Rocks & Hard Places
How do we protect children
from a world — so inflictive
How do we prepare children
for that world — once protected
How do we keep them out of the vice
of this paradox
How do we ... How do we ...
— how do we
***
Skinning The Cat
Losers are drawn
to authority
Like moths being lured
to the flame
Curiosity killing
more than a cat
Willy Loman
— forever in pain
(Dreamsleep: May, 2026)
By the sea where the salt winds sing,
I cast off all cloth like old regrets,
Bare as the waves that kiss my skin,
No shame, no secrets, no silhouettes.
The sun pours gold across my skin,
A slow caress from sky to shore;
I stretch unashamed, soaking it in,
Bare body offered, wanting more.
Then barefoot, laughing, I race the tide,
Heart pounding wild like a rolling drum,
I silently dive where the blue waves hide,
Skin to salt, skin to sea, skin to sun.
jungle
warrior black
skinning out bare belly rogues
rends velvet tents of jagged night
rumblings under grey mists
Went for a hike at a nature preserve
And followed the trail with each lake-hugging curve.
The sun dappled through as it lit up the trees
As we stepped over roots, not once skinning our knees.
We stopped at the Center as we headed out
And met Tin Tin the tortoise, who ambled about.
Then we headed to Ralph’s for some ices to eat;
With so many cool flavors, it sure was a treat.
Though I know it’s the 4th, I don’t need a parade
Or a barbecue chef with the burgers he’s made
Or the fireworks I’ll be too tired to see
To know this was a day close to perfect for me.
The rabbit died; it lost its head.
Tastes like chicken: what they said.
Skinning rabbit’s hard to do
When they’re staring back at you.
Truth is, they’re quite good to eat;
A protein source that can’t be beat.
Today’s events will haunt my dreams,
No one told me bunnies scream.
Cat’s eyes
Telling lies
You stand in the shadows,
to hear my cries.
You taunt me.
You laugh at me.
You hide behind windows,
and create my misery.
You ain’t no lady.
your intent is shady,
and all you want is to be adored.
You steal my money.
Then want some honey,
and bring me down when you get bored.
Now I get it,
when you say I’m like all the other boys.
But now you can forget it,
because here I stand,
for when you treat me like a toy
I will treat you like a man.
Two can play this game,
and now it is time for you to lose,
cuz now I’m neither boy nor a man.
Any sport to me is all the same,
go ahead and choose.
cuz now I’m a lady, neither boy nor man,
and now forever at your games you will lose.
by Martin Braun
2.11.2023
The miracle of being
Born upon our earth
Predates the now and yesterday
Goes back beyond our birth.
Too our mothers bellies
Feeding, growing, skinning
Though lets go to the source
The maker and beginning…
For if it weren’t for our creator
His love and will for freeing
We wouldn't even be here…
The miracle of being.
Four score and many more
And still within her prime
In her mind and in the woods,
Hunting, fishing, trapping,
A workhorse of a woman.
Watch her go- swing the axe,
Cleaving wood, making fence posts,
Shoveling sand, raking it,
Trapping rabbits, beavers, bears,
Skinning, cleaning, bottling,
Pelts, skins, berries wild,
Out doing many a man is
This woman of the North.
She built her own houses, a carpenter,
Lover of her cabin and the wild
In Hawks Bay, Newfoundland.
Celie never rests.
God bless her as she attributes to Him
All her abilities and good health.
Celie - the woman does it all.
A W.C.Hull Poem © 2010-2022-704 (D)
Russian soldier, welcome.
You now stand to discard the rule of logic,
welcome to our home, our oblast.
You are welcome to register at the city hall;
fellow tourists with arms, ready to maim, shoot, and kill,
destroy everything, out-Nazi the Nazis.
We know you’re innocent, cannon fodders for your tsar;
we hold him responsible but not you,
for skinning the innocent.
You stand to learn we’re not enemies,
only neighbors who wish to live free;
we’ll name our streets after you if you
follow your human dignity, if you
refuse to fire, disobey and be free.
Russian soldier, justice is more powerful than the weapon,
truth more dear to God than power.
You’re welcome to explore our city and
check in for the night, just stay indoor in
curfew hours.
Welcome to our brave city, writing new
its future epigraph.
Your invasion plan is up in smoke;
it is now your turn to strike
a unilateral withdraw.
I remember my first cuddle from her
As she held me in her arms as I stirred
And how she was always there
My Mum whom I know did care
She was the first with a kiss to make it better with glee
When I fell over skinning my elbow or knee
And when it was time for starting school
She dropped me off when her tears were the rule
And at each important time in my life I’ve had
She stood proud as punch with a smile and tear so glad
When I married she was so proud of the groom
Even though she thought that I was leaving home so soon
As a grand mother she stood out
With great knowledge of what being a parent was about
And when my father the love of her life passed on
She bore her loneliness longing for him for us being strong
And when the time to say goodbye was clear
I spoke lovingly and couldn’t hold back a tear
For she will always have a place in my heart
My Mum my first love from the start.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Waking up
To sleepy to think
Put on my clothes
I walk to the sink
I have the breakfast blues
I will get a nickle cookie at school
Walking to school kicking a can
With books in hand
Bell ringing can’t wait for lunch
Cute girl sitting in front
Pulling her pig tails
With teacher yelling
Stay after school
Finally a class I like, recess
Sit, sit, sit after school
Doesn’t she know I am late
To play ball at the ball park
Homework can be done tomorrow
I have real work to do
Climbing trees and skinning my knees
I have to run home
The Lone Ranger is on
Crap, Dad is home watching the News
Move the antenna, change the station
Fix the rabbit ears get me a beer
Who would have ever have thought
I was born to be
A Remote Control for a TV
Recalling a Time
Written: by Miracle Man
July 13, 2020
I’ve had days, when as a tree frog, I had no tree,
sometimes like a salmon I’ve had to swim upstream.
I recall a few days that were like skinning a flea,
and while comatose, heard Heavens choir in a dream.
I’ve been called hard headed and set in my ways,
and a “tough old bird” for what I’ve been through.
I’m just an old dog who’s seen a few tough days,
believing “tough times don’t last, tough/(blessed) people do.”
I’m a living witness/testimony to God’s power.
Doctors have told me that I shouldn’t be here,
referring to me as superman, the protected one, miracle man, even Lazarus. Unable to explain a sudden turn of events, they called it a miracle. But it’s never been about me- But God’s power.
The loving rain was starting
with gentle drops
The watery meteorites
pelted down to earth
my shrivelled heart opened up,
with every drop
a little more
I craved for it,
to never stop this purification
until I realized:
its washing my old skin away.
the Reincarnation of that unfledged me
was…
undescribeble painful.
I felt nostalgia while skinning myself
my neck still hurts
from looking back
way too much
My friend the time
announced me war
while I was standing still,
proud and frozen
Oh my Sierra Leone!
The only land that I own,
I pledge to thee, to bring peace, love, development and unity,
Sadly I act for my interest without any loyalty.
I betray each and every promise to thee I made,
Skinning thy people whom I opted to aid.
I know even though you are independent, but thou dependth on me,
To lead thee to freedom, unity and prosperity.
Each and every day my act caused thee to bleed
I feed thee with hunger, nurture in thee my very corrupt seed.
Shamelessly I speak of my love for thee,
When thine legs I cut, thine eyes blind so thou cannot see.
Even though I pledged to serve thee at all time,
I made thee my servant, serving me at thine prime
I put my interest above yours,
Betraying thy love and trust.
He’d taught me
to disbelieve
ghostly things.
Skinning and chopping
superstitions,
I cooked a poem.
My thoughts grew
under his eaves.
Desolation dominates me
after his funeral.
A vague shape vanishes
from my windowpane.
A stray dog
magnifies mystery,
barking.
Being his son,
I say boldly
this is an illusion.
Can he rest in peace,
when I’m restless?
His smell
mingled with an ointment,
I often feel.
It floats
in my evening room,
giving me goose-bumps.
Gravitational pull
of a profound love
creates wonders.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
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