Jack Ryan


He stood 5’6 at about 115 pounds

The lights in Jacks eyes confounds.

For just a moment as he looks at you

Coming back from someplace his mind went to.

 

Someplace during World War Two

With too much barb wire and walls askew.

Then a prisoner of the Third Reich

This P-38 pilot and Luftwaffe Shrike.

 

His eyes return from that far away time

You can see his vision of it sublime.

His green eyes twinkle at you and shine

A toothy grin and now he’s fine.

 

Jet black hair parted to one side

Never took for himself a bride.

The results of his stay in the camps

The horrors he’s seen has left it’s stamp.

 

A once handsome man now bent and broken

Speaks to you in a hollow voice soft-spoken.

He chain-smokes Camel Cigarettes you see

His hands shake a little as he looks at me.

 

You can’t help but love this brave soul

Whose survival from the Germans has taken it’s toll.

His nervous laugh comes a little too easy

And when he sits too long he becomes uneasy.

 

Jack lived with his Mother and step father

And his Mother admitted that he was no bother.

For they were friends of my parents and me

So on visits to their house there was Jack and me.

 

And I loved talking to Jack because he was fun

“Hello David, how are you doing son?’

And his face would come back from where-ever it was

When he saw me come into his room because.

 

I’d listen to Jack and not say a word

He’d tell me new stories that I’d never heard.

He liked me because I liked him

But sometimes his stories got dark and grim.

 

And one evening Jack got that far away look in his eyes

And his green eyes to me did mesmerize.

He told me of horrors of the camp he had seen

He told me in this camp he had been.

 

And the light in Jack’s eyes got stranger still

And a glaze came over them like an icy chill.

“Those dirty no good son of a bitches”

Jack’s words now coming in strange pitches.

 

This frail man stood up out of his rocking chair

And he ran his hand through his thick black hair.

I saw his ribs through his T-shirt heaving

And sobs from his soul relieving.

 

The agony he relives every day of his life

Of those days behind fences filled with strife.

The tears streamed down his face straight away

And he was embarrassed that I saw him that way.

 

So I reached over and took Jack’s shaking hand

The one with the cigarette lighter and gold band.

And the tears continued to flow

“David you’re a good kid you know.”

  

His words to me as he managed a smile

His eyes came back to green after while.

His mother came in and asked if things were all right?

So I jumped up and smiled at her with all my might.

 

Her smile at me telling of Jack’s plight

She turned and walked back out of sight.

And Jack looked at me and said “Thank you Son”

“ Now tell me about something that’s fun.”

 

This was Jack Ryan.

He was a real person.

He was a real prisoner of war

And he was my friend.

 

Dave Proffitt

7/26/2013

12:24 am.

Daughter of The Mountain


In Welches a feminine spirit of the mountain lives.
To her friends love and friendship she gives.
She shines on those fortunate enough to know her.
In times that are and times that were.

 

Loves her horse whose name is Star.
Her and LoLo are friends that are
At times indistinguishable betwixt and between
Subatomic particles  in spaces tiny and unseen.

 

Which makes them sisters on a most infinite level.
Unlike in appearance your thoughts dishevel
Their actions and thoughts these earth mothers
Trying to separate one from the other.

 

High altitude woman with forest green eyes.
Reflecting the purist summer skies.
Dancing eyes that play with you.
Like a gentle summer breeze the blew

 

Her into your life makes you wonder.
Why some have stayed and most have gone under.
Also loves her two-wheeled steed of steel.
Energy released into mountain bike wheels.

 

A chatter box that takes auctioneer lessons from LoLo.
These two women have nothing in their vocabulary that means slow.
Both throttles stuck on Warp Nine.
Their “engine overload” idiot lights begin to shine.

 

Going to bed throttled back to sub light two thirds
Like a race car idling spitting out an exhaust of idle words.
“Goodnight LoLo, goodnight Cherri.”
Overcome at last by the sleep fairy.

A modern evolution of  the mountain spirit.
All of it’s goodness she will inherit.
She’s been down all the dead end streets.
Of human relationships that mistreat.

 

Her gentle heart still resilient still trying.
Now easily able to wade thru the deceit and the lying.
Still she does it with a smile on her face.
And she does it with dignity and grace.

 

She makes you feel good thinking of her.
Like your good friends that are and were.
She puts no demands upon your soul.
Her virtues to extol.

 

Her name is Cherri.
And I am her friend.
And I am proud of that.
And I will remember those smiling eyes.

Dave Proffitt
7/13/2013
10:54 

King Coons


I woke up this mornin
There’s a knocking on my back door.
And I hear a high pitched warning.
And this scratchin on my floor.

And the voice said” I want your garbage.”
“ I want all your trash.”
“An ifn yo don’t your garbage cans I’ll ravage.”
“An the windows on your door I”ll bash.”

“You best gimme that trash.”
So I wondered who could be so brash.
Someone demanding all my trash?
This person to my quiet morning did crash.

 

So I put on my pants and my flip flops.
Determined to pull out all the stops.
I grabbed my handgun with the big hole in one end
To that happy garbage dump in the sky I’d send.

 

This early morning raucous alarm clock.
Who on my back door decided to knock?
This demanding denizen on my deck.
I decided to check.

 

It’s dark in my house but darker outside.
I peer out the door windows with eyes wide.
But I see no one in front of the door.
Still I hear a shuffling on the floor.

The voice comes again “you best not open that door.”
“Just come around heaah throw the trash on the floor.”
So I look at the bottom of the back door.
Two beady black eyes behind a mask into me bore.

Now it’s said that I’m an easy going man.
This demanding raccoon is more than I can stand.
Talking trash  to me from my deck.
This cocky, striped-ass train wreck.

I turn on the lights and open the door fast.
It knocks the coon backward landing on his ass.
Now he says to me “That wasn’t very nice.”
“I’m ‘fraid you gonna have to pay the price.”

I guess he never saw the gun behind my back.
Now leering at him the big hole empty and black.
The muzzle an inch from his nose.
Black as night dark as the crows.

“Just kidding really” he says to me
Thru a sheepish grin his plea.
“Allow me to introduce myself.”
“Before you put me on the shelf.”

 

“My name is King Coons.”
“I been round here for many moons.
“I’m the Don of the raccoon Mafia.”
This gem of wisdom from raccoon trivia.

 

Notches in his ears tattered and torn.
A little worse for wear a lot worse for worn.
He starts swearing at me for things thrown away.
Foul expletives to me he would say.

 

My dog is raging and barking inside.
Hearing this the coon’s eyes become wide.
“Is that your f__king dog I hear?”
“If you let him out I’ll chew off is ears.”

  

“And tear out his throat.”
“Then I’ll stand on his carcass and gloat.”
“You’ll shut up you foul mouthed coon.”
“Or you’ll join your ancestors real soon.”

 

“I’m King Coons the raccoon boss.”
“I’m drawing a line you better not cross.”
“I’ll go in your house when you open the door.”
“I’ll tear up your furniture and shit on the floor.”

 

The raccoon continued to yell and he swore.
And I could tell that I needed to even score.
“I’ll be in your house before you can close the door.”
“I’m King Coons your boss at the back door.”

 

A bright orange flash says “Not anymore.”
“Not anymore.”

Dave Proffitt
7/11/2013
12:58 am