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The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry
The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry
The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry
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The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

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The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry is a collection of short stories and poetry with some aphorisms and humor that is the first published, literary work of Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez in his own book. This book includes creative non-fiction stories and fiction stories. Mark is not bound by any genre of literature and this work includes stories of childhood, romance, adventure, mystery and horror. Mark is experimental in his non-fiction work and includes a story that is exact reportage of a dream. Mark's poetic writings are sentimental, romantic, political and philosophical. In his aphorisms and humor Mark likes to share wisdom and be on the lighter side as well. The best way to describe the uniqueness of this collection of creative writing is to say that Mark likes to explore social commentary and be original and contemporary. This book includes original artwork, illustrations and photography by the author.
Release dateApr 1, 2016
The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry
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    The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry - Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez



    I tossed a stone into the Sea

    To see what it would do for me

    And the ripples went out

    And became ocean waves

    To return to the Sea inside of me


    a poem by Mark Alberto Yoder Nuñez

    With Carleigh standing in the doorway

    And the sounds of Mingus in the background

    I treasure these hot Summer days at the co-op

    With my organic herb tea, bagel, organic cream cheese

    And fresh fruit on the patio

    And Jen Bam at a nearby table writing her Poetry

    And the war in Iraq going on and on

    I treasure these experiences because I know

    That Everything can be taken away at any time


    The paths we choose on the journey of our dream lives have their effect on the events and destiny of our waking lives.

    far off in the distance the sound of an ocean wave slapping against the surface of the sea sounded as a gunshot

    I walk along the street in the shade of the trees

    Bits of light and shadow dance on walls and sidewalk

    I should cross over to the sunny side of the street

    But I feel like tarrying longer in the cool of the shadows

    On the other side of the street is Life

    When I cross over

    Soon I will be warm and sweaty but feeling so alive

    So I tarry awhile longer among the shadows

    Where everything seems so lucid

    Between LA and SF

    So why are you so heaven blessed?

    Every day is sun caressed

    Every day you find fulfillment

    But you ask yourself, What alternative?

    To live a life that’s meaningless?

    Days filled with emptiness

    Is that the way you would leave your book

    On your last day when life is through?

    The Lonely Bird

    A poem by Mark Alberto Yoder Nuñez

    The night is perilous, dark and cold

    The lonely bird sits perched on his roost up above in the highest branches of the Tree

    Keeping still, trying to stay warm

    Eyes sometimes closed, sometimes opened very narrowly

    Alert, wary of the slithering or gentle padding

    The rustling that is not the gentle, night breeze

    The anxious breath held in check of creeping, predatory night creatures

    The feline stealth, the restless serpent tongue

    The night so dark and ominous as it were Eternal and never again the glad sight of familiar Day to be seen

    The chill, morning dew oppressing the Spirit

    But at last the slowly growing light of the Dawn

    The bird feels rested, the Spirit renewed, as the fingers of darkness and chill retreat Optimism returns

    He shakes the dew from body and wings, his heart soars with gladness at the prospect of a New Day

    Then what notion is this? He’s already begun to sing

    A joyful but lonely song peculiar only to him

    The same song but the song is never exactly the same

    And he can’t help but praise himself for the unique beauty of his own song

    Soon he hears another song and another and another

    Soon he is but one voice among choruses of songs

    Different melodies but with brilliant counterpoint

    As the Morning grows brighter and warmer

    The humming and buzzing of insects joins the orchestra

    But the clever bird is the master musician, varying his song to each nuance of the symphony

    He freely improvises across his vast accompaniment

    Sometimes in the foreground, sometimes diminishing

    Allowing a dramatic pause then rejoicing with renewed exuberance and vigor

    His joyful but lonely song is true, an Inspiration

    Then the Music has built to its crescendo, spiritual fulfillment achieved

    The Song begins to rest

    Some birds still chirp, crows caw, another Day

    The lonely bird takes to the Freedom of Flight

    He does not know what the New Day will bring

    But he knows before the Day is ended he must fly high

    The Dreamers

    by Mark Alberto Yoder Nuñez

    We were sad, restless dreamers in a restless age

    In innocence and wonder we gazed at the beauty of the world

    While all the world around us rushed blindly on

    in waste and self destructiveness

    We took the time to watch the sun go down

    Now all these years have come and gone

    And I sit here alone on a magic night

    The wind is warm and dry

    The dusk is purple

    And the innermost longings of my soul

    Wash over me slowly in a gentle wave

    Warming me and soothing me and reminding me

    of the child who dreamed of love

    The child who is the real me

    Who always was

    Yes, we are just friends

    But the machinations of the greedy world tore us apart!

    Expectations, lust and fame

    But all those things were for nothing

    Just beautiful sunsets that were missed

    As we hurried and fretted our young lives away

    All I want is a place in the sun! I cried!

    And the world mockingly laughed like a sorry, old crone in reply

    We were sad, restless dreamers in a restless age

    In innocence and wonder we gazed at the beauty of the world

    The Dream

    by Mark Alberto Yoder Nuñez

    I was sitting on an old-fashioned, wooden, park bench under a shady tree on a green, grassy hillock with my old, long, black, cotton raincoat bundled up next to me on the dark, wooden slats of the bench. I felt in a state of relaxation and wanted to lie down on the lawn of the college underneath the tree. And so I laid the long, black coat on the green grass to lie upon it, the green grass and buildings of the college ahead of me in the sunshine under the blue, afternoon skies.

    As I did so a middle-aged bum, younger than myself, with shaggy, black hair and beard and wide-open, wild-looking, coal black eyes, dressed all in black with a long, black raincoat who was looking into my eyes and stroking his beard came up to me, talking to me and making no sense. I crooked myself up on my elbows. He was barefoot. I said nothing in reply to him. He retreated to lie down ahead of me and slightly to the right on the grass and fell asleep.

    Young adults began gathering to sit on the grass and socialize. Young men gathered to the right of me where the green lawn rolled down into a crease between the hillocks. It was a drainage that in turn rolled downward behind myself and the tree. The young people kept gathering on the lawns. At that moment I knew there was to be a concert in front of the buildings ahead of me which there was no sign of as of yet.

    My older brother appeared, standing at my left side, as I reclined with the upper part of my body propped up from my elbows on the ground. We talked and then he said he was going to watch the concert from his car in the parking lot below. He walked down the hill behind the tree. I turned to look over my left shoulder below to see him start his car and move it to the closest, inner circle of the parking lot to watch the concert from there.

    Meanwhile the young men to my right, some sitting, some standing, were beginning to have a lively conversation. Three more young men arrived from down the hill and were standing with their backs to me. They engaged in the conversation. The conversation was lively and all the young men were smiling and in a good mood. I stood up and walked to the right a few steps, to face the young men who were several feet away.

    The young men had begun to talk about having illnesses and the drugs they were using to treat themselves. They mentioned pharmaceutical sounding names of drugs that I had never heard of. One young man who was standing and facing me was wearing a tight tee shirt and straight leg, blue jeans. He had very short, light colored hair. He said he was taking a drug called Biopronyl. I looked at him and at his stomach in amazement because he had mentioned that he had an abdominal illness. He was muscular and in good shape. His face was a little round and chubby so that his eyes were like cheerful, little slits because of his big, closed mouth smile. He was looking into my eyes. The young men talked with enthusiasm like college students about technical subjects with their pharmaceutical terms.

    I walked back up the hillock to stand where I had previously been lying down. Then two, huge vultures appeared flying low toward us! They were straight ahead of me and a little to the right with their black and dark grey, dirty, shaggy, huge feathers, with their pink-red, long, curved necks and bald heads with yellow-pale, big, hooked beaks with crooked mouths that almost seemed to have little smiles. They had piercing but evasive, dark eyes.

    They were among us, one circling counter clockwise, the other circling clockwise. One was flying to the right in front of me. Another one to my right seemed to be veering straight towards me. Then it veered away to continue its circle. Then it came around again and was flying towards me. It veered to the right again and was passing very close to me. I got angry. I punched at it with my fists, the first punch being almost solid against its sickly, dark feathers, the next two punches glancing. It flew away, never veering from its path, and circled again. Then I knew they weren’t interested in any of us and as it veered directly in front of me again all I could do was watch. I was now curious. It landed on the ground in front of me. The other vulture was already on the ground beyond him. The huge vultures advanced on the lawn in front of me. Then I realized what they were interested in. So that’s what they’re interested in, I thought. It was the bum lying on the ground who I thought was asleep.

    The huge vultures advanced towards the bare feet of the bum and began quickly picking away at the grey and pink, unhealthy looking flesh of the bum’s feet. Then the young man in the tight tee shirt and blue jeans walked up to the left foot of the sleeping bum on the ground displacing the vultures that backed away. Then the young man proceeded to pull out the toes of one of the feet. The toes came out in long, red-pink shafts. He poked one of these back into the sickly, soft flesh of the bum’s foot where it stuck out like a long, thin, raw, pork rib. Then he jammed all the other shaft like toes back into the soft, sickly flesh of the foot so they were sticking out in all directions. He stepped away and let the vultures do their work. The vultures went directly to the feet again and continued from there.

    I was then standing on the next, grassy hillock to the right on higher ground. Someone , a gentleman I had been conversing with, was standing next to me. He was about my age. Like me he was wearing wire rim glasses. He had a round, chubby face. He was clean shaven, with very short hair. He was wearing a pull over sweater and he was, also, wearing a long, black, cotton rain coat. It was a bright, sunny morning. All of the people were gone. I looked down at the green hillock below me where it had all happened. There were no people. Not a sign of anything that had transpired. Only the two, huge vultures walking about on the green, grassy mound.

    The Spider Lady

    I was a young cab driver, twenty-eight years old, and had been driving taxi for a year in town when I became acquainted with a woman of about fifty years of age. She was a taxi customer. She called for deliveries of beer and cigarettes. Invariably when I got this call it was in the late afternoon when I was first starting my shift and it was still sunny out. She would come to her open front door with the screen door closed which she pushed open. Then she would take the merchandise in the brown, paper bag. She had her check book handy and wrote out the check for the merchandise, delivery charge and a gratuity. Normally taxi drivers don’t take checks but the veteran cab drivers and dispatchers assured me that her checks were always good. I noticed that when I got the call and went to deliver the goods it was always still daylight but when I turned away from her front door to go back to my taxi the night had fallen and it was dark.

    An older, sedan car was always in her driveway and except for the paint being slightly dull it seemed in almost mint condition. I would pull my taxi into the driveway behind the car. I walked up the three concrete steps and along the concrete slab, front porch that ran along the front of the house until it came to her front door under the overhanging roof with the trellises of vines along this narrow corridor.

    She would appear at the screen door and open it to take the beer and cigarettes and pay me. One day when she appeared at the door and it was already getting slightly dark she stood facing me and she was

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