The PianistA warm, lilting melody wafted through the nightclub, nimble fingers dancing over crisp black and white keys as the song of the grand piano drifted down from the stage, filtering between the irregularly spaced tables to fill every niche and recess of the dimly lit room. The lone figure in the spotlight moved gently with the music, her long chestnut hair billowing down her back in loose waves and her wine red dress fanning out around her knees as she sat on the worn leather stool. It was not a complex song she played, with no difficult notes or intricate rhythms, but there was something about it that was so enthralling, so entrancing, as if each sound touched you, clung to you, whispered to you.
As the tune swelled, as the notes danced, and as music came alive beneath her fingers, the pianist began to remember.
She met him at a cheap, backwater club on a cool autumn evening while playing yet another of those low paid unambitious jobs that she hated but needed to make ends meet. While
A Tire Swing In MayIn the middle of the woods behind my house, there stood a young willow tree and a seasoned maple tree side by side near the creek. When I was little, my daddy tied a tire swing for me on a branch of the maple tree. He and I would spend at least a couple of hours each weekend afternoon up there, either on the tire swing or sitting under the willow tree. After I grew older and he left, I went there by myself. I would sit with one leg crossed over the other inside the circle, while my chin rested on my arms on the top of the tire, to one side of the rope that secured it to the tree. I would watch the wind ripple through the leaves, or the brook babble on, or the squirrels chase. Sometimes I would do nothing but close my eyes and think. I would stay for only a few minutes, or until night fell and my mom started calling for me. Every day, I visited the tire swing.A Tire Swing In May3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
One day a "friend" of mine came over. She was one of those people who could not criticize enough.
My person was the first obje
-Seeking Solace-Take me.-Seeking Solace-4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Never let me go.
I've sunken so low.
I need to be safe.
Don't let their words chafe.
I can't be all alone.
Never condemn me.
Or my solace will be gone.
SubductionWe drip into OctoberSubduction2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the silence of spiders
heavy in our chests,
our hearts curling in
on themselves like
leaves in autumn.
Lungs unfurl into the
there is a breath, a whisper--
This dying wind whistles
through empty throats,
as if to murmur a warning,
perhaps, that we threaten
along our hipbones.
Date a girl who drawsDate a girl who draws.Date a girl who draws1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
You know the one. Her bag will be filled with discarded pencils and pens, scraps of paper with mindless doodles on them and blank books sticking out of her bag. She's the one who spends an hour trying to find the perfect sketchbook, only to pick up three more because she just couldn't help herself. She's the one hunched over in the coffee shop, rain or shine, the gears in her mind turning and turning while her hands move to catch up with every idea she has. She's the one who's too focused on what she's doing that her coffee's gotten cold and the people around her peek over her shoulder but she doesn't realise.
Compliment her drawings.
Ask to see more.
Turn the pages carefully, gently. Look at how hard she pressed the pencil into the page, the failed drawings, the successful ones. Look at the careful lines, the messy ones, the ones that give the drawings life. Linger on the pages you like but don't touch the drawings. Look at them carefully. Remember them.
spunthere were spider webs in his irisesspun2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they functioned as framing for the paradise in his inner brain,
delicately hand-crafted by [glow in the dark] fairies
A Butterfly Flapping Its WingsThe letter was clutched in strong fingers which, had they belonged to a lesser man, might have been trembling.A Butterfly Flapping Its Wings2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It wasn't happiness or elation that he felt. There was a vindication that scratched on the edges of his thoughts, but the only thing really resonating in his mind was, 'what now?' It was the first time in a long while since he had heard anything beside the scornful echoes of his father's words.
It was a dream.
Almost a decade had passed since they'd been said. He'd shyly expressed his fondness for art as a schoolboy, and his father had promptly crushed his meek hopes with an iron tongue. "Fool," he had said. "Dreamer, head in the clouds." He'd laughed then, coarse and cruel. "You'd never make it." And the next semester his star-gazer of a son had been enrolled into technical school.
It started with death.
Standing cold and numb as his father was buried, it was his mother that convinced him to apply that first time with her soft word
I love youI love you.I love you4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Just stay with me.
Hold my hand and we can close our eyes and forget everything. Let me feel your warmth and your breathe on my skin. So, so warm and so, so lovely. Please
stay with me
I love you.
And the earth shatters and the pieces fall down ar
It Had to be YouI sat in the chair, staring at the empty wine glass in my grasp. A sorely familiar sight. The legs of red dying at every rounded edge, dissipating into the rose-kissed dip nodding against the stem. It shimmered a memorable sheen below the lifted, old chandeliers. Those faithful crystals that hung there like lingering unsaid words, trying to remind me, to somehow cheer me with their sparkle. In vain they stayed. I only watched the worn table legs in front of me, voices of party crowding my mind as if they were mocking me with their glee, painting my eyes with those old scenes of my life when I never sat alone at a table.It Had to be You2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
And then the song arose in the midst of the current. Those horns and that sweeping piano. Suddenly, something in my chest reminded me I was living, or at least that I had been. The pale singer drifting into music, rekindling memory with her red lips pursed and eyes closed swayed before uttering those first few words...
"Why do I do just as you say..?
Why must I just giv
breath-takingSometimes I feel like abreath-taking2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
silver, flute-necked vase.
Tarnished, of course.
When I breathe it feels like
the narrow hollow of an empty
amber colored glass
The label's pealed off leaving
bits of uneven paper fiber, rubbing off
in the slightly damp hands of a
The sound is like the wind
moving through a tunnel,
an undertone, and metallic.
It sounds the way
A Life Lesson on How to Livei.A Life Lesson on How to Live3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Learn how to hear when there is no sound. Listen to the last heartbeats of a dead man, for they will tell you how to hold on, and how to let go, but you are the only one that can choose between the two. Hear the sorrow of a silent criminal at a confessional, because it can tell you where the line is and how to cross, but it's up to you to decide if you want to or not. Listen to the chemistry between two lovers and you will learn how to appreciate the love in everything people do.
Uncover how to see in the darkness, because it's a whole lot more important than anyone ever expects. Look at the hues of red in the night sky and the neon colors beneath the snow and they will show you that what you see is what you get, but not everything is what it seems. See the emptiness that shines from fake smiles and you will realize that everybody lies. Look at the world with your eyes closed and determine that this is the only way you will ever be able to see. Now decide if you want to or not.
The SketchHe loses his first kiss in autumn. He's twelve, she's just turned thirteen, and at the time he isn't sure what all the fuss is about but knows how special it is anyway.The Sketch1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
She's gorgeous, pale-skin, brown hair, dark eyes always filled with happiness and joy the way he wishes he could be. She doesn't want to be there any more than he does, and they grouse to each other about how they don't need a 'special school.' It's the first time he's worked up the courage to say it.
She carries a book too, just like his sketchbook, but she says it's a diary. It's hung with a little lock on the front and he jokes about it being the key to her heart, a little boy's poor attempt at flirting but she laughs anyway. He wants to hear that laugh again, and he does, when he shyly asks if he can draw her.
It's half-way through his sketch that she leans in and presses her soft lips to his. It's a little clumsy and awkward, given how she's standing up and he's cross-legged on the ground, and nowhere as romantic l
coatingsdon't drag us along in your poetic Utopia,coatings2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
these never-to-be dreams of a world— such an immense madness of
myriad syllabic mazes meandering,
metaphors describing your gloomy smirks, your
eureka invention of monotonous masks, and all those other
[ i kept a list ]
ichthyologyit's the salt taste of freedom [it's the carelessness]ichthyology2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
while assimilating liquidated breath
we spin, twirl, d a n c e -- feel the absence of gravity
crawl silently past those piercing hooks
my underwater bubbles scream for invulnerability
they rise, higher, and touch the unknown
dying a perfect death
losthourglasses and umbrellas casually change colour as if it's nothinglost2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
childhood tragedies are buried in the silent soil with solid shovels
you're pathetically in denial
how clouds wave goodbye every day, how memories are loathed
you're a fool for forgetting
The MurdererTo be able to kill, once more, would've felt like heaven.The Murderer2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He imagined himself being on the streets again, in a big yet quiet town. He imagined himself walking behind a middle-aged woman, maybe arm in arm with her grumpy husband. He would pass her, slowly, while observing the wrinkled face, some locks of grey hair unconcealed. The extravagant Gucci, which was meant to show how different she was— obviously, she was just as different as every woman of her age. The clamping high-heeled shoes, blue veins meandering through her skin. He could smell her perfume, a strong scent of dated nail polish and petrol. He would probably give her a polite smile and she would be reminded of her son, who was about the same age. She would smile back.
He imagined starting a conversation and sympathetically touching her shoulder. He imagined her husband looking around and tapping with his fingernails on the glistening wristwatch he got from her for his 58th birthday, last month. He imagined talking to
I Will Wait For YouThe letter came that fateful day,I Will Wait For You3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
To tear you and I apart.
The weeks before you were forced on your way,
Were a blur of a blackened art.
For months I agonised for your return to date,
In sorrow deep enough for fiction.
Until on the dreaded list I read of your fate:
"Missing In Action"
In years that passed, I waited alone,
While no news came of the part of myself.
Hordes of soldiers were flocking back home,
But your file just gathered dust on the shelf.
I knew not if you were dead or alive,
I knew not what to do.
I had closed my heart, praying you would survive,
To love again, seemed taboo.
Time flew by and my hope began to dwindle,
Though I still clutched at your small chance.
But soon all was left was a flickering candle,
Quivering in its uncertain dance.
What was I to think, I was torn,
Should I love again or retain my faith?
Surrender hope or stay lovelorn,
Or choose another to take your place?
My anguish one morn was put to an end,
When finally, I learned,
That I had to let go, cou
loveologyyou are my monochrome tv, my imprisoned freedom fighter, my loveliest disasterloveology2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are the reason my lungs absorb particles of dancing air
[breathing isn't just a rhythm]
light years are only fractions of an hourglass
earthquakes silently judge us, we just smile
floating on the petals of our near-to-be unhappy end
infinity can never last long enough
our catatonic love
librarylibrary labyrinth, I watched the shelves dissolve into a maze;library2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
their walls a barrier that
between books, and books, and paper;and words, they match her pupils;and letters, they warn me not to stare -
I stare, she does not stare back and so it's
back to pages and
papers of olden days,
their flavours wave beneath my tired
nose my wakeful
nose my wary
open mouth my
beating heart my
heart it courses through my skin I feel
shelves - they creak like cages; between bars between books I see her feathery waves they
crash on barren shores at midnight, this cannot be:
"Are you okay?
Do you need to go for a walk or something?")
she cannot save me are you sure;? her voice is beating on my skin like tides they do not wash away they seek to drag with them: oh,crash.ing.throb.ing.beat.ing.heart. . .
to walk with
smilesi.smiles2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
let's share the loneliness, she said
we'll fill our hollow hearts with cranberry juice and pancakes
we'll dance, sing and make musicals about our life
we'll be the happiest imperfect people on earth
he smiled; laughing openly seemed too cynical
coiffures and mortgages stole our money, he said
we'll get ourselves a barking crocodile to get rid of mice
we'll sleep for a million years [and so much longer]
we'll call each other names and curse until our tongues start bleeding
she smiled; sobbing wouldn't change a thing
this is the cleft in being-together-yet-not-really, they said
we'll turn musicals into tragedies, crocodiles into rubber ducks
we'll eat our hollow hearts— and sleeping is for the roses
we'd just multiply the loneliness
they smiled; there was nothing else left
UsEvery face has an eye, every eye has a sight,Us1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
To seek and know, what is wrong and right.
Every sight has a vision, every vision has a dream.
And every dream has a future, to find, to fight.
Every face has an ear, every ear hears a tale,
Of good and bad, success or fail.
Every tale has an end, every end has a hope,
And every hope can live no matter fire or hail.
Every face has a heart, every heart has a soul,
To lead the world to that one last goal.
Every soul has a voice, to speak and to trust,
And every voice, is one of us.
roseyou mime a roserose3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
with hands I can't see
I can see
A treeI witnessed the life of a tree;A tree2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Its brisk green spring,
Teeming white summer,
Tired auburn autumn,
Frozen winter slumber...
I witnessed the life of a tree
And found myself enamoured
With its brisk green petals,
White teeming flowers
And auburn coloured leaves.
But I loved my tree in winter still,
Though it was naked and sleeping
I lent it my heart
To keep its heart beating
Till the upcoming spring.
This Empty Page.For here still lies this empty pageThis Empty Page.3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
No strokes of love nor scrawls of rage
Of yellowed white in candlelight
It speaks of naught but dust and age.
Fingerprints do smudge its face
Of tender touch when I would trace
Crisp cut edges long since frayed
While words of love within me stayed.
For now my eyes reflect its fate
Love bloomed within but spoke too late
And though frail fingers grip my quill
This ghostly page is empty still.
Whispered feelings lost to night
As phantom thoughts waltz out of sight
Failed; my heart in it's crimson cage
For here still lies this empty page...
the seed greeted the asphalt -the seed greeted the asphalt with surprisethe seed greeted the asphalt -6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
, said it was set upon by early morning winds,
that they came from under the bridge by the bay,
rose up and turned like a freight train down the street;
ignoring the stop sign completely, causing an early commuter
to lean into it, squinting. discoloured leaves
rushed to fill its absence, falling over each other,
it said the heavy mass of pure air hit with such momentum
as to shake it off deliberately, making it a helpless
and unwilling hitchhiker for some 20 metres.