A poem by Sky Vernon


A good man is hard to find.
My mother would say to me,
One that is kind.

One with a presence of mind,
That is key.
A good man is hard to find.

My mother would say he was refined.
if he is not, flee!
One that is kind.

In terms of suitors, he outshined,
My mother said to thee.
A good man is hard to find.

Loved him she said as if to remind.
To that we both agree.
One that is kind.

He is buried by the tree line,
Near to his beloved sea.
A good man is hard to find.
One that is kind.

My mind runs free


Fantasy?
What is this emotional canopy?

Can you not see?
Where are you?
Do you not hear?

Nothing but trees,
Nothing but trees.

Is there a clue?
Is it not clear?
Are you free?

The fear grew,
The fear grew.

Can't stay here,
Not on your knees.
You must continue.

It is near,
It is near.

I say to thee,
You must get through.
It will appear.

Quickly flee,
Quickly flee.

Are you trapped in your own fantasy?

I try my hand at a short story.


The crunch of footsteps on the freshly fallen snow on the otherwise barren forest floor woke the half-frozen soldier curled up in his icy foxhole. Looking up through sleepy eyes, he saw a white figure, resembling a polar bear, appear.

"H-hour 0615 perimeter check." The voice of the Lieutenant caused a shrinking feeling in the soldier. Sergeant Mark stood and stretched his stiff legs. It was his turn to lead the reconnaissance patrol. Dressed alike, the Lieutenant and Sergeant Mark were almost identical; it was a wonder how the other soldiers could tell who was who. Sergeant Mark wiped the snow off his weapon. The dark brown color of the weapon was the only giveaway when trying to spot the soldier in his white uniform, against the snowy landscape. Shuffling between foxholes, trying to contain as much warmth as he could, Sergeant Mark selected the nearest eight men. 

The men gathered at a tent, that had just been set up, to find a small fire the officers had thrown together for them. After receiving a short briefing, Sergeant Mark jotted down in his notepad a quick love message to his wife and kids. He gave it to the Lieutenant that had dug him out of his foxhole. 

"Sergeant Mark, there's no need for that. Army command has informed us that the Germans have retreated back to higher ground. All you need to do is secure the road into the low country so that the Army Air Force can make a supply dump there," the Lieutenant said. 

"Just hold it for me. I'll be back for it. I just don't want to lose it, ya know." Sergeant Mark saluted. 

The Lieutenant saluted back, dismissing him.
Sergeant Mark left the warmth of the small fire behind and gathered up his patrol, leading them away from the security of the American lines. Sergeant Mark looked at his watch and marked the time in his notepad for future reference; "starting at 0605."
The sound of snow crunching under their boots was deafening in the eerie quiet. The ground was covered in white powder; it looked like ice cream that had been in the freezer for too long and formed ice crystals. 
Sergeant Mark had divided his men into four groups of two and each group was assigned a specific task. The first group was charged with rear security, the second group was tasked with watching the sides of the group, the third group was given binoculars and required to watch the ground ahead for any traps or covered foxholes, and the fourth group, which was Sergeant Mark and a Private, was tasked with leading the patrol. Sergeant Mark walked the point, several meters in front of the patrol. He hated it when other Sergeants made their privates walk point, especially when the private was a new recruit. They didn't have enough experience and they didn't know what to look for to spot a trap.
an old, rotten pile of wood came into view. Sergeant Mark froze, threw up his hand and balled it into a fist, signaling to the other to stop. 
The two men with the binoculars trudged forward to their leader. Sergeant Mark signaled to them, "search and report back." The two men acknowledged receipt and obeyed. 
The silence over the group was deafening. Eyes searched everywhere, wondering, waiting for something, anything to happen. The crunching of the snow under someone's heavy boot penetrated their consciousness. Frantic to locate the source of the sound, the Private spun himself dizzy, looking every which way. A hand landed on his shoulder, and the Private turned so fast he could have broken his neck. Sergeant Mark was standing next to him; he had put his hand on the Private's shoulder to calm him down. He pointed to an almost camouflaged figure heading towards them, then another one a few yards to the left of the first figure.
The two figures were the soldiers Sergeant Mark had sent out. 
The Private took a deep breath and nodded. Sergeant Mark removed his hand and assumed his position at point. After a few minutes, the distance between the two men and the rest of the patrol closed. 
The two men reported, "All clear," and Sergeant Mark signaled to the group to continue. Fifteen minutes into their mission, the patrol finally reached the thousand-step mark that encircled the American lines. Now the danger became real; the soldiers crossed into the lowlands that the enemy had been holding. 
The words of the Lieutenant echoed in Sergeant Marks head, "...enemy has retreated to higher grounds.You should have no problems," or something like that. 
A light like a camera flash and a noise like fireworks caught the soldier's attention. 

"Get down!" Sergeant Mark immediately yelled.

The group of soldiers dove onto the ground. Sergeant Mark was still on his way down when an outside force hit him in the shoulder and chest area, causing him to land on his side. He quickly rolled onto his back to make himself a smaller target. The adrenaline masked his pain as he ordered his patrol to find cover anywhere they could. The soldiers scattered, but one remained, paralyzed with fear, lying in the round. It was the Private Sergeant Mark had calmed down earlier. The Private cried out to Sergeant Mark, but was drowned out by the surrounding blasts as the enemy began to shell their position randomly, unsure of the Americans exact location.
The ground shook like an earthquake. Snow, dirt and pieces of trees flew every which way. Sergeant Mark saw that the Private hadn't run for cover and was slowly crawling towards him. Sergeant Mark reached out one of his hands, but the pain was now overtaking the adrenaline, and with his other hand he held his shoulder from which the pain radiated. The Private could see his leader's uniform darkening with blood and tried to reach for him, but Sergeant Mark was still too far away. Sergeant Mark stopped gripping his shoulder and quickly looked around for something that could be useful. A glint from a nearby hill caught his attention. 
The glint was from a machine gun; two German soldiers were setting up a machine gun nest and it had Sergeant Mark and the Private dead in its sights. 
Sergeant Mark rolled over on his side to get a better look at the Private. Now it was clear to the Private that Sergeant Mark had been hit and was bleeding profusely. 
Sergeant Mark gathered all of his strength and bellowed above the noise "Get out of here!"
The Private stopped crawling, snow and dirt kicked up around them from the bullets from the machine gun. The shots were sloppy; the Germans hadn't taken the time to properly set their sights. 
There was still time to run away.

"That's an order, damnit!" Sergeant Mark screamed, using his last bit of strength. 

The Private still hesitated, torn by indecision. A spark of anger and determination lit in the Private's eyes. He yelled back that he would bring reinforcements and he wouldn't be too long. Like a rabbit fleeing a fox, the Private disappeared into the chaos as bullets filled the air around him. 
Sergeant Mark slowly and painfully rolled back onto his back and looked at the sky above.
The sky mirrored the ground, white and cold. Trees exploded around him, adding orange and black to the palette. Then silence hung in the air like a thick blanket. Sergeant Mark closed his eyes; he was too exhausted to care.
A few minutes later, footsteps neared the frozen soldier lying on the cold, hard ground. Sergeant Mark opened his eyes. Looking down at him, once again, was the polar bear.   

(Based on a true story)



A young girl stood, in the shadow of a small shelter, tapping a wooden beam and watching the gathering crowd; between her and the crowd was an arena surrounded by a white fence. 
Dust hung in the air as people riding horses in the round pin next to the entrance to the stables warmed up for their auditions. 
Something nudged the girl from behind. The girl turned around to see that a horse had broken out of his stall and now was nudging her in hopes of some carrots. 

"What are you doing? How did you get out of your stall?" She asked as if he might answer her.

The horse only looked at her with hope before doing a treat check with his nose. He licked her black gloves, nuzzled her pockets and checked her helmet, but couldn't find any treats. 

"Alright come on, back in your stall," the girl said as she began to push him. 

Just like her coach had taught her, she put one hand on his chest and one hand on his shoulder to guide him back into his stall. 

"Look, you can have carrots after our audition, okay?" she said, as she rubbed the white splotch that ran almost from his forelock down to almost the top of his nose. It looked like someone had spilled white paint on his otherwise brown face and body.
The horse pinned his ears back, mad at either not having carrots now or having his face petted or both, she couldn't really tell. 

"Grumpy boy," she laughed.

The girl turned back to the arena; She had to make the team to prove that she wasn't clumsy like everyone kept telling her; it wasn't funny anymore. The girl's name was called out, a 20-minute warning. The girl tucked her purple, pink and blue western shirt into her black riding pants. She brushed the dirt off of her gloves and checked the chin strap on her helmet.

"Okay, come on big boy," she whispered to her horse, while taking his halter off. 

She led her horse down the length of the arena as a horse and rider entered to perform their routine. Reaching the small, three-step mounting block, the girl stopped her horse next to the top. Not quite close enough, she picked up the block and brought it closer. 
Before mounting, she took a quick look at the horse and rider in the arena. The two judges were watching carefully and taking notes.

"Okay Carrington, we got this big boy," she spoke nervously into the horse's ear. 

She took the reins in her left hand as she stepped up onto the mounting block. She put her left foot into the stirrup closest to her and was about to swing her other leg around the saddle to mount, but her nerves got the better of her and the reins slipped from her hand.
The movement of the reins made it seem like she had asked her horse to walk, which he did.
The girl was unable to swing her other leg over and lost her balance. She fell helmet first to the ground, her foot was caught in the stirrup. Her horse began to drag her into the arena in front of the crowd, her coaches and the two judges. Luckily, her horse could feel her missing from the saddle and he stopped and looked back at her. 

"Good boy, Carrington, good boy," she called to him.

"Sorry, if you can't mount, you're disqualified," a judge said as the girl stood up.

"Next time!" She laughed off the tears of embarrassment while petting her horse. 

That is the question. History re-envisioned.


June 4, 1944 12:59 P.M.
The tension and anxiety in the air were thick and contagious. A man sat at a large desk with his back to the door, staring intently at a huge map pinned to the wall. Red arrows and blue pushpins were scattered haphazardly everywhere on the map. A clock in the corner ticked with increasing volume as the man rubbed his tired eyes. The clock struck one o'clock A.M. The man turned to his desk and picked up his phone. The only app downloaded was the weather app. Eisenhower knew that this was the only app that mattered at the moment. If the weather wasn't just right for the invasion of France, he could lose thousands of men, just like Churchill did at Gallipoli. 
Opening the app, he realized that the weather was going to be unsuitable for the invasion. Eisenhower put all of his trust in the weather app and delayed the invasion for 24 hours.
History would prove that this was the right decision.