Early Evening Haiku

I.
A warm wind blows by,
Birds sing in the distant trees,
A savored hour.

II.
So much to say now,
Time does not permit it. Alas!
Let another time come.

III.
Moving a mountain,
A mustard seed faith is all,
Can I muster that?

Late Night Haiku VII

XVII.
Stopping for the night,
The soft sounds of the evening,
Do sing their last song.

XVIII.
Path forks presently,
A point of decision here,
A cricket beckons.

XIX.
Knowing what must be,
And knowing how to do it,
Are not the same thing.

Late Night Haiku VI

XIV.
A glorious day,
Brings me to rejoice this eve;
Grasp its dying hour.

XV.
The plan unplanned is
Far greater than the one set,
Life made in moments.

XVI.
A sole dogwood tree,
Waves in wind with grace and joy,
Preview of the day.

Late Night Haiku V

XI.
Softly night falls here,
The sound of the computer
Mourns the passing day.

XII.
The wind blows to, fro,
My mind too goes for the ride,
Where does it lead me?

XIII.
Quiet, the cars drone on,
The soft sounds of a city night,
Someone heads t'ward home.

Sonnet IX

The days grow long and trees do anxious bloom,
Warm breezes flow and conjure up the flowers.
A flower small does wish for warmth to loom,
Returning coldness would his life so sour.
Summer's prophet does gain my attention rapt,
My mind, day dreaming, does ask of future,
But Sping's foretelling doth end up all capped,
Past pending warmth the Spring would telling err.
And so I settle in to watch the birds,
Whose long southern sojourn deprived us so,
And write patient, anticipating words,
As time, ne'er ceasing, does slowly still flow.
    Let the Spring come and happy joy bring here,
    To all those who for this did lend a ear.

Late Night Haiku IV

VII.
Clock ticks slowly on.
More time goes, ne'er returning.
Cats are unaware.

VIII.
Unworthy I am,
Edwards rings so true tonight,
Refreshing is Grace.

IX.
Worry less about myself,
Time indiff'rent, for good reason
Soli deo gloria.

X.
To bed I go now,
The sound of crickets lacking,
Just the tick of clock.

CYOA 4.5: Gregorian Chants

Last time on Choose Your Own Adventure: Part 3.2: Beginning the Investigation @ WIT!?!?!?

Herrick sat in his home’s driveway staring at the steering wheel of his city owned Ford Five Hundred. He realized that if Stevenson ever found out that he was aware of the Variant Alliance’s connection to the Turner case, it could be the end of his career. Stevenson was the type of manipulative person that was able to make himself the chief’s best friend even while grating Herrick with his “I’m a federal agent and you’re not” attitude. At the same time, Herrick realized that if the FBI got involved, he would never be able to trap the Variant Alliance – he knew the enemy and he was the only one capable of dealing with Dakmoore.

If Stevenson got involved and tried FBI protocols for dealing with this type of threat, bad things would happen. Having nearly lost his life to Dakmoore, Herrick was uniquely able to understand just what a threat the Variant Alliance was. If he lost his job, so be it – he would rather be unemployed with the knowledge that he had averted whatever disaster Dakmoore had planned than be gainfully employed and staring at a casualty list.

One thing was sure. If he was going to pursue Dakmoore, he was going to have to ditch the standard issue police car for now. With a GPS navigation system and other electronic gadgets installed for the alleged reason of making an officer’s life easier, Herrick wasn’t so sure that Stevenson might not be willing to stoop to tracking his vehicle.

“Here we are facing one of the biggest threats to ever come to this city and I have to worry about some idiotic turf war,” Herrick muttered. A low buzzing sound brought Herrick’s mind back to the situation at hand and he realized his cell phone was ringing. It was Sally Gregory, his fiancée.

Gregory had moved into town when Herrick was a junior in high school and he had fallen for her almost immediately. However, when he had gone off to Southwest State to earn a degree in criminology, and then later nabbed his position at the Bureau, he had failed to keep in contact. His relatives had all moved out of town, while he was in college, searching for better jobs in larger cities and he did not return until accepting the job as Harrison County detective after his near-death at the hands of Dakmoore. When he did arrive in town, he learned that Sally had never married, crushed by his departure. He had resolved to try to make things right, and after an initial, justifiable hesitancy on her part; they had hit it off again.

Herrick flipped open the phone. “Hello, hon.”

“Ben, there’s been a black van driving down my street every few minutes; I’m starting to think they are spying on me.”

“Dakmoore, you, you,” Herrick muttered. He threw the car into reverse, then shoved it into drive, ignoring the vehicle's squealing protest to the sudden movement.

“What was that,” she questioned, “and what’s this got to do with Dakmoore?” He had told her about his previous encounters with Dakmoore and now he regretted letting this slip out to her.
“I don’t know if this phone is secure, Sal, just hold tight, I’ll be right there.” No sooner had Herrick uttered the words than a gut-wrenching scream came over the line and he heard the cell phone crash to the ground. Herrick fought to maintain control of the car as his mind pictured what was happening. He could hear someone walking in a slow, deliberate manner toward the phone and then he heard what sounded like someone picking it up.

“I know you better than you think, Ben.” It was Dakmoore. “I knew you’d keep our demands to yourself so you could try to hunt us down. We’re not playing that game, so I’ve acquired some ‘insurance’ to make sure our demands are properly conveyed.”

“Dakmoore…” Herrick could think of a thousand choice expressions to fire Dakmoore’s way, but decided doing so would only give the criminal the attention he wanted. “What are you going to do with Sally?”

“Don’t worry about Sally, man. I’ll take care of her. If our demands are unmet, you’re going to have far more to worry about than just Miss Gregory. One hundred million euros by noon tomorrow, Herrick. Don’t be late, you wouldn’t want to fail Sally again.” Dakmoore chucked, “I really should have been a Hollywood director, here I’ve setup a perfect movie – black vans kidnapping people, secretive phone conversations demanding large sums of money and now damsel in distress. Lots of drama, a perfect evil genius – we could call it Gregorian Chants! I’m bloody brilliant! Heh, bloody, get it, bloody?”

“People don’t like b-movies full of clichéd, overused plots and morbid puns, Dakmoore,” Herrick retorted. What was he doing arguing about movie production with this sadistic creep? “I don’t have time for this,” he continued and then hung up the phone.

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If All Else Fails...

I cannot seem to get myself to finish the various bits of posts I've started writing for this blog. I have one of the critical study of religion as well as my oft promised reflection on Sixpence None the Richer. I have a few others on the burner too, but they just aren't getting done. So, for tonight, I'll just post another sonnet. This one was started on December 13, when I drove past a field in Maryland Heights filled with puddles lit by the setting sun.

A field barren, the harvest long complete, Ponds formed, glimmer in the early evening.
So as the soul can feel so hard a defeat,
Half drowned below the cold water pooling.
The growth of summer past still remembered,
Spring sprouts still months under the dark, cold ground.
Though sun does shine on water’s jewels now gathered,
Frost’s war continues ‘gainst the glowing round.
Invoking summers past and yet to come,
Lose all impact amidst the icéd earth.
The path so long, so cold leaves one all numb,
Has the still earth morphed to hostile turf?
    Show me, Almighty Liege, the way to go,
    That I might know before fields again grow.

Sonnet VII

Happiness rushes like a mountain stream,
Rocks fill the creek before submerging down;
Through you, the water cycles back it seems.
But how the rains, o'er powered, do also drown,
Untaught, and caught by stronger current,
Pulled wayward to the craggy edge of doom.
Can what goes down the brook be unlearnt;
Condensed return weaved through Wisdom's own loom?
Precipitate the path a'top the vista,
Let me this happy cycle see in time,
Pouring downward so long a jaunt have moi,
Been carried off in backwards movéd climb.
    If this be wrong and I take ash for rain,
    Then off to sea for me is now ordained.

Late Night Haiku

IV.
Why do I doubt it?
Crickets at night do not worry.
God takes care of things.

V.
Snow falls gently down,
The roads like frozen slick ponds.
A night to stay in.

VI.
Joy comes to me now,
Like the soft snow to the ground.
God leads if you wait.