Close My Eyes

Close My Eyes
By: James Dubeau

Close my eyes
Mind races
Close my eyes
Roommates fight
Close my eyes
Door slams
Close my eyes
Siren blares
Close my eyes
Dog barks
Close my eyes
Light flashes
Close my eyes
Cat meows
Close my eyes
Door rattles
Close my eyes
Alarm sounds
Eyes are open

Is There A Greater Pain

Is There A Greater Pain
By: James Dubeau

Is there a greater pain
Than heart ache
There is no bandage
That can cover the wound
No pill can be popped
To dull the pain
It just sits there
Gnawing at your soul
Sapping strength
Removing Hunger
Defeating sleep
Only with time
As they say
Along with distance
Can the soul be repaired
In an arduous journey
A quest
Across fields afar
Through deep valleys
At mountain crags
Could end the pain
But all it takes
Is one touch
Or one word
Or one scent
For it all to come crashing
Bringing back the pain
Again

Maverick's

Maverick’s
By: James Dubeau

I walked into the Maverick Bar in Farmington, New Mexico unsure of what I would find. She had to be there. She was supposed to be there. All signs had pointed to this dump on the outskirts of town, but she wasn’t there. Not in the gravel parking lot or in the Navy pilot memorabilia laden interior.

Only a handful of patrons were sparsely placed across the room. None of my fellow drinkers were too close to each other, clearly following the man-law urinal etiquette. Sorrows were gasping for air as each bottle was slowly drained. Only the bartender offered any real solace to the drinkers.

It was still early. There was plenty of time yet for her to show tonight. I ordered a Shiner and leaned my chair against the wall. Time slowly ticked by as I tipped my beer back time and again. My perch against the far wall opened up the rest of the room. Not a soul could cross the threshold without my weary old eyes seeing. Eyes which showed disinterest with the world to any who looked up from their dwindling bottle in front of time. If anyone else in the room had enough interest to look up, that is.

Rental charges on my beer started to acuminate as a forest of empty brown bottles started to grow upon the table. Solutions to my current problems were not at the bottom of any of those empties. Maybe the next would solve my predicament, or the one after that one. It really didn’t matter when the answer came, it would eventually.

Idly my fingers picked at another beer bottle label, slowly pulling it from the glass without tearing the paper. A tall drink of water which entered the saloon did not escape me. Her tight jeans and gray tank top didn’t leave much to the imagination. The bartender was dropping a little umbrella into a colorful drink as she approached the bar. With a smile and wink she snatched the drink and bubbled her way to a table. Long brunette curls bounced as gum smacked between her cotton candy lips.

My fingers traced over the corners of the photograph in my pocket as I crossed the bar for the restroom. I had looked over that picture a thousand times if I had looked at it once. It was her. I could feel it in every bone of my body.

Vacating the tavern floor for even a moment with my prey present was a much needed risk. It gave me the chance to get a closer look to confirm my suspicions. When I returned from the restroom I was relieved. Not only did my much needed piss grant me a new level of comfort but she was still seated right where I left her. Her head bobbed along with the music as she sipped her colorful concoction.

I smiled as I turned one of the chairs at her table around and sat, arms crossed on the chair’s back. “What brings you out on a Tuesday evening?”

Her toothy white smile responded to mine. “Pete used to have bitchin’ karaoke on Tuesday nights. Haven’t seen you here before, I could ask the same of you sailor.”

“Just needed some time to think, I suppose.”

“Frustrated?” she nodded to the grove of label-less brown bottles.

“You could say that,” I chuckled. “Been looking for something, but just haven’t been able to get my fingers on it. You know how that is?”

“Don’t I know it sugar,” she held her hand out. “My name is Charlotte, but all my friends call me Charlie.”

I took her silky smooth hand into mine, “Jack’s the name. My friends call me, well, my acquaintances add a certain three letter word onto that.”

Charlie laughed. “Has this dive helped you sort out your thoughts?”

“Not fully,” I shook my head. “I may have to return tomorrow night.”

“I get my best thinking done at the Blackwood downtown. Maybe you should give that one a try.”

“That just might have to fit onto my schedule before I leave town.”

She took a sip from her drink before standing, leaving the half empty glass on the table. “Unfortunately I must make this a short evening. Good luck on all that brings you to Farmington.”

“Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you.” I had smiled and watched her firm ass as she glided from the tavern.

The conversation all but confirmed everything. She had the five-hundred thousand. Not enough to live to exuberantly, but enough to get by on for a while. She was a smart girl, no doubt she will be watching for a tail tonight. Will have to play things safe for a while and earn her trust before bringing her back. There is still time while the expense account lasts.

At Road's End

At Road’s End
By: James Dubeau

Roads are slick
Snow is thick
Driving fast
Escaping the past
High beam’s glare
Averts my stare
No need for a belt
The ice might melt
Or I’ll spatter
For it doesn’t matter
Earth will turn
As I burn
Without a friend
At road’s end

Does He Make You Happy

Does He Make You Happy
By: James Dubeau

Does he make you happy
Well um yes
No seriously
Does he make you happy
I think so
No don’t think
I can only give approval
If you can answer this question
Does he make you happy
I don’t know
Then that is all I need
That is a no
But
No
Give me a straight answer
I can’t
Then that is a no
But
No
That is a no
Live it
For it will be
Your future

Driving Home

Driving Home
By: James Dubezau

Driving home
Late at night
Belly full of beer
8-bit graphics
Fly on by
As my foot
Presses down
Sixty
Seventy
Eighty
Miles an hour
On the snowy streets
Black top slick
With wet and ice
Fishtailing through corner
While rushing home

Sea Of Subdued

Sea Of Subdued
By: James Dubeau

Red chairs
Gray tables
Beige walls
A sea of subdued
Floats on by
As I sit
Waiting
Watching
Listening
For signs of the future
A stranger passes
Looking through the doorway
I cannot speak
Move
Or even think
She is gone
In an instant
Just a flash
A presence
Barely a spec
A flash of red and tan
A floating smile
But I cannot follow
For I am trapped
Drowning
In the sea of subdued

Starlight Inning

Starlight Inning
By: James Dubeau

Scratch scratch scratch emanated from the bedroom door. Jack propped open a single eyelid. An eyelid which was weighted down with fifty pound sacks of sand. 3:39 the clock read.

Bam bam bam. The door rapt against the frame. A black paw then reached under the door, grasping for air, a loose key, anything that was beyond the wooden barrier.

With closed eyes Jack reach for his running shoes that lay beside the bed. His hand felt the cool wood floor, and then a crumpled pair of boxers, before landing upon a shoe. “I’m sleeping here,” he barked as the shoe launched across the room, crashing against the bedroom door.

The pawing stopped. Dreamland washed over Jack. A bright sunny day. Blue sky hung over head. Vibrant green trees flanked the lush green carpet of lawn. Balloons were tied to everything, the trees, picnic tables, and even the pavilion itself. Smiling people kept walking up to Jack just to pat him on the shoulder and shake his hand.

There she was. Lisa. The sea of friends and family parted, growing quiet to a soft murmur as Lisa floated to Jack. A shoebox was in her hands. It was a colorful little number, covered in pink and purple polka doted wrapping paper. A large green bow sat atop the box. Air holes penetrated its sides.

Air holes?

“Happy birthday roomie,” Lisa smiled in that cure perky bubbly way that she always was capable of. Never able to turn down the joy or happiness. “I thought that since I’m moving across country that you could use a new friend in that lonely apartment.” She bubbled over with a glee so contagious that Jack needed a glass of water just to wash the sugary sweetness from his mouth.

The top of the box popped open as a tiny black furry paw found its way from the constraints of the shoebox. “Its so cure,” the crowd murmured, “I want a kitty too,” a little girl punctuated the spectators.

Whap whap whap. The bedroom door slammed against the wood frame. Jack vaulted the other shoe against the door with a crash.

“I’m allergic!” Jack yelled.

As I Sit Here

As I Sit Here
By: James Dubeau

As I sit here
Eyes heavy with sleep
Fingers ache
Neck cracks
Pride wells up
While I sip my whiskey
Black splatters against white
Underscored by red and green
Goals are within sight
Hovering above
Just out of reach
Bouncing from my fingers
But not quite there
Not quite mine
No matter how hard I try
It remains out of reach
More effort is required
And maybe
Just maybe
Another glass

It All Hangs In The Balance

It All Hangs In The Balance
By: James Dubeau

It all hangs in the balance
And I do not know
Which way to go
Will moving a step to the left
Be my ultimate downfall
Or would going right
Bring me down instead
Neither way is up
Neither way is good
For I am standing upon
A seesaw of the damned
Children of the corn
Frolic with daemons and devils
Chanting and singing
As they circle about
Hoping
Wishing
Wanting
My utter destruction
And to feast
Upon my bruised and battered corpse

NaNo Woes

NaNo Woes
By: James Dubeau

Up all night
Work all day
Eye starts to twitch
Fingers start to bleed
Deadline looms overhead
Demanding to be finished
Many things call to me
Books to be read
Stories to be edited
Movies to be watched
Friends to be seen
Life to be lived
But it must be finished
This novel of the damned
Or else it shall haunt me
For the rest of my days

My Apologies

My Apologies
By: James Dubeau

To those of you
Who may think that
I have been avoiding
The light of day
Can only assume
The truth
For work has me down
With all the extra projects
Keeping the midnight oil
Burning bright and hot
While the morning light
Blinds the window sill
So sorry
For not being available
To have the fun
Which should be had
But work must be done
In order to keep things rolling
For ever onward
Down the hill
That is life

Then It Is Gone

Then It Is Gone
By James Dubeau

Once you have it
Tight in your hands
You can feel it
Hold it close
See it
Smell it
Taste it
But then it all changes
A slip
A fall
It crashes down
Leaving nothing behind
Only emptiness
And longing

Clip Clip

Clip Clip
By: James Dubeau

Clip clip
Flying across the room
Opaque
Curved
Sharp
Bits that were part of me
Nothing but deadweight
But necessary still
To protect my toes
From blunt trauma
One by one
Cut nails fly
Sock will no longer catch
On the gnarly protrusions
And I feel
Times more
Beautiful

Life Floats On By

Life Floats On By
By: James Dubeau

Life floats on by
As one grows older
Each day brings
New treasures
Some are expected
Most are not
Which are favored
It is to hard to tell
Anticipation provides
A great payoff
But sometimes not
Only leaving disappointment
When it doesn’t fulfill
Which is why
Unexpected can be better
When one does not know
Surprises can be greater
More rewarding
Than if you had any inkling
As to what was in store

Omelet Has You

Omelet Has You
By: James Dubeau

(NOTE: This story was thrown together in a moments notice baised upon something a friend said on FaceBook. Reader beware, this is a terrible first draft.)

“You won’t get away with this!” Shoshanna spat across the kitchen. Her hands were held locked in gooey melted cheese.

“Not only can I get away with it,” a chunk of diced ham fell from the omelet’s mouth as he chuckled, “I already have. This time the tables have been turned. This time I have you.”

The young woman struggled against the bindings, but it was useless. Melted cheese stretched and oozed into gaps when she moved. There was no escape.

Green pepper chunks bounced across the floor as the omelet slid across the floor. The evil gleam in his eyes reflected on the knife and fork in his hands. Tongue licking his lips. “I wonder if you taste best with salt and pepper or if I should slather you in salsa.”

With a crash the door flew open. A pot crashed into the edible beast, hot coffee splashed upon its yellow skin. “NO!” the omelet screamed. “You can’t have her! She is mine!”

“She is yours no longer!” Pat lunged, egg beater in hand. Within moments the omelet was reduced to crumbles and the girl was saved.

As Night Goes On

As Night Goes On
By: James Dubeau

As night goes on
My eyes grow heavy
But my mind
Fails to rest
Excitement is just beyond
The horizon of my life
Just out of reach
But close enough
Where the dismal sky
Is illuminated
In pre-dawn dull gray
Stars of despair
Still twinkle
But are slowly washed out
As the gray turns to blue
And the skies brighten
If only my brain
Could grasp this future
And rest easy
Knowing safety
Was around the corner
But instead
It plots
And plans
Trying to weasel out
Not facing the challenges
Or accepting the fact
That I need
One more
Good night
Of sleep

The Serpent Flies

The Serpent Flies
By: James Dubeau

The serpent flies
Above our heads
Circling
Like a scavenger
Wanting
Needing
To pick my bones
Devour my flesh
Leaving bleached
White
Sticks
Only one defense
Lays between us
Only one thing
Can be done
To subvert attacks
But do I have the will
The courage
The gumption
To do what is right
And fight back
Against the beast
Who would do anything
To devour me
My soul
And I

Be Gone Ye Plague

Be Gone Ye Plague
By: James Dubeau

Be gone ye plague
A curse upon my soul
May ye flow from my head
With the green sludge
Which drains from my nose
Aches and pains
Ravage my mind
And body
Keeping the sandman
Away tonight
If only he could fight
On my weakened behalf
And defeat the monsters
Dwelling deep within me
To allow a peaceful slumber
Of which I have not seen
For many a fortnight

Dead James Day

Dead James Day
By: James Dubeau

Could be so lucky
Not to die from GenCon flu
Can be sleep time now?

Done Are My Childish Days

Done Are My Childish Days
By: James Dubeau

Done are my childish days
No longer can I play
Not with video games
Nor with dice
For now I must behave
Grow up as I should
Do the things
That a grownup would
Balance my checkbook
Pay the bills
Make sure that
The mouths are filled
Good bye my friends
For this road
Must be traveled alone
There is nothing you can do
It must be proven
That I am capable
And an adult
And that those days
Of fun and laughter
Are far behind me

How Much Blood

How Much Blood
By: James Dubeau

How much blood
Can my heart beat out
When I slit my wrists

Could it spray
Paint the walls deep red
Squirt my life away

Will it seep
Soak my bed scarlet
As I bleed on out

Knife in hand
Soon I will find out
When the blade cuts deep

One More Day

One More Day
By: James Dubeau

One more day
Waiting and watching
One more day
Hoping for the best
One more day
Fearing the worst
One more day
To sit in agony
One more day
Until the truths revealed
One more day
Then we shall know
One more day
Left to go
One more day

Demon Clutches Tight

Demon Clutches Tight
By: James Dubeau

As you wonder through the forest
A demon clutches tight
Hanging onto your back
No matter what you do
There is no shaking him
His claws dig in deep
Talons piercing the skin
Blood weeps from torn flesh
A fork appears in the path
One to the north
The other to the south
Keep on going the way it has been
Or hope for something different
A bigger demon swoops down
As the south path is chosen
Knocking the parasite
From your back
Making sure the old pest
Will never bother you again
Instead of walking tall
The weight removed
He latches on as well
Claws digging deeper
Teeth tearing into flesh
Forcing you to slump
From the added weight
If only the original remained
The comfortable demon
But he is gone
Forever replaced
By the new
Unforgiving
Evil

Some Days

Some Days
By: James Dubeau

Some days
You realize
How bad you screwed up
The one little decision
That changes your life
Turning top to bottom
Good to bad
Destroying all
All that you want to do
Is curl up in a ball
And scream
Letting the tears well up
Trying best to sooth the pain
Some days
Are just to hard
The few solutions
Are few and far between
Self medication
Or maybe something
A little more
Drastic
If only you could go back in time
Alter the course of history
Change that one single event
Make it never happen
Keep that mistake from appearing
If only it were that simple
Then there wouldn’t be
Some days

When I Look At You

When I Look At You
By: James Dubeau

When I look at you
So much rushes to me
Running through my mind
Hate
Disgust
Incompetence
Insanity
Senility
Everything you do
Everything you say
Digs deep
Under my skin
Into my soul
Gone is the love
Gone is the compassion
Only one solace remains
For it will not be too much longer
Soon you will be gone
Out of my mind
Never to haunt me
My days
My nights
My life

Pathetic Failure

Pathetic Failure
By: James Dubeau

There you go
Walking through these streets
Thinking that you are so smart
So cool
So sophisticated
But deep down
You know it is not true
Only lies you tell yourself
To keep the daemons at bay
For you are getting older
And none to wiser
Nothing can be said
About your accomplishments
They have not moved you
Not one bit
In the past five years
Or even ten
Going round in circles
Taking two steps backfor every one step forward
Keeping you from achieving
Making sure you are nothing
Nothing more than what you are
Pathetic failure

If Only

If Only
By: James Dubeau

If only
If only things were different
If only there was peace in the world
If only everyone was happy
If only you were happy
If only I was happy
If only there were no problems
If only money was no issue
If only there was no hunger
If only there was no disease
If only the sun revolved around the earth
If only I could sleep
If only beer was cheep
If only I was not who I am
If only you were not who you are
If only a magic wand could be waved
If only everything could change
If only
If only
If only

Sand Through My Fingertips

Sand Through My Fingertips
By: James Dubeau

Sand through my fingertips
Flows as a waterfall
Mounding a hill
Beneath my hand
No matter how hard I squeeze
Or softly I caress
Sand finds its way
Through the cracks
And crevices
Escaping to freedom
Away from me
Each and every time
Morning
Noon
Dusk
Each time
Sand is scooped
Piled high in my hand
With hopes and dreams
But the same happens as before
Beneath my hand
Mounding a hill
Flows as a waterfall
Sand through my fingertips

Midnight Visitor

Midnight Visitor
By: James Dubeau

Floating high above
She looks down at me
Smiling
Illuminated within
Trying to move
My body wouldn’t respond
Couldn’t respond
Not my arms
Nor my legs
I lay pinned
By the very air I breathe
Her teeth turn to fangs
Fingernails to claws
Face becomes disfigured
In a savage snarl
As she descends slowly
Upon my laying body
No I shout
But my lips wouldn’t move
Sound did not come out
No I shouted again
My lips did tremble
No
Sound escaped
No
Forming into words
No
Fingers clench
No
No
No
I shouted
She paused
Taken aback
As quickly as she appeared
She was gone
Through the window pane

The Map

The Map
By: James Dubeau

Frank gritted his teeth as pain shot through his side; his grip on the cold hard steel in his hand only became tighter. The dark figure in the doorway lowered his still-smoking gun and gave a shrill, oddly familiar chuckle.

“We meet for the last time, Frank. This time, you won’t be able to follow me and repeat pathetic attempts to gain the map.”

Frank fell to his knees and smiled awkwardly. He knew something that his would-be murderer did not. “You only have half of the map…”

“True,” the shadowy figure replied, “but I know you left your half with her – and I don’t need a map to find her!”

“Well, you may,” said Frank, as hot liquid dripped down his side, “the bottom of the lake is broad.”

“You’re lying,” the figure shouted.

“You’re worried,” Frank spat with his last breath.

“I know you let her escape through that cave,” the roar of a single gun shot punctuated his statement. The figure smiled knowing that the full map would be in his hands soon enough.

Breakfast Safari

Breakfast Safari
By: James Dubeau

“That smell is just intoxicating,” Mike said as Sharon walked past him. His bowl of cantaloupe in front of him was half empty.

“Thank you,” she smiled. Her hair was still wet from the shower, scents wafted through the air filling the kitchen in a veil of flowers and springtime freshness that were mixed with soft scents of caramel. She searched the cabinets for a moment, opening one then another.

“What is it that you seek, dear?”

“That capsule of basil, I was thinking of scrambled eggs for breakfast.”

“You mean this one here?” Mike asked with a whimsy smile. “Your cataracts must be acting up again.”

“How could I see it with your newspaper strewn about the counter top. One would think the paper was indigenous to the counter top savannah. That it creats shelter for the wild spices that roam the granite plains.”

“Here, let me clear a space for your breakfast safari,” Mike chuckled as he handed over the basil and kissed Sharon on the cheek.

Hunting And Gathering

Hunting And Gathering
By: James Dubeau

Hunting and gathering
Under the mean stars
Tonight I stalk my prey
Pursuing a most dangerous foe
An entire village will feast
Upon the carcass of my fresh kill
I’ll bring down the mighty beast
With my cunning
And guile
And pocket full of cash
A foot long sub will be mine
To feast on
Full of meatball goodness

A Fire That Burns

A Fire That Burns
By: James Dubeau

A fire that burns
With the white hot rage
Of a thousand suns
Engulfs my soul
Radiating out
From my core
Burning my arms
Shoulders
Back
I reach back
Trying to sooth the pain
Between my shoulder blades
It is too much to bear
The shooting pain
Of the knife
Permanently lodged
Where I can not reach

Excitement

Excitement
By: James Dubeau

As I sit here
Sipping my beer
Excitement wells up
Last night it started
Percolating at first
Not too bad
Somehow I got to sleep
Morning awaited me
In all of it’s glory
Sun shining upon my face
Did not send me diving
Under covers and pillows
Instead it beckoned me
To venture from my bed
Excitement welled up
From the moment I got to work
Making my stomach tingle
And turn
And churn
So now I sit
Just finished up a small lunch
Drinking a beer
And waiting

Out On A Limb

Out On A Limb
By: James Dubeau

Scampering along
The outstretched limb
A squirrel makes his way
Dodging leafy twigs
As the branch narrows
Flexing under his weight
Bobbing up and down
Throwing him off balance
Tripping
Falling
Grasping at twigs
One reached out
Catching his weight
Stopping the descent
Pausing for a moment
The squirrel slowly pulls himself up
It was a close call
Being stranded out on the limb
Falling
Failing
But he had been saved
From the crushing ground below
By the very limb
He had climbed

Kentucky Hills

Kentucky Hills
By: James Dubeau

Blue green hills
Soar above
Thin ribbons of
Concrete and asphalt
Bob to and fro
My grandfather and I
Ride in silence
Wind whistles past
Tires rub against the road
We are awestruck
By this country’s beauty
A brief respite
From the day’s conversations
Which will begin again
As soon as we hit
Road construction

As I Drift Off

As I Drift Off
By: James Dubeau

Pale moonlight
Filters through the window
Illuminating your features
Your body
As we lay together
My arm under your neck
Supporting your head
Upon the pillow
Our fingers intertwined
Silken breaths brush against my arm
As your chest rises
And falls
My other arm lies
Wrapped around your waist
Caressing your stomach
Holding you close
Skin against skin
Legs wrapped together
Under the sheets
Lips pressed against your shoulder
Softly placing a kiss
Your scent fills the air
And my heart
As I drift off

My Little Editor

My Little Editor
By: James Dubeau

Drifting off
As the night surrounds me
My fingers want to dance
Need to dance
Upon the keys
Laying out my deepest thoughts
And feelings
And emotions
Bare to the world
In the far back corner
An tiny little man sits
Horn rimmed glasses
Perched upon his tiny nose
“No!” he shouts
Slamming down his pencil
“The world is a dangerous place
One must not bare their soul
Or else they will suffer
The consequences of actions”
Words have never been so true
Keeping me contained
Protected behind this wall
Built of concrete
Three feet thick
Safe from the outside world
The dangers
And ridicule
Protected
In this cell
Built up
Around me

Muse That Once Was Known

Muse That Once Was Known
By: James Dubeau

Muse that once was known
Fluttered by my head
Again this evening
She held me tight
Caressing my heart
With her intoxicating touch
While
Whispering in my ear
That she cannot
Be my muse
From this day forth
My pen shook
Falling from my hand
At the sound of this news
No more could beauty flow
From the tips of my fingers
Upon the page
Nor from my lips
Or mind
A part of me has been ripped out
Left to wither and die
In the wake
Left behind
My muse

As Time Ticks By

As Time Ticks By
By: James Dubeau

Upon the counter
Wine sits chilling
Ice slowly melts
Into pooling water
Jazz pours over the stereo
With indecipherable lyrics
Beautiful lyrics
French lyrics
Cluttered coffee table
Books strewn about
Dodging water droplets
Condensation upon glasses
Couch lays open
And inviting
And comfy
Eyes close
As time ticks by

Attic Inspection

Attic Inspection
By: James Dubeau

Two by four
Twenty-four
OSB
Trusses

Seventeen inch
Fiberglass
Loose fill
Insulation

Roof cans
Soffits
Air baffles
Faux gables

Water stains
Mold growth
Cracked sealants
Rusted flashing

Have To Pee

Have To Pee
By: James Dubeau

Sitting at the bar
Full glass in front of me
Full blatter in me
It is time to run
Far away to the hills
But
I can not do as such
My computer sits prone
Upon the bar
Trying not to be stolen
While I have to pee
In the restroom
Not ten feet away

Drink

Drink
By: James Dubeau

Drink to remember
Drink to forget
Drink to celebrate
Drink to dismiss
There is no time of day
Where one can not drink
After a hard days work
Or to keep the spirits
From dieing inside
Only the fear of pain
Will keep the drinks away
From the faint of heart
But for those hearty of soul
Who demand a grand old time
A drink is
A drink is
A drink

While Storms Rage

While Storms Rage
By: James Dubeau

Flash of light
Thunder strike
Head lay deep
In pillows heaped
Through closed eyes
Images shine through
Keeping me awake
Through the storm
Would these thoughts
Should these thoughts
Could these thoughts
Mean much more
Or just phantoms
Setting me up
For great failure
Now is time
For relaxation
Closed eyes sing
While mind wonders
Maybe some day
Phantoms will dance
While storms rage
On the other side
Of the window

Wakeup Call

Wakeup Call
By: James Dubeau

“You know how much I hate mornings,” Mark groaned as he rolled over and buried his head under the pillows. Susan had sprung out of bed and ripped the shade open to bathe the room in bright sunlight.

“Wake-y, wake-y, eggs and bac-y!” Susan practically sang as she pounced back onto the bed. Mark sensed her onslaught and flung a spare pillow at her. She caught it in midair and landed on him, the pillow cushioned her landing. Then she sat up, straddling his body under the sheets, and started beating Mark with the pillow.

“Stop,” he protested, holding his pillow tight against his head. “I just need five more minutes of sleep.”

“You said that you would go running with me before class,” it was more of a whine than it was a beg.

“Tomorrow. I’ll go with you tomorrow. There is some studying that I need to get done at the library before class today.” He lied.

“Fine,” Susan pouted. “I’ll catch you after class tonight then. Don’t forget, it’s your turn to make dinner.”

She hopped off the bed and pulled on a pair of running shorts and a sports bra. Mark peeked a look while she got dressed, hiding back under the pillow when she turned to find her shoes under the bed and looked at him.

“See you tonight babe. Love ya.”

“Love you too.” The door slammed leaving Mark alone.

It was hollow. Everything. His words. His thoughts. His feelings. Love is what his body and ego tricked him into believing. Mark’s mind knew it wasn’t love. Not any more.

With a sigh, Mark got out of bed. A long and peaceful shower was in his future. Alone.

Another Day Tomorrow

Another Day Tomorrow
By: James Dubeau

Window wide open
As the cricks chirp below
While the moon rises
Fully above the tree line
Another day is over
Sweat, blood, and tears
Shed throughout
On one thing to look forward to
When start twinkle above
Another day tomorrow
As grueling as the last

Prancing Through The Posies

Prancing Through The Posies
By: James Dubeau

Prancing through the posies
On a fine Sunday morn
Not a care in the world
Sun radiating down
Warming
Loving
Caring
To be held in those arms again
To be caressed
To be loved
Basking in the sun
Soaking up the rays
Scents of fresh flowers tickle the nose
Grass prickles against the skin
Puffy clouds float on by
Turning into shapes of the past
Present
Future
Leaving me wanting
And yearning
For a better time
A better life
One without any cares
Where everything is happy
And caring
And loving
But it is not to be
Not in this lifetime
Nor any other

The Game

The Game
By: James Dubeau

The game
Is full of rules
Laws
Regulations
Codes of conduct
Written or unwritten
Thick handbooks to read
Digest
Learn
Backwards and forwards
Knowledge is key
What to do
And when
What is legal
What will reward the penalty box
Is it worth the time
Effort
Sacrifice
To learn these rules
For the game
Which we all live

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Mirror Mirror On The Wall
By: James Dubeau

Mirror mirror on the wall
I have given it my all
Is there any hope of this ball
Will I just falter and stall
Plummet to earth as I fall
Or can I run down the hall
And answer the future’s call
With my reserve and gall
And stand straight and tall
Mirror mirror on the wall

Long Days Longer Nights

Long Days Longer Nights
By: James Dubeau

Long days
Longer nights
This is the time
In which we live
Work to do all day long
From sun up
To sun down
And then a bit more
Even today
On a lovely Saturday night
My bed beckons me
For in the morning
Before normally at work
I’m expected to be on the job
For what is needed
Must be completed
Before the day is done

Routine

Routine
By: James Dubeau

Sun rises
Sun sets
The same routine
Followed time and again
Day after day
Week after week
Month after month
Year after year
Horizons are clear
Allowing for continuation
Of the repeated pattern
When the boat rocks
Steady behavior pulls us through
But when the boat crashes upon the shore
The course must be altered
Before the ship sinks
Only a good crew
And a sturdy ship
Are able to pull through
As the ship rocks
And timbers creak under strain
A captain must ask himself
Is the crew capable
Will they pull the ship through
Save us all from catastrophe
Only if lead be a good captain
The ship will be safe
And able to sale another day
Returning to the same routine
Night after night
Moon rises
Moos sets

Horizons Are Clear

Horizons Are Clear
By: James Dubeau

Horizons are clear
As they stretch out forever
Only a few roadblocks remain
Before goals can be reached
Hop over the turtle
Leap across the stream
Dash through the field
Climb the steep hill
It is in sight
Nothing can stop me
Not even you
Or you
Or you

Waiting For Seeds

Waiting For Seeds
By: James Dubeau

Sitting high atop the birch
Surveying all that he sees
Waiting for his moment to strike
Waiting for his moment to seize

Birds flutter in
Pecking all around
But there is no treasure
None to be found

A bounty of fresh seeds
Is what he desired
Waiting and watching
While growing tired

The sun fell
The moon rose
After all this time
He felt hosed

Running To And Fro

Running To And Fro
By: James Dubeau

A confused squirrel dashes about
Up and down
Around and around
Dodging rain drops
As they pelt his head
Drenching his once poofy tail
Into a sad sack of fur
There is not right answer
No where to run
Rain falls from the sky
Just as the sun rises and sets
There is nothing that can be done
No leaf big enough to hide under
No hole large enough to hide in
Nothing
Only his wits
And sense of survival
Will keep the poor little squirrel alive
As he dashes to and fro
And makes the best of the situation
In the down pouring rain

Ode to the Flying Fortune

Ode to the Flying Fortune
By: James Dubeau

There once was a little old ship
That flew at a mighty fine clip
And be a lure
For an adventure
For in a good strong gale
She would be no snail
And whisk you away
Beyond the Milky Way
So it is time to earn a doubloon
Upon the Flying Fortune

Evening Jog

Evening Jog
By: James Dubeau

Take a deep breath
Step out the door
One foot after another
It has been a long time
But it is time once again
No more than an hour halved
And I should be back
If I do not return within an hour
I shall be dead
Or dieing
On a street corner
Send out the dogs to find me
The sun hangs low
Peaking over roof tops
As foot fall follows
Foot fall
Music strapped down
Cords imbedded into my head
The pace is slow
Building up steam
Hip screams out in pain
Breath comes in pants
It is not long before the first corner
And the second
Slightly down hill
Steam builds
And momentum flows
Foot after foot
Along the concrete pads
Corner three is turned
An even playing field ahead
Fires go dim
Steam dies down
But I can do this
I know I can
Fuel is added
Stoking the fire
Powering the engine
Deep within my soul
Fourth corner in sight
A steep climb ahead
The fire almost burned out
But one last go
Pour on what is left
Pace quickens
Altitude gained
And I find myself home again
Shirt soaked
Body aches
All smiles

Stormy Day

Stormy Day
By: James Dubeau

A squirrel sits perched
Atop the swaying birch
Wind had picked up
Clouds gathered
Darkening the sky
Storms are brewing
Falling drops of rain
Splattering water falls
Pelting leaves atop the tree
Running down the squirrel’s face
He darted left and right
Jumping from branch to branch
Unable to decide where to run
Each path led to failure
There was no reprieve
No matter which way he ran
Water pelted his progress
Leaving one drowned rodent

Night Is When The Demons Come Out

Night Is When The Demons Come Out
By: James Dubeau

Night is when the demons come out
Crawling from deep dark places
Enveloping my head
My mind
My soul
How can the torment stop
When my mind races though mazes
Hoping to find a weakness
A thin spot in the hedgerow
That will hasten my journey
And allow me to escape
Lead me to sanctuary
From the night demons
Before all is lost
To the darkness

The World Closes In

The World Closes In
By: James Dubeau

The world closes in
Around my laying form
As my body aches
And head spins

Tissues pile high
On my bedside table
As the box is depleted
Of its fluffy white treasures

A cough ravages my raw throat
And then another
And another
Another

All I can do is lay here
Sip my soda
Blow my nose
And try to get some sleep

Dead James Day

It is dead James day
Just like Megatokyo
Enjoy the haiku

Enjoy The Haikus

Enjoy The Haikus
By: James Dubeau

Poem not finished
Begging you for forgiveness
Enjoy the haikus

Welcome to Loves Park
Where we all want to belong
I love you Loves Park

Tasty salsa made
As well as vegetable dip
Good day was in store

Growing Older

Growing Older
By: James Dubeau

When one grows older
One starts to realize
That the world isn’t the same
As it once was

Not as it was remembered
Nor as it was in actuality
The world has changed
And so have I

Things were easy once
And heads were full of hair
Now every day is a struggle
And my body fell to pieces

As I walk down these streets
Familiar to my senses
Sight, touch, taste, smell, hearing
It all comes rushing back

Familiarity only goes so far
Echos of places long past
It is not the same here
I have never walked these streets

I am reminded of past friends
Smiles and laughs once had
Heartache over girlfriends
And choices that were made

The future seems so dim
In comparison to those times
When I was full of hope
And time stood still

Lately I had forsaken what I love
Unmotivated to be productive
Or am I just to scared
Fearful of what the future may bring

It was once said
Five years ago
That now is the time
A future must be made

As I walk these streets
Not much has changed
Future must still be made
And now is still the time

Maybe now that I am older
Reality will finally strike
And I will pursue what I love
Achieving far off goals

Or I will stay the course
Floating through time and space
In no particular direction
With no destination in sight

Floating Through Time and Space

Floating Through Time and Space
By: James Dubeau

Floating through time and space
Letting things roll on by
Not absorbing
Nor partaking
Merely observing
As I travel
Down the road of life

Can't Keep It Up

Can’t Keep It Up
By: James Dubeau

Balls high in the air
Bouncing one, two, three
Added four, five, six
Catch and release
Hands moving quick
Can’t keep it up

Irons deep in the fire
Flames licking high
From the white hot coals
Needing to be pulled
Hands sear from heat
It is to painful

Plates spinning fast
High atop the poles
Slowing down, wobbling
Gravity taking hold
Hands spinning fast and soft
Can’t keep going

Body aches and screams
Hands cramp and curl
Mind pounds and thuds
Time to cleanse
Mind, body, and soul
Determination will pull through

Free Write

Was showing off my new computer to a friend, the keys are glossy and kind of funky to type on. She did some free writing while listening in to the conversations. It had amused me enough to share it.

------------------------

There is a satisfying click. I really like to type fast. Typing is therapeutic. It’s the ability to automatically render exactly what you are thinking as you are thinking it…it makes me feel like a robot. Or a cyborg? Jo the cyborg, hmm. Ben asked me what I’m thinking, I told him that I am writing a story. Remember the typewriter? The typewriter was the coolest invention. I wish that computers dinged when you reach the end of the line. I shall evaluate words and such. James is entertaining. I’m not sure what he’s talking about but its making me smile. Something about ‘auto-correcting’. James has my drawing from years ago as a background on his computer. It makes me want to make another drawing for him, so that I don’t have to keep looking at such an awful old sketch. Speaking of drawing, I hate it. It’s maddening. I haven’t had the time to do any work, and every time I sit back to draw whatever I manage to churn out looks like pencil excrement. It’s rather discouraging, but at the same time I have no motivation to spend my time trying to better myself as an artist because I’m too damn tired at the end of the day.

Damn days. Days suck.

I’ve decided that days should stop being days. Nights are no better though. They should find some new alternative. Something cooler. Like perpetual morning? I like morning. That’s probably my favorite part of the day…the lazy part of the morning when you’ve finally recovered from waking up. I am happiest sitting on my couch eating a nice bowl of granola in soy milk and watching the 7am train go by. The day just goes to shit from there.

I think I’ve finally run out of computer ink. Or rather, ‘brain ink’…yes, I’m done. My brain is drained. I’m brained….good night.

Springtime Allergies

Springtime Allergies
By: James Dubeau

Runny nose
Watery eyes
Springtime allergies
Aren’t no fun

Pet the dog
Dust the counter
Indoor allergies
Can’t be beat

Blow the nose
Pop the pills
Sooner or latter
Spring will die

A Bard’s Overture

A Bard’s Overture
By: James Dubeau

The dining area of the Ashlawn Inn was filled with music that morning. In the corner sat a young gentleman who alternated between singing and playing his flute. Dawn light filtered through the windows illuminating his brick red skin and twisted horns. A tail poking out from under his dull red hide armor thumped along in rhythm to the songs.

Over the hills
And through the woods
An adventure shall always find you

Weather on foot
Or sailing seas
An adventure shall always find you

Follow the plea
Against your will
When an adventure comes to find you

For it is not
Every day
That adventure comes and finds you

Smells of eggs and bacon wafted through the Inn as the rest of the adventurers filtered into the dining area. To each the seated man in the corner smiled and did a half bow as he continued to play. As soon as there were four men seated around the table, he finished his last song and proceeded to cross the dining hall. His five foot long tail swished behind him as he walked.

Upon reaching the table the bard spoke and bowed deeply. “My name is Barakas Reverence of Bruskas Crossing. If I am not mistaken, you four must be representatives of the other towns felled with curse.”

The barmaid made her way around the table, placing plates heaping of eggs and bacon in front of each of the men along with pitchers of water, juice, and ale. Working their way around the table, the four men introduced themselves while feasting on the morning meal.

“I am Samel, hailing from the village of Cardinal Glen,” said the tall and stocky purple skinned individual that sat next to Barakas. His priestly robes clinked as he moved, indicating that chainmail armor was worn underneath. “Your music and song would be a great addition to the temple. If only it hadn’t succumbed to that dreadful curse, now the main temple is turning into swampy ruins.”

An extra empty plate sat next to Samel, noticing the questioning look from Barakas he added, “The extra plate is for my god, Hanine. It is only proper to set a place for her, should she ever make her presence known at meal times. A long standing tradition at the temple.

A fair skinned individual sat next to Samel, his dark cloak and hair seemingly framed his pale skin. Pointed ears stuck out from under the mop of hair, still untidy from the nights rest. He fidgeted with the silverware while Barakas sung and played, and now felt the eyes around the table directed towards him. “Quarian…”

“Beorwyn Broadhammer of Stonebridge,” the short, thick, individual interrupted with a belch while shoveling eggs into his mouth. The few bits of egg and ale that didn’t reach is gaping maw were lodged in his matted beard. He was clad in well maintained chainmail armor and had a hammer with an oversized head strapped to his back. Tufts of clothing stuck out from under the armor that looked gray from wear, mud, and sweat. A hint of a foul order reached Barakas’ nostrils, not enough to cause the food to taste bad, but enough to make Beorwyn’s presence unpleasant to say the least.

“My name is Loraz E’pan and this is Johan, we are from the town of Willowbrook,” the other fair skinned individual with pointed ears said while pointing to empty air beside him. He had opened a small pouch and placed berries and leaves upon his plate, eating each one by one, and had placed a small pile of the food beside his plate. “Johan and I have traveled many miles to join this quest to end the curse that besieges our homeland. Johan, why aren’t you eating? Do you not like Bilberries?”

Ignoring Loraz’s comments to his invisible friend Barakas replied between bites of bacon, “Now seems to be our chance to bring about the end of the punishment our forefathers had put upon us. We should get a move on as soon as we are finished eating. I would hate to see the curse last for another twenty-five years just because we let the month flitter by like a butterfly on the wind.”

The Tale Of Barakas Reverence

Nestled into the rolling hills surrounding the small town of Bruskas Crossing along the Allagash River, the Reverence family vineyard was a picturesque estate. Several generations had worked hard to cultivate the land and promote growth of the nearby town and their determination had paid off. The town of Bruskas Crossing became a local trade center and the Reverence vineyard grew and prospered.

That was how things were over a century ago. Under the reign of the curse Bruskas Crossing and the Reverence vineyard had seen a much different fate. Early frosts, harsh winters, and unseasonably cool summers had made growing grapes difficult. The Reverence vineyard suffered as grape production fell, and with it Bruskas Crossing also declined. It seems that the life and death of the vineyard and town were intimately entwined.

This was the world that Barakas Reverence was born into. A world that was so close to paradise, but yet it was so far away. The vineyard had long ago limited production on the traditional family wines and was forced to create new recipes with grapes that reduced in quality every year. New methods of doing business had to be conducted or else the vineyard, and even the town, would fail.

Barakas’s father, Damakos, and his uncle, Leucis, had concocted a plan to try to save the vineyard. Damakos would stay in Bruskas Crossing watching over the vineyard and producing wines while Leucis traveled the Allagash River trying to sell wine to towns along the river. Leucis’s marketing skills and Damakos’s brewing skills were enough to keep the vineyard afloat.

Once Barakas had reached thirteen years of age his father decided that the boy needed to learn the wine trade from the bottom up. No longer could the boy spend his summers idly cutting grapes from the vine. From now on he had to work. Convincing Barakas to join Damakos on his ship was an easy task, the opportunity to see and experience the world was enough of an incentive for a boy who constantly had his head in books reading myths and legends.

The first day on Damakos’s ship was a day that Barakas would never forget. He was expected to help roll the barrels into the cargo hold and get the ship underway. It was hard work for the boy and he tried to avoid it by hiding in his cabin. Once the ship was under way, there was no turning back. Barakas had to learn the shipping and marketing aspect of the wine trade.

Damakos was a strict but benevolent captain. He took his nephew under his wing and taught him much about ships, wine, and selling ones wares as well as how to run a ship. It was not long before Barakas was dancing about the rigging accomplishing what had to be done to keep the sails aloft. The boy also learned songs and tales from Damakos and the crew as well as how to hold a sword and fight. He even learned how to juggle.

Over the years Barakas grew up under the watchful eye of Damakos. The now young man was practically in charge of sales, he was the one doing all of the talking during meetings while Damakos looked on. A quick song before each meeting was all that it took to loosen the purse strings of prospective buyers. His inspiring songs were even instrumental in warding off pirates and thieves the few times they were attacked.

One day when pulling into port at Bruskas Crossing Damakos said to Barakas that it was time. They both knew what he meant and Barakas was left nervous about seeing his family again on this trip. Legend said that the curse on the land could be lifted, but the opportunity only presented itself once every twenty-five years. The last three times expeditions were sent out, and all three times they failed to return home. As the eldest son of the Reverence family, he knew that he would be the one sent on the expedition. The family was the largest influence upon the town with the largest stake in the town’s success or failure. It was only fitting that a member of the family be sent to try to end the curse.

Barakas only had a few days with his family before the mayor declared who would travel on the expedition to end the curse. Their mood was as sour as his; they knew he would be picked for the expedition and that there was no hope of his return. At the end of the week there was a large meeting at the town hall. After a stirring speech about what ending the curse meant to Bruskas Crossing he made his pick. Being a young man of the proper age, and as a member of the Reverence family, Barakas was chosen.

As he donned his hide armor and packed the longsword and shield, Barakas said bittersweet goodbyes. He knew that he would not be returning home and that it was a meaningless gesture that attempted to restore hope to the community. But on the off chance he was able to lift the curse, then he could restore his home to the way it once was.

The young adult made his way from the family villa on foot towards the meeting grounds for the expedition, singing a song to strengthen his heart while traveling to meet the fate lay out before him. That is how he wanted his family to remember him, confident and full of song.

Rolling Down the Road

Rolling Down the Road
By: James Dubeau

Rolling down the road
Two in line
Four in each
Leading fast
Following tight
Left to late
Gotta be on time
Learning is to be done
To build for the future
Make a better life

Smart Little Dog

Smart Little Dog
By: James Dubeau

What do you do
When I’m not around
Oh you smart little dog
Do you sit on my couch
And chew on the cushions
Oh you smart little dog
Or do you play nice and
Sit at the bottom of the stairs
Oh you smart little dog

The Muse Strikes

The Muse stalked the cold and dark city streets, every hour of the long weekend. It was Sunday evening when she finally found her target, huddled in a dark corner of a respectable tavern. It was obvious that he did not belong, not in the bar full of overpriced drinks nor surrounded by the two women.

He was startled to see the Muse standing in the doorway, blocking his escape. A wine glass fell and shattered, sending chilled liquid and razor sharp shards of glass skittering across the carpeted floor. Standing, arms outstretched in panic, he pleaded with the soon to be assailant, pleading for his life. The Muse would hear none of it. She was there for one solitary reason and nothing could stop her. They both knew it.

Her left hand reached out, grabbing his shoulder, pulling him across the low table. A water glass tipped, sending cascading waves of water to meet the shattered wine glass. Fingers flexed, filling the now silent room with creaks of leather bending and shaping to contain the clenched fist. The gloved hand reached back. Everything moved in slow motion, but it was over in an instant. Her fist smashed into his jaw, sending spittle and blood flying into the wall and hanging pictures.

He fell back onto the bench where he was sitting, dazed from the sharp blow. Leaning over the table he spat. Once, twice, three times. Three blood soaked marbles rolled across the table, the pool of spilt water cleansed the teeth. Satisfied with the results, the Muse plucked the teeth from the table. She placed them in a black leather bound book and handed them to her felled victim.

He grasped the book from her hands and opened it. Pages of the book were blank, save for the lines that ran across each page. The teeth dissolved into the pages as words seeped out. Line after line in the book was soon filled with words. With text. With poetry! His head rose from the book to look upon his assailant. As quickly as she had pounced she was gone. Three new poems were left in her wake, the only evidence of her presence.

Blood Moon Rises

Blood Moon Rises
By: James Dubeau

Night falls
Blood moon rises
Crimson flows
Scabbing over
Calcifying
Hair prickles
Poking through the scab
Clawing its way through
Itching
Scratching
Scab falling away
Bleeding
Crusting over
Again
And again
And again

Morning

Morning
By: James Dubeau

Birds chirp and caw
Returning from their yearly migration
Welcoming the sun
Growing large above the land
Muscles ache
A cough rings out
Clouds part
Rays of light rain down
Through the curtainless window
Warming the room
The desk
The dresser
The bed
Brightness overtakes
Darkness fades

Pay Attention

Pay Attention
By: James Dubeau

Why are people so dumb
Why don’t they pay attention
Driving down the street
Getting cut off
No blinkers
No warning
Just before the exit
Why are people so dumb
Why don’t they pay attention
Standing in line
At the sub shop
Lady in front of me
Grabs her subs
And mine
Why are people so dumb
Why don’t they pay attention

Absent Slumber

Absent Slumber
By: James Dubeau

The sun
The moon
The stars
Twisting and turning
Around this ball
This little blue ball
As I lay awake
Sleep eluding me
Down through the thickets
Around the old oak trees
Hiding in the deep grass
Hounds of slumber run
Through the wooded grove
Chasing the dream givers
My mind racing out
Following the beasts
Dodging around foliage
Skipping over rocks
Dashing across a shallow stream
Preventing me from rest
The forty winks I so deserve
While I hover
In the darkness
Amid one long day
And the next

Wedding Day

Wedding Day
By: James Dubeau

Warm wind blows off the lake
Birds chirp out songs of love
Filling the early spring trees
Fresh green pokes out
Amongst tufts of brown
Sun hangs low
Behind a veil of clouds
Happy couple stands before all
Gazing into each others eyes
Today is a day they will remember
For the rest of their lives

Sitting Around the Table

Sitting Around the Table
By: James Dubeau

Sitting around the table
Friends and family sitting
Flanking on either side
Along the small round room
Plates full of food
Glasses full of wine
Cheer filled the air
Happy new couple at the head
Birthday girl on the right
Songs of joy ring our
Mixed with laughter
As food is consumed
On this wonderful evening

Packing

Packing
By James Dubeau

Three nights
Two days
Plus two for traveling
Socks and underwear
Into the bag

It’s a wedding after all
Need a dress shirt
And good slacks
Into the bag

Will there be extra time
Time enough to exercise
Shorts and gym shoes
Into the bag

Free time on the flight
Books to read
Paper to write on
Into the bag

With any luck
The bag will shut
And make it through
To carry on luggage

Waffling Decision

Waffling Decision
By: James Dubeau

Sun slowly rises
Pouring through my window
Early morning
Sun shines bright
Waking to the warmth
With no buzz at all
Day lays long
Mornings are short
Only one decision
Rolls across the brain
To be productive today
Or just simply
Eat some waffles

Summertime Yearning

Summertime Yearning
By: James Dubeau

I would love to have a bright day
Full of sunshiny goodness
Warmth radiating from the sky
Keeping me warm
As I lay on the front lawn
Grass prickling my skin
Not a cloud in the sky
Or a care in the world
But here I am
Shivering inside my home
Illness striking me down
As winter rain pours outside
Only a matter of time
Until roads become pure ice
When the sun sets
And darkness falls

Be Gone Devil Plague

Be Gone Devil Plague
By: James Dubeau

Be gone devil plague
Your wrath has laid me right out
Only haikus stay

In other words, I’m sick. So sick that on Monday I didn’t have the strength or motivation to go online. Yes I do use a laptop and yes it was within arms reach of my bed. That is just how sick I was. Things are on the upswing now, but I am in no shape to come up with anything creative for today’s post. Thank you for visiting and I hope this haiku is sufficient for your enjoyment.

Blurry Eyed

Blurry Eyed
By: James Dubeau

Wake up early
A time zone away
Body only needs
One thing today
Blurry eyed
Down the hall
Take the elevator
Three floors below
Crank it up
Focus on the screen
Legs are churning
Sweat starts poring
Before to long
On rubbery limbs
Reverse the trek
Up the elevator
Key in the door
Push it wide
Weary eyes go wide
In shock and terror
As flesh flashes by
To leap into the shower
Head shacking in disbelief
Father
Get some clothes on

Sky Sheep

Sky Sheep
By: James Dubeau

Head in the clouds
Lost in the crowd
Not paying attention
To where they are
To where they are going
Signs are not enough
Never read by the sheep
As they pass through
Men and women stand
Paid to watch
Watch and direct
Without these guides
These observers of the skies
Sheep would not know
What to do
Where to go
They will only bunch up
And not move anywhere

Bones In Hand

Bones In Hand
By James Dubeau

Here I sit
Bones in hand
Fortunes to be told

Will they be favorable
Or disapproving
Only a roll will tell

Shake of the fist
Flick of the wrist
Bones scatter about

One says positive
The other not so well
Results I can live with

Bones tell of actions
Confirming or denying
Living by their rules

Hope

Hope
By: James Dubeau

Cold
Dark
Damp
Falling around me
Crushing with despair
Through the fingertips
Of my compressing cage
A pinprick of light
Then another
And another
Jagged lines form
Cracks link the lights
Growing as the ceiling collapses
Shattering the cage shell
Will there be enough time
Before the ceiling falls
To escape this prison
Only one thing remains
Hope

Electrical Excitement

Electrical Excitement
By: James Dubeau

My fingers reach out
Softly caressing
Thumb pressing down gently
Before jumping from electrical excitement
Finding the right buttons to push
Holding down firmly
Fighting the resistance
My mind counts out
Three…
Two…
One…
Waiting for the right moment
A silken purr reaches my ears
I devilishly grin
You are mine
Mine to caress
Mine to control
As long as you purr
We will be together

Murdered Mister

Murdered Mister
By: James Dubeau

I picked up the pistol from where it sat next to the poor sucker that lay at my feet. His blood turned a deep brown as it hardened in the rug. Gunpowder wafted from the barrel of the .45, this gun had been fired recently. It had to be the murder weapon. The girl was right; someone was after her secret caller.

I contacted the girl before calling the police. She was heartbroken; sobbing tears rang out over the phone. Her young heart would rebound. They always do.

“What happened?” She choked out between sobs.

“Shot, .45 to the gut,” I calmly replied. Her sobs doubled, but the bluntness was necessary. “Did he have any enemies?” I repeated the question that I had asked her earlier this afternoon in my office.

“Yes… No… I don’t know.”

“Give me a straight answer!” I growled. “Did he or did he not have any enemies? The police are on their way and I can just as easily send them in your direction. They would be more than happy to pull you in for questioning, if you would rather do it that way.”

“He… He told me she left him.” It was all the girl could do to control the sobbing enough to squeeze out a satisfying reply. “That bitch wanted nothing to do with him anymore.”

“I’m coming to see you. Don’t go anywhere,” I rattled off, slamming down the phone before she could reply. There was something that she was not telling me. Something that I will have to pry out of her in person.

Muscles Scream In Pain

Muscles Scream In Pain
By: James Dubeau

Just starting out
Muscles scream in pain
It is to far to go
The long path lay
Stretching out
One foot after another
One step at a time
A quarter of the way done
Muscles start to loosen up
The path does not seem to far
One foot after another
Moving easy now
Halfway finished
Halfway to go
Sweat pouring
Dripping down
Flying about as
Three quarters finished
Muscles scream in pain
Just a little bit further
Just a little bit longer
Only thing that keeps feet moving
Is knowing that the end is near
At the end
Legs are weak
But it is all worth it
In the end
Or at least it will be
In a few months time

How Does It Feel

How Does It Feel
By James Dubeau

How does it feel
When the pain goes away
Is there an absence
A void which can never be filled
Or is the emptiness replaced
With fear, desperation, insecurity
Or just loneliness
How does it feel
To be able to fall asleep when tired
Not having to wait for exhaustion
Or to lay in the fetal position
Shivering and weeping under the blankets
Without sweat soaking nightmares
How does it feel
With cold hard steel pressed against skin
Held tight to the temple
Rattling metal in shaky hands
Will the heart race beyond control
Or just flutter on as normal
How does it feel
When the bullet pierces flesh
Smashing bone and brain
Leaving shards imbedded in the wall
Dripping with fresh wet gore
How does it feel

Old Oak Tree

Old Oak Tree
By: James Dubeau

Dawn’s early morning light
Twinkling specks amongst the darkness
Fade with the rising sun
The great orange ball hangs low
Impressing all that see it
Alone in the field
Stands a tall oak tree
His trunk wide with age
Leafy branches covering the tree
As the sun lights the field
A dark path emerges through the grass
Shadow elongated
From the wise old oak tree
Morning turns to noon
Sun raises high in the sky
Shadows shorten
Reducing to nothing
A leaf breaks free
Falling slowly to earth
Followed by another
And another
Cool crisp wind
Breaks several free
Fall is coming
Noon slowly turns to evening
Shadows reemerge from the tree
Heading in the opposite direction as before
Branches thin as leaves fall to the wayside
Leaving behind only a fatted trunk
Wisdom leaves with the falling leaves
Twinkling speaks return
As evening turns to night
Horizon gradually covers the falling sun
The old oak tree stands alone

Across the Crisp White Snow

Across the Crisp White Snow
By: James Dubeau

Across the crisp white snow
A thin black trail leads the way
Down a familiar path
One which I have been down before
Where I shall return again
If the fates do wish to smile
Upon me on this day
For as it seems the way it is
That I shall never end this trek
The trail is long and I am tired
Only colored splotches seem to urge me on
Sprouting up from my footsteps
No longer is this enough
As the naked tree beckons me
Wanting me to rest upon her trunk
Curled up under the leafless limbs
Letting the sun fall behind the hills
Where the trail dares to lead
Off into the distance

Solitary Island

Crystal blue skies
Hang overhead
Wind from the lake
Removed remnants of warmth
Leaving the solitary island

Mothers, fathers, children
Smiling and playing
Grandparents smiling
Warmth exudes from their love
In the happy places
Found in their hearts

The island stands alone
Floating amongst the lake
Waves lap against the frozen shore
Snow swirled as the wind blew
A crow soared high over the island
Not daring to land
Knowing the land was bare
For good reason
And it will remain alone
Until the end of time

More Twitter Haiku

Glorious half-day
Writing and posting blog soon
Whopper will be lunch

The morning was long
Could not write you a haiku
Until this moment

It has been busy
Housing market on rebound
At least for this week

Farming is no fun
Hours spent toiling in fields
Planted seeds will grow

Slackerz FTW
Nanomachines, Space Weapons
Everything better

Twitter Haiku

Friday is so slow
No one is ever online
Hit counter is sad

How can I market
With all the competition
Breathing down my neck

Lunch time was yummie
I did not have a Whopper
Cooked burger instead

Can it be lunch time
There was no dinner last night
Food does sound tasty

Pondering tonight
Is there anything to do
You have suggestions

Out, Out, Brief Candle

Zack clutched his rifle as he huddled in the corner of the bombed out bar. His breath formed into clouds of smoke that drifted away when he exhaled. Snowflakes drifted through the gash through the building’s roof.

The body that lay next to him coughed and stirred. The bandages on his left had turned a dark crimson. Zack patted his buddy’s shoulder and gave some encouraging words. He then scrounged around behind the bar. With a glint in his eye he resurfaced with a bottle of whiskey and a candle.

“Looks like we can have a bit of a good time,” he said before taking a swig off the bottle and passing it off. His buddy coughed and his shaking hands reached for the bottle.

The candle was lit as the pair huddled for warmth. Light warmed them from the cold. Silently they drank from the bottle. Silently they watched the candle burn.

Crash! Boom! The wall caved in. Zack dove behind the bar as the candle tipped over. A monster stepped through the wall. It’s red eyes surveyed the room, scanning everything over. Zack shivered in fear.

The body next to the knocked over candle coughed. The beast turned, its metal flexed, the machinegun raised, and the glowing red eyes locked on to its target.

Zack screamed as he stood from behind the counter. His assault rifle rang out as his fingers clenched. The machine staggered from the onslaught, but brought its own weapon to bear. The bar, the wall, and the ruined building were encased in a cacophony of noise. Dust and debris filled the air as the night was illuminated by muzzle flashes. Walls came down and the bar was reduced to splinters.

As suddenly as it started, it was quiet again. The metal machine staggered, then fell in a shower of sparks before becoming no more. Smoke rose and dust settled.

Zack coughed from behind the bar. His body riddled from the gunfire. His buddy’s rifle was aimed at the empty space where the machine once stood. Smoke wafted from the end of the barrel and his fingers still clenched the trigger.

The cold penetrated back into the men’s souls as the falling snow covered their bodies.

On This Sunday Night

On this Sunday night
Everything was dark and cold
Night had fallen early
Streets were slick with ice
Not a soul was out
On this Sunday night
Home was bright and warm
Friends around the table
Laughing and smiling and joking
Beers and snacks were in abundance
Lasagna baking in the oven
This is how it should be
Surrounded by warmth and friends
On this Sunday night

By The Numbers

One, two, three four
Can be such a bore
Five, six, seven, eight
Is this my fate
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve
Why do I try to delve
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen
This will never be seen

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More Bar Haikus

This is a haiku
It is very dear to me
I love my haiku

When out and about
Only one thing upsets me
There is no water

Nineteen forty three
It’s the battle of Midway
Next to Arkanoid

Let us do mushrooms
It must not be a bad trip
Not like last time dude

Why do I smile
Do I just hate the bastard
Or do I love me

Resolution

Lose weight, get out of debt, save money, get a better job, get fit, eat right, get a better education, drink less alcohol, quit smoking, stop gambling, reduce stress, take a trip, volunteer to help others, be less grumpy, be more independent, write a novel, read literary classics, watch classic films, self motivation, learn to cook, 1680 by 1050.