As I Choose to Be

Horror makes me laugh
You can not write a demon
Worse than what I've faced

I've seen time stand still
Stared into Hell's dark abyss
Rescued by a friend

And so now I know
That everything is precious
Even bad days good

Each tick of the clock
An individual joy
That won't come again

So thrill me with death
Write of wanton destruction
I'm stronger than that

I can read knowing
I'm safe in the here and now
As I choose to be

Interrogation by Dave Sobkowiak

When a friend of mine, Dave Sobkowiak, saw the combination of posts from a few days ago he was inspired to create a little piece of writing for me.

The first post talked about my frustration at having to second guess which of my posts, which words, could or would be taken out of context or possibly used against me in some way by my soon-to-be-ex. And my decision to censor myself creatively and just not post any more poems for the time being. I then went on to take down about a third of my posts.

The second post was a call for submissions on Creativity, Art, and/or Inspiration. I hadn't thought about the two posts together. They were completely separate events for me. I have always had a fascination for finding out what makes people tick...in this case other artists.

Dave saw the irony (and felt my anger) of the two combined. First, I was saying that because of the actions of another I was taking my own content down. Then, I was asking for new content from others.

Thank you, Dave, for this. I love it.

Because of recent events I feel compelled to list the following disclaimers:
1. The following is a work of FICTION
2. I am not the author

That said, I hope this makes you smile...

Interrogation

by Dave Sobkowiak

Anger, fueled by rage.

That's what they said when they hauled me in, and deposited me unceremoniously on to the chair.

I expected a bright light in my eyes. I expected a stone-cold interrogator.

I half expected to be beaten with a hose, but to my surprise none of this occurred.

My cuffs removed, coffee offered and received, I remained untethered to the chair, watching as they played good cop and better cop.

I smiled politely, and I nodded occasionally when they offered their insights.

I feigned ignorance in a manner a child could recognize as transparent.

Their patience with me was admirable, but they knew the truth.

They will never find your body.

The Ice Cream Man (in poetry)

This post came about from a combination of things.  The first was my desire to try my hand at a form of poetry called gogyohka.  For many people the fact that this is a relatively free form without the stricter syllable requirement of haiku or senryu makes this easier to do.  For me, however, I find it harder.  Without the strict requirements my brain has too much wiggle room.  The second thing influencing this post is the novel "Closet Treats" or as I prefer to think of it "The Ice Cream Man" by my dear friend Paul Cooley.  

The first poem is simply for Paul.  The grouping of seven that follows is a poetic interpretation of his work.

‎​You've taught me

the beauty in horror

with your haunting

words.

Thank you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Those loud loud bells

a cacophony

slithering down the street

enticing children

then entrapping them. 

Evil eyes

not quite hidden

acid yellow

swirling crimson

watching you.

Yummy treats

for children

and children

yummy treats

for fiends.

A child runs

terrified

from visions

and a fiend

combined. 

Black talons

slash

ripping innocence

and children

to shreds.

‎​

The loudest scream

is the one

ripped from a throat

never heard

only imagined.

Pain, suffering

strange evil lurking

hero only human

fighting valiantly

but no ending in sight.