04/2010

Written by Ye Olde Scribe The two Nazis were talking in hushed tones just after the war in a biergarten. Hans said, “Ve have to do something about Juden.” Of course this conversation was all in German. Scribe is just too damn lazy to translate it back correctly into their native tongue. Oh, and if you have a tongue transplant in another country, does that mean you can never again speak in your “native tongue?” Besides, you probably don’t know German, anyway, do you? The other Hans; yes, they’re both named “Hans,” answered, “Yes, ve must do something about der Juden before those muttermausen, leftist, pinko, bleeding heart, non Glen Beckus da Schmeckus loving Allies stop us from butchering them.” “Hey, Hans.” “Ja, Hans?” “Have you notice all the weird people hanging around das biergarten lately?” “Ja. Dem ist from das Cambodia.” “Cambodia?” “Ja. Time travelers who selected das wrong destination in die past.” “Who are they looking for?” “Pol Pot. They’re mad about genocide and they want to kill him, or at least urinate in his mouth for supporting das Khmer Rouge: a group from our future that would have made our Fuhrer proud.” “So that means…” Hans smiles.…

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Shadings and colors …At the edge of perception Seemingly . . . Winking in and out at the edge of my vision. . . Teasing me . . . With glorious colors barely in or . . . …Just out of reach. These colors flitter in and out and about. . . …Early in the morning as I walk. . . Or just at the end of the day. . . …As night creeps in. I long to experience . . . drink it in Watch the cavalcade of colors as they Parade across the sky. . . Explosions of red, yellows, ochres and orchids …As I watch and experience them. Experience them walking up at camp when I have …Time to relax and watch . . . Or sitting luxuriously at the beach …Greeting . . . or bidding the day “adieu.” Adieu. . Goodbye. . . ….But with that lingering promise of tomorrow. Many, many tomorrows …Of colorful dawns and dusks. (3/9/2009) ________________________________ ©Copyright 2009 Millie Jenny C, all rights reserved

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Written by Ken Carman When you first adopted me I was young and a bit confused. Something wasn’t right. I was unsure, yet I felt the whole universe was mine. And my world was filled with flying Frisbees. So I dove into my world like a swimmer in Hawaii off of one of the cliffs: deep, high and over, and over again. For a while… that’s all I knew. I aged; as all creatures do. I slowed down a bit. But I never took my eyes off the flying discs. I ate your dog food, though I preferred yours, I stayed in your big pen, though I wanted to wander free and I grumbled when you payed attention to the little dog more than me. I ignored the cats, except when they rubbed up against me or decided I was a landing platform. Then I growled and walked away… annoyed. Nights I pretend to sleep on your couch… or in your bed when you don’t move around too much. Sometimes I do sleep. One night, on the couch, I had a dream. We were in a house near New York City and we were arguing about your mother. I no…

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Written by Ye Olde Scribe Bill and Hillary Clinton’s good friend Kevin Spacey was getting old. We all are. But Scribe means REALLY old. In Hollywood terms: old hat. Out of style. Scribe would type it’s like having the pox, but since his last movie was sponsored by the makers of Special K, maybe a K-POX? It works because it was the sequel to a Spacey movie where a certain race of aliens die off due to The K-Pax-Pox. Having collected a giant fortune from his latter life enterprises “Kevin’s Heavenly Dog Treats” and “Spacey’s Edible Lacey Underwear,” he decided to take his earlier, more known, career fortunes too… and spend his last years in space. He bought the latest tech from a confused Native American scientist, Back to the Future fan and dairy owner named Doc. Hownow BROWNCOW: a More Warped than Normal Drive spaceship. Unfortunately, warping out of the solar system at the speed of stupidity, faster than Mel Brookian Ludicrous speed, he rapidly found himself dangerously close to a disgustingly dishonest black hole named Condi. As everyone knows if you get sucked into a black hole you die, unless of course it’s a Clintonian black hole then…

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Written by Ye Olde Scribe She was his “salvation” Or so he believed He was her opportunity To use the love of another A craven need To watch someone else bleed While claiming with a sad inflection To be starving for affection The more distant he was “Come closer,” she’d say The closer he got The further she pulled away Til one day He told her She was just Oasis of time __________________________ ©Copyright 2010 Ye Olde Scribe all rights reserved

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Written by Minorwork The young mother drops by A tear in her eye Asks for advice that I might give her If I tell her of things I would try The burdend be mine and Id not wonder why. Though some of that I might be willing to do, If my wife would think the same way too. I hear that the man thats been with her two years Is pretty much fed up, said she now in tears. “Your mother or me,” said he. The line in the sand, the slap of the glove, the challenge given. Now I do know what I would have told him. It wouldnt take long I dont take To ultimatums given By God, my wife, or a son tired of living. Yes, those three have been given to me And Im still here, as any can see. How can I not feel for her? She at such a young age So burdened with life, Has decisions to make And shes not yet a wife. Not sure of anything Not knowing what to do Loving her child Who soon will be two. So I cause her to bring in front of her eye Results…

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Written by Ken Carman Prelude We clung together In the blackness of the mourning So dark It seemed night Even though outside The sun shined bright I pleaded, “Please go with me” She begged me to stay We kissed one final moment Knowing we would end Either way Her Story Mere minutes ago We were making love In the file room Before everything Fell apart Last time I saw him Over 100 stories high By the window He waved Said goodbye Then With a sigh He was gone I am so alone I am so alone I am afraid His Story Point your camera now Click the shutter just right You will catch the moment My freedom flight Because of smoke Flames And fire I begged her to try Together we would plummet Together we would fly Now hear the cool wind Gather round me A symphony of sound Rush to meet my savior Soon I kiss the ground Free at last Free at last Free at… _______________________________________ Copyright 2010 Ken Carman all rights reserved

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Now with more than just Easter Bunny bounce!

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The Lutin Muse Literary Journal, April, 2010

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