I used to write a bit of poetry here on the Stream, some good some not so good.. here is one that I liked.

Do you feel alone now?
With no place to run,
Like someone’s victimized you,
With a loaded gun.
There’s just no talking about it,
With no haunted words.
It’s just deeds of human doing,
Follows you like a curse.
And all of those needy people,
Creeping in and out of your life,
They don’t justify you,
Or redeem your sacrifice.
And you will abuse you,
With the drugs and alcohol,
And the gun is cocked and ready,
But your not ready for that call.
The life you’ve spent walking,
On that crazy razor’s edge thing,
Afraid of doing Right and wrong now,
And why this life don’t seem to sing.
So carry on my troubled friend,
Don’t think about life’s loaded guns,
Don’t be afraid of helpless feelings,
Only fear not having none.
Scratch © 2006.

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With the final deed finished he went to Taka, and with a sweep of the sword cut the rope that held her prisoner.
“You are free woman, no human, man, woman nor child will kneel before Garbo enslaved.”
Taka’s eyes grew wet with tears.
“Free to do what sir? all that I know is dead, what would you have me do?”
“ I will help you bury and honor your dead, with your past, go forth into the world and live.”
And so Garbo the soldier helped Taka bury her family, and saddled her an animal fit for riding, and tried to see her on her way. but Taka would not have it, and she could be seen by Garbo in the distance following behind him, until her hunger brought her one night to his fireside.

And the soldier let her in, and they exchanged stories of their lives long into the night. She told Garbo tales of love and life that she’d been taught since a child, and he regaled her with stories of his troubled past as a soldier, and the many lives that he had taken and spared with equal abandon. And it saddened her, to see such a gracious heart so troubled, she knew he was a good man forced to do bad things. and she knew in her own heart that there was more to his being, than the ravages of war and death, he’d faced in his life as a kings soldier. And so Taka had struck upon an idea, one that would serve Garbo for the rest of his life. She came to his bed one night and stood before him naked.

And he watched her with a great curiosity as she lay down next to him. Garbo would gaze upon her beauty puzzled.
“And what is the meaning of this Taka?”
“ I have come to teach you Garbo.” she said.
He smiled.
“And what have you to teach me my precious?”
“Love.”
“So you may teach me of love, as I know only the ways of the sword and death. And to what end, to what purpose may love serve me?”
“To save you from such horrors Garbo, as plunder and death, you may protect me from them with your sword, and I will protect you from them as well.”
Again Garbo smiled.
“And just how do you propose to protect me?”
“With my heart.”
And so they struck and kept the deal and years would pass and they would share all of the glorious wonders of the world, and live through many adventures, and teach many lessons, to many others, lost and wandering. And Taka would become his love, the mother of his children, his wife, and his Savior.

Scratch A.B.T. Copyright © 2007.

She had lived in the age of barbarism, in a world where the evils of men, had corrupted their souls and moved them to wickedness and despicable acts of bloodlust , cruelty and death. The Norcai had kept Taka from it for her entire life, and often warned her of it‘s perils. Taught her well they did, the ways of compassion and peace, and love too. But the nomadic Norcai, could not keep her from the horrors of reality for long, as the wickedness rode itself to her very doorstep, and consumed everything around her, until she was alone. And they came to slaughter and lay bare the flesh of those that she held dear to her heart, and the peace loving Norcai were no match for it. So as though a child, she crept away from their torches that came burning a brilliant light, in the dead of night, and watched in silent horror as all who stood were cut down before the sword, until all that was left was the deafening silence of death, and the faint crackle of the fire that destroyed everything she knew.

One stood before her hiding place, waiting for a sign, any sign perhaps, that any living thing should survive past this night. He waited until Taka could no longer be silent, and he clasped a firm hand around her ankle and pulled her from hiding. More came, all gathered around their leader as he inspected Taka almost thoroughly. She feared that she would be raped, but it wasn’t the prospect of rape that kept her from their blades. He was the largest of them all, and as he towered above, his shadow seemed to consume her.
“She is clean and well kept! No one touches her! She will fetch a handsome price at the next trade!”
They bowed before their leader Korak. And fetched a strong rope to tie Taka to a tree with, and then set about the search for food and drink. It was for a time such as this, that the Norcai had prepared her for, to hope when all things seemed most hopeless, to pray when it seemed as though the sky would grow the darkest, and no one would listen, nor answer such prayers.


But another came into the night, and seemed unwelcome by her new masters. One alone against many, stood up in their midst unafraid. He walked amongst them confident, strong, and inspected their deeds.
“You are all strong and virile indeed, to have slaughtered such innocents as the nomadic Norcai, such a peace loving people were surely no match for your blades.”
Korak stood before him in almost outrage.
“ I am Korak.. The leader of the Grome.. This does not concern you.. Leave this place.”
“And the Girl?” he nodded towards Taka.
“The wench belongs to me and is also none of your concern.”
He stepped in front of Taka removing his blade from its Scabbard.
“You are murderers and cowards, the girl is of free will and you will take her nowhere.”

Threatened by the cowardice of the horde, the one alone struck them down one by one. First the mighty Korak, who faced a blade skilled unlike any before he’d seen. Until all that was left was one who knelt before him, with hands raised in almost sheer terror, sobbing as though he were little more than a frightened infant.
“I beg of you sir.. M.. M… Mercy?”
The blade slowly rose.
“You?.. Pleading for my hand to be merciful? You who live the life of a simpleton and a coward.. Mercy? .. Dare you speak the likes of such things to me as Mercy? You know the ways of plunder, thievery and murder.”
His hands were raised in almost a state of panic.
“N..N..No sir!! I am but a humble farmer forced into the employ of the savages you saved me from!”
“Farmer eh?.. Well then look around you humble farmer.. Do you not smell the stench of spilled blood?.. Is this not the work of murderers?.. And were you and your brethren not about to add rape to your list of accomplishments?”
“Rape?? Merciful God NO!!”
“No?..”
He turned to look in the direction of the young woman tied to the tree.
“Farmer.. Life does not suffer fools, this is what I know, I look around at this cold place, and everywhere I see death, innocent blood spilled by the blades of nothing more than scoundrels, This I know because I too have spilled the blood of innocents. In the name of selfish kings, Aye, but spilled it none the less I have. Stand and raise your blade farmer.”
“No… I will Not!”
“You would rather breathe your last breath of life on your knees, rather than on your feet, with sword raised in defense of your own life?”
No Reply..
“So be it.”

Scratch. A.B.T. Copyright. © 2007

He stumbled in from the storm into the abandoned house on blackbird street just after dark, the whiskey bottle still hanging barely from his finger tips, and as the latest surge of thunder and lightning rumbled across the darkened sky he found himself losing his balance and crashing shoulder first onto the decaying hardwood floor. He slowly pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to the staircase and sat down carefully to collect his thoughts. That is when he noticed the first sounds inside the old house that weren’t thunder and lightning. A rattling of chains and then a deep slow painful moan slowly echoed through the halls, and all that Henry Mills could think to do was to take another drink from his bottle. And even when the ghostly apparition appeared suddenly in front of his very eyes, He sat as if completely unaffected. It stood before him wearing the appearance of tattered clothes.. And pale white and rotting teeth and it gave off a ghostly glow, and in a deep ghostly tone it spoke to Henry.

“Who Dare trespass on these Sacred halls??.. Who would Dare disturb my resting place??”
Henry looked up at the ghostly figure and blinked once.. And then twice. And then took another drink from his bottle.

“Sorry mister, My name is Henry Mills, I didn’t know anybody was living here, I just came in to get outta the rain.”

The ghost got real close to Henry, and looked him in the eye.
“Say man? Aren’t you afraid of me? I mean c’mon now.. I’m A GHOST!!”
Henry Shrugged his shoulders.
“I..I.. I mean.. don’t I look Scary??.. Don’t I stink?? Don‘t you smell the rotting flesh??”
Henry looked the ghost up and down, and again shrugged.
“Ya know man.. I’ve been married three times already and I’m only thirty six, one wife, took all of my money and kicked my ass to the curb.. Wife number two kinda looked like you.. And wife number three has a brother that kinda smells like you..”
The ghost slowly sat down next to Henry..
“Geez Henry.. I’m sorry I tried to scare you.. Sounds like you have definitely had it rougher than me. My name was Benny Wheeler by the way”
Henry waved his hands..
“No man You got it worse.. You know.. Being dead and all.. Say by the way.. How long have you been here?”
“Since my wife killed me.”
“Your wife killed you?”
The ghost nodded.
“So… how did she do it?”
“Well her first two husbands died of Mushroom poisoning, and when I told her that I hated mushrooms she waited until I went to sleep and she beat me over the head with a waffle iron. She buried me under these floor boards and the stupid cops never found me”



Henry stared strait ahead.
“Man that is rough. Odd coincidence too”
The ghost looked at Henry concerned.
“What do you mean.. odd coincidence?”
“Well.. My wife has a thing for mushrooms too.. She gots all kinda recipes for em that she got from her mother.”
“Her Mother? Say.. She wouldn’t happen to be a chubby little thing that walks with a slight limp, names Mary Francis?”
Henry stood up abruptly..
“Yeah that’s her Mother! Mary Francis Killed you??”
The Ghost of Benny Wheeler sadly nodded. And then stood up next to Henry Mills.
“Kid.. You better sober up and go home and pack your things and get away from that woman as fast as you can.”
Henry Mills threw aside the bottle and quickly ran towards the door. And disappeared into the rainy night. The following night the ghost of Benny Wheeler was once again disturbed from its resting place, only when it came down the staircase to investigate, it found the glowing ghost of Henry Mills sitting on the front porch, with its chin resting thoughtfully on its hand.
Benny sat down slowly next to Henry.
“Waffle Iron?”
Henry shook his head disgustedly.
“Cast Iron Skillet.”

~Scratch~ A.B.T. Copyright© 2007

Do not resign me to that dark cold place,
Where a real death looms,
Cold, pale and stark against the light.
My wish is but to live in the warmth of this sun,
Where each ray's touch against my skin,
Shines warm, vibrant and as brilliant as the next.
Let such light shine on my path,
And as I walk, let each new day,
Become a new life.

~Scratch~ A.B.T copyright © 2007.

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