Friday, March 7, 2014


It smelled like shit and hot sugared donuts, like whiskey and burning rubber, and the sickeningly sweet smell of infant vomit. It was thick with ash and the smells of burst pipes and carpet burning. But what made it awful, that kind of awful that made you cover your mouth and hope you could hold your breath until you got away from the smell was knowing that there were people in that smell. And fear. You were breathing someone's frantic last moments, their panic and fear, and their aching longing for the ones they loved and the unfinished lives they were trying to save by running harder and leaping down stairs and out of windows and over bodies of others who had already lost. You were breathing those people and it was terrifying. And although you wanted to get away, you wanted to get closer. The streets were closed and the area was draped in yellow tape and only the emergency vehicles were coming and going from the area. Ground Zero. But something inside wanted to get closer. To see it nearer. You could see the sheared building tops, the raw metal reaching into the sky, the smoke that still billowed days later, and you knew it wasn't a pretty place. If it smelled like that why would you want to get closer and see the smell? Why? It was terrifying.












(all rights reserved.)

Monday, February 10, 2014

Welcome

For those of you who are viewing this little blog for the first time: Welcome!
I tried to add a permanent welcome paragraph to the blog that wouldn't disappear as I added new entries but I am having issues with editing the layout. And so, this blog is mostly made up of musings, poems, phrases and such that have been found on actual bar napkins. I tend to be inspired when I am out with friends in the evening, and I hardly ever have a notebook with me. As a writer, I am blessed with a muse, who comes to me and writes many of these little poems through me. I thought giving her a voice like this would be a great way to thank her. I would like to let any readers out there know that nearly everything here is a one draft creation. I usually just copy whatever I have verbatim.
 At least that is how this blog started out. I've also used it to convey my feelings on a couple of random topics, such as a feeling that the Christmas Season wasn't what I hoped it would be, how people have become rude when walking on campus, and on challenges I've faced while taking classes at GMU.
Two of the stories; A Fantastic Noise and The Little Man, were written in one sitting. They rushed right out of me, but were not written on napkins. They have been edited only for punctuation and spelling. The content is truly one draft creation.
I hope you enjoy this blog. I do welcome feedback!
Have a great day and thanks for reading!
Sharlene

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Holly has gone.


Holly has gone

lightly

a skip within her step

she is denying all

her past and

living for the moment

50 to go to the

restroom

 

a guitar upon the

stoop

lovely love and

longing more than

that little frame

can contain

a cat's whiskers

 

brush against her

ribs

a paper bag of love

and a train ticket

to explore

come with or come

without it will

not make Holly shout

 

Facing shore

but does she want to

the ocean is so big

and it loves me

the horizon beckons

it wants her

the fish are singing

while they weave between

her legs - a net

of love

of eternal life

she holds her breath

a moment

and lets it all go

and she is among

the stars

 

 
all rights reserved
This is just a first draft. And it was indeed written on bar napkins. And obviously inspired by a famous movie character.

The Case of the Runaway Sneaker

Written when I was Ten years old or so.

1979 maybe

 

            It was July 4th, 1947. It was dawn at the boy scout summer camp for ten year olds. None of the boys were up yet. Their camp leader, Mars Homes was down by the river when a noise startled her. She turned around with a jerk. Then she heard the sounds of leaves crackling!

            She hestitated to run, for she was curious. Were the boys up yet? After she was sure of herself, she got to her feet. Slowly she went towards the camp.

            She checked on the boys. Each and every one were there. Ernie was there with Sam by his side. Leroy was againest Scot's back. Then she checked on the others.

            Ten minutes later they were all dressed, except Ernie. He could need not find his sneaker. Soon there was a search party formed. Leroy took South, Ernie took East, Scott the west, and Sam was left with North. Mrs Homes stayed at camp to watch the belongings. Everybody met at camp. There was no luck among them all.

            By that time, Mrs Homes had decided to call on Mr. Roy, a great detective. So all of the scouts packed into a camp bus and off they went. When they arrived the maid was washing the windows. Mrs Homes rang the bell and in less than a minute they were in his office. Before Mrs. Homes had time to talk, Ernie had told the whole story. Mr. Roy called his one and only child inside the room. Then introduced her. Her name was Valerie. She was his helper and assistant. Her father told her to pack her bags, she was going to camp with the scouts to help solve their problem.

            When they arrived at camp Mrs. Homes told the boys her name and they told her their names. Mrs. Homes showed pretty Valerie where she was to sleep which was with Mrs. Homes herself. The next day she went straight to work. She dressed and eat a fast breakfast of boxed cereal with milk. The first thing she did was question Ernie. She asked him when and where he last saw his sneaker. She also asked him if there was anything valuable inside it. His answer to the valuable question was, “Yes, a ring I found on Wednesday.” Just then Leroy called from outside. “Hey Ernie, what do you say we go down to Treasure Beach?” Ernie said with a laugh that he would come if Valerie came along. So Leroy agreed. They explored for quite some time.

            When they got back to camp they were greeted. They changed and climbed into their sleeping bags. It had been a long day. Valerie was sure the problem would be solved.

            Now it was July 7th, 1947. Valerie was up first. She could not sleep. She was trying to think. What should she do next? She was puzzled. She would call her father. She quickly dressed and was on her way. She went to the nearest phone booth and called. His advice was to go to town and turn left, go three blocks and turn into a dirt road which would bring her to Treasure Beach. He also told her to bring a map which he had put into her bag. She was told to go to a point marked X. There she would find a cabin where “Mad Man Tom” lived. When she arrived at camp they were all up. She told them what she had done. Then went on her way with the map in her hand. When she arrived at the cabin she shook with fright. There was an old broken bench in front. The windows were smashed to pieces. She knocked at the half rotten door. “Hello in there!” she shrieked. She hestitated but slowly opened the door. Inside was a mean looking man.

Revenge


Revenge

 

 

I hoist the bat to my shoulder as I nervously stand at the door

I finally lift my hand to rap and wait for noise from inside

He deserves this display of raw anger after what he did to me

I call him names like maggot and faggot in my head

I remember all the things he said to me

I hear a shuffle behind the door and I steel myself

The door opens and I look right into those empty eyes

I see the flash of recognition and then the confusion

I push my way into the room and wielding my bat I bring it across his calves

As he crumples to the floor I say to him, “ how does it feel to be helpless?”

Out of the corner of my eye I see movement

Turning only slightly there is a small face peering at me from behind a toy chest

I turn to the victim and tell him that he will live tonight but he will never forget my charity

Storming out of the room I tell myself that I have made the right choice

I pick up my cell phone and call the police

“I have just assaulted the man that raped me in his home. His name is….”

 


all rights reserved.
 

Thursday, December 5, 2013

The first date

The meeting is arranged by phone and text,
I'll wear that red sweater so you'll know it's me,
I'll be in the corner,
Watching the door,
I'll get there early,
With hopes of steeling up some jittery nerves,
With hopes of a handsome face leading the way for a handsome soul,
Coming to this place tonight to meet me.

I'll forget my own name when you approach my table,
I'll be embarrassed by my lack of charm,
That will set the tone for the whole encounter,
Or so, I will think,
But you will find me charming despite this,
And you will try to make me comfortable.

We will ask each other the standard questions,
Where do you work?
Do you like it?
Where are from?
Family?
And I'll tell you too much,
And I'll regret that for sure.

But you don't think I talk too much,
You are happy to listen,
You seem really interested.

But then it's getting late and it seems we should go,
You say it was nice to meet me,
My heart skips a beat,
Does that mean you will ask to see me again?
Did I really pull this off?
Did I really just meet someone who might want to see me again?

No. I didn't.
You walk me to my car and say thanks for the conversation.
You give me that awkward hug.
My nerves are on fire,
and my face I'm sure is bright red.
You say, "I'll see you around. Goodnight."

I get in my car and I collapse in tears.
I said too much.
I revealed how nervous I was,
It wasn't charming.

I wipe my face and pull out into traffic.
I don't see you looking back.
I don't see anything.
I don't see the 18 wheeler with it's lights off.
I don't see the look of horror on the drivers face as he realizes we are about to impact.
I don't see him and I don't see you.
And I don't see anything ever again.



(all rights reserved. Sharlene)

Friday, October 4, 2013

The house in the pine trees.

When I was little, about nine or ten years, I lived in a world of my own creation. I had a house in the pine trees that grew along the edge of our yard. There were three of them. Whispering pines was the name we gave them. I would make my bedroom under the biggest tree. The doorway to my house was a space between two of them. And the kitchen and living room were under the other two trees. I piled up pine needles to make my bed. I hung my cup on the branch of the kitchen tree. I would crawl around under those trees for hours. I would bring a book and a blanket sometimes.

My sister and I would take our rakes and make a little town in the yard. We would have roads that connected to each other. We rode our bikes up and down those roads that we had created by raking paths in the leaves. We would "go to work" and then come back to our houses to have dinner and sleep through the night. Waking up again only minutes later we would make breakfast and tidy our houses and then back to the bikes and our busy work days.

My sister's house was under the grape arbor. Her house was bigger and sturdier than mine. But she was bigger and that made sense. Sometimes we would go "visiting" and ride our bikes to the other ones house. They were only yards apart but in our world you needed to ride on the roads to get between them.

I don't know why I remembered this today, but I am finding myself missing my house in the pines. I liked it when I was laying there and the wind moved the pine needles and they whispered. And I liked it that my sister would play with me. It was nice growing up with a playmate. That yard is the same one that we used to play softball in. We would pratice hitting there. There were three big trees on the top of the bank at the end of the yard. My dad put up a fence of chicken wire connecting the trees and filling in the open space between them so that our balls wouldn't go into the road.  The chicken wire is gone now. The kids that live there now don't play in that yard so much. But it is a magical place and I hope they find that magic.