Young Damsel

Hello there young damsel
no need for distress
If king ye be seeking
This is his address
The tailor just finished
White gown trimmed in red
The castle is waiting
For breakfast in bed

Vampire questions

1.Whats your wingspan?
2.What kind of floss do you use?
3.Whats with the plastic silverware?
4. Can I borrow your sunshade?
5. Do you use a queen size coffin?

The Mountain

He sharpened the briars, steepened the hill, bathed it in oil, and taught it to kill.

Cursed it with fire, and lightening and wind, and forbade the old man to touch it again.

I'll climb it I will, I'll climb it or die, I'll climb the damn thing or learn how to fly

I'll find your giant eagle,I'll lure it with hare, and make me a saddle and fly through the air

Birmingham

The rhythm of the wipers makes me sleepy. It's hot in this old cop car: all the windows closed to keep out the rain. I blink my eyes a couple times and try to see through the grease streaked windshield. Rain still coming down fast. Blurred neon lights reflecting off the shiny wet asphalt street. Don't know how the big cop sees through all the crud. The radio's playing and Nat King Cole's singing We're too young. I just turned twelve which is why I'm on my way to the  Boys School.  habitual criminal is what Judge Barley called me. "Well son worse kids than you have made it in this old world. You'll stay there till you either straighten up or grow up. Which ever comes first. It's a darn sight better'n being out on the streets where you can get killed." I wanna be mad at him but I can't. He's always been good to me.

-

I cry. Silently. Don't want the cop to think I'm a baby. He'd probably tell the guards at the Boys School what a wimp I am. I ain't whining about the past. Its over and done. It's right now and tomorrow that scare the crap out of me. I start imagining what its gonna be like: Barred windows. Gun toting guards. My head shaved. Wearing black striped white pants and shirt. My imagining gets ended when a gas pain stabs  me in my lower gut. The butter beans they fed me for supper at the jail have turned into gas. I sit here hurting 'cause I can't lower the window: no window handles on cop cars. Wish he'd hurry.

 -

"Are we about there?" "Just a few more blocks" he replies in a tired voice. He lowers his window, and a few sneaky raindrops hit my face. The misty cool night air feels good, though. He slows and turns left onto a dark street. Lotsa trees. Off to the left, kind of down in a low spot is a big spreadout one story building, all lit up. He passes the street that goes to it. Darn. We circle around to the right. Ahead is a flickering street light. He slows and we turn left onto a school campus.

 -

No guards. No fence.  Just a house on the right and a couple of spooky dark three-story buildings directly ahead. The cop parks the car, gets my bag of stuff out of the trunk and walks me up the fifteen wide concrete steps leading to a dimly lit office. It's closed, but an old white-headed night watchman, sitting at a school desk outside the office door takes my belongings and records from the cop. He glances at my records and says "Well Norman, welcome to the Alabama Boys Industrial School." He turns to the cop and they talk a bit, then say their goodnights and the watchman takes me upstairs to meet the other hundred or so trouble makers that are about to rip me off.

A pile of bones

The warlock beat the brass pot the witch screeched out the tune
Around the bone pile dancing beneath an autumn moon
Fruitbasket for his headgear a scarf of black she wore
A minion of no power a nemesis evermore
“Come out you evil black cat. A heinous trick we moans.”
“Hiding mama’s dentures in a pile of broken bones.”

Railroad

Sweat running down his face the ten year old boy knocked on the unpainted plank door.  "Just a minnit." A short,  big nosed, hatchet faced, old man stared down at the boy. "What you want, boy?"  "My mom's gone to Tuscaloosa. She told me to come down here and stay with you till she got back."  "Who are you, boy?" "Names Joe, sir." "Joe who?" "Joe Skinner." "When's she gonna be back?" "I don't know."  "Where you all live?" "Across the railroad bridge, a ways down the road." "Well come on in, close the door, or the fly's'll eat us up."  His eyes still adjusted for the bright outside light the boy could barely make out coats and clothing hanging on nails on all four walls. An unmade bed off to the right and a chest of drawers against the wall at the foot of the bed. A framed black and white photograph of a frowning middle aged woman rested on top of the chest spot lighted by sun rays through the large window. The old woman's eyes stared at the boy. The boy mesmerized by the picture stared back. Then with a jerk broke eye contact with the woman in the picture and followed the old man into the next room: a kitchen with its small woodburning kitchen stove, a small table, two chairs, and a home made cabinet. The boy followed the old man out the back door to a narrow sun bleached grey porch. "Git a couple dippers of water out of the rain barrel and put em in the wash pan. Wash up it'll make you feel better." The boy picked up the wash pan and stepped down off the porch, walked to the corner of the house, pulled the dipper off a nail and was about to dip it into the rain barrel when the old man grabbed him by the hair with one hand and the seat of the pants with the other and crammed him into the rain barrel. The water began to bubble, then boil and the old man screamed, and released the boy, stumbled, and fell to the ground moaning. A low rumble came from the barrel as it exploded in a cloud of steam. A red headed creature half the size of the boy walked out of the steam, reached down to grab the old man. But the only thing remaining was the old mans clothes. Screeching laughter came from the roof of the house and a two foot tall tar baby jumped onto the red creature. "We got here first" the tar baby screeched. "Its our world, you know there's not enough of the two legged animals left to feed us both."

Wagon Ride

Yesterday wasn't all that great. A trip to town was in a mule pulled wagon shaking as four iron strapped wooden wheels did an erratic dance across holes,  ruts, and river rock in the sunbaked dirt road. Our rear ends soon aching from the wooden seats endless pounding, labored breathing from stifling dust, little rivulets of sweat burning our eyes, itching dust streaked faces and a mid summer sun that burned our body and soul, and had no pity on man or beast. Mouth dry as an unplowed cotton field. Pop pulled over and we climbed down from the wagon, scooted down the red clay bank to the shallow creek. "Watch out for the minnows, don't drink any". We cupped our hands and scooped up cold clear water that gushed out of the earth from an underground river that began somewhere far away. Thirst quinched, dirt streaks washed off of our faces, and momentarily cooled by the slightest of breezes we climbed back up the bank, got in the wagon and the torture started all over again.