THIS IS CHRISTMAS TIME

THIS IS CHRISTMAS TIME

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

 Here I stand upon a frozen hill, the snow is falling, but I feel no chill. My heart is warm, my thoughts are clear. It is my family I love dear. The wind shifts but I don’t turn my back it’s not my style, I just lean in with a grin.

  I feel a nudge and it’s my hound so I sit with him on the ground. He lays his head upon my lap, he thumps his tail and so we rest for a while and I slightly smile, but no time for a nap.

 The weather breaks and the stars shine through, the snow glistens like diamonds and brings out the silver in my hair, but I feel young and so I don't care.

 The moon glows and lights the frozen river and even though it is not in motion it appears very much alive as do I.

 I can smell wood smoke coming from the chimneys of homes from around the village, but it is wonderfully fresh crisp air, it is time for a cozy chair.

 Dinner is waiting at the shack, venison stew, corn bread, and root beer floats, lots of laughs and silly jokes, but most of all, the sweetest thing are the people that sit around the table who love me most, these are the moments I savor so; God has blessed me for I am not alone.

 This is Christmas time, time to go home…..

IN THE ROUGH OF THE SEA

 There we sat in the rough of the sea, one brought the bible and one brought rye and the third one brought a rifle and yet all were prepared to die. 

 The dirt was cold as we sat in the hole. Mickey read psalms, Bobby passed the rye and Joe cleaned his rifle under the midnight sky. 

 I took a pen and wrote her name and then went on to explain how the world has gone insane. I told her how Mickey loved Jesus and how Bobby loved Rye and how Joe just sat there with his rifle looking down the barrel with a madman’s eye. 

 The sun came up and we found nothing well, but we knew for sure that we were on our way to hell. The fighter jets roared, the mortars barely passed us by, and the gunfire rang out clear like a baby’s cry.

 Mickey said he saw the Father and son and Holy Ghost. Bobby said he found Elvis in a foxhole giving offerings of toast, but it was Joe who saw the most looking at the world through a one inch scope, it is a small window but he felt it offered hope.

 There we sat in the rough of the sea, a far better place to be. The world is strange, the world is mad and how it all ends will truly never be told, but if we are lucky just maybe we to will grow old but, it really does not matter either way we just live life and live for today.

“HEATHENS IN THE GALLERY”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

There I sit in wind swept frost; the gods above proclaim their cost. The fees are paid upon their thrones while demons in the gallery cast out the heathen bones.  The temperature rises and I find myself alone, the bed is cold, and my window is a mile away from the nearest place of rest.

I stumble down an icy hall, I find a shadow there that is not my own but I don’t stop to wonder. The bath is running over onto the floor I don’t remember the water being red before but, it has been so long since I have been down to the sea, perhaps it is the moon tonight that makes it all seem this way.

All I know is that I suppose I am bound; bound to pay the fees. All I have to do is order now but, wait there’s more; 17 Ginsu Knives and a Gideon’s Bible hollowed out to store them in. It is another apocalyptic deal and if I can get three more souls to sign up for the offer then they have promised me a set of radial snow tires for my Oldsmobile. Like a chariot of fire I shall heat the street.

I suppose it is the living that keeps me from going out at night and ammunition for the soul is getting tougher to come by in the village at the late night café.

The neighbor’s dog is clawing at door, the coyotes are on the prowl and they want his flesh; I can only imagine they ate his owner as he preached the scripture down on the corner while wearing his Sunday’s best. All arms flailing and gibberish in tongue must have lured them in from the slums.

The sinners seem to have no problem keeping up; it is the ones that lose their faith that fall behind; I assume by looking around to see where they have dropped it in the pitch of night and then there it is that jealous hate, that spooky little phantom they love to negate with a prescribed pill times nine and a box of white wine.

 The clocks have stopped ticking, the chimes have grown dusty, and the parlor is never anymore filled with dance. The cable man stands outside looking in; he wants to sell me a Wi-Fi package. I give him the finger and just stare back at him. I know he is Big Brother’s nephew Floyd, Prick.

The Gods are here for tea, so I have to go now and hang up their coats, I am still not clear why none of them wear hats. I see their followers waiting outside; I won’t invite them in because I know they are with the cable guy. But wait, there is so much more, perhaps another time.

I THE AMERICAN

I as an American pledged an oath to uphold and defend The Constitution of the United States of America. I try to live that oath daily by keeping an eye on Big Brother in local, State and Federal government. My first duty is to protect the Constitution from all enemies, foreign and domestic. As a Marine, I made a promise. As a veteran, I will carry this promise with me to the end of my days. We all have a problem with an over-reaching executive power, regardless of party. We all have a problem with a corporate media, and centralized control, whether it is governmental or corporate (or some cronyism hybrid). The American people should know that in the time of crises, that there are brave men and women, safe keepers of the Constitution and the Flag of the people, who will not turn against them. Who will say “No!” to any attempt to disarm and imprison them. I know I’m not the only American who is in sickened having discovered what has corrupted and cannibalized our once-representative government. The government which our Founders created has been silently replaced by an imposter government which stands now poised to levy our own law enforcement and military against us at random, based on a distant centralized government’s opinion only. No due process. No charges. This government is not the government created by our nation’s Founders. I am here to remind this imposter government that my oath was to the constitution and not to any government which cannot honor that founding legal charter. Though the world itself be swallowed up by this New World Order, and though their emissaries are now congregated in the very heart of our Judicial, Executive, and Legislative bodies, and though the financial powers of globalism march to assimilate our America, we, the people, are yet afforded one more opportunity to awaken to our peril and to rise up against this iron net of tyranny, and reclaim our great nation for the people and our posterity. All we need to do this is the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution, as written – that, and the willful awakening of our good neighbors across this land to the true nature and spirit of this Federalized threat. Too long we have slept in a bed made of convenience, creature comforts, and constitutional concessions, and all the while, as we peaceful people slept, those who sought to conquer us from within have tip-toed into our very seats of governmental power. When we as Americans lay our heads down upon our pillows at night we must not just sleep but think and ask ourselves "Is tomorrow going to be a safe place for my family?" I personally think not, there for I plunge myself deeply into the midst of it all to protect and preserve the Constitution of this country... Sheb Schebella

THE PIE EYED MADMAN

“THE PIE EYED MADMAN”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

The pie eyed madman strums his harp slowly and the presence of angels fills his ears; however his callused fingers and cracked nails play out a different tale an old wood worker from a forgotten time. His reflection upon the midnight stained window hides his crow’s feet but, not his leather face and grey grizzled hair that announces his age far beyond his years but, that music, yes that music it can’t be dated.

 The mad man’s movements against the strings are always new, always fresh always offering something that can’t be contested. It was many seasons ago and a half of bottle red when the pie eyed mad man fashioned the harp from mahogany and purple heart, the Peltogyne what a wonderful tree but, what a more beautiful harp in deed. A brandy dipped cigar burns a long ash and fills the room with a bouquet of another man’s taste but, in truth that man lays beneath an oak planked floor in the music room where he will be forever more.

The pie eyed madman breaks for an interlude and fills his glass to the rim so to reflect on his sin.  He begins to smile like a child and then inhales the aroma of the room. It is not death that he is reminded of but, a time when he believed he was blessed, a time when he use to watch his lover twirl upon the oak planked floor but that unlike wood he can’t restore.

The pie eyed madman strums his harp slowly…