Licking Off LightI was surprised to find that you were afraid of the dark. You of all people should have nothing to fear in it. But then again, I too was once aware of the eyes and teeth and hulking spines that could press into shadows. I have heard their slitherings, I have heard the gnashings of their teeth. I grew out of these things, and there was a day where I realized that they did not belong with me, like that day I found that I could touch my toes to the ground as I dangled from monkey bars.Licking Off Light8 years ago in Literature Submissions
You never did.
Every night at eight, when the sun was beginning to slide off the expanse of the sky, you would turn on that one lightbulb, sitting like a final tooth in its socket on your desk. It was harsh and painful to the skin of my eyes. You would keep boxes of fresh bulbs under the sink.
One day, in your absence, I took the silken scarf from my head and laid it over the bulb. When you flicked the switch on, you realized what
HorizonLeap of faith -Horizon8 years ago in Literature Submissions
you can't be Icarus
with a safety net.
The Trees Within UsAs the leaves touched the groundThe Trees Within Us8 years ago in Literature Submissions
tears fell from my eyes.
For I have seen what I've become,
the progress of what I am.
I am like a tree in spring
whose leaves brought shade to all.
And as I greet my dearest sunshine
I smiled at how I withstood the fall.
I am like a tree in summer,
basking under the mighty sun.
Celebrated life and its glory
by sharing life and making memories.
I am like a tree in autumn
whose leaves slowly withered.
Yet as my leaves kissed the soil,
a thousand friends I have garnered.
I am like a tree in winter,
blistered by the freezing cold.
But never did I give up hope
I know spring is my home.
Through the seasons I have learned
that our life is like a tree.
Though the winds could bring us down
These winds breathe life into our stories.
And as the leaves touched the ground,
a smile flashed from my lips.
I am glad of what I've become
and the process of becoming it.
Zen in the Art of Botany"Consider this tree. It is new-grown, younger than you; yet inZen in the Art of Botany8 years ago in Literature Submissions
another sense it is far older than I. What does this illustrate?"
". . . I'm not sure."
"How so, roshi?"
". . ."
"What is it about the tree that perseveres?"
"It blooms every spring?"
"That would be renewal."
"It was seeded, and in turn seeds the next generation?"
"That would be continuation."
"It's composed of atoms, which are eternal?"
"Continuation again. Look deeper."
". . . Guide me, roshi."
"How does the tree respond to change?"
"It . . . adapts?"
"Then, adaptability relates to perseverance? In what way?"
Holding- Contest EntryHolding something simple in our hearts, in our hands.Holding- Contest Entry8 years ago in Literature Submissions
The leaves falling down as we try to understand.
And tears fall so simply, but the wind sweeps them away.
Misery grew with the rain that day.
Life runs out real quick, you grow up so fast.
Make each moment last.
You hold in your hands the innocence of days.
What is left cant be swept away.
To this world we are slight.
Always at the mercy of the moon at night.
Existence is up to nature.
You cant hold off demise til later.
Count the rings running round your face.
Youve only so long til its too late.
An Islander's GuideThe Islander's Guide to AviationAn Islander's Guide8 years ago in Literature Submissions
I bemuse the sun
trying to ascend
to her height
the blue above
ProgressWe shuffle a few paces forward - before coming to a halt again - along a rutted path crawling through a dried-out landscape towards the gates of the Arboretum that lies, so they say, somewhere in the distance. Around me I can hear a few of the Pilgrims muttering a quiet prayer, but mostly people are silent, huddled in their suits, conserving their strength and numbly waiting their turn.Progress8 years ago in Literature Submissions
Im bored, tired, and irritable and I ache all over my body. Sweat puddles inside my helmet.
Tell story! Tell it! Tell Jesus story!
A little red and angry face peers up at me through a smeared and dusty faceplate. A little hand tugs at the leg of my tunic. My son, heavy blooded, brain damaged, more cadmium than calcium in his bent little legs, keeps asking me for the story again and again. It makes him happy, the story of how Jesus is coming back to save the trees.
Shut the fuck up, Charles, Give it a rest!
Yeah, Jesus - he was a great guy, right. Took the tre
DarknessSitting beneath trees,Darkness8 years ago in Literature Submissions
Darkness prevails inside.
And so you seek light.
TreeHe is a tree. He burrows into my flesh: thin, white roots twisting around tendons and networking through nerves, drinking blood. I can feel the grasping, greedy needle-tips pressing against my heart, puncturing holes. My lungs are filled with frayed edges, rootlets that go delving into fibrous tissue finding words and worship. It makes me wheeze a disease. My throat is full, bursting with all the things I cannot say around him. He kills me.Tree8 years ago in Literature Submissions
But at least he is living off me needs me.
Before he was self-sufficient a seed.
It is progress, of sorts.
I don't need...I stare at the seaI don't need...8 years ago in Literature Submissions
(Unsympathetic, as always)
And suddenly remember
How to fly.
I cast off my wings
And run through the sand
To the ocean.
My heart is lifting,
I can see past the horizon,
(Never look down)
My toes touch nothing
(You are finally gone)
I dont need wings to fly.
Shredded From Lifethe strand of life rippedShredded From Life9 years ago in Literature Submissions
taken from what life was, now
by the soul, one tree
Fuujin, the AnemophilesFuujin, the Anemophiles8 years ago in Literature Submissions
Captive island child,
metamorphosis, wings grown,
Progress: A DrinkTheyre calling for change.Progress: A Drink8 years ago in Literature Submissions
The bracelets on my wrists weigh my hands down.
You can drink anything you put your mind to, they say as I stumble against the doorframe, against the shoulder of a man.
My drink tumbles out of its glass and onto his shirt and I sputter. I laugh. I blush the deepest red and I say, Ive never done this before.
Youre out of your league, baby, he says, smiling with his hands coming toward me like claws and suddenly my shoulders feel too soft and I know I wasnt meant for this sort of change.
playgroundPlaygroundplayground8 years ago in Literature Submissions
The eyes are watching from above, and below a snail crawls across the playground.
The little girl grabs the next monkey bar, and a little boy tries to pry her fingers away from the metal. She looks up at him, glaring, and he smiles back mischievously. He pulls her fingers off and she falls down, landing on the soft, yellow sand. She misses the snail by little, her hand within reach of the brown, swirled shell. She yells at the boy that she will tell his mommy, and he jumps off the metal structure, landing on the other side. He runs away, red tennis shoes blowing up the sand. The little girl struggles to get up and begins crying as she runs towards her brother. Her foot scrapes past the snail, but she doesnt notice.
The forehead frowns from above, and below a snail breathes a sigh of relief, or the snail equivalent thereof.
Seamless SeamlessSeamless9 years ago in Literature Submissions
Every day, every hour, every minute
Something, somewhere changes.
Life is like a bus going nowhere and everywhere
People get on and off all the time
But the run never ends
People disappear and manifest beside you
You dont know where youre going today
Whether youll end up somewhere new
But you packed sandwiches like always just in case
Nobody knows where youre going
Nobody laughing or running around or listening to loud music
The bus has stopped.
You stand and walk down the stairs
You pass a tiny pyjama wearing passenger
A friendly smile, an all knowing nod
And you step onto the curb
To find a bench somewhere to have lunch
progressprogress8 years ago in Literature Submissions
it started relatively fast
after i had first seen you
that i was reminded of you
every day, meaning in fact each day
one day it would be just your name
popping up like a neon sign in the dark
the next day a smell would waft by
inexplicably conjuring up some memory
then i would catch the sound of some notes
from a song that expressed my feelings so well
and so on, and so on, and so on
along with those memories,
some warmth around the heart,
putting a smile on my face -
that was a phase of surreal romance
of dreams dreams dreams
then, when our smoothly going conversations
became more difficult, subdued and sparse
because of too many expectations, desires, obstacles,
these daily sensations were spiced with a little pain,
but still they occured reliably each day
out of the blue, unexpectedly, disturbing me -
that was a phase of regrets, missed chances,
i got so used to it
the sensations were like the lover youd never be
i lived with them and was s
Shredded From...by novranthe strand of life rippedShredded From...by novran9 years ago in Literature Submissions
taken from what life was, now
by the soul, one tree
rememberanceI remember when rain in winterrememberance9 years ago in Literature Submissions
Meant the arrival of spring
I remember when the only spring time flooding
Was in the garden
I remember when summer showers
Where not destructive
I remember it was in autumn
That the leaves turned red
But there is rain in December
There are entire cities flooded by rain
There are hurricanes destroying the landscape
And we can see the changing leaves in midsummer
We are slowly killing the planet
All in the name of progress
The Secret to SuccessConstantly we set goals for no reason whatsoever. Dream of the day when there is nothing left to accomplish, torn from your roots with nowhere left to grow. Feel the rush when you gasp for breathe and have nothing left to grab onto. What's the point of progression?The Secret to Success8 years ago in Literature Submissions
Never worry about being forgotten; don't try to leave a mark by improving near-perfection. Live your life for you. Ignore those who ridicule you for having no real aspirations.
Trust me, when you're eighty-seven, on your deathbed, you won't be disappointed that you never accomplished something you didn't set out to do.
'Life's like a tree''Life's like a tree'8 years ago in Literature Submissions
to age-lines of fallen trees --
I feel growth.
Eyes On the HeavensIm going home now. the man repeated in earnest. An elderly village woman continued to sneer and a little boy laughed, others only shook their heads in shame.Eyes On the Heavens9 years ago in Literature Submissions
Be sure to bring us a souvenir! one cruel looking fisherman yelled over the heads of those who had gathered on the dock.
Indignant, the self proclaimed savior searched their faces for any sign of understanding. Finding none, he turned toward the expanse of ocean before him and, his eyes blissfully on the heavens, sprang towards home.
The subsequent splash caused laughter from some and a burning sense of shame from others.