Geoffrey M. Latham
Writing Portfolio: Contents & Synopsis

Southern Summer – free verse poem p.1
                     A recalling sensations and memories of my days growing up in the  rural hills of Grenada County, Mississippi

Heather – free verse poem p.1

An ode to Heather Henderson, a girlfriend of mine who tragically died of a sudden pulmonary embolism in 2009

Putting Neil to Bed – non-fiction narrative p.2

An excerpt from my personal diary recalling a disturbing visit to the house of an ailing friend of my father’s

Love’s Music – free verse poem p.3

A comparison of the love of two people to the uplifting and magical nature of harmony in music

What Happens – free verse poem p.3

A philosophical inquiry about the nature of lost love and unfulfilled dreams

Reunion – fictional narrative

A powerful undead wizard visits a malignant priestess of the evil race of dark elves

 

"Southern Summer" Long shadows linger on the hillside. I sit on the hilltop with Bo in my lap The sounds of crickets and tree-frogs Of my dog panting, of my own heart beating The smell of freshly cut grass Of honeysuckle, pine sap, And dust from the gravel road The feeling of grass prickling my legs Of the warm setting sun on my back Of the cool evening's breeze The tastes of Mississippi Summer on my lips Blackberries and lemonade Bologna and cheese crackers Southern life is never boring, It is, even in the most innocent And simple of moments, Sensual and sublime. -Geoffrey M. Latham 1-6-02

“Heather” Sprung from the rich dark soil of the alluvial plane With a heart both tender and strong Roots that sink deep through time immortal Branches reach out agile and sturdy No flowers adorn, no leaves enshroud, no bark shields It is fauna not flora of which I speak Grace and beauty enough to make a doe green But she is more goddess than creature Amber locks soft lips sweetly entangle me like muscadine Soft and gentle her hands touch mine Glances betraying the fires burning beneath manners Her eyes a balm of wounds and a spark of joy Rapture spun like wool and woven into the tapestry of my life Laughter that makes my heart glow Beneficent and magnanimous ruler of all that I am and shall be I am yours you are mine and we are ours forever 3-23-09 Geoffrey M. Latham

 “Putting Neil to Bed”                 From the Diary of Geoffrey M. Latham          November 11, 2007                 
            
I have been very concerned about my dad. He has an elderly friend named Neil who has been in bad shape for some time and dad has been bending over backwards to try and do everything he can to help him. Dad is the executor of his estate and after losing consciousness for about seventy-two hours, the reality that Neil may be near the end has set in. Neil begs for death because of the constant pain he is in. Seeing his friend in agony, seeing that he is cared for, and the looming thought of having to deal with his friend's family should he pass on, has taken a terrible toll on dad and he has not been able to work for a week because he has been dealing with the issues of his friend’s health.

I went to help dad move a couple of beds at Neil’s house the other day. As I walked in, the first thing I heard was Neil calling out for help. Dad responded and I entered the back part of the house to get a look at what was going on. Neil was lying on his side with a pillow between his knees and his legs half drawn up towards his torso. He jerked involuntarily as a wave of pain shot through his body and I saw such agony in his face that it made me step back and take pause. I could see the pain that it caused dad to know that there was nothing he could do for him. Every few seconds his friend would shriek out in agony, “Aahh!” and at times he would yell out “Mike!” (my dad's name) in desperate panic.

 The hospice worker buzzed about, mostly getting in our way, as we disassembled a mechanical hospital bed in the living room and moved it into the bedroom to replace the regular bed on which Neil was lying. After fighting with the heavy bed frame and getting it in place, we had to move him and negotiate with the bag and tube tied into Neil’s bladder. Dad slid his arms under Neil’s and I grasped his legs under the knees. We lifted and moved him like a sack of flour from one bed to the other as quickly and gingerly as we could. Neil shrieked out in pain as we moved him and began to cry out “Geoff! Oh Geoff! Oh God, Geoff!” My heart broke and I prayed for him silently as I attempted to maneuver him and get his urinary tubing out from under his legs.

 “Mike, why didn't this kill me?” he asked dad several times, referring to his most recent lapse in consciousness. Then Neil asked for a cigarette. Dad said he could have one later, to appease him, but had no intentions of letting him smoke in his condition. Dad and I then disassembled the regular bed, all the while plagued with his friend's screams of tortured pain. We moved the mattress, box springs, headboard, and frame out of the room and repositioned the hospital bed. I walked out of the house and got into my car and sat there silently for a few minutes as the echoes of Neil’s pleas and screams resonated in my mind.
I couldn't help but think why his children weren’t there for him. They were in town, or so I had heard. Were they circling his withered frame like vultures waiting for an old animal to die? And what kind of life was this for their father? This man had been robbed of his dignity; every second was a torturous spasm of wracking anguish. He was forced to be a burden to those paid to attend to his needs as well as to those that loved and cared for him. Would I not crave death if it were me lying there? If there was no real hope for his improvement, then was prolonging this hell on earth really the humane and loving thing to do?

It is one of the things that I have witnessed in my life that I wish I could forget. The thought of wasting away in a hospital bed is not how I wish to envision my departure from this world. The stress on dad has been terrible and I hope that he will find the strength to bear the burden for as long as he must.

“Love’s Music” Resonating together in harmonious vibration Point and counterpoint strolling hand in hand Loving and loved as heaven first intended Adam and Eve with innocence regained Dancing cheek to cheek and soul to soul Longing fearing fretting yearning no more Fulfilled completed perfected together Two hearts beat in synchronized rhythm For life and love in this world and beyond -Geoffrey M. Latham 3.8.11

“WHAT HAPPENS” What happens when the goddess falls? What for the poet when the muse fades away? Who will hear his prayers of adoration? Who will inspire his lyric verse? What happens when the lover leaves? What for the knight when the maiden is lost? Who will cherish his tender affections? Who will invigorate his manly valor? Where do the broken pieces of love go? Where to store the fragments of shattered dreams? Will they fit neatly on a shelf in our memory? Will they fill a forgotten corner of our heart? What happens when the beauty departs? What for the man when his mate says farewell? Who will he gaze upon in enraptured awe? Who will fill the void left in his embrace? Geoffrey M. Latham  5-27-08

“Reunion”

The thick smell of the underdark permeated the dank moist air. The only light in the narrow rocky passage came from phosphorescent fungi on the walls and the eerie blue gemstone that topped the staff of the Grand Sorcerer. Drakkar's vision wasn't impaired in the least. The undead not only see in the spectrum of heat but also can see the tethers that ebb and flow through life energies and other things beyond mortal faculties. The radioactive ore in the stones made them much more difficult to phase through than regular stone. The lich would have to use corporeal legs; a task that he hadn't done in such a very long time.  It had been close to a decade since he had last stepped foot into the areas of the underdark ruled by the Drow. The last time he had been here he was very different indeed; younger, inexperienced, and not nearly as powerful. No doubt the old friend he was coming to pay a call on had grown as well. One must grow and maintain a healthy lead of one's underlings in Drow society, for promotion was only a dagger's point away.

Ten years, though, was the blink of an eye to a Drow and even less of a concern for one of the immortal undead. Drakkar looked down at his belt and thought about the souls of the two elven priests he'd trapped in the gemstones inside his purse and smiled in the knowledge that seeing two male elves writhing in agony in her hands would bring a fiendish grin to Matron Mother Despana's gorgeous obsidian face. Ironic how one so beautiful could be capable of such incomprehensible evil, but that is, after all, why Drakkar admired her so much. She had such a penchant for torture and spite. He recalled seeing her sacrifice her youngest born son to her demon goddess in the hopes of gaining greater favor from Lloth. She had succeeded. He recalled seeing the new head grow mystically upon her snake headed whip as she delicately licked the steaming blood of the infant Drow boy from her sacrificial dagger. The horror of it made even him shudder; such cruelty, such blatant ambition, such horror, and such unabashed dedication to all that is evil.

The powerful mage had not noticed the three Illithids that stood before him as he made his way near the Drow city, miles underground. Also the inhabitants of the world under the planet's crust, the Illithids were the most vile and loathsome of creatures in the underdark, at least as far as Drakkar was concerned. The Illithids ambushed the mage with viscid globs of acidic glue and attempts to mentally subdue him, but those who peer into the psyche of the undead rarely live to relay the horrors their minds behold in the glimpse of the vacuous negative material plane. Drakkar had no intention of wasting precious spells tediously memorized or magical items that would require recharging on such disgusting and unimpressive foes. The tentacles of one Illithid writhed and then slowly began to dry up and crumble into dust as Drakkar drained away its life energy. Its companions, seeing their leader's mortal energies absorbed like water by a sponge, began to flee, but the blistering fireball that followed behind them sent them screaming into the afterlife.

Finally the mage strode confidently up to the main gates of house Despana, the third house of Sil'lerith, city of the Drow. Though practically a demigod himself, he held an honest respect for the power of the Drow, especially in their own domain. He approached and insisted that he be announced to the Matron Mother of the house at once and that he comes bearing gifts fit for her glory (she always did appreciate sincere flattery). The mage was escorted in by a contingent of guards and the new house wizard. The old one had not shown the proper respect to his matron mother and was turned into a drider and forced to serve as a beast of burden in her mushroom fields.  Even the cold and ruthless heart of Drakkar was slightly warmed to see his old friend and adventuring companion again. He patiently waited as she sat in judgment of a male of her house. She was almost warm and friendly as she sat on her stone throne covered in the fine silken threads of thousands of spiders. After the male had finished his pleading for mercy, Despana warmly stepped toward him and gently lifted him to his feet with her palms on his face. She informed him that she would spare his life, but lessons must be learned. Suddenly, as she invoked the name of Lloth, wounds, lesions, and blistering sores appeared all over his body. He dropped to the floor in a shriek that would curdle the coldest blood. As he writhed and convulsed on the floor before her, she placed the steel stiletto heel of her thigh high boots into a gaping wound and pinned the male to the ground while her hand glided slowly to her side and uncoiled her whip, which slithered with six envenomed snake heads. She coldly laughed aloud as she whipped the male's body until it no longer moved in agony. It was a grisly scene considering the male was likely a son or grandson or perhaps even her lover from the previous night.

As she took her seat once again she looked up and noticed that face whom she'd seen so many times before in all manner of circumstances.
"Drakkar De Mennan." she smoothly cooed
"Matron Mother Despana!" he oozed as he slinked his way to the footstep of her throne, bowing his head slightly in respect.
"I see you still dispense house justice with a soft and fair heart; how benevolent of you. What was the poor wretch guilty of?"
"Improper eye contact" She sighed as she extended her hand to be kissed, but then suddenly withdrew it recalling again to whom she was speaking.
"A gift for the Matron Mother of house two!" Drakkar politely spoke as he withdrew the soul gems from his purse.
Her eyes and nostrils flared as she leapt to her feet with anger,
"You insult me in my own domain by addressing my house with the incorrect rank?!"
Her hand sprang to her house symbol, a potent magical item, but before she could activate her contingencies, Drakkar caught her by the hand and whispered softly into her delicate pointed ear, "No... Not an insult, or a mistake, because with your cooperation on a small endeavor of my own, I will see that your position in the city rises above that of house Thi'Ilsef"
Despana smiled widely at the proposition of the Grand Sorcerer and took the two gleaming soul gems out of his other hand.
Her eyes met his and she stared deep into them
"Welcome back, Drakkar. I have missed you, so!"

11-16-01