Kid President

If only the world was run by children.

Children are worth more than a billion.

They are honest,




And so very pleasant.

I think I want to elect one president.


I realize I’ve something lacking.

You say it is my gut relaxing.

I believe it’s my mind still turning.

That stops my heart always burning.

If you lose patience and move on,

I cannot blame you for your action.

I’m a wimp and a coward at that.

All I’ve done so far is sat.

But please remember my lack of time,

That I’ve invested in women divine.

For surely I will come around.

I just pray that when I do it’s you I’ve found


From Sureshot the King

The Sureshot Series:

The Sureshot Rises

Sureshot the Assassin

Sureshot the King

The Monster in the Woods (A Sureshot Short Story)

The sun was getting low and Maklar moved away from the cabin to dig a hole of suitable size to bury the various remains they discovered. As he did, he noticed a faint trail of blood. It began as a drop on a rock then a smudge on a tree, so he dismissed it as more evidence of the fight that took place. But, sparse as those drops were, they were consistent in heading in a single direction. A spark ignited in Maklar’s belly.

“Vorfar!” Maklar yelled, “Come look at this!” 

The warrior hurried over to his younger companion. Maklar pointed to what he was looking at without saying anything. Almost afraid that if he spoke the words the truth would flee from them like a frightened deer. 

Vorfar studied what Maklar saw and followed along as well; eyes focused and without blinking. The sunlight was failing them and Vorfar scrambled to see all of the evidence he sought. He moved from place to place ever further from the cabin and always found another bit of evidence to push him onward. 

Vorfar cursed loudly into the woods in the direction of the trail. 

Znak watched from the cabin but could contain his curiosity no longer, “What is it?” he called. 

Vorfar marched back to the cabin and Maklar fell into place behind him as he did. 

“What is going on?” Znak demanded. 

“There is a trail,” Vorfar huffed. “Maklar found it.”

“What does that mean? A trail for what?”

“A trail of blood. Old. Probably from the same fight.”

“Where does it lead?” 

“How should I know?” Vorfar spat. “We lost the light.” 

The minds of the grown men raced as they tried to sort out the meaning of their discovery. 

Kuffik broke their concentration, “Is that from Durbar?” 

“It might be,” Maklar answered. 

“Is he alive then?” the boy added. 

“We still don’t know,” Vorfar admitted. “We cannot follow the trail until tomorrow now.”

“Well there is hope then,” the boy comforted and smiled. His smile broke the tension and the other men agreed, exhaling and relaxing their bodies.


A child so beautiful and young,

Her life long journey had just begun.

A man with debts he cannot pay,

No longer can he keep the jealous rage at bay.

The lamb, sacrificed at his bloody hands.


Knocked down over and over by the world,

Brain fried like eggs and blood curdled.

Strolled into a low cost burger grill,

As if he did it every day, no hesitation to kill.

Laying down people like a stack of split logs.


A failed marriage and a terrible father,

Spending money, like a horse eating fodder.

Caught in a sticky web of deceit and lies,

He turns to the influential help of his ties.

Your only lying to your pathetic self.