Dispelling Some Parts of Reality

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Dispelling Some Parts of Reality

BR Chitwood

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       A Confirmation for Gobbledygook!

Hear me well, naysayers, if your ears are picking up thundering TV trumpet sounds in a false and rah-rah-rah background of joyfully pious, feigned sanity and truth. Yes, of course, my words might titillate, amuse, even, confuse you but they fly in the same wind as that rah-rah-rah TV stuff.

Occasionally, the weather reports are maybe accurate. Our sports events are accurately reported. There is a chance that, while our citizens slept, our US population grew larger and considerably more dangerous with the influx of illegal aliens and cartel members. The count of illegal crossings on our border to the South is now in the millions. Our good and caring government put many of these immigrants on buses and sent them off into cities and states across the United States to establish new and better lives…all free, of course, paid – courtesy of US tax payers.  

The House and The Senate apparently play high-stakes poker in their secret hideaways, too busy with rhetoric and bull shit to dig into ‘The Constitution of the United States’ to find solution, to just maybe awaken the ‘Supreme Court’ to action.

The House reps are all dancing to the tunes of ‘Marxist Socialist Creeps’ that want this thing we call Democracy (Freedom, Liberty, and The Pursuit of Happiness) to fade away.

Ah, the leaders, the Wizards of Mumbling and incompetence, before our very eyes, ears, shake us to our core with their brazen incompetence, and steal an election there is no way in hell they could have won.

AND, here’s the thing, these virtual truths by an Appalachian liberty-loving American will not see the light of day…but I’m a little guy with no big audience, just an aching heart and memory of faithful freedom pals in graves all over the world.

Yeah, sure, I know, this is the United States, land of the free, home of the Brave, where free speech is acknowledged …

WHERE THE HELL DID OUR COUNTRY GO? WHERE DID THE GIFTS OF OUR NATION’S FATHERS GO?

If you listen carefully, you can hear Military graveyards trembling in anger and dismay.

Perhaps we are past remedies with the evil purveyors of far-left power now wearing their smiles and clown outfits laced with thievery, the ‘lobby libbers’ paying their ever-faithful government friends to sway this way or that way, funding perhaps the biggest ‘Presidential Election Fraud’ ever to be in the land of our ‘Iffy-Free’ nation. If it was not ‘PEF’ there will be no Moon, no Stars, no Clouds in our skies – just scary blackness. (Just a metaphorical dab of my whimsical side).

Remember, this is just a country boy’s ‘patriotism’ showing a very ugly side…an eighty-eight years-old country boy! But, please, help me to understand WHY summer riots? WHY ‘Critical Race Theory’(CRT)? WHY boy/girl transgender swaps? WHY ‘Defunding Police’? WHY arresting and immediately releasing criminals? WHY deserting our Israel friends and being cozy with China, Iran, Russia, AND, WHAT HAPPENS now in Afghanistan? The huge WHY? WHY are two idiots running our country and allowing millions of illegal aliens to be bused to cities across our country – AND, we pick up the tab, spending trillions of dollars? The BIG MAN has been in Government for near-fifty years, has not distinguished himself in any way – unless you wish to include his plagiarism. He has a Delaware home worth many millions, more millions in the ‘teens’ he doesn’t bother reporting to the IRS because of special-type documents. His son, Hunter, through some devious means is a millionaire and a new ‘artist’ commanding huge amounts of money for his work.

Okay, it is fairly obvious who I am – check the age again, where my political loyalties are, and WHY Marxist dogma across the board will get us to where Cuba is today. Marx and other bored college professors wrote about Marxism and how it should touch about every aspect of our lives. It is all about POWER for the Elites. I am NOT a RACIST and do not believe in the BLM, Anarchists, and the misguided themes of their movements.

For narrative clarity and excellence, please read Mark Levin’s NEW BOOK: ***** AMERICAN MARXISM *****

If the country goes the way of some of the things mentioned above, I’m good with the boat ride to Hades… Otherwise, I’ll stick around until 2038.

BR Chitwood – 7/12/21

My personal Website & Blog:

‘Author’s Mission: Finding Me Through Writing’

https://www.brchitwood.com


Bewildered Nation

    A Bewildered Nation

BR Chitwood

*

As a bewildered child I could not have known the word, ‘Confusion’, nor any word that defined my state of being. ‘Fear’ was there along with the body tremors and tears, the displacement, the whirl of movement, the sharp and ugly words uttered in the anger of the times, bodies attacking bodies in the fading flicker of kerosene lamps. No, not a constant force in those early years of my youth and yearning to be in the light. It seemed always dark and shadowy, always awaiting the clouds to gather for another storm.

Along with bewilderment and fear there was within my genetic make-up a tendency toward cowardice – and it was easily defined by my eyes, the quivering of my body, and my pitiful voice of surrender…an easy, choice-prey for the bully building his noisy audience of smiling ‘tag-along’ buddies…

After a few shoves put me on the ground, a few sympathetic voices from the gathered crowd would come: “Let him up! He doesn’t want to fight you…recess is over.”

My emotions, my mind, were in a frenzy as I took my seat at the small desk in the back of ‘home room’, and, in that quiet contemplative place, the teacher’s voice a soft and barely audible hum in my ears, my mind did to me what the bully had intended to do – ‘beat me up’… Why was I built this way? Why did my body reject me in those danger moments, sending the waves of doom through the brain and paralyzing any impulse to react to a bully not a lot bigger than I?

There was no corner to hide in. I would be forever known as a sissified little boy, afraid to defend himself. In those moments, I loathed my life and the awkward embarrassment I brought to it.

Friendships that came helped me gain some degree of empowerment. High School football was a major source of encouragement. The body contact nature of the sport awakened a part of my small degree of gridiron talent. Not that I would ever be a bully or close friend with a bully but their bloated egos no longer lingered long in my mind. Our genetic networks carry all of our truths and secrets – good and bad.

Our lives are filled with all the emotions, our loves, our hatreds, our industry, our desires, our capacity for or ‘lack of’ positive energy, and a generous supply of kindness. It is my belief that few of us are Saintly Gifted, empowered by some spiritual gifts of goodness that keep us unselfish and mercifully steadfast in solving crippling and societal issues.,

How we bring our inheritance of virtuous and unvirtuous qualities to adulthood, the pros and cons of our beliefs, determine the good and evil forces that bond and move us toward the good and evil sides… Rather superfluous, to be sure, but so, too, are birth and death.

From an historical perspective we must be coming close to some final determination about our relatively short stint as a democracy…do we stay Free and Sovereign as our Constitutional patriots envisioned, endowed by a loving God to defy negative voices that would destroy all for which our historical documents pledged for us?

With all the universal diversity, the spread of our rapidly growing knowledge, the gaps in personal intelligence, the riots, political parties that appear to seek power and give glib analyses to match their Masters’ dictates. Can America and the World survive if an elite few dictate how we must live?

It is my opinion that the 2021 Presidential election was farcical and without precedent in the annals of history, notwithstanding the awful World Pandemic and some major Cities’ and States’ manipulations.

Our Southern border, once secured, is now open and allowing hundreds of thousands of immigrants into the United States, many of whom are bused and sent all over our country, good people along with child molesters and killers.

I’m just one voice.

Perhaps you won’t like what I’m writing.

Perhaps I’ll be censored.

There are times when a weak voice like mine speaks and few will read what I have written, but I felt the need to put down these thoughts. I love my country and pray we can solve our issues.

B R Chitwood – July 5, 2021

brchitwood.com

The Party’s Over

©The Party’s Over

By BR Chitwood

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Friday nights became a weekly

ritual at my apartment in the

Lovely ‘Spanish Gardens’ –

My drinking pals were there with 

‘Lady prizes’ of the evening, plus

Some Male and female loners…

They usually matched up quickly.

At party’s end I was alone.

While soft Frank Sinatra ballads

Floated among the low lights

And polluted air of booze and smoke

I lazily reclined on the sofa,

Allowing my mind to wander

Down its normal paths of

Romantic memories of pretty faces,

Love affairs in Time’s vacuum.

As I stared at the shadowy ceiling

It came clearly vivid to me…

Stark, plain as the mind can

Render and a ‘hobo heart’ can

Pump its Romantic sadness…

No matter the attempts to

Rebuke the world for my failings,

I was a man ignoring his destiny…

‘His destiny’? I smiled at my hubris…

An author who wrote of his small

Accomplishments, his Loves, his idiocy,

His books, his poetry, were to bring

A new name to literature – my name!

‘His Destiny’? Really! ‘His Destiny’?

A fool at the journey’s beginning – 

An enlightened fool at journey’s end!

*

BR Chitwood – June 28, 2021

Website/Blog: https://brchitwood.com

https://Twitter.com  – @brchitwood

https://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

Brutal Brevity

BR Chitwood

  1. Flash Fiction –

Jean and I were driving to the Napa, California Wine Country, enjoying light conversation, taped music, and an occasional soft touch of endearment via hands or lips. It was our first weekend trip together after a few initial dinner dates and exploratory love episodes. It was a happy sunny Saturday, a clear blue sky, and the promise of taking our relationship to perhaps a more permanent stage. We were a couple filled with the desire to know if we were a true match.

We stopped for a Red Light in a small town. In the light’s left-turn lane, a couple were vividly angry about something, and the man began to throw hard punches at the woman.

Without thinking, I yelled at the man: “Hey, knock it off, Man!”

The man turned quickly and glared angrily at me: “Shut your face, ass-hole!” He turned off his ignition, opened his driver-side door and started to round his car to get to mine.

Jean was scared as I started to get out of the car: “Don’t get involved, please…this could end up badly. Just drive off. Go through the light. No cars are coming either way. Please, don’t fight this guy. He may have a gun – or, a knife. Hurry, please, drive through the light.”

Just as the madman reached for my outside door handle, I sped away and through the light. I could not see the other car in my rearview after turning onto our road route to Napa. Jean and I sat silent for some time.

Jean finally spoke: “I’m sorry, BR, I hate violence. I know you wanted to help the woman, but it’s likely the action you did take cooled him down…”

“I hope so, Jean. That lady was crying, her face already bruised and wet with her tears. I just… Oh, never mind. Hopefully, it was just a spat that will be forgotten soon, and they will have ‘whatever it was about’ out of their system.”

We listened to our musical tapes without a lot of talking the rest of the way into Napa, and I kept checking my rearview mirror for the madman.

The weekend was lovely enough, but there was something hanging in the air that kept it from being all we wanted it to be.

Jean and I saw each other a few more times, but something went missing that we could never quite get back.

*

Flash Fiction from a true event, by:

BR Chitwood – June 19 2021

Visit my personal Website/Blog – View synopses of my 21 books, 375 blog posts, poetry, and Flash Fiction:

https://www.brchitwood.com

Author’s Vision – Writing to Discover Me!

https://www.twitter.com @brchitwood)

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Why Am I Writing?

Br Chitwood

Back in the days when I was rocking and rolling, acting, doing television commercials, film work, even live plays on stage, living in a world I could never have imagined, a horrible murder caused me to turn to writing…

An actress friend of mine was brutally murdered and went missing for two weeks. Her name was Catherine Gibbs (book name – not real name) a ladyresponsible for my fun and frivolity in the acting world. When Cathy’s body was found in the NE desert area of North Phoenix on a record heat day in August, there was little left for the police and forensic people to go on. The heat of August made her unrecognizable.

We, Cathy’s sad gals and pals, were busy missing our good friend but also playing detective on the case. We knew some of the men who dated Carmen, and there was one she preferred over the rest. She was hopeful of marriage and family. That man and several other men were given ‘lie detector’ tests and all passed.

The method used to kill Cathy I hesitate to give the gruesome details of what the detectives and forensic people compiled from what slim evidence they had.

At least, one of Cathy’s friends wrote a book about the case.

Some time later I wrote my own book about the murder, a fictional account of what possibly happened that long-ago night some fifty-odd years ago. The title of the book is: An Arizona Tragedy – A Bailey Crane Mystery #1.

There are six books in the series, 1-6, each book having kernels of truth in them. If the reader has further interest in these books, please find them on my Website/Blog:

https://brchitwood.com

(Under ‘All my Books’) – Synopses and BUY SITES given.)

In all, I’ve written 21 books, many of which are based on true events – e.g.,

Mama’s Madness – Amazon

Stranger Abduction – Amazon

(For the other books, see my Website/Blog)

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In writing, I found an outlet for exposing to myself WHO I am – at least, to the extent that is possible. The reader can find me there on and between the lines of what I write.

In ending this short post, let me wish you good reading and a very good life.

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BR Chitwood – Author -June 14, 2021

Author’s Mission – Writing to Discover Me

Where Did That Dream Go?

Where Did That Dream Go?

(So I asked  a Shrink!)

By BR Chitwood

Where did that dream go, you ask?

Beyond your grasp, sadly…

You had it, but you let it go…

You did not pursue it to the end…

Other diversions caught your fancy…

The phrase is: ‘wine, women, song’…

Sound familiar? ‘wine, women, song’?

WWS slowed and finally ended your dream…

But they were part of the dream…

Too many working dreams spoil the broth!

You’re mixing metaphors, Doctor…

But you have no trouble grasping meaning?

Grasped, Doctor. So, you’re saying, ‘no chance for me’?

There’s always a chance, but youth is gone. Maybe your next life chances will come again…

Whoa, Doc, you believe we get to come back?

That’s not so crazy an idea. A colleague of mine, a hypnotist, has written about taking some patients back to former lives, even having some patients talk about their time while in training units between lives. He has done ‘case studies’… Go to a library, book store, and look under hypnosis, case studies, psychiatrists, former lives…you can find them if you’re interested.

Oh, I’m interested. I just find it so hard to believe.

You wouldn’t be human if you took it at face value. Remember, most of us are ‘doubting Thomas’…many did not believe we would put a man in space, go to the moon, have ‘space stations’, diseases cured, knowledge re-doubling every few months, and all of these life-changing events are being challenged, joined by nefarious rioting groups trying to destroy our cherished freedom and liberty. It is a crazy and wild time for the history of the world… I just hope our kids in the future will be able to read and know of this history… Sorry about the digression, but, in your case, from what you’ve shared with me today, you have had a comparatively good life. You have accomplished many of your goals – which a lot of folks would die for. I really cannot find any major anomalies in your life. Keep your dreams alive. That’s a good thing. The large news I would give you is: be happy in your life – you’ve got more living to do.

Thanks, Doc. You’ve got me feeling better about things… I’m going to find the book or books you were talking about. When I absorb them, I’ll call you for another session.

*

BR Chitwood – August 12, 2020

Please preview my books – many inspired by true crimes:

http://billyraychitwood.com

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Somewhere A Lesson

Somewhere A Lesson

By BR Chitwood

By 10:00AM I was sated with Jenny’s steak and eggs  and ready for some serious beach time across the road from her sidewalk café in Santa Monica…it became a ‘ritual thing’ some six months back when I moved into Marina del Rey a few blocks east to taste the merry and often contrary life of a divorced male, still lying awake at night much too long evaluating those years brought by an insecure and troubled child and young-adult childhood. It was likely even seasoned psychiatrists would feign a ‘too busy’ schedule to ‘work me in’.

A ‘thought’ that tip-toed often into my emotional network, ‘I was loving every damned minute of my new freedom’…well, not every minute, but enough so that the ‘old me’ of my thirty years of living would not give one selfish minute to considering another legal ‘I do’ affair.

So, sated, along with some time-worn good jesting with familiar customers – mostly, over my casual attire (swim suit, jazzy tee-shirt, and white tennis shoes) – plus, some ‘life of the idle’ remarks that were good-natured and jokingly sent, I left the café.

As I crossed the street westward toward the sand and Pacific Ocean, I noticed a group of four kids in their early teens in some sort of lively debate and shoving action. When I stepped onto the sidewalk one of the youngsters accidentally crashed into me. Actually, shoved into me by one of the teens.

“Whoa,” says I, “what’s the ruckus, guys?”

I noticed the smaller kid who fell into me was the smaller of the group…it took me only a tick or two to notice the leader of this pack – you know the type: half-closed eyes, twisting his face into what he considered a menacing position, stood in a defiant stance, legs parted, hands rolled into fists, trying for all the world to look mad and mean.

I put my hand on the smaller kid’s shoulder, looked at the ‘defiant one’, and asked: “What’s your name, fellow?”

“What’s it to you? This is none of your business. Butt out.”

I took my own defiant stance. “I should slap the crap out of you, kid, so keep your mouth shut while I talk…”

The big kid started to open his mouth, and I moved forward one step closer to him. He did not speak.

“Okay, guys, what’s going on? Why is this kid being shoved around?”

The big kid started again to talk, and I moved within two feet of him with my eyes wide and glaring. He looked to the ground and did not speak.

Again, I asked, “What’s going on? Why the shoving. It looks like all three of you are against this kid. Why? Give me your names.” My cold stare reached them all.

The two smaller kids gave me their names – Danny and Sol. The shoved kid offered his name as well – Chaney.

“What’s your name, big guy?”

“I don’t have to give you my name. You’re not the police…”

“You know that for sure? Give me your name, ‘Big Shot’, or you just might find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

The big kid lowered his head, looked off toward the ocean just as a police siren was heard off in the distance.

He lowered his eyes and spoke: “My name is Oscar, okay?”

“Look, guys, I spent a lot of my childhood around bullies who liked to tell others what to do and get them into a lot of trouble. I’ve got a feeling Oscar here is a bully – he’s bigger, feels that buys him special rights, like, picking on smaller guys and being known as the ‘big wheel’. It’s a matter of time when these ‘bully-guys’ will not be around to torment others…they go on to become criminals and spend years in dark prisons, away from anyone who could or would love them.

“So, look, guys, don’t treat people like you would not like to be treated…here’s the plan: Oscar, you take off, think about what I’ve said here – it’s just as easy, Oscar, to win friends with kindness as with ‘bully behavior’. I just hope you get that sooner than later. Your life will be much better…go on, take off, but don’t bother these guys again. I live here and will be looking out for any troublemakers.”

Oscar turned and walked away, went a short way, then ran full speed southward down the sidewalk.

“You guys okay now?” I asked.

Each in turn seemed relieved and would eventually head eastward and home.

After the boys left, I stood watching them while they were still in sight, and, for some reason a memory I own from my own teenage life came to me.

*

[NOTE: one of my fictional novels – Hammer’s Holy Grail – which, like most of my fictional books, contain some factually accurate content…brought to my mind the scene below…

The scene in the book deals with an encounter where my Mom, a cousin, his sister, and I are visiting my Dad in his hotel room to tell him about my sister, age sixteen, eloping with an Army Corporal. Mom and Dad, divorced for some years, with Dad an absentee father we seldom saw for the most part… Suffice it here, but that was a scene I shall never forget. If you want to read more, the book is available on Amazon Kindle and Paperback.]

*

I did live in Marina del Rey, did have breakfast at a small café in Santa Monica, and the following aforementioned scene did occur – both, really, and in Hammer’s Holy Grail.

*

Dad’s hotel room was large but there was not enough chair-seating for all of us. My club-footed Cousin sat in a chair, and his sister sat in a matching chair next to him. Mom sat on the big king-sized bed, and I sat on an uncomfortable radiator by a window some ten feet across from my Mom.

Dad finished his phone call, walked around the room, smiling, looking us over. He knew something was amiss.

“Something’s going on, so let me in on it.”

Dad came to the big dresser and mirror across from the bed and leaned against the top.

Mom was cowed at the pillow-end of the bed, her hands wrapped into each other, her face a pitiful chalky white looking very nervous and scared…she had known a number of times of Dad’s beatings of her and my sister…

Finally, Mom spoke in a soft, terse voice: “Bobbie Jean ran off and married an Army fellow…” Tears came and poured down her face, and her lips tried to form words but could not. She bent her head to her bosom, her hands shaking with terrible stress.

All was quiet in the hotel room for some few seconds.

Dad’s eyes turned into squinted monster eyes. He walked one way, then, another, finally walked to Mom, hovered above her for some seconds, then, with an open hand slapped her so hard on her left cheek, the force of his blow throwing her into the headboard of the bed.

On my uncomfortable radiator grills I was a jumble of nerves, frightened as I had always been in those tense moments when Mom and Sis were beaten, but, not this time. Oh, there was the usual partial paralysis, but also a sudden mix of anger as I looked at my trembling mother on the bed.

As terrified as I was, something moved me, and I dashed with tears streaming from my eyes off the radiator and tackled my Dad onto the lower part of the bed, and swung my fists at him as hard as I could…

For whatever reason, my tackle and my blows had an immediate effect on Dad…surely, they could not have hurt him so very much – although I was then much bigger, playing football, and much stronger than when he beat her years before.

Dad calmed down so quickly that I thought I really might have hurt him…but it was his eyes that told me differently. He looked into my face with a sorrow I cannot describe, like, maybe he had destroyed a part of something most important in his life.

That was the ending of hostility, and I don’t remember when my breathing came back to normalcy, but I was happy that day was over and my Mom was calm again.

We all knew there would be no more rage and spousal abuse.

There were always reasons behind actions taken by someone…I loved my Mom. I loved my Dad. However, there were times when reality could place you smack in the middle of a scary and ugly movie.

Such is life – the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly!

*

BR Chitwood – August 11, 2020

*

Please preview my books: (Most of them inspired by true crimes in real life – and, preview my Memoirs):

http://billyraychitwood.com

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CHAT: REAL-ME & ALTER-ME

CHATREAL-ME & ALTER-ME 

by BR Chitwood

REAL-ME

My good wife allows me ‘space’ for my Romantic memories – spread across a lifetime…those loves along the way that leave a special ambience of thought…and, instances of special sadness.

Damn! It’s tough being a ‘Romantic’!

*

ALTER-ME

After all the years, the thought keeps hammering away at Alter-me: ‘So, what are you going to do with those romantic wishy-washy moments you carry in your knapsack’? Unless you’ve invented a ‘retrieval system’ or ‘Time Machine’ for periodic visits, what the hell good are those moments? Don’t you think your ‘non-romantic’ wife might get a bit sick of your ‘wine and wonder’ wanderings?

*

REAL-ME

Okay, Alter-ass Ego, you’re off-base. You have no business of ruffling these old memory moments. You have cramped my thinking all these years about what a ‘bad-ass’ I am for remembering beautiful moments in my past…and, leave my wife out of this – she is comfortable in her own skin and loves the ‘loop-de-loop’ heart and mind of my vagabond life.

*

ALTER-ME

Really! You’re going to ride that train? You really need to finally, once and for all, GROW-UP, aging-arse, live in the real world…

*

REAL-ME

How the hell does one slay an ‘alter-ego’! You would think after all the years we would have bonded. You’re always doing this to me, using ‘the guilt-whip’! I’m in my ‘Real World’! This is who I am… (Geez, you would think better partnerships could be built between the actual ‘deed-doer’ and the ‘do-nothing alter’.) This is/was the real world I live(d) in, and I cannot close the doors of those ‘Real World’ people and events… I think about them, write books, short stories, songs about them. They were ‘Real’. Some, I loved and with whom I had tender and wonderful moments. I can’t throw those ‘realities’ into a trash can.

*

ALTER-ME

Look, ‘Real Me’, you’re really getting worked up here… Maybe, just, maybe, some of us ‘alter-guys’ try to save their ‘Real Me’s’ the money they would spend on Shrinks. But, look at it this way, you’ve made it this far without Shrinks. Sure, we’ve been through some tough times, but you have ‘hung in there’ like a real trooper. Hey, there are some ‘Real Me’s’ that don’t get through it all – you know, different interior networks, and they can’t handle the stress. Hey, we have all kinds of people with their ‘programs’ set differently. You don’t stress as much as you once did before you began writing your books, putting down thoughts via your characters that you had experienced… This stuff does not happen JUST to you, ‘Real Me’.

*

REAL-ME

Okay, I somehow feel better… Here’s what I’m thinking…

Who truly knows how all this life business starts? The loves, the memories, the realities we face, how we handle them… Everyone has her/his way of handling their emotions, their decisions, their memories, and, you’re right: I’ve made it this far, have a great wife and family, and I also have love memories I don’t wish to shed, but, put them into perspective with all the other realities…label them:

 FOND MEMORIES.

*

BR Chitwood -August 6, 2020

*

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Mood Shifts of a Romantic

“…a foolish, soulful ‘Quest’…

Mood Shifts of a Romantic

 

-Poetic Thoughts by BR Chitwood-

*

The mirror shows six days without a shave,

My beard grows long and white…

Lips smiling inanely at the ruddy face as

Thoughts so long I’ve known come to me…

With the same silly youthful flow…

So much I could have hoped to give our world

Save for the pursuit of Love and Romance –

It became the ‘all that mattered’ focus

Of a foolish, soulful ‘Quest’…

 But, then, fools such as I must exist

To Confound the minds of wizards.

*

BR Chitwood – August 1, 2020

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The Devil’s Time

-Photo Image by: Pedro Lastra – Unsplash.com-

©The Devil’s Time

-A Poem By BR Chitwood-

***

No machine, no vaccination,

Can launch us back in time.

No Hypnotist can erase your mind

Of that clinging primeval slime.

You are here of your own craving,

Desires of your nights and days

Without doubt densely depraving.

Though Biological Sciences seek

Cures and advances in ageing,

Your chances appear most weak.

Today, so much of our world wants

Rebellion, violence, and Anarchy.

Therein the Devil lives and taunts.

***

A Poem by: BR Chitwood – 7-28-20

Please preview my books:

http://billyraychitwood.com

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