The Ballad of Fast Eddie

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THE BALLAD OF FAST EDDIE

Back
In the 1970s
Fast Eddie was
An old man
Who walked
Down the streets
Of the city
Of Troy
Looking for a
Fight looking for
All the bad guys in
A child sized
Cowboy hat with
Two cap
Pistols & his
Belt looking
For the
OK Corral
On the streets
And in the
Alleyways of
The city where
He was the sheriff
Waiting for the clock
To strike

Noon

“Eat lead!”

Eddie would yell
At all the passersby’s
Who laughed
At him cap
Guns blazing in
The air
The sun the
Fastest gunslinger
In the West
This side of
Albany a legend
Who kept Troy
Safe from a world
Too hard to
Understand too
Scared to deal
With life & all
The pressures
Of the world
And of
The mind

Eddie
Liked his
Sarsaparilla
Straight up
And took no
Gruff from
Anyone another
Hero lost in time
Protecting the world
From the men in
Black hats that
We could
Never see

Eddie
Was a real
Gunfighter
A real man that
All the children
Could look up
To a man who
Was kind but
Tough but who
Didn’t see the
End coming

Until one
Day when
Eddie was casually
Walking down
The block
And got shot down
By the gas company
Maintenance man
Known to all his friends
As Tom Terrific
Who pointed his
Finger at Eddie
And said

“Draw!”

And fired

But Eddie just
Wasn’t fast
Enough
His pistols never
Leaving the holsters
In time

Pow! Pow!
Tom’s finger
Took him down
And Eddie
Pretended to
Be shot
And dropped
To the ground

And
That was
The End
Of Fast
Eddie
And he
Was sent
To a psychiatric
Hospital
Where they
Just called him

“Ed”

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt

Heaven ?

 

 

old man dogAn old man and his dog were walking along a country road, enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to the man that he had died. He remembered dying, and realized, too, that the dog had been dead for many years. He wondered where the road would lead them, and continued onward.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall, white arch that gleamed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He was pleased that he had finally arrived at heaven, and the man and his dog walked toward the gate. As he got closer, he saw someone sitting at a beautifully carved desk off to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, “Excuse me, but is this heaven?”

“Yes, it is, sir,” the man answered.

“Wow! Would you happen to have some water?” the man asked.

“Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up.” The gatekeeper gestured to his rear, and the huge gate began to open.

“I assume my friend can come in…” the man said, gesturing toward his dog.

But the reply was, “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.”

The man thought about it, then thanked the gatekeeper, turned back toward the road, and continued in the direction he had been going. After another long walk, he reached the top of another long hill, and he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate. There was no fence, and it looked as if the gate had never been closed, as grass had grown up around it. As he approached the gate, he saw a man just inside, sitting in the shade of a tree in a rickety old chair, reading a book. “Excuse me!” he called to the reader. “Do you have any water?”

“Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there,” the man said, pointing to a place that couldn’t be seen from outside the gate. “Come on in and make yourself at home.”

“How about my friend here?” the traveler gestured to the dog.

“He’s welcome too, and there’s a bowl by the pump,” he said. They walked through the gate and, sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a dipper hanging on it and a bowl next to it on the ground. The man filled the bowl for his dog, and then took a long drink himself.

When both were satisfied, he and the dog walked back toward the man, who was sitting under the tree waiting for them, and asked, “What do you call this place?” the traveler asked.

“This is Heaven,” was the answer.

“Well, that’s confusing,” the traveler said. “It certainly doesn’t look like heaven, and there’s another man down the road who said that place was heaven.”

“Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates?”

“Yes, it was beautiful.”

“Nope. That’s Hell.”

“Doesn’t it offend you for them to use the name of Heaven like that?”

“No. I can see how you might think so, but it actually saves us a lot of time. They screen out the people who are willing to leave their best friends behind.”

~ Author Unknown

Why Do We Write?

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We write because the blank piece of paper and the pen are there. We write because this is our addiction and we are proud of it. Our habit, our drug, our crutch. Whatever you wish to call it. We write because since an early age we felt it deep in our souls and in our bones. The poem must be written, the story must be told and the new myths and Gods are waiting for you to bring them forth from out of the darkness and to bring them into the light of being. You are a creator, so create. You are the writer. So write.

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt

 

booktime

 

“Books bend space and time. One reason the owners of those aforesaid little rambling, poky secondhand bookshops always seem slightly unearthly is that many of them really are, having strayed into this world after taking a wrong turning in their own bookshops in worlds where it is considered commendable business practice to wear carpet slippers all the time and open your shop only when you feel like it.”

~  Guards! Guards! – Terry Pratchett 

THE DAY GOD BECAME POPULAR

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We were hanging out drinking a few shots with
that asshole Metastopholies.
He (as usual) was trying to boug a few drinks, and (as
usual) we..ignored him. At work as usual it was one
long fucking day. I was stuck putting up the sequoias
and disagreed; God liked red, I..liked black. And
somehow the boss (I won’t use her real name) told us
that our work was getting “sloppy’. Too many species,

she said, too many ferns, something like that. You are
always spending way too much time arguing and I’ll
have to let one of you go, the temporal mental bitch
said. “Fine!” I said, “I quit!” Buddha, Muhammad and a
few others were already gone and had decided to start
their own companies. And me, well I was just tired of
all of the insipid & corporate shit where the motto
was “Heaven… we care”. And this action left God whom I
always thought to be a pretty decent kid in general,
to run the factory. And for awhile we kept in touch.
“How’s it goin?” I’d ask and he’d say “Great, but I’m
really busy” “We’ll get together for a beer sometime,
ok?” Ok. But more & more the silence increased. Never
a reply back, never a how are you and never a word through the
psychic dimensional thought. Eventually I found out
that God had taken over and that he had been bumped
up. It figures…I thought. He always was more of the
corporate type than me.

Its been awhile now and I haven’t heard from him in a
few eons. I heard that he never really recovered from
that incident with his kid. Stay away from beautiful
women, we told him, stop trying to be a hero. But he,
never listened and almost…lost everything. Recently I
transformed myself into a man and I caught a glimpse
of him in a bar in NY City. Timothy McVey had just
blown up the federal building with children in it and
God was sitting drunk on a bar stool drinking red
wine. He was really fucked up and he had aged
something awful. “Bartender! Give me another fucking
glass!” he said. They kicked him out and he
disappeared stumbling into the night. I was saddened.
The firm is going under and he’s losing control, other
power hungry kids are creating technology & spirit
advances. God’s becoming an antique, but I know he
won’t retire. Me, well don’t worry about me. I’ll be
fine. These days I’m living as a cat owned by a girl
going thru a tough time. I know where I’m needed. And
even though no one remembers all of the work that I’ve
done its alright. The cycles of the universe go on
because love, redemption and faith never stop and
never die.

Oh and by the way, do you like coffee? Good…that was
MY idea!

__________________
R.M. ENGELHARDT