black featherblack feather13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
colours drip from the bathroom tap,
i wash my face
and change my soul.
all i could do was turn it inside out..
and i see...
i see myself from the back...
making pools on the grey cracked tiles,
cold under my feet...
there is blue in my nails and blue in my eyes
its the sky...
i scratched it at night.
skin clawed raw
with the crows in my room
black feather black feather
black feather black feather
a black feather in my sigh
tonight i hum a silent song...
oh yes.. i know...
he will come.
FateFate12 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
A sunny day in the park. There is a single bench CENTRE stage. GOD is sitting on the LEFT side of the bench. He has long, white hair and a long, white beard, and is wearing a simple white robe. He is reading a newspaper. Enter PETER from the RIGHT. He is wearing black pants, leather shoes, a white shirt and a garish, comical tie. He is carrying a paper bag. PETER sits on the bench next to GOD, setting his bag next to him. He folds his hands and admires the weather.
PETER. Beautiful weather today.
GOD [focusing on his newspaper]. Mm-hm.
PETER. [Extending his hand] The name's Peter.
GOD [shaking PETER's hand]. God.
[GOD returns his attention to his newspaper.]
PETER. Um… God?
PETER. Not to be rude, but… your name is God?
GOD. I am God. Or at least I was God.
PETER. I… see.
GOD. You don't believe me.
PETER. Would you?
GOD. No. But it doesn't matter whether or not you believe in me.
FragileI'm okay with beingFragile8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gripping the folds of too-big sweater,
like an extra skin
to compensate for her own,
pulled tight over a collection
I'm okay with being
while yet imagining her hip bones,
to be hips
knowing that she would never
achieve the hourglass femininity
I'm okay with being
I'm SorryI'm Sorry9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
today I accidentally
killed your ladybug
tangled in my mess of hair
onto my shoulder
not thinking I grabbed
for the tickle and
with a fingetip
on her round
and I watched her fade
God Is DeadGod Is Dead11 years ago in Humor More Like This
God's robes flapped around him as he looked over the edge and onto the street below.
"Don't do it! Don't do it!" cried the security guard behind him.
God said nothing, climbing onto the raised edge of the building. Five storeys below, people were beginning to take notice.
"Jesus Christ! Look!
"Oh my god!"
"Where's my camera?"
He turned and faced the security guard, who stopped walking and gazed upon the face of God. He'd been crying.
"But... why? You've got so much to live for..."
God gave a wan smile. "So have all of you."
He spread his arms wide, closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh, falling back and off the building.
* * *
A crowd was gathering around the black, sticky mess that remained of What-Once-Was Our Lord.
"Is he dead?"
"Who is it?"
"Where's my camera?"
The bystander effect was operating at maximum efficiency, causing everyone to just stand there and looked at the mangled remains. Presently, however, a fine upstan
Child of WarChild of War11 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
This is not a tale of tragedy or a lamentation, nor is it a glorification of war or peace, or an accusation of criminal nations who encouraged this war. It is simply a diary -- my life as a child of war, both frightening and exciting, where life was suspended but life went on anyway. A life neither happier nor sadder than that of any other child on the planet, but more unusual perhaps, and sometimes astonishing in how normal it all was to me. Which is why I like to share this piece of writing: I feel it is a unique perspective on this kind of event, as I have strived to keep it void of post-rationalisation and political context to keep it, as purely as possible, an insight into how this was experienced by a kid's mind, and for that I put myself back into my mindset of the time to write it. This shows in the "voice".
I was born in Beirut on September 11th, 1979, in the basement/shelter of the clinic where my mother had gone to give birth. We immediately left for Mu
Maybe if I hate enoughrat-faced man yellow and drawn long yellow fingers, long yellow yawnMaybe if I hate enough9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
reaches for unfamiliar spaces sweaty ideas of greatness
the unsuccessful lover winding down
atrophied ass, skinny bowed legs,
sickly bulging belly, shoulders childlike and narrow
a defeated posture infused with hate cast a weak tea shadow
sabotaging fate: a new idea for each new moment
(we could be famous... we could make a million bucks)
seals them in dirty envelopes to fall through the greasy grate
a gutter by the darkness where nothing really takes shape
plagiarizing ouroboros believing his own lies
at his core a sinister emptiness, so appealing
to the alternative strata of the trendy elite
who have forgotten their true nature
as the abused dog forgets how to be a dog
he was attracted to my wound, my beautiful malfunction
but when I was resolved he couldn't be contacted
man of straw in a house of cards waiting to fail
a child inside a man inside a disease, vampiric and shining
oiling his trap, an ugly broken outdat
Epistle to Ms. Wilson.Epistle to Ms. Wilson10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This isn't the first time
I fling a rehearsed rhyme
Like simian excrement at you.
I'll beg your indulgence
With scraping effulgence
(It worked for me last time) - will that do?
I'll tell it concisely,
As much as the verse will permit it.
I'll sign this confession
Of my indiscretion
If you make the punishment fit it.
So this is my offer
The olive I proffer
Or, if you prefer, the whole tree branch.
I know it was heinous
But my misdemeanours,
This instance, at least, were complete chance.
I was tardy, and fretting
At not vaporetting
In time for my lecture on Byron
Say, are you familiar
The gothicHer trench coat is her bullet proof vestThe gothic9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Her makeup is her soul
Her accessories are her personality
Her silence, her obsession
The look in her eye is her weapon
Her words spoken are her treasure
Her heart is her curse
Her anger is her beauty
Her joy is her weakness
Around her there is an invisible shield
Only a select few may breach it
She protects and worships what is hers
She needs no shoulder to lean on
She is the gothic
elephantasmaelephantasma11 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
this is forgetting:
moon-drenched ivory, and grey flesh
made hollow with lead.
I Do It All Right"Why me?" Megan Voories asked, again.I Do It All Right13 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
"We've already been over this, blondie," I responded, sighing and slumping in my chair. "I pick people based on the harshness of what I think will happen to them. If I could save everyone I would." I picked my drink off the table in the commercial space station and took a chug, the action giving me time to organize my thoughts.
Since humanity had begun using its advanced space travel and tracking technology to its fullest, we had discovered most of the galaxy. Of course, after discovering this territory humans and all the other intelligent species within it began spreading out to new places. With the notable exception of built-up planets and the areas surrounding them, this made lawlessness the order of the day. Part of that lawlessness was a thriving slavery business.
I'm Heinrich Ungar, all around nice guy and champion of the people. That causes reward money, a lot of wh
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Importance Of Being Frank
At the end of this story, a Frenchman will be eaten by African driver ants.
* * *
Silvie closed the stall door behind her; she closed it timidly, with an empty expression on her face. Her hand shook. She paused for a moment, her mouth half open, her lip curled upward, and a frown on her forehead.
Then she walked over to the wash basins.
A fly buzzed between her and the mirror. She turned on the faucet, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on her face. She looked at the stall's reflection in the mirror, closed her eyes, and slapped herself.
Let us slow down to take in the sights. At the exact moment Silvie's hand hits her cheek, everyth
Fulfillment through DepravityFulfillment through Depravity12 years ago in Horror More Like This
They call me crazy. I beg to differ. I'm sentenced to die only for their lack of understanding. So, here I sit day after day in this cold, lonely, dark jail-cell. Fed once daily, I'm slowly thinning away, still filled with the lust of my chosen delicacy and the hatred that was bred upon me. I don't know how long I've been here or how long I'll stay. No windows to the outside world are present to accompany me, only one diminutive hole near the top of the door shining in a small beam of light through from the prison corridor. I've grown somewhat accustomed to this new lifestyle of mine however bleak it may be in comparison to the stirring existence of my past.
I was born on August 13, 1974, putting me now at slightly over fifty years old. My mother unfortunately died during labor, leaving my single father to raise me alone. My unstable father was traumatized b
Talmor's StoryTalmor's Story12 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
"The scene is: you're hanging out at the arcade, when all of a sudden, a human walks in. Gallant and Tal, go!"
Delamar Gallant, tall, dark, brooding, and liable to kill anyone who used his first name, leaned against the brick wall with his arms folded high on his chest, attempting to affect a 'casual tough-guy' pose, and doing fairly well at it thanks to massive size. Talmor Dearth sauntered casually across the street a few paces away, acting the part of the cocky mortal, and failing miserably, having yet again forgotten to put his sketchbook down before entering a scene. Gallant strode boldly over to Tal, giving him the once-over.
"A human, here at the arcade, eh? You're asking to be meat."
"Oh?" replied Tal jauntily, "We'll see about that."
"Ding!" Arconin Wry called out gleefully, to be answered by a scowling Tal.
"Oh?" Tal repeated, "I just come for the entertainment." He tossed a glare at Arconin, as if askin
Nemiah - a fragmentNemiah - a fragment11 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Nemiah a Hesirion fragment.
Two gliding shadows, hot to the touch as they caressed the salt-glass sand, mingled and fused with the cooler unmoving shade of a tall Levaan Palm. The trees twisting stems marked the edges of the spreading fingers of the great Inship Desert; sun burned fingers that had long ago begun to stretch and claw their way into the cooler, ocean quenched lands of the Dol-Haalat, and here, at the north-western edge of the land of Hirad.
Dadengo, the sun, not quite halfway through his journey across the cloudless lapis lazuli ocean that served as the Haradi-Inship sky, shone as only a god could; and the heat of his love for this land would only increase as noon approached. Below, a pair of tattooed lizards danced a foot-cooling dance while keeping at least one of their rotating eyes on the interlopers.
Of the two owners of the now motionless shadows, the most immediately striking was the tall graceful woman. Poised like an ancient bronze st
prismatic rotationprismatic rotation11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When I met her,
she was ice
that wasn't cold.
She was stone
that wasn't hard.
She was sour
that tasted sweet.
I gathered up
and put them in the car,
on the seat
next to me
and we drove -
on the wrong
of the road.
and at some point
I slammed my foot
on the brakes.
All of the hubcaps
and continued rolling
down the road
as if they were
to an invisible car.
into the distance
out of sight
asea, tonightasea, tonight11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I'm at your door; can hear the brass and bass,
the snare drum, through the glass. It's jazz, tonight.
You let me in and suddenly I'm in
a room of profound poets, who sing their verse
through shining horns, sweet saxophone riffs.
The solos drift so richly, dance among smoke rings—
tonight, when everyone's somebody's cool cat.
There's a girl whose trumpet weeps when she woos its keys,
those wailing notes like Miles would have played.
And the long-haired bassist pains his face as he plucks
away at the tired shape the body makes,
he sways. And when the guitar's clean strings do sing,
it's melody carries a twang so sweet—it's jazz,
tonight. Tonight!— We can be alive, tonight.
And I'm in the corner, no horn in hand, not even
a cigarette for now. I'm just a shadow this evening,
no harmony for me. Just silent taps
of thumbs on thighs; of a breath before sirens sing.
Tonight, blue tunes knew the way through a smoky
sea—found me… Last I heard they were still awaiting
Archangel With A GunArchangel With A Gun12 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Archangel with a .44,
crept on through the velvet door.
When she pulled the silver trigger,
shadows darkened, fears got bigger.
Sleeping softly, cold as night,
the devil found a crimson sight.
And when he saw what she had done,
he rose the moon and set the sun.
And when her chamber cooled its burns,
Archangel had a lesson learned.
So when the bullet broke her stride,
she learned that love is suicide.