Unpublished Works of Literature
by Gregg Tyler Milligan, B.A., M.Sc.
Unus Sed Leo
May 20, 1999
"The story itself began as an inspirational thought, a spark of hope that tinged my heart. As if someone had whispered “write it.” This could not have been possible if it weren’t for another special person in my life, Gregg Tyler Milligan, II (my son). I would just like to say he was the very inspiration for which the story was written."
The Four Hearts
"I am hopeful for all of us and believe, although we rise slowly, we still rise, and in doing so, come to realize the brilliant sharpness of our souls. Each passing moment is another chance at refinement and under the creative genius of God, we will entice our compassionate hearts."
"First day of the New Year c.1920, somewhere in a rundown arena that doubled as a brothel.
In one quick sweep of his glove Johnson lands his first blow before the bell. It was a deft movement, breaking Shill’s nose. A bang sounds when Shill’s cut man drops the metal spit bucket followed by a clang of the fourth-round bell.
"He’ll never last," screeches Morey, pulling Shill down onto the wooden stool."
A Home For All Seasons
"For Tyler, it was the perfect dwelling. A place of few inhabitants situated neatly in the great woodlands. Although referred to as ‘Heaven On Earth’ by some and ordinary geographical references by others, he simply called it home. It was a vast hiding place before a
company by the name of Timberbrooke mistook its beauty for profit, but that had come much later. It was a land, rising and falling, with lakes and oak groves, which had
produced a needed refuge for my friend and there was no place like it in the entire world."
The Stone Beneath
"The streets weren’t always covered in asphalt. There was a time when nothing showed for miles except the blood red cobblestone. I always enjoyed the clippity-clop of the horse-drawn taxis. The man would emerge first, stepping lightly down the small stairs, and then immediately turning with the utmost grace to offer up his hand for the lady. Her white glove would daintily be extended, hovering just above his, and then seem to float downward, until it was palm to palm. This would bring a smile from both parties – and of course me, standing just beyond the curb."
Selections of Poetry
1998 - 2012
"I am only for you. In this place of thorn and briar, I still – from time to time, travel a patch of flowers and within it –I find my rose.
I have spent my life waiting and will spend the rest of it listening – for You to say my name."
- Passage from "I Am", a poem by Gregg Tyler Milligan
"The bare hills are white with the last rain.
So wet that I cannot see the floor of the woods by the millions of glistening drops now asleep on the soft green grass.
There is a cool air that tells me the season is changing and the floor of this innocent forest will greet the first leaves sailing gracefully to rest alongside the rain drops."
This Is Thailand
"A gift returned to me a thousand-fold – so much more from these people than I gave to them. Those which still hang onto the hope are like the leaves still clinging to the trees that line the roads, groves, farmland, and tropical forests of this beautiful country. Nothing here withers and dries, but is remade into something useful."
RAINN Project: “Attention! People with Bodies” Submission One
June 13, 2013
"Dear ‘Right Wrist,’ I know you are only eight-years-old right now and you do not know how to read very well. But I have been meaning to tell you that I did not know a giant fat artery ran down the length of your soft belly. Nope, I did not know, but Mother did. Sometimes I wonder how she knew because she did not seem much smarter than me about things like that. When she drank and the bad things happened, she did not seem very smart or nice at all."
RAINN Project: " Attention! People With Bodies" Submission Three
June 24, 2013
"Dear body, once a long time ago, you were paired with another, in a heavenly grace – a sum much greater than all of our parts together. So I will tell you a story about that time. It all began with our right-hand … well, I should say ‘my’ right-hand and Sam’s left-paw. His body and ours were in their usual position, snuggled as close as we could get to one another. No air or light could pass between us and our bodies so close – only true love."
Why I Write
"Hearts covered with minute particles; spangles of mica as in the sand, and when the sun shines on them in the form of love, justice, or compassion – it reminds me of why I write, speak, and fight. The water washes away the sands of our lives; but it also makes the golden particles of hope shine brighter."