hic sunt dracones - 1. hic sunt dracones

 

 

hic sunt dracones

 

– Here be Dragons –

 

---

 

A Loving Tribute

by his GA Friends

 

---

 

 

 

I. Prose Section

 

 

SkinnyDraGon

 

When do I think about Skinnydragon, you ask me? I think about Skinny a lot. Especially when I go to church with my daughter. You have to know, I'm not christened, my husband's family is Protestant, our kids go to Bible Study in school and sometimes I go with them to church. Last week the church was cleaned by volunteers and a lot of spider webs were swept away from the high windows. I saw the initials S. D. G. on the top window and thought it means not only Soli Deo Gloria, it means also an occasion for me, when I can think of SkinnyDraGon. I hope, he has no pain and doesn't suffer. If I can say a prayer as a heathen, I'll always say a prayer for him. I hope, he knows, how many people love his stories and think regularly of him.

glitteryantlers

 

 

 

Dragon’s Flown Away

 

I’ve heard it say people come into our lives for a reason, for a season, or for life. The dragon did all these. He came to cheer us up. To share his wit and talent with us. To make our lives a bit brighter. And that’s enough of a reason for me.

The season he spent with us was short; truncated by a silent, killer without remorse. But the season he spent with us was more than winter, spring, summer, or fall. It was all of them rolled together. His stories gave us the cold of winter and the rebirth of spring. The warmth of summer and the loneliness of fall.

I’ll forever wonder what could have been. What could have been had he lived long enough to stay with us longer. Then I realize he’ll be with me, and the rest of us who came to know him, for life. The flame may have been extinguished but its brightness will remain with us.

Long live the Dragon!

Carlos Hazday

 

 

 

In the GA community, what are we but ships passing in the night? Often times, especially in communities like GA, there are interactions that leave one with more of an impression above others. That is David.

A story told, when handled with the utmost care and dedication, is something intimate to the writer. It becomes something special when the author is able to invite others into the worlds of their creation, and the reader feels the same intimate connection as the one who crafted it. A truly good author can take you by the hand, put you right where they want you, and make you feel, and laugh, and weep—all on the same page. That is David.

A prolific author, David has the uncanny ability to bring a reader into his stories as one would invite another into his home. I've oft-felt myself reveling with his characters in times of accomplishment, and screaming in frustration at the situations they find themselves in. Ambitious. Kind. Encouraging. Talented. Four words I would never hesitate to use to describe him, and that is David.
Working on several serial stories at a time—forgive my alliteration—he also finds time to fill in as a beta reader, and to some, an editor. I can only speak to my experiences with him, but his critiques come highly valued, and several times I found that he was one of my biggest champions in supporting my own work. To him, I am extremely grateful for that. That is David.

I refuse to see him as a ghost of this community while his work survives, endures, and inspires. In sleep, be it slumbering tonight, or eternally, I sincerely hope he can find comfort in knowing that he is cared for, admired, missed, and loved. Above all, wherever he is, I hope that he finds peace and comfort. May his energy shine bright out there in the Universe, just as it has shone bright here, amongst us Earthlings.

Warmly, an admirer,

Anonymous

 

 

 

One thing that GA encourages readers to do is provide positive and constructive feedback to authors. Feedback is critically important to new writers, and it motivates and encourages even seasoned writers. Skinnydragon understands this, both as a reader and author. When I started posting my stories on GA last year, skinnydragon was one of the first readers to comment on my story. I began to look forward to his regular reviews. I also discovered how talented he was as a writer when I read his wonderful story, 18 Weeks of Twoey. We quickly became members of the Mutual Admiration Society. Skinnydragon represents what GA is all about. He takes the time to write, encourage and motivate other authors. At the same time, he provides readers with his wonderful and endearing tales.

Ronyx

(Ronny)

 

 

 

A Few Words for Skinny

 

I had no idea what I was going to write. I tried everything. Now, I’ve decided to simply say “Thank You.” SD was the one who took 18 Weeks and turned it into a lifetime of love. He transformed an Empty Year and made it the most influential and important year in a lifetime. I realized today as I was writing this: Although most of us will never meet each other in person, we are all part of this online family. We will always be here for our brothers and sisters whenever they need us to be, however they need us to be there. I love all of y’all. We might disagree sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade any of y’all for anything.

Love,

JayT

 

 

 

Some Thoughts on Skinnydragon

 

So, thinking back, I probably didn’t really interact with Skinny in any meaningful way until late 2015. I remember a post by him in craftingmom’s story Falling Apart, and I can’t even recall what it was, but I remember it made me laugh and I thought, this guy is funny and I want to pay attention to him.

He of course had been on the site and active in the forums and such for longer than that, longer than me, but I didn’t really run into him until he started posting Toph’s Empty Year. This was, by far, my absolute favorite of his stories. Skinny’s writing had this quality, it was all so creative, and his characters would draw you in. They were all so quirky and fascinating. Mental illness of one kind or another was a frequent theme in his stories, and it was easy to get caught up in the characters as they faced their demons and developed into (hopefully) fully-functioning people.

Like many authors on GA, you could see his evolution as a writer the more he wrote and posted, the better his stories got. He definitely learned the craft as he became more prolific. It was quite funny to read his words from his last Ask the Authors, where he said he wasn’t a writer. If Skinny wasn’t a writer, then I don’t know what a writer is.

What I most appreciated about my interaction with him, was his willingness and enthusiasm to engage with his audience. Any aspiring writers on GA could learn a lot from how to approach and build a readership. He always appreciated comments, and pretty much always responded. That is crucial. For me, as many on GA have probably figured out by now, I can get pretty enthusiastic in my reviews. If a writer touches on my emotions, I’ll let them know. If their characters piss me off, I’ll let them know that too.

Skinny’s most well-known story is probably 18 Weeks of Twoey, and I didn’t get into that until he’d posted quite a few chapters into what was a very extensive story. But once I started posting my opinions on his characters, I think that’s where my back-and-forth with him really got started.

One thing he always maintained when he’d take in comments, was that to him the characters were living, breathing people, and this is what they did. He never took credit for their actions, he simply let them do what they would do. If I thought they acted stupid, he’d usually agree. He never took the position that this was simply how he wrote it, or how he thought the characters should behave, but that this was just what they did.

So, if anyone has paid attention to reviews I’ve left, well I’ve been known to get “ranty” from time to time, and with 18 Weeks of Twoey it was no different. With all the characters acting like clueless yahoos constantly, they could get rather infuriating. And with every strong worded review I’d leave, Skinny always had a very enthusiastic response, and for me it became very fun to post my thoughts and to see his responses. I’d have plenty to smile and laugh about with each new chapter.

When he completed posting Toph’s empty year, we briefly discussed the story, and he told me that I could sometimes be brutal in my reviews, but that he loved that. It stuck with me. I like to think he had as much fun in the back-and-forth we shared as I did. He got it. He appreciated what I was saying, and he took it in the sprit with which it was written. I enjoyed his writing, and I tried to be as encouraging as possible to keep him posting.

Just to wrap it up, December 2016 was the month from Hell for me for several personal reasons. Battling illness, insomnia, high levels of stress at work, and even higher levels of stress from online school that I’m going through. About halfway through the month, I saw a blog post from Skinny with the most heartbreaking news imaginable. I was surprised by how hard I took that news. Not because I’m callous and didn’t care. But simply because, I don’t actually know Skinny on a personal level.

It was surprising by how much his writing, and vibrant, creative personality had touched me. And if he could touch a relative stranger over the internet with online interaction, how much of an impact did he leave on those closest to him? I can only imagine their pain in dealing with that. It goes without saying, cancer sucks, and losing those we care about is awful. I wish his family only the best possible wishes. His life was cut way too short. I love Skinny, and I cherish the gifts he shared with us on GA, and the friendship he shared as well.

spikey582

 

 

 

My dear Dave,

 

I am truly honoured to have been asked to write something that will be included in a collection for you.

What to write?

I am neither an author nor a poet.

I can, however, tell you how much I have enjoyed your stories, and that you are one of my favourite authors.

I can tell you how your stories will live on forever.

I can tell you how sorely you will be missed.

My fervent wish for you is that yours will be a gentle, peaceful passing, surrounded by love.

Goodnight dear SkinnyD...miracles DO happen!

Love,

Coral

(Coastguard)

 

 

 

Water has mystical qualities. Water in motion, that is – I’m thinking of rivers, lakes and oceans that are constantly moving, shifting, crashing
against rocks or quietly smoothing out a stretch of sand. Watching the flow of a river that is undulating over hidden rocks, twisting down a
narrow ravine or simply making its steady way to the ocean can have a wonderfully calming effect. Stopping by deep pools in a forest stream,
or floating in a small boat being hypnotized by a shaft of sunlight angling down through a lake making patterns like a moving curtain or a
water-bound aurora, these can restore balance in a mind that has been buffeted by the events that affront us daily.

The characters in Skinny’s stories know this. Many inhabitants of Skinnyland understand that time spent beside a lake or on a beach by
the ocean is restorative, even medicinal. When the going gets tough they head for the park by the lake or decamp to a beach at the ocean. Better still to find yourself on a sailboat knifing through the waves on a perfect day, worldly cares left behind as your subconscious works out the shifting vectors of wind and water.

Skinny’s own feelings about water come through clearly in his stories and he once told me that he strongly believed that everyone should have their own personal lake, a spot to retreat to when life overwhelms us. Wherever you are, Skinny, and whatever befalls, I hope that there is a lake close by and that you can continue to find that enjoyment you have always felt down by the lake.

Jesse

(jess30519)

 

 

 

A dragon-shaped, empty space in my heart

 

Skinnydragon may have left GA forever, but his legacy lives on. The fact his name has hovered at the top of the Popular Contributors list on the new improved GA site bears testimony to how much we treasure the clever comments he has left on our stories in recent years.

Like anyone who knew Skinnydragon, I read his last blog entry with tears in my eyes, wondering what to say. But I'm grateful for the opportunity to tell the GA community how important this wonderful, colorful dragon was, and how lucky I feel to have known him.

He participated in every aspect of GA and delighted us with his stories, making us laugh and cry and rant. That legacy will be with us always, and we shall tell future GA members to make the acquaintance of Toph, David, Twoey and the rest.

His wit and kindness were beautiful flames of joy which warmed my heart. I shall treasure his story comments and topic posts with a fond thought forever. And I’ll imagine Skinnydragon resting in the embrace of the most beautiful loving guy, being cared for and cherished as he deserves.

With love from Denmark,

Tim

(Timothy M.)

 

 

 

‘Would you know my name

If I saw you in heaven?

Would you be the same

If I saw you in heaven?’

From Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton

 

Though we never met, you impacted my life. Though we never spoke, I felt I heard your voice.

In your stories, you wrote a lot about parks and ponds and rivers – sitting and people watching, drawing these people, creating background stories for these strangers.

Like David, Donny, and Toph, I can picture you sitting alone by a pond in the park, pondering about life. Like David, you would have a serious discussion with the bird, Sigmund Freud, but then, like Toph, you would take your sketchpad out like the true artist you are, and draw stunning pictures, later to be put on a canvas and painted in beautiful colors.

You weren’t a member of GA long, but you made a lasting impression on me, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. I know this world has lost a wonderful soul, but heaven has gained a beautiful angel. Now you can be at peace, watching the other angels by the pond. I miss you every day, David.

Lisa

 

 

 

The Skinnydragon Effect

 

After he left, Anders walked over and threw his arm over my shoulders. “You’re good for him, Toph. When he first got here, I thought I had made a huge mistake. He was, to put it nicely, an egotistical prick. He slowly softened, but since you’ve arrived Gary has turned into a pretty decent human being. I give you a lot of the credit.”

“Me? I hardly see him or talk to him.”

“I know. It’s killing him."

Toph’s Empty Year, Chapter 3

By Skinnydragon

 

Counselor Deanna Troi: Have you ever heard Data define friendship?

Commander William T. Riker: No.

Counselor Deanna Troi: How did he put it? "As I experience certain sensory input patterns, my mental pathways become accustomed to them. The inputs eventually are anticipated and even missed when absent."

Star Trek: The Next Generation –

Time’s Arrow: Part 1, 1992

 

I love stories that present interesting ideas. For example, what is the nature of love in the brain? How do humans chemically and electrically register the markers about how others make us feel good, cause our toes to curl, get us purring, and provide us with peace? These ideas fascinate me and when a writer poses an interesting scenario, it makes my engine hum.

There is an interesting idea embedded into Skinnydragon’s story “Toph’s Empty Year”. This notion proposes there are people we don’t even really know who make us feel good. I think it’s safe to assume many of us have met others whose presence and attention make things seem better. This isn’t a unique scenario. Many works of art propose ‘love at first sight’ or ‘soul mates’ or even ‘brothers from a different mother’ and other such responses.

We experience affinity toward others, at times, without having established a previous relationship. This isn’t a unique idea, however, it posed a dilemma which intrigued me.

Skinnydragon presented a storyline with characters who not only introduced this ‘predestined’ idea of love, but additionally, one of established affection. Also in ‘Toph’s Empty Year’, we have Toph begin a journey of renewal. In this journey, he attempts to completely alienate himself from his past, his family, and ultimately his personal history. At first, Toph is thrilled and self-obsessed with his sojourn from himself. The cracks begin to show as he learns a roommate, Gary, likes him. Gary is the one who makes him start questioning his alienation.

Toph begins painting his brother, his best friend, his former lover, and we begin to see how he can’t really escape his history, his past. They are embedded in him. Skinnydragon creates a scene and situation which portray the creative process: the representation of those we love, and from which we can’t escape. In fact, he begins to realize he doesn’t want to abandon those parts of himself. He realizes as the story unfolds how he divorced everyone when he only needed to cut out parts and not the whole.

Just as Toph continues to relive his family and his friends through art, another person begins to grow into his life. This person wasn’t fused organically into his life, but has emerged as an explosion and epiphany. Gary is this catalyst, though others also seem to permeate and cause change as well.

So, Skinnydragon presents us with two very different ideas, which are actually two questions for the reader to ponder. Is love something we develop through time and practice, or is love something there innate and bursts forth like a bloom in the spring? Humanity has pondered this for millennia. Yet, we are presented with this scenario in a unique and challenging way, which brings me to my second quotation.

Perhaps there are two different kinds of pathways in the brain. One is as "Star Trek: The Next Generation" proposes. Data, the robot, experiences friendship and love as a series of newly established roads through the brain and it becomes more stable and easier as time passes. Maybe we have other pathways which are carefully groomed by our experiences. Through time and nurture, we establish needs for these people and their presence in our lives. They are Commander Data’s “inputs”, which are “missed when absent.” In other words, we develop some needs based on history and other needs which are inherent to us.

However, let’s consider Skinnydragon’s idea in this context. Maybe there are pathways groomed for people we need. These avenues are ready for use and when we meet certain people, we are open to them. Perhaps we have some pathways in our brains open for traffic before we ever know them.

Certainly, we can’t eliminate one or the other possibility, so maybe both are true. I know I’ve met people who seemed to make my neurons fire more smoothly from the get go. I’ve also grown to love some people over time, and losing their presence in my life would make the pathways in my brain ache with the loss. It makes me wonder and ponder.

Regardless, I find the exercise of considering these ideas both enjoyable and energizing. Is it within our nature to long for a specific person? Do we nurture the kind of person we need to fulfill parts of our lives? Again, we come upon the ancient, yet entirely unsettled, question. Only a special kind of writer can get us thinking about these things in such a profound way.

Like any good philosopher, Skinnydragon has led us to the water’s edge, gestured with a head nod, and then stepped aside allowing us to drink. As we consider the possibilities of what he’s suggested, it further opens other possible ideas. With each swallow, more ideas begin to take shape in our mind’s eye. His labors illuminate other ways to view the world. He merely whets our thirst for understanding.

That’s why Skinnydragon’s writing is so vital to the site. He’s contributed so much with his questioning, his presentations, and his ideas, boldly and courageously offered, and for that I thank Skinnydragon for all he’s given us. With a prayer for grace, his words will continue to flow to us and make us consider life and its meanings.

And that, my friends, is the Skinnydragon Effect.

Cole Matthews

 

 

 

A message for Skinny

 

Hope for the best, they say.

Depends on what you think is for the best.

Prepare for the worst, they say.

Depends on what you think the worst is.

Whatever your hope or preparations…

Know that our prayers and best wishes are with you and your family…

And will be for as long as they are needed and beyond.

Carol Pedroso

(AKA Caz)

 

 

 

II. Poetry Section

 

 

No fear, no fears

 

If I could say

If I could feel

If I had words instead of tears

If I could promise

No fear, no fears

 

If I might tell you just one truth

If I could know

If I were sure

If you will leave, float free from here

If I knew that

No fear, no fears

 

If I could stop, my heart is broken

If there were words

If they were spoken

If little things, a touch, a thought

If you are there

No fear, no fears

 

If my strong arms could hold you tight

If my far voice

If silent sound

If it might reach you in the night

If you hear me

No fear, no fears

William King

 

 

 

Dragon's Heaven

 

Perched upon a lighthouse,

Dragon gazed upon his realm.

 

A realm of land and sea.

A realm beneath a clear blue sky.

 

Waves followed waves, crashing

Against the hardness of the shore.

 

The evergreens stood guard,

Bowing, slightly, before the wind.

 

Everything was perfect

For Dragon to take to the sky.

 

He spread his great wings

And leapt into the clear blue sky.

 

Feeling the wind rush by his wings,

Dragon let out a roar of joy.

 

For he could finally

Live here forever.

Drew Espinosa[1]

 

 

 

It’s cold, the air is crisp and clear,

And snow hides all the flowerbeds,

his warm breath spawns a daylight ghost,

a flask with soap firm in his hand.

It’s winter still, but spring is near,

first tips of green dot crusty white,

the lips are pursed, a rush of air,

soon iridescent spheres dance wild.

They catch the sun, a dozen colors,

merged with reflections as they rise,

the updraft takes them into blue

as endlessness is what they crave.

But then one settles in a branch,

it lingers, and withstands the wind,

which tears and prods to no avail,

this one just does not want to leave.

Frost helps and keeps it for a while,

its surface cover snowy crystals,

a glistening, fragile piece of art,

too delicate to stay for long.

Just a short moment time stands still,

As to admire a rare wonder,

Fast forward now, and it is gone,

to join its brothers in the sky.

aditus

 

 

 

In Peace

 

In peace,

I stand on the first stone

Of the path to forever.

The sun warms my back

As I step onward into oblivion,

Assured.

Carl Holiday

 

 

 

Heart draped with thorns,

Yet it blooms and trances everyone with its charms.

Pride in its beauty,

Not enough to betray the destiny,

The graceful Rosé will inevitably dry and wither,

Though gracefully embraces its fate.

 

Endless sky is shrouded with stars,

Yet the recherché moon shines outright,

And illuminates the dark, scary night.

Delighted in its elegance,

A star still remembers,

That one day it will fall or just fade away.

 

A day witnesses,

Two brothers combat with grievous sway of their swords,

And a lover tries to woo his beloved with every trick of romance.

Caught in between a cat-fight,

The day will replete and eventually wound up.

 

Surpassing each agony and every anguish,

Their substance never crumbles,

Nor their enchantment ever wore off,

Never the nemesis of their existence impacts their immortality.

 

Such is this mysterious human life;

Never lost to its emphasis,

It's a pure act of love where one's legacy starts,

And finally ends with a pure magic how one closes his eyes,

To take his place again at God's golden abyss,

To start a new journey into a mother's womb.

Emi and Sacredlove

 

 

 

Visiting a Place Where You Were

 

There lies a field where the river comes to yield

near the shores of the inland sea;

spring just revealed, all the joyous flowers pealed

with the song of the zephyr free.

 

Once stood you here at the zenith of the year

under skies of a crystal blue;

gulls wheeling near over restless waters clear

told you tales of a mystic hue.

 

Now by the lake, with my heart about to break,

do I kneel on this selfsame ground;

watch as I quake for your gentle friendship's sake,

and the hint of a whispered sound

 

Lilting a tease and the answer to my pleas

to restore what misfortune stole:

voice on the breeze, yes, your laughter in the trees,

the desire of my grieving soul.

Parker Owens

 

 

 

leaf litter – I think I want to write

a poem about leaf litter pressing

down the 'old,'

compacting it

making it dense and heavy,

but do the sorrows

accumulating on top

give a care about the ones being

buried?

press

press

press

new on old, endlessly.

god. poor fucking Skinny; poor fucking us.

AC Benus

 

 

 

Our Father?

 

Don’t tell me he works in mysterious ways

He’s a liar, a cheat—a false witness

Why would you want so young a boy?

Whose talent and humour—just maturing?

 

I will not and cannot believe in such blarney

He don’t give us more than can be handled—ha!

There’s no gods and no justice, no reason or rhyme

Life’s a crap shoot—a monstrous carnival game

 

We fight to live, to create and survive

While somewhere are our judge is watching?

Give that one cancer, that other can starve

Take his job, her child and his mother

 

This world is an abomination—a horror

There’s none of us get through it unscathed

My heart is breaking for loss of a friend

And my nephew’s boyfriend’s mother

 

If you’re out there then damn you!

Damn you—come live in the hell you created,

No decent father would leave children like this

But maybe you’re rather like mine.

Mikiesboy

(Tim Landon)[2]

 

 

 

Paths crossing in time

Leaving imprints on our souls

As we meet by chance

Puppilull

 

 

 

It opened with everything and nothing

Tritely amusing, if banal

But time stretched out

A smaller duration into something

Much larger, much longer

Without a doubt, the strangest thing

Eye-witnessed was love

 

The paintbrush changed

Sometimes between colours

At times with every stroke

But the paintings were always

A sum much greater than

Those single gestures

As beautiful as they were

Individually

 

There were voices, many

Unique and varied

And heads and thoughts

That no one could truly know

Even though so often

We were allowed inside

For a moment

 

The depths of emotion

Can be hard to handle

When one does not

Have root to understand

The source

 

Yet they were raw, laid bare

And not

Disguised or left

Hidden behind the distance

Of untouched words

Separated from reality

 

We loved you, yes

Indeed we loved you

More than words could

Express with sincerity

 

Without you

How shall we sing thy song?

In a strange land,

Lost?

 

How shall we sing?

Lux Apollo

 

 

 

Dragon Flame

 

A dragon’s flame should be a beacon eternal,

Feared and admired by knights in shining armor

And damsels in distress,

Not doused by disease.

Most dragons hoard gold and shiny things,

Their fearsome fire reflected off the surfaces

Of baubles long forgotten

And shields of fallen warriors.

Our dragon hoarded words and was gracious enough

To share their power with those who dared to read them.

His flame lives on—a printed legacy

Never extinguished as long as there are those

Who acknowledge it.

Valkyrie

 

 

 

Too short

we think this thread

spun and woven by Fate

in to the grand fabric of our

shared being and yet it gives a

perfect hue and texture

to its portion

of life.

dughlas

 

 

 

Ghosts

 

I know you’re real as you type me your life

You’ve a name, and a shadow; very human

Alive as I am—you’re flesh and blood in your chair

But you are a ghost ex machina

 

We talk and laugh and share experiences

Pictures and words we spin together

In my head you are friend and confidant

You are a ghost inside the machine

 

One day one of us may just disappear

And we’ll worry and pray it's okay

Nary may a word come to us again

Now you’re a ghost of my heart

Mikiesboy

(Tim Landon)[3]

 

 

 

An Elegy

 

The wind blew you to me last night,

your elemental dust of life,

that stuff with which the world is rife,

slipped through my window casings tight.

 

The ashes that I chanced to find

once coalesced in body lithe,

companioned with a spirit blithe,

an active wit and supple mind.

 

To dinner you invited all,

and let us witness love's embrace;

with outward smile and inner grace,

you wrote your verses on the wall.

 

Such gentle dust, such charming grit,

and generous by friendship made,

with us a year or two was stayed,

but more did Chronos not permit.

 

Oh, fickle universe unjust,

I ask why love was so accursed

that this my friend was thus dispersed

to dwell again as primal dust?

 

If dust and ash is all there be

in all the starry cosmos vast,

where is the flame that burns so fast

it sent you to eternity?

Parker Owens

 

 

 

Time is fleeting. Life is unsure.

What matters is the impact we leave behind.

Darkness descends. Families mourn.

What matters is that we never forget.

Kitt

 

 

 

…pro defunctis…

 

I saw one of those wire racks

The drug stores used to hold their stacks,

When I was but a little child,

Of the tawdriest paperbacks.

 

The day was bright and on me smiled,

Calling me to the used books compiled

Lovingly in the little shop

To browse the titles they had aisled.

 

Straight back to the Poetry crop,

Quarantined as it were atop

The highest, loneliest shelf, where

Twix Plays and Art they always plop.

 

The drug store rack was loaded there

With artless ease and simple flare,

But not with pulp's raunchy fiction –

Flashed in covers of chests half-bare.

 

No, as if to flaunt tradition,

Softbacks of hard erudition

Stacked themselves four to five deep each

And offered me benediction.

 

My walled-off heart needed a breach,

For its beat had been robbed of speech

And silent with the recent news

A dear friend had come in Death's reach.

 

But here timeless works stood to choose:

Antigone; In Cold Blood – whose

Author ate rich at Tiffany's –

In Our Time; Red Pony peruse.

 

Madame Bovary's sure to please,

As Illusions with symmetries;

Vanity Fair and Twist infuse

Some laughter and conspiracies.

 

Chekhov and Mary Shelley muse,

While James Joyce and Steinbeck enthuse

On mankind and the tyrannies

Virgil and Gore Vidal excuse.

 

Lessons from Will and Sophocles

Vie with Oscar Wilde's litanies;

'Gainst racy Andros and Balzac,

But all offer epiphanies.

 

Though nothing special of a rack,

I saw David's work join the stack:

His Twoey, and his lovely Toph;

His Ian and Miles nothing lack.

 

For then my heart was filled with hope –

Though gone, I have no need to mope –

Each time I read him, he'll be back

With his undying love to help me cope.

AC Benus

 

 

 

Skinny

 

You gave me seagulls by an autumn lake;

a young and wounded adolescent heart,

a life which nearly stopped before the start,

whose steadfast love cut through the pain and ache.

You gave me independence from the fake,

and sun on Texas beaches, by your art,

or love between two souls who will not part

until the stars the very skies forsake.

 

But with the pleasure of your gifts I found

a hint of wry, ironic, laughter, too,

and if I listened keenly, then the sound

of humor, fear or sorrow filtered through

the satisfying slice of life profound

which only could have been portrayed by you.

Parker Owens

 

 

 

End of Days

 

I can’t imagine the pain you feel

Your bravery in the face of that wall

Inspires me, brings tears to my eyes

I pray that you never will fall

 

One day though it comes to us all

We slowly become part of the past

Tears fall on graves of thousands

Each generation remembers the last

 

Life is short, it’s always too fast

Time is a constant companion

Each passing day reminding us

That the end has already begun

 

But it’s what you do before the coffin

Between the beginning and end

Live each day with grace and joy

For it’s to oblivion we all must wend

 

Mikiesboy

(Tim Landon)[4]

 

 

 

Two Cinquains

 

Dinner:

rare characters

conversing at the table,

swapping delicious tales about their

maker;

like wine,

each successive vignette invites

another superb draft,

recalling their

stories.

 

Sublime

the starlit dust

made into mind and soul,

far greater than any product

or sum;

from you

timeless light flowed widely outwards,

image and substance of

flames burning to

ashes.

Parker Owens

 

 

 

There once was a dragon we wanted to love,

As special to us, as each day was long.

We thought him immortal, but we were wrong

As he haunted us here, now he does from above

 

We feel blessed and grateful he came our way

My friend, we hope always, your winds blow leeward

And that you’re now at peace and safely anchored

Free from pain and shielded from life’s fray

 

His wit was engaging but with sharp prickly corners

Oft times he’d say, a poet he was not

But his writing proved different with verse finely wrought

Those words now spoken and sung by his mourners

 

His poesy and stories were each so clever

Humour and charm oozed from each written word

Those magical green scales shone and glittered

And will n’er dim through his eternal slumber

Mikiesboy

(Tim Landon)[5]

 

 

 

…for the living…

 

On thick slices of homemade bread

I spread luscious strawberry jam,

adding whipping cream from a can

and slices of the red berries.

 

To my lips with thoughts of David,

I'll enjoy this humblest dessert,

knowing with his love in my life

I feast better than any king.

AC Benus

 

 

 

The Seagull

(a spoken-word poem)

 

I watch him cruise and dip – this seagull

Then he comes to a rest on the dock piling, in front of my kitchen window.

I am reminded of your David

how he sought solace

and found Sigmund at the lake.

 

The memory overwhelms and

I find myself wishing for just one more day

for a rewind

for an earlier time for you

for the answers to be not what they were.

 

And – time ticks away, but the seagull, he stands still.

The whisper of a breeze blows by flurrying his feathers – and

I let my thoughts weave a pattern

through your stories

our short conversations

your art

your sometimes snarky reviews

your poems

your passion

your nautical love

your dedication

your gracious spirit

the gift of your friendship

Each memory braided in bold hues

erasing the sadness and filling the empty spaces left behind by your absence

 

Though I’ve never seen it, I know

that your smile would be warmth and sunshine, and your eyes –

well, they would reflect your heart.

 

Time’s up – the seagull shifts – head cocked to the side

wings spread wide preparing to lift off

 

Tell him I miss him I say aloud and – immediately I feel foolish.

But, as I watch that gull glide away

I hope – I hope

that he heard it

that somehow you know.

Defiance19

(Def)

 

 

 

hic non dracones sunt

I grieve for the voice no longer heard

I grieve for the book that has no word

I grieve for the well that stopped flowing

I grieve for the coal that ended glowing

I grieve for the sentences that have an end

I grieve for the meaning I cannot comprehend

I grieve for the author’s unwritten page

I grieve for the actor who's left the stage

I grieve for the words I search for in vain

I grieve for the dragon so unfairly slain


Yet David and Twoey and Gary and Toph
as his immortal children are alive while I mourn.

We are the heirs of eternal words.

J.HunterDunn

(Peter)

 

                    

~