Stream of Consciousness #37

I woke up this morning with a name stuck in my head.

"Bernard Malamud."

How do I know that name?

Oh, yes... He wrote "The Natural."

The movie stars Robert Redford.

I confuse him with Paul Newman sometimes.
Newman's makes salsa and salad dressing.
Some of the profits go to charity.

The last time I donated to charity
was last month.
It was a clothes donation.

7 bags of clothes.

7 is supposed to be a lucky number.

They left a note on the door that read "Thank you."
The note fluttered in the breeze
as the wind picked up.

As I pulled the tape from the screen door,
I began to wonder where all the hummingbirds go
when there's a thunderstorm.

It's raining right now,
but all I want to do is sit on the grass
and eat clementines.

What do you want?

The Wolf Dream

Last night, there were canines
in my strangest of darkened dreams.
Walking unnaturally upright in radiant moonlight
And emitting such unearthly screams.

So there in the darkness through a sliver of blinds,
I peer through the window in the hall.
To meet gaze after gaze of yellowed eyes
and hearing their beckoning call.

So, like a man possessed, I went down the stair.
The door's glass fogged by their breath.
I removed the lock and opened the door,
to welcome the strangest of guests.

Then, in the morning,
to the bathroom I crept,

splashing water on my face and neck.
To meet a reflection I knew quite well,
'cept for the yellowed eyes staring right back.

~RJT

Unarmed and Educated

I felt nervous driving to school to teach. 

And it wasn't the first time.
I don't want to think of this place as an institution
where our lives are on the line.

I'm tired of the thoughts and prayers,
so here's exactly how I feel,
I don't want to go to work today
and become a human shield.

You see, we strive to enlighten minds
on a very meager salary.
We shouldn't have to be subject to gunfire
while you defend you right to carry.

So, in the aftermath
everyone wants to become a preacher
Then some idiot suggests that we should go and arm the teachers.

You don't even supply me with pencils, books, and paper.
But you want me strapped with weapons like I'm fuckin' Schwarzenegger?

So, sorry for the language, but I don't find it unruly.
Because I'm trying to plan my lessons and this isn't an action movie.

So take it from one man who has to sit on this front line,
and do what you did in school...

Listen to your teachers this time.

---- RJT

November... (And new book details)

Tom Waits - "November"

My wife and I were married on Halloween, but after a discussion regarding the fall and how happy October makes us year after year, we have reached a consensus. 

November is the creepiest month of all. 

I'll elaborate:

Think of all those dead leaves...

How the ground looks damned 

after a rain. 

The mists of the morning,

and the breath escaping 

like exorcised ghosts.

November,

though nestled between 

Halloween

and season's greetings,

is purgatory

to the darkened 

imagination.

The poem is mine, but check out the Tom Waits' song listed above. If you don't know Tom Waits' work... you're welcome. 

Also, if you want to get the most out of your creepy November, buy my latest book. It's a collection of horror stories entitled A Rustle in the Attic. Have a read and let me know what you think. Leave an Amazon comment. Or buy one for the spooky person in your life. Thanks for the love and support. 

Happy November. See you all very soon. 

Cheers,

Torres

A Rustle in the Attic

I haven't posted in a while because I was working on a new book. It's called A Rustle in the Attic and it's available now on Amazon.

This book isn't like the first. It's a horror story compilation. No poetry. Just nine stories that, I hope, will scare you.

I decided to write a full post about it because I was asked the same question several times since the book was released last week. "Ryan, how exactly does someone go from writing a poetry collection to horror stories? What is the mindset behind such a strange jump?"

I was also asked "Why not a book of love stories?" That question, in particular, got under my skin.

So, I thought about it for a couple of days. And this morning I solidified my response.

I write whatever comes to me. I have written plays, horror stories, poetry, and--yes--even a "love" story here and there. I have a lot of problems letting go of what I think may be a great story idea. But, I had to write a horror collection. when people ask me "what" I write, I say "poetry and horror." Then I get a weird look. Then... a muttered "why?"

If you have love in your life (and it is my hope that you do. Well, actually... it's my hope that you have nothing but love in your life) then you are ready for a little bit of horror. I like to think of horror stories like night swimming. Standing there, by the dark water, maybe the moon and stars above, poking their way through the black sky like pin holes. You test the water. Dip a toe into it. Feel the initial chill, then--once you find your brave sense of self--take the plunge.

You will emerge eventually. You will towel off. You will go home and shower. You will get comfy and drift off as slumber beckons. But that small experience will still be there. It happened. And you may or may not dream of it later.

I have all the love I need. But I never turn down the opportunity to swim after dark. And, I am always dreaming.

Fondly, and with love (of course)

~Torres

Playground

At the park yesterday,

while walking the dog,

I passed the playground.

Within a world of wood shavings and swing sets
were children
running and giggling.

A Muslim child.
A Jewish child.
An African American child.
And a pale, Irish girl
being chased by a Hispanic boy.

They were all there.
And they were all out of breath from laughter.

There just wasn't enough time to hate each other...

There were dragons to slay.

High seas to sail.

A Justice League to unite.

Someone had to save the world...

Imagine if we could strive to be those beacons of hope.
Imagine if we could unite for that common good.
Imagine how easily hate could have a change of heart
if it just accepted the invite to play
instead of watching--
alone--
from outside of the fence.

The truth of our endurance
will leave that playground at dusk.
It will arrive home safely.
And after brushing its teeth,
and hearing a bedtime story,
it will dream of the heroes it will meet tomorrow.

Change

If you wish to see it,

this has to happen first:

You will have to get angry.
You will have to cry.
You will have to see it affect those close to you.
You will have to become desperate.
You will have to feel lost.
You will have to lose sleep.

You will have to find humor in all of it.

Then,
you will plan.

Then,
you will follow through.

Then,
you will bask in the glory.

And then,
you will be happy...

...until the cycles begins anew.

I promise.


---

"Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.
After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water."

~Torres