The Children

The Children

They've been grabbed at.  They've been stabbed at and they've been polluted to have been prostituted.  They're under the gun so to here they run and all we look to do is to restore order across the border.  All we want to do is to send the wetbacks back.  All we want to do is to act like we're under attack.

We do not even morn the fact that the lives of the children have been torn.  They have nothing to eat.  They have no shoes on their feet and they have no warm bed to greet.  They sleep where they can while hopin' to keep one eye open.  Their parents have sent them away in hopes of a better day.

For us the sky is bright and so we play in the sunlight.  Opportunity is abound and can be found all around.  We have schools where our professors preach to teach.  We have Disney Land where we get to when we can and we have technology for which we make no apology and will even find it odd if you don't have an iPod.  Our children think of skating rinks.  Our children think of going to a groovy movie and our children dream of hip rocket ships.

The children across the border merely look to strive to survive.  The children across the border shiver as they cross the river in the brief belief that hope floats.  The children across the border merely wish for a clean floor and for perhaps the chance to never again be poor.  They simply want something to live for and so they see us as the diamond in the sky to which they try to fly.  We act like ogres who wish to deny them any slice of the pie and seem not the least bit embarrassed that they needlessly parish.  Life is what we're supposed to cherish.

The world is looking at us while we watch the children bite the dust.  We act like we have other important matters to discuss.  The image that lingers is one where we seem to point fingers as to whose fault it is for so many young who come to us out of desperation.  This makes for the perfect perturbation where the ripples triple into misbehaved waves.  What we are going to do is up to me and is up to you.  Death and starvation have no curfew.  These are our children and they need our support.  Sound the alarm to welcome them with open arms.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When our children shouldn't have to yelp for help.

July 11^th, 2014

 

 

 

 



Remembering Summer

Remembering Summer

I recall playing kickball where first base was the fire hydrant, second base was a pinecone, third base was a stop sign and home plate was a sewage cap.  The day wasn't done until we kicked a homerun.

I recall playing German dodge ball.  We laid down sand with our hands to define the lines.  We went up in cheers when mom brought us the ball from Sears.  We bristled with the ability of great agility.  Often when hit, it stung and your bell was rung.  It was our way to play all day.

I recall playing cards hard right in the middle of the yard even if it were nothing  more than declaring war.  When the queen came upon the scene the joker would choke her.  The king ruled until he faced an ace.  The loser always had a loathsome look only to gleefully come back with a jack attack.  For us it wasn't a game of chance.  It was a chance to dance.

I recall playing baseball.  Dad would take us all the way to the college campus to find out who had the right stuff in playing on this diamond in the rough.  Crack went the bat and the ball seemed to scream as it came for you.  Sometimes we didn't know what to do but we yearned to learn and knew that we had been properly taught when the ball was unexpectedly caught.  It was when we drank down the heat and it was when nobody went home in defeat.

I remember being smitten with playing bad mitten.  Every Fourth we battled back and forth and I'm proud to say that my mom could really play.  There were strategic serves, tactical slams right along with quick breaks when someone came out yellin' that there was watermelon!  We beamed in believing we were the dream team!  The day wasn't done until all of us won.

I recall the summer where all of us refused to slumber.  We played all day and on into the night because we were never done having fun.  Our faces glistened like the sun.  We rocked jack rocks!  We made an art out of playing darts and you just had to be there to see us play foursquare!  Electricity was in the air.  It's a time and a place that I yearn to return to and I'm more than happy to invite you.  It's like a pyramid where I remember opening the hatch to the plum patch!

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When we ran to greet the summer heat as we danced down Dancy Street.

July 6^th, 2014

 



Earth Carving

Earth Carving

It was as though we were starving for an earth carving where the artist knew to seek for majestic peaks and so forever is surprising the mountain rising upon the horizon with which to scrape the dye of the sky to where it is dazzling to the eye.

There can only be elation for such a creation that captures in rapture the whole of your soul as it hypnotizes you as it mesmerizes you as it tantalizes you.  It takes your breath away just at the thought of climbing to the mountain top.  My dreams about it will never stop so in the knowing as upon it's peak it is snowing  this is where my mind will keep going and so it is that I stare as I dare to go there.

All around are gentle mounds that  are crowned by jagged upheavals that had to have been great in the wake of great earthquakes in the making of the great undertaking to produce such pure grandeur that I can only understand to be grand as this rocky mountain expands around the girth of the earth.  To see it is to be it to be absorbed into its persistent existence that etches as it stretches upon the fabric of time to become my divine pantomime that needs no improvement in its movement.

It confounds me how its peaks surround me with an effervescent presence where even if I close my eyes I can see this monstrosity of rocky summits and purple crevices that are crested with a view that breaks the heavens wide open to where I become hooked and cannot help but look.  The sculptor knew what to do and so there is nothing else I can do but be impressed by what is the best of any stone to be shaped into what we see that sets us free and so it is that my eyes are frozen upon Bozeman.

It was as though from a long time ago an artist scooped up the earth like soft powdered snow and folded it to have molded it into the majestic peaks that I now seek and so it is that I am starving for such an earth carving that is forever surprising as I glimpse the mountain rising upon the horizon.  There was such grieving in leaving that I yearn to return to never stop until I glimpse the mountain top.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When upon Bozeman my eyes lay frozen.

May 5^th, 2014

 

 



Dear Jade

 

Date:  When all I want to see is you with me

Dear Jade:

The love you wield has spread about like the lilies of the field which is a sight so beautiful to me that it cannot help but be a great wonder for all to see.  You astonish me.  I no longer search for amour as I stroll upon the seashore.  What I've breached to have reached is the majestic beach where you are but the mermaid that has captured me with a midnight serenade and so it is no surprise that I am hypnotized by you and the crazy little things that you pursue to do.

From the first day I met you I've known not to regret you for you are a wish come true and so it is that my heart dances into the big blue.  When it's all said and done I now have fun staring into the morning sun.  Like you it symbolizes the beginning of a new day where I just know that everything's going to be okay.  I find it miraculous that you make me feel this way and so it is fine to be made blind by your divine sunshine.

I feel unfettered as I write this letter for I move into the land of forever because I'm inspired by an eternal fire of desire.  You are the sparkle in the sky and you are the reason why I shall not die.  I gleefully shout because you've got me strung out by strings that make me sing!  You make me confident in doing my own thing and therefore it's no hassle to dance through the castle like an alcoholic on a frolic who can only think to drink all that is you and so it is that  I miss you right after I kiss you only to want more to make my spirit soar.

You've got me jamming on Wednesday, making every day of the week a party to seek and so the weekend never ends as on Monday we begin again.  Such a solstice is great to celebrate for it is when the pantomime of time stretches into plenty of infinity where I am happy to never say so long to a day that is fated to stay and so it is like children we play under the sun with which to have some fun. 

I itch for the chance to switch hit because I've discovered that this is it!  So I swing to sing straight through to you in liking the ball I'm striking.  From left to right I hold you tight throughout the night, never to shun the morning sun, always to cherish the sparkle in your eye while permanently casting away doubts as to what love is all about.  With joy you make me want to shout and this is why I adore a quiet stroll upon the seashore.  The waves splash with the thunder of amour.  It is you that I will always adore.

Master Po

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When it's all about being strung out.

April  27^th, 2014

 

In the Pontoon

In the Pontoon

We were all floating on her.  It was as if we owned the comfort zone.  It was as if we felt that we weren’t alone.  It was as if we were buoyed up by moans and groans.  Her words were never heard yet she spoke to us in a rhythm that rocked us back and forth.  It was as if the splashes of the waves encouraged us to misbehave.

Dull nulls were broken up by seagulls that used a screech for speech.  We had drifted beyond the breach and they were yelling to be telling us this as we sailed into the abyss.  The ocean has a mist to be kissed and a breeze that is but a tease.  It was as if she knew that we were trembling at the knees.  It’s hard to steer clear of fear when it’s sitting right here, anchoring us to a reef of grief.  Our pontoon was our only relief.

It was with hope that she kept us afloat.  She was so soft and yet sturdy, giving us faith that we would defeat the wraith.  When it’s all said and done sometimes it’s fun staring at the sun because in a blur it's just like staring at her.  Such feelings you can’t hide when you feel so warm on the inside.  It was like she chased away our thoughts of suicide.  She could kill a chill and she gave us the will to keep going without knowing what little few of the crew would do when death announced its curfew.

It was as if we crooned because we were marooned in a pontoon.  Swells splashed upon us like a typhoon.  We scarcely held on tight with fright and yet somehow she held us upright.  Never did she fail in the gale.  Though surrounded by water it was a fiery hell.  Despite the wear she did not tear.  There was no hole to be found in her soul and this is what kept us whole.  She kept our hearts from breaking apart.  Tethered together we made it through stormy weather.

It was easy to decide to remain by her side.  It's easy to remain true to a lady so dedicated to you.  It was easy to be breezy when such clean air wisped away the clouds of despair.  It was to go with the flow of such a rainbow.  It was like she reeled us in from crying and dying and this is why we kept on trying to strive to survive.  We were all floating on her and some of us still do, clinging onto her like a wife for dear life.  So it is to be marooned in the pontoon.  Smashing are the waves that misbehave upon an ocean of emotion.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When there's only hope to keep the boat afloat.

February 4^th, 2014

 



Klingon

Klingon

Shall we not sit upon the water as it grows hotter as like oil it boils and as like the fire it grows higher while consuming all who fall?  Death comes for me.  Death comes for you all.  Cowards cower.  The brave misbehave in going for all of the blood that can be spilled.  Such true warriors will never yield.  We are what war is for so let tumble the dead upon the floor.

Let life cease for those who speak of peace.  Such pathetic rhetoric can only spew forth from a heretic who uses words as a prosthetic!  What we feel is real as upon us has come the time to kill.  It is only but a delay to run away.  It is only but a delay to kneel down to pray and it is only but a delay to try to get out of the way of the inevitable fate that we so loudly and proudly dictate!  We march forward like a curse that cannot be reversed and tragic is the magic for those felled by the spell.

You act as if you are superior because of some select intellect.  We do our thinking while drinking while you have to figure out that your boat is sinking.  Look at me and you will not be in error when you see the terror!  Whether prideful or humble you will mumble to stumble to cry to die and we will be the reason why.  We have no use for a truce that you use as a ruse so as to gather the thoughts with which you are fraught.  None of you have bravely fought and all of you have been killed that we've caught.  There is no forgiving.  We just keep on living to expand in this great big universe that we traverse.  It is like a flower that we've chosen to devour.  We succeed in  making its seeds bleed.

We do not apologize for the demise of millions of minions and their lofty opinions on how we can all get along.  We've slain the writer of such a sorry song.  The notes of honor, glory and victory are what we bang out in an orchestrated fate to be heard with every word even if slurred!  Let the drums hum as those we defeat are crushed beneath our feet!  Such is the rhythm of war and what we want is more.  Death is a frontier that only the brave explore.  So shall we not sit upon the water as it grows hotter as like oil it boils as in its steaming there is screaming as in its rising tide there are those who have already died as there are those who will that we are about to kill?

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When facing a warrior who explores for more gore.

January 31^st, 2014

 

 

 



Sails at Sea



It was as though fate had decided when their ships had collided.  They bordered each other as if to kill each other's mother.  No one would yield as they began to wield the steel.  Blood began to spill and so covered in red were the living and the dead while fighting for honor, glory or simply for the zeal of being gory.

With scorn blew the horn for those war torn.  There would be no time to morn.  Biting was the fighting and under the sheathe were gritted teeth to be gnarled in snarls.  It was if a quarrel had been brought on by sorrow brought on by a tide too wicked to ride and so many tried and so many died and so many never got a chance to meet their bride.  So is it that death makes a visit as if to stay to play all day.

Cannon fodder from the slaughter lay strewn to be swept away in a typhoon only to be anchored by the thought that they so bravely fought and yet to be wet with regret are those who haven't died yet.  The thunder and lightning though frightening can be enlightening in letting you see the yard arm of harm as it swings as it sings to grab to stab at  whatever breath you have left if you're still heaving to be breathing.  Some stare is if to see their own souls leaving.  So is the pitch and the yaw of what the dead eyes saw.

You would think to see the view best from the crow's nest but not when you see your best friend come to an ugly end by being split in two by a crew you never knew.  It's too late to ask what for the war when there's so much blood to pour and not enough rum to make you feel numb.  The thinking in the drinking is but a boat sinking with no way to dislodge the mirage.  So you stare at the glare of the  nightmare that daunts you to haunt you.  The desert of death is drenched in sin without a drop a gin and so capsized is the hope of ever keeping afloat.

It was as though fate had decided when their ships had collided.  Forever they remained tethered together in stormy weather.  From bow to stern both of the hulls burned.  Shouts and yells fell to the gale.  The last of the lamps grew damp to go dark in the night as if to signal an end to the fight.  It was stunning to hear the silence running with no way to avoid the noise of the void.  Both crew had been destroyed.  All there's left to see are the sails at sea with the wind whipping and the blood dripping.

Orrin K. Loftin, Explorer

Copyright?  When it's you, the crew and that thing that becomes you.

January 23^rd, 2014

The Last Vampire: Thinking About the Drinking

Queen's, Knight's Pawn

Flowers in May