Slave to Soil

Alone or in great company the tree stands proud.

When heavy loads of cold snow weigh it down it stands, round.

Through powerful storms of thunder it stands, brave.

Even with tiny insects feeding the tree stands, lives

Tall proud thick and strong it stands.

Gently swaying in the breeze still it stands.

Small birds living on its’ large, thick branches.

Every year in its foliage something hatches.

With the burden of life ever dragging,

And your soul forever snagging.

Think of the tree and toil,

How free it is and still, slave to soil.

Precious Freedom

Red white and blue

Hot dogs and hamburgers

Beer wine and margaritas

Laughter love and friends

Fireworks at night’s end

Most will celebrate

Though some lament

Gripe complain and criticize

Mumble of our arrogance

Pride, greed and ignorance 

Raise a different banner 

Down with capitalism

Unfair and exploitive

Our country is terrible

Worst of all in the world

Yet liberty all possess

To work and love and play

Say whatever they want

Because a hard battle was won

To offer all, precious freedom

Dark Dream

From The Sureshot Rises book 1 of my Sureshot trilogy available on Amazon in paperback and for kindle

Durbar’s mind floated gently through time and space as images of his childhood drifted past him. He dreamed of times spent with his beloved father in their cabin deep in the woods far from anyone else. Durbar had hardly known anyone in his youth. He met some traders in Harmon but always at the western end of town. He and his father never ventured into the center of the city. They never stayed at an inn there, but always with Znak. Durbar’s world was the woods, his father and their work.

The slumber started off very pleasant. First, he saw his father stalking a buck in the woods. This was how Durbar always remembered Adar; strong, proud, powerful and deadly. He dreamed about his mother next. She appeared with long, fair hair and a warm smile, and he dreamed about them together. He had no actual visual memory of her but only the descriptions from his father to conjure an image. Durbar was there too, but he was younger, a boy really, playing outside in the woods. He was smiling and laughing along with his parents. In the deep corners of the young man’s mind they lived. It was a nice fantasy, but of course, it was nothing more than that. Both of his parents were dead.

In his dream, the trees melted away and melded into walls that were cold and dark. Znak appeared near Durbar. He was dressed in battle gear, wearing heavy armor from head to toe. In his right hand, he held a thick sword, and in his left, he had a large shield. He appeared ready to fight. Znak did not acknowledge Durbar but stood tall and strong.

 Next, he clearly saw his father also dressed in battle gear and holding a long sword at his side. Stranger yet was that he envisioned his mother also there next to the two men. She was dressed in armor and held a sword in one hand and a buckler in the other. The scene confused Durbar even in his sleep. He tried to call out to his parents, but they did not answer him. Instead, they simply stared through him as if he were not even there. Then they vanished, and Durbar found himself in what he finally recognized as the arena of the Harmon garrison, the same arena he saw for the first time that day. He had a sword in his hand, a helmet on his head and a shield on his left arm. Besides these armaments, he was dressed exactly as he had so many years in the woods—as a simple hunter. The arena was very dark, and he could not see to the other side.

An arrow flew past his head from the darkness. He ducked after it was already behind him; a delayed reaction. Another arrow flew by him and then another. There was no stopping them, and he could not anticipate their trajectory so he hid behind his shield. The arrows flew all around him, some striking his shield, others pierced the ground around his feet and he was having trouble staying calm. He began to panic and finally ran in the opposite direction of the arrows’ origin. A few moments later he realized that he was running toward a huge knight clad in dark armor and stopped thirty feet from the fighter. The knight lowered his bow and let it fall to the ground at his feet. He removed his helmet but Durbar could not see his face. In fact, his entire outline was fuzzy.

There were no real features to the knight’s face and no hair on his head. It was dark and shadowed. Durbar froze in his tracks and stared at the knight. The giant fighter gripped a huge axe in his left hand and a flail in his right. He opened his shadowy mouth and screamed a piercing sound that made Durbar try to cover his ears. Then he charged at the young woodsman with great fury snorting and grunting like a bull.

Durbar raised his shield to block the attack but the knight struck it with his axe. The blow was so forceful that his arm was nearly torn off and hung limp with the broken shield at his side. Next, he raised his sword to strike but the knight slapped it out of his hand with a back swing, knocking Durbar to the dirt. The knight then swung his flail and crushed Durbar’s head, splitting his helmet and leaving him dead. The dark warrior held his arms up in victory and screamed again in the same animalistic roar, Durbar’s limp, lifeless body at his feet.

Embrace

Black smoke rises up from a burning fire in the middle of the dense dark forest.

Red flames dance in the night like fierce warriors after a victorious battle.

Green trees tower high into the sky, forever reaching for the heavens.

Yellow leaves fall from branches retiring to the soil after a long years work.

Blue, cold, rushing water runs past nearby in a hurry to get wherever it is going.

Grey clouds float lazily through the air saving their strength for a later engagement.

White snow caps the tall majestic mountains like a hat on the head of a boy.

Our pink lips, embraced now and forever, unaffected.

Readers Wanted!

All books available by Phillip Brunnengraeber

Join the adventure today! 

The Sureshot Series:

The Sureshot Rises

Sureshot the Assassin

Sureshot the King

The Monster in the Woods (A Sureshot Short Story)

Goblin Brothers Series:

Goblins Episode 1: Born in Blood 

Goblins Episode 2: Family

Goblins Episode 3: Blood, Bone , Spirit

Nonfiction: 

This is Crazy: Finding Who you are and What you Want

Satan’s Welcome

Another HS poem

Water floods and drowns a soul that is now extinct.

Running from a storm; fear reduces man to instinct.

Hell beckons, for a new tenant is always welcomes happily.

Paralyzed, the body cannot run from the grasp of destiny.

Klaus calls your name from a list he tightly clutches.

Crying desperately as it’s you that fate touches.

A glass of wine as the devil’s servants observe his art.

Fingers squeeze the last drops of blood from your vacant heart.