Dag Andreas' Bookshelf

After learning that a haiku should have five syllables in the last line, the original needed to be edited.

ZOMBIE HAIKU

Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains

Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains

Tastes just like chicken

This poetic form is called a villanelle.

.

.

She loves her man with all her might

They whisper love words soft and tender

as he lies beside her in the night

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She is his queen and he her knight

her champion, lord, and defender

she loves her man with all her might

.

Keeping their castle draws purse-strings tight

His hopes, his dreams, his options grow slender

as he lies beside her in the night

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He slams the door on a terrible fight

But despite the ire their words engender

she loves her man with all her might

.

A stranger’s smile, it feels so right

He trades his vows for illicit surrender

as he lies beside her in the night

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Home again, his sin locked behind kisses bright

No knight is he, the Lord Pretender

She loves her man with all her might

as he lies beside her in the night

Redhead, Ginger, Flame-brain, Carrot-top

Bloodnut, Torchy, Freckleface, Rubylocks

Rusty, Pinky, Rosebud, Copper-top

Chili-pepper, Cinnamon, Strawberry, Firebox,

Matchstick, Matchbox, Volcano, Leprechaun

Irish, Hot Dish, Orange Crush, Fire-crotch

Molly, Robin, Pumpkin-head,

Peppermint Patti, Little Red

I’m lost in their revels!

God help me, they’re devils!

They take all the breath o’ me!

They’ll sure be the death o’ me!

I picked up a song virus yesterday, but it got twisted in my head. For the last 24 hours, like a gerbil on a squeaky wheel, instead of hearing…

You want to make her
Suicide Blonde
Love devastation
Suicide Blonde

I’ve been hearing…

She wants to eat you
Super-sized Blonde
You look like meat to
Super-sized Blonde

I’m starting my day with a really big cup of really crappy coffee. Ugh.

Here’s hoping the day gets better before I get grumpier.

For the most part, I have been absent, working like a dog on my classes. One of my recent classes was Poetry, so if you can stomach the stuff, I’ll have some new content up here soon. (‘Soon’ being an extremely relative term.)

Right now I am very disappointed with myself. I had 5 weeks vacation between the summer session courses and the early fall courses. It was my intent to have my own little NaNoWriMo and slam out 50,000 words in 5 weeks. So far, I’ve managed 500 words with 2 weeks to go.

I don’t think I’m going to make it.

On another note, last night, my father and I were debating the merits of the word ‘congress.’ He stated that since ‘con’ is the opposite of ‘pro,’ ‘congress’ is the opposite of ‘progress,’ and therefore the word is appropriate to our legislative body.

I countered that ‘congress’ also means sexual activity. After barely a moment’s consideration, we replied in unison, “Yep, it fits.”

To those few of you who actually still look for occasional new content here, I finally got the comments working. You can now tell me what you think of my writing and articles!

Wait a minnit. Is that a good thing?

You tell me. Click the link and try it out!

My son wrote a moving little poem he calls “Zombie Haiku.” I’m not much for poetry, but it’s a beautiful piece, and I thought I should include it here. Enjoy.

ZOMBIE HAIKU

Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains

Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains Brains

Butterfly

This is a scene I wrote simply to get a better grip on an important element of Don Marco’s background. I never intended it to actually see print. Consider this a behind the scenes peek.

Marco’s Secret

It had been a slow day at the bakery, but it was finally over. Roisin O’Connell sighed in happy contentment. Since leaving her home in far-off Avalon, this little shop on Paseo de Gatto was the first place she had dared to feel at home. The first place she had dared to feel safe. The elderly proprietors had retired to their rooms above the shop early, trusting Roisin to close the shop for them. After securing the days earnings, she had just stepped outside to close the shutters when she saw a figure lurking in the shadows beside the store. She thought she recognized the silhouette. “Marco?” she ventured.

The shadow detached itself from the darkness and stepped forward into the lamplight. The slumped and dejected figure before her was not the vivacious Marco de Cordoba she had come to know so well. She noted immediately that he was no longer wearing the uniform of an Acolyte of Apollo.

“Marco, what’s wrong wi’ ye?” Concern for her friend filled her. Anything that could bring Marco low, had to be of the most serious nature. She reached out to him, putting her hand on his arm. “What happened?”

“I washed out,” he stated flatly. “They said that I was a slave to my passions, and I lacked the self-discipline to be a Knight.” At her puzzled look, he blurted, “I was caught canoodling with a serving girl.”

Roisin’s face contorted as she tried to suppress a laugh.

Her mirth was infectious and he smiled abashedly. “Yeah. I know. You warned me about my urges. Saints, everyone warned me!” The grin faded from his face and his sigh was filled with sorrow and regret. “I never suspected the price could be so high.”

Roisin’s soul ached for Marco’s broken heart. Becoming a Knight was his highest ambition, and now, only a week before his trials, that dream had been taken away from him. “I was just closing the shop,” she said. “Let me finish locking up, and we’ll go for a walk.” At his dejected nod, she finished closing the shutters, and disappeared into the store. She hurriedly put away the last of her supplies, and got everything ready to start baking again in the morning. Then she grabbed her wrap and slipped out the back door into the alley behind the shop.

As she neared the mouth of the alley, she heard voices ahead in the street. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she slowed and quietly approached the street under cover of the shadows.

“…arranged for you to be ejected. I assure you that there will be no official mention of your expulsion in the roster.”

“But why?” Marco pleaded. “Why this… subterfuge?”

Roisin edged closer to the street and saw a man whom she recognized to be Carlos Romero, the bookseller from the market square. “In your time at the chapterhouse, did you ever hear of Apollo’s Arrows? Those who serve the Order by going where the Knights cannot go and doing what the Knights cannot do?”

“You’re talking about shadow soldiers—assassins. That’s just a myth. A lie created by the enemies of the Order to create doubt and fear. The Knights of Apollo don’t do that,” Marco asserted. His tone suggested that he found the notion insulting.

“Of course they don’t,” the bookseller replied smoothly. “And yet, sometimes it needs to be done. When diplomats and armies fail, it falls to the lone patriot to finish the task.” He let that sink in for a moment. “One man with the freedom to act, unbound by oaths.”

“You want me to become an assassin. Obviously, you’ve got the wrong man. If there is no other recourse, I can kill a man in a fair fight, but I’m no cutthroat or backstabber.” Marco crossed his arms glared up at the man. “So why don’t we just pretend this conversation never happened; and tomorrow, I’ll go back to the chapterhouse and clear up this misunderstanding.”

“You don’t understand. Among other things, it is because of your regard for life that you were selected for this task. We have no use for a butcher; we need a surgeon—someone who can remove the diseased humours and leave the healthy tissue intact. You don’t always have to slay your enemy to remove him as a threat.” He placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder. “You are an intelligent, creative, passionate, and devout young man. These are the qualities that we require. You were never meant to be a foot soldier; you were meant for a greater calling.”

Roisin stepped backward to better conceal herself, and bumped into a crate of rotted vegetables from the café next door. The noise was just enough to alert the bookseller. He whipped his head around, peering into Roisin’s cloak of darkness. She held her breath, waiting to be discovered. After a moment, the man turned back to Marco.

“Think about it tonight, and come to my store tomorrow. We will talk more about it then.” With a last glance toward the alley, he swiftly walked away into the night.

Sensing that she had witnessed something she should not have, Roisin crept back down the alley a few feet. She waited several heartbeats before striding back to the paseo, allowing her footsteps to announce her arrival. She found Marco leaning against the streetlamp with a thoughtful look on his face. She wanted to ask him about his strange encounter, but thought better of it. If he wanted to discuss it, she would let him bring it up. “Are ye ready?” she asked. When he nodded, she took his arm and they strolled away, to talk of happier things.

I know I’ve been neglecting the site lately. My classes have been a bit labor intensive these last few weeks. I expect to have new content up in a few days. Please bear with me.