Here's one of the poems I've had published in a poetry book. I've had short stories printed in my city newspaper, but nothing huge or really impressive. Anyways here's the poem. The Nightengale... Sweetly blown, the nightengale through ether streams, my lucid dreams, and sighing, screaming as wind and wail. Shall I not, then tell the tale And sing for you the nightengale? The graveyard shift, it was nigh time that the bird it stalked, and sang, and gawked and as it were, a children's rhyme. Stood then the bird, it's song in prime and six eyes the circle this death of mine... and slowly came the nightengale, and with it came the Crimson King, and in his wake the world was pale and through this all, the crow did sing... "Bemused am I" said the Crimson King "That withstood my wrath, a simple thing, and in all my years, nor my greatest fears, did I ever think, that a bird should topple the Crimson King." And to better end this gruesome tale; diminished the King, and his fire gale. yet in my dreams, are his dying screams, so sing shall I, the nightengale...