The Wheels no Longer Turn

Photo courtesy of ghostbikes.org

I see these around town here.  This morning I noticed a new one. So sad.  On the way home it’s all I thought about.  Here is my humble tribute.

You sit on street corners and along roads

across our great nation.

A symbol of those who pedal on two wheels.

The breeze in their face and clear skies above.

Their muscles burning,

breathing mightily.

Until tragically their breathing ceases.

Ended by carelessness.

Quickly and tragically.

You are passed daily

by commuters on foot, car and bicycle.

In large cities and small towns.

A memorial to the anonymous

who lost their life.

Who were you?

A sibling.

A spouse.

A parent.

A friend.

Were you young or old?

Male or female?

You were all of these.

Now you are a beautiful symbol

placed by people who know you.

By a community who cares.

A symbol never to be removed.

Sitting through wind and rain.

Under sunny or cloudy skies.

Your wheels once turned.

Now they are still.

A bike now doctored.

Colored in all white.

The Ghost Bike.

 

This was written for Trifectra; Week Sixty-Six

The rules:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.

• Only one entry per writer.
• Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

DOCTOR (noun)
1

a : an eminent theologian declared a sound expounder of doctrine by the Roman Catholic Church —called also doctor of the church

b : a learned or authoritative teacher

c : a person who has earned one of the highest academic degrees (as a PhD) conferred by a university

d : a person awarded an honorary doctorate (as an LLD or Litt D) by a college or university

2

a : a person skilled or specializing in healing arts; especially :one (as a physician, dentist, or veterinarian) who holds an advanced degree and is licensed to practice

b : medicine man

3

a : material added (as to food) to produce a desired effect

b : a blade (as of metal) for spreading a coating or scraping a surface

 

 

 

I am a Literary Giant

I have exhausted all avenues.  My pile of rejection letters can account for its very own forest.  I have tried all genres.  

Poetry:

Rose are red violets are blue.  My writing smells like poo!

Or what about something deep.

Like this:

The raven flew above the home of those who are suffering.

Circling like a draft that swirls like the mind of someone in pain.

Those who suffer are not suffering but only feeling a pain that is not really there.  

Smile.  The sun is shining into your soul.

Oh yea!  Now that is deep.  Can you see the earth’s core from your spot next to that poem?  Bet you can!

Ok, lets try fiction:

My phone rings unexpectedly.  I answer with a quick “HELLO.” 

“Mr. Shoo, this is Aaron Priestly from the Aaron M. Priestly Literary Agency.  I stumbled across one of your stories on your blog.  The one about the guy who gets the girl and beats up the boy who had the girl. You know the one! Excellent writing.  Suspenseful!  You are a literary genius. I’d like to sign you to our agency.”

Wake up loser!  Your genius is getting people to waste time reading your crap.

How about speech writing:

“Our nation is at a crossroads.  Like one of our great leaders once said, if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the oven. We are in a time of crisis.  When the going get tough, the tough go.  Our nation is one of division.  Long division.  And we have all failed math.  Expect for Bill Gates. And Lebron James. Pay your damn taxes and shut up.”

Wow! Where is Winston Churchill when you need him?  Or Martin Luther King. If that speech doesn’t get our ass in gear what will.

Want more.  Than stay tuned!  This blog is headed in the write direction.  You get it, right?  Or is that write?  Huh? Well you know what I mean.  My righting is improving. 

Like this.  Comment on this! Follow me.  I will be a literary giant!

This attempt at dry humor was written for Trifecta; Week sixty-five.

Using this week’s one-word prompt:

EXHAUST (transitive verb)
1a : to consume entirely : use up <exhausted our funds in a week>
b : to tire extremely or completely <exhausted by overwork>
c : to deprive of a valuable quality or constituent <exhaust a photographic developer>
2a : to draw off or let out completely
b : to empty by drawing off the contents; specifically : to create a vacuum in
3a : to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely  

  b : to try out the whole number of <exhausted all the possibilities>

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.

• Only one entry per writer.
• Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

Cold

“Why did you shoot?”

“Cause I don’t like him.”

“Is that any reason to take his life?

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Nope.”

“You know you will be charged.”

“So.”

“Where’s your soul?”

This was written for Trifextra: Week fifty-three.

For the weekend prompt we’re asking for exactly 33 words of dialogue.

Wind in my Face

Bruno. C. / Art Photos / CC BY

Our family struggles to maintain

our simple existance.

So I ride my bike

into a world of make believe.

Wind in my face

blowing hope of a brighter future

So I can survive.

 

This was written for Trifextra Week Fifty-one.

We want you to choose one of the pictures below and give us a 33-word
response to it.  Your responses will be judged by the community this weekend.
If you use the photo on your blog, you must include the attached
accreditation (with active links).

Pain in His Eyes

I walked into our makeshift barracks.  Sarge sitting on a footlocker, idle and expressionless.  He’s still in his gear, vest and all.  His helmet lay on the floor. His eyes gazing ahead into what could have been another galaxy.  Who knows.

“Hey Sarge, whats going on?”  I asked.

“Nothing Willie, nothing at all.”

“You don’t look  yourself.”

“I am not myself,” he says.  “I am someone else now.  I’m different.”

“You’re creeping me out Sarge, what is it.”

“I killed today.” he stated matter of factly.

“So” I replied gruffly.

Sarge gets up quickly and stomps toward me, grabbing my neck and pushes me against the wall.  Others in the room quickly get up and stand by with looks of astonishment.

“What the fuck you doing Sarge.  This is combat man!” I yell, our faces only inches apart.  “WAR!”

“War! Well war doesn’t take away the fact that I have feelings dammit.”

He lets me go and stares into my eyes, his lips quivering with either rage or hurt.  He turns and walks toward his footlocker.  Its quiet.  He stops and looks around the room.

“I believe judgment will come when I  face God,” he says.  “I get that its war.  That don’t mean it don’t hurt.  What the fuck are you guys, soulless! Look at me, I am different now!”

“You ever kill Mackie?” he calmly ask the Wyoming native laying in his bunk.

“Why no Sarge,” he states in his country accent. 

“How about you Pryor?” 

The cocky Brooklyn native answers “Nah man.” 

“How about you?” he says to me.

“No.”

“I hope you don’t.  None of you!”  he yells.   Then says calmly, “I have to live with this, right or wrong.  Forever.”

“But Sarge, its ok man,” I say to him.

“Oh yea, tell that to that kids mother,” he says quietly.  “Is that what the Marines telling your mother if you die here.  Its ok?” 

War gives birth to pain.  Eternal pain. I now know.  I learned today. From Sarge.

This work of fiction was written for Trifecta: Week Sixty.

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.

• Only one entry per writer.

Release my Past

This is written for Trifextra: Week Fifty

This weekend we’re asking for 33 words about a new beginning.

Mountains to my left
As I drive to its entrance.
Snowcapped, majestic.
Beauty beyond my imagination.
Diverse you are;
Canyons, forest, geysers.
I have arrived.
Yellowstone
My spiritual journey begins.
Release my past.

Spending time with Aldrin and Armstrong

It was a clear southern sky that day in late July 1969.  I was barely five years old.  Now, forty something years later,  I would remember this as the most memorable time with my father.

He woke me up late that evening.  I was confused.  What he was doing?

“Get your slippers on son,” my father said.

But why dad,? Where are we going?”

“Just put your slippers on, I want you to see something.”

Together we drove to a remote spot in the country.  It was a beautiful evening.

“Look at all the stars daddy,” I said. “And the moon is so big!”

It was the first time I remember looking at the stars.  I suppose that is normal for a five-year old.  My father and I walked amongst the sugar cane to a spot along a ditch.  We laid down side by side looking into the spotted expanse of darkness.

“Look at the moon, that’s why we came here” he said.  “Do you know that at this very moment there are two men there Victor.”

“Huh.  What do you mean daddy?”

“There are two men on the moon, two Americans.  Be proud son.  We beat the Soviets there.”

“Are we going to go to the moon too daddy?”

“No son,” he replied laughing.  “It is not America’s intention to inhabit the moon.  Just to visit.'”

“Wow!  Maybe I could go one day daddy.”

“Maybe so son.”

We were there for what seemed like hours.  Just staring at the sky.   He pointed out constellations, many I really couldn’t visualize.  He told me he believed that there were other creatures in space.  He explained that the sky never ends.  We talked about his childhood.  His mom. He shared his memories.  I just listened.   It was the only time I remember that he truely talked.  It was the greatest moment I spent with him in his brief time on earth.  We spent an evening together.  Father and son.  Along with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin.

This writing is FICTION.

This was written for the Trifecta Week Fifty-Nine.

INTENTION (noun)
1: a determination to act in a certain way : resolve 2: import, significance 3a : what one intends to do or bring about   b : the object for which a prayer, mass, or pious act is offered

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.

• Only one entry per writer.
• Trifecta is open to everyone!!  Please join us.

Let it Flow

This weeks Trifecta writing challenge.  As you’ll recall from your elementary science class days, the structure of the earth can be divided most simply into three sections: core, mantle, crust.  Here’s a diagram.

Image courtesy of Danilo Rizzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Give us 33 words from it. Interpret the prompt however you wish–literal, metaphorical, or somewhere in between.

I gave it my best shot.  Here is it.  In 33 words!  It’s called Let it Flow

My heart is like the earth.

A rough crust formed by pain.

It’s mantle houses my everyday feelings.

While both protect a core of Love.

Waiting to be pierced for it to flow.

Too Young

This weekend we’re asking for 33 of your own words that exorcise a demon.  One of your own, or one from your imagination.  Let it bleed on the page.

This week’s challenge is community-judged.

• For the 12 hours following the close of the challenge, voting will be enabled on links.
• In order to vote, return to this post where stars will appear next to each link.  To vote, simply click the star that corresponds with your favorite post.
• You can vote for your top three favorite posts.
• Voting is open to everyone. Encourage your friends to vote for you, if you wish, but please don’t tell them to vote on a number. The numbering of the posts changes regularly, as authors have the ability to delete their own links at any time.
• You have 12 hours to vote.  It’s not much time, so be diligent! We’ll send out reminders on Twitter and Facebook.

Good luck!

This work is fiction written for the challenge above.  Exorcise a demon:

Drunk again.  Yelling. Beating. Pain.  
I have seen it all. 
I’m too young to see this. 
It has to end now. 
I slowly aim
Then pull the trigger. 
Blood and silence. 
Its over.

Finding A Soul

There are moments in time where we meet someone who really affects our life.  That person to me was Gina, an employee I met three years ago in Yellowstone.  She sat next to me at breakfast in the employee dining room and said in a low voice “I see the scars on your arm.  I have scars too, expect mine are hidden inside.”

I stared at Gina speechless.  She was a beautiful southern belle with a lovely South Carolina accent.  Finally I muttered “nice to meet you, I am Brad.”

“I am sorry I was blunt, but I bet we have lots in common.  Our past.  Alcoholism.  Abuse.  Abandonment.  Sounds familiar?” she asked.

“Yes” I replied.  I was numb.

“I understand.  I am here in Yellowstone to heal emotionally and spiritually.  Therapy didn’t help.  So I turned to nature.  Nature will heal me,”  she said staring blankly ahead.  Then she looked at me and smiled.

I finally cleared my throat enough to say “I am here for the same.” 

“Great!   I am here to start a journey.  My last journey.  I am dying Brad.  My body will break down but my spirit will grow.  This I know.  I am here to live, not to die.”

What do I say?   Why did she chose me?  Do I make a friend when I know she will die?

“Brad,  when I saw your scars I immediately knew why I came here.  To find a soul that would understand me.   Are you that soul Brad?”

“Yes I will be that soul. But I am scared.”

“No Brad, don’t be scared.  Be strong.  Your scars tell me your are strong.  You survived.”

She was right.  That was the perfect word for my life.

We indeed had a journey together. It brought us across the US.  Hiking around Europe.  To India. And today we return to Yellowstone.  With her ashes per her request.   My  old scars have healed but a new one is open.  Can I survive now?

This was written for the Trifecta Week Fifty-six using the third definetion of the word:

HEAL

1a : to make sound or whole <heal a wound>
b : to restore to health
2a : to cause (an undesirable condition) to be overcome: mend <the troubles … had not been forgotten, but they had been healed — William Power>
b : to patch up (a breach or division) <heal a breach between friends>
3: to restore to original purity or integrity <healed of sin>