writing

Vita Brevis

Herbst



There is a new literary magazine represented here on WordPress. They call themselves Vita Brevis. I am taking the liberty of lifting their description of themselves (abbreviated) and pasting it below.

Begin Quote

“Ars longa, vita brevis” (art is long, life is short). This maxim so moved us that it seemed only right to title our literary magazine after it. It may seem curious that we chose Vita Brevis (life is short) as our title instead of Ars Longa (art is long). But this choice was more than appropriate; after all, the aim of our magazine is to publish work that shows a keen awareness of not only art’s beauty and immortality but life’s toils and finiteness. We want to revive and nourish the rich existential literature that forms when art and the human endeavor collide.

End Quote

They have been kind enough to select one of my pieces for publication and it showed up this morning. The title is “Herbst” and the link to it is above. Take a look at what the Vita Brevis team is up to. Show ’em some love.

Gracias Amigos


 

Random Scribbles · writing

She’d Best Lay In More Whiskey

Blogging U.



Maria rose before the dawn and headed to the west
Her goal to make Picacho for the sunrise.
She spoke gently to the mountain, clutched her wrap tight to her breast
She loved this time of day, the drama in the skies.

She must be home for deliv’ries of whiskey and supplies
The wagons should be coming and they should be there by noon.
Closing on the summit she sensed a scent that was comprised
Of things: like salt, and sand, and seaweed, and the light of a full moon.

That’s crazy stuff, she thought but at the top her gaze was soon
Drawn downhill to the water, stretching far as she could see.
Armando had foretold of this, this was no mere monsoon.
California must be gone now, because her ranch was on the beach.

It was funny, she hadn’t heard a thing.
Property values must be skyrocketing.


Random Scribbles · writing

It Doesn’t Have to be a Zero Sum Game

Blogging U.



Sometimes things just don’t go as planned,
Other times they do.
It oft depends who penned the book,
Was it me? Or was it you?
Should I emerge on top
If I take home the win
Then it must have been my book of plans
They read when we began.

Alas, if I don’t make it,
If I’m hurt or maimed or killed,
Should an itchy rash consume me
Or I’m saddled with the bill
If I’m trampled by wild horses
Or I do not win her heart
If you’re VP at Microsoft
And I work at Quickie Mart,

Then obviously it was your map
The angels chose to read
Without a doubt they followed yours
And mine they didn’t heed.
But, if no one’s going hungry
And if the bad guys always lose
If every time your mother phones
She gives nothing but good news

Then the menu that they’re reading from
Must be one I wrote for me
It means they’ve paid attention and they
Listened to my plea.
We can order from that menu
We can order what we please
Order flavours that we savour
Order cakes or pies or cheese.

And we can share amongst ourselves
The dishes that we choose
That way we all come out ahead
And no one has to lose.


Random Scribbles · writing

Ballad of a Fading Railroad Town as it Reinvents Itself

Blogging U.



At each end of every street in town
Carrizo grasses grow
Stalks bend in subjugation
When ere the winds might blow.

As a small town it is subject
To ‘small town’ clichés and views
There’s no such thing as privacy
They know the things you do.

Some folks were born and raised here
Some folks just pass through
Authors, artists, and photographers
Come do the things they do.

Some stay awhile and then move on
The pace of life too slow
Those folks are used to city life
This is not the life they know.

Professionals, doctors, warriors
They’re the ones who stick the best
They come with nothing left to prove, and
They’re ready for a rest.

As a small town it is subject
To ‘small town’ clichés and views
There’s no such thing as privacy
They know the things you do.

It takes time to be accepted
By some folks living here
Invite them up to rest on your porch
Offer them a beer.

Be careful of the things you say
Never choose a side
Be open, warm, and friendly
Tolerate, abide.

‘Cause, as a small town it is subject
To ‘small town’ clichés and views
There’s no such thing as privacy
They know the things you do.


Random Scribbles · writing

Una Oda al Toro

Blogging U.



Love it or hate it as you will
The sport of gladiators and kings
Blood and artistry is what it brings

The crowd buys their tickets to see El Toro killed
Boletos de sol, for Grandpa
Entender, los costos de sombra

The dance is mapped out and performed for the crowd
The matadors’ cool, calm, proud
Picadores on horseback taunt and stab
Banderilleros use darts simply to jab
A clean kill’s the crown, the end of the day
Then the horses come drag Brave Toro away.


 

 

Random Scribbles · writing

Makin’ Deals With God

Blogging U.



It was dark. Not city dark ; country dark, black as coal and without streetlights or the steady glow from sodium bulbs, the next block over. No passing headlamps show the way, no neon bar signs, or bright red ardor of LED announcements from the massage parlor. Not here – no, we had a bonfire.

A bonfire at summer camp attracts kids like moths. You wait, with bated breath, for certain death when one’ll run into the flame. Instead, you get the preacher standing to exclaim.

“My name,” he says, “is Pastor Grey, I hope you’ve had a good first day. By now you’ve found your places, recognized familiar faces, met new friends and found your way. Please bow your heads, let’s pray.”

No way, I thought, “I’m not here to pray. No fucking way. I’m here to play. Fish, canoe and swim all day; baseball, crafts, and funny skits.

“Ghost stories.

“I want to steal across the river to the girl’s cabins in the middle of the night.  I want to steal a kiss from Liz DeVries, and maybe, if I’m lucky, touch the soft, pale, delicate, and enticing bare skin of her thigh.”

But then, to my surprise, or maybe my dismay, I found myself begin to pray. I prayed we wouldn’t have to stand in a circle , and that we wouldn’t have to hold hands. God left me swinging in the wind; with both of those demands.

In a moment of desperation, I tried again. I made a deal with God, “I swear to quit hitting my sister, if we don’t have to sing Kumbaya.”

That didn’t work out so well either, not for me and not for my sister.


Sorry about this – I had fun though!

Random Scribbles · writing

World Poetry Day 21.March.2015

World Poetry Day has finally arrived and in celebration I have composed a few rhymes. I was going to prepare in advance and simply publish on this momentous occasion but thought better of it and composed these this morning.

 



 

Ahem…

There once was a camel named Tad
With posture incredibly bad
He walked with a slump
And developed a hump
His parents were proud of the lad.

 #

Roses are red
Citrus can be orange
Sugar is sweet
And so is ???

 #

It’s world poetry
day. Don’t let rules get in your
way. Try Haiku too.

 


Yeah, I’m not much of a poet!

Bet yours will be better.