Wednesday, January 29, 2014


I’ve been so wrapped up in preparing Dark Excursions: first set for a potential print edition (please cross your fingers, toes or whatever you can cross) that I have been rather neglectful of my blog.

To remedy this situation, here is a short subject (I am not a poet) that I wrote ten years ago with my tongue planted firmly in my cheek…
I stand here with my dust bunnies of darkness
Born from the morbid recesses of my mind
Where all the dank and sorrowful memories are stored
Waiting to be used for future self-torture
The dust bunnies of darkness, once fully realized
Leave my mind, hopping their way down
Down to the cavity where my heart once existed
Before it was torn from my body
Ripped and shredded right in front of me
Watching helpless as my heart fell apart
Sliced into a pile of crimson cardiac ribbons
Then stomped on for good measure
The dust bunnies of darkness reside in my heartless place
Festering bitterness and oozing apathy
Growing larger with each passing day
Until I am complacent with their control
Soon they will infect my entire soul
And I will be lost to their cynical ways
Is there no turning back from this numbing edge of oblivion?
Will I be able to reach the proverbial broom
to sweep the dust bunnies of darkness away?
The only answer I dare speak,
I don’t know.
John L. Harmon
May 2004
If this wasn’t enough tongue-in-cheek negativity for you, you may enjoy  Negative Pop Song

Wednesday, January 15, 2014


I hate to see my blog have nothing new this week, which would make an interesting blog entry itself, so I dusted off a "short subject" from 2010 for you to enjoy.
This was inspired by something I nearly stepped on...


by John L. Harmon

On the sidewalk it laid
For all to see
Crumpled and soiled
A lover's sheath

Purpose fulfilled
Preventing conception, disease
Though perhaps nothing more
Than a lost teenage dream

And there it remained
For all to avoid
Dusty and discarded
Useful no more



In case a poem about a condom doesn’t fill your need for tackiness, check out...
My Equipment

Thursday, January 9, 2014

The Library Cat

Just spent my last time with TLC.

He rubbed my hand and then I picked him up.  On my lap, he curled up and slept for a bit.  His chin and one of his paws resting on my hand.  Purring like he had just found his place in the world.

Had to leave his room for the night or I would never leave.

Didn’t feel like going home.

Don’t really feel like staying around the library.

Nowhere else to go, so I figured I would escape into the numbness of the internet for a bit.

He is old and, even though I would deny it to the ends of the earth, it is time.

Tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock there will be one less library cat in the world and that library will be quieter and lonelier for a while.
Safe journey, old friend...

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Darkening Sturgeons: Chapter Twenty-Six

The new year is beginning as this particular piece of blog fiction is ending.
Chapter Twenty-Six
by John L. Harmon
    Ben, leading the way, does not look back as the explosions rock the air.  He only focuses on the destination ahead, while alternating sun and shade strobe-lights across his determined face.
    An incline begins, gradual at first but then steepening.  Trees thin out a bit about halfway up but several claim the top of Stickler Hill.  Ben now stands among them, catching his breath and seeing what he needs to see.
    He does not notice the birds flying gracefully in the light blue sky.  He does not register the squirrels playfully darting here and there in the trees.  He does not perceive the discarded bananas and prophylactics of a Sunday morning picnic scattered a few feet away.
    This once quaint, charming, even beautiful town now resembles a war zone.  The massive amounts of trees in the residential areas are gone.  What homes and buildings remain are half-destroyed, jutting out of the earth like jagged gravestones.  And covering the ground like a blanket of dark snow is Stickler’s presumably dead collection.  This is the result Ben was aiming for when he shot up the laboratory, but he sees that Stickler was right.  They were too late.
    Clyde, nearly out of breath, steps up beside his superior.  Before a word is spoken, he takes in the destruction below.  The sight of his hometown, ravaged beyond comprehension and at the hands of his childhood boogeyman, nearly defeats him.  He wants to scream until his throat is riddled with blood, but instead he begins to whisper a grim question.
    “Do you think Leslie and Joe…?”
    “I don’t know.”
    The oppressive feeling of having lost everything threatens to morph into utter despondency when Sam and Christine reach the top of Stickler Hill.  Flanking either side of the law enforcement duo, they absorb the ruins below.  While there is no longtime connection to Sturgeons, they feel a nearly overwhelming sadness for the men between them.
    Believing it may add a smidge of comfort, Samuel gently offers Ben the item he grabbed from the entryway, “You forgot this.”
    He accepts the item with a whispered thank you, noticing the lack of labcoat on Samuel Dwyer.  This causes Ben to look down at his own ragged, dirty uniform and then out upon the vestiges of his hometown.  So much loss.  So much devastation, but now it’s over.  With this realization he passes the beige hat of Lawrence to Clyde.
    “Ben, I can’t…”
    “Sturgeons needs to be rebuilt, Clyde, and with it a new Sheriff.”
    Clyde Woodhouse hesitates for a second before accepting the beige but still feels doubtful, “What about you?”
    “I’ll be around,” Ben answers, momentarily thinking about his dream of writing a novel in shorthand, “but right now…”  He turns to the complex man who has been in his thoughts since last night.  “Samuel Dwyer, I am going to kiss you.”
    Samuel nudges up his black frames and flashes a smile more becoming than any smile he has flashed before, “It’s about time, Benjamin Straker.”  Time slows as two souls unite with a first kiss born out of mutual respect and attraction.
    Clyde nods his head approvingly, pleased that Ben will have no need for an online dating service.  He turns, putting on the beige hat of Straker, and faces his sizzlin’ Saturday night date.  “I don’t know if I trust you, Dr. Abernathy.”
    “That is fine,” Christine smiles at the sweet man standing before her, “because I trust you, Sheriff Woodhouse.”  Their kiss, while not their first, joins them in a way they did not fully anticipate.
    As the new duos kiss like there is no tomorrow, on one side of them the Stickler family home continues to burn with unrestrained fury and on the other side, beyond the collection-covered stillness of an annihilated Sturgeons, Lake Pontoon shimmers peacefully in the brilliant afternoon sun.
                                   THE  END
A huge thank you to all those who have taken the time to read my wayward, voice-activated internet search inspired blog fiction.
Please keep in mind that while Darkening Sturgeons has ended, my blog has not.
Until whatever comes next... it fiction, non-fiction or criminally bad poetry... well, Readers, and Freak Out,
P.S. If you enjoyed "Darkening Sturgeons" please check out my e-books available from Amazon.