Lottery(Haiku)

Play the lottery
and your best consolation- 
dreamy vacancy.  

- John Hardesty 

Tangibles(Haiku)

Wicked tangibles
cannot sustain forever-
only through spirit. 


- John Hardesty 

Time's Arrow(Haiku)

Sprung from time's notched bow-
lifting arc, loft dimensions-
arrow soon finds death. 



- John Hardesty 

The Drift

The reflection of a lost thought
A retrieved moment wrought
For what I sought
The glimpse, now caught
A passing window, I bought
The faded memory I fought
Lost in a pint of malt. 

- John Hardesty 

My Loving Lark

I wake up every morning and 
gather in the slaught of thoughts, so thankful
for this grand impetus who wrought 
me this unique songbird; 
this distinct wonder chirps the most
loving sonnets while looking right at me,
for I am enthralled with her serenade, for 
this tiny marvel rivals Mozart in every 
remarkable reprise and splendid melody,
her pitching tone and melancholic litany-
so mournful- a perfect authentic cadence of trills from
this magnificent rarity, possibly her loving
hymn a lost requiem, though her reflective 
pitch is angelic as the highest chord, she brings
me to tears, for so much beauty in such a small
creature for whom sings to me her morning matins
at my front doorway is beyond heavenly.

- John Hardesty 

Dropping The Body

The inevitable and forbearing transcendence 
through the unknown is an empty culmination,
death's ruth holds the humanist,
religion has enslaved with enigmatic lucidity, 
for those Cainites, Euchites, and Glassites
who abide, hold fast, and firm to their riddled ancient 
rewritten texts in continual tangency, Hallelujah; 
intrigued insanity conceived by hawking rogues
who allusively draw weak and frail minds to their deception, 
selling ashen dust for gold, vending despair for hope, 
bartering an afterlife for a few drops of blood,
negotiating faith and guarantees for insecurity, 
exchanging assurance for uncertainty, 
peddling promises fraught with deceit, 
caveat emptor(buyer beware). 

- John Hardesty 

Tropisms( Haiku)

Movements in nature
inexplicable wonders-
turbines from our God.


- John Hardesty

Tricks Of The Vernacular

Studdering idiosyncratic slang
cover the southern map with endless
doles of macaronic tragedy;
there's no syllogism in the 
imitator- 
an epigone muse,
scholarless obsolete,
an aporia of juxtaposition,
scatterbrained euphemism, 
rhapsodized catastrophe,
southern jargon equivalent 
to illegible cave wrote glyphs, 
hackneyed Esperanto, 
for he's the metaphor of sublime,
an allegoric anecdote, 
Lord of the Crimson Ballad. 

- John Hardesty 

The Last Seat(pg.13)

     Months have passed, and I was coming home from work, and Nazareth's Please Don't Judas Me was blaring from my car radio, and it sent me aloft with thoughts, and it hit me again, I need to bury this book where Rusty found it, maybe a message from the grave or just my subconscious talking back at me, but I needed to act upon this quickly before other things got way out of hand. My weekend would be devoted to this wholeheartedly.
     The week dragged by slowly when you're caring mortar and brick in the hot sun, but Friday finally came, whereas I'd usually go out and have a few beers, tonight I would rest up, and prepare for this burial of evilness in the morning. 
     The dawn came early for me, I rise at 6:00 A.M.- every morning for me and weekends too; I snuck out the house with the book nestled in an old sheet, and I immediately felt its presence slowly enveloping me like a spell, first I noticed I had a flat tire, I quickly changed it, and headed out to this Hell place, I thought too, of all places Vikings with their runes and spells decided to bury their secrets within a cave in central Kentucky still mystified me. 
     Death always scared me to the point of realizing that humans are just desperate seedlings vying for space to grow and thrive where we all live on a dying planet that each will succumb to disease, famine, or war eventually. I have often placed my polemic sarcasm in defense of my own cowardliness to assuage my guilty conscience, the fulcrum of my idiosyncrasy is to avoid all controversy, to live and let die in peace, and apply naturally the Darwinian theory to thin the weak and obliging herd. My existential separation from religion has always brought me to criticism and shun, for authority will never tolerate any subversive as myself, so I keep my vindictive abandonment in the confines of my self-righteous mind. 
     I came to the narrow road where Rusty parents lived, but I drove past their home down about 2 miles near the river and parked my car off a small shoulder of the road, and I got out with the book in hand; for I had a two-mile stroll up and down rocky terrain but after about two hours I reached this place and thought if I only had a boat I would've been here in minutes, the cave was just yards away from the river. I retrieved a flashlight from my backpack, and I glanced long at the entrance of the cave shaking like an abandoned bird from a nest. But, gathered courage and brawn and mustered on, the cave was quiet even bats were solemnly sleeping, and there it was, the Devil's chair in the center where Rusty sat in and was cursed. I placed the book right behind the chair and looked around and found a stone to place over it, then I ran out of there as fast as I could, and noticed my breathing was heavy, but managed to see the opening and came out exhausted. Then I found twigs, brush, and more stones and covered up this cave entrance, for no one will ever find this evil book again, then as I was headed back to my car, I started to sing out for no certain reason, 'Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee...'

                                                                   The End

The Last Seat(pg.12)

     I later retrieved the book after dinner, where I was totally alone again, I wanted to burn the book but thought best not to because what if the curse would haunt me or destroy my family, so I decided then and there I would bury this book the place Rusty found it. But, first I wanted to know who wrote this dreadful book, so on a rainy day, we never worked in the rain, I headed to the local library. 
     I walked in the library from the downpour and flopped down at the reference section and immediately went to work, I asked the older librarian, " do you know our town's local history?"
     And surprisingly she said, "Yes, I do!"   
     "Who were the earlier settlers here in our town?" I said with prying and scrutinizing eyes.         "Well, there were German, Irish, and French settlements throughout our state." She said so politely.
     "Were there any Vikings in Kentucky?" I said out of left field. 
     "Oh no, they were mostly confined to the east coast." She said in assured voice. 
     "Thanks so much, you've been a great help," I said being grateful. 
      "Oh, no problem, glad I could help," she said smiling as she started to check out a book for the next student in line. 
       Well there it was, headed back to square one, but I peered one more time in the antiquated historian register and noticed a UK professor had found strange and bewildered artifacts and writings in a cave near central Kentucky, for Kentucky was home of the biggest cave in the world called Mammoth Cave, which has been used by cavemen and Indians alike for ages and ages, every county in Kentucky has endless upon thousands of caves, Kentucky sits on a bed of limestone and it's hollow as a bone. This unique UK professor and anthropologist found these eccentric writings on several walls dated back thousands of years, they even found through their data glyphs that predated Columbus. Viking writings and symbols, alas, there it was! 
     I also by chance entered the name in their new computer system, Liber Juratus, and the computer took its time then spat out a name, Liber Juratus Honorii or better known as Honorius of Thebes. I was enchanted to read that this man wrote a book called the Book of Honorius, a book of sworn oaths to save souls, catch thieves, find treasures, and conjure or command demons to exploit magical feats. This book was said to have seals that predated back to King Solomon. My God, there it was, Rusty found that ancient Solomonic grimoire that the Vikings somehow had raided and pillaged from the 13th century or so then sailed to North America, barged down the Ohio River, down to Kentucky River and then into Beechfork River and buried this curse forever yet, unfortunately, Rusty found it. 
    
                                                                                12 

The Last Seat(pg.11)

     I loved Big Al like a brother too he always protected me and Rusty whenever there were bigger bullies in school, but I noticed he was tired and sleepy, so I asked, "Hey Al, did Rusty's girlfriend or parents come by to gather Rusty's possessions yet?" 
    "No, not yet," he said quickly.
     "Hey, do you care if I gather one souvenir because you know Rusty's death has been living hell on me," I said almost in tears.
    "No problem Tim, help yourself, his room is down the hall and the last door on the right," Al said with a lump in his throat.
     "Thanks," I said knowing Big Al would be understanding. 
     I came in the room, and it was filled with so many memories, pictures of us hung on the walls, and his pretty tanned girlfriend too, but I wanted to know one thing as I went through his personal belongings like a thief, where was that damn book? I looked it over with a fine tooth and comb, under his bed, under dressers, and under coffee tables too; where is it? I then searched in the closet and finally under endless shoeboxes of pictures and memorabilia I found it laid under a wrapped towel. I shook like a scared dog who seen a ghost. But, I had to get this out of the house so his girlfriend or worse his parents saw it, and I kept it in the towel and walked out of that sad room and down the hall into the living room where Big Al was already sound asleep on the couch, so I never bothered him, and snuck out with this cursed book. 
     I got into my car still shaking, for this book had so much gravity and influence, for whoever touched it felt its presence and power. I had to find out more about this book, why was it found in the middle of a farm in Kentucky? I got home and walked down the stairs to our basement, I wanted to be alone, I wanted no one to see this book in my possession-no one! I pondered, am I this book's next victim?  A scary thought indeed, even though my Latin was strong, some of this was broken English too, written in some medieval grimoire language. Many of the references were from some obscure man named Liber Juratus, but I heard noises upstairs and hid it quickly in the closet under other magazines. 
                                                                                    11

The Last Seat(pg.10)

     In my life, I have interluded to that adjacent question we all fear, is there now or the great beyond, the here or the hereafter, an afterlife or eternal death? Does an afterlife exist? Is there another place beyond man's written myth? I have alluded to the question in a variety of thoughts and always end up with the same conclusion and that is I haven't one clue. There's no rationality in subjecting an extension of life, whereas we manifest into an ethereal or lingering ghost in some other plateau or divine plane beyond our governing breaths or do we simply become flecks of dust that blow into the incessant generations of time? Only death will tell or will we be too numb from the transition of life to ever know what hit us? If a man does have this precious gift of infinite continuity, then what? Does he become bored sitting in a place filled with happy and smiling faces every banal day and eventually revolts like Lucifer did in that scheming book called the Bible? Or is this all some fantasy or a misled dream? I guess every one of us will find out this answer in each one's due time. I will leave it to higher intellects to speculate, postulate and contemplate this futility, and may God help us all. 
     Months have passed since Rusty was killed in that awful car wreck, and I had many unanswered questions too, I needed answers now. I adjourned or ventured out one Saturday morning to Alan's home, a dear classmate of ours for whom Rusty shared his home with, I drove up around nine o'clock in the morning, and turned into his driveway, and thought, this was Rusty's last home on this earth. I parked my car in Big Als' concrete driveway and took a long glance at his '69 Chevelle, that boy could build a car from scratch, he had a talent for restoration, he could resurrect clunkers into gems. I knocked on the door three times, then waited, no answer, I knocked again with a thundering fist, waited and still nothing, started to walk slowly back to my car and I heard a door open, and Big Al walked outside and said, "hey, Harvey, what's going on?"
     "Hey Big Al, how ya doing?" I said cautiously. 
     "You do know I work second shift right?" Big Al said rubbing his tired eyes.
     "Yes I knew but wanted to catch up with you on some things, can I come in and talk for a second?" I said almost in a begging tone.
     " Hell yeah, come on in!" He said smiling.
     Now Big Al loved ole Rusty just as much as I did, they lived together, they played football together, dragged cars together, and did everything together. Big Al was a bodybuilder, not an ounce of fat on him, he was ranked 10th in the nation in the WAF(World Armwrestling League),  and thank god he loved me too. 

                                                                              10 

The Last Seat(pg.9)

     I said thanks and hung the phone up without hearing an answer, this news brought upon me an existential sigh and grief, Rusty stayed on my mind the remaining of this depressing day, I stared endlessly into the brick mortar that was churning, thinking to myself, we're all turned into stone fossils eventually. Is this it? Is this life's cruel joke, and one-trick show? I kept to myself all day, slow to reply to any questions, just wanted this melancholic day to end. I played out over and over a million scenarios in my head, what if I rode with Rusty and the others, there were six killed in that very car wreck that rocked our small community of church-going and God-fearing people and still haunts this town today. 
     I dreaded burials and funeral homes more than any soul on this earth, I gather no joy in consoling the fragile, mournful, and tormented, for at this juncture of my young life I've only experienced death twice thus far, my dearest grandma and grandpa, may God bless their loving souls. I entered that funeral home alone but came with my cousin Marty, who only knew Rusty a few years, but I had to enter that parlor of death by myself, and as I turned the doorway I saw Rusty in the corner of my eyesight, he was placed in a brown tinted coffin looking like he was playing a practical joke pretending to be dead but brutality soon served up his unwelcome despair as I looked upon his family sitting ten feet away in chairs, I gathered my composure as much as I could without falling apart. I slowly walked toward Rusty's coffin, my heart was racing and my voice was not strong, it seemed forever to get to his coffin, finally there, I knelt down, spoke a few prayers and asked God, why? 
     I came to Rusty's mom first and said, "I'm so sorry," and hugged her.
     She was so consoling to me in return and thanked me for coming, then I had to hug each sister, four in all, and gave my condolences in the saddest display of grief ever, then hugged Rusty's two brothers, and then Rusty's dad for whom I still to this very day call my second father, they were all in shock and in abandoned disbelief, but who wouldn't be?
     I did not attend his funeral the following day, I wanted to, but thought best to work and keep it off my mind, for I too was still in shock and Catholic burials are best for immediate families alone. 

                                                                                 9

The Last Seat(pg.8)

     School graduation came with a flurry and I was ready for a change, 12 years in this system was far too long; we had field parties back then on private lands, and we all met up there after our graduation ceremony, it was far from town and we all drove in separate cars, we all drank from several spouts of kegs, we tipped our hats and our red cups and promised each other we'd make this world a better place than we found it, I even popped off a stolen quote from Dan Fogelberg the songwriter and artist as I raised my cup among a circle of true friends, "we drank a toast to innocence, we drank a toast of time, reliving in our eloquence, another Auld Lang Sine," and that was the final chapter of high school. 
     I searched endlessly for a decent and better paying job than the miserable two I had, and let me tell you these were trying times, no jobs in the early '80s, but one day I met a brick mason who said he needed help, and the pay was better so I joined up with this backbreaking job. I still lived at home and that helped, but out of the blue Rusty called and said he got a decent paying job on the docks of the Ohio River as a ship welder and told me too he bought a brand new car. Rusty had a beautiful girlfriend who loved him back, and it seemed Rusty was living the good life at an early age and everything he touched was turning into gold, while I was poor as dump yard rat. 
     Time moved on, but on a strange Sunday night in February, Rusty called me and wanted to know if I would like to go clubbing in Louisville, I made no self-counseling with a quick reply, "no, I have to work tomorrow, I carry brick and hod and I don't have the money either." 
     "Ok brother, I'm off tomorrow, just thought you liked to get out of that house, love you brother," he said making me feel guilty. 
     "I love you too Rusty." I immediately replied back. 
     I hung the phone up thinking damn, I bet they have fun, but I can't show up at work hung over, so off to sleep I went. I awoke the following morning already hating my new job, but it paid the bills but I was almost out the door when the phone rang, so I answered, "hello?"
     "Hello, is Tim there?" the person on the other end said.
The voice sounded very familiar as I said, "this is he," still apprehensive going any further with more questions.
     "This is Tony!" he said, in relief.
     "Hey, Tony, how ya doing?" I said,  waiting for the real news.
     "Have you heard the news this morning?" Tony said very sadly.
     "News? It's 7:45 in the morning!" I screamed out. 
     "Rusty was killed last night in a car accident coming back from a club in Louisville," he said in solemn sadness. 
                                                                            8 

The Last Seat(pg.7)

     Summer came and we both were becoming men where children put away childish things, but Rusty clung to that mysterious book, he thought it gave him power beyond our helpless mortal ware. I thought too, I should've never ventured into that God-forsaken woods and cave that cold day and none of this shit would've happened. Life spins away from us so quickly, this earth has witnessed so much destruction, slaughter, and death. 
     When we were classmates back at St. Thomas school, Rusty and I swore to an oath to each other what was found in that cave was kept in secrecy between ourselves forever, that's a man's membership I held forever, but maybe a promise I should've withdrawn upon.
     I still lucidly recall Rusty sitting in that stone chair anointing himself a king, and I thought the king of what? He sure did change over the years, we both have, but he'll always be my best friend until the day I die. He recited in Latin that very day too, "Qua caro separatur ab animi et lucem tenebras expellit." I know Latin which translated " in which the flesh is separated from the soul, and that expels the darkness of the light," but why did Rusty recite this very quote? Why? 
     Now, time and six degrees of separation between us, we graduated from middle school, onward bound we went to high school, we swore we'd always stay in touch no matter what the sacrifice or consequence have laid before us. But, girls were the new quarry for both of us, and betwixt random school hallway scrambles, I rarely saw my buddy. Our school schedules just didn't match up with each other, I had new stuff that piqued my interest as well, and Rusty played football and basketball. My life as a basketball player was over, I had two jobs after school and never had time, plus I now had a car,  insurance and gas weren't free. I was constantly besieged by the thought that the sun had more plasma than I days left on this earth.
     I would never give up my education, it was my ticket to salvation, I couldn't squander that no matter what laid ahead. I grew up poor compared to Rusty's family, he had the time to play ball and mingle, I did not, where most kids took their summer recess off on vacations and stuff, I worked all summer long. I had two cars before graduating from high school, where most other graduates received their gifts like cars for free I worked and earned mine, I received nothing but a hug from my parents. But, I never complained, because I was forever loved. 

                                                                                        7

The Last Seat(pg.6)

     I've known Rusty forever it seemed, but his odd behavior disturbed me, he didn't have that carefree nonchalant demeanor of lately, so I came to him, "man, are you okay?"  
     In an attempt to brush me aside Rusty retaliated, " I'm fine dude!"
     In a reassuring voice, I reiterated, " are you sure, you've been acting aloof and strange of lately?" 
     Rusty then walked away, he was agitated and quite mad, so I let him be, my dad was going to pick me up later that day but I didn't want to leave on a sour note so I noticed Rusty went to the house and soon as I walked in I heard the Eagles' Hotel California playing very loud, his parents were both working, even though Rusty claimed to hate that song, had it blaring to high heavens, I walked in the room and turned down the volume, and said laughing, "I thought you hated that song?" 
     "Oh, I enjoy the guitar riffs," Rusty said smiling back at me. 
     "My dad's coming to pick me up at 2:00, so I guess I'll see you later, love you brother," I said looking for a handout of compassion. 
     "We're cool blood," he said smiling. 
     I was so glad he wasn't upset but managed to say, "I guess I'll see you at the prison camp, school."
     "Hahaaa," he chuckled back. 
     My dad picked me up that afternoon and I was still worried about ole Rusty, but life must go on, my life anyway. But, that phrase I heard all night from Rusty in his sleep, " nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiae fuit," really puzzled me. I realized it was from Seneca, and meant, "There has not been any great talent without an element of madness." But, what the hell did it mean? 
     Back at school on Monday, Rusty showed up and reciting more crazy quotes, and I had no clue what any of it meant. I pulled him aside, and said, "dude, what's going on with these absurd quotes?" 
     "I'm reciting these magical quotes in that book we found in that cave," Rusty said with a faraway look on his face.  
    Now, ice ran through my veins, I was scared shitless, it was all clear to me now, Rusty is under this book's spell. I now knew had to get him in some cunning way to return this book back to that hellish cave, but how? He's loving this, those spells may just be to ward me off, who knows? I am in too deep, should I tell his parents and risk our friendship forever? The recess bell rang and to the classroom, I went bewildered and worried. 

                                                                       6

The Last Seat(pg.5)

     We ate together at Bradley's table and it was always customary for the guest to say grace or a few warm words, and Mr. Bradley asked me, "Tim, care to say grace before we eat?" 
     "I'd be delighted, sir," and remembered a text from the Bible, Lamentations 4:5, and spouted these words, "Those who ate delicacies are desolate in the streets; those reared in purple embrace ash pits...and God bless this food."  And why I thought best to say that quote still never registered with me. But, Mr. and Mrs. Bradley out of kindness said in unison, "Thank you, Tim!' 
     Now, I thought it was odd, but the Bradleys never said one word at the table while eating, not one word, so I ate and got up from the table sated as a king and retired to the couch slowly nodding off. Later, Mrs. Bradley told me to go upstairs and sleep in the boy's bedroom. So I stumbled and languidly trotted up the steps and flopped on the first bed I saw, no sooner as I was sleeping here comes Rusty in the room loud as a roaring lion I watched him out of the corner of my eye though as he hid that book under some other books in the closet. He never knew I saw him place it there too. 
     The next morning we arose, headed downstairs and tended to the farm animals, I loved it there, for my family had no cattle or any animal other than a dog and cat, so the experience of feeding animals was something to behold. Rusty looked at me when we were alone in the barn, as he was feeding a young calf and said, " whatever you do, never mention our trip to that cave or my book I stole to my parents, okay?" 
     "Why would I?" I blurted out.
     "Promise me!" Rusty said with authority. 
     " Okay, okay I won't!" I  said again. 
     "We're cool, but my dad would beat me senseless if he knew I brought something as evil as that old book filled with ancient words and odd inscriptions back home." 
     "Man, I understand, my parents would kill me too." 
     Months passed and spring came in slowly-springtime in Kentucky moves like an old maid- for winter's breath still hasn't healed and many times in late April nature would dump a foot of snow out of nowhere. 
     I slowly saw Rusty changing, he always recited ridiculous stuff now, I could not follow a word of it, and my Latin was strong too, for we had to say the entire mass in Latin as altar boys, but what on earth was he saying? This gibberish he was saying was unheard of from my perspective, so my curiosity got the best of me one day, and I wanted to know what's going on with my best friend. I cornered him one day outside alone, and said, "hey, Rusty, let's take a walk." 
                                                                                  5 

The Last Seat(pg.4)

     Rusty looked puzzled as soon as we got out of that cave he was searching through his pants and shirt for something, and I inquired, "you lose something?"

     "Yes, my dad's keys to the garage and tractor!" He said distressfully! 

     "He's gonna kill me. I got to go back in that cave and find them." 

I thought to myself, well I'll wait outside because that lighter has to be running low and I hate caves, I'm a bit claustrophobic and uttered in a low voice, "I'll wait out here then!" 

     "Hell no, you're going to help me find them, four eyes are better than two!" Rusty bleated out.

     So I gathered in what composure I had left and found the reserved courage to head back into this God-fearing awful place, and the lighter was now hot as a firestick, so we dashed in looking at every piece of ground that was filled with bat and other critter droppings. We made it back to the center cavern and there it was again that stone devil's chair. Rusty walked up near where he picked up the book behind the limestone chair, and there it was his dad's keys, and he was so elated hollered out, "found them!" His dad's keys must've fallen out when he placed that ancient book in his pants, and I thought we're already cursed. 

     "Good, now let's get the hell out of here!" I screamed out.

     But, what Rusty did next, still terrifies me today, he sat in that Satan's chair and spewed, "bow to me, you servant!" I did not find this amusing, and I had one wish, to get out of this cave quickly, as my legs now trembled and buckled, I said in return volley, "I'm gone, screw this, I can follow the dim light outside!" 

     I headed out in the darkness following the dim-lit passage out of there and was scared out of my mind, then I felt someone touching me on the shoulder and I looked back and it was Rusty.

     "You think this shit is funny don't ya?" I said in a very serious tone.

     "Oh come on man, just kidding you, lighten up!" Rusty said laughing uncontrollably. 

     We walked together for the next two miles without uttering one word at each other. I was exhausted, scratched-up, and mentally fatigued, then up one more hill there it was, Rusty's home. I said to myself, 'thank God.'

     I walked inside their house and caught a whiff of his mother's delectable cooking and there was no doubt she was a masterful cook. She then softly says, "you boys hungry?" 

    "Yes Mam, I'm starving," I said smiling like the cat who found three blind mice.  

                             

                                                                          4 

     

The Last Seat(pg.3)

     Rusty moved through the naked woods like a marathoner, and I was freezing to death, I almost started back but trudged on and finally caught up to him at the steep cliff, and looked down below, I was nearly exhausted and almost frostbitten, and I screamed, "man, I'm headed back, I'm freezing!" Rusty then out of pity, handed me his warm coat and I put it on and felt immediate relief. We then slid down this jagged cliff, Kentucky's an endless cavern of limestone and rock, North American Indians have longed utilized these caves as shelter, but with careful placing of feet and hands we managed to climb down this incline of hellish torture, my hands were cut and cold, the ice sliced through like a knife, we reached the bottom, and I sat down to catch my breath.
     Rusty said, "I want to show you something."
     I thought what now, but managed to say, " Alright, but let's make it quick." 
There behind two huge boulders hidden so well was an entrance, and Rusty had his stolen lighter, lit the way through this dark, dank, and dangerous cave. 
     "Where in the hell are we?" I said scared shitless. 
Rusty then came to a circular room in the cave, where a stone monument of what looked like a throne or chair, and then complete darkness hit us, "damn, what's going on?" I screamed. 
     "Man, my hands got hot, the lighter is bright red." Rusty fired back. 
Rusty then sat on that huge throne, and on it looked like some inscription that I had no idea what it read or meant, whatever it read was ancient and buried under years of cave dust and mold. 
     "Hey, let's head back before your lighter goes completely out!" I screamed out in fear.
Rusty then nodded, but first looked behind the stone throne and there was some old book
that had an inch of cave dust on it, so Rusty picked it up and tucked it in his shirt and pants, and out of that cave we went.  
Finally, we made it outside, and I asked Rusty, "How did you ever find this place?"
    "We lost a bull last spring, and my dad made us go out and find him, and I never came down here before so I was curious, and noticed this strange entrance by accident," Rusty said serving up my query. 
                                                                                3

The Last Seat(pg.2)

     My days were filled as any child that age under strict control and guidance of parents and Catholic nuns with scrutiny at all times, children of the Catholic faith are born guilty, I had no reprieve even on weekends, church service held me in chains 52 times a year. 

     I had to be an altar boy like every boy who entered the doorway of St. Thomas School and church, and that meant corporal punishment, we were forced to serve God with all our hearts, and any child play was strictly prohibited. I'd managed to keep my nose out of trouble most of the time. 

     Seven grueling years I spent in that Catholic penitentiary, molded in the perfect form for their obedient alms. Rusty decided to join up to play basketball, and he asked me to join as well, so I did, I was green as others were too, we only managed three wins that season. 

    Rusty was a mischievous sort, quite great at it too. His smile helped him to meet any resistance as well, his charm was plugged into all outlets, Elvis had nothing on ole Rusty.

     In my fifth year at St. Thomas life became tiresome, I grew tired of this regime of prayer and devotion, rituals became banal as putting on those uniforms, my grades seem to fall into the abyss, I ran out of lies to tell my parents. The only enjoyment I truly embraced was on the weekends when I got to stay overnight and many times over the weekend with Rusty at his parents' home. They were lovely and caring parents, had very few flaws, and let me and Rusty be kids. I and Rusty would spend hours outside on their modest farm, we always veered far away from the boundaries of safety, once I went outside without a coat with the temperature at 15 degrees, we shot basketball for an hour, then, Rusty, all of sudden headed into the forest, I hollered at him, "wait, I got no coat on!" He yelled back, "come on chicken." So, I caught up with him, and in a matter of minutes we were several miles away and I'm freezing with no coat on. 

     "Hey, man I'm cold, you have a coat on and I don't," I said with the hope of him caving in and wanting to head back to warm up back at their house. I was literally freezing to death, I was turning blue. 

     Then Rusty looked back at me and said, "I want to show you something incredible!" 

                                                                            2

     

The Last Seat(Short and True Story-pg.1)

Prologue: I never wanted to write this story, but very strange circumstances contributed to my conscience to release in eerie detail the unraveling of this grim and true story. This isn't a work of fiction! (This will be in daily portions.) 


                                                                  The Last Seat



     Upon my arrival at St. Thomas School, I was a timid kid and rarely seen dullard who often peed himself at the sight of danger. I believed in God and was beaten almost daily by nuns in wicked habits who expounded their Catholicism rules and left unholy rue in their wake. My quietness was seen as a weakness to their malicious intent to make an example out of me, for they weren't shy to expose me as their pet of humility. I went to bed crying many nights dreading school and became aloof and withdrawn, and yet my mother always seems to make things better and secured me that I was loved. I had two other brothers, one older and one younger, and two sisters, two older and two younger, they were loving and supportive. My mother was a devoted Catholic, we never missed mass on Sundays, and Lent and Advent were colossal events for us. She told me to endure the strict providences of the church and school because it will lead me to true love and reassurance of an afterlife. She was the greatest. 
     I was a very shy kid, my shadow was even scared of other shadows, but I loved the great outdoors, and our school had over 500 roaming acres and a rolling river, and I would many times run to the river and back on lunch break, no easy task, it's almost a mile away. I thought I was the fasted kid in school until I met Rusty Bradley, a kid so cool and athletic. But, he too was aloof and kept his distance from everyone. We played basketball at recess, and Rusty had a sweet shot, and a mastered guard and his defense were impeccable. He rarely bragged, and we grew together at St. Thomas School. My visits now looking back to that lovely schoolyard still resonates with echoing sounds of laughter and screaming of joy. Erudition from a nun in an all black and white habit would terrify any kid, I still remember the rule beatings of knuckles, hardly a death sentence, but it was pure terror back then. 

                                                                        1

Who Is This Master Of Mice?

Who is this god who rules our fate, and
who spares no man and no living thing? 
We are mere mortar to his pestle, there
are no ledgers to keep his omni-genocide;
he has scored atrocities bigger than any
tyrant, king, or despot, he loves mind
torture like some mad sadist, we are but 
mice to his yielding power, we are impotent 
to his horrid killings, one-by-one we all 
fall to his sword, he strikes without any 
warning, he loathes us mortals like an 
ant despises water.
How many more worlds does he own?
He wants penance served like a warrant
to ransom, he's never held in contempt,
he wants adulation and endless gratitude, 
he reprieves no one who does not kneel 
before him, he holds a check upon our
daily lives and there's no escape this
charade of cat and mouse, for we are not
qualified or required to be judges, for there
are no laws to judge this god of his crimes;
wherein death suffering only begins. 

- John Hardesty 

Cannibalism(Haiku)

A Tantalus tale-
gods don't dine upon mortals
they just rip hearts out. 

* At the House of Atreus, was a king named Lydia, for whom had a child named Tantalus, who brought upon himself the most despicable punishment by a most despicable deed, but he was
Zeus' favorite mortal, and had privileges few mortals had, and his most privilege was an
honored mortal to eat at the table of the Gods, but Tantalus despised them all, so he plotted
a plan; he killed and boiled his son, Pelops, and then served him up to the banquet of the Gods,
but you can't fool Olympians, they knew immediately, backed away from the table, and their
anger grew and turned upon Tantalus, they couldn't kill Zeus' favorite mortal but declared 
Tantalus an arch-sinner, and placed him by a gleaming pool in Hades, and whenever Tantalus 
became thirsty, he would bend to drink from the stream, but only have the fresh water to recede, and above him hanged fresh dates and golden apples, and figs, but each time he tried to
reach for one, they would shrivel and die upon the vine or stem. Thus, giving us the word: Tantalizing. 

Rara Avis(Haiku)

A visit and tweets
from my dearest feathered friends-
God bless this forum.

- John Hardesty 

Obstinate

Sometimes one must remove the mountain before one sees the light.

- John Hardesty 

Implication of Guilt

The vacuity of despair
hangs on by the slightest of hairs,
where love once entangled
now, grief wrangles
upon this propped-up pylon
of uncertainty, we all die upon,
where Judas' heart raped thy sacred bond
for whom pillage and loot then abscond
from your life without recourse 
or an answer or remorse-
brutality's saber so unkind
it cuts the slice that always reminds
that you were loved by someone
but, now is overrun
by guilt and iniquity 
and an overdrawn draft of pity.

- John Hardesty 

This Side Of Hell

The delicate hush of loneliness 
lives among the most fragile, weary, and
forgotten,
she's the godmother of hopelessness
whose dawn shines brighter than Aurora, 
to be rude to her is a tragedy, 
she smiles while depriving you of
love and joy, her keepsakes are but 
your emanations of torture, 
her scourge wounds deep within and
exalts every weakness, harrowing the 
misery she keeps, there's no counterforce
to her wrath, she'll duplicate every memory
and forgotten elucidated pleasure, an emblem
of profound despair, the decadence of relived death;
to rectify this decomposed transcendency is to
hem in the past of forsaken portals and lives
harmed in contempt and dereliction; 
ergo, may you endure and walk beside the ghosts
for whom entangled and intermingled the windows of
the distant past, you owe no one an apology or 
any explanation, life's filled with snares of
disappointments, to bite your leg off to escape, now
that's the sign and mark of a hero, but you thought
best to live on this side of Hell instead. 

- John Hardesty