creative writing

Direct-to-Video

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Purgatory can be found on Earth,

In thrift stores,

bargain bins,

And supermarkets.

Names and faces,

Some famous,

Some strangers,

Etched forever into

Sequels no one asked for,

To movies no one’s heard of,

Residing in everyday

Neighborhood haunts.

Horrifically corny schlock,

Poorly-written nature docs,

For children,

And TV movies that aired once.

No one makes something,

That no one is supposed to see,

But you wonder

whether these people

are where they want to be,

When you can buy half their filmography

for five dollars

and get one for free.

But maybe this is their dream,

To do what they love doing,

Make scenes,

And be seen,

Without being heard of.

Those souls are in my thoughts

For now.

Plasmids

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Genes generated,

as standalone

updates and patches,

to be mixed-and-matched,

and exchanged among clones.

“Enclosed,

you will find,

my latest experiment.

After tinkering with my code,

I’ve increased recalcitrance,

By twofold.”

You scratch my back,

I’ll scratch yours.

Even bacteria

can do business,

they innovate,

compete,

consume,

and coordinate,

under our noses.

I’m Being Published!

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The fine folks at Z Publishing House have selected my poem I Hope you Find What You’re Looking for to be published in their compilation “New Jersey’s Emerging Poets!”

I’m very excited and thankful, and wanted to share the link with my followers here, which you can find below.

http://www.zpublishinghouse.com?rfsn=940491.a8f6e6

Stay tuned for a new poem today, if you’re into that sort of thing…

Entropy

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Things rarely coincide,

With our colorful graphs,

Hopeful expectations,

measured projections

And detailed guides.

There is truly evil,

And bright spots to counter it,

And most know the typical script,

To this classic conflict,

Up to its denouement.

But change the variables,

To the triumph of chaos

Over order,

And few fear anything more.

Yet in this life,

The single worst bet one can make,

Is that everything will become predictable,

And clinical.

That with time’s inevitable,

Inescapable lapse,

That the house will never one day

collapse.

We won’t relive the past,

Though things can relapse,

Because with the march of time,

We can revisit where we’ve been,

But we cannot become again.

We exit states of high concentration,

To return to areas of low,

Momentum erodes,

Into stillness,

With building pressure,

Comes a sometimes violent

Release.

Order decays

Into disarray,

Unless you’re there to pick up the pieces.

RE: Red Tape

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Dear [POLICY HOLDER 112A-47D43],

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Here at Liberty Bell, we feel the same way as you, we’re sure. That less freedom, is more freedom! Thank you for your patronage.

Sincerely,

Liberty Bell Telecom

The Vampire Squid From Hell

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Hell’s ninth circle,

Cocytus,

was very different from the previous eight-

marked by eternal darkness,

freezing cold,

and pervasive lonesomeness.

Denied contact,

denied comfort,

denied death,

all within are peers,

with Earth’s

worst-of-the-worst,

as even the Devil himself

shares this fate.

In the ocean,

in depths so great,

not even light reaches,

lives Vampyroteuthis Infernalis:

Vampire Squid From Hell.

Black Sheep of the family

Vampyroteuthis’ environment

Demands no siphon,

Demands no camouflage,

Demands no color,

but, nevertheless, they make due,

and use the familiar deception,

to get by.

Bright blue,

pulsing photophores,

at the top of its head,

and tips of its tentacles

bring light,

to its dreary life,

and dissuade the monsters,

lurking in the shadows,

from attack.

It wraps,

its tentacles around its body,

exposing the bristles underneath,

to keep more brave beasts at bay.

But when it’s in real trouble,

it squirts ink,

thick and glary,

alive with dazling bacteria,

and closes the glowing “eyes”

on top of its head,

to foster the misconception,

it has gotten away.

The Vampire Squid,

cares little for your perception,

because what’s in a name?

It uses the hand it’s dealt,

and finds its daily bread,

by any means necessary.

You’d be Surprised

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At the open-air bazaar of ideas hangs

A smog of apocrypha,

So thick,

You could bottle it,

For any one eager and gullible enough,

To buy.

Yet filtering the miasma,

Of misinformation,

For its kernels of truth,

Shows how easy it is,

For certainty to be crowded-out

by lies.

It covers your face,

With thick soot,

The smell lingers

And stains your clothes-

The gasses

will burn your eyes.

But just because the truth is scarce,

Does not mean it’s not worth the trouble,

Of uncovering-

Keep your hazmat suit handy,

And your goggles on.

Prospecting is a hard days work,

For little pay,

But, nevertheless,

You will find it enriching

If you see it through.

Ransomware

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With one careless,

errant click,

the line I cast

with which to phish

has gotten a bite.

I seemed to be his boss “Theresa” —

but with an “e”

at the end.

He completed his normal routine

without another thought,

like a good worker would,

sent me his credentials —

when I felt the time was right,

I reeled him in.

His company put all their eggs in one basket,

so I decided,

to scramble them.

For a small fee,

I will unencrypt,

What they so graciously

gave me,

at my own discretion.

Phishing is not a contact sport,

it is not fraught with danger,

you can lounge in your robe,

and not leave your seat.

Still,

it’s not for the faint of heart.

What webs we weave,

when we practice to deceive,

but at least there’s some money in it.

Planned Obsolescence

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You can put lipstick on a pig,

but at the end of the day,

the shade may just go out of style,

because of controversey

over animal-testing.

I’m telling you this,

on perhaps the most important invention

of our time,

using architecture and infrastructure,

built by brilliant minds

and billions of tax dollars-

that is being sold back to you monthly,

bundled with cable TV and a landline,

that serve as expensive

background noise,

A smartphone accomplishes all of this,

Just don’t let it shatter, bend or explode.

Cars these days,

are safer than ever before,

because fender-benders,

smash their plastic bumpers,

spiderweb-crack their Plexiglas,

and collapse their every crumple zone,

like an empty tissue box,

to be thrown in the trash,

and left out on the curb every Tuesday.

It’s very hard

To practice what you preach,

When screaming,

“Waste not want not,”

While standing at the summit,

Of your own personal

massive garbage heap.

War Games

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Three TU-95s,

Proudly announcing,

Their arrival,

With droning,

Moaning,

Turbines,

Heard for miles.

A flying fossil,

One should not sleep-on,

And is impossible to ignore-

You’ve already heard it,

Long before,

It’s dropped its ordinance.

Four engines- eight props,

Send “The Bear,”

Roaring through the sky,

To survey the territory.

Edging up,

To other’s airspace,

It’s the same old song and dance,

As six cutting-edge stealth-jets,

escort the old Bear,

back from whence it’s came,

Just stopping by to say “hello,”

And keep you on your toes.