Thursday, January 29, 2015


by horace p sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas

different folks lead different lives
some live in palaces, some live in hives
some live in mansions, some in hovels
some in holes that they dig with wooden shovels

some only breathe a few minutes, and then die
others live a hundred years, and that's no lie
some ride through the city on the shoulders of the mob
others walk the lonely highway, can't even find a job

some men are treated by women real nice
they crawl all over them like bedbugs or lice
other fellows can't even get kissed
and never know what they have missed

some women find men handsome and faithful
rich, well groomed and properly grateful
other poor girls are enslaved by mad beasts
who will never let go until they are deceased

some folks never learn to read
from the wisdom of philosophers they are freed
some folks never go to a museum
there are some pretty pictures there, but they don’t see’em

the world is a deck with a trillion cards
that you can’t figure out though you try so hard
the chips will fall whether or not you may
i don’t have anything more to say

Friday, January 16, 2015

the white dog

by major stafford sternwall

last night i had a strange dream, a dream so strange i can hardly begin to describe it.

i was walking down a street and then over a bridge and a chap i knew in school passed me by without so much as a glance, and i thought, good heavens, am i going mad - does nobody recognize me, do i no longer exist - and i kept walking across the bridge which seemed to have no end, and i thought, i wish i had had a dog when i as a boy, and then do you know, the strangest thing happened, a big white dog came bounding toward me, the friendliest fellow you ever saw, and i thought, at last, at last i have a true friend, and then i woke up -

and i realized i was out of cigarettes. and the tobacconist would not open for another two hours at least.

how i wished i could go back to sleep and meet my friend the white dog again.

but it was no use. once awake, i can never get back to sleep.

Friday, January 9, 2015

dead man's cliff

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas and konrad kraus

some said his name was billy
some said his name was biff
but they had to pick up the pieces
when he drove off dead man's cliff

he drove a 57 'vette
the coolest car invented yet
he came down highway 101
as the sun began to set

the boys thought he was a stuckup clown
the girls desired him for a mate
he drove through town like a conqueror
he drove through town like fate

the girls rushed out of the soda shoppes
and gathered around him like flies
and melted like cotton candy candles
when they looked into his eyes

he said he had been to paris and rome
and lived in a mansion in l a
his dad was the king of hollywood
and his mom was the queen of the may

he had wealth to toss around like confetti
enough money to burn a wet mule
he had sat at the feet of wise men
but knew there was only one school

and that was the school - of love
the school of love - and regret
for he had had his heart broken
by someone he was trying to forget

the girls were thrilled with his story
they wept to hear his tale
they elbowed each other for his attention
but his love was not for sale

the stars stood still in the heavens
as billy made his pick
he settled on shirley stevens
the others drifted away - heartsick

they had to watch as shirley
so rich, so blonde, so blasé
had the corvette's door opened by billy
and watch as they sped away

of all the girls who were shattered
peggy smith took it the worst
when the race for billy's heart began
she was sure she would come in first

she slunk home to the little cabin
where she lived with her drunken dad
she had never been so late before
this time he was really mad

he told her she was a harlot
and had blackened his good name
and told her to hit the highway
when the next daybreak came

peggy lay in the darkness
hoping that she would die
when she head a tap on the window
in the sweet bye and bye

there was no time for romantic words
there was no time for palaver
it was peggy's desperate prayer come true -
it was billy come to save her!

his blue eyes blazed in the darkness
his spine it stood up stiff
"i have come to save you, my darling
but my name isn't billy - it's biff

there is no time to explain my deception
you will have to trust me, i fear
but wait for me in the moonlight
i will be back for you , my dear

but first i have to clear my name
there is one thing i have do
just wait for me, my darling,
and to you i will be true"

he vanished into the darkness
lit by a single star
a star like peggy's wildest dream
so near, and yet so far

the f b i was on biff's trail
for a bank job up in spokane
so far he had eluded them
in the night and wind and rain

peggy waited by the window
until the sunset glowed
her teardrops fell like silver jewels
alas, biff never showed

no one ever knew for sure
if his name was billy or biff
they had to pick up the pieces
when he drove off dead man's cliff

Saturday, January 3, 2015


by annabel lee

illustration by palomine studios

here is a poem
i wrote it just for you
i know who you are
and you know who i am too

we are the rulers
of this happy universe
and we will rule together
but don't forget - i got here first

all the skies and mountains
rivers, shores, and waves
and all the creatures in them
are our playthings and our slaves

we will live forever
and have such jolly fun
but please - always remember
that i am number one

Thursday, January 1, 2015

the purple girl

by annabel lee

a purple girl was sitting on a bench
perusing a red book - "introductory french"
a green panhandler approached with humble mien
she sent him away without a yellow bean

an orange dog approached the damsel next
but she chose not to look up from her text
a gray policeman with a black mustache
reminded her to pick up all loose trash

a pale blue sky of uncontested drear
o'erlooked the scene - unchanged from previous years
behind the bench - but not too far beyond
a shadow stirred beneath a frozen pond

the silver surface of the ice was pierced
suddenly by a crocodile quite fierce
with crimson mouth he seized the studious wench -

a lavender sun shines on the empty bench