A Short Synopsis of "The Harrowing of Scooter Emerson"

As I approach the hard beginnings of my new novel, The Harrowing of Scooter Emerson I am beset with apprehension. This will be unlike any book I have ever written. It is a scary scenario to say the least. The reason I am having so much trouble even beginning it is because of its capability of wrenching my heart aside and drop kicking it into the pain and anguish of self criticism. Why in the world would I say something as unorthodox as that is probably running through the thoughts of anyone reading this. I will attempt to explain.

The Harrowing of Scooter Emerson is about a man about to die. He isn't just going to die; Scooter will be executed by the state for his dreadful crimes against it. Scooter was a serial killer; rather Scooter is a serial killer, because he dreams of being free to continue with his chosen profession. As the minutes tick toward midnight on his last day on earth there come, for him, a miracle, for the citizens of the state is a catastrophic happening. Scooter's lawyers have, just minutes before execution made his a free man. Free, not just a reprieve, he will be set free because of the prosecutors' tampering with, and concealing evidence.

Scooter is ready. He has sat on death row for ten years dreaming of this day. He has plans to go on a killing spree this nation has never seen before. As he lay in the hotel room one of his lawyer has rented for him he things of her in the next room, for the lawyer is a woman, and a beautiful one. Just what he needs to kick off the plague he intends to impose on an unsuspecting nation. As he walks into her room, sent there by blood-lust, there comes a conversation with his intended victim that confuses Scooter and makes him pause just long enough for the lawyer, her name is Ellen Haak, to confound him to the point that it is she who takes over as the dominant one in that room, it is she who will take Scooter and guide him through a hell he has never realized was possible and still go on living. Ellen goads him, softly encourages him and outright dominates him fro time to time as she not so gently guides him to where she wants him; face to face with his own immortal soul.

After The Beginning

whispered words send wordless,

insensitive revulsions throughout me

I sense a slight pressure inside my chest

lift a hand to touch, rather than look

listen with every ounce of intensity I can muster

I hear nothing

not even my feather-light breathing

or the breathing of others

it's dark here

one flickering candle

as though the wind makes it so

but there is no wind inside these four walls

only my breathing

which is so shallow

if I were to close my eyes

you might think me quite dead

I am not dead

not really

though I'm of the opinion

I've been dead and resurrected to this place

to fight forces unknown to mortal man

who knows for how long

days? weeks? maybe years?

It is the witching hour

I burn the candle in its unholy honor

I've discovered they prefer

candle softness

to what has resulted from that lightning rod

me too

I sleep during the day

arise to give the night its due

why was I chosen for this experiment

this diabolical, twisted experiment

driving me into madness

it has succeeded

I am mad

I surrender to its madness.

I burn the candle to write this down

maybe someone will read and understand

my mortal combat with immortal things

I've climbed the treacherous Mountain of Betrayal

holding on, trying not to slip

into the Faint Moans of Anguish ravine

though bloodied, more dead than alive

I held on to Shattered Hope

it would save me

but no

I was deceived by Wickedness

it laughed at my folly

I stomped on Broken Hearts

but there were more than I could possibly . . .

I've clawed and ripped

with my teeth

I've fought with bloody results

Drowning Libidos and Fearful Egos

accompanied with sorrow that I have come to this

dreadful hags harassed me

when I found moments, blessed quiet moment

diabolical howls from Hades' Hounds

prodded me onward

forever onward

toward the next struggle

Love Destroyed, a formidable foe

rescued by the Child of Innocence

then

Minds Unstable finally, completely destroyed me

oh, I know

I am not destroyed

I know I have other trials to face

I don't know if I am up to it

I am a beaten man

what justice is there

keeping this nightmare alive

©March 16, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

FINALLY! Ram Slade, Shamus is Published

 

 

This is the cover of my new book, Ram Slade, Shamus. The story is set in the year 1944 and centers around Ram's secretary, Luv (short for Loretta Ula Vargas), who quit working for him after five years, her faked suicide and eventual disappearance. As Ram begins his investigation into the strange happenings he becomes deeper and deeper involved in the case where nothing seems to be what it really was and no one is who then are supposed to be.

He teams up with Layne Fuentes, a reluctant homicide detective in pursuit for the apparent captive Luv. Everything that makes a hard-boiled detective story workable is in Ram Slade, Shamus including beautiful women, gun molls and, as Ram calls them, street weasels and hoods of all kind. Each layer of evidence he uncovers in his quest to find his ex-secretary only leads to more mystery and confusion. Bea, a new secretary causes to the turmoil within Ram's thoughts, plus Mandy, a gangster's wife who ask him to hide her from her husband. In desperation he turns to an influential ex-client of his who owes him a favor to find Luv.

A page turner is Ram Slade, Shamus . . . Ram Slade, Shamus 

Talk Radio

What can you say? Plenty, actually, if you are a political junkie, which I am not, although I keep up with the situation in Washington and around the world as best I can. I am not learned in the intricacies of political skulduggery, although I am better now that I used to be. Thanks in large part to the cablevision talking head shows. But the real masters of reliable information as far as I am concerned is talk radio. And when you say talk radio you are saying Rush Limbaugh. There are others, yes, and there are other good talk show hosts, Glen is one, Shawn another, are a couple who are good and can articulate what I want to hear, and there are others as well. But they are not Rush, Here is a man who has not wavered in his beliefs for the twenty plus years he has been on the radio. I have been listening to him almost as long as he has been on.

The conservative radio commentators have been ridiculed, misquoted, out and out lied about and have had awful things said about them, but they keep on gaining ground in the hearts and minds of the average guys and gals across America. The reason? They speak our language. They say on the air what we have been whispering about for years. Now we have a leader. We have many leaders, but Rush is in a class all by himself. He very seldom makes a mistake on air because his research team vets everything. Every so often something slips by and if it does Rush is there immediately to tell his listeners he made a boo-boo.

Rush has a lot of detractors. They say he is a clown. They say he is merely showbiz. They say he is irresponsible. They take his words and change them around to make it look and sound like he has said something wrong. The only thing is, for anyone who has listened to the man for any length of time with an open mind, knows that they lie about him. He has transcripts of everything he says and proves over and over again how the powers that be are trying to silence him. Unlike the left-leaning talk shows, of which there are a few, actually say anything and expect people to believe them.

I know without a doubt that America is in deep, deep trouble. We have a man in the White House who seems to want to destroy our monetary system, put as many people as possible on the dole, expecting the federal government to take care of them from "cradle to grave." It has been a long time in coming, and it began with Franklin D. Roosevelt, but since then the democrats and a few republicans have steadily enhanced the poverty level and with stupid rules which allow whole families to survive on welfare for many decades without once asking them to find work to try and support themselves. Why? Power. The more people with their hands out toward the federal government the more indebted they are and therefore will vote for whoever says they will give them the most.

Something has to happen to change this dependency on the federal government.

My Doppelganger and I

I ponder the rain as I sit here, trying to get my mind in gear,

As I ponder I hear the drip, drop, of the rain on the rooftop,

The skies so gray you cannot tell, when day is gone and night has fell,

I await the stroke of midnight, when my doppelganger comes in sight,

The hours leading up to twelve, gives me time for my mind to dwell,

I wait for him to show me the rhyme, as I have done so many times,

Like a drunkard waits for his wine, I drink his words like they were mine,

Come, come, you ghostly midnight hour, I care not if you bring showers.

This is the price I have to pay, for finishing my book today,

I have used up all of my words, and sit here like some doofus nerd,

I should sit back on my laurels, not worry about words to borrow,

Within my mind whispers speak out, you must write that's what you're about,

The whispers disturb my solitude, besides that they're so very rude,

But yes, oh yes, I need to write, writing is my life, it's my plight,

In search of that one special tome, inside of my mind's catacombs,

To spend a day and not compose, is like a blind man without clothes.

So here I am awaiting fate, for at midnight I have a date,

My scattered alphabet to repair, reach up, pluck good words from the air,

Unscramble my confetti brain, oh please, oh please, don't be my bane,

Doppelganger bring word bouquets, accept my gratitude I pray,

Last time I said that was the last, I'd ask not again your words to pass,

It's different now, I'm truly stumped, just one more time give me a jump,

I am not like the poet Poe, I just can't get my words to flow,

The clock chimed twelve the time is here, what to do if you don't appear?

©February 12, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Life's Sonnet #2

The fall season is sad to me,
No joy found in the cooling breeze,
Leaves fall to ground give me no glee.
I think of love's many degrees.

A young love that blooms in the spring,
Grows and thrives in summertime sun,
Everything perfect for queen and king,
But autumn find love almost done.

All that's left is winter's cold chill,
To shatter love's bough to the quick.
Leaving lovers to pay the bill,
And dismantle love brick by brick.

Spring awaits the fair maiden's thoughts,
Will love return or will it naught.
 

©September 26, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Life's Sonnet #1

Life's Sonnet #1


My heart tells me no, look back to the past,
I calm my heart with tenderness and care,
And say there is a future unsurpassed,
If we but reach for it, it will be there.

My foresight and reality are one,
I cannot divide them in two, you see;
They help me as I look toward the sun,
Foresight, reality and me are three.

This inner struggle has cost us a lot,
The pursuit of the beyond scares us both,
Still, it's not too late a dream to be sought,
A paltry weed needs the sun for its growth.

We wake up and look for the morning light,
From it we ascend to infinite heights.

©September 25, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Know the TRUTH about the Government Health Care Bill H.R.320

My Mother's Revenge

Click HERE To Purchase 

Kathy Albertini is a tortured soul. Only offspring of the notorious Dixie Mafia Don Angelo Albertini, she has spent years trying to distance herself from the "Family." She seems to have succeeded, at least outwardly. She has a job she likes at The Times-Picayune in New Orleans where she is accepted for who she is and not where she came from.
But Kathy has problems dealing with the past. The long, painful and torturous death of her mother dished out to her by her father for a sin he cannot forgive lays heavy on Kathy's mind. She feels some guilt because until her father sent her away to expensive private schools she completely eradicated her mother from her mind. But the memory of what she saw the day her father brought her home and what happened afterward lays heavy on her mind and she has gone out of her way to dress and act as different as possible as her mother, never wanting anyone to say, "Like mother like daughter."
This includes her sexual partners in what are basically weekend orgies. She takes multiple partners in a desperate and foolhardy attempt to still distance herself from her mother. Her life is split into. She has her job. She likes her job. She had her debauchery weekends. She does not like them, but does not know how to make them stop. In walks John, the paper's new cub reporter and sweeps her off her feet. Kathy is in love completely, something she just knew would never happen; now life is perfect. Her love for John begins to erase her other problems. She doesn't have the nightmares anymore. She doesn't have multiple partners. She is deliriously happy. Until the day she realizes she has a stalker. Not merely a stalker, but a man who is determined to destroy Angelo Albertini for crimes he believes he commented against his own mother. Soon Kathy finds herself on a houseboat in the middle of a swamp and at the mercy of this deranged,

Crow - Villanelle

rainy dreary day
  two crows sit on the mantle
rain drips, poet writes

Ruth

Will she ever come back to me,

To whisper untruths in my ear?

My lovely woman from the sea.

No, she's gone forever I fear.

Her face was chiseled out of lust,

Her body had treasures untold.

Her aura of earthiness musk,

Around my maleness to unfold.

Young, she was much too young for me,

She gave me passion I had lost,

Whether making love or sipping tea,

But God in Heaven what a cost.

I walked around with a huge smirk,

Reveling in the charms of her youth.

She made me feel like a young Turk,

As I whispered her name, sweet Ruth.

A ballerina, style and grace,

She tiptoed o'er my weary heart.

Her voice was like poison and lace,

She measured me up, a la carte.

With arms that soothed my savage beast,

Her long legs wrapped around my waist,

Upon my body Ruth did feast,

Until my problems were erased.

I was malleable to her desires,

A wink and a nod was all it took.

Her voice like a Heavenly choir,

Stirred memories of ancient brooks.

Ruth's strength lay within her weakness,

A clinging, wanting kind of joy.

She supped from my soul with finesse,

In her hands I was beguiled, oy.

When two can become one with heat,

Ecstasy is ripe on the plum,

And she clung to my offered meat,

Only tempered with sips of rum.

Ruth's lips, aged in barrels of wine,

A last meal, how could I not know?

As we made love beneath the pines.

She took me to peaks, then to woe.

I see her now where 'er she be,

A new lover she's given the eye.

She takes him on with bogus glee,

But, oh, I wish I was that guy.

I sit staring out the window,

And rue the day she came my way.

I'll never be the same, I know,

My skies are cold and gray each day.

I look toward Heaven and I shriek,

Why did she forsake me, my God?

Like a fool I think He will speak,

Is Ruth nothing but a façade.

When I have moments of real truth,

I have a feeling so absurd.

Oh, but she made me feel my youth,

Was it real, did it in fact, occur?

Was she a dream or was it real,

Things get fuzzy when you are old

Did I make love to the real deal,

Or was it a dream that I did hold?

©January 11, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Fellow Patriots the time has come,

Fellow Patriots there is work to be done,

Raise the invisible torch and pass it along,

Keep it burning,

Keep it burning,

Forward on that road that has no turn,

Die if you must,

For a cause that is just,

But shout to the end

No surrender!

--From the 1943 film, Hangman Also Die

Dottie's Love

loving you was so exquisite

in those early days

it felt like dying from passion

to gaze upon your face

your lips which quivered when you smiled

those dark brown eyes

sometimes almost dark like chocolate

to look at you thusly

could send me into the stratosphere

and your simple touch

could bring me back to solid earth

you touched me where none had before

stood strong

when standing strong was needed

all for me

sacrificed your desire many times

for mine

when I found myself

walking through the minefield of

insecurity

you were my rock

always there

smiling, standing strong for me

you said much the same about me

we leaned on one another

all those years

if you were disappointed

with your life

and me

you never let it show

until the ravages of hell descended upon you

even then

when I looked into those eyes

I saw Dottie of old

not the ravaged one going through hell

the pain you suffered

was relatively short

I am grateful for that

I think of those last days daily

can't help it

couldn't help it then

but mostly

I think of those wonderful, wonderful

good times

great times

fantastic times we had

getting to where we were

next month will be a year

since you left

just want you to know

my love is still strong

©January 2, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Contumely

the dawning of a new year

plods unwaveringly toward

the sheared sheep

while we

the sheep waiting to be sheared

shoot play rockets in the air

blow up balloons

to bring in this new decade

our leaders

from Hussein to the

Senate and the House of Representatives

on down to local elected officials

are spittin' in our faces

and calling it rain

nothing but abuse of power

they're stickin' it to us

because they can

they are not only discourteous

they are sneeringly disrespectful

used to be

once upon a time

there were two parties

in Washington

one balancing the other out

no more

Hussein's party is like pit bulls

always on the attack

never letting go of the prize

the other one

the limp-wristed one's

the Runpublicans

tuck their tails and slink away

while the majority of the American public

is being dealt

degrading and insulting defeat

as religious totalitarianism

can you say theocracy

is beginning to be smelled from afar

(where's the ACLU)

plants its foot

squarely on our backs

somewhere, somehow the idea of government

by and for the people

have been discarded like so many

table scraps

after an elite and smug banquet

while we

find ourselves clinging to beliefs of old

such as

pride in who we are

Americans

not championing diversity

Americans

not Mexican-Americans

Polish-Americans

Native-Americans

Whatever-and-Whoever-Americans

Americans

to stand up for diversity

is foolish and destructive

see what it has gotten us, huh?

the mere word

diverse means different

not the same

different

the crack in the Republic has been widened by that word

if you live in America

legally

you should call yourself an American

fuck the hyphen

standing strong and united

for the mother country

not

putting her down

we have lost our soul

suicide by apathy

a very slow bleed

©December 25, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Christmas Eve

remembering this day from times past

giddy anticipation

in my thoughts

like an empty glass waiting to be filled

on the morrow when St. Nick

comes to town

would that red Schwinn bicycle

be under the Christmas tree?

Christmas Eve Night

tried to stay awake

gonna catch Santa in the act

always fell asleep

don't know to this day

how I managed

to do that

with all the excited anticipation

that, of course was then

this is yet

another Christmas Eve

I have lived to see

gone for many years

is the vibrant giddiness

that excited anticipation

will I be able to sleep tonight?

visions of sugar plums and Santa

will not keep me awake

still, I've no doubt

sleep will be hard to come by

Christ in the Manger

is on my thoughts

as never before in my many years

on earth

something else

bothers me

this Christmas Eve

a runaway train

not Santa

wondering if he will bring

that red Schwinn bicycle

on Christmas morn

no, a darkening cloud

hovers o'er our heads

picking up speed

like a runaway freight train

as it races

closer and closer

to totalitarianism

in the guise of "helping" us

where is

Christ-On-The-Cross

when we need Him?

when life as we know it is

over

as we follow

sheep-like

those who we trust with our lives

He is there

where he has always been

waiting for us to

come back to Him

and relinquish the unhealthy hold

of secularism

politically-correct-stupidity

and return to sanity

He is there

where He had always been

©December 24, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

What The Hell Is The Matter With Our Leaders?

The Republic developed a crack

When President Roosevelt imposed

His own government takeover bid

Yes

I am aware of the Great Depression

Aware something had to be done

Thing is

He went too far

Making a crack in the foundation

Of the Constitution

With the advent of The New Deal

Or was it A Raw Deal?

Since that creeping government takeover

We've been hell-bent

On surrendering our sovereignty

Each preceding president adding to the total

Except for one

President Ronald Reagan

Now we have a monster on our hands

Now we have a man

Ready and willing to destroy an America

He despises

And turn it into a glorified gulag

Armed with his "Private Citizen Army"

Funded more or greater than the regular army

Are they walking the streets already?

Say ACORN . . .

Nobody sees the evil in this?

In this voter intimidation?

The "high, lofty sentiments" which came into play

For the voters of America

Has foolishly turned over to a vowed anarchist

Has scornfully said

The Constitution needs working on

Refuses to pay respect to our flag

Why?

Because he doesn't think it is his flag?

Health care

Global warming

Obamacare

Don't get me started

©December 20, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Life's Sonnet #2

The fall season is sad to me,

No joy found in the cooling breeze,

Leaves fall to ground give me no glee.

I think of love's many degrees.

A young love that blooms in the spring,

Grows and thrives in summertime sun,

Everything perfect for queen and king,

But autumn find love almost done.

All that's left is winter's cold chill,

To shatter love's bough to the quick.

Leaving lovers to pay the bill,

And dismantle love brick by brick.

Spring awaits the fair maiden's thoughts,

Will love return or will it naught.

©September 26, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Life's Sonnet #1

My foresight and reality are one,

I cannot divide them in two, you see;

They help me as I look toward the sun,

Foresight, reality and me are three.

My heart tells me no, look back to the past,

I calm my heart with tenderness and care,

And say there is a future unsurpassed,

If we but reach for it, it will be there.

This inner struggle has cost us a lot,

The pursuit of the beyond scares us both,

Still, it's not too late a dream to be sought,

A paltry weed needs the sun for its growth.

We wake up and look for the morning light,

From it we ascend to infinite heights.

©September 25, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Freedom

Muslim president
usurper of the throne
hemorrhaging across the land
freedom laid to waste
Flag thrown in the gutter
dispirited, without hope, bleeding within
stunned look on too many faces
bumper stickers saying
don’t blame me I didn’t vote for him
lame excuse
but they just have to say something
dark cloud hovers
smothers and settles down
freedom’s just another word
if spoken gets you sent to the “camps”
works its charm
keeps people quiet
keeps people informing on neighbors
on strangers, even family
citizen army strong, regular army decimated
a terrifying time for some
utopia for the rest
history déjà vu all over again
resistance stomped into the ground
only one voice
The Messiah
ineffectual person in charge
distorted and perverted use of the Constitution
their gods are power and silencing opposition
teaching school children his praises
allowing no descent
run, rabbit, run
hope and change, hope and change, hope and . . .
justice denied
the bully pulpit
the bully street thugs

a faint flame burns for freedom
kept alive by those who understand
by those who risk death
all this
written about
in my novel
Margaret and David: A Love Story

©December 6, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

We Have Some Time

Loveliness
caught me staring
vivid emerald eyes stared back
unblinking
asking the unasked
touching my soul
deeply
saying she understood
approved
of this visual tête-à-tête

Meandering stream
rippling surface current
beneath antediluvian oak
laden with vibrant green leaves
nature's awning
a blanket spread
impending lovers
cool gentle zephyr
unable
twin passion to impede

My trembling hand she took
to her breast
natural crimson lips touched
my bone dry mouth
lingered there
tasting of jasmine sachet
tentative tongue
scorched mine
set off
simultaneous sighs

We have some time
whispered mouth against my ear
hot against passion spent
tangled skirt
twisted pants strewn
hodgepodge
here and there
I knew not words
to answer

Old am I now
life lived did survive
never forgot
nameless girl
ancient oak
summer days of love
tender and good
jasmine smells
memory haunted by her words
We have some time