A Prayer for Rain
Honorable Mention, Book Length Prose, WV Writers Competition, 2016
Song of the Lost
Honorable Mention, Book Length Prose, WV Writers Competition, 2016
Was on a late spring evening,
the air was cool and light.
I left the window open,
heard the whispers of the night.
The words arose in quiet tones,
from the sidewalk down below.
The truth’s not there for all to see,
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
Sleep came soft and gentle,
and the hours slipped away.
Till screams of horror pierced the still.
What it was, I couldn’t say.
The veil of night hides many sins,
when darkness says hello.
The truth’s not there for all to see.
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
He asked me for a dollar,
or maybe it was two.
He had to find a way back home,
his daughter had the flu.
I knew that he was lying,
but I didn’t let it show.
The truth’s not there for all to see.
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
I’ll be with you along the way,
our steps go side by side.
Though storms may blow and thunder roll,
my comfort will abide.
But wait, here comes another one,
my friendship to bestow.
The truth’s not there for all to see.
There’re some things you can’t know.
.
Fears that come in sleepless nights,
make restless in the day.
Anxious for the times to come,
we’ve nothing but to pray.
For comfort and a quiet peace,
and mercy free to flow.
The truth is there for all to see,
There’re some things we can know.
copyright 2016, joseph e bird
“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
If you know me at all, you know I like to listen to radio story shows like This American Life, The Moth, and Snap Judgment. There’s another show that I’ve heard a few times that’s more of an interview format called Studio 360. A couple of weeks ago they aired a segment about the concept of Character Alignment.
It has its origins in Dungeons and Dragons. I’ve never played, but apparently in that game you build your own characters. In order to do that, you have to decide what kind of person your character will be. But it’s not enough to say your character is good or bad. So they came up with a character alignment grid. If you want to skip all of these words and go straight to the source (which is much more entertaining), click the link below and skip over to the 33:30 mark. It is, as Mr. Spock would say, “Fascinating.”
If you’re still reading, here’s the deal. In the basic grid, there are three rows of three squares, nine squares total. The upper left hand corner is good, the lower right hand corner is evil. The degrees of good and evil are in between.
The upper left corner square is Lawful Good. This person is good, and can’t be anything but good. He/she follows all the rules and treats everyone fairly. In the world of Star Trek, Mr. Spock is Lawful Good.
To Spock’s right is Kirk. Neutral Good. He’s good, but he’s not above breaking a few rules to get the just result. Think Kobayahsi Maru. To Kirk’s right is good old Bones. Dr. McCoy. Chaotic Good. Yeah, his heart’s in the right place but he can be a tad impulsive.
Here’s another universe for the top row, The Office. Lawful Good is Pam. Neutral Good is Jim. You’ve probably guessed Chaotic Good, Michael Scott.
The next row is Lawful Neutral. Think Dwight Schrute. Law and order are everything. There is no right or wrong. To Dwight’s right is Stanley, the epitome of non-committal. To his right is Ms. Chaotic Neutral, Meredith.
The bottom row are the Evil characters. Lawful Evil. I bet you can guess. Yep, Angela. Neutral Evil, Ryan the Intern. And diagonally opposite of Pam, in the lower left hand corner, is Chaotic Evil. The one truly scary character on the show, Jan Levinson.
As a fan of pop fiction, this is indeed fascinating. As a writer, I think it’s an extremely effective tool. Just like with DnD, I build make-believe worlds and the characters are everything. I like the structure of the Alignment Grid and how it forces you to think of the subtle differences in people. I plan on using it.
As an added bonus (although I’m not sure I want to), you can try to figure out where you fit in the grid. If you’re Chaotic Evil, please keep your distance.
She sits on the porch alone
as we drive by.
Stop on your way back.
Past the house,
we turn up the hill that’s almost too steep.
The trees reach out and touch the car.
as if to comfort, as if they know.
In the clearing, faded flowers lean
in front of slabs of stone,
forever marking the place
where we visit those
we can no longer visit.
Gospel music from across the hollow
filters through the trees.
Dusk is creeping closer.
Has it been that long already?
We leave because we must.
She sits on a swing
built by her husband’s father,
so many year ago.
We sit in rockers
and talk.
The porch is painted white,
the floor boards brick red.
Once-sharp edges are now round
from years of touch
by those who rest on
the hill above.
The swing creaks back and forth,
a soothing lullaby.
Nearby a bird calls in strong song.
Farther away, another answers.
Still another sings the song of
the solitary bird.
A frog croaks.
Just one, for now.
Others will follow later.
A cool breeze brings relief
from the hot, muggy day.
The serenity of the world
from the porch
is comforting.
All things of youth
are memories now.
He is gone.
Though there are friends,
though there is family,
she is alone.
She embraces the solitude.
I love this porch, she says.
In the mornings
on the swing
by myself.
I am blessed.
The Lord
brought him
to me.
And he brought me
to this house,
this porch.
And now,
though alone,
I am blessed.
copyright joseph e bird, 2016
St. Albans native David Hannan dropped by the Shelton College Review the other day to raise the academic level of our group. It’s a rising tide lifts all boats kind of thing. David is studying Creative Writing and Statistics at Marshall University and this summer will spend three weeks at the University of Oxford where he’ll delve into the works of Shakespeare. Also on his agenda while in England is a visit to the Eagle and Child pub (also known as the Bird and Baby, or simply, the Bird) where the Inklings literary discussion group would sometimes meet. The Inklings included C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, among others. Quite a summer ahead for the young Mr. Hannan. We’re grateful for his presence in our humble gathering of scribblers and ink-slingers.
His writing career is off to a good start. He’s already had a poem published in the Marshall literary magazine Et Cetera. He’s kindly agreed to allow me to post it here. Enjoy.
Plato’s Academy
Replace a toga
With holey blue Dickies overalls
Sandals
With sole-less Walmart moccasins
Olives
With jalapeño cheese Munchies
And the Greek amphitheater
With my grandfather’s garage
Amidst the aroma of spray paint
Stale Columbian coffee
And greasy Suzi’s biscuits
I absorbed the arguments of old men
From petty politics to polemics
Pontiacs to Buicks
Cosmology and Corvettes;
From Indian deities
To Oldsmobile leather seats,
Their words spilled amongst the oil on the floor
My grandfather, a man who could bend words
As well as fenders
Welded me into an academic
When his friends would trickle out
Like the last drops of coffee
Our dialectic would begin
Question and answer
Until one was silent
The man who never hugged my father,
Who recoiled from a touch
Reached out
And embraced me with his mind
To try and make me Aristotle.
copyright 2015, David Hannan
As he awakened to the passing of time, his mind skipped over fall, passed by winter, and envisioned signs of a coming spring. Not outside the window of the conference room, where the shadows of the morning and the afternoon grew longer, and the mountains in the distance transformed into an impressionistic painting, but within himself, where the seeds of optimism and hope that had been planted by so many people over the years, were finally growing.
excerpt from A Prayer for Rain, by joseph e bird, copyright 2016
Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.
from the Book of James
Red is real. I don’t know his name, though I did at one time.
When I first saw him, he was probably 15. Maybe older. It was hard to tell because he was big for his age. He was a least six feet tall then, but I knew he was young because his face was youthful. He rode a bike. One of those BMX-type bikes that kids that age ride. Yeah, and a blazing shock of red hair. He had the kind of unconventional good looks that could have landed him movie or television roles. In another life.
I live in a very small town, population around 10,000. Maybe less. I work downtown, such as it is. Downtown encompasses a few blocks. My office faces an alley that’s on the route from the soup kitchen at St. Mark’s to points elsewhere, like the GoMart a block away. Across the alley is a house that’s been converted into a duplex. Renters come and go. There have been good people living in the house, some just starting out, trying to save money and build a better life. There have been others not so well intentioned. Over the years, the police have been called to the house many times.
It was when the house was occupied by others that I first saw Red. He would cruise in on his bike, have some contact with people in the house, then ride away. I sort of knew what was going on, but I had hoped that this kid was just sowing oats, that maybe he would mature and take a different path. There was life in his eyes and something told me there was pontential for great things.
Then I didn’t seem him for a while. Months. Maybe a year or two.
Then his picture in the paper. Busted for something, I don’t remember what. I know it was drug related, but it was more than just possession. It was obvious to me that he hadn’t taken a different path and that he was doing what he had to do to feed his addictions.
I started seeing him on the street again. No bike, just walking. He seemed ok. I wondered if he had gotten help. Maybe he was turning his life around.
Then last night I made a trip to the store. It was raining hard. I sat in my car listening to Ben Sollee on Mountain Stage before going inside. When I came out, Red was walking along the drive in front of the store. He was oblivious to the rain. Then he stopped. He started circling his left wrist with his right hand. Back and forth. I thought maybe he was trying to get something off his arm. Then I saw there was nothing there. He was muttering to himself. He had that look. Frustration. Anger. Fear. In his world, not ours.
Then he started walking again. The look was gone, and he was just a guy walking in the rain.
We see people like this all the time. Seemingly too far gone to help so we just drive by. Like I did. I look back and wonder if I should have offered him a ride, but I know that wouldn’t have been very smart. He was obviously unstable and given his past, even talking to him might have been a mistake.
But I can’t help wondering what life is like for him. That’s the point of the story. He’s tragically broken.
But he’s still a person.
Every now and then we all need shelter from the storm.
i’m not dead i don’t think i’m ded my head is killing me if i were dead there be fire but i’m wet water everywhere
thirsty hungry
damn sun hurts my eyes i must have slept all night got to get up
what the hell is this thing heavy can’t push it dumpster its a dumpster
its not the sun in my eyes streetlight railroad tracks must be behind the stores
gotta get some gotta score
legs are stiff got to go to jimmers just one hit then i get my hed together do a score of my own steeal some cash neeed cassh
dumpster smells sweet like food yeh haf a donut burger bag maybe some fries dammit
jimmers is a long way
its rainin a little ok just walk, red you be ok just walk
people ever where pay no mind red i must be somethin they look at me and scared of me i aint hurtin nobody i aint taking you money not now better be out here than in the jail i score out heer
somethin on my hand its covered in wire cant get it off im wrappin the wrong way get off! other way no other way get off!
someone blowin a horn guy in a truck he looks mad waving at me the horn blows up yurs i tell him get outta you truck and i beat you good yeh i didnt think so
keep walkin red just keep walkin
rain comin down real good so wet cold keep walkin red
road is black and wet and shiny cigarette butts i hate that people be so inconsiderate
where am i the bridge shelters down the road a piece maybe get som ssoup
Hey, Red. You ain’t lookin so good.
weeble weefle weasel weasel, got any smack
I don’t do that stuff, Red. I give you a drink, though.
whats this it aint taste like nuthin
Vodka. Take it easy. I said a drink, not the whole bottle.
thanks weasel they got food down there
They won’t let you in looking like that.
im going to jimmers
No you ain’t. Jimmer done got hisself killed.
jimmers dead
Yeah, man. Got into it with one his dope heads. No offense.
i need a score
You ain’t gettin it from Jimmer. You get outta this rain, Red. Go on down under the bridge. They’ll have a fire going tonight.
i need a score
Damn, Red. You gonna be dead yourself if you don’t slow down.
so
Take my bottle. It’ll get you through the night. I’ll get more.
thanks weasel
Get down there, now.
weasels all right straight up dude i hate the bridge all them weirdos but i gotta get dry all this rain all this rain all this rain
copyright joseph e bird, 2016
Joseph E Bird 