rights to bill you for everything destroyed.” Reyes’ voice rang through the shattered window.

“Settle your damn horses,” the sheriff’s words rose above all other noise. “Damages will be paid from the money they stole. We’ll give them some time to surrender before torching your place.”

“Let us ride out of here or I’ll shoot our hostage.” Dave shouted.

“You’ll be doing me a favor. He owes me a lot of money.” Reyes said. “When they murder Owen you will pay off his complete tab, sheriff.”

"That can be arranged." The sheriff said.

“They don’t like you much do they?” Dave pointed his gun at Owen. “How are you doing, Jeff?”

“He’s fine,” Owen poured tequila into his mouth before he shared with Jeff and splashed some upon the wound. “Be careful where you point that thing. You wouldn’t want to accidently shoot your brother.”

“I’ll point this gun wherever I want to.”

“Truth be told, I’m more scared of those men outside. With the money I owe Reyes he’ll plug a hole in me just to get to you and pay off my tab. The sheriff will kill us all.” Owen teetered and fell. His flailing body knocked over a table on his way to the floor. He staggered to his feet and drank from the bottle. “Didn’t lose a drop.”

“I’m not scared of no sheriff.” Dave returned his attention to the exterior. Sweat beaded upon his forehead.

“Be scared for your brother. He’s not walking anywhere.” Owen wobbled to Dave and peered through the window. The sheriff was behind a water trough across the street and held a rifle steady.

“I can ride if you get me to my horse.” Jeff used the bar to pull himself upright.

Owen plopped onto a chair with a heavy sigh. His eyes hung heavy. “I’ve been bending my elbow all day. I’m not sure I could get myself to your horses let alone carry him there.”

Dave tossed a small bag onto the table beside Owen. Gold coins fell through bag’s mouth. “That’ll give you some strength and pay for your services. If you falter I will shoot you before Reyes does.”

“Should be enough for what I owe.” Owen pocketed the bag and lurched to Jeff. He let the bandit support his weight on his shoulder and the pair staggered to the door. Owen took one last drink off the bottle of tequila in his hand. “For courage,” he told himself.

“When I kick open the door, get to the horses.” Dave turned to the entrance and thumbed back his hammer.

Owen swung with the bottle, catching Jeff in the face, and grabbed the revolver out of the falling injured man’s hand. Dave turned as Owen pulled the trigger. The large man crashed through the door and fell to the boardwalk outside.

“What have I done?” Owen sunk to his knees.

“You did a brave thing.” The sheriff had rushed into the cantina. Reyes and the deputies were not far behind.

Tears streamed down Owen’s face. Shattered glass and tequila was strewn across the floor. “My tequila has gone to the great siesta in the sky.”

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Tequila – Part 2


Tequila – Part 2
By: James Dubeau

“He’s plumb soaked.” Jeff’s voice was labored. “I’m bleeding out. I’m going to die.”

“A belt of whiskey would cut the pain. He must have hidden that bottle good,” Dave said. Heavy boot-steps upon wood floor boards crossed the cantina. A revolver barrel scraped against a leather holster and tapped against window glass. “That rat is coming back with the sheriff and a couple deputies.”

“Get out of here. Leave me to die.”

“No brother of mine will rot in prison.” A window shattered and a revolver’s bark filled the cantina. “Look at them run,” Dave laughed.

“I’m not going to make it long enough to rot,” Jeff said. A chair slid across the floor followed by Jeff who hit the floor hard and loud.

Boots thundered across the cantina. Owen’s chair was suddenly no longer beneath him, his head cracked off the floor. Dave’s words were fast and furious. “See to my brother. If he dies, you die.”

Owen blinked in the dim cantina light. Pain seared across his skull. The spinning room slowly focused on the barrel of Dave’s gun. The unblinking black eye in steel provided Owen more than enough encouragement to move. He stumbled to his feet and joined Jeff.

“You better do what he says. Once he gets to something he’ll finish it through.” Jeff struggled with each word. His belly wound seeped across alkali dust caked clothing. A revolver hung loose in his grasp but remained trained upon Owen.

“I don’t aim to die today,” Owen said equally as slow. He tore Jeff’s shirt and revealed purple flesh marred by torn muscle and blood. The drunk washed blood away from the wound with a bar rag and bottle of tequila. Jeff yelped in pain.

“You livin’?” Dave brought his revolver to bear on Owen.

“It hurts.” Jeff managed through clenched teeth.

“He’s livin’.” Owen slurred.

“Throw out your guns and come on out or else we’ll gun you down.” The sheriff’s voice boomed from outside the cantina.

Dave responded to the sheriff with gunfire then added, “Come on in for our guns.”

“No can do, cowboy. I’ll burn you in the fires of hell first.”

Monday, July 23, 2012

Tequila – Part 1


Tequila – Part 1
By: James Dubeau

Tequila in the afternoon creates a different kind of drunk.  It does not make one hot and want to fight like whiskey does. It does not just give a good beer buzz. The only thing a tequila drinker wants to do is lounge away from the sun.

That was the mood Owen was in that afternoon. He leaned his chair in shadows against the wall in Reyes’ cantina with a hat pulled over his eyes. A mostly empty bottle of tequila was upon the table. Flies buzzed near his head, keeping him on just this side of consciousness. Reyes watched his only patron while he wiped glasses clean.

Owen didn’t budge when the sound of thundering hooves filled the cantina. Soon a pair of men bashed through the door. One pair of boots pounded across the wood floorboards, the other was softer and accompanied by labored breath. Dust from a hard ride on the trail floated on tiny air currents and reached Owen’s lips.

“Whiskey,” the heavy man said at the bar.

The thud of a bottle hitting the counter followed by clinking glasses filled the room. Reyes’ voice wavered. “All I got is tequila.”

“I’m dying, Dave.” The other man wheezed.

Liquid splashed into glasses. Dave threw back his drink and his glass shattered on the wood floorboards. “You drink this coffin varnish? We got money for good stuff. All you shop keepers have a private bottle and it better be whiskey.” Coins jingled across the counter.

“Sure thing boss. I got something good out back.” Reyes’s footsteps carried him from the room and were silenced behind a shutting door.

“They got me good. I can’t ride no further.”

“You can’t hang up your fiddle, Jeff. After a rest we’ll hit the trail again. Not too much further before we are free in Mexico. Just think of all that money we have. That’ll keep you going.”

“That railway man surprised me. He put a hole clean through me. He killed me.”

“You Squabashed him good. He got what he deserved for trying to stop us.” A metal click cut the silence in the cantina, the hammer on a revolver had been cocked. “Who are you?”

Owen’s tequila soaked brain refused to be fully woken from his siesta. In the state he was in he would not have moved for God let alone for a pair of armed bandits. The threat of death was just a welcomed release from life.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Slipping Between the Crowds


Slipping Between the Crowds
By: James Dubeau

Slipping between the crowds
As the one
That does not
Belong
My ticket to this
High society affair
Is a lie
A forgery
A fake
Just enough
To get me through
The security
And double doors
To walk amongst
The rich
The famous
The powerful
Weaving through the crowds
With wine in my hand
Overhearing conversations
My ears should not hear
Gathering intel
On the enemies
Which I shall soon
Face

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Unblinking Black Eye


Unblinking Black Eye
By: James Dubeau

The unblinking black eye watched me.
I thought about the size of the holes
It would put into me.
I thought about the quick death
He could grant me.
I thought about the death he brought
Upon my beloved.
I thought about the weight
Of my revolver at my side.
I thought about the days
I spent as a young man
Practicing quick draws in the mirror.
I thought about the aches
In my aging hands.
I thought about the slowness of my revolver
Which had not been fired
In many years before this day.

Wednesday, June 06, 2012

Tired


Tired
By: James Dubeau

Tired
Eyes droop
Under heavy glasses
The sun has risen
But the soul has not
Heavy body
Cannot be moved
From the restful bed
Nevertheless
Work must be done
Worlds must be created
Before the sun has set
Again

Monday, June 04, 2012

First Person World


First Person World
By: James Dubeau

Living in a
First person world
Glasses and beer
Detach my mind
From reality
Framing it all off
Putting a filter
On what I see
Making it all
Feel unreal
Only the lack
Of a health bar
And shields
Remind me
That I am not
Locked away
In some VR cabinet
Playing some
First person shooter
Video game

Monday, March 12, 2012

First Run

First Run
By: James Dubeau

Wind blows
Chilling my bones
Fire burns
Down my legs
Water falls
From my brow
As I run
Across this town
From the sewers
To the prairies
I run
Not as fast
As I want
Not as fast
As I need
But as fast
As I can
On this early
Spring morning

Friday, March 09, 2012

Blossoms

Blossoms
By: James Dubeau

Blossoms
Upon the branches
Speckled
Dots of white
And pink
Across the vibrant
Green of spring
I wish
I could lean in
Take a deep breath
Inhaling
The sweet
Intoxicating
Scents wafting off
Those few flowers
Even if I could
They would be nothing
But a pale imitation
Of how sweet
You are
To my nose
My lips
Soul

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

There She Stands

There She Stands
By: James Dubeau

There she stands
So beautiful
Leaning against the door frame
Smiling
Hands clasped behind her
Letting my eyes
Take her all in
Gray t-shirt
Clung to curves
Strong shoulders
Perky breasts
Only a half moon of flesh
With exposed belly button
Separated maroon panties
Barely covering
Rounded hips
Shapley butt
Long pink legs
Reach from the ground
Eyes beckon
For me to join her
To wrap my arms
Around her slender waist
Pull her close
Crash my wet lips
Into hers

Monday, March 05, 2012

Wash Over Me

Wash Over Me
By: James Dubeau

Waves of euphoria
Washed over me
As I laid there
Entwined with her
It was like
We had known each other
Forever and beyond
When we had met
Unexpectedly
The night before
As if we had never been apart
Words flowed freely
Across the pool table
Beer went down
Between the shots
When the night was over
We laughed and sang
All the way back
To my humble home
But when the alarm rang
All that my eyes did see
Was nothing but
The blinding sun
Washing over me

Monday, January 16, 2012

Sweet Smell

Sweet Smell
By: James Dubeau

There is a sweet smell
Which wafts by my face
A smell
Which I should not know
Not in these times
No in this life
But yet
It is a smell
Which I do know
It brings back memories
Of times gone by
Of a youth spent
Doing the things which youth
Is not meant to do
Should not do
Not if one
Wants to make something
Of themselves
Become something greater
Then the parents
And grand parents
Ever imagined

Friday, January 13, 2012

Rubber



Rubber
By: James Dubeau

I know I haven’t been keeping up on posting workout updates like I said I would but life just got in the way over the past two weeks. Yeah. That is it. So I might as well dive in.

For the last week or so I’ve started seeing my trainer. He sure does know how to kick my ass. On Monday I did an upper body day and my arms stayed sore all the way to Friday. Wednesday was a leg set which I feel I did somewhat well. Today was another upper body day and now my arms feel like rubber.

There was one exercise that really got me, a series of push-ups. Using a bar I would do as many as I could with my arms wide apart, then narrow, and finally close together. Each type was done until I failed. After finish all three types the bar was raised six inches and I had to do it again. This went on until I was pretty much just standing. At the end I was asked to do as many normal pushups as I could on the ground. I never made it. My arms gave out and I just fell over.

So now here I am two hours later wishing that I could work on some short stories but I can’t because my arms feel like rubber. I’m sure I’ll be sore in the morning.

Am I Dreaming

Am I Dreaming
By: James Dubeau

Several nights ago
I had dreamed
Death’s hand
Taking me under
To join those
That went before me
Tonight
I am left to wonder
Did I ever wake
From that dream
Am I still living
The life I led
Or are those
Unnatural painted skies
A sign
That I never awoke
That I died
On the side of the road
An my mind conjured
The most gorgeous sunsets
Day after day
As my soul
Floats on through
Finding its way
To the after life
Or at least
Occupying time until
I open my eyes
To a sterile white room
With tubes in my body
Keeping me alive
Until I awoke