Brandon Ellrich, Writer/Author/Poet

If These Walls Could Talk…

A man was sitting in his garden against an old brick wall. Thinking aloud, he said, “This wall has been here for so long. If this wall could talk, I wonder what it would say. I wish I could hear its stories.

“I can talk,” came an unfamiliar voice behind him. The man jumped up, startled.

“I will tell you my stories,” the wall said. The man looked around and, seeing that no one else was there, decided to reply to the wall.

“Yes,” he said, “I would very much like to hear them.”

The wall told him it would tell as many stories as the man would like to hear. “But you must grant me a wish as well,” the wall added. The man readily agreed.

The wall told him many stories of life and heartbreak, of physical pain he had witnessed, of secret conversations and even admissions of crimes that people confessed when they thought no one was around to hear them. It told of beautiful songs from people and birds. The man listened all through the night until the dawn of the next day. The man was about to fall asleep and told the wall that he could listen no more.

“Very well,” the wall said. “Now will you grant me my wish?”

The man nodded and said, “Yes, of course.”

“Take me on a ride,” the wall said. “I have been standing here for many many years, have heard and seen a great many things, but I would like to experience other places.”

The only transportation the man had was his bicycle, so the man carried the wall, brick by brick, and placed it upon his bicycle. He rode the wall around the town showing it the various shops and people, houses and other walls it never would have seen otherwise. After a very long and arduous day, the wall said, “Thank you, I have seen enough.” So the man took the wall back home and put it together in his garden again.

The man went into his garden every day after that and talked to the wall, but never again did he hear the wall speak. He wondered if his stories would be told to someone else someday long after he was gone.

The moral of the story: Be careful what you say when you think no one is around. There may be a wall very close by, to hear and tell your story one day.

This story was written in response to a writing prompt at Stine Writing.

I’m Back

I appreciate all of the comments and well-wishes while I took a break from my blog. I am also thankful for all of the individuals who have remained followers. After more than a year, I would certainly understand if I lost some.

Sometimes losing something or taking a break from it will help you to realize how much you enjoyed it or how much it was a part of your life. It’s certainly a cliche that we’ve all heard, but many times we don’t know what we have until it’s gone.

I struggle with knowing what to do with my writing. I’m not making much money with it, and maybe you would say that isn’t the reason someone should be doing something; however, money is a necessity for living. I would like to make a living doing what I enjoy, and that just isn’t happening at the moment. People seem to enjoy my poems and stories, so for now, I will continue to provide content that I hope will inspire, make you think, evoke emotion.

Likes and comments are helpful, so please continue to respond to my posts. Thanks!

You Were There

It’s easy to be with someone,

When they’re on the mountaintop

When happiness or fortune,

Doesn’t seem to stop.

But when a fall or stumble,

Brings us to the ground,

Who’s with us in the valley,

As we look around?

When I faltered, when I failed,

When I cried out in despair,

When I thought no one was left,

I looked, and you were there

Fog

Veronica leisurely strolled slowly down the aisle, checking things off her list after putting each item into the cart which, of course, had a wobbly wheel. She allowed Bryce to reach out and grab a few things as she pointed to them. She smiled as she recalled the first meal she made for Eddie in their new home as a married couple. She overcooked the roast and it was as tough as a boot. Eddie didn’t say anything that night, but took a very long time to chew it up. There would be plenty of future meals that prompted complaints from her husband, but not at first. She eventually perfected the pot roast and it became Eddie’s favorite meal. She intended tonight’s to be the very best. Doubt swirled around in her head, but she tried to see through the haze and focus on her task.

“Skittles!” Bryce declared as they were waiting in the checkout line.

Veronica almost immediately said no, but thought, why not? She grabbed the package of colored candy and tossed it onto the conveyor.

“What a cute boy,” the cashier said as she scanned the items.

Veronica smiled, though her expression was hidden behind a mask. She was grateful that her bruise was also hidden.

“Thank you,” she said. “He can be a handful, though.”

“I know that’s right,” the lady said. “I have three of them and I have to remind myself that they are a blessing.”

Veronica looked at Bryce lovingly and her determination started to emerge through the cloud of uncertainty that would rise subtly like a fog over a placid lake. As winter turns to spring, the air would turn white so unnoticeably, and yet there it would be. Mere droplets of moisture, appearing so discreetly, yet hindering your vision so completely. Bryce was her lighthouse during these times, guiding her to where she knew her destination to be. The fog lifted once again as she headed for home.

She timed everything perfectly. Eddie came home at the time dinner was almost ready and entered the house without slamming the door. She breathed a sigh of relief, but almost wished she’d heard the all-too-familiar sound; it helped to keep the fog at bay.

“Something smells good,” he said as he entered the kitchen.

“Pot roast,” she said. “Your favorite.”

“What’s the occasion?” he asked as he looked into the pot of mashed potatoes.

She smiled and shook her head. She hadn’t expected him to remember their anniversary, and it didn’t matter to her, anyway.

“Just felt like a special day,” she said simply.

After dinner, while Eddie was in the shower, Veronica placed a few lit candles around their bedroom and turned off the lights and closed the blinds. It was still light outside, but the mood was evident. The fog started to rise. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened them and her vision was clear, piercing through any mist of doubt.

She changed into a sexy negligee, retrieved a mirror from the nightstand to apply a touch of lipstick and then lay on the bed to wait for him. It wasn’t long before he entered the room and was stopped in his tracks.

“Oh!” he said. “I like where this is headed.”

They made love, which didn’t take long. The act was much more enjoyable for him than for his wife, which was typical for much of the past few years. Eddie fell asleep quickly afterward. As he lay there snoring, Veronica changed her clothes and threw a few things into her purse. At the side of the bed, she leaned down toward his face, dimly illuminated by the flickering candles, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good night, Eddie,” she whispered.

She opened the door to Bryce’s room and said, “Come on, honey, we’re going to the park. But you have to be quiet; Daddy is sleeping.”

Bryce hopped up immediately and ran to get his shoes. Veronica grabbed a few items from his dresser drawer and stuffed them into her purse. She told Bryce to go to the car to wait, and before they were about to go out the door, she closed the doors to all of the rooms except their bedroom where Eddie was still snoring away. She then went to the kitchen and blew out the flames on the stove burners and then turned up the heat. She made sure the windows were closed and stopped briefly to look around at the walls. She let out a heavy breath and then left the house.

It was approaching evening, but the summer days were longer and dusk came a bit later. She drove the short distance to the city park, which was sparsely populated. She took a seat on a wooden bench while Bryce ran to the swingset.

She was finally able to collect herself and think. She was glad Eddie wasn’t able to taste the sleeping pills in the mashed potatoes. Again, the fog began to rise, blanketing her vision and again she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her eyes remained closed when she heard the explosion. Moments later, she heard the wailing sirens. When she opened her eyes, the fog had lifted.

Mother Knows Best

When I was sick she gave me herbs
And rubbed Vicks on my chest
They tasted and smelled awful
But Mother knows best

I usually like her cooking
But the broccoli I detest
I couldn’t get up ‘til I ate it all
Cause Mother knows best

I didn’t want to play with sis
Cause she was being a pest
But Mom said it teaches me patience
I guess Mother knows best

I didn’t want soap in my mouth 
For telling a lie, so I confessed
Other kids just got “time-outs”
But Mother knows best

I wanted to go out with my friends 
Instead of studying for a test 
But Mom helped me study and made flash cards 
Cause Mother knows best.

When I'm lonely, unhappy 
Sad or distressed 
I can depend on my mother
Cause she always knows best

Happy Mother’s Day!

My “Pet”

In the U.S., May is National Pet Month. In honor of this, please enjoy this poem:

I have a pet; his name is Stick;
He doesn’t drool, bite or lick.

He’s a rescue pet; I’m not a liar;
He was about to be thrown on a fire.

I don’t have to spend money on grooming or feed;
And he goes where I tell him without a lead.

His maintenance doesn’t cost a dime,
But the neighbors don’t like him—he “barks” all the time!

If you liked this poem, you may also like Caturday, April 3, 2021

"Pretty young maiden, for what dost thou pine?”
	“I wish for a beau whom I may call mine.”

“And what shalt thou do if given this treasure?”
	“I shall give him my heart and love without measure.”

Found she her beau and they joined at the altar;
	Loved him she did without fear or falter.

One winter day an offense was spoken;
	Her pride was hurt, her spirit was broken.

She gathered herself and haughtily rose;
	She went to her rocker and stuck up her nose.

She sat with a huff and her chin in the air,
	Engulfed in her pity in her old rocking chair.

Time traveled by as she sat there alone;
	Her true love forgotten, her heart turned to stone.

He asked for forgiveness; she would not but budge;
	Proclaimed he his love, but she held to her grudge.

“What grudge hast thou held to these many Decembers?”
	The old maid sat silent, for she could not remember.

Her love passed away, but pride held her tears;
	She pitied only herself o’er the years.

The old maid lived on and may still be there,
	Alone and resentful in her old rocking chair.

5 TIME TESTED STRATEGIES FOR ATTRACTING ORIOLES

https://pleasanthillpets.com/attracting-orioles/