Cleve Taylor
Bio
Published author of three books: Ricky Pardue US Marshal, A Collection of Cleve's Short Stories and Poems, and Johnny Duwell and the Silver Coins, all available in paperback and e-books on Amazon. Over 160 Vocal.media stories and poems.
Stories (164)
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Little James, a Pardue Story
Little James Ricky Pardue was all too well aware that he had no aspiration to be a farmer. That was his father's yen, and even he was never successful at it. Ricky's only serious attempt to grow something sat on the porch in a quart syrup can growing a sprig from a seed from a pear he had picked from the pear tree growing up by the Boot Hill Cemetery. It gave him constant reminder of his Ma who used to send him up to the tree for pears when they were in season.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
Reading and Righting. Top Story - August 2021.
Reading and Righting Ricky Pardue buried his Ma by his Pa up in the Boot Hill Cemetery as close to the old pear tree as he could get them. His Pa died of accumulated ills and despondency associated with his time fighting for the Confederacy's failed secession, and his Ma died not long afterwards of consumption, according to old Doc Gibbons. His Pa never was right after he came home from the war, and his Ma just seemed to have wasted away.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
Ballad of Ricky Pardue
Ballad of Ricky Pardue, Verse Two Normalcy lasted less than a week on the Pardue farm after Ricky's forced shootout with Jack Marshall up on Boot Hill by the old pear tree. Local folks told the tale, and as amazing as it was, they further embroidered on the story until Ricky's artistry with a pistol was picked up by one of those eastern newspaper writers who turned run-of-the-mill desperadoes like Billy the Kid into folk heroes. They were the rock stars of their time.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
Is That When You Kissed Her?
Is That When You Kissed Her? Papa walked with his two young grandchildren down the path from the cabin to the frozen pond. The girls, aged four and six and a half years, the half was very important, were dressed warmly in layers. Those layers were topped with ribbed down jackets. Their hands were covered with mittens decorated with pictures of kittens, on a string that ran from one mitten through the arms of their jackets to the other mittens to keep them from getting lost by excitable children. Boots allowed them to safely tromp through the snow, and warm knitted caps pulled down over their ears covered their heads.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
Anchors Away
Anchors Away The physical was the last step before being accepted into the United States Navy officers training school upon graduation from LSU. Recruiters had been on campus a couple of weeks earlier, and a half dozen of us, facing the military draft as soon as we lost our college deferments, considered that being naval officers might be a better deal than being foot soldiers in the army.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
Shootout on Boot Hill
Shootout on Boot Hill Range free pigs were the problem. While Ricky Pardue and his father tried to grow a small crop to feed the family, Jack Marshall, on his government gifted land following the War of Northern Aggression, self styled pig farmer and carpetbagger, let his pigs run free and feed on whatever they could find, and what they found was old man Pardue's crops.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
Peeing on the Electric Fence
Peeing on the Electric Fence I have always considered myself cautious. I never dove into a pool of water without being absolutely sure no sunken logs or other hazards were lurking there with the intention of shortening my life. When I approach a green light I do so at a speed that will give me time to stop if the light changes as I approach. I don't buy the latest technology until other buyers have found all the bugs and the manufacturers have corrected them. And I don't take medicines on the advice of a pharmaceutical company, though I will listen to my doctor.
By Cleve Taylor 4 years ago in Fiction
