Free Download of Wolf Pack Moon

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The Great Poetry E-Book Free-For-All

USE THE ABOVE LINK FOR A FREE DOWNLOAD OF MY BOOK UNTIL MIDNIGHT PST DECEMBER 1. I would greatly appreciate reviews posted to Amazon. When you go to Amazon Books just type my name into the search and my books will come up so a review can be shared. Thanks.

Written In Blood

Wolf Pack Moon Ad

I have been writing poetry since the age of twelve and created my first chapbook at the age of fourteen. After showing a few sample poems to friends and neighbors, the chapbook was relegated to a dusty drawer to disintegrate into fodder for a rat’s nest. Some of the poems were good, many I am sure were bad, but all originated from a bludgeoned or joyful heart, mine. I am almost certain the rats found them more pleasurable than any of my human readers. Continue reading

I Saw It Coming, Part 10

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     I soon discovered that the Vulture had been recruited as a delivery boy.  He was dispensing the goods and rather efficiently to Kim’s clients.

     I needed to get out ahead of him if I wanted to witness a transaction, so when the Vulture left Market St. to go down fifth, I moved on down Market and went into a t-shirt shop that Two Fingers had solicited when I had been tailing him.  I cruised down one of the aisles to the rear of the store near a set of stairs and parked myself behind a rack of Giant’s pullovers.  I pretended to browse with interest through the shirts. Continue reading

I Saw It Coming, Part 9

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     I was led into the Tenderloin District.  My boys entered an apartment building about a block from City Hall.  Before they entered, Two Fingers gave the Vulture a dressing down.  His head dropped and his hands disappeared into his pockets as he stood there like a sponge and soaked it up.  That’s how kids get molded into criminals, how terrorists become terrorists, they are weak and easily manipulated by the criminal mind. Continue reading

TBone Ditty, creator of the QuickTurtle® Band (continued)

Golfing Turtle

When the Buzz Cuts disbanded, TBone joined the golf team.  He quickly established himself as a scrappy competitor willing to take the risks to win.  He became less serious and more happy-go-lucky.  His performances on the golf course seemed to be a placebo for his need to entertain.  He was soon dubbed with the nickname, Turtle Woods.

Musically, TBone journeyed more into himself.  He wasn’t particularly in a funk, he was just very introspective after dealing with the difficulties of trying to hold together two bands at such an early age.  Yes, bands were fun, but they were all encompassing entities that were as fickle as the weather.  He had needed a break and golf afforded that outlet.

While working his way up the leaderboards, TBone spent his downtime focusing more on song writing.  He learned the piano.  He dabbled in the blues and had developed a special liking for punk music, but in the end his tendency was the down home feel and sound of folk.  His lyrics were oriented around the social issues of the day and the escapades of falling in and out of love.  He would often pull out his acoustic guitar and play a few ditties for the golf team while they were holed up in some cheap motel on the road.  It was his first foray into what it would be like to be out on tour in a touring band.

On senior ‘Skip Day’, TBone hauled his guitar and an old banjo down to the park.  He soon became the focal point for the more artistic crowd as he played some of the popular hits of the day.  He interspersed the hits with some of his own creations and got lots of compliments especially from the girls.  His song writing had matured along with his performance skills from the hours and hours he had seemingly spent in front of a mirror.  Having the attention of a rapt crowd rekindled the performance bug and his dire need for a band.  He didn’t have the makings of going it alone; he considered it just too lonely.

Fortunately for TBone, Robbie Slade had decided that he’d had enough of Algebra and skipped off to the park with the seniors.  It was a very brave thing to do as a sophomore, not only because he was going to get detention but also because he was traipsing into senior territory where no male sophomore had a right to go.  Robbie looked like a geek.  He was sarcastic and strong willed with a short fuse.

It was a blessing that TBone had everyone’s attention when Robbie showed up in the park because Robbie walked unscathed and ignored.  No one saw the need to confront him or chase him off as he slowly edged his way to the front.  He listened attentively to several songs before he latched onto one of TBone’s originals.  He had brought along his harmonica and boldly pulled it out.  He skillfully bent some notes and folded them subtly into the second verse of TBone’s; Too Fat Shuffle.

TBone was quite impressed.  He quickly taught Robbie another of his songs and once again Robbie wove the harmonica in superbly.  They intuitively began to play off of each other with skill and comfort.  They played for over an hour, egged on and applauded by the gathered crowd.

As the seniors finally wrapped up their ‘Skip Day’ in the park, TBone didn’t hesitate to invite Robbie over to his garage for a little jam session.  He was intrigued by the skinny sophomore and not only did they hit it off musically but they were also bonding as friends.

The seeds for the QuickTurtle Band sprouted that day in TBone’s heart.

Richard Rensberry, Author at QuickTurtle Books®

I Saw It Coming, Part 7

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     It was a great day in SanFrancisco.  It was sunny and warm for a change with only a slight breeze coming off the ocean.  I decided to head down to the bay and snoop around to see if I could find some well washed beach glass.  I like to make mosaic animals out of the old glass.  Old stuff was getting harder to come by, but I had been having some luck when the tide was out.

     I was currently working on a giraffe and needed to find some leg and hoof pieces.  I had already completed the piece with paper and it was ready for the transition to glass.  I thought it might be a nice center piece for our new reception area once Ned and I got rolling on the reconstruction project.

     When I got down to the Embarcadero I decided to detour into the Walgreens across the street from the Hyatt.  Someone was following me.  I had felt his presence shortly after leaving the Tin Man’s.  I didn’t know if Skinny had put a tail on me or what.  Kid’s can be pretty sharp when it comes down to trust issues.

     When I turned around I glanced about for anyone that had stopped moving.  People that are tailing you tend to go into motionlessness if their target goes still or looks around.  It is some kind of natural reaction under the circumstances and is almost like a poker tell.  They don’t know they are giving themselves away because they are trying too hard to hide themselves behind their tell.  That’s precisely why it is a tell.

     I saw three people that fit the description.  I immediately ruled out one of them because he was panhandling and dressed in street clothes that had seen better days.  One of the other  guys was talking on a cell phone and looking in my direction.  He was dressed in a blue sports coat and expensive slacks.   The last guy was kind of beefy with several tattoos visible on the backs of his arms and neck.  He was pretending to look in the window of the Starbucks next-door .  I recognized him, he was Two-Fingers Kim, our local drug trafficker.  My tail.

     Kim had been in jail enough times to own a time share.  Though I had never met him up close and personal, I knew of him and his destructive wake.  From what I heard, he was one tough Korean.  His last arrest had taken a whole precinct of cops to take him down and haul him in.

     I really couldn’t think of any possible reason why he would be following me.  I turned and went into Walgreens.  I walked to the back of the store and went through the door marked for employees only.  The delivery area doors were closed and the docking area empty.  I found the exit door out into the back alley and scurried back around toward Market Street.

     When I came to the corner by the cable cars, I could see him still standing there by Starbucks.  He was shifting from foot to foot getting antsy.  I watched as he waited another few minutes and then went inside Walgreens to find me.

      I decided to abandon my project and turn the tide on Two Fingers.

      He came out of Walgreens about five minutes later.  I have no idea what he thought or even if he thought at all.  I gave him a half block head start up Market and followed discreetly.

Richard Rensberry, Author at QuickTurtle Books®

I Saw It Coming, Part 5

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Skinny didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing behind him, but he turned anyway and stood up to face me on his broken ankle.  We were about the same height.  He wasn’t a bad looking kid.  He had long eyelashes that any woman would have envied.  He also had high cheekbones that gave him an exotic look.  His downfall was his perpetual sneer.

“I knew this day was comin,” he said quietly.  “I have a rep, old man.  You planing to step on me?”

Our noses were almost touching so we were virtually privately engaged in our conversation.

“Not today,” I replied, “I want you to keep your rep, so no, I won’t stand on you.”

“That be cool,” he said and relaxed noticeably.

“I’m interested in making a deal with you,” I said.  “Care to hear me out?”

Skinny looked around Tin Man’s.  Several of his peers were having coffee and trying to keep their pants from falling all the way to the ground.  They were oblivious to our confrontation.

“Shoot.”  Skinny said.

“I’m offering you a high paying role in my new venture,” I explained, “It involves being a leader.  I need one.”

Skinny looked at me perplexed.

“You’re a natural,” I said.  “You have what it takes.  You have charisma.”

“Don’t know much about none of that,” he said.  “Besides I already got me a job.”

“I ain’t offering you a job.  I’m offering you a life.”  I said emphasizing life.

His eyelashes twitched.  “You want me to be an actor?”

“You’re already one of those, so no, I want you to be yourself.”

Again that puzzled look.  I hoped that I hadn’t overstepped myself with my sarcasm.

“You want me to be myself?  What kind of BS you talkin here anyway?”

“Not BS, I just need you to be yourself,” I said.  ‘You interested?”

Skinny stared at me with his sneer in place.  “This high pay, how much you talkin?”

“If you are in, I’d say $1,600.00 a week to begin with.”  I said.

“You deal’n drugs or what, old man?  I’m not into being served up as jail bait.”

“This has nothing to do with selling drugs or anything else against the law.”

“What is it I got to do for this money?”

“Meet with my partner and I.  We’ll fill you in.  I know it’ll be a bit cumbersome with your foot in a cast, but we’ll work it out.”  I extended my hand.

Skinny stared at me long and hard then tentatively shook it.

“You have a bank account?”  I asked him.

“Of course,” he said.

I pulled out my checkbook and wrote him a check for sixteen hundred dollars.

“First week’s pay in advance,” I said.  “We’ll meet this Friday.  Be here at noon and I’ll come and get you.”

Skinny almost gave up his perpetual sneer and snapped the check.  He stuck it under his nose, took a long whiff and kissed it.  Then in a flash it disappeared into his pocket.

Richard Rensberry, Author at QuickTurtle Books®

The Weed Whacker

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     Anyone who has to regularly deal with weeds and grass surely owns one of these whirly devils.  Sure beats the scythe I had to use as a kid when I worked for the county road commission clearing grass and weeds away  from road signs and guard rails.  At the time I was just happy to have such a fine paying job for the summer that would enable me to go to college in the fall.  If George Ballas had been  a little earlier with his weed whacker I probably would have been out a job.  I most likely would have not gone to college and I would have missed all the Coeds and the parties.  The education I mostly missed anyways, but the sex and excitement?  Thank George, for the weed eater a little later than sooner.

     Currently, I have a very large and unruly lot rather than a nice yard surrounding our house.  If not for the weed whacker I’d be the scourge of the neighborhood.  God Bless Mr. Ballas for sticking fishing line in a tin can and spinning it around.  Here in 2015 I’d rather deal with na bunch of irate neighbors than having to attack the lot with a scythe.  Not much can stop the weed eater’s whirling string from decimating the tall grass and weeds, quickly.

     As I chopped through the weeds on this very bright sunny day, I could only hope the guy was fortunate enough to get rich off this miracle of a contraption.  From what I have been reading over a cup of coffee, George was able to make it all happen.  Hallelujah!  He created and ran a very prosperous company for his blessed Weed Whacker.

Richard Rensberry, Author QuickTurtle Books®