Friday, August 28, 2015

Trees (A Haiku)



©Angel Sharum. All rights reserved.

Rustling breezes play
Whispering colorful dreams
Hues dance along leaves

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

‘Twas the Redneck Night Before Christmas





and all through the house,
not a critter was stirring,
not even the louse.
He had drunk all the eggnog and was completely soused
Granny hung her ripped stockings by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St. Nick would take the hint and give her a new pair.
The kids were all asleep in their beds
with visions of moonshine dancing in their heads.
They had tried some of their dads, and while it had quite a bite,
it sure helped keep them warm that cold Christmas night.
Mama, weary, her bones all stiff,
with the cat in her lap,
had just settled on the couch for a long overdue nap.
When up on the roof there came such a clatter
even dad woke up and asked, “What’s the matter?”
Mama could hardly hear him over the crash.
She wasn’t sure the roof would last.
“Why don’t you go look and then you’ll know,”
She said and tried not to let the fear show.
He screamed and said, “Come over here,
and bring my gun, there’s eight deer!”
She ran over right quick.
She started to hand dad the gun and then saw St. Nick!
Faster than a bullet they came.
St. Nick burped and then called them by name.
“Now, Thrasher! Now, Sampson! Jagger and Wiccan!
On, Homer! On, Stupid! Dandruff and Mitten!”
“Pick up the speed or the sleigh’s gonna stall!
Faster! Faster! Before we fall!”
Mama held her breath and watched the sky.
Knowing that St. Nick was about to die.
You could tell St. Nick had had a drink or two.
But the deer seemed to know what to do.
It wasn’t long until there was more noise on the roof.
They listened hard and counted each hoof.
They closed the door to drown out the sound.
St. Nick was in the house by the time they turned around.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot.
Though they didn’t have a fireplace, he was covered in soot.
He had a huge red backpack.
Mama was disappointed that it wasn’t a sack.
His eyes were bloodshot and a little teary.
His face was red as a berry.
“He’s drunk,” Dad whispered low.
Mama figured he would certainly know.
St. Nick had a joint clamped tight between his teeth,
and around his neck he wore a wreath.
It looked very old and smelly,
and hung all the way to his beer belly.
He was staggering so much he had to hold on to a shelf.
Mama tried not to laugh but couldn’t help herself.
He mumbled something, and shook his head.
Mama was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what he said.
When steady enough, he went to work.
He filled all the stockings except mama’s… the jerk.
Pretending to scratch, he put his middle finger beside his nose,
but mama was not fooled, being no stranger to that pose.
He walked out the door and gave a whistle.
The deer shot off the roof like a missile.
They heard him yell as he flew out of sight,
“Home, y’all, it’s been one hell of a night.”

Saturday, November 29, 2014

True Love

A story written in dialog alone. I did this piece a few years back from a writing prompt. I like the way it turned out.



“I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, honey.”

“I’m so tired, Jake.”

“I know you are, honey.”

“Lay here with me?”

“Of course.”

“Umm, it feels good to have your arms around me.” 

“Shhh, don’t cry, honey.”

“I’m so sorry, Jake.”

 “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be here to go RVing around the country with you like we planned."

“I’ll probably never retire anyway.”

“I’m sorry I’ll miss your Christmas ham, and your terrible rendition of White Christmas.”

“The doctor said I have to cut down on sodium, so there’ll be no ham this year, and I’m sure everyone can do without my singing.”

“Oh, no, you have to sing the song, Jake! Promise me you will!”

“Calm down, honey. I promise to bust everyone’s ear drums again this year.”

“Thank you. I don’t want anything to change just because, because…”

“Things have to change, darling. My heart will no longer be whole without you.”

“Oh, honey, don’t cry. I need you to be strong for me. I can’t do it myself.”

“I’m here, honey. I’ll always be here.”

“You always were my rock. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would have done just fine. I’ve always told you that you are stronger than you think.”

“I wish I’d been strong enough.”

“You were! You are! There is nothing you could have done to prevent this. The doctor’s told you that, honey. Stop beating yourself up.”

“I know. I just feel so useless, defeated. Why me, Jake? Why me?”

“I don’t know, honey. I just don’t know.”

“Promise me you’ll go on with your life, Jake. Meet someone new.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Mary.”

“We need to talk about it, Jake. You don’t need to be alone. You have a lot of life ahead, share it with someone. I want you to be happy.”

“How am I supposed to be happy without you?”

“You can. In time. I’m not saying I want you to meet someone at the funeral.”

“Hush, woman. This is no time for joking.”

“Oh, there’s always time for laughter, Jake. Do you remember at Timothy’s graduation? That bee landed on your nose and you couldn’t get it to move no matter what. I got so tired of you fidgeting around that I smacked you with my program. The look on your face was priceless.”

“I don’t remember it being so funny.”

“Oh, quit your grumbling. You always were a grumpy Gus.”

“And you were always my angel.”

“I worry that I haven’t shown you, or told you enough, how much you mean to me.”

“Oh, honey, I know, because I feel the same. We were made for each other.”

“Two halves of a whole.”

“Two peas in a pod.”

“Now we’re getting silly.”

“Silly is ok. You were always good at silly.”

“Hey! I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”

“You know it is. I needed your silliness to counteract my stubbornness.”

“You are stubborn, that’s for sure.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to agree with me!”

“Hold me closer.”

“Are you cold, honey? Your hands are like ice. Let me get you another blanket.”

“I don’t need a blanket, Jake. I just need your arms.”

“You got ‘em, babe. I’m right here. Snuggle in close. That’s right, I’ve got you.”
 
 “I’m so tired, Jake.”

“I know you are, baby.”

 “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I know, baby. I know, but I’ll be fine. You go rest now. I’ll see you again before you know it.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I love you, baby.”



Thursday, November 27, 2014

Tom Turkey


Tom Turkey was kind of jumpy
He had to get out of town quick
He’d heard people talking,
and what they were thinking of doing to him was sick

All trussed up on the Thanksgiving table
Getting carved up for all to savor
He couldn’t bear the thought
Tom had to hurry before he was caught

Tom skipped along, dodging tree limbs and jumping stumps
Going as fast as his little legs would carry him, busting his hump

But as he rounded the bend,
Tom saw two men in front of him
He quickly ducked to the side,
and watched as they searched far and wide

Tom was hid well,
His feathers blended in with the leaves
He was almost in the clear
until he sneezed

Tom tried to get away,
He gave them a merry chase
but, alas, that wasn’t to be the case

The men grabbed Tom,
and put him in a sack
He kicked and he squawked
but it only got him another thwack

When Tom quieted down,
the men should have worried,
but they didn’t
they were in too big a hurry

Tom had a plan
He was going to be free
He would not end up on someone’s plate
Not he

The men reached camp
and opened the sack
That was when
Tom went on attack

He jumped out,
claws bared
and went straight for
the first man’s hair

Tom dug deep,
to the bone he tore
It was life or death
the screams he ignored

The second man grabbed Tom,
and tried to pull him off his friend,
but Tom was having none of it
He tore into him

He poked the man’s eyes out with his beak
And ripped and shredded his skin with his feet

Tom was determined to win
His life was on the line
He would do them in
It was only a matter of time

When the fight was over,
Tom was beat
He had never fought so hard
His stomach rumbled,
Reminding him he had to eat,
But Tom was too tired

To go foraging in the woods
To search out his normal treats
Then it came to him,
What he would eat

Tom started a fire,
and then he surveyed the slain beasts
He didn’t relish the coming meal,
Even though it was sure to be a feast


This is one of the original poems in my book, Scared Sleepy, which is available on Amazon. I know it's a little weird, but I hope you like it.