Wednesday, September 28, 2011

On Trial

“She dared to show her throat
and got it slit,”

The lawyer for defense
solemnly remarked.

“The whore was asking
to be killed.

“My client was a
victim of seduction.

“Would you really take
the words of this dumb slut?”

The jury nodded
in agreement.

An older man,
the prosecutor, stood.

He looked into the jury
choosing his words carefully.

“The slut was seven…”
He said and then sat down.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Five-Minute Poem

I wanted to do an exercise seeing how much of a poem I could write in five minutes.  Maybe we could all try it and get a theme going? ;-)

Light slow dances
with the ground.
Wind cuts in,
strikes fast
and dips.
Swing then waltz,
kissing grass blades
on their necks.
The earth is coy,
wants more before
a drought sets in.
But light and wind
have took their toll
leaving cracks through
what was whole.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Here & Now

Here and now,
while gone and later.
Skin, strong bones
give way to dust.

Brave, bold eyes
soon hollow sockets
without gaze or

I feel my cartilage
retract. Hairline
pulling back
to skull.

The essence
and the body
now some marker
on an unkempt lawn.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

I Know Where Home Is

I know where home is
though I haven’t seen it
for some time.

I know where home is
and it’s waiting
out of reach.

I know where home is;
I imagine when I
close my eyes.

I know where home is
and I feel its essence
teasing me.

I know where home is
do you suppose there is
such a place, Toto?

I know where home is
it's not a place you can
get to by a boat or a train

I know where home is,
beyond the moon,
beyond the rain.

I know where home is
it’s far,
far away.

I know where home is,
if only I could
take you there...

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Small Time Bloggin'

There's something quaint about a small blog, isn't there?  One where you can interact with the author.  I generally don't advertise my blog for that reason.  The people that merely come across it are the best sort.  So don't go tellin' no one.

Nice Old Spice can stay our little secret ;-)

Saturday, September 17, 2011

The Wise

The wise will realize
it isn’t what we’ve seen
or even done in life
that matters but rather
the feelings we’ve felt
and made in others.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Novel Revamp

Ben Ditmars' novel, Gnomes of Coyûl is now Available on Amazon for Kindle and Print.

Hello once more my Spicers and Spicettes.  I've been working on a Summer project that I just recently finished.  I wanted to revamp a novel, Gnomes of Coyûl I put on Kindle last year.  And revamp it I did: new cover, more appealing format, the works.  The best part is, all of this greatness, is also available on paperback.

Do you own a Kindle?  Then this your place!

Do you desire a more timeless paperback?  Then click right here!

As always, if this post is lost in the ether of rantings, Witherspork, etc. you can find these same links underneath the Books tab above.  Also, what book is complete without a Twitter feed?  And a jolly good Facebook?

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

For Ron

They strung him up for being sick.
One took a club and smashed his head.

The rest joined in
ripped limb from limb.

His family watched
now destitute

from paying bills
and bankruptcy.

I’d like to help
but feel afraid.

The crowd yells DIE
I whisper LIVE.


Moderator: But congressman, are you saying that society should just let him die?
(Tea Party crowd screams YES!)

Monday, September 12, 2011

Three Poems

I've wrote these poems over the past couple weeks but haven't posted them.  They're more somber than normal.  But don't be alarmed, I'm still very happy :-)  See.  I smiled.

The truth is that
You never liked me.
Oh, you said you did,
Pretended well enough.
But I could always tell
A liar when I saw one.
And that’s just what you are;
Not nice; not sparing of
My feelings.  Just cold.
A bitch without remorse.

There’s little consolation
when your hard work doesn’t pay,
and all that you put in stays put
in rigid forms, faint outlines
of desire; puppet shows
played with your heart
on strings. The puppet master
drunk and weaving, somewhere else
and crying out much like the wooden
figure he is holding.

A Legend
I was never legendary
though I tried to be
and failed.  I was at most
a sidekick, supporting actor
to a larger role I couldn’t fill.
I watched others do great deeds
and envied them.  But I could not
supplant them.  Danger fueled my heart
but froze my arms and legs.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Ten Years

                                        I had never thought                I may                  I still shiver
                                       of war              until                have gone           but accept
                                      the                     day               to bed that          there's hate
                                       ten years ago in class             that night            beyond what
                                                        the towers            more peaceful      I can hope to
                                                         collapsed             if I hadn't             heal or reason
                                                            and fire             known how          with. If just to
                                                              rained.            men could be.     catch a wink.

Friday, September 09, 2011


I poured summer down the drain,
The last of it; the end of it.
Sunrays splashed on flowerbeds,
Spiraling with fresh mowed grass
Into the vortex of another year.
I saw the faucet trickle out
A few fake spiders and a
Lit-up pumpkin.  The cycle
Had begun again.

I thought of this poem whilst pouring some long flat, unfinished beer down the drain.  It was Summer Ale from Sam Adams and likely the last I will have of it until next year, seeing as how it's seasonal.  So, I got the idea of actually pouring summer down the drain from that. As you can read, I'm not very good at these poetry explanation things, but I thought I'd give it a try.

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

A Sonnet for Luna Lovegood

I saw you reading something upside down
In your compartment, wand behind your ear;
Corks strung in a necklace led me to drown
Within your eyes, blond hair, a new frontier.

We saw thestrals flying unlike others
Their shrill, strange yells so like our beating hearts
Sharing memories and pains together
As ones who had their families ripped apart.

Fighting side by side in more than battle
We were friends, almost lovers in a way
But your world and soul I could not rattle
And watched as you wore yellow on your wedding day.

You were beautiful, a dirty blonde sun
Eclipsed by your new husband, what can’t be undone.

Tuesday, September 06, 2011

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Hurry up, #stepitup
Feed the hungry;
Roof the homeless;
Empty your backpockets
And really help someone.

Monday, September 05, 2011

Gnomes, Gnomes, Gnomes by Whitney Taylor

My friend Whitney, who blogs at Witty Whit's and is always a supportive and truly great wrote a wonderful fan poem for my novel Gnomes of Coyûl.  I'd like to share it with you all here.

Ben made gnomes
Gnomes gnomes gnomes
How I love them gnomes
Cute little men in beards, tall hats, and coats
And women in their cute hats and dresses
Living in the beauty of nature
How small they are and size up to a tree
The trees stand like towering giants
Through the four seasons this is their home
They are quite like us you see
They love, fight, and dream
Gnomes gnomes gnomes
How I like how it sounds on my tongue
Real as you imagine them to be

Sunday, September 04, 2011

A Sonnet for Colin Creevey

I've sat on this poem for a few days now, unsure if it's ready.  It's the culmination of ideas I've had for a long time about how heroic Colin Creevey truly was throughout the Harry Potter books.  His sheer, unrelenting loyalty to Harry, just struck me; from a little boy snapping pictures, standing up for him against much older wizards, to in the end dying for him, all the while persecuted with his brother Dennis under Voldemort's regime for being Muggle-born.  Let me know what you think...

He gave it all for the man he adored,
and idolized for years in magic school.
Put down his camera, picked up the sword
to die outmatched by all but heart in duel.

Muggle-born, mudblood cast out his sixth year
coming back to fight pureblood mania
threatening his young brother, causing fear;
persistent, rampant xenophobia.

Petrified by snake but never frightened,
always standing with the good and bravest,
those thought selfless, true and most enlightened;
he proved himself an equal to the rest.

If there is a God he must know above
that Colin Creevey lived and died for love.

Saturday, September 03, 2011

Artemis & I

I entered the following poem in a Greek Gods poetry contest.  The particular goddess they wanted wrote about was Artemis so I gave it a shot.

Looking back I realize you were Artemis
Obsessed with wild animals, the hunt and moon.
A lonely river god could never tame
Or see past your disguise.

Actaeon had suffered for a glance as I,
Orion and the rest would fall,
Seeking to undo a fabled chastity
Beyond the limits of your love.

Your jealous wrath had struck me dumb
Cut out my tongue, reduced a
Once proud stream to tears
And dammed the flow.