Life

by Scott Tanner | Creative Writing, Poetry & Prose

I wrote this poem when I was about ten, for my first love. The subject matter was simple. I spoke of life; I used a flower as a metaphor. Cadence was exposed within the rhythm; housing both within the edifice of a rhyme.

I wrote it out on a tea-stained soaked piece of paper in an “Old English” hand-scripted font. I also included a small twenty-nine-cent flower plant I bought from my local Newberry’s. Our kiss was my first. It was really more of a peck, but the moment cannot be framed by time. To do so would be unjust, a travesty of love. It’s funny though? I don’t remember ever seeing her again — Ahhh…, even a kiss can cut into the soul in so many ways—but you already know that, don’t you?

Life comes in winter and fall,

it shouldn’t mean just anything at all.

It also comes in summer and spring

and should mean just everything.

Life is in the future,

and will soon come your way.

So try to make the best of it,

before it flies away.

Life is like a flower,

glowing in the light.

Its swaying beauty brings to us,

a colorful delight.

Flowers live

and flowers die.

And like some people,

they too watch life go by.

“No Time to Die!”

by Scott Tanner | A-musing, Musings, Writer's Retreat

“No Time to Die!”

As I was undergoing one of my weekly in-house stints of chemo. Physically, I was okay. Though mentally, I was in a pretty dark space. It wasn’t like the other areas of my life were all that great either.

As I remained on a precipice, looking down into my “rabbit hole,” my phone rang. It was an old friend; he was and still is one of about five best friends. I reserve the number one slot for whomever I’m drinking with that night.

Maybe I have nothing to complain about. As I was once told and came to believe, when you’re about to die, if you have five very close friends, then you’re one of the wealthiest people in the world. Adoption of this belief was one of the better choices that I’ve ever made in my life.

When Russ called, I was trying to get my arms wrapped around the strong possibility of my dying in the next six to twelve months. A short reiteration of our conversation went down like this…

“Tanner, I need you to write that book we’ve been talking about for the last five years,”

“Russell, here I am on my deathbed, with six months to live. And you’re telling me to write a book and save the world,” I blurted.

“Then write quickly. No excuses! You’ll die soon enough. Write the book! And! I like your idea of making it an allegory.”

My friends, they’re the toughest people I know. They always kick my ass, and they always goad me into a fight. He then made himself even clearer.

“Tanner,—No time to die!”

(Continuing)

“I want you to focus on those three things we always end up talking about. You still need to touch upon all of those other points. Weave them into your tale,”

“Three things,” I asked.

“I hate it when you play dumb! Start with how The Rule of Law has Become Unruly, then move to Etatism and write about the rise of the New Multinational where you talk about big tech,” he said.

Just to get him to leave me alone, I agreed to write the book. Believing that wouldn’t have to; as I would soon be dead.

Here we are, almost a year later, and as of now, I’m cancer-free. So what am I up to? I’m writing that our book! As of today, I’m staying with the title, “What’s Next”.

And in case you were wondering and were about to ask,

“How do I feel about all of this?”

Short answer, “It’s a good time to be alive!”

It’s now been roughly six months since I started writing the novel. Listen to this…

I just recently pulled into a coffee shop. It’s next to a small local movie theater. I shifted my car into park, gave a moment’s pause, and said to myself, “God, do I really need to write that dang book? I don’t know how to pray, or how to even ask for help. If yes, just give me a sign, any sign will do! I don’t care if I see Jesus in a grilled cheese sandwich. I promised Russell that I would write the book, and now I’m stuck with that promise!”

So I then get out of my car, and as soon as I locked it,—I was startled. Do you know how you get that creepy feeling, as if somebody’s coming up behind you? And you turn quickly,—to see who’s there? But no one was there. I then looked up at the marquee, then saw what movie was playing. Of course, it just had to be— No Time to Die! The most recent and probably the last Bond movie to be made.

I then replied to God, “Thank you. I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor. Even though you’re kind of freaking me out” Still somewhat panicked, I then scurried inside to get my coffee; as if trying to hide from God—Really?

For the Sake of “It”

by Scott Tanner | A-musing, Anecdotal Tidbits, Musings, Poetry & Prose, Street Smarts, Writer's Retreat

"For the Sake of "It"

Twenty something years ago, I made my first foray into the world of selling precious metals. Going into it, I admit I had cast a jaundiced eye upon the field. I had many good reasons to do so, but more on that next time, probably in a future post.

For now, what I’m simply going to tell you is much closer to a true Short Story than a piece of Flash Fiction. It’s about an encounter I had with a new prospect. I don’t remember his name, so let’s just call him Jim. That’s okay because what lies within this story is a takeaway; and once uncovered, it’s up to you to decide what to do with it.

When Jim called, inquiring about purchasing gold. And after we talked about the state of affairs of our country, the world, the precious metals markets, and life. Our talk took a bizarre, subtle twist. The conversation took a dialectical turn onto the road of reason.

Jim talked about his divorce, which occurred some five years prior to our conversation. He mentioned how he had lost everything. The house, furnishings, car, retirement account, savings, friends, and more. Yet, as he continued down that track, I felt something was amiss.

His attitude, the way he expressed himself, was light, jovial; incongruent with the evocations of what we should have felt within the confines of a short, sad story. Initially, I thought maybe he was just glad to get his troubles behind him. No, it was more than that, so I just had to ask.

“Jim, what you went through would have devastated most people! How do you stay so upbeat?”

His reply was elegant.

“When I was a young man and had only recently left home, my father gave me some sage advice.”

“And”, I asked.

“He said ‘Buy gold; for the rest of your life, regularly, take physical delivery, sell only when you absolutely have to; and don’t tell anybody! So I took his advice. “

“That’s it,”

“Pretty much,” said Jim

“So how’d that work out for you?”

“After losing everything; well, almost everything, I went to my stash. Over the years I had accumulated over four-hundred thousand dollars’ worth in gold…”

I then offered him a job.

Where’s My Poetic Lover Gone?

by Scott Tanner | Creative Writing, Poetry & Prose, Streams of Consciousness, Writer's Retreat

A travesty, within a travesty, wherein the truth can no longer find refuge within the construct of a paradox. Are we to be governed by readers who cannot read, writers who cannot write, and publishers who only know how to pander to the ideologue? I say, “Narcissism Matters”. Narcissism matters, it really does. The printed and spoken the word not so much.

When to give rise to reason is abhorrent, when we genuflect to the ignorant and cruel, and when we no longer know how to love, then it’s only the “Poet” who can save us. Leaving another travesty within a travesty, the last “Poetic Lover”, with no one left to hear, read, and feel the gravity of her words.

Requiem

by Scott Tanner | Creative Writing, Juxta-suppose, Musings, Poetry & Prose, Writer's Retreat

You’re black? Now you tell me! See how you are. I wish you would have told me this when we first met. So mundane, it’s comical, really. Like a key that turns a lock, you’ve now gone and done it!! This door, now wide open, can never be closed, or can it? If so, then forevermore is donning a cloak of nevermore.

“Excuse me. Would you be so kind as to get my friend and me two more of those shots w/ the funny name; Jagger’s, Jiggey’s — you know, the liquorice digestifs. Oh yes, and then put four more on our tab, close it, and hand the bill to my friend. He’ll be back soon!!!”

Downstream

by Scott Tanner | Anecdotal Tidbits, Creative Writing, Poetry & Prose, Writer's Retreat

waterfalls and black and gray waterfalls

Thanksgiving 2020

I have cancer.

If you’ve already read the first several posts, then scroll down and begin reading just after the August 9th entry. All future entries will begin with the most recent posting date, moving downwards, towards the oldest.

16 July 2021

What a road trip! Having cancer, has in a most bizarre way, made me become reacquainted with my “Self”. There were the dreams. Several of which morphed into full-blown manifestations.

I have a lot of things to convey. Within this scroll I’ll go well beyond just the literal aspects of my having to deal with cancer. As I continue make my entries, Ill delve into the psychological and frankly the unbelievible things that happended and are still unfolding.

What will be unvieled may amount to an allegory within an allegory. So first lest’s review…

9 August 2021

I went out one evening to meet up with my son, to play some pool, and grab a bite to eat. it was just before last Thanksgiving.

My life was already in total disarray; maybe I’ll tell you more about that later. I’m just not particularly crazy about “airing my dirty laundry” (that is unless I think I can help someone else not to make the same mistakes that I am prone to make).

We ordered a large selection of junk food. The one exception was the jumbo shrimp cocktail, which was delicious and I believe healthy— I don’t think that constitutes what’s considered to be junk food. Does it?

Anyway, it was getting late and when I got home I went straight to bed. The food hadn’t been digested and as I was lying in bed on my back I was in pain as it was passing down through my abdomen area.

The next day, when I saw my landlord I told her of my pain and discomfort. She told me to go to the emergency room and get an x-ray.

Normally I would of just yeah-yeah’d her or anyone else for that matter, and proceeded to tell my “Self” a lie and say “I’ll go and get a check-up after the holidays. That turned out to be easier said than done.

You see my landlady was a nurse and the closest person to an angel that I have come across in years.

Anyway, I went that day and it was a good thing I did. When the x-ray came back it looked like I had a large tumor about the size of a small ribeye steak just below my stomach in my abdomen area.

I was then moved to another room and my son and I lied in bed together and we waited for the oncologist. I wasn’t scared, surprised, or angry; no, there was none of that. I had some time to think, so I did!

Housed within my mind, I allowed my ‘Self” to go back a few years; maybe fifteen, no, it was closer to twenty years ago, not really sure. Anyhow— I landed for what must have been the hundredth time in an all too familiar place. This place constitutes one of only a handful of memories that will never fade— why this has to be so, I haven’t a clue.

The September 11 attack had just occurred, My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. My father had just passed, on the same day as one of my closest friend’s funeral service, which happened to be on my mother’s birthday…

My life was turned completely upside down. I am a tough old dog. At the time I was the founder and CEO of a financial services firm. 9/11 was also a direct affront to the financial services industry. Over the next six to twelve months my operations collapsed. This is the first time I’ve ever mentioned this, as what I went through was nothing compared to the plight of others; who was I to throw a pity party for myself.

The same goes for my losing a close friend, my father, and almost my mother.

After all, I had a wife and two small children to think about, I was destitute. What else could go wrong? Plenty! Oh, did I say I was tough? Maybe not so much.

Back to Thanksgiving 2020, and just beyond. It’s the twenty-year anniversary of 9/11. I’m alone, destitute, and have cancer. So I have no time to feel sorry for myself. Did I say I was tough? Yes, I am!

*************************

Downstream, 8/31/21

I'm "KRAKEN" up!

Several days after finding out I had cancer. And the night before my next appointment with my Oncologist. I was still quite restless. At this juncture, all I really knew was that I had a large tumor in my abdomen area.

That evening, after I fell asleep. I was awakened, by a noise that I heard just outside my window. It sounded as if someone was whispering. I sat up immediately, gave pause, and strained to listen. Then I heard someone whisper, “Metamorphosis”.

I realized that no one was there and that I was just dreaming. I was now wide awake, so I went to my computer and decided to unwind by surfing the net.

Apparently, I fell asleep at my desk. When I awoke, I recounted having yet another strange dream. I remember looking at a large creature sleeping at the bottom of the ocean.

It was a Leviathan; no, more like a giant squid. Let’s just go with a Kraken! I remember spearing the creature, and when I did, its mouth opened wide. Then out came what seemed like hundreds of tiny little Krakens.

What was I thinking? These dreams were quite strange. Apparently, I was still out of sorts and stressed out.

The next day as my son and I were driving to see my oncologist, I told him about the bizarre dreams I had the night before.

During my Doctor’s appointment, we were discussing how challenging it can be to determine what type of cancer I may have.

During the middle of my oncologist’s talk, he gave pause, leaned forward, and spoke ever so quietly, he said the word “Metamorphosis”. Are you kidding me, what’s up with that?

Now fast forward almost a year. I’ve undergone extensive chemo treatments, and I was supposed to be “cancer clear”. As added insurance, I was advised to undergo some light radiation treatments. This is the part where things take an apparent turn for the worse.

It appears that my cancer has returned. My oncologist, along with the others on the Tumor board, really aren’t sure what to think. Do I have cancer or not? Could I just be damaged goods, as evidenced by the radiation? Or, could we have inadvertently released the hive of baby Krakens from the biopsy procedure.

Let’s just hope I have an overactive imagination, that there’s no cancer; and I’m just damaged goods.

Next up! Another biopsy. Grreeaaat!