Articles written by Mike Patrick

What is Helium

About me - Mike Patrick

My love for the written word began with reading. There were periods of my life when I read a book every day. Still, I didn't write anything because I couldn't spell. From the hundreds of books I read, I developed a visual memory which allowed me to spot misspelled

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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Scars: 1 of 98
Childhood's shame of sex abuseIs the scar of later years.Remembered prayers that served no use,That halted not the tears.At first it was a promiseOf the love that kids desire,Bound with silken, tight-weaved liesFrom a man that you admire.No one asked the questions.No one showed they caredAbout this "friend's" deceptions,Or in... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: On poems: 2 of 191
Each poem grows from little vinesAttached to heart and soul.Fermented into finest winesWith age and theme control. With rhyme and verse, format is set,And tempo holds the pace.Word-choice demands must be met;Maintaining style and grace. Through subtle use of word and phraseThe reader soon will find,The deepest truth or lates... More..
Creative Writing > Humor Humor: Food: 2 of 139
Blackberry jelly. My mother makes a wonderful blackberry jelly. She shared a jar with me and my wife during our recent visit to the farm. I kept blathering over how good it was until Mom felt compelled to pull out her recipe and show it Martha, all the while telling her how easy it was to make. Now I don't know what it ta... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Liars: 1 of 56
I think it's possible to live a lie,But how long can a man love a lie?To love a lieWhen truth is here at my feetWith soft eyes and a warm touch,Saying, "I love you."Time, truth, and love are stronger than any man.In all these things you shine.Don't give up on me.Keep on loving.In time, a lie must fade. More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Halloween: 3 of 122
Halloween Things unseen are often thereIn basement, park or city square.A single spot of intense coldMeans attics hide more than mold. Dungeon chains are loosed at last,So eerie things can break their fast.Out from graves burst rotting thingsAs from the hill a werewolf sings. Light reflects from fangs and steelIn alleyways so... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Demons: 3 of 86
Demon A demon resides within my heart.It has the same name as you.Little by little, it tears apartThings we used to do. It keeps me awake as I watch you sleep.It stirs as you move away.The part of me that you always keepWants to make you stay. With claw and fang it slowly ripsApart the life we laid.I kiss now empty lipsThat... More..
Creative Writing > Humor Humor: Pets: 5 of 138
Sandy and I dog-sat for her oldest son last week. It wasn't a problem because we've done it before. Tigger, our Doberman Pincer, gets along very well with Taco. They had a good time together-too good. I could see trouble coming when Sandy said, "Look at the fun they're having. We need to get Tigger a little sister to play wit... More..
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short Stories: Seeking God: 1 of 27
Oh, hello there. I didn't see you come in. Please make yourself at home. I don't get many visitors here and everyone's welcome. I'm sorry the place doesn't look like much, and it doesn't have many of the usual amenities, but I can truthfully say it's all mine. I built it entirely on my own out of the bricks I created with my ... More..
Creative Writing > Humor Humor: Growing old: 5 of 130
Getting older With increasing age, I've noticed that my short-term memory is shot; I can't deny it. I get up from watching TV to get myself a glass of tea, the dog barks to be let out, I let her out, walk back into the living room and notice I still don't have any tea. I make a quick U-turn, get my tea and go back. My wife, S... More..
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Poets: 6 of 133
Poets There's a special place for poets Where they often live alone; Holding on to passions Few have ever known. The source of their inspiration Is the past they can't forget. And a future not so rosy: Is pain they've not faced yet. The ink that drips from their tear stained quill Is pulled from dark despair. Remembered nam... More..