We're Moving!

I'm getting a bit disenchanted with Blogspot and have moved to WordPress; combining both ‘The Rant’ and ‘Shear’s Shorts’ into one site.  You’ll be able to read updates on my day-to-day activities as a disabled veteran, and catch up on my recent poetry, photography, and short fiction.  I hope you all find this as exciting as I do, and I’m excited to have you visit.

Here's the Link!

http://kmshear.com/

Lady in the Garage

Naturally occurring image on my garage floor.

Magpie 53

Image courtesy Magpie Tales

Paternal grandfather,

Maternal grandmother,

Their crystalline salt shakers,

Have fallen to the ground.

Shattered into many pieces.

Their contents now fill my own,

While the shining fragments,

Have risen to smile upon me,

From the night-time sky.

My Delirium

Walk with me amongst these few written lines,

Tracing the cyclones twist into the realm,

Of the delirious and the divine.

Pay the boat man at his eternal helm,

For efficacious spiraling travel,

To the shore blessed with crooked lonely elms.

Within the forrest the path unravels,

Refuses guidance to the distrait man,

And offers meretricious road’s gravel.

Heed the hearts injunction, hold hope in hand,

Reticence is the falsely winding path,

Over, through, miasmatic, morass land.

Seek equanimity, dismissing wrath,

And alight from precipitous winged dreams,

To reality with a puerile laugh.

The realm of real twists, and spirals, and reams.

                                           K.M. Shear

                                           02-15-11

For my brother...

Submitted to Theme Thursday

River of Life

Pontoon boats and rafts,

Lazily drift through canyon passes,

Cut deeply by time, and,

Rushing currents.

Such is the way we live,

Our lives meandering through temporal flows,

Carved efficiently by past events, and,

Passionate dreams.

Crystalline waters reflect a compassionate sun,

Lax currents drive ambition,

And I am complete, content,

Penning my liquid thoughts.

                                         K.M. Shear

                                         02-02-11

Submitted to Jingle Poetry for Poetry Potluck.

Magpie 52

Image courtesy Magpie Tales

Jack and Jim,

Had never been,

The best of friends at all.

It would begin,

With mighty Jim,

Stating Jack’s house was too small.

Jack replied,

Fervently denied,

That Jim’s house was no more grand.

Then Jim sighed,

And mildly lied,

About the length his walls ran.

Jack told Jim,

With outstretched limb,

About his roof and it’s height.

The day drew thin,

Both frowned and grinned,

While arguing through the night.

But when dawn broke,

They turned and choked,

At the sight of a new front door.

For while they spoke,

Some other bloke,

Built the largest house on the shore.

                             K.M. Shear

                             02-08-11

Magpie 51

Image courtesy Magpie Tales

Thomas had spent his day, in classes, watching the rain stream down the rooms’ windows in varying sized rivulets; blank faced and alive only in his imagination.  He was safely tucked away in his own mind, and the taunts of other children, stresses of incomplete homework assignments, and disappointing looks from teachers went unnoticed.  His diminutive size, and shyness, made him a target of ridicule and mischief, but his wont to fantasize never left him defenseless.

At times Thomas would let his thoughts dwell in realms of the future or magical nations, but today his mind drifted to the last bell of the day releasing students from captivity to freedom.  His father had just started a new business down the road from the Junior High, and Thomas loved to go and work on his homework and play computer games in the pristine office area.  He had no idea what his father did, and it didn’t matter.  All he craved was his time in the presence of his paternal idol.

The day passed in a haze of unfinished works, and the final bell rang through the din of sneers and jibes.

The rain let up several hours ago.  Grey storm clouds had broken up, or moved on, making room for blue sky and sunshine.  Thomas took a deep breath as he stepped out from the front doors of the institution; closed his eyes and smiled into the ball of warmth.  The race to his father’s office was short and, panting, he found himself outside the buildings main door.  Inside the lights hummed, casting their dimness about the hallways filled with stale office air.

Stairs where mounted two at a time.  Upon gaining the second floor, the junior high student raced to the second office on the right.  His shaking hand reached for the door handle while multiple forms of hello flooded through his mind.

The door was locked, and the discovery was heart rending.

An hour later Thomas found himself trudging along downtown sidewalks; sinking within the thrall of disappointment.  Black and white converse sneakers splashed through puddles.  Clouds slowly gathered overhead, and the young boy’s tears flowed over flushed cheeks.  There was little joy found in the nuances of the town’s shopping district.  The drug store, and book store drifted by unentered, the pet store couldn’t break through the gloom that gathered in the student’s heart.

The downtown scenery slowly changed to a residential backdrop.

The soft click of bicycles coasting brought Thomas back to reality.  He lifted his chin from his chest and wiped the tears from his face and eyes with the back of his hand.  Clouded vision cleared and he turned round to catch glimpse of the riders.  His attention rolled over the colorful metallic frames of three bicycles and their riders.  Had his heart not been properly resting in his chest it would have slid out to rest among the fall puddles rippling with the wind.

The riders swiftly approached and slowed to match the sluggish gate of Thomas, who’s eyes had began to water.  

“Oh God, not now,” thought the young school boy as the three riders began to torment their fellow classmate.  These three were the main causes of his distress between starting and ending school bells, and they seemed even more blood thirsty now without the confines of educators and adults near by.

The insults grew vulgar.

Thomas ran for all his worth.

Out of breath, and stumbling, Thomas turned down his street and began to trek home.  The three youthful riders must have sensed his confidence swelling with home in sight.  They took flight in the opposite direction.

The young school boy was sobbing with disappointment and terror when he reached the small ranch house in the middle of the block.  He craved nothing more than to be sheltered by his mother and held; to be told everything would be alright.  His staggering feet brought him to the front door.  He reached up to open the front door, and found only further dismay when the door refused to be breached.  Thomas’s shaking fingers found the bell in tear filled blurs and rang it.  There was no answer.

With no where to go, and his heart breaking, he trudged through the mud along the side of the house.  Again, he wiped the tears from his face and eyes and sought about for something to occupy his time.  

He rounded the back corner of his home and found a fallen branch upon the porch formed of laid brick.  It was small enough for him to manipulate and he crouched down and began to dig through the grouted joints.  His mind drifted to realms of magic and space aged wonder.  

He was alone, again, and safe within the confines of his own mind.  The clouds broke once more and let the sunlight beam down upon the brick porch, and Thomas closed his eyes, turned his face towards the warmth and inhaled deeply.  The smell of spring was powerfully present, and the warmth of summer was making it’s first appearance.

The young schoolboy smiled, twisting the fallen branch about the mud that had collected in the joints of the bricks.

K.M. Shear

Magpie 49

Image courtesy - Magpie Tales

The early morning sky,

   A steel grey blanket,

Is void of power,

   Over the indomitable,

Spirit of youth.

Boots and gloves,

   Hats and jackets,

Donned as armor,

   From winter's sharp bite,

Still permit cheeks to grow rosy.

The chilling experience of crunching snow,

   Will forever be remembered fondly.

                                  K.M. Shear 01-20-11

Eternal Warrior

The symbols of pride:

Eagle, globe, and anchor,

U.S.M.C.

Medals of distinction.

The signs of distress:

170 beats per minute,

163 over 100,

Drenched in sweat and urine.

The language of loss:

Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy,

Complex Regional Pain Syndrome,

Invisibly wounded warrior.

I am a warrior,

Earned the eagle, globe, and anchor,

With blood, sweat, and tears.

This is the life I selected,

Embrace, and thank God for.

I am a warrior,

Forever suffering pain,

Anguish, caused by an invisible wound.

This is the burden I bare,

Grinning in the face of adversity.

I am a warrior,

Who can not march again,

That silently recites ancient cadences.

This is the loss I suffer,

Battle with, and overcome.

I am a warrior,

Eternally proud of my heritage,

Paying daily tithings of wordless respect.

This is the path I walk,

With shoulders back.

I am a warrior.

Unable to ever forget.

The symbols of distress:

Partially filled journals,

Overflowing pill boxes,

Black cane.

The signs of loss:

Forlorn eyes,

Sketches pleading with fate,

Dust covered guitars.

The language of pride:

Semper Fidelis,

Honor, Courage, Commitment,

Hoorah.

K.M. Shear 01-18-11

Submitted to Jingle Poetry for Poetry Potluck

Duetted Perfection

Image courtesy
Magpie Tales

Our life together is a beautiful duet,

Intermittently joined,

In harmony,

By the lives of others.

The verses’ measures are filled,

With dissonance,

Minor tonality,

But the chorus is always strong.

Sweet, loving chorus lines,

Perfectly timed,

Carefully constructed,

To hold the score together.

No song could hold light to ours,

With it’s harmony,

Minor tonality,

Simple duetted perfection.

K.M. Shear

01-14-11

For my loving wife Amy.

Alighting

Behind closed doors,
Descend stairs of the soul.
This night I will breathe easy,
Confidently alighting,
From one step to the next.

Bravely striding toward oblivion,
Where confines of the real,
Suffer transmutation to freedom.
Grace, resiliently overpowering,
Abolishes all hinderances.

And when the soul,
Sensing dawns approach,
Dictates stairs ascension,
The doors will be breached.

                 K.M. Shear 01-07-11

Magpie #47

Image courtesy of Magpie Tales

This Heart

This heart beats no more.

Chambers emptied, severed,

From he who used it so well.

This blackened heart pumps no more.

Never again will it fuel the soul,

With hatred, venom, or fear.

Blackened, ugly heart revoked.

Removed, ready to be bagged,

Shelved; to eternally gather dust.

Useless, blackened, ugly heart,

Cast out and replaced by elation;

Beat no more.

K.M. Shear

01/04/11