Tag Archives: personal blog

Sitting in the Dark

The lights burnt out,
Darkness cast across a nation broken,
Lit only by fiery wrath and ire,
Graffiti hate betraying fear,
He watches from his Oval Office,
Admiring the power of his chaotic pen,
Speaking of peace while waging war,
Promising luxury hotels in the wreckage,
Is that the plan?
To pick up the pieces in a bankruptcy auction?
The ultimate steal deal?

Defunded, positions eliminated,
So many lives derailed,
As the safety nets are methodically unravelled,
How far will we fall before we stand and fight?
Or are we past that?
Already too jaded?
Are we getting what we deserve?
After all this is what we voted for.

My mom tells me to add my light
To the sum of the light,
A lasting message from her dearly departed;
So I feel I need to make a turn here,
To find the silver lining,
To spin this into a positive;
But what if it’s not in me?
What if, today, I’m just too tired?
What if all I can do is sit here in the dark?

Be well,

Monty

I’ll Be Ok

I fell down, hard. First tripped up by my own feet, I’d lost my balance. Then they saw their chance and pushed me. Slammed me into the ground. I hadn’t seen it coming. I’d mistaken their wingtips as gentlemen’s attire. I didn’t anticipate their fancy high heels would be used to grind me down. I was naive. I didn’t even realize we were fighting. I thought we were all on the same team. So naive.

It’s been years since the first time that I was KO’d in the corporate world. Knocked down and out. Yes, I got up. But I was walking wounded for months. Unsure of my footing. Uncertain of the path forward. My confidence shaken. I eventually found my way. Stood up a little taller. Stronger for the experience, but not exactly grateful. It was just too damn painful.

These days, I’m back in a battle I never asked for. I’m a generally smart guy, but when it comes to office politics I always feel like I’m playing checkers while the real game is chess. I just don’t have the knack for it. I’ve no interest in playing, but there doesn’t seem to be much choice in the matter. The only difference now is that I’m less naive – not that I can see the next moves, but I know that in the end game I’ll survive one way or another. I’m less driven by fear. It doesn’t mean it won’t be painful. It doesn’t mean it will be easy. But with God at my back, I’ll be ok. I’ll be ok.

Be well,

Monty

And There it Was

A simple request. An ask to take the decision out of my hands. To be open to receive. That’s all it took. It wasn’t long before the offer arrived. A simple offer. How about a walk? And there it was. A prayer answered.

Be well,

Monty

A Life Being Lived

I’ve been retracing my steps all morning. Not deep into the past, but shallow moves forward followed by equal measures backward. Stuck in a reciprocating pattern where nothing changes except the clocks progression. I’m trying to write myself out of it. It took a while to get anything to stick. To survive the backspace button. No surprise that it’s just an account of my experience. So often that is what my writing boils down to. Nothing to interpret. No plot to unwind. Just a life being lived.

I have a confession to make. Not a confession to absolve myself of guilt, but rather one to share in case it resonates for anyone reading. Loneliness has been coming up lately. Not the type of loneliness that comes from being physically alone. Rather the type that pervades even when surrounded by others. I often feel lonely in this way and it brings me great shame. I ask myself how can I feel lonely when I have a loving and caring family? Do I not appreciate them? I feel unworthy. That my depression is a betrayal of their love. It’s often when I’m in this type of headspace that I’m at my most dangerous. That I’m weak and fall into old self-fulfilling behaviors that undermine my worth. Last night I battled such feelings and compulsions and came out whole. For that I’m grateful. I’ve found that by strengthening my faith I’m more resilient against these feelings. I still have them. But I don’t have to indulge them.

Be well,

Monty

The Visitor

He chatters away downstairs, the sound carrying upward as he tells a story in a rush, interrupted only by the laughter of a captive audience – polite or genuine I cannot know, but a mixture of both I would guess. The story goes on until it merges into another without pause. I’ve never had anything interesting enough to say to carry on so much. I can’t decipher the words. Or more accurately, I don’t have the interest to try to translate them. I just recognize the rise and fall of a story’s tale as it ebbs and flows until a final climax and a moments rest…only to find that there is another peak beyond and he has no intention of stopping for the night. Till now I’ve kept my distance. After a polite greeting I slipped upstairs and took to writing this account. But I hear the dinner table being set and the call to head down will come any moment now. Then there will be no escaping. I’ll be captive too. So while this might not be the most interesting story of the night, At least you’ll now what happened to me if these are my last words…

Be well,

Monty

Monty’s Very Short Shorts – #Jungle

#Jungle

Lance Bumbleworth @Threads

Typhoon (#Jungle)

Typhoon winds and rains batter against our windows. The wind whistles and bangs through every crevice it can find. The chandelier detects the building’s shimmers and chimes to its off-tune rhythm. How is a mere man supposed to think in this racket, let alone write about fantastical geographies afar? Better to ask of the God’s that created the mountains and seas, the jungles and deserts, the wooded lands. For I’m at a loss for words waiting for the eye of the storm.

If you enjoy these very short stories, you can also check out one of my earliest books – MONTY’S VERY SHORT SHORTS which includes 366 illustrated pieces (one for each day in my life of 2020).

Monty’s Very Short Shorts

Be well,

Monty

Monty’s Very Short Shorts – #Split

#Split

Bad Fiction: olliefrancis @ Threads

Vermont Maple (#Split)

The majestic maple lumbered tall — providing extra shade to our sagging front porch. Each autumn she would cover the ground with thick layers of crisp, colorful leaves and we would pile them higher than we could stand. She watched us play.

When a major storm swept through and lightning split her down the middle it was only a matter of time. The weight of her once steady limbs now threatening — we chopped her down. She became the heat for our home through the long winter. To the end she gave.

If you enjoy these very short stories, you can also check out one of my earliest books – MONTY’S VERY SHORT SHORTS which includes 366 illustrated pieces (one for each day in my life of 2020).

Monty’s Very Short Shorts

Be well,

Monty

Monty’s Very Short Shorts – #Thirteen

#Thirteen

Bad Fiction: olliefrancis @ Threads

A Dedication (#Thirteen)

He didn’t know, but we shared given names. We also shared deep sadness and a need to express ourselves through words. He introduced me to thirteen word poetry. Daily, he provided a word and I drafted a poem using that word. My first published book is an illustrated collection of these poems. I also helped him illustrate a cover for his ballerina stories. While we lost him from this world, I still have so many treasures to remember him by.

Dedicated to the memory of Scott Christopher Beebe

Also, if you’re interested in reading some of my thirteen word poetry that Scott inspired, here are the links:

Thirteen Words (Volume 1)

Thirteen Words (Volume 2)

Thirteen Words (Volume 3)

If you enjoy these very short stories, you can also check out one of my earliest books – MONTY’S VERY SHORT SHORTS which includes 366 illustrated pieces (one for each day in my life of 2020).

Monty’s Very Short Shorts

Be well,

Monty

Monty’s Very Short Shorts – #Thirteen

#Thirteen

Bad Fiction: olliefrancis @ Threads

A Dedication (#Thirteen)

He didn’t know, but we shared given names. We also shared deep sadness and a need to express ourselves through words. He introduced me to thirteen word poetry. Daily, he provided a word and I drafted a poem using that word. My first published book is an illustrated collection of these poems. I also helped him illustrate a cover for his ballerina stories. While we lost him from this world, I still have so many treasures to remember him by.

Dedicated to the memory of Scott Christopher Beebe

Also, if you’re interested in reading some of my thirteen word poetry that Scott inspired, here are the links:

Thirteen Words (Volume 1)

Thirteen Words (Volume 2)

Thirteen Words (Volume 3)

If you enjoy these very short stories, you can also check out one of my earliest books – MONTY’S VERY SHORT SHORTS which includes 366 illustrated pieces (one for each day in my life of 2020).

Monty’s Very Short Shorts

Be well,

Monty

Monty’s Very Short Shorts – #Sponge

#Sponge

Bad Fiction: olliefrancis @ Threads

Her Last Night (#Sponge)

It was her last night, but we didn’t know that yet.
She smacked her lips, the sign that she was thirsty.
We took turns rubbing her lips with a wet sponge, the water dribbling into her mouth. But it was never enough.
She kept smacking her lips in frustration. I’ll admit we were frustrated too. No matter how much we tried we couldn’t quench her thirst. Her lips kept smacking. The machines beeped incessantly. The nurses were bored by just another day. But it wasn’t any other day. It was her last.

If you enjoy these very short stories, you can also check out one of my earliest books – MONTY’S VERY SHORT SHORTS which includes 366 illustrated pieces (one for each day in my life of 2020).

Monty’s Very Short Shorts

Be well,

Monty