“Below The Docks”
“Below The Docks” is the story of an old man’s struggle to come to terms with the loss of a lover in the wake of his final years.
He waited for her and his waiting seemed to slow time, like pulling the brakes on a dizzying merry-go-round, or catching the raindrops of a millennium with an umbrella turned upside down. Joseph sat alone on the twenty-third floor of his Hoboken apartment complex, facing the ferry docks and a piece of New York’s West Side skyscrapers. While reclined in his sofa watching the outside world with binoculars, he wondered what it would be like to see, after fifty years, a woman he had known for only one night.
“Bologna For The Postman”
“Bologna For The Postman” is the story of one woman’s attempt to free herself from fears of intimacy, by engaging in exhibitionist behavior, after a series of difficult and embarrassing life situations have forced her to
deny her sexuality.
A fly landed on one of Ezra’s breasts. She swatted at it until it dropped lifelessly to the floor, then returned her attention to the bananas, which she weighed for a customer. In the aisle across from her stood Biddy with an erection all the tugging in the world wouldn’t settle. Ezra couldn’t exactly see him spying on her, (she was too busy waiting on the customer), though she knew he was there, even imagined him trying to stare through the sliver of space between her armpit and shirt sleeve. A moan escaped Biddy’s lips. Without thinking, Ezra looked up to catch Biddy thrusting his pelvis against the cucumber stand, his right hand swimming under a sordid pair of blue jeans like a fish beneath an ocean wave. She no longer had to holler; Biddy ran out of the store holding his pants up by the belt buckle.
“Harry’s Last Flight”
“Harry’s Last Flight” is the story of one man’s attempt to determine the meaning of life, while facing his irrational fears of death.
This would be Harry’s last flight. He was irrational about flying and as the plane bounced in the air he tried telling himself, it was only turbulence, in a few hours he’d be on the ground meeting his friend and his friend’s fiancée, and in a few day’s toasting their marriage. There was a part of Harry that was very rational, that put fear into perspective, and that believed the likelihood of a plane crash was slim. Turbulence was nothing but air pockets, an unpleasant little inevitability of air flight. But there was that other side to Harry as well, that not so rational, fearful paranoid side, which forced him to examine every possibility. Yes, they were only air pockets, but they were air pockets that could bring a plane down.
“Patterns” is the story of Alex, whose obsessive compulsive determination to live the perfect day–a day of order and repetition–is strained after he meets a girl whose own obsessive compulsive tendencies keep her always searching for something new.
The alarm clock buzzed 7:30am; it was Saturday; Alex woke with bulging eyes, blinked three times, looked right to left, then thought about what he had to do to make it a perfect day. For Alex, the perfect day meant precise repetition and order. Only in exact repetition, and in precision daily routine, could he find peace and happiness. He was driven by circadian patterns and a binary interpretation of reality. But if he were asked, why, he would not know how to explain his singular behavior; it was simply part of who he was. He couldn’t change it. He didn’t want to change it. His behavior, which by many psychiatrists and loved one’s had been deemed obsessive compulsive, even forced him to turn down a job as an assistant professor of Mathematics—but he didn’t mind so much. The job would entail too many unforeseen variables he could not tolerate.
“Cereal Killer” is a dark comedy about a bitter young man, who vandalizes cereal boxes while working the night shift at a suburban supermarket—an outlandish method of coping with a tragic series of events in his life that he has come to associate with cereal.
When Herbert was certain that nobody was looking, he drove the razor blade deep into the cereal box. Normally, he would have twisted it around a bit to make the hole bigger, only to finish with a few final slashes, leaving a cardboard clump of mutilation. But this time was different. This time he felt an irregular sharp pain in his finger and yanked the box cutter out immediately. A stream of Special K poured onto the floor from a gaping hole.
by Nicholas Tana
Where is that connection that I thought eternal?
Floating in my pain, like tea leaves;
It suffers my mind
To dwell on the past.
No more real now than the future dreams I hold,
No substance but some memories,
It’s the connection,
That I miss the most.
That moment when your soul has found its true home;
Yet, that is an illusive dream–
An unstable shelf.
We’d never love another like we love our self.
July 15th 2002, by Nicholas Tana
I want to become famous,
So I can part rivers,
Though I wouldn’t.
So I could start a
Maybe even become
Eventually dictator of the world.
Then I would give it all up
For a cream donut and some
Then I would laugh
Like I do now but
Then It wouldn’t matter,
Let the universe keep expanding,
I’d wash it down.
October 29, 1995 by Nicholas Tana
“The Hell We Know”
by Nicholas Tana
Dreams, like shadows, are but part of the self.
The illusions we call love
Trinkets on a dusty shelf;
While expectations like demons below
Send us reeling as tormented souls
To a place we dread to go,
And all of it: just matter yet to grow.
Ever changing energy
Hopes and dreams…the hell we know.
“The closest thing to hell is hope. For without hope, despair would not exist.” — Nicholas
night & day
the soup of dreams
the dream asleep
April 30, 1998 by Nicholas Tana
times run…it’s (done)
time, time, time run, run, run
pull up a chair the morning dew
the night is young; has come;
it’s just, begun; and now, it’s (done).
© 1998 by Nicholas Tana
“A Hammock of Your Love”
To lay in a Hammock of your love;
To taste the sweet nectar of your lips;
To smell your skin even when you’re gone.
Everything that reminds me of you:
And to hold;
2003 by Nicholas Tana
If You Were A Cup
If you were a cup
I would press my lips tightly against
Your porcelain skin drinking all day
But, my bladder would blow
So, don’t be a cup.
If you were a dream
I’d be easily a narcolept
You would be in all my fantasies
But, I would never wake
So, I’d dream away.
If you were a gun
I would always have you at my hip
Wrapped in some lucky leather holster
But, I would get jealous
So, don’t be a gun.
If you were a crumb
You would be a beautiful morsel
And a mouse might grab you and eat you
But, I could not bare that
So, don’t be a crumb.
If you were a girl
I would drink, dream, hold, eat all of you
You would be the best of everything
But, I’d be lost in love
So, you are all that.
1994 by Nicholas Tana
“Tree & Vine”
As water drops
Upon the rock
A couple kiss
And seal their love;
In such embrace
All nature finds
Of tree and vine.
The water fades
Into the sun
The tree and vine
Appear like one.
Is why the vine
Clings to the tree?
2003 by Nicholas Tana
“The Kingdom of Glee”
The Kingdom of Glee & Other Poems, a compilation of children’s poetry that
echoes the rhythmical tradition of authors like Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss.
The compilation includes poems like “The Boy On The Moon”, about a boy who
gets tricked into living on the moon so that the man on the moon can return to
earth to eat a bowl of spaghetti; “The Happy Guy”, about a man who creates
controversy because he is always smiling; and “Monster Tree”, about a father
who helps his son face the fears of his imagination. It ends with “The Kingdom of
Glee”, a tale of three towering monsters: Lethargos, Jealous, and Thoughtless,
who are sent by the bitter King Wroth, to invade a harmonious kingdom in search
of a gold that does not exist.
Excerpt: 1 st . Paragraph
There once lived a king, who was so kind and good
That he ruled his fine kingdom as every king should.
His name was King Gentle; his people lived free.
His Kingdom was known as the Kingdom of Glee.
Story: El Perdito
Length: 2,830 Words
“El Perdito” is the story of the tiniest creature in the village of Los Olvidados, (which in Spanish means the forgotten ones), and his venture into the Enchanted Forest toward the great big mountain, where he learns about life, and death, and how to see through the eyes of the butterfly.
Excerpt: 1st. Paragraph
written by Nicholas Tana
Once upon a time in the enchanted forests of South America, there lived a tiny group of people so small that every other creature in the forest had forgotten that they lived at all. They had named themselves Los Olvidados (which in Spanish means the forgotten ones), because none of the other creatures in the forest remembered who they were or where they lived. This didn’t bother Los Olvidados, because they managed to help each other through life’s ups and downs, so that the days that passed under the sun were filled with fun and happiness.