mountainside

Posted in Uncategorized on 10/26/2012 by WEM

Walked out of the mountain,
Screamed center of crumbling granite,
being cisterns,
veins of glass,
scattered throughout,
So full it walks about by itself,
What few oak scrubbed the floor,
Of the world worked through sound,
Did I hear it?
Say, dare asked questions,
from the small hematite in my left shoe,
I knew already,
There I had been,
In the shadow of a mountain,
A greedy mountain of granite,
quartz,
Catching the sun like glass,
reflection,
of what would have been a soul,
before it is buried,
in a dark wet cave,
that very hard to find,
on the mountainside,
slide,
slid.

Kevin Collier

Posted in Uncategorized on 10/25/2012 by WEM

Elementary school was particularly unpleasant. I didn’t fit in with anyone save for my only friend Tom Jackson. I really don’t remember much about Tommy, he lived in the neighborhood on the other side of the elementary school that we both attended; Plymouth Elementary.
We used to sneak out nights and meet up to prowl around our neighborhoods. We were a general nuisance to anyone and everyone who was foolish enough to sleep at night. On the corner of Cheerful Dr. and Smiley Ln. there was a house owned by a man in his early forties. He was in the process of building a new brick wall, separating his property from Smiley Lane. All day long, as we watched from time to time (from a distance), he would build his wall with professional precision. Clearly he was very, very proud of his handiwork. That night, after everyone in the neighborhood would go to sleep, the place quieted down, and we came out. Tommy, David Barlow, my older brother Andrew, and myself snuck out of our houses while our parents slept peacefully in their beds. We met at a pre-designated spot and caroused down the roads that read more like a recipe for a happy life than street signs. Eventually we arrived at our target, the brick wall, freshly and still wetly mortared. Without hesitation we began to kick it down and destroy that days hard work. Did I mention that we were little shits? Well, we were.
That night was the third time we attended to the wall. We started with the top layer, knocked the bricks to the ground from the still wet mortar and exposed the next layer. As we began on the second row the porch light of the house suddenly turned on, illuminating our devious handiwork. The front door slammed open. Without hesitation we were down the street as fast as we could go. From behind us came the patter of bare feet included with a voice yelling at the top of a pair of powerful lungs, “You damn kids, I get you little bastards.”
I turned my head as I ran and couldn’t help seeing, even in the dark, that the homeowner had got out of bed so fast, with so much anger, that he neglected to put on any clothing. He was completely naked. I wasn’t the only one who noticed this and it was Tommy who started yelling back at the top of his lungs, “Harry Balls! Harry Balls!”
We all joined in an chanted as we ran, “Harry Balls, Harry Balls!”
He didn’t know he had left his house in nudity and the moment he realized it he stopped dead in his tracks. Even though it was dark out we could still see the embarrassment that overtook his anger as he turned round and fled back into his house. We walked the rest of the way to where we originally met, then walked to our homes and snuck back in, relishing in the new story that we had acquired.
The ordeal of elementary school was a daily ritual of violence. Being only a few blocks away, I always walked to school. Every morning, like an unbreakable alarm clock, was my mortal enemy, Terry Lund, waiting to beat the shit out of me. I don’t know why he did it. Perhaps he was just a plain and simple bully. Why he singled me out as his target I will never know. At this point I am not really interested in finding out.
I was in the sixth grade, Terry was in the fifth, but he was huge. The largest kid in the school. Every morning he would beat me up then I would go to class. Again and again, beating…class, beating…class.
On the day that I decided that I had had enough there was no snow on the ground. But it was the dead of winter and the sidewalks were semi-covered in ice. Heaven only knows why I wore the shoes that I wore that day. All I know now is that then they had no business being on my feet. They were what we called ‘sunday shoes’. Polishable slicks with absolutely no traction. But I didn’t care, I had had enough from Terry Lund. I didn’t know how but after this morning I knew that he would never bother me again.
I found him sitting, surrounded by his friends, on a sidewalk that ran the length of the south side of the school. They were laughing, telling jokes amongst themselves. Five of them, but the only one I remember besides Terry, was a small squeaky kid named Kevin Collier. If Terry would have been a bulldog, Kevin would have been a weasel, a bouncy weasel. And the only offence that Kevin ever committed against me was being friends with Terry Lund.
When I saw Terry I knew in that instant what I was going to do. I didn’t hesitate or give him a chance to even look up and see I was there. I walked straight up to him and with everything I had, kicked him right in the face. I remember this as though it happened an hour ago. He fell backward for a moment but immediately recovered. I was almost as surprised as he that I had it in me. Terry stood up with no waiting in line and punched me in the ear. A dull thud bounced through my skull and time slowed down. Anyone who has ever been in fight would now that ten seconds can seem like a minute. It is an odd but well-known phenomenon.
Terry punched me, I kicked him nearly falling every time because of the shoes I was wearing. I don’t know how I didn’t fall. After a while I had been hit in the face so many times that I was becoming numb. But I didn’t stop or give up. He was never going to beat me up again. I had decided.
It didn’t take long for a circle of kids to form around us. Word spreads fast in the schoolyard. One of the kids in the circle started yelling at me, “sissy kicker, sissy kicker!” I know it was petty, but for some reason that really bothered me. It wasn’t as though I had my hands full with Terry, and I can’t explain why, but I punched this kid in the face. Hitting him square in the nose. Blood spurted out. However this caused a problem for me as now there were two kids beating on me. I was lucky because it was at that moment that the school bell, announcing that class was started, rang. And the fight ended so abruptly it was almost as if everyone was teleported away. I was left alone on the sidewalk. Not one teacher, student or anyone else around to chastise or console. But I didn’t care, and I didn’t go to class. I walked home, bruised but satisfied because I knew that he would never beat me up again. And he didn’t.
It was about a week later that I was in my front yard with my BB-gun. Across the street at the Chatwin’s house I saw Kevin Collier Knocking on the door. I laid down into a prone position and shot him right in the ass. I was a very good shot with my BB-gun.

Moments

Posted in Uncategorized on 12/18/2010 by WEM

She is the empty part,
Yet she is always with me,
Even in distance,
Only a foot,
Or thousands of miles,
Makes no difference,
How could I ever forget her,
To talk with her,
Even across a table,
Like we did,
Once before,
Would be too much to ask,
I fear,
The most important
Bridge,
Breaks what heart is left,
What heart she owns,
This heart she owns,
I can’t escape her,
No matter how hard I try,
To forget,
I can still feel,
Her spirit,
Comforts me,
In the deepest hours,
And loneliest moments,
I don’t understand,
How this can be,
If only for a moment,
To understand,
What has happened to me.

Posted in Uncategorized on 12/14/2010 by WEM

Every day,
nothing.
Sounds redundant,
but what do you expect?
This is always the same.
I would rather not.
like skipping,
broken hearts,
after the minutes of agony,
make life bare,
another blaze of redundancy,
Fuck,
just another bullshit
stream of words,
that pour out from
who knows where,
and solve nothing.
because there is nothing to be solved.
only unregistered wishes,
that never get answered.
Wishes for what can
never be granted.
By any self-respecting God,
only a fool would hope
for such a thing,
So call me a fool.
And grant it.

Redundant

Posted in Uncategorized on 12/03/2010 by WEM

Certain things in life become redundant,
So we don’t do them anymore,
But,
What do you do,
When,
Life,
is.

stale

Posted in Uncategorized on 12/03/2010 by WEM

really,
I am lost on the point,
of writing all this shit,
shit.
I am looking for a new life,
but there is only nothing,
say in,
day out.
It is not just negativity,
When life proves it,
again,
and again.
I dressed and went out,
smelled the air,
wrapped a long gray scarf,
around my neck,
it was not stale,
for some reason,
I was expecting that.
Weren’t you?

nights.

Posted in Uncategorized on 12/02/2010 by WEM

These nights are excruciating,
biding time like a prisoner,
waiting in loneliness,
for the new day,
to begin,
again.

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