ROW 19, Seats FED

I’m not sure what it was that woke me. Could have been the constant vibrations coming from the wing sticking out the window, or maybe the dammed screeching coming from the one baby that seems to sit next to me on every flight I’ve ever taken. Either way, I see it as some stroke of luck. Before the flight I was trapped in a Midwest airport, drinking with the scum of the skies. I had had a little too much to drink and passed out as soon as I sat down, just before the captain told the passengers that three was nothing to worry about, he was a professional and had full control of the flying tons of metal that was about to travel across the sea. So when I woke up, it was just in time for the stewardess to serve me another round. Just what I needed. Why they subject women to this type of degrading service, I’ll never know.
This trip over the sea seemed different compared to others. Different, in the sense that all the excitement of travelling was lost. I remembered myself sitting in the airport earlier in the day, staring curiously, wishing they were all dead. I’ve learned to hate airports. People are strange, when they are strangers. And people in airports are the very testament to that. Thanks Jim. Maybe it’s something to do with nerves, unloading there deep dark secrets and fears to complete strangers as they lull in front of endless terminal space trying to pass the time. Before maybe I would have felt compelled to tell the world my story. But today, this time around, I felt very comfortable being a recluse. Just another face, with a boarding pass to somewhere.
The closes I got to some real interaction in the rat maze that is the DIA airport was of course in the smoking lounge. I use the word lounge very loosely because in reality it was a room no bigger than something you could find on the back side of the Las Vegas strip. There were maybe 3 and a half tables at the opening of the room. The rest was lined with a long counter that rapped around the entire place. It was in the back of the airport and three of the walls were just glass, so onlookers to either see their fate to come, or reminisce about the flight they just had. The place was packed with lost souls, aimless churning their lives away one puff at a time. I’m clearly the youngest person on the space, yet I feel at home. I sit a seat away from some old had and kindly of the seat to a more qualified gentlemen who comes in behind me. He thinks I’m signaling him in some sort of masculine code and takes off running toward the witch. ( I move to a less active corner of the place shortly after). I inhale three cigarettes before the waiter notices I’m apart of society and demands my donation to the sleazy smoking establishment. Of course we can’t kill ourselves for free; there is always an entrance fee. But since there is nowhere else to smoke, I give in quickly and buy something that resembles an IPA. Nine fucking dollars, can you believe? I scrap with a few locals over an outlet plug-in to charge my phone and settle in. Just then a particular looking Mexican man and a black guy with an unusual amount of gold accessories walk in. The Mexican, in true jumping bean fashion orders all the tequila in the airport and a couple of beers for him and his friend. The black guy calmly grabs his drink, and the two sit next to two rednecks of all people. I drink my beer, beaming with excitement for what’s about to happen next. They pounded the first round together but the jumping bean bored of his black friend and turned to the red necks. I’m not sure how, but the three strike up a conversation about vehicles and guns. Apparently they all have extensive knowledge about motor bikes. My excitement drops a notch. Back home the rednecks, curse, spit and cruise on bikes in the back woods of some southern state that allows them to fire guns and have multiple wives. The bean curses and cruises down the long beaches with tinted shades and practice his hidden talent of whistling to ladies in short skirts as he rides by. All I can think is how being in a trapped in a confined space while drinking, stimulates universal topics such as motor bikes. American comradely is still alive in this airport. With no hope of race wars, I left the smoke stop for about an hour to refuel and drink with a change of scenery. When I returned the black man, the Mexican and the rednecks hadn’t appeared too moved and were deep into conversation. The rednecks were saying that they had been held up in this smoke jungle for something like seven hours straight, drinking and choking down marble reds. The Mexican, although he had only been there a short while was trying to catch up to them, drinks wise, as quickly as he could. He started order double shots of tequila and piss water beer to chase it all down. The black guy, who I suspected was once a cool guy from Texas, was also drunk but still comprehendible. Then all hell broke loose. The Mexican after finishing his latest round of shots and fabricated stories of drag races in the sierra desert became in raged. With what, I’m still not sure. But he grabbed the nearest waitress, demanding another round and planted a sloppy kiss right on her mouth when he was finished. The waitress took it surprisingly well, as if nothing happened. She was an old broad, probably mid-50s, and had a look on her face that said she had dealt with men like this before. She politely nodded, turned and went to the back. Maybe this tactic had worked else where I thought. Maybe the Mexican was actually some sort of con man, who flew from airport to airport picking waitress in bars all around the country by aggressively attacking them out of nowhere. The rednecks just hooted and hollered, with the black man rolled his eyes. The Mexican, fell out of his seat and said he was going to locate the bathroom before returning for the waitress. I immediately ordered another drink and moved a bit closer to the action. The black man started to explain to the rednecks that the Mexican was actually not his friend and just some random guy he knew from work. Apparently they were in the oil business and had just flown in from Wyoming. They had just landed and flew back home from Wyoming and the boss had turned them loose for a few days to get straight. A well-deserved break from the cold steel and even harsher conditions. Then he started to explain how his Mexican counterpart was notorious for drinking and making an ass out of himself. On the job, in an airport, it didn’t matter. And he made it very clear to the rednecks and too the staff that he wanted no part in the next round. The rednecks hooted and hollered with even more enjoyment than before and we all waited. Everyone in that smoking lounge seemed to be waiting for what would happen next. When the Mexican returned, seemingly more drunk, he was shocked to find that his order had not been brought out yet. He turned in the direction the waitress ran off to and called for her. A cute looking man, who seemed to be the comic relief of the staff team. And by cute, I mean the grown man type who thinks they can get away with one-liners about traveling and plane fights because he works in an airport bar. He walks to the Mexican, still in his cute facade and serves him a bottle of water. The crowd goes silent, the black man looks to the floor and the rednecks turn away and stare out the window. In fact the whole room shifted in some way or another, to avoid the gaze of the Mexican man. I swiftly lit another smoke and pretended to text away. The Mexican could sense the tone of the room change as fast as it happened. He was nervous, but still not drunk enough to be embarrassed in front of a room full of strangers. So he laughed at the waiter, and told him to bring the broad back out with the drinks. The waiter said, he was advised not to give out anymore drink to him because of some made up policy that he and the waitress surely devised in the back room in the last 6 minutes. The Mexican laughed again, and threatened he wouldn’t pay for his drinks until the man brought him more drinks. The waiter, lost his boyish charm and simply said he could have water or nothing. The Mexican, who must have caused too many scenes in his day or simple felt he was defeated with nothing to protest against the dozen witnesses in the room who were all laughing at him, said OK. He whipped out his wallet threw some 20s on the ground and stormed out, with the black man close behind.
Now, here I am, on my plane to London with two complementary bottles of wine, and another tucked away, as the lights go out for the mandatory nap time. I wouldn’t be surprised if the pilots took a break to mull around in first class looking for anyone who looked impressed. The stewardess literally asked me to,” Pop the blinds down,” because she British and stupid. Everyone glares at me because I’m the only jackass with the light on.

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Strapped to a Memory

Just a thought!

Imagine a time, when a delinquent was shown no quarter

and a hickory switch was the day's accepted punishment.

Pink and purple weren't just the colors in the garden and

Black and blue was also a big favorite of the day.

I recall having more time invested in the wood shed

than the wood did.  Location was always a factor...

 If the old man happened to be in the barn at the time,

a well used leather horse strap hanging on the wall surficed just fine.

Generally, I preferred pissing him off in the morning before coffee...

The razor strap in the house was a lot thicker and much wider.

Although the area affected was bigger, the wideness of the strap

helped spread out the pain and the marks didn't last quite so long.

Once he got it out of his system, the day usually went without a hitch.

Grand dad was a man of few words and little patients...Telling you something

twice never happened, as "words" never came the second time!

Looking back, I kind of undersand his mind set as, he was

a prison guard for thirty years.

Sometimes I wonder if one of the corporate bosses at "Verison Wireless"

didn't have a Grand dad just like mine...Cause, each time that strap connected,

Grand dad would always  say.........."Can ya hear me now"?............"Can ya hear me now"?............"Can ya hear me now"?Tongue Out

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Ahhhhhhhh, "The Good ole Days"Tongue Out

Lullaby Of Death

Lullaby of Death

By Liz Peterson-Braveheart


You have no right

To bear your silent wish of death

Upon my brethren’s door,

You have no right.


You have no right

To cast your world of hate

Before my child’s eyes,

You have no right.


The wickedness you offer

On the table isn’t just,

And as you rant of guts and glory,

Your heart is cold,

A breach of trust,

You have no right.


To scowl, or render judgment

On such lies and fabrications,

And then gloat,

While bathed in rapture

Once more,

Hungry for ovation!

Then slay again!

You have no right.


To mothers and fathers,

Daughters, sons,

…and innocent babes,

Your desperate gnawing helps

To seal their lips

But not their might,

The beastly seed in you ignites,

And they lay naked on your platter

You call justice

As you feast with sheer delight?

You have no right.


Love and freedom suffocate,

In our ears the sound of silence

Is their last hurrah,

As you claim the spiteful anthem,

Your self righteous Lullaby of Death.


© 2010

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Icy Cold Day


I am the child you don’t want to see.

It seems time has erased me from your memory

On that icy cold day when my world fell apart,

Why oh why does it seem you shunned me from your heart?

You neglected to see past that angry young man,

And the child you knew…left alone…up and ran.

He remembers the times that were spent so carefree,

And the times that you gave all to us so freely.

All the shame that you bear from your past makes you mean,

And you wallow in what you call "living so clean".

So I’ve waited inside this dark cell for a day

When a kind soul would hear of what I have to say,

But of all of the people that said that "I care",

Out of all of the people that said "I’ll be there",

You were never a person that I would have thought,

Would believe all the lies and forget what you taught.

Did you not always say to be brave and stand tall?

Did you not always preach to "get up when you fall"?

Did you not tell me "don’t ever show them your pain"?

Did you not say that time will bring sunshine to rain?

All those things that you said I have tried to pursue,

But confusion sets in when I’m talking to you.

Cause your ways hold the secrets of why you let go

Of that child that caused you all that "heartache and woe".

You are locked in a world,

That has little to do,

With how easy pain is when God carries you through,

It’s as if you allowed one to take it away,

And you had nothing left but yourself and your way,

You have been so engulfed by the things in your life,

And left God far behind

As you bathe in your strife,

But inside my world here His Love shines brightly through

All the promises broken by others …..and you,

And He’s carried me every inch of the way,

And He’ll carry me through this here "icy cold day",

Til His Love comes to melt all the hatred away,

From the hearts of the people that wronged me that day.

No resentment lives here in this cell…be aware,

There’s no bitterness here, so come in….if you dare….

Cause you’ll yet have to face all your own lies within,

He can’t wash them away unless you see

The sin you committed

The first time you listened to lies

Tthat caused you to turn blind

To your own soul’s demise.

Have no fear from the child you left far behind,

Cause that angry young man’s only there in your mind.

Though alone he has come through the storm, found His way

With feet firmly in place, grounded strong here today,

But one dream he still holds very close to his heart.

It’s a dream that young boy wanted badly to start.

And the dream was that people like you that bend ear,

To the gossip and lies that feed hatred and fear,

Will be kind to the children that stand in your way,

Cause they probably have more profound things to say.

Please believe me, they wouldn’t be hanging around

Some adult that chose lies as their favorite sound.





And of all of the people,

That said

"I’ll be there…."

…..never once, did I think …

….you would ever run scared.



2002 …©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the increasing crime rate of American juveniles, and the society hat raises the parents who neglect them.

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The end

"you did not bring me here as a man...I was one of them...a lifeless corpse you made unholy monster. An abomination against God. I am a lie built upon lies. I now know the truth."

"No...you are not like them, you were the first; the one loved above all else...that is why I let you walk free when they were in cages...let you speak when they were silenced...you, my son."

"I cannot deny my blood, but we cannot let the laws of God be broken...the dead should remain dead...tis how it is meant to be...if there is forgiveness to be granted on the other side, I pray you receive it...I am sorry father but this is how it must be."

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The sins of the father

"You can't do this to me...you are my children...I created you!"

"For your crimes against nature, you shall meet death...for your defiance against her, you shall dance with the worm!"

"I commited no crimes...I defied no one...the power over death was mine, you, my children are proof of that power. The world could have been perfect again, could have been the paradise it was meant to be. What the world accepted, I did not; what man feared I did not. you condem me, you condem yourselves!"

"What man has the right to hold dominion over life and death...the souls you sought to control, the power you wanted for your own...the only thing you hold, are the lies that fill your heart, even in the hour of your own death you refuse to let them go!"

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Safe Zone 12


Safe zone 12, the place that was said to offer protection; that was said to welcome the uninfected, had long since become a living hell under the rule of the Sergent. Women were randomly selected for his deranged breeding program, which was nothing more than slavery, girls from puberty were routinely passed from one solider to another as though they were stock to pass inspection; however those who attempted to escape or defy his authority would know what true hell is. Many were tortured savagely and publicly shamed for disobedience, or worse; stripped of their skins and bound, and left on the outskirts to the rabid infected. Those who were simply shot, were the lucky ones.

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Sweet breath stroke my face,

Bitter wind, the back of mother hand!

Such is life, brutally alive

Children’s minds…


The void of the blind man,

Remind me of this love…

A Street name carnage desire,

As I watch my shaddow slip away….


Back alleys ways fills with zombies.

Feeding on each others carcasses!

Rotten dreams for mortals!

Puppets of destiny, dangling from the hollow true!


May I hold the strings?

To cut free, and watch crashing,

Such pretty creatures, to falls,

Over the gutter, that is my life!!!




Author's Notes/Comments: 

a deserve slap never hurt anyones

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