Writer's Corner

We asked, and you answered.

Boy, did you answer.

We told you last week that we're creating this corner for writers of all flavors, and the volume of your venerable verbosity buckled our newsprint-and-ink padded knees.

Here's just a start. We have enough material already to publish a book, but please keep the submissions coming and just be patient.

Because you made the editor cry - over quantity, not quality, dear writers - he has handed off this project to a pretty good writer and editor herself, Maureen Dolan. E-mail submissions to her at mdolan@cdapress.com. If you must send hard copies, know that we and our bruised fingertips curse you for making us type your stuff into the computer system, and that will delay the publication of your priceless prose. Typed and hand-written submissions should go to Maureen Dolan at The Press, 201 Second St., Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814, but in case you slept through our earlier request, we really, really prefer e-mail.

And now, on with the show!

•••

Sweet and Sour

Little girl

Shanty house

Railroad track out back.

Barefoot tot

Hand-me-downs

Chasing dogs from my cat.

Mama's yelling

Daddy's drunk

Toting chow mein home in a sack.

Now grown up lady

Dressed in style

Joiner, doer, schedule packed.

But nights are long

Dreams take me back

To complicated parent

And chow mein in a sack.

- Faith Langstaff, Hayden

•••

A Poet in Coeur d'Alene

There's a poet in Coeur d'Alene,

whose moniker we shall not name.

he (or she) likes to rhyme

writes in prose all the time

anonymity seeks no fame

Timely topics they will address

of news and fun found in the press

let's have a wee snicker

without use of liquor

the author's name you'll never guess

Do you enjoy this rhyming game,

with words that often sound the same?

let's find the 'unity'

within 'community'

and have some fun in Coeur d'Alene.

- Ann O. Nymity, Coeur d'Alene

•••

EDEN REVISITED

By Sharon Norton

Coeur d'Alene

It was a perfect morning on this forested world. The sun was shining on the glossy leaves of the trees. The rays of the sun were slanting down onto the forest floor, the ground was a rich mulch of leaves fallen untouched over all the years. Flowers reached for the sunlight as gaily colored winged insects visited each in turn. Movement beneath the limbs of low growing bushes moved the branches as something unseen moved underneath them. The gentle pressure of the wind moving through the trunks barely tossed the leaves. This sylvan setting was a paradise repeated many times around this forest world.

This is the way it was and had been since the beginning.

This was a gentle world of mild climate, shallow seas and rounded mountains. It was an old world that had mellowed during its life as it moved around its yellow star. This world that had existed for millennia without a name now had one, E64287.

The quiet of the morning was broken by a roar as a slim silver needle plunged through the sky, flames following it and then it turned to aim these flames into the ground that had never been seared by such intense heat. It landed in the largest clearing on the forest world. The roar stopped and the quiet returned. It was no longer the peaceful drowsing quiet world that had existed but now it was a waiting, curious, quiet world as the forest paused to see what would happen next.

The stillness lasted for a considerable length of time and then the side of the needle opened and something came out. Something new and different and strange.

Two biped creatures walked down a ramp that had appeared as the side opened. They stood at the end of the ramp and looked in all directions. They continued to look at something in their hands as they moved. They came further away from the needle and headed to the line of trees surrounding the glade. They starting taking samples from the ground, from the trees, bushes, flowers, water, and even chipped pieces from the rocks. Then they started collecting insects with gaily colored wings, birds that had gotten too curious and too close, ground hugging furry four-footed animals, and any other living thing that had gotten near. They set something on the forest paths the inhabitants of this world used to reach the pond lying quietly under the sun, then they went back into the needle, the ramp went back up in the body of the craft, and the door smoothly closed. Quiet returned. The day ended with the slow retreat of the sun from this part of the forest.

The next morning, the two came from their craft and immediately entered the forest. They went to examine the devices they had set on the paths. All they found was a tree limb caught in the trap and sticky liquid spread across the metal. In disgust, they picked up the trap and went to the next one they had set; it too was empty. They went deeper into the forest than they had before. They hacked branches and bushes to clear a path. They trod on varicolored flowers, delicate mosses, and small animals, seemingly unaware of the destruction they were causing. Soon, they found themselves tangled in the thickly abundant growing life of this planet. Vines twined around their limbs hindering their progress. The more they struggled the harder they were held. They were trapped.

The path they had hacked had quickly disappeared. They couldn't see a way out. One of the bipeds screamed as his leg was pierced. He yelled for his friend to help him but he didn't get an answer. He turned as much as he could to see why not. His friend was dead with a sharp stake driven through his heart. How? Who was doing this to them. Why? All they had done was collect some environmental samples.

He met a pair of sky-blue eyes through the foliage as another stake found his heart. He died without knowing why it had happened or who had done it. He and his partner had believed they were the only sentient life on the planet.

Back at the clearing, the needle from the sky was no longer alone in the middle of a clearing. Trees, bushes, vines, and flowers had joined together around the craft. Soon it was completely hidden. The vines growing around it would use the metal to enrich themselves and soon all of it would be gone.

At the edge of what had been the clearing, a solitary tree was standing. Soon all the area would be covered and there would not be any indication of a glade here or at any other place on this world. They apparently attracted killers and thieves of this sort.

It would be remembered that the bipeds had a pattern on their chests and on their craft, NASA. The guardians would remember this, they were good at remembering, they would be on guard. Those from the sky wouldn't find it so easy the next time they tried to damage this world. As the tree at the edge of the glade swayed once or twice, the leaves moved revealing a pair of sky-blue eyes looking at its handy work, blinked a slow calm blink, pulled its root from the mulch, turned, and left.

•••

The Missing Shoe

I always leave my shoes in twos,

the right one on the right,

I step right into those I use,

I leave them out in sight.

I left a pair beside my bed,

another by the door,

when I woke up I scratched my head,

my right shoe was no more.

I knew that shoe must be nearby,

I slipped the left one on,

I looked around and had to sigh,

the right one was just gone.

I limped out to the kitchen floor,

my shoeless foot was cold,

I still had two beside the door,

but breakfast was on hold.

I checked the hall and in the den,

I looked around with care,

I even checked the baby's pen,

my shoe just wasn't there.

I went downstairs and looked some more,

I wandered all around,

my back was really getting sore,

but then I found my hound.

He looked at me with happy eyes

his tail moving fast,

and in his mouth to my surprise,

I found my shoe at last.

I took a step to get my shoe,

but then my sock got wet,

I called my dog a thing or two,

and haven't seen him yet.

- Jeff Simonson, Kellogg

•••

Caught in a Song

Dance under the stars

Forget about the wars

Love with all your might

And hold on so tight

Laugh loudly and long

Get caught in a song

Don't ever stop caring

Always keep sharing

Wear bridal white

And celebrate the night

Dance under the stars

Forget about the wars

Love with all your might

and hold on so tight

The years we spend

Can come to an end

Cherish your time

We age like fine wine

Accept the golden years

Go ahead with no fears

Dance under the stars

Forget about the wars

Love with all your might

And hold on so tight

You may dance alone

Your loved one is gone

The years came so fast

But your love can still last

Accept the lonely years

Go ahead with no fears

- Patricia M. Williams, Pinehurst

•••

Limericks unleashed

The Press had a fierce young scribe

Name of Pat, he had a thick hide

But opinions abounded

Until he felt hounded

He felt that he had to imbibe

- D.H. (No, not Duane Hagadone)

Coeur d'Alene

There was a green field called McEuen

Over which a storm was forcefully brewin'

A cowboy came by

and said, "let it lie"

And saved our fair city from ruin

- D.H.

Coeur d'Alene

There once was a city so fair

Called quaint with oh such an air!

It was ruined by highs

Built up to the skies

And now is not thought of as rare

- D.H.

Coeur d'Alene

•••

JAKE and the FAT BIRD

By Noah Buntain

Coeur d'Alene

The box hit the carpet with a muffled thump and I slumped onto the dusty lump of a couch in the living room.

"Look at this place, hun." I said. "Can you imagine having two bedrooms in Chicago for under a thousand dollars? And a fireplace? What are we paying, four hundred?"

After carrying the boxes out of the apartment in Chicago, across two thousand miles of cornfields and rugged desert, and up three flights of stairs, I was pooped and figured I could convince her to take a little bit of a break.

"Four-sixty," Holly said. "Which means we've got about six months."

"I'll find a job before then," I said.

I stood up. A sliding glass door let out onto the balcony and was shielded by a set of curtains in an odd oatmeal shade. I pulled the cord and the curtains squeaked and shuffled off to the side.

Sitting on the balcony railing was the biggest turkey I'd ever seen.

"Oh my god. Holly, you've got to come see this!"

It's charity to call a turkey a bird. "Avian" tends to suggest the grace of an eagle or the bright personality of a cardinal. A turkey is awkward and ugly, almost like a vulture saw a peacock and got ideas.

This one had to be more than 20 pounds. Its body was a mass of black feathers, ruffled up against the cold. Bare talons dug into the railing. The red waddle swung as it angled its head.

Holly came over, laughed in surprise. She had a habit of covering her mouth with one hand when she laughed so that people wouldn't see her teeth.

"Wait, let me get the camera!" She said.

"I wonder if the previous tenants had a bird feeder?"

Holly snapped a picture and the flash splashed the balcony in pure white light. The turkey stretched its head up, opened its beak and let out an ear-splitting warble. Let me tell you, turkeys do not go gobble gobble gobble. That's a myth. What they really sound like is opera singer fed through an oscillating fan. WUDDLE-WUDDLE-WUDL-WOAR!

The turkey bobbed its head and strutted along the railing, back and forth. Then it reared up and spread out its wings, flapping them in an air shuddering motion. Its wingspan was impressive, and its feathers brushed icicles off the eaves as it flapped. It left great rends in the railing as it clawed its way back and forth.

"Jake! It's leaving huge scratch marks everywhere!"

"Right. I think the manager will understand."

"Jake!"

"OK, OK. Give me the broom. If it pecks my eyes out, promise me you'll find someone else. I don't want you being a depressed old widow."

"Very funny."

As soon as I stepped onto the balcony, the turkey sprang forward, talons and feathers filling my vision.

"EAUGH!" I said in a calm, reassuring tone.

"WARRLE WARRLE WOAR," the turkey countered.

"Get away from me! Augh! Get back!" I explained our case while swinging the broom around my head.

"OOH OOH OOH!" The turkey suggested, battering me with its wings.

I lunged forward with the broom in front of me like a spear. The turkey dodged to the right and hopped to the side railing. I fell back a step and shoved the broom forward just as it launched toward me. There was a squawk that I couldn't tell if it came from me or the feathered beast and a crash. When I opened my eyes, I was sitting on my butt in one corner of the balcony with the broom between my sprawled legs. The turkey lay on its side in the opposite corner, its beak stuck in the bristles of the broom.

For a moment, neither of us knew what to do. The turkey gathered its wits faster than me (which tells me I must have been concussed), scrabbled to its feet and dashed into the apartment. The door clicked shut just behind it.

Through the glass, Holly looked at me with such terror in her eyes that I loved her right then more than I ever had before.

I yanked the door open again.

"I tried, I tried," Holly said.

"I'm gonna wring its ugly neck," I said. But I retrieved the broom anyway.

We could hear a shuffling and skittering sound in the kitchen. Holly made her way along the wall toward the kitchen counter. I climbed over the boxes. When I reached the entrance to the kitchen, I looked at Holly. She nodded.

I leaped into the kitchen, broom at the ready. "Aha!" I said.

There was a burst of feathers as the turkey exploded over the counter. Holly screamed and ran around the boxes to my right. The turkey chased after her, an evil clucking emanating from somewhere down below its waddle.

I was filled with visions of trying to explain to Holly's parents how I'd let a game bird kill their only daughter inside our own home. I chased after the pair of them, broom held high.

Holly, who had run distance in college, had the legs to keep out in front of the turkey, but she had to keep taking right turns as she went around the living room, and that slowed her up long enough for the bird to get within pecking distance. I brought up the rear, chopping the air in front of me with the broom, whack whack whack.

"Holly! Holly!" I shouted, trying to communicate, or at least formulate, a plan. "Holly!"

Every time Holly heard the clucking in her ear, she'd put on a burst of speed and cruise along the straightaways. At first, I thought she was still shrieking, but after a couple circuits, I realized she was laughing - giggling, really - like we were all in a extended game of cootie tag.

At last, Holly stopped at the end of one of her sprints and turned on the bird. The turkey pulled itself up to its full, butterball height and spread its wings.

"Jake!" My wife yelled.

I caught up just in time to whack it in the head with the broom. The bird slumped to the ground, it's eyes boggling. Holly leaned against the wall, one hand splayed against her chest. I leaned on the broom, wheezing.

"We've got--" I paused to work the bellows a few times "--to get it--" wheeze, wheeze, "--out the door!"

Holly ran to our boxes and rummaged through them. She came back wearing oven mitts on her hands. I deduced her intention, no mean feat in my condition, and stripped off my shirt. We approached the turkey cautiously. It seemed to be deciding whether its head was still attached, so we pressed our advantage. Holly grabbed its rotund body with the oven mitts and I wrapped my shirt around its head. I figured that if it couldn't see, then it might just go to sleep or something.

Instead, it panicked. Its talons, which we'd neglected to account for, lashed out and clawed me along my arms and chest. I gnashed my teeth but held on.

"Oh my god!" Holly said. "Honey!"

I yanked her and the bird toward the balcony.

"On three! One, two, three!"

We swung the turkey out the door and it went over the railing in a fluttering, tumbling ball of feathers, claws, waddle and beak. Holly and I looked at each other. I went to the railing.

"Is it - is it dead?" Holly had fallen back and was lying amongst the boxes. She was exhausted and beautiful.

"No," I said. "It landed in the snow."

There was a pounding at the front the door.

"It's the cops!" I said.

"What?"

"They're gonna arrest us for molesting a turkey out of season!"

It was not the cops; it was the apartment manager, a middle-aged woman with wispy gray hair. She took in my shirtless chest, the sheen of perspiration, and the scratch marks across my arms and torso, and frowned.

I was still breathing hard and all I could think to say was, "Oh god!"

"You're new here, so I'm just going to tell you instead of writing you up," the manager said. "You have to keep the noise down. It's in the lease."

"What?"

She pursed her lips. "This is a family place and there are children around."

I stared at her. I must have had the most confused and dumb look on my face, because the manager leaned toward me to impart the next words.

"The sex, Mr. Hollister," she said in a stage whisper. "Next time you and your wife have relations, please try to keep the noise to something that can't be heard outside your apartment."

Holly started laughing again, a high carefree fit interrupted by wheezes. The manager turned red. She gave me a curt nod, then turned and plodded back toward the stairwell.

I decided she'd never believe me anyway.

•••

Taxi Dancer

I fell in love with a taxi dancer

Her meter's runnin'

Now she won't answer

I met her in a chat room

Where you flirt for free

It always ends too soon

My online fantasy

She's my push button baby

My cyber dream

She's got me bangin on my machine

Taxi dancer do it to me

I really like your style

Come on baby flirt for free

Talk to me for awhile

I can't afford one on one

My cards out to the max

I'm just a poor boy havin fun

You want some cracker jacks

- Robert Fittro, Coeur d'Alene

•••

MY BEST FRIEND

By Lori Cuentas

Post Falls

The wind was cold and gusty. Rain poured down mercilessly as I searched through the thick grass. "I know it's around here somewhere," I thought. My skin was soaked and bitterly cold, but I was determined to succeed this time.

My best friend and I were roommates and lived comfortably and compatibly. Our mutual respect and concern for each other's welfare had created a deep, inseparable bond. We had been practicing the game since last spring. Daily, my friend would drill me over and over again. We'd jump in the truck and travel to different fields, practicing in the morning, in the evening, in the rain, and in the hot sun. I wanted so bad to win this time. We were partners, and my consistent failures had been a big disappointment.

I had been trembling due too the chilling weather, but mostly from nervous anxiety, waiting for the starting signal. Suddenly, the explosive bang of the gun initiated the game.

It had fallen into some thick brush in the distance. Running full speed to the landing site, my feet grew heavy as they became caked with mud from the saturated soil. The odds were not in my favor. It was always more difficult to play the game in the rain, and today the wind made it even more of a challenge. The footing was bad, visibility impaired, and the stench of rotten grass was all I could smell. I didn't care. The game was more important than worrying about frozen feet or a drenched, tired body. I was going to succeed; we were going to win.

"It's here. I know it is, " I repeated, looking frantically in the tall brush. I stopped for a brief moment and tuned in all my senses. Looking back to my buddy for guidance, I saw him point to the left and I immediately responded by running a few yards in that direction. I had complete trust in his decisions; he had never let me down. This time my resolve was to reciprocate and make him proud.

I must have mismarked the fall. It had to be close. "Ouch!" I cried as a long, thorned blackberry branch grabbed my leg and forced me to a halt. My frustration escalated as the patience dwindled rapidly. I sat to unravel the twine and as each thorn detached I whined quietly. Suddenly, I heard the break of a twig.

"What was that?" I turned my head reflexively towards the bush that had broadcast the muffled snap. Eyes focused intently, I saw the object appear motionless in the center. "There it is!"

I felt the thrill of victory envelope me. All the practice sessions, the discipline, and the failures - they were all forgotten as I knew success was staring me right in the face. I felt exhilarated; I knew my partner would be so happy that we won this time and I had finally done my part.

I quickly snatched it up and sprinted back to my partner. He stood waiting with confidence, and as I saw the contented smile on his face, my weighted legs moved faster through the muddy grass. I didn't feel the stickers this time. The eagerness to see my pleased friend prevailed over the stinging of blackberry thorns, the hail size raindrops beating down on me, and my offensive wet body odor.

I stopped directly in front of him and gently placed the wounded grouse in his hand. "Good boy," he said as he patted me on the head, feathers floating down out of my mouth as I panted happily. I wagged my tail and returned to his side, anxious to play the game again.

•••

Why and When

Why does the sun rise

When it never goes down

Why is there silence

When there is always a sound

Why does the sun set

When there isn't a light

Why does the moon come up

When in the darkness, the stars shine bright

Why do our street lights dim

When they push back the millions of stars

Why does the air turn cold

When we stand brave and bold

Why as the rain falls

When the rainbow appears

Why does the sun return

When there is work to be done.

- Georgia McKee, Coeur d'Alene

•••

Christ's Mass 2005

'Today' - it is an awesome present

The link in an endless chain

A bridge that connects the past and the future

As long as we have today we will be gifted with the little ones

Every child having a physical pathway to the spiritual

Our spirit lives outside of this place called time

Embrace the children and be filled and smile

Our paths are directed and our steps are numbered

We stand on the footpath of that single day . . . while he silence within deceives us

We expect and even tire of the flow . . . yet only have the shortness of now

Yes we, all of us, are the children

He tells us to listen and know and then do

The river of life joins the great body waiting

See the children, aged and grey, are young again

Worn pathways give way to the perfect one

So crowd the bridge for as long as it's called 'today'

Embrace His gift . . . The Present

- Randy Huska, Post Falls