July 2014
As my name Brian Horsethief suggests, I am a horse thief. When I’m not busy stealing stallions and other expensive equines, I write poetry, zombie lore, and short stories that contain my own unique brand of humorous horse nonsense. If you’re interested in hopping on a preposterous palomino, breaking out of the confines of the corral, and going on a wacky ride through the wide open fields of fun -- please contact me at my email address above.
Caws for Alarm
It’s three thirty a.m. and I’m still tossing and
turning in bed. How am I supposed to get
any sleep with that caterwauling crow?
Its caw literally burrows into my brain like
fingernails on a chalkboard. I mean the
damn bird is perched on a branch right
outside my bedroom window.
What the hell is it doing there anyway? It
was never there before, and now all of a
sudden it picks that exact spot at this
particular hour.
So this is what I’m going to do. I’ll close my
eyes and call upon the powers of visual
imagery to calm the crow.
I picture myself on the branch sitting next
to the black menace. I imagine it quieting
down as I gently whisper: hush... hush...
Stop your God-awful cawing, my fatiguing
feathered friend. Hush...
So much for that! The crow's annoying
CAW, CAW, CAW! seems to be getting
even louder. That’s it! My pre-dawn
patience is now officially exhausted.
In order to silence the crow once and for all,
it appears that I have to kick my visual
imagery up a notch.
Suddenly, my gentle whispering is halted by
a thunderous shotgun blast.
I visualize a cloud of black feathers raining
down from the tree top like autumn leaves.
It's too bad about the crow, but what can I
say? It cawed me off guard.
When I'm Down the Most
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
That’s just what I do.
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
Grief sticks to me like glue.
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
The Hebrew bible I probe.
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
I walk not in the shoes of Job.
It’s three thirty a.m. and I’m still tossing and
turning in bed. How am I supposed to get
any sleep with that caterwauling crow?
Its caw literally burrows into my brain like
fingernails on a chalkboard. I mean the
damn bird is perched on a branch right
outside my bedroom window.
What the hell is it doing there anyway? It
was never there before, and now all of a
sudden it picks that exact spot at this
particular hour.
So this is what I’m going to do. I’ll close my
eyes and call upon the powers of visual
imagery to calm the crow.
I picture myself on the branch sitting next
to the black menace. I imagine it quieting
down as I gently whisper: hush... hush...
Stop your God-awful cawing, my fatiguing
feathered friend. Hush...
So much for that! The crow's annoying
CAW, CAW, CAW! seems to be getting
even louder. That’s it! My pre-dawn
patience is now officially exhausted.
In order to silence the crow once and for all,
it appears that I have to kick my visual
imagery up a notch.
Suddenly, my gentle whispering is halted by
a thunderous shotgun blast.
I visualize a cloud of black feathers raining
down from the tree top like autumn leaves.
It's too bad about the crow, but what can I
say? It cawed me off guard.
When I'm Down the Most
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
That’s just what I do.
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
Grief sticks to me like glue.
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
The Hebrew bible I probe.
When I’m down the most
I thank God the most —
I walk not in the shoes of Job.