The Scarecrow (Poem)

Darkened sky,Barren hill –Bloody field,Deathly still.Circling cryRings the sky,High aboveThe scarecrow. Hanging head,Flapping wind,Tortured mouth –Weight of sin.All who passLaugh at him,Passing byThe scarecrow. Limp in limb.Heavy eyesDrooping, seeAll that lies.Not a word,Not a sound –MercifulThe scarecrow.

A Warm Atmosphere

And now for something completely different: A script idea I wrote after a philosophical dilemma I encountered not so different from that described herein. The style is unashamedly Sorkinese-American, aka The West Wing. Nothing new here, but a bit of fun. May this Yuletide be full of warm atmospheres for you. Merry Christmas. INT. OFFICE … More A Warm Atmosphere