Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Singing the Dying Mark

Sing the Dying Mark

G.L. Snodgrass

She rose from the depths of hell
Chasing me thru the night
From her golden hair fell
A sickly, deadly light

Her horse of the dark fairy folk
Nothing but steam and pitch
Black as Newcastle Coke
Carried the screaming bitch

Banging upon her silver shield
Seeking her old lover
Someone for her to yield
Craving someone to cover

Away she cried, gleaming sword in hand
Away, for all you that lack
Heed my merry band
For I am coming back

Charging, leaping across the air
Her flaming eyes ablaze
Come, my one true fair
Demons we will raise

They followed, her demon hoard
Scratch clawing back to life
Followed her flaming sword
My dead, conniving wife

I died that night
A thousand deaths of hurt
Running from her light
Buried beneath the dirt

My loving wife turned against me
She searches for my soul
All who see her will surely flee
Clawing thru the coal

Hell hides me from her screaming cry
Cowering in the dark
Forever will they fly?
As I sing the dying mark

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Something for Nothing

What do Vegetable Gardens, Fishing, Poker, and Writing have in common? They all provide something for nothing. Or at least seem to.
Like that first day of spring when you start turning the soil, writing a story starts out fun.  It’s full of high hopes and wonderful expectations. Nobody should ever sat down to a poker table expecting to lose. Nobody plants a vegetable garden expecting the plants to die before harvest. A writer should never sit down expecting to write a clunker of a story. They become self fulfilling prophecies.
Every fishing trip I have ever been on. I didn’t know how it was going to end up. A boat full of trophies or skunked. Didn’t know what I’d pull up from under the water. That anticipation and surprise when something new appeared at the end of my hook was exhilarating and one of the main reasons I went fishing. It is the same reason I write.
I find it interesting that my four favorite hobbies all have so much in common.