The Storyteller. J. Michaels

of burping took their toll

      Bodies lay limp and depleted

      Lesser ones belched out and spent

      Those left standing all but exhausted

      Until at last only two remained

      The best of the belchers in Belgium land

      They squared off and faced each other

      Each determined to out belch the rest

      Rangus McGee, the reigning champ

      From the isle of green and Guinness

      Facing Big George of England

      Self taught at London’s finest pubs

      Rangus went first as custom bound

      Drank his pint and held his breath

      Leaving the crowd cheering and waiting

      For the inevitable blast at last

      The tension mounted as Rangus held on

      Face turning red as the hair on his head

      The great belch on its way now

      Unfettered, it roared from his mouth

      Silence followed the belch supreme

      The fans stunned and amazed

      At what Rangus had rendered that day

      A belch for the ages, leaving all dazed

      Rangus now done and quite pleased

      With the performance of a lifetime

      Confident he had conquered

      Yet another opponent less ventilated

      Big George stood and hushed the crowd

      His size and belly, both quite grand

      He took no beverage, no aid of any kind

      Simply reared back and belched his all

      That left none standing, nor windows intact

      Big George stood surveying the mess

      That his extraordinary flatulence created

      He had bested the best

      Poor Rangus deflated

      Defeated at last

      From the poetry collection Common Ground

      Rebel Yell

      Blood draining from me

      Into the dirt, my bed

      An unusual place to die

      An unfit burial ground

      It seems like so long ago

      When a mere boy I was

      Running through those golden fields

      Riding ole Bess to school

      Then one day the soldiers came

      Stern faces accepting no objection

      Insisting we join them or else

      To defend our sovereign nation

      So Daddy, Bruce, and I departed

      From our beloved Carolina home

      Donned the woolen grey suits

      That marked us rebels all

      Mama’s crying, Sissy too

      Left man less and defenseless

      Tears in all eyes, ours too

      So sad, and proud, and scared

      The first day wasn’t so bad

      A few shots and cannons away

      Still no blood flowing

      No wounds to slay

      By mid morning of the next

      My brother lay in my arms

      Nearly breathless and speechless

      His life seeping away

      The Lord took him that day

      Bruce’s blood on my sleeves

      The darkness had dawned

      My life would never be the same

      Before the day ended

      I lost my daddy too

      A hole in his head, instantly dead

      In one short day, three less two

      From that day onward

      I never really cared

      If bullet or bayonet forced me

      To join my men folk at Heaven’s gate

      At least that’s where I hope we go

      When I leave this world so foul

      I’ll tell you very shortly

      Farewell, my fallen friends

      From the poetry collection Common Ground

      Man on a Wire

      High above the landscape

      Rooftops appear below

      A man looks down upon us

      Makes ready to walk on air

      He seems so calm, so at ease

      As he stares at the depths below

      What brought him here

      To this time and place

      Preparing to balance on wire

      To walk where no one has tried

      To be above the average pedestrian

      To do what could only be imagined

      To do what few would dare

      What drives such a man

      To such feats up high

      Why must he do this thing

      Perhaps his way to fly

      Looking deep inside before the feat

      To challenge both courage and means

      To decide for one last time

      If it is worth his death to him

      For demise is what he wagers

      This gamble with prize unknown