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Andrew Minter Dec 2017
My backyard fence was probably the most traversed place in my whole yard. To get to the fence, I had to squeeze through a narrow gap between a sharp evergreen and a pungent forsythia bush. As a child, this fence seemed like a great wall with an unknown force drawing me to the other side.
        Before my parents allowed me to climb over  my fence, I would sit under the yellow canopy of drooping forsythia branches and enjoy the sweet smelling flowers. I’d gaze through the chain link and imagine what great adventures I could have with the neighbor kids, if I could go over that fence. After school, both my neighbor and I would run home to our backyards to talk and pass sticks through the fence. To pass the time, we would spend hours trying to disentangle grape vines from the fence, stopping to snack on a few when they were ripe. We would weave crowns with the broken vines or wilted branches from the forsythia, and we would craft swords from fallen branches out of their maple tree. With these effects, we would wage grand battles through the fence until we were separated by the call for dinner. When I found a baseball in the school field, I could not wait to take it home to share with my neighbor. Together we wore the skin off that baseball playing catch, seeing who could throw it the highest or farthest, and trying to throw it through the diamonds between each link. The fence drew us together.
        My parents finally gave in to my ample requests and decided that I was officially "old enough to climb the fence." I rushed out of my house and darted between the evergreen and forsythia to tell my friend the great news. After getting consent from his parents, I clambered up the fence for the first time. The first time was a struggle. It was hard to get foot holds in the small openings. It seemed dizzyingly tall. Although it was one small step, I was thrilled when I set foot in the foreign land because I would finally be able to explore what I had observed through the fence and dreamed about for so long.
        His yard was full of wonders that mine did not have. He had a play set with two swings and a slide, a large plastic log cabin play house, and a deck, which was a novelty compared to the concrete slab my house had. I quickly looked past these things; why would I waste my time on a swing when I could run around and play games without a fence impeding me. When we played baseball, the section of the fence where our yards met was always home plate. At school all my other friends only talked about video games and television shows.  I tried the video games they talked about, but when I tried them I never understood the thrill of sitting on a couch and controlling an image. Being outside under my forsythia bush or running around with my neighbor appealed to me. It was where I felt the most natural and where I felt I could be myself.
        That section of fence behind the forsythia bush and evergreen tree impacts me still, even though I have moved away and have not laid eyes upon those yellow flowers in years. Whenever I am presented the option between watching a movie or going outside to walk or play catch, I will always opt for the latter. Something about a light breeze or a rustle of leaves or the song of a bird as it flies over helps relax me and ease away the day's tensions. I attribute this to the freedom I felt under the forsythia. Free from judging eyes, free from problems of the world, free from expectations.
The Fence

A wooden fence once surrounded my home
Which I had hoped would keep out all intruders-
It was the fence my father had built
Years before his passing

Alive always inside a world of my own
I had built myself a different sort of fence-
One made of spoken words and angry gestures
That would ward away intruders I believed were always out to harm me.

A wooden fence can simply be sawed or broken down
When one is motivated to do so
And locks to their gates can be opened with a key
Therefore a wooden fence most likely will not shut the world out.

My own fence has shut the real world out
My soul and spirit are protected.
My special fence keeps me sheltered from the world outside
And is built from barbed wire of my imagination.

My mother and my father have passed away years ago-
They shall never become part of my private world –
It was not my wish that they would have ever been, as
They were forever trying to break down that fence that guarded my castle in the sky.

Now I am living in a different place in time-
Far from the wooden fence surrounding what was once my family’s home
Life is safer and not as threatening now
But I still with caution carry with me that extraordinary fence of my dreams.

Someday I hope that I can find that phantasmal key
That key that would unlock the gate to that protective fence of mine-
So that I could step out side, if only for a brief moment-
And hopefully learn that the real world is not a place to fear.

I hope that one day I shall awaken to a rainbow on my horizon
And that fence I have hidden behind for all the days of my life
Shall vanish as did the wooden fence had after so many years-
And I can find new freedom while I give thanks that I no longer have to be afraid.

Claudia Krizay
Helen Dec 2013
Before you start reading this I feel I must tell you, this is long and very possibly, very very boring but, so very important to me and hopefully to my dedicated*


I sat back upon cracked heels
that represented, simply,
just a good place to sit
Somewhere close to the ground
where I could trail fingertips
in the dirt, drawing pictures
of deserted castles
and skeleton butterflies
with wings of fractutured glass
and fairies
with silken headdresses
of thorns
and Unicorns,
missing their horns
and other creatures
of similar ilk

Staring at the fence,
Fifty million years high
I sigh
because beyond the fence
in a babble of voices
they whisper of
Contentment
The underlying sentiment
of precocious antic dotes
spilling precious needs upon
any slight breeze
drifting like glowing dust motes
fills me with a resentment
that is voraciously ferocious
because they
spoke to each other
while all I had was dirt
beneath my fingernails
and partially deformed nightmares
that blew away
on the slightest exhale

As I cleaned the slate
with a flick of my wrist
Rain turned to mist
my dust board of memories
became a mud pile
I couldn't smile
I could hardly even frown
I was still as close as I could ever be
to the ground
I was now no longer kneeling
I was laying with one cheek
against my impression of Calliope,
who is carvorting silently
with rucked up skirts and lute in hand
but not longer in motion
just a muddied mess of dirt and tears
capturing all my naked fears
erased beneath a spirit
that hides in the dirt
on the other side of the fence

This is where he found me
All ragged and breathing stale air
All gasping for solace
trying to wrap myself in warmth
of the voices
from the other side of the fence
It was not blanket sized
more just a crocheted square
enough to cover my heart
which needed the warmth
I swear, I went cold so often
that the dirt that remained
under my fingernails
was the only thing
that kept my fingers warm

He crouched beside me
and said softly
What have we here?
Oh baby bird with broken wing
but whose song I did hear sing
Little Callista, mute from your screams
Broken from your nightmares
that started as dreams...
I saw you through the fence


As I stared into tapestry eyes
and followed the outstretched hand
that didn't try to touch me
sensing my fragility
He pointed to a pinprick space
devoid of concrete and mortar
Just inches from my dirtied face
in the Fifty million year high fence
he graced me with a weary look
I heard you ask once
while chasing skeleton butterflies
if they came from over fence...
Would you like a look?


He stood up over ten feet tall,
simply clasped his hand together
With eyebrow raised
and a twitch to lips
he invited me to stand
with a nod of his head
and a flick of eyes to the fence
I simply unwove all my dreams
and delicious unfantasies
stood, put a hand on his shoulder
a ***** foot in his palms
and he hoisted me

What I saw over the fence was
Magical, Mystical
a complete break to my reality

A simple garden of verdant green
the sublime shade of an unspoken tree
a single little girl
with ten thousand voices
spilling from her lips
from her I caught
just a small crocheted square
on the other side
but it still made no sense
what I saw,
hanging from the fence
until I looked back down
into taperstry eyes
that smiled
with a knowledge of Soloman
having pulled apart
and put back together
a struggling humanity
He simply grinned at me
and trumpeted
She is you, she writes Poetry
You are her and I, We, believe
in both of you.
As you can clearly see
there is nothing beyond the fence
that you cannot be


And he simply bent his knees
and lifted his hands
to the Sun
and toppled me over the fence
so I could, again
become one
I don't know if I said anything as I sailed over the fence to land the right way down but, thanks for the leg up :)
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.

I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,

Before all of this  and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!

I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.

.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
''Fence dweller'' was a phrase I coined in justification of my neutrality and abstinence from politics in my homeland, Liberia.This piece encapsulates a fringe of the story of the ****** civil war, carnage and horrible things that we saw and had to endure as a people and nation.
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
I see your bags all packed for leavin’
And I’m sure you have a reason
But there ain’t no reason I could understand.

You tell me you need freedom
And I wish I could believe ya
But I think your ‘freedom’ means another man.

So if freedom’s just a cover
And you’re leavin’ for another
Here’s my advice – I hope it makes some sense

You should compare the life your choosin’
With the one that you’ll be losin’
Cuz the grass ain’t always greener on the far side of the fence.

No the grass ain’t always greener on the far side of the fence –
Sometimes it’s a confusing shade of brown
Compare the life your choosin’
With the one that you’ll be losin’
Life might not be better on the other side of town.


Yeah, he’s probably real good lookin’
Tells you he just loves your cookin’
Takes you clubbin’ and goes dancin’ all night long.

But at night when you are sleepin’
Midnight memories come creepin’
Do you shed a tear when you hear our favorite song”

Think hard before you cut the cord,
Don’t choose a life you can’t afford
Don’t ever want you having no regrets.

Consider what you’re doin’,
And all the lives you’ll ruin
The grass might not be greener on the far side of the fence.

No the grass ain’t always greener on the far side of the fence –
Sometimes it’s a confusing shade of brown
Consider what you’re doin’,
And all the lives you’ll ruin
Life might not be better on the other side of town.


Well I guess that I’ll stop the lecture now
Cuz you ain’t listenin’ anyhow
There's nothing more that I can say or do.

I’ll help you haul your bags outside
That Cadillac must be your ride
I hope the driver takes good care of you.

And baby you can keep my key
Consider it a gift from me
I’ll go on livin’ in the present tense.

Then when I’m done with my friend Jack,
Most likely I won’t want you back
Cuz' I like the color green I got on my side of the fence.

Yeah I like the color green I got on my side of the fence
No matter what I'm gonna hold my ground
Then when I’m done with my friend Jack,
Most likely I won’t want you back
I like the color green I got on my side of the town.
pwl 2014
Adeline Dean Apr 2013
There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence. The first day the boy had driven 87 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered in daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive nails into the fence. Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and pull it out but it won’t matter how many times you say “I’m sorry”, the wound is still there. A verbal wound is just as bad as a physical one”.
Eriko Mar 2016
watery eyes squinting against
the pink glamor of the setting sun,
casting marvelous streaks
of cherry cream soda foam
radiating from the heartfelt
warmth

dusk settling, a quiet raven
swinging in the swaying trees
and a fence line lining
the edge of evergreen forests
a white picket fence
cluttered with the ghosts
of memories

a pair of binoculars
held by a silent girl
olive and freckled
of the shower of tear drops
which cascaded from those nights
of aching compassion

facing the other side
solitude presence of one
walked of a thousand steps
back splayed by the salty foams
spat by the restlessness of the sea
an umbrella clasped in his grip

the rain drizzled, throwing
the pink sunsets into arrays
of sweet, sweet melodies
the girl of binocular
and boy of umbrella
a picket fence in between

a relief from destiny,
a rain check into reality
figures of speech echoing
slurring syllables
recounting marbles
that used to roll off
from their laughters
on lovely nights

a girl of binoculars
and boy of umbrellas
dreamt of once a meeting
of one such like this
the raven cries
fear not, deal not
what has there
to be done
when the pink
ceases to refill
your sweet dreams

and the girl smiled
the boy climbed over
the white picket fence
and held her hand,
holding the umbrella
to keep their warmth
sheltered deep within

the girl picked her binoculars
held it close to her pretty cheeks
above her lips,
navigating sights
knowing their memories
will far exceed than that
of the white picket fence
Linus Stevenson Jun 2018
Let me tell you a story
Listen and learn
There was a Shepherd, a good Shepherd
Kind and loving, courageous and strong
He had 100 sheep
and the sheep loved the Shepherd
And so when one sheep wandered
The good Shepherd left the 99
And went after the one

And you might think you know this story
But I'm afraid it's not what you think
Because I am not the one...

I am one of the 99 left behind
Waiting for the Sheppard to return
Trapped by the walls of this fence
The posts and wooden planks
That contain us
Being lead by the very sheep that are
We walk in circles around the pen
Around and around... circles
Eating up the food we have
We begin to eat each other
And as demented as that sounds
It's true
Biting and gnawing
Bleeding and bruising
We turn to other sheep for nourishment
For truth... for guidance
But we are sheep all the same
Another one of the 99 left behind

Sheep is what we are
Be careful not to tater your fur
Careful not to tear or cut
To show the underneath
The skin that doesn't flatter but
Burns with the red of your hate
Your pride... Your sin

When will the Sheppard return
And open the fence
Lead to new grass
and water

There are sheep I've never seen before
Black sheep.
have you seen black sheep?
Yes sheep with spots but these sheep
They are black from head to toe
Their snouts are long and
they have sharp teeth
Strange that they have not hooves but paws
Appearing as wolves wearing sheeps clothing
They are mending the fence
The fence! It's broken!
Suddenly we realize we are not safe
Quickly, grab your hammer and nails!
Let us work with these black sheep...
to mend... the fence... around... us

Who built this fence?
Was it the Sheppard?
Cloudy as my memories be of the man
with the scars in his hands and side
This does not resemble his work
Who... built... these... walls?
These bars... This cell
With no key and a steeple?
Oh God, who built these walls?
No it wasn't the sheppard.
The walls he built had doors
And windows to let the light in
No... We have built these walls
The 99 left behind were not left...
We left.

We left the fence! The pasture!
The place of love and safety.

We are not the 99 left behind but the one
We are the one who wandered and strayed
And seeing that we were in territory unsafe
We built walls without doors
that trapped us inside... in darkness

Sheppard,
Search
Find us
Break down
These walls
Rebuild them
With windows
To let the Light in
Beaux Feb 2015
how the vine crawls up the fence
how the fence holds the boundaries
how the boundaries do not exist
how existence begins again
how the vine crawls up the fence
how the fence holds the boundaries
how the boundaries do not exist
how existence begins again
how the vine crawls up the fence
how the fence holds the boundaries
how the boundaries do not exist
how existence begins again
how the vine crawls up the fence
how the fence holds the boundaries
how the boundaries do not exist*
how existence begins again
...
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.i can't stop being fascinated by the optics
of a relit rollie,
       esp. with one as a purse,
with dry tobacco...
                    watching the smoke escape
the room and begin its fathom
                            of the readied night.


we need more turkish barbers!
we need more turkish barbers!
        why would i trust anyone with
my beard and hair,
if he wasn't a turk?
                     they still are the most
adequate people for the job...
and i really can't stop internally giggling
at the fact that
i discovered a brothel many years prior
to having discovered a barber's parlour:
when was it ever a shop?!
    that yesterday when i left 4 quid
for a bet...
            maybe that's why i don't like
gambling,
      once a year does it for me,
those feelings of uncertainity,
while the race is staged...
          although this year wasn't so bad...
maybe 3 horses had to be put down
due to broken legs (seeing how they
sleep, standing up),
   and at least one jockey experiencing
the hooved stampede...
poor sweet *******...
                 i should have betted on
the favourite...
                i should have,
but you rarely do,
  you're always rooting for an outlier,
the odds changed from
7 - 2 from yesterday to 5 - 1...
      for the 4 quid spent,
  i would have got an extra quid back...
but, once again...
          it was never about the money...
the feelings associated
with losing don't really frighten me,
as simply make me feel
wearing a cotton sweater...
itchy as ****, and some...
                  ****, what were my choices
again?
       never mind,
i'll come back to them...
           i thought the weather forecast
implied: rain... overcast,
   so i based my judgement on that...
but lookie lookie: sunny as if it wasn't
england, but the south of france!

    up for review - ha ha... down
  on the first fence...
   folsom blue - 17th fence...
  general principle - ha ha... 19th fence
ramses de telilee - 28th fence
      ballyoptic - 26th fence...
   mala beach - 29th fence
          go conquer - 29th fence...
   lake view lad - 27th fence
jury duty - 19th fence
   vieux lion rouge - wow... 15th place
bless the wings - 13th place! devil's dozen!
step back - 25th fence.

   ah ha ha ha! maybe the bet should
have consisted of finding the horses
that "thought", **** it, i'm not jumping!
one thing to gallop on a horse
in the woods and in the fields
for both the thrill of the horse
and yourself, another for a competitive spot...

ha ha... i guess something good came
from this bet,
i managed to... "bet" on how many horses
would not follow the rules
of man...
     i guess it could be considered
hard to find a winner...
    but harder to find...
how many is that?
        10 horses that had the sort
of intelligence associated with...
           i'll plough the field...
    i'll work, i'll do all the pomp and circumstance
of a military parade...
       i do have a brain, you know,
**** this race, i'm pulling out...
       i could have betted on the winner...
the signs were there,
      esp. given last year
and this year's performance at
the cheltenham festival...
        all of the 4 quid...
  5 - 1...
                 20 quid richer,
a free bottle of whiskey...
       but why? when i have this doodle
instead?
Mark Lecuona May 2017
I'm not sitting on the fence
I just want to love the world
That's all I want to be
A beautiful dreamer
That's good enough for me

I'm not sitting on the fence
I'm over here locking the gate
Can't you read jack?
The sign says no trespassing
You don't live here go on back

I'm not sitting on the fence
I knocked it down the other day
All the animals left the farm
The rooster stayed anyway
Opinions don't do him no harm

I'm not sitting on the fence
I haven't changed my mind in years
I decided I know everything
You want to argue go right ahead
I hear a bell you can't un-ring

I'm not sitting on the fence
I'm not gonna listen
I'm smarter than you
You want an insult?
Just try to tell me what's true

I'm not sitting on the fence
I know what I like
Take your time to decide
I know why you're leaning on it
The barbs are sharp on either side
....the fence
a mere edge
between souls
sealed with words to connect

...the fence
where boundaries cease
and hearts melt
an ore to precious to be molded

...the fence
not a side to be chosen
over the face we sit and stare
into the twilight and through the dark
until the golden morn
letting it cleanse
the crass of our thoughts!

...the fence
a giver of a perspective
granting the onlooker
a perched dimension
and yet calm enough
not just for your tears
be strong even through the ringing laughter
its neutral stance
never just defined the end!
Mitchell Duran Dec 2013
In the Fall, when the temperature of the Bay would drop and the wind blew ice, frost would gather on the lawn near Henry Oldez's room. It was not a heavy frost that spread across the paralyzed lawn, but one that just covered each blade of grass with a fine, white, almost dusty coat. Most mornings, he would stumble out of the garage where he slept and tip toe past the ice speckled patch of brown and green spotted grass, so to make his way inside to relieve himself. If he was in no hurry, he would stand on the four stepped stoop and look back at the dried, dead leaves hanging from the wiry branches of three trees lined up against the neighbors fence. The picture reminded him of what the old gallows must have looked like. Henry Oldez had been living in this routine for twenty some years.

He had moved to California with his mother, father, and three brothers 35 years ago. Henry's father, born and raised in Tijuana, Mexico, had traveled across the Meixcan border on a bent, full jalopy with his wife, Betria Gonzalez and their three kids. They were all mostly babies then and none of the brothers claimed to remember anything of the ride, except one, Leo, recalled there was "A lotta dust in the car." Santiago Oldez, San for short, had fought in World War II and died of cancer ten years later. San drank most nights and smoked two packs of Marlboro Reds a day. Henry had never heard his father talk about the fighting or the war. If he was lucky to hear anything, it would have been when San was dead drunk, talking to himself mostly, not paying very much attention to anyone except his memories and his music.

"San loved two things in this world," Henry would say, "*****, Betria, and Johnny Cash."

Betria Gonzalez grew up in Tijuana, Mexico as well. She was a stout, short woman, wide but with pretty eyes and a mess of orange golden hair. Betria could talk to anyone about anything. Her nick names were the conversationalist or the old crow because she never found a reason to stop talking. Santiago had met her through a friend of a friend. After a couple of dates, they were married. There is some talk of a dispute among the two families, that they didn't agree to the marriage and that they were too young, which they probably were. Santiago being Santiago, didn't listen to anybody, only to his heart. They were married in a small church outside of town overlooking the Pacific. Betria told the kids that the waves thundered and crashed against the rocks that day and the sea looked endless. There were no pictures taken and only three people were at the ceremony: Betria, San, and the priest.

Of course, the four boys went to elementary and high school, and, of course, none of them went to college. One brother moved down to LA and eventually started working for a law firm doing their books. Another got married at 18 years old and was in and out of the house until getting under the wing of the union, doing construction and electrical work for the city. The third brother followed suit. Henry Oldez, after high school, stayed put. Nothing in school interested him. Henry only liked what he could get into after school. The people of the streets were his muse, leaving him with the tramps, the dealers, the struggling restaurateurs, the laundry mat hookers, the crooked cops and the addicts, the gang bangers, the bible humpers, the window washers, the jesus freaks, the EMT's, the old ladies pushing salvation by every bus stop, the guy on the corner and the guy in the alley, and the DOA's. Henry didn't have much time for anyone else after all of them.

Henry looked at himself in the mirror. The light was off and the room was dim. Sunlight streaked in through the dusty blinds from outside, reflecting into the mirror and onto Henry's face. He was short, 5' 2'' or 5' 3'' at most with stubby, skinny legs, and a wide, barrel shaped chest. He examined his face, which was a ravine of wrinkles and deep crows feet. His eyes were sunken and small in his head. Somehow, his pants were always one or two inches below his waistline, so the crack of his *** would constantly be peeking out. Henry's deep, chocolate colored hair was  that of an ancient Native American, long and nearly touched the tip of his belt if he stood up straight. No one knew how long he had been growing it out for. No one knew him any other way. He would comb his hair incessantly: before and after a shower, walking around the house, watching television with Betria on the couch, talking to friends when they came by, and when he drove to work, when he had it.

Normal work, nine to five work, did not work for Henry. "I need to be my own boss," he'd say. With that fact stubbornly put in place, Henry turned to being a handy man, a roofer, and a pioneer of construction. No one knew where he would get the jobs that he would get, he would just have them one day. And whenever he 'd finish a job, he'd complain about how much they'd shorted him, soon to move on to the next one. Henry never had to listen to anyone and, most of the time, he got free lunches out of it. It was a very strange routine, but it worked for him and Betria had no complaints as long as he was bringing some money in and keeping busy. After Santiago died, she became the head of the house, but really let her boys do whatever they wanted.

Henry took a quick shower and blow dried his hair, something he never did unless he was in a hurry. He had a job in the east bay at a sorority house near the Berkley campus. At the table, still in his pajamas, he ate three leftover chicken thighs, toast, and two over easy eggs. Betria was still in bed, awake and reading. Henry heard her two dogs barking and scratching on her bedroom door. He got up as he combed his damp hair, tugging and straining to get each individual knot out. When he opened the door, the smaller, thinner dog, Boy Boy, shot under his legs and to the front door where his toy was. The fat, beige, pig-like one waddled out beside Henry and went straight for its food bowl.

"Good morning," said Henry to Betria.

Betria looked at Henry over her glasses, "You eat already?"

"Yep," he announced, "Got to go to work." He tugged on a knot.

"That's good. Dondé?" Betria looked back down at her spanish TV guide booklet.

"Berkley somewhere," Henry said, bringing the comb smoothly down through his hair.

"That's good, that's good."

"OK!" Henry sighed loudly, shutting the door behind him. He walked back to the dinner table and finished his meal. Then, Betria shouted something from her room that Henry couldn't hear.

"What?" yelled Henry, so she could hear him over the television. She shouted again, but Henry still couldn't hear her. Henry got up and went back to her room, ***** dish in hand. He opened her door and looked at her without saying anything.

"Take the dogs out to ***," Betria told him, "Out the back, not the front."

"Yeah," Henry said and shut the door.

"Come on you dogs," Henry mumbled, dropping his dish in the sink. Betria always did everyones dishes. She called it "her exercise."

Henry let the two dogs out on the lawn. The sun was curling up into the sky and its heat had melted all of the frost on the lawn. Now, the grass was bright green and Henry barely noticed the dark brown dead spots. He watched as the fat beige one squatted to ***. It was too fat to lifts its own leg up. The thing was built like a tank or a sea turtle. Henry laughed to himself as it looked up at him, both of its eyes going in opposite directions, its tongue jutted out one corner of his mouth. Boy boy was on the far end of the lawn, searching for something in the bushes. After a minute, he pulled out another one of his toys and brought it to Henry. Henry picked up the neon green chew toy shaped like a bone and threw it back to where Boy boy had dug it out from. Boy boy shot after it and the fat one just watched, waddling a few feet away from it had peed and laid down. Henry threw the toy a couple more times for Boy boy, but soon he realized it was time to go.

"Alright!" said Henry, "Get inside. Gotta' go to work." He picked up the fat one and threw it inside the laundry room hallway that led to the kitchen and the rest of the house. Boy boy bounded up the stairs into the kitchen. He didn't need anyone lifting him up anywhere. Henry shut the door behind them and went to back to his room to get into his work clothes.

Henry's girlfriend was still asleep and he made sure to be quiet while he got dressed. Tia, Henry's girlfriend, didn't work, but occasionally would put up garage sales of various junk she found around town. She was strangely obsessed with beanie babies, those tiny plush toys usually made up in different costumes. Henry's favorite was the hunter. It was dressed up in camouflage and wore an eye patch. You could take off its brown, polyester hat too, if you wanted. Henry made no complaint about Tia not having a job because she usually brought some money home somehow, along with groceries and cleaning the house and their room. Betria, again, made no complain and only wanted to know if she was going to eat there or not for the day.

A boat sized bright blue GMC sat in the street. This was Henry's car. The stick shift was so mangled and bent that only Henry and his older brother could drive it. He had traded a new car stereo for it, or something like that. He believed it got ten miles to the gallon, but it really only got six or seven. The stereo was the cleanest piece of equipment inside the thing. It played CD's, had a shoddy cassette player, and a decent radio that picked up all the local stations. Henry reached under the seat and attached the radio to the front panel. He never left the radio just sitting there in plain sight. Someone walking by could just as soon as put their elbow into the window, pluck the thing out, and make a clean 200 bucks or so. Henry wasn't that stupid. He'd been living there his whole life and sure enough, done the same thing to other cars when he was low on money. He knew the tricks of every trade when it came to how to make money on the street.

On the road, Henry passed La Rosa, the Mexican food mart around the corner from the house. Two short, tanned men stood in front of a stand of CD's, talking. He usually bought pirated music or movies there. One of the guys names was Bertie, but he didn't know the other guy. He figured either a customer or a friend. There were a lot of friends in this neighborhood. Everyone knew each other somehow. From the bars, from the grocery, from the laundromat, from the taco stands or from just walking around the streets at night when you were too bored to stay inside and watch TV. It wasn't usually safe for non-locals to walk the streets at night, but if you were from around there and could prove it to someone that was going to jump you, one could usually get away from losing a wallet or an eyeball if you had the proof. Henry, to people on the street, also went as Monk. Whenever he would drive through the neighborhood, the window open with his arm hanging out the side, he would usually hear a distant yell of "Hey Monk!" or "What's up Monk!". Henry would always wave back, unsure who's voice it was or in what direction to wave, but knowing it was a friend from somewhere.

There was heavy traffic on the way to Berkley and as he waited in line, cursing his luck, he looked over at the wet swamp, sitting there beside highway like a dead frog. A few scattered egrets waded through the brown water, their long legs keeping their clean white bodies safe from the muddy water. Beyond the swamp laid the pacific and the Golden Gate bridge. San Francisco sat there too: still, majestic, and silver. Next to the city, was the Bay Bridge stretched out over the water like long gray yard stick. Henry compared the Golden Gate's beauty with the Bay Bridge. Both were beautiful in there own way, but the Bay Bridge's color was that of a gravestone, while the Golden Gate's color was a heavy red, that made it seem alive. Why they had never decided to pain the Bay Bridge, Henry had no idea. He thought it would look very nice with a nice coat of burgundy to match the Golden gate, but knew they would never spend the money. They never do.

After reeling through the downtown streets of Berkley, dodging college kids crossing the street on their cell phones and bicyclists, he finally reached the large, A-frame house. The house was lifted, four or five feet off the ground and you had to walk up five or seven stairs to get to the front door. Surrounded by tall, dark green bushes, Henry knew these kids had money coming from somewhere. In the windows hung spinning colored glass and in front of the house was an old-timey dinner bell in the shape of triangle. Potted plants lined the red brick walkway that led to the stairs. Young tomatoes and small peas hung from the tender arms of the stems leaf stalks. The lawn was manicured and clean. "Must be studying agriculture or something," Henry thought, "Or they got a really good gardener."

He parked right in front of the house and looked the building up and down, estimating how long it would take to get the old shingles off and the new one's on. Someone was up on the deck of the house, rocking back and forth in an old wooden chair. He listened to the creaking wood of the chair and the deck, judging it would take him two days for the job. Henry knew there was no scheduled rain, but with the Bay weather, one could never be sure. He had worked in rain before - even hail - and it never really bothered him. The thing was, he never strapped himself in and when it would rain and he was working roofs, he was afraid to slip and fall. He turned his truck off, got out, and locked both of the doors. He stepped heavily up the walkway and up the stairs. The someone who was rocking back and forth was a skinny beauty with loose jean shorts on and a thick looking, black and red plaid shirt. She had long, chunky dread locks and was smoking a joint, blowing the smoke out over the tips of the bushes and onto the street. Henry was no stranger to the smell. He smoked himself. This was California.

"Who're you?" the dreaded girl asked.

"I'm the roofer," Henry told her.

The girl looked puzzled and disinterested. Henry leaned back on his heels and wondered if the whole thing was lemon. She looked beyond him, down on the street, awkwardly annoying Henry's gaze. The tools in Henry's hands began to grow heavy, so he put them down on the deck with a thud. The noise seemed to startle the girl out of whatever haze her brain was in and she looked back at Henry. Her eyes were dark brown and her skin was smooth and clear like lake water. She couldn't have been more then 20 or 21 years old. Henry realized that he was staring and looked away at the various potted plants near the rocking chair. He liked them all.

"Do you know who called you?" She took a drag from her joint.

"Brett, " Henry told her, "But they didn't leave a last name."

For a moment, the girl looked like she had been struck across the chin with a brick, but then her face relaxed and she smiled.

"Oh ****," she laughed, "That's me. I called you. I'm Brett."

Henry smiled uneasily and picked up his tools, "Ok."

"Nice to meet you," she said, putting out her hand.

Henry awkwardly put out his left hand, "Nice to meet you too."

She took another drag and exhaled, the smoke rolling over her lips, "Want to see the roof?"

The two of them stood underneath a five foot by five foot hole. Henry was a little uneasy by the fact they had cleaned up none of the shattered wood and the birds pecking at the bird seed sitting in a bowl on the coffee table facing the TV. The arms of the couch were covered in bird **** and someone had draped a large, zebra printed blanket across the middle of it. Henry figured the blanket wasn't for decoration, but to hide the rest of the bird droppings. Next to the couch sat a large, antique lamp with its lamp shade missing. Underneath the dim light, was a nice portrait of the entire house. Henry looked away from the hole, leaving Brett with her head cocked back, the joint still pinched between her lips, to get a closer look. There looked to be four in total: Brett, a very large man, a woman with longer, thick dread locks than Brett, and a extremely short man with a very large, brown beard. Henry went back
Somewhere in your wardrobe, I'd be willing to bet
There's a t-shirt probably bearing the silhouette of Che Guevara

He was revolutionary, yeah, he wore a cool hat
But behind the design I think you might find it's not quite as simple as that

Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe,
I think... apparently.. who knows?
Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe

This is my song in defence of the fence
A little sing along, a anthem to ambivalence
The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it, doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference, when you're sitting on the fence

Somewhere in your house, I'd be willing to bet
There's a picture of that grinning hippy from Tibet - the Dalai Llama

He's a lovely, funny fella, he gives soundbites galore
But let's not forget that back in Tibet, those funky monks used to **** the poor, yeah

And the Buddhist line about future lives is the perfect way to stop the powerless rising up
And he tells the poor they will live again, but he's rich now so it's easy for him to say

I'm taking the stand in defense of the fence
I got a little band playing anthems to ambivalence
We divide the world into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and ****'s
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And the things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into status quo and scary
Yeah we want the world binary, binary
But it's not that simple.

And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
Yea your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And so does your baby, maybe you oughta trade HIM in for a Prius-
ROCK!

I'm taking the stand in defence of the fence
I got a little band playing tributes to ambivalence
We divide the world into liberals and gun-freaks
Into atheists and fundies
Into tee-tot'lers and junkies
Into chemical and natural
Into fictional and factual
Into science and supernatural
But it's actually naturally not that white and black

You'll be
Dividing us into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and pedos
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into parrots and canaries
Yeah we want the world binary, binary - 011101!

The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference
Cause it's not that simple...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUZIqfHf4c4
Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014
At camp
There was a woods
And lots and lots of free time.
We would take walks
Lots and lots of walks

We found trails
They were made of gravel
I forgot my shoes.
Emily carried me
On her back
Down the trails.

We found an island
The island had many goats.
The island had a bridge
The bridge had a gate
Lindsay climbed over the top
Noah climbed on the bottom
Nearly wading in the river
I tried to climb the fence
I couldn't climb the fence
I fell off the fence
And ripped my new khaki shorts
All the way up to the waistband
Abe asked to see
I didn't know why.

We found a dock
Some of the boards were missing
So we ran up and down
Up and down
Up and down
Jumping over the gaps
Where the boards broke.

We found a water park
Closed for fifteen years
We tried to sneak in
In the dark
But the door was locked
They pried the boards back
And I crawled through
Alone in the dark
I found the door
And let them in.

We ran from the water park
When our imaginations
Heard ghosts
Abe ran into a fence
He got cut
Noah ran into a fence
Elijah ran into a fence
JJ ran into a fence
All the same fence
They didn't heed my warnings.

We found Noah
Running through the courtyard
With an arm full of bed sheets
And a bare chest
He climbed the tree
And left the bed sheets
Strung up in the branches
Tristan pretended to think
That it was funny
When he fished his blankets
Out of the trees.

We found friendship
In five days
In the middle of Amish country

At camp
There was a woods
And lots and lots of free time.
We would take walks
Lots and lots of walks
Jay M Wong Feb 2013
1:1
Stop. Who’s there? Tis clock strikes twelve,
brings thy Horatio to seek tis specter from hell,
In Denmark, something is rotting in thy state,
In Norway, unimprovèd mettle hot and full awaits,
Tis specter arrives to arouse confusion and fear,
but to treat it violence and majestic threat,
thy specter departs as the ****’s crow drew near,  
leaving the blows of malicious mockery to regret.
And for Hamlet may speak to the wandering soul,
Tis morning to Hamlet must the three a’go.

1:2
Claudius, thy Uncle, is crowned King a’last,
Gertrude, thy Mother, hastily marries a’fast.
With duties done, Laertes to France adieu,
Hamlet griefs thy Father’s death and thy Mother’s dine,
for once a Hyperion to now a satyr is Uncle to Father a’new,
is but now a little more than kin and less than kind.
Horatio brings poor Hamlet the fatherly news,
that King Hamlet’s specter is now a’loose.
The joyous Hamlet is but joyous to see,
the two month father, dead and decease,
but for he calls that foul deeds will foully arise.
He hurries to the heavenly site prior sunrise.

1:3
Laertes to Ophelia, a brother to sister, he warns,
that Hamlet is but a fiery lover and to love he sworn,
but to love now is but not the future,
for Hamlet’s fire may, thy mind unpure,
for his lovely vows are not to believe,
he is but a man of deception to conceive.
For when Laertes departs, Polonius rants,
that Hamlet’s love, Ophelia must recant
for his affections and fashions are but false wows,
for when blood burns, lends the tongue false vows.

1:4
Shrewdly the air bites, nipping and eager,
at Horatio and Hamlet thy specter nears.
To speak alone, it beckons so,
But Horatio to Hamlet speaks no,
for may it draw thy madness and strip thy reason,
but to thee specter does Hamlet go,
for thy life is but a’lacking living reason.
Aback do they hold him most,
but Hamlet, his sword he wields
Fate has brought him here, he feels
To hold him back is but to turn a’ghost

1:5
Revenge, does his heavenly father speak,
of tis horrid ****** of unnatural feat.
For the orchard’s snake, wears thy father’s crown
and ****** thy gracious Queen, whose now evil abound.
With dignity and devotion she loved me so,
but tis sinful ******, Hamlet, you must’a know!
Through my ears, a venomous potion he drew,
thy fair Uncle, Claudius that potion he brew.
Abed, my life he ended this night,
And to my crown and Queen took he a’flight.
For thy dearest father, revenge must thy draw
upon thy villainous head, Claudius must fall
And to thy sword thou dearest friends must swear,
to tell not the occasions of this night we bear,
And to madness Hamlet must falsely seek,
to discover the truth of horrid deed beneath.

2:1
Reynaldo to Laertes, Claudius a’spies,
to Paris, Reynaldo goes with a’plan devised,
to seek the situation of Laertes in foreign hoods,
with bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
Ophelia then enters, with her father she shares,
"Oh, father, father, I’ve just had such a scare!"
In her sewing room, it is Hamlet she sees,
with no hat, nor buttons, nor stable knees
For he stared and stared to let out a final sigh,
Love mad he may be, a’to King we must a’by.

2:2
With Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
Directly or indirectly will Claudius learn,
of Hamlet’s matters they are to return.
Polonius, with news of Hamlet, he waits,
for thee Ambassador, to inform that Denmark Gates,
Are to be opened for young Fortinbra’s ****** defeat,
Polonius to Claudius, reveals thy madness roots,
For Hamlet is but love crazy for the fairest fruits,
of dearest Ophelia, who a letter he wrote,
Proclaims the fairness of her upon tis note.
And to test the truth, their confrontation, must’e spy,
Behind the arras to view thy love-mad side.
Is but our hastily marriage and his father’s death,
thy Mother, aware, are but the means of his mad breath.
Polonius then to Hamlet, speaks of witty words,
A fishmonger he calls, but one of two is misheard,
For when Polonius humbly takes a’leave,
He is but to take anything, but his life, shall he not receive.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, enter to Hamlet, they chat,
but Hamlet to quickly find the two are but a King’s ****,
Only sent to spy on a dearest friend,
And to human’s name do they offend,
Only to betray a dearest friend in honor of the King.
And so Players arrived at Denmark grounds,
for they, the best in the world, Polonius sounds.
And then for Jephthah, witty Hamlet chants,
the song of a foolish man who accidently grants,
the sacrifice of his beloved daughter.
Pyrrhus, do they perform for dearest Hamlet,
His sword is a’air, but a’air it sets,
for he hesitates to swing thy sword,
And with this, Hamlet hopes to store,
the strength to **** the horrid Lord.
Though he is but ashamed, for upon false emotions can Players act,
And in himself upon truths, strength can he not extract.
So a play for the King’s conscience does Hamlet devise,
for the heavenly ghost may be false in his advice.

3:1
To be or not to be; that is the question,
For Hamlet to be nobler or to a’take action,
Shall he withdraw with ****** self slaughter,
But shall’st never may see thy fairest daughter,
To die, but to sleep for a mere dream,
But in sleep shall fair or foul be unseen?
Now Polonius and Claudius awaits,
for Hamlet’s arranged meet with a’bait.
Hamlet to Ophelia, his love recants,
For honesty and beauty are but Someone’s grants,
Once did he love her, but now a’figured,
that women are but corrupt and impured,
For one’s honestly and beauty can and shall be taint,
For if God given thou one face, dear not another by paint.
For honestly and beauty has God falsely bred,
All but one, shall women *****.
All but one, shall women be nun.
Hence this marriage is over, and to a nunnery at once,

3:2
Let this mousetrap be named and this play a’set,
Shall capture thy horrid mouse or thy Uncle of Hamlet.
Polonius to Hamlet, the theater he knows,
For a Caesar death died he at thee Capitol.
Upon the lap of fair Ophelia, does Hamlet, lie,
Only to think of country matters and nothing (he implies).
And the play begins, with a prologue so brief,
Like a woman’s love, was Hamlet’s belief.
The King and Queen, a loving bond they share,
But the King by a mystic potion envenomed beware.
Thee action to ****, a murderous scene it was,
Leaving Claudius to regret the murderous act abuzz,
He arises to say: Let there be light! Let there be light!
And to the joy of Hamlet to see tis joyous sight,
For the words of thy heavenly father was but right.
Now shall the minute parts of truth ignite.
And to his Mother he shall speak daggers wield none,
for shall his tongue speak of the cruelties undone.

3:3
With Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, to England a’go,
Should insane Hamlet know not a hawk from a crow,
And behind the arras, Polonius will again spy,
the taxation of Hamlet and his Mother’s cry.
Polonius departs to spy upon the Mother and the Insane,
Only to leave Claudius to regret thy hideous Mark of Cain,
Shall he pray the Heavens to forgive him his actions,
For thy stripped thy Brother of life, throne, and attractions.
As Claudius is never to withdraw his stripped token,
Divine forgiveness shall never then be unspoken.
Hamlet can **** not his murderous Uncle in praying stance,
For a hideous monster shall not a’go Heaven by chance.

3:4
So behind the arras dearest Polonius stays,
to view the idle and wicked tongue arrays,
Thou’st the Queen, Thy Husband’s Brother’s wife!
But to hear a rat, shall Hamlet for a ducat its life.
Oh, but death ‘neath the arras, may it the King?
A horrid act? To **** and wear thy brother’s ring?
Oh, King it be not, but be a wretched, rash fool,
And now shall Hamlet tell thy Myth a’Ghoul.
For thy murderer has slain thy Heavenly mate,
And only now by natural law does he abate.
Upon these portraits shall ring a’clear,
That from thy Heavenly father is he nowhere near,
A murderer, a villain, a horrid fiend,
He is but a devilish murderer yield unclean,
No way can one drop from THIS to THAT,
And shall by this scene, the specterous soul attract,
Dear not be untenderly to thy Mother it speaks,
And shall this revenge soon awake its peak,
Hamlet appears a’mad to thy watching Mother,
but to his mother he warns, abed not another,
For two mouths should speak of none,
of this revenge that will soon be done.
And again, abed let not him ****** you so,
For now, apart to English must’e a’go.

4:1
Gertrude to Claudius, she continues to reveal,
Of Polonius’s ****** and his arras squeal,
"A rat! A rat!" A’mad Hamlet is,
Brandished, to rapier the life of his.
And now where’s thou Hamlet still?
To draw apart the body he hath killed.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is but yet called again,
With discord and dismay, are they to seek that thou slain.

4:2
The two seek to Hamlet, for the body’s lair,
Compounded with dust now does it wear,
And a sponge, does Hamlet call them so,
for the King to squeeze them dry and thorough,
"A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear."
The body a’by a’King, but a’King, the body unnear.
And so, Hamlet to the King premiere.

4:3
And to Claudius does Hamlet call,
That Polonius now rests at a dining hall,
‘til a conference of worms devours him all
He shall eat not, but they eat so,
‘tis our fate despite status quo.
And upon the lobby stairs a corpse may lay,
One of dearest Polonius, slain to heaven or hell
Now to English death must Hamlet pay,
To one mother does he give two farewells.

4:4
With a Captain does Hamlet now proceed,
Who tells of young Fortinbras of Norway accede,
The Norway prince through Denmark he leads,
to seize a’minute ****** patch must’e receive.
A worthless land, must many die for one,
But true greatness acts not from fair reason,
But for the sake of the mind when honor is won.
And has Someone granted the reasoning mind,
For man to hesitate so cowardly inside,
For thy deed to act, must we rid the mind bind,
And act on instinct and be not wise.
And from the reasoning state must Hamlet now leave,
for honor he shall act, and his emotions he’ll believe.

4:5
False sanity is but false no more,
For fair Ophelia’s reason be not restore.
A’now sings of thy premature stone a’foot thy father’s grave,
and the departure of Hamlet for thy wed depraved.
Claudius is but to blame for thee rotting state,
For Polonius, a proper ceremony he not awaits,
For poor Ophelia, stripped from her reasonous state,
For Laertes aback from France, by thy father’s death, irate.
And Laertes enters, with thy support for king,
For the murderer, vengeful death shall he bring,
So Claudius to Laertes, says he is not to blame,
but thy father’s murderer is but another name.
And enters Ophelia, with figurative flowers to give,
But those of Faithfulness have ceased to live.
Alive are but for Thoughts, for Remembrance,
for Adultery, for Repentance, and for False Romance.
For his sister’s sanity is but another to blame,
Laertes, a vengeance mind, is but now aflame.

4:6
Horatio, a letter from Hamlet he receives,
that upon a Pirate ship has Hamlet board,
And that shall with speed would’st fly a’breathe.
Meet to hear the story Hamlet has a’stored.

4:7
Claudius to Laertes, he speak of innocence,
for by public appearance, the truth may bent,
For the public count loves Hamlet so,
And to thy fair Mother, Claudius a’beau.
Thy noble father lost and sister insane,
The murderous filth of Hamlet is to blame.
At this, a loyal messenger approaches,
to deliver the news that but Hamlet reproached,
An English death did Hamlet face not,
For now his destined death are they to plot,
Naked and alone, will he return to Denmark a’learn,
Of the honorable fence-match, he shall earn,
Against Laertes, whose fatherly love nor illusion,
Shall the death of Hamlet draw conclusion.
Even a’church will Hamlet, Laertes slay,
Death by no bounds, must Hamlet pay.
Envenomed rapier and wine shall prepare,
the faithful death of murderous Hamlet a’near.
Gertrude then enters with Ophelia’s news a’share,
For sorrows comes not in singles but in greater pairs,
Upon muddy death has Ophelia drowned,
for now another death has but profound,

5:1
Two Gravediggers upon one grave they create,
for to the death of thy Graveowner do they relate,
To die by self slaughter or to die by not,
the attention of passing Hamlet have they caught.
With Hamlet does one of thee two chat,
for once a woman, shall this grave be buried at,
A quick digger for Hamlet to his surprise,
Revealed that to England is mad Hamlet to advise.
For a corpse to live for eight or nine,
Thy dearest Yorick’s skull is to find,
Thy a corpse to date three and twenty,
Leaves Hamlet to recall thy memories a’plenty,
And to think Alexander, o’buried alike.
Here comes the King, Laertes and the Queen,
And upon the burial grounds is Ophelia seen,
His dearest sister does Laertes mourn,
But to Hamlet, her death, his heart a’torn.
Laertes to Hamlet, must’e not compare,
the death of one is a little more foul than fair,
For forty thousand brothers can sum not his love,
For the death of the fairest maiden beloved.
Claudius to Laertes, must Hamlet pay thy debt,
the plot of night prior shall’st not forget.

5:2
Hamlet to Horatio, does his truths trust,
Of thy wretched King and his unjust,
Of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern English death they meet,
With sacrifice and thy seal was thou to spare self defeat.
Now’st Osric enters to Hamlet a’chat,
For’st not hot, nor cold, nor sultry at.
And a’wish to court, with thy Laertes of excellence,
For Hamlet’s head does thee King expense.
With six French rapiers and poniards assign,
For by fate’s determination, shall this court incline,
For a special providence in the fall of a sparrow,
Can we do not, but abide by fate a’follow.
Trumpets and drums, now’st the fence begins,
For Hamlet and Laertes hand and hand therein.
Pardon he begs, Hamlet to thy brother,
For in him is but foil Hamlet yet another,
And so they fence for honor and fence for life,
Two of two leads Hamlet the strife.
The King, to Hamlet he drinks,
Tis pearl shall he the cup he sinks,
And unwounded for two, Hamlet prevails,
But Queen, the dearest Mother, so faithfully frail,
For she drinks thy cup of heavenly pearl,
For heavenly it be not, as thy malicious plot unfurl,
The cup! The cup! A poisonous potion,
Cause yet another by venomous commotion.
A distracting cause, for Hamlet to bear,
For Laertes envenomed blade must’e beware,
Now envenomed blood shall Hamlet shed,
Shall he hold thy rapier of Laertes instead,
to shed thy venomous blood of thy venomous mind,
For now thy murderous plot shall unwind,
At the honorable death of brother Laertes,
Shall the death of Claudius be a’seized.
The King’s to blame for the death of all,
And tis day shall he see his destined fall.
With thy venomous blade held a’hand,
Let the doors be locked and the evils banned,
For Hamlet wounds thy treacherous soul,
And shall horrid Claudius pay his destined toll,
For Hamlet forces to drink thy murderous potion,
And shall he too die of venomous commotion.
The death of four and tis ****** scene,
Shall Horatio tell to those unseen.
Shall he speak of murderous truths embark,
for Fortinbras shall now throne Denmark,
For in Fortinbras does his admiration lay,
For does Hamlet trust thou’st fiery ambitious way,
And tis now concludes thy Hamlet’s life,
For death and death thou’st all alike...
A dedication and summary of Shakespeare's "Hamlet" the tragedy of the witty prince of Denmark written in 2011 for a class journal assignment.
Paul Hansford Jan 2016
there is a distance
between us
more than distance

something

not a wall
not impenetrable
a fence

a security fence
easy enough for our words
our thoughts
to pass through  
easy enough to breach
from time to time  
to allow access
to our innermost feelings

but so easy
to reinforce

too easy
when things get tough
when doubts arise

when protection
seems more important
than communication
Chaise May 2016
Forever sitting on the fence
You've placed me on the bench
Never will I see the green side
That's what I get for being this kind
Always watching dead grass
A lousy metaphor for left past
Trapped in a sense of grace
Yet you've put me in last place
Stuck in a reality that is no more
My body's the only thing left able to score
Even when I see the sun
My skills say I should run
Forever sitting on the fence
From here everything makes sense
Never will I fear the unknown
I see from both sides of the throne
Always looking out for number one
In this way, I will always be shunned
Trapped atop these wooden pickets
It's way too late for me to buy a ticket
Stuck in the nose bleed bleachers
No one is capable of being my teacher
Even when I see the sun
From my fence I will not run
Forever sitting on the fence
Where you put my heart to rest
Jacob Oates May 2013
The cordoned enclosure saw room for exposure, for left was a gap in the gate

Climb too, or come through because you are just you, others will just have to wait

”Pass right along” they pulled from the throng, you’ve made it to pass, what’s wrong?

What’s wrong?"

Statistically I’m missing from the list if it’s your interest, I’m fit to pencil in a premonition’s false opinion


Prequisites parameters convincing your decision,  it’s easy to chew if you pursue, (yes I do, yes I do).

Does it matter if the gap between the passage and the trap was rapidly adapting to the path of least resistance?

(Knock it down)

The  fence was built for me, you can see, you can see, and I slipped through where the crow

bar cut the seam at your insistence.

(Knock it down)

Now you can pass for normal if we’re looking through my eyes, but for the sake of records,

please mark all that applies:

Are you  now or at any time have ever been hispanic, how much cans of beer were drunk

this week, now tell me did you plan it?

Are you a woman, are you gay? Are you black, or something else, how much money do you

make and did you make it by yourself?

(Knock it down)

List the creed that most reflects your personal beliefs, condense it for the register, it’s such

a big relief to know


That we can track the chart, we can craft the *****

We can tell you just by looking if for you there’s any hope

but X asks Y if it’s a study for the pundits

then tell me how we’re told to build if no one plans to fund it

Climb the fence it’s common sense, the barbs are not for you

Go on boy you’ve made it, climb on through, climb on through.

No need to be perturbed as fence hoppers were before us

Well the fence was meant for us, you no longer can ignore us.

Knock it down
amanda cooper Sep 2012
I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a bug.”

my first memories of you are from
when we lived together when we were
young. we would be power rangers
and pokemon and a number of other
things. that was the summer your sister
broke her leg on the trampoline -
scaring us from climbing on top.
we were afraid of sharks in the pool.
clear water to the bottom, but we
were scared of the monsters we couldn't see.
no matter how many times we looked,
we couldn't shake the idea that something
was out to get us. wanted to hurt us.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
"Duh, I just ate a cat.”

you moved away that year.
you left for florida and took your
sister with you. you were gone for years.
in that time, she came to visit me.
she told me you were fine.
i heard from your mother that you
were struggling in school -
her straight A student,
crumbling before her eyes.
i didn't know what happened.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a dog.”

you graduated top of your class.
you left your house for reasons i
didn't find out about until months
later. you moved back here, back
into that old house, pretending to
be the innocent boy you were.
the boy that hated to smoke ****.
the boy that drank his summer away
and regretted it.
you were the boy that let his girl get away.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a car.”

but we both know that wasn't who you are.
not deep down, anyway.
that boy that cried to me on my couch
gave me half-truths and spun stories
until i didn't know which way was up.
i told you that i was ****** up now.
i told you exactly what i did, and you
told me you'd done the same.
but what i didn't know, was that one
of my worst nightmares, is what you'd
become for someone else.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiiiiiiis big.
And I said,
"Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
“Duh, I just ate a whale!”

when everyone found out the truth,
you fled the country.
when everyone found out the truth,
you left us all behind to
deal with your messes.
when everyone found out the truth,
i was the only one left
seeing sharks spin circles in my swimming pool,
swim circles in my heart.

I was sitting on my fence post,
Chewing some bubble gum.
Playing with my yo-yo.
When along came Hermy the Wormy,
And he was thiiis big.
And I said,
“Hermy!? What’s up with you, man!?”
And he said,
"Duh, I just burped!”
9/6/12.
References to a "camp song."
Desert Rose Apr 2014
Living in a large house
With a white picket fence
With my husband
And our two children
With a puppy
Running around our land
At least that's the dream

First we painted
Our fence yellow
We had two happy
Healthy kids

Then things
Turned blue
Between me and you
Then the fence turned too

When things got bad
When it was almost over
Things turned red

That fence that
Was originally white
Has faded to black
Everything that
Could be is now dead
white is the American Dream yellow is happy blue is sad red is anger and violence and black is the end
Poetic T Oct 2014
I pondered the world around me
Looking
Staring
Around to what was seen,
Then I happened upon a bird
"Just sitting watching me"
I waved once,
I waved twice,
It just put it head to the side
Maybe to get a better angle on me,
It tweeted
And left, the last I thought to see,
But where one once was, now I count
Two
Three
Four  
Five now perched upon the fence
On the tree, I was getting a
"Alfred Hitchcock"
Vibe, with all little eyes looking at me,
I smiled an awkward grin, teeth did show
Scattered to the wind,
I closed my eyes, noises
Singing awoke a slumbering me,
Six,
Seven,
Eight,
More birds, sitting on the fence,
But also congregating on the branches of the tree,
I waved once more,
Eyes watching upon me,
This is getting creepy
So I stood on all fours licking my teeth
And purred a
"QUESTION"
"Why do you congregate"
"And watch from a far upon me"
Tweeted words sung out to me,
"It just catches our attention that you being a cat"
Not once,
Not twice,
But three
"Times you have waved at us sitting"
Upon a fence,
Upon a tree,
"Childish games of youth"
I purred back,
I have a good life, I am not as wild
as you think, I wave to say hello
To listen to you sing,
"I walk up to the fence"
Pat once then two on the head you see,
"But there is a moral to this tale"
"What is that the birds sing"
As with reflects to fast to see
Not one
Not two
But three
Birds in mouth, they fly, flutter away
And with a mouth full I say
"Don't believe in what you hear or see"
"Were just more sneaky now"
Now shoo be gone, unless you wish
To all so ******* teeth upon your bodies.. and they flee.
patty m Aug 2019
From a very young age, Jose' and Maggie had lived next door to each other.  Only a chain-link fence divided them as they played in their own backyards.  Everyday they chased up and down and barked excitedly playing games all their own.  Maggie was a Golden Lab and Jose' a Chihuahua.  The difference in size was of no consequence in the puppy days of their friendship, but soon Maggie grew and grew while Jose' remained small. But Jose' knew no fear and he thought he was the king of the subdivision, the main man, he was definitely an alpha dog strutting like Jagger and Maggie was adorable, all soft, playful canine, loving and sweet.
Soon a new phase of growing up was reached and Maggie would roll her eyes at Jose' and he would nuzzle her through the fence.  Their love for each other grew by leaps and bounds, but they were destined to spend their lives separately.  One day Jose' raised his nose to a new scent.  Excitedly he nipped and jumped barking a new signal.  Sweet Maggie was beside herself, wanting to be close to her lover.  She quivered and barked and whined, what should they do?  Maggie could take it no longer and decided to take things in hand/paw.  First they tried digging, each on their side of the fence and when they had a pretty nice sized hole Jose' slipped his body under the metal, the fence clawing his skin.  He didn't care if he was wounded, he just wanted to be with his girl.  Just as he was almost there, his owner came out and took him inside the house to doctor his cuts.  The hole was filled in and Jose' was punished, by having to stay inside for the rest of the day.  Maggie was upset, howling and crying, and Jose' was even more upset.  Maggie sent a message through the air and Jose' listened.  Finding a loose screen he shoved his way out of the window landing on top of the air conditioner and jumping into the yard.  Maggie stood back as far as she could go then took off running.  She picked up speed almost lifting off her feet and  suddenly she was airborne.  It was amazing, the way she soared graceful as a gazelle over the top of the chain-link fence.  Her landing was a little off  kilter and her legs were a little shaky but she was all in one piece.  Jose' was beside himself, kissing her and licking her and making little wheezing noises.  They were so excited but there was one little problem.  Maggie was willing but Jose' was just too short.  Crazed now, he tried leaping, she tried bending down, but all was for naught.  Were these two destined to be star-crossed lovers?  Now, Jose' was not a dog that gave up easily.  He motioned for Maggie to follow him.  Maggie followed Jose' to the backstairs.  Jose' climbed up one, two then three and found he was just the perfect size to make love to his beautiful lady.  Ohhhhhhhhhh what passion erupted, for Jose' was the hottest of lovers.  His salsa hips a sight to see, as he held tight to Maggie.  Jose' rolled his eyes and thought he was in heaven, and Maggie was sated and sighing, and it had been worth the wait, the trials and errors, and they knew it would last forever.  After much kissing and sweet woofs whispered, Maggie sailed back across the fence and no one need ever be the wiser, or so they thought.   But it turned out that Jose' was a virile male you see, and not long after that fateful day Maggie birthed six little pups, they called them chalabas the cutest puppies you'll ever see.
Keith J Collard Jun 2013
The Quest for the Damsel Fish  by Keith Collard

Author's  Atmosphere

On the bow of the boat, with the cold cloud of the dismal day brushing your back conjuring goose bumped flesh you hold an anchor.  For the first time, you can pick this silver anchor up with only one hand and hold it over your head. It resembles the Morning Star, a brutal medieval weapon that bludgeons and impales its victims.  Drop it into the dark world beyond the security of your boat--watch the anchor descend.
        Watch this silver anchor--this Morning Star--descend away from the boat and you, it becomes swarmed over with darkness.  It forms a ******-metallic grin at first as it sinks, then the sinking silver anchor takes its last shape at its last visible glimpse.  It is so small now as if it could be hung from a necklace.  It is a silver sword.  
Peering over the side of the boat, the depths collectively look like the mouth of a Cannibalistic Crab, throwing the shadows of its mandibles over everything that sinks down into it--black mandibles that have joints with the same angle of a Reaper's Scythe.  

I am scared looking at this sinking phantasm.  I see something from my youth down there in this dark cold Atlantic.  I see the silver Morning Star again, now in golden armor.  I remember a magnificent kingdom, in a saltwater fish tank I had once and never had again.  A tropical paradise that I see again as I stare down into the depths.  This fish tank was so beautiful with the most beautiful inhabitants who I miss.  Before I could lift the silver anchor--the Morning Star--over my head with only one hand, turning gold in that morning sun-- I was a boy who sat indian style, cross legged--peering into this brilliant spectacle of light I thought awesome.  I thought all the darkness of home and the world was kept at bay by this kingdom of light...

Chapter  1 Begins the Story

The Grey Skies of Mass is the Name of This Chapter.

                                                      ­­                        
    
 Air, in bubbles--it was a world beauty of darkness revealed in slashes of light from dashing fluorescent bulbs overhead this fish tank.
Silver swords of fluorescent energy daring to the bottom, every slash revealing every color of the zodiac--from the Gold of Scorpio to the purple of Libra combining into the jade of the Gemini. 
In the center, like a dark Stonehenge were rocks. The exterior rocks had tropical colors like that of cotton candy, but the interior shadows of the rocks that was the Stonehenge, did not possess one photon of light. The silver messengers of the florescent energy from above would tire and die at their base.  The shadows of the Stonehenge rocks would stand over them as they died.

 
          When the boy named Sake climbed the rickety wood stairs of the house, he did so in fear of making noise, as if to not wake each step.
   Until he could see the glowing aura of his fish tank then he would start down that eerie hall, With pictures of ghosts and ghosts of pictures staring down at him as he walked down that rickety hallway of this towering old colonial home.  He hurried to the glowing tank to escape the black and white gazing picture frames.
                    The faint gurgling, bubbling of the saltwater tank became stronger in his ear, and that sound guided him from the last haunt of the hallway-- the empty room that was perpendicular to  his room.   He only looked to his bright tank as soon as he entered the hallway from the creaky wooden steps.  Then he proceeded to sit in front of this great tropical fish tank in Indian style with his legs folded over one another as children so often would sit.
  The sun was setting.  The reflections from the tank were beginning to send ripples down the dark walls. Increasing  wave after wave reflecting down his dark walls.  He thought they to be seagulls flapping into the darkness until they were overcome as he was listening to the bubbling water of his tank.
                " Hello my fish, hello Angel, hello Tang, hello  Hoomah, hello Clown and hello Damsel … and hello to you Crab...even though I do not like you," he said in half jest not looking at the crab in the entrance of the rocks.  The rocks were the color of cotton candy, but the interior shadows did not possess a photon of luminescence.  All other shadows not caused by the rocks--but by bright swaying ornament--were like the glaze on a candy apple--dark but delicious.  Besides the crab's layer in the rock jumble at the center of the tank which was a Stonehenge within a Stonehenge--the tank was a world of bright inviting light.
                The crab was in its routine,  motionless in the entrance to his foyer, with his scythe-like claws in the air, in expectation of catching one of the bright fish someday.  For that reason the boy tried to remove the crab in the past, but even though the boy was fast with his hand, the optical illusion of the tank would always send his hand where the crab no longer was.  He did not know how to use two hands to rid the crab in the future by trapping and destroying the Cannibal Crab ;  his father, on a weekend visit, gave the Crab to the boy to put into the bright world of the saltwater tank, which Sake quickly regretted.  His father promised him that the Crab would not be able to catch any of the fish he said " ...***** only eat anything that has fallen to the bottom or each other..."

         A scream from the living room downstairs ran up the rickety wood and down the long hall and startled the boy.  His mother sent her shrieks out to grab the boy, allowing her to not have to waste any time nor calorie on her son; for she would tire from the stairs, but her screams would not, allowing her to stay curled up on the couch.  If she was not screaming for Sake, she was talking as loud as screams on the phone with her girlfriends.  The decibels from her laugh was torture for all in the silent house.   A haughty laugh in a gossipy conversation, that overpowered the sound of the bright tropical fish tank in Sake's room that was above and far opposite her in the living room.
               " Sake you have to get a paper-route to pay for the tank, the electricity bill is outrageous," she said while not taking her eyes off the TV and her legs curled up beside her.  He would glad fully get a paper-route even if it was for a made up reason.  He turned to go, and looked back at his mother, and a shudder ran through him with a new thought:  someday her appearance will match her voice.  

              Upon reaching his tank,  Hoomah was trying to get his attention as always.  Taking up pebbles in his big pouty pursed lips and spitting them out of his lips like a weak musket.  The Hoomah was a very silly fish, it looked like one of Sake’s aunts, with too much make up on, slightly overweight, and hovering on two little fins that looked incapable of keeping it afloat, but they did.  The fins reminded him of the legs of his aunt--skinny under not so skinny.’

               The Tang was doing his usual aquanautics , darting and sailing was his trick.  He was fast, the fastest with his bright yellow triangular sail cutting the water.  Next was the aggressive Clown fish, the boy thought she was always aggresive because she didn't have an anemone to sleep on.  The Clown was strong and sleek with an orange jaw and body that was built like a tigress.
  Sake thought something tragic about the body if the  orange Clown and the three silver traces that clawed her body as decoration -they reminded him of the incandescent orange glow of a street lamp being viewed through the rainy back windshield of a car.   The Clown fish was a distraction that craved attention.
The Clown would chase around some of the other fish and jump out of the water to catch the boy's eye. 
                 Next is the Queen Angel fish, she is the queen of the tank, she sits in back all alone, waving like a marvelous banner, iridescent purple and golden jade.  Her forehead slopes back in a French braid style that streams over her back like a kings standard waving before battle, but her standard is of a house of beauty, and that of royal purple.

                    Lastly is the Damsel Fish, the smallest and most vulnerable in the tank.  She has royal purple also, rivaling the queen. Her eyes are lashed but not lidded like the Hoomah.  Her eyes are elliptical, and perhaps the most human, or in the boy’s opinion, she is the most lady like, the Hoomah and the Queen Angel come to her defence if she is chased around by the Clown.  Her eyes penetrate the boys, to the point of him looking away.  

                      Before the tank, in its place in the corner was a painting, an oil painting of another type of Clown donning a hat with orange partial make-up on his face (only around eyes nose and mouth there was ghost white paint) and it  had two tears coming down from its right eye.  The Clown painting was given to him by his mother, it seems he could not be rid of them, but Sake at first was taken in by the brightness of the Clown, and the smooth salacious wet look of the painting. it looked dripping, or submerged, like another alternate reality.  The wet surreal glaze of the painting seemed a portal, especially the orange glow of the Clown's skin without make-up.  .  If he tried to remember of times  before the Clown painting that preceded the Clown fish, he thought of the orange saffron twilight of sunset, and watching it from the high window from his room in the towering house.  How that light changed everything that it touched, from the tree tops and the clouds, to even the dark hallway leading up to his room.  The painting and the Clown fish did not feel the same as those distant memories of sunset, especially the summer sunset when his mother would put him to bed long before the sun had set.  
Sake did not voice opposition to the Clown.
Then he was once again trapped by the Clown.  
            The boy was extremely afraid of this painting that replaced the sunsets , being confined alone with it by all those early bedtimes.
Sake once asked his mother if he could take it down, whereas she said " No."  That clown would follow him into his dreams, always he would be down the hill from the tall house on the hill, trying to walk back to the house, but to walk away or run in a dream was like walking underwater or in black space, and he would make no distance as the ground opened up and the clown came out of the ground hugging him with the pryless grip of eight arms.  He would then wake up amid screams and a tearful hatted clown staring somberly down at him from the wall where it was hung.  Night made him fear the Clown painting more;  that ghost white make-up decorating around the eyes and mouth seeming to form another painting in entirety.  He could only look at the painting after a while when the lights were on, and the wet looking painting was mostly orange from the skin, neck, and forearms of the hat wearing clown.  But the painting is gone now, and the magnificent light display of the tank is there now.  

                Sake pulled out the fish food, all the fish bestirred in anticipation of being fed.  The only time they would all come together; and that was to mumble the bits of falling flakes: a chomp from the Clown, a pucker from the Hoomah, the fast mumble of the Tang, and the dainty chew of the Damsel.  The Queen Angelfish would stay near the bottom, and kiss a flake over and over.   She would not deign herself to go into a friendly frenzy like the other fish; she stayed calm, yet alluring like a flag dancing rhythmically in the breeze, but never repeating the same move as the wind never repeats the same breeze.  She is the only fish to change colors.  When the grey skies of Mass emit through every portal in the house at the height of its bleakness, her colors would turn more fantastic, perhaps why she is queen.

                 He put his finger in the top of the watery world; the warmth was felt all the way up his arm.  After feeding, his favorite thing to do was to trace his finger on the top of the warm water and have the Damsel follow it. She loved it, it was her only time to dance, for the Clown would descend down in somewhat fear ( or annoyance) of the boys finger, and the Damsel and he would dance.  The boy, thought that extraordinary.

                     Sake bedded down that night, to his usual watery world of his room.  The reflective waves running down the walls like seagulls of light, with the rhythmic gurgling sound and it's occasional splash of the Clown, or the Hoomah swooping into the pebbly bottom to scoop up some pebbles for spitting making the sound "ccchhhhh" --cachinging  like a distant underwater register.  The tank’s nocturne sound was therapeutic to the boy.

                      Among waking up, and being greeted by his sparkling treasure tank--that was always of the faintest light in the morning due to the grey skies of Mass coming through every portal to lessen the tropical spectrum-- the boy would render his salutations " Good morning my Hoomah.....good morning Tang, my Damsel, and your majesty Queen Angel.....and so forth.  Until the scream would come to get him, and he would walk briskly past the empty room and the looming family pictures of strangers.  His mother put him to work that day, to "pay for the fish tank" but really to buy her a new cocktail dress for her nightly forays.  The boy did not care, the tank was his sun, emitting through the bleak skies of Mass, and even if the tank was reduced to a haze by the overcast of his life, it only added a log to the fire that was the tropical world at night, in turn making him welcome the dismal day.
                  On a day, when the overcast was so thick, he felt he could not picture his rectangular orb waiting for him at night. He had trouble remembering what houses to deliver the paper.  He delivered to the same house three times.  Newspapers seemed to disappear in his hands, due to their color relation to the sky.   Leaves were falling from the trees—butterfly like—he went to catch one, he missed--a first. For Sake could walk through dense thorned brambles and avoid every barb, as a knight in combat or someone’s whose heart felt the painful sting of the barb before.  He would stand under a tree in late fall, and roll around to avoid every falling leaf, and pierce them to the ground deftly with a stick fashioned as a sword.  He could slither between snow flakes, almost like a fish nimbly avoiding small flakes.  
                  After he finished his paper-route , he went to his usual spot under an oak tree to fence with falling leaves.  As the other boys walked by and poked fun he would stall his imagination, and look to the brown landscape of the dry fall.  The crisp brown leaves of the trees were sword shapes to him.  He held the battle ax shape of the oak leaf over his eye held up by the stick it was pierced through, and spied the woodline through the sinus of the oak leaf lobe.  The brown white speckled scenery, were all trying to hide behind eachother by blending in bleakfully; he pretended the leaf was Hector’s helmet from the Illiad—donned over his eyes.
“ Whatchya doing Sake?” asked a young girl named Summer.  Sake only mumbled something nervously and stood there.  And a pretty Summer passed on after Sake once again denied himself of her pretty company.  He looked to the woodline again, a mist was now concealing the tall apical trees.  It now looked like the brown woodland was not trying to retreat behind eachother in fall concealment, but trying to emerge forth out of the greyness to say "save us."

“ Damgf” he uttered, and could not even grasp a word correctly.  His head lifted to the sky repeatedly, there was no orb, and the shadows were looming larger than ever; fractioned shadows from tree branches were forming scythes all over the ground.
             He entered the large shadow that was his front door, into the house that rose high into the sky, with the simplicity of Stonehenge.  He climbed the rickety petrified stairs and went down the hall.  Grey light had spotlighted every frame on the wall.  He looked into the empty room, nothingness, then his room, the tank seemed at its faintest, and it was nearing twilight.  He walked past the tank to look out the w
jeffrey conyers Oct 2012
We fantazises.
Yes, we dream.
We hope way down for so many things.

Some states, they want the house with the white picket fence.
But in many in existence, love isn't there.

Many put a front.
Yes, many in life pretends.
Hiding in a house, with a white picket fence.
Where love has disaapeared?

All they see is work.
But don't work at the love.
All they see is mortage,
Without trying to keep love there.

Within the house with the white picket fence.
Abby McMichael Jul 2010
Please, try not to take offense
To the fact that I dislike your fence.
It really does not make much sense
To react in such defense.
You ask why, and I will commence
Explaining my distaste for your fence.
Clive Blake Aug 2017
There's a fence all around me,
It keeps people away,
It gives me space of my own,
It keeps others at bay,
I constructed it myself,
It's the price I must pay.

It goes up for a mile,
While still touching the ground,
People have searched for a way in,
But one has never been found,
It's an impenetrable barrier,
That no sledge hammer can pound.

Does it make me feel claustrophobic,
Or does it make me feel secure,
Once I knew all the answers,
But now I'm not so sure,
Shall I make a hole in my fence,
Shall I fill it with a door?

Here I am stuck
In a defensive retreat,
I once so craved victories,
But I feared more a defeat,
Should I tunnel under my fence,
Should I dig really deep?

Should I stay here in my cocoon,
Or should I go out and explore,
Should I try again to embrace life,
Even though I failed once before,
Shall I cut an hole in my fence,
Need I bother fill it with a door?

My fence was to keep others out,
But it is both friend and foe,
For it also keeps me in,
When all I want is to go,
Shall I place explosives around it
And wait for it to blow?

All right you win, I'm coming out,
Waving a white flag up high,
I hope I fare better this time,
'Cos I'm reaching for the sky,
I'm taking off my lead boots,
This time ... please help me to fly!
Rafael Alfonzo Sep 2015
There’s a second side of the plastic white fence. Maybe it’s wooden. It’s too dark to tell which and it’s been too long since the last time I’ve been near it, couldn’t tell you the last time I’ve even touched it to see. It divides the lawns of my neighbors and my own and I can tell you which side has the greener grass but you’ll know soon enough.
What I’ll tell you is that the last time I saw my neighbor’s ex-boyfriend was in prison. The last time I saw my neighbor was when she bailed me out and the last time I saw her son was at the corner store. I don’t know what he was there for. He was there with three other people. I was there for cigarettes. It’s wild to think how long you’ve seen someone, it could be years over years and still, at the slightest side glance, you know it’s them who stands before you. It took me less than a second to know who he was. I acknowledged him with his name and he tossed a wise look at me and tipped his chin and then left the store. I have only two memories of him. I remember him forcing me to eat ants when I was a kid at his mother’s daycare and I remember him yelling from the other side of the fence, threatening my father’s life. Since then all I’ve known is that he’s just been in and out of prison. He’s out now. I leave my truck unlocked with the windows rolled down and I’m surprised he hasn’t robbed it yet. Then there is the fact that all there is inside are a few books and some empty packs of cigarettes and water bottles. Who would want those?
I’d ordered a drink at a bar downtown and I drank it and paid for it and then left. I’m trying to slow my drinking down, especially on bail conditions. I was out of smokes. I’ve been trying to knock those, too but I was on the edge so I caved and drove to the store to pick some up and there he was. It was an insignificant encounter as I reflect on it but then again; what encounter is ever insignificant completely?
I’m on my porch now smoking and waiting for a woman, who is probably upset with me because I’m not always polite, and I’m looking at the fence and thinking about that saying and about the grass and about my life and about his and about all lives in general and you know what, who cares?
But it is true. There is a second side to the fence. One side has greener grass than the other but the soil is all the same. Even if there is no grass and its desert sand or its pavement or it’s just dirt over there and where you stand. Its quality is all in how you care for it. Maybe I haven’t cared for my life any more or less than my neighbor has, even if it may appear so, but appearances are deceiving. What you always know, instinctively, is how well someone has cared, to what level, how they’ve tended and kept their side and your own as well. In five years my lawn could be overgrown and full of patches and weeds and dog **** and anthills. My neighbors could be fresh and green and mowed. It won’t be so but it could be.
I remember one other memory now. He’d got a new dog. It was a pit-bull. The dog looked scared for some reason. It looked a bit shaken but also defensive. My neighbor’s son kept kicking and punching the cage, poking it with sticks. He got a kick out of watching the animal’s reactions. I can’t say I didn’t either but I stuck my tiny hand in to pet it and the dog licked my fingers and that’s all I can remember. I was knelt down by the cage. Josh was standing above me, watching his pit-bull, laughing. He was always laughing at something.
Now the stone house on the lake front is finished and the
     workmen are beginning the fence.
The palings are made of iron bars with steel points that
     can stab the life out of any man who falls on them.
As a fence, it is a masterpiece, and will shut off the rabble
     and all vagabonds and hungry men and all wandering
     children looking for a place to play.
Passing through the bars and over the steel points will go
     nothing except Death and the Rain and To-morrow.
ghost queen Apr 2019
It was starting to snow as I entered Pere Lachaise cemetery. The few that had ventured in, were streaming out, as daylight faded, fast giving way to twilight, on this 1st of February night. I had 30 minutes of daylight left, to take the shots that I’d planned for all year.

I knew where I was going, having visited the cemetery in the summer, to scout locations for this moment. I walked up l’Avenue Principale towards Le Monument aux Morts and took the first right on l’Avenue des Puits. My pace quickened, not wanting to waste a single second, of the dying light.

I crossed path with the the last stragglers, most likely having paid homage to Chopin or Morrison. I was entering the oldest and most forested area of the cemetery. It sent a chill up my spine, not because of the cold February air, but because of the surreality of what was in front of me, a cobble stone path, lined with old trees, surrounded by an ocean of tombs, fading into the white and gray of a snowy afternoon.

I arrived at my location, the tomb of Heloise and Abelard. I set down my tripod and camera bag. I stopped to take it in. It was eerily beautiful, the snow slowly falling, lightly covering the tomb, the flowers, the love letters, laying around the plinth.

I was surprised at the number of single roses and love letters that were strewn in the yard, between the wrought iron fence, and the tomb. Even during the dead of winter, young women pilgrimaged to the tomb, leaving letters and prayers, hoping their love will last forever, in life and in death. Sadness overwhelmed me, as I felt the longing and pain of their and my,  unrequited loves.

I pulled out my camera, turned it on, double checking the battery indicator and exposure. I put the viewfinder to my eye, slowly pressed the shutter till I heard a beep, as the auto focus sharpened the view and my world became crystal clear. I zoomed in and out, composing my shot. I was too close for my lens. I picked up my tripod, turned around, and surveyed my work area.

I moved up the path, three tombs over, next to an old wide trunked chestnut tree, set my tripod and bag down, and recomposed my shot. The snowfall had intensified, to a heavy flurry. The snowflakes were thicker, fluffier, slowly drifting down like dandelion seeds. I was swimming in an ocean of white magical specks. Everything around me was dusted in ******, pure white powder.

I unfolded my tripod, mounted the camera to the head, and verified it was securely attached. I zoomed in and out till I composed my shot, stepping down the aperture and up the speed, till I achieved the dark, moody, feel I wanted. I pressed the shutter and captured the shot.

I was looking through the viewfinder when a woman stepped into my shot. For a split second, I was angry, then confused, then intrigued. I looked up, stepped back from my camera, to see and understand what was unfolding before me.

She was wearing a full-length white Lynx fur coat and cap, black leather gloves and boots. She was stunning, breathtaking. Was I hallucinating? Was she real? She hadn’t seen me, as I was behind her, catty corner, partially hidden by the chestnut tree.


She was holding something. I couldn’t quite see. I looked through the viewfinder, zoomed in on her. She held a single long stemmed blue rose in her left hand.  Instinctively, I pressed the shutter, captured the shot, the photo, the image, of this unworldly scene.

It was late, almost dark. What was she doing here? Was she praying, why, to whom, Heloise, Abelard, or both? She moved up to and placed her right hand on the protective wrought iron fence. I took a shot, then another. Then with her left hand, she gently threw the blue rose, time slowed, I pressed the shutter, never letting go, as the flower arched in the air and landed perfectly, on the plinth, at Heloise's side.

I released the shutter, still looking through the viewfinder. She placed her left hand on the wrought iron fence, bowed her head, just stood there, in the darkness, in the snowfall.

She pulled her right hand away from the wrought iron fence and wiped her eyes. Was she crying?

She slowly turned around. I pressed the shutter, held it down, for a continuous shot. I saw her face, her raven black hair, her incandescent blue eyes. Like a cannonball hitting me in the chest, I realized and recognized who she was. It was her, the woman from the metro.

She looked up, turned her head, and looked directly at me. I zoomed in, framed her face, continuously pressing the shutter. Her face expressionless, her eyes aglow. Had she seen me? I don’t know. She took a step, turned her head, and walked back up the cobble stone path, and faded into the night, into the falling snow.
I look out the window
Into the yard
I see a fluffy Junco
Sitting comfortably on the fence

I see him look around
Then fly over to the feeders
I watch as he gets some seeds
Then goes back to the fence
He puffs back up
And then out of nowhere
A baby Junco
Crookedly and excited
Flies in
Sits next to his dad
And his dad feeds him
And then his dad is off again
To get more food
For his baby

Over the weeks
I watch the Goldfinches,
The Grosbeaks, the Finches,
The Doves, and
The Sparrows.
All gathering on the fence
With their families
To eat
And I am reminded
Of my family
Gathering around the dinner table
Everynight
Chattering, coming and going
But then I think
That those birds must have it far easier
Than we do
All they worry about is surviving
While we have discussions on
Politics, school, wars
Gossip, rumors, things of unimportance

That's when I think back
To my childhood dream
“I want to be a bird when I grow up”
Because they are worry free
Unlike me
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Essenntial love
Essential loveAugustus said I found Rome brick I left it marbleI find myself vile only through loving Jesus can I be righteous
What happened there was a time I encountered angels read his word ate what I read with a physical sensation I could feel in my
Heart just like I feel when I eat naturally somehow I flipped back to the way I was before these wonders were real I told before
How the love of God as a spear flew off of the record turn table from that moment at seventeen with a lapse of years from
Five to seventeen I lost a holy life because my parents turned from God went back in the world taking me and my sister with them
This is what the spirit said about my parents when he gave me a promise I also told I hitchhiked to camp slept with the cows in
A pasture a hill over from the main camp site this troubled the Illinois district superintendent but God spoke through the camp
Speaker this is what God has to say to someone to identify he said this and when he said it my aunt and uncle setting across the
Auditorium turned and looked directly at me you’re here your mother is a harlot and your dad is a drunkard a month later a
Camp speaker made the same promise but with this stipulation you can change the hands on the clock but you can’t change the
Time that has been forty one years ago it is still true God is not a liar but after the record player I did start back to church all
The time I would seek God to be filled with the Holy Ghost with the evidence of speaking with other tongues no success and then I
Was drafted far from home discouraged I quit going to church this went on for the two years God remained silent humanist try
To tell you can improve all by yourself see if this sounds like improvement one who tried to live right now grass and alcohol was my
Lifestyle if you asked me about it this is what you would have heard Wolfman Jack was our hero for sure when he was forced to
Broadcast from Mexico after violating FCC rules as a DJ and he never sounded as good as when you were high the alcohol altered
My mental state I could think deep brooding thoughts only problem you couldn’t be around me because of self loathing I was like a
Mad bull I was destructive and self destructive that came from self loathing I knew my parents record I got in enough trouble
drinking twelve percent by volume slow gin I can’t stand the taste so I would force it down you drink a whole bottle of anything its
Lights out well it like the lost weekend I came back own leave with grass and alcohol I was a disgusting freak to kids I use to lead on
Jefferson St I found out at a get together at the park that I was the cause for one of them getting drunk the first time there no shame
Like that well except for this there was more but I will just give you the high lights it was night we were all in the barracks I was in the
Latrine standing there doing what boys do well I was holding onto this board up over my head inch wide it was nailed at about four
Feet intervals to these poles behind them was corrugated metal making the wall well I wondered what happened if I yanked on
The board nothing happened except it came off with a terrible crack again no big but is was a big thing to thirty bunk mates
I heard a commotion so I just looked around the door all of them were scared straight or something because they were all trying
To get out of the door at the same time that’s funny when Archie Bunker and Mike did it on all in the family but they thought
They were next on the list I got them calmed down I feel I made up for it when I stood up for them I called a bully outside to fight
That was making every bodie’s lives miserable just like all bullies he was a coward and ended up throwing his arms around my shoulder
Wanted to be my friend I know he was a coward because as I said before I are one next one more dangerous not for whom you would
Think I sent the Sarge to go to the NCO club and get me a bottle of slow gin they had a quart not a fifth but it was without the volume
I took care of the volume and the day room with it one hundred and twenty proof in the middle of this I called one of the saints back
Here well I can’t tell you much but the saint talked to me when I did come home I believe when I hung up the phone thats when the bull
Rang in anyway a Jewish kid was said to have run down the company street screaming a wild man was tearing up the day room it was
Made out of aluminum siding and I only drank half of the bottle if I had drank all of it I would have torn it down not up well trouble
Breeds trouble one guy was write one was wrong well that weaved in and out just like myself I came to myself and in front of me was
My pal from class that I was in Jose Torres an MP sorry but one of the ugliest Mexicans anywhere not just in California but he was
Fired up with that Latino blood he wanted to fight evidenced by the forty five he was waving in my face in that brief moment of
Knowing what was going on I reverted to the primal beast level if you get in a fight you become intensely aware nothing is hidden
I could see it in his eyes he could taste it he wanted to pistol whip me oh contraire my friend I was fifteen and me and two other kids
Were watching tables for the refinery pick nick the next day well six idiots show up drunk drinking beer that was alright but when
Duck tale white under shirt jeans engineer boots stooge started throwing beer on my friend’s dads navy sleeping bag I asked him to
Stop when he didn’t I stood up holding a cow boy belt with a raised horse head on the buckle in my hand for protection well bright one
****** it out of my hand and slapped me in the face with it remember I said bull he was two years older than me but I was big and all
Muscle then I threw my head back and when the blood rose through my eyes I was blind it didn’t matter is was black in the large
Pavilion I couldn’t see only red just before that I was in danger I have seen what a pack of hounds can do to a **** on the ground
I was the **** all were getting ready to rush in but when my blood hit my brain the volcano erupted on his sorry self I picked him up off
The floor then he needed protection God was there if he would have gone down on the cement floor or into the picnic table how they
Are made his back would have been broken but I threw him across the table two feet to the table over the table another four feet
Into a red fence that was stretched there one pole to the next he was going head first about four feet off the ground that fence
scrapped the floor then when it got to the two points those bolts snapped it sounded like a high powered rifle going off he and the
Fence continued two to three feet off the edge of the floor then three feet out in the grass where it folded up around him the fight
Was Over the others wouldn’t even acknowledge him lying out there groaning the fence had become his safety net the next day the
Dad who owned the sleeping bag looked at the two of us and asked what happened to you two I couldn’t see my face but he had three
Deep imprints of the fence stakes plus the twisted wire was plainly visible the marks were up and down you can say they lasted a while
so I looked at this pistol waving clown and just laughed turned and walked down to the MP station I did thirty days clerking in the
Headquarters office for rearranging the day room to the way I wanted it messing with the army is Childs play then God came on the
Scene not so fun I experienced the same thing that happened to a guy that I worked with at the refinery when I knew him he was
An old man I was seventeen but later when he was dying of cancer his neighbor who was in our church set with him and as she did she
Prayed for him until God spoke to her and said don’t pray anymore he rejected me when he was young now I’m rejecting him the story
Behind this was this man was driving a truck back then they had to go out and literally pull him out of the cab his hands were like claws
His nerves were gone that’s what happened to me the only reason I didn’t use lsd was the kid used it all and then the angel had to step
In before salvation came again I was unaware of this but I went to the fire house I set down at the desk next to this other kid and he
kept smiling finally I had enough I asked what’s so funny you don’t remember no remember what last night you ran in and stood at the
Top of the steps six seven feet up out of the office I ran in said the MPS didn’t catch me I then hollered I’m superman and I did a flip
Down on the cement floor I did remember laying on the floor hollering at the fire chief as he slept in the back room off of the office he
Finally told someone to take me back to the barracks so stupidity was running rampant but I was the crew chief and I did my job
And then it happened just like my friend in the truck that had to be pulled out I lost it I was a basket case I couldn’t think straight
Minor jobs that were simple overwhelmed me when that starts you start looking for answers it didn’t take me long to know what was
Going on this rebels running from God had come to a screeching halt I finally had the boys take me to Monterey and let me out I threw
Away the cigarettes checked into a motel a few blocks from the church had to literally cry for God to let me have peace so that I could
Sleep and in the morning dressed went to church as I walked by the windows I heard the congregation singing the songs of Zion a
precious peace settled over me I was home where I belonged.

This is long and serves as a starting point that I want to continue up to Christ’s day of Christmas if it doesn’t work out least you know
my testimony and you can see what God has done for me but I want to try and renew my life and maybe touch you along the way
Tatiana Dec 2019
A crow rested on a fence
and I wondered what this story-book fiend
with his dark, beady eyes, clever sense
and his feathers well-preened
wanted from someone as hollow as me.
I couldn't do anything but wait and see.

What did one say when faced with a crow
who had no appointments to rush to
no place he must go?
As if speaking was something I could do.
So with a wooden arm I gave him a little wave.
Pleased, he came closer, that fabled young knave.

I could not move much and I could not speak
as the crow stopped right at my rooted feet
and prodded my foot with his beak.
I'm a listless liar he deemed worthy to meet.
So I did not speak and I did not move
an inaction of which the crow did not approve.

He flew back to his fence that creaked
and shifted when the wind pressured its joints.
The forceful draft stung my eyes so they leaked
tears, I found I always disappoint.
The crow flexed his black wings
eyes closed as, for him, the gale sings.

I croaked out a question from deep in my throat
the wind became a whisper as the crow paid attention
"Are you here to jeer and gloat
over my bad decisions and poor intentions?"
He shook that dark head and said
"You're a terrible liar. I'm here to help instead."

"But are you not a portender of death
here to show me I have the illest of luck?"
Why can I not catch my breath?
Wondrous wings glide on waning wind then tuck
neatly against his back for he chose my shoulders
to better speak words that doused what smolders.

The crow rested on my shoulders and cawed
a sound soft and broken
and I thought it terribly odd
that the crow would caw when it was well-spoken.
So when the pressure of panic permeated my chest
the crow spoke again so my horrible heart could rest

"If I were just a crow residing on a fence..."
He gestured with his wing to where he was before.
"Then I'd have left you to your own offense
and not show you what you often ignore."
His black wings pushed my head 'til I saw the gate.
Hope swung at my roots freeing my feet from their hate.

"I believe you have many apologies to make."
I nodded my head and the gate opened.
The crow continued, "The right choices often take
an ax to your tree, to your roots. With hope and
desire to change, you can grow something new."
I stepped into the world beyond the fence and away the crow flew.
©Tatiana
A long one. I've always been a fan of long poems and telling stories throughout. What do you all think?
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Essenntial love
Essential loveAugustus said I found Rome brick I left it marbleI find myself vile only through loving Jesus can I be righteous
What happened there was a time I encountered angels read his word ate what I read with a physical sensation I could feel in my
Heart just like I feel when I eat naturally somehow I flipped back to the way I was before these wonders were real I told before
How the love of God as a spear flew off of the record turn table from that moment at seventeen with a lapse of years from
Five to seventeen I lost a holy life because my parents turned from God went back in the world taking me and my sister with them
This is what the spirit said about my parents when he gave me a promise I also told I hitchhiked to camp slept with the cows in
A pasture a hill over from the main camp site this troubled the Illinois district superintendent but God spoke through the camp
Speaker this is what God has to say to someone to identify he said this and when he said it my aunt and uncle setting across the
Auditorium turned and looked directly at me you’re here your mother is a harlot and your dad is a drunkard a month later a
Camp speaker made the same promise but with this stipulation you can change the hands on the clock but you can’t change the
Time that has been forty one years ago it is still true God is not a liar but after the record player I did start back to church all
The time I would seek God to be filled with the Holy Ghost with the evidence of speaking with other tongues no success and then I
Was drafted far from home discouraged I quit going to church this went on for the two years God remained silent humanist try
To tell you can improve all by yourself see if this sounds like improvement one who tried to live right now grass and alcohol was my
Lifestyle if you asked me about it this is what you would have heard Wolfman Jack was our hero for sure when he was forced to
Broadcast from Mexico after violating FCC rules as a DJ and he never sounded as good as when you were high the alcohol altered
My mental state I could think deep brooding thoughts only problem you couldn’t be around me because of self loathing I was like a
Mad bull I was destructive and self destructive that came from self loathing I knew my parents record I got in enough trouble
drinking twelve percent by volume slow gin I can’t stand the taste so I would force it down you drink a whole bottle of anything its
Lights out well it like the lost weekend I came back own leave with grass and alcohol I was a disgusting freak to kids I use to lead on
Jefferson St I found out at a get together at the park that I was the cause for one of them getting drunk the first time there no shame
Like that well except for this there was more but I will just give you the high lights it was night we were all in the barracks I was in the
Latrine standing there doing what boys do well I was holding onto this board up over my head inch wide it was nailed at about four
Feet intervals to these poles behind them was corrugated metal making the wall well I wondered what happened if I yanked on
The board nothing happened except it came off with a terrible crack again no big but is was a big thing to thirty bunk mates
I heard a commotion so I just looked around the door all of them were scared straight or something because they were all trying
To get out of the door at the same time that’s funny when Archie Bunker and Mike did it on all in the family but they thought
They were next on the list I got them calmed down I feel I made up for it when I stood up for them I called a bully outside to fight
That was making every bodie’s lives miserable just like all bullies he was a coward and ended up throwing his arms around my shoulder
Wanted to be my friend I know he was a coward because as I said before I are one next one more dangerous not for whom you would
Think I sent the Sarge to go to the NCO club and get me a bottle of slow gin they had a quart not a fifth but it was without the volume
I took care of the volume and the day room with it one hundred and twenty proof in the middle of this I called one of the saints back
Here well I can’t tell you much but the saint talked to me when I did come home I believe when I hung up the phone thats when the bull
Rang in anyway a Jewish kid was said to have run down the company street screaming a wild man was tearing up the day room it was
Made out of aluminum siding and I only drank half of the bottle if I had drank all of it I would have torn it down not up well trouble
Breeds trouble one guy was write one was wrong well that weaved in and out just like myself I came to myself and in front of me was
My pal from class that I was in Jose Torres an MP sorry but one of the ugliest Mexicans anywhere not just in California but he was
Fired up with that Latino blood he wanted to fight evidenced by the forty five he was waving in my face in that brief moment of
Knowing what was going on I reverted to the primal beast level if you get in a fight you become intensely aware nothing is hidden
I could see it in his eyes he could taste it he wanted to pistol whip me oh contraire my friend I was fifteen and me and two other kids
Were watching tables for the refinery pick nick the next day well six idiots show up drunk drinking beer that was alright but when
Duck tale white under shirt jeans engineer boots stooge started throwing beer on my friend’s dads navy sleeping bag I asked him to
Stop when he didn’t I stood up holding a cow boy belt with a raised horse head on the buckle in my hand for protection well bright one
****** it out of my hand and slapped me in the face with it remember I said bull he was two years older than me but I was big and all
Muscle then I threw my head back and when the blood rose through my eyes I was blind it didn’t matter is was black in the large
Pavilion I couldn’t see only red just before that I was in danger I have seen what a pack of hounds can do to a **** on the ground
I was the **** all were getting ready to rush in but when my blood hit my brain the volcano erupted on his sorry self I picked him up off
The floor then he needed protection God was there if he would have gone down on the cement floor or into the picnic table how they
Are made his back would have been broken but I threw him across the table two feet to the table over the table another four feet
Into a red fence that was stretched there one pole to the next he was going head first about four feet off the ground that fence
scrapped the floor then when it got to the two points those bolts snapped it sounded like a high powered rifle going off he and the
Fence continued two to three feet off the edge of the floor then three feet out in the grass where it folded up around him the fight
Was Over the others wouldn’t even acknowledge him lying out there groaning the fence had become his safety net the next day the
Dad who owned the sleeping bag looked at the two of us and asked what happened to you two I couldn’t see my face but he had three
Deep imprints of the fence stakes plus the twisted wire was plainly visible the marks were up and down you can say they lasted a while
so I looked at this pistol waving clown and just laughed turned and walked down to the MP station I did thirty days clerking in the
Headquarters office for rearranging the day room to the way I wanted it messing with the army is Childs play then God came on the
Scene not so fun I experienced the same thing that happened to a guy that I worked with at the refinery when I knew him he was
An old man I was seventeen but later when he was dying of cancer his neighbor who was in our church set with him and as she did she
Prayed for him until God spoke to her and said don’t pray anymore he rejected me when he was young now I’m rejecting him the story
Behind this was this man was driving a truck back then they had to go out and literally pull him out of the cab his hands were like claws
His nerves were gone that’s what happened to me the only reason I didn’t use lsd was the kid used it all and then the angel had to step
In before salvation came again I was unaware of this but I went to the fire house I set down at the desk next to this other kid and he
kept smiling finally I had enough I asked what’s so funny you don’t remember no remember what last night you ran in and stood at the
Top of the steps six seven feet up out of the office I ran in said the MPS didn’t catch me I then hollered I’m superman and I did a flip
Down on the cement floor I did remember laying on the floor hollering at the fire chief as he slept in the back room off of the office he
Finally told someone to take me back to the barracks so stupidity was running rampant but I was the crew chief and I did my job
And then it happened just like my friend in the truck that had to be pulled out I lost it I was a basket case I couldn’t think straight
Minor jobs that were simple overwhelmed me when that starts you start looking for answers it didn’t take me long to know what was
Going on this rebels running from God had come to a screeching halt I finally had the boys take me to Monterey and let me out I threw
Away the cigarettes checked into a motel a few blocks from the church had to literally cry for God to let me have peace so that I could
Sleep and in the morning dressed went to church as I walked by the windows I heard the congregation singing the songs of Zion a
precious peace settled over me I was home where I belonged.

This is long and serves as a starting point that I want to continue up to Christ’s day of Christmas if it doesn’t work out least you know
my testimony and you can see what God has done for me but I want to try and renew my life and maybe touch you along the way
Seán Mac Falls Aug 2012
Man of science,
Only sees what is there,
Wants to build the fence.

Man of religion,
Out of nothing sees everything,
Wants to envision the fence.

Man of philosophy,
Out of everything sees nothing,
Wants to sit on the fence.

— The End —