You harridan, you, you hissing witch Photo Credit: Will Pennington Oh you harridan, you hissing hagyour constant kvetching connivesto wither worry wear my nervesignobly ignoring the pain yourpurple preying pollution playsupon my brain while stealthilystealing my sanity A snake awakes to hiss alarm towarn away a wandering arm or handor leg and only bites in fear of fatefuldeed, but you you harridan youhissing hag you … Continue reading Tinnitus is a Bitch
I tried to take rubbings of his tattoos-the hula girl, the palm trees, the sailing ship, the crossed cannons, the anchor. The hula girl danced for me when he flexed his forearm. He never told me where he’d got them. He was in the war when he was eighteen, and he was an old man when he came home at twenty. His ships pulled into … Continue reading Tattoos – A Poem
I may not know your story But I’ve had my troubles too, I may not know you’re suffering But I have suffered too, I’ve ached so hard inside my soul I thought that I would die, –No– I hoped that I would die. We all have our stories, None are cut and dry; No two people cry the same Or know the reason why; So … Continue reading Souls Like Yours Are Precious
For Dad John William Pennington 12/29/1926 – 12/10/1994. GM2C US Navy WWII; SSGT USAF Korea, Vietnam There are two kinds of dead in war: those who die and those who live. Those who die stay dead; those who live die again and again and again until, someday, they too stay dead. He died in World War II during the Battle of Okinawa, but lived another … Continue reading Eighteen Thousand Two Hundred and Fifty
Dad and I used to go the movies together when I was a kid and we were stationed in Soesterberg, Netherlands. Thursday night at the Camp New Amsterdam Air Force Base theater was westerns and war movies. All my buddies and their dads went. Mom would make grilled cheese sandwiches for dad and me at home, then we’d have popcorn and soda – and candy … Continue reading Thursday Nights with Dad
There are two kinds of dead in war: those who die and those who live. Those who die stay dead; those who live die again and again and again until, someday, they too stay dead. He died in World War II during the Battle of Okinawa, but lived another forty-nine years filled with anger that he did not die in the war and stay dead. … Continue reading Eighteen Thousand Two Hundred and Fifty
The Writings of William C. Pennington 