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LA-BAS / OVER THERE (poetry)6 months ago in Free Verse
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A Matter of TimeA Matter of Time8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Matter of Time
You think Sandy's got vengeance in its eyes?
You see vengeance everywhere don’t you?
In the fast, wet winds churning around your Queens apartment
In the lightning flashes on Ocean Parkway where we walked once like a
Couple of refugees.
The waves will be taller than you, they’re saying
But I imagine you sitting on a grey dock somewhere
Oblivious of official warnings
Your dark wavy hair sticking to your forehead of scattered lies
And losses,
Your hard, careless body framed in endless brine.
I might not be allowed to love you anymore
But the rules of capturing, consuming and catenating happen to be
As fluid as t
The Piano Facade8 months ago in Short Stories
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You Wouldn't Download a ZombieYou Wouldn't Download a Zombie7 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Elementary particles (and all 'matter') are artifacts of the staticness of the observing framework.
- Dreamer's Handbook
Rob eyed the big red button, resisting the temptation to push it. "Hey Pete, look what I found!"
The salvage operation was one of the most promising their crew has been on; the demons slaughtered everyone in the underground facility and retreated without taking any of the spoils. They did leave, however, corpses in blue and white labcoats with blood smeared all over.
"What!" Came the muffled reply from the far side of the corridor.
Many of the reinforced doors were already bashed in or broken in half. Naturally, the cr
ControlThe feeling came over Bill when he was out checking his trap line in the dying light of a winter evening. Eyes on the back of his head. He knew the wary scrutiny of the deer and the hungry yet restrained gaze of the wolf. This didn't feel like either. It didn't belong to this place any more than he did. He would have preferred the wolf.Control1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
He turned around, shook his gun at the reddening sky, and cupped his other hand to his mouth. "I know you're out there! This is private property! I don't wanna use this, but you'll leave me no choice if I catch you hanging around here!"
A soft rustle from somewhere deep enough that the trees obscured his vis
A Name You Can Trust Indignant? Disgruntled? Need an attorney who won't back down (no matter how many mafia hit men are on your trail)? Need to sue the smirk off that jerk who dared to diagnose you with anger issues? Tired of “justice” getting in the way of the benefits that you deserve? If you want passionate, aggressive, and ruthlessly persistent legal representation, it’s time you called Winier Trust, an attorney who will stop at nothing (nothing!) to insure you win your case.A Name You Can Trust4 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Winier Trust is more than just an attorney; he's your personal advocate. Trust works beside you not only as a legal representative, but as a close and c
Gargan and Humon Gargan and Humon were giants. In fact, they were bigger than giants. They were titans. They were so big that, when they stood up, they blotted out the sunlight beneath them and made it as dark as night for miles around. In fact, so big were they that people who saw them often mistook them for mountains. This was understandable, as neither of them washed that frequently and they often ended up with trees growing from the dirt in the deep crevices in their skin that on us would be mere lines or pores.Gargan and Humon3 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Gargan and Humon were the last of the titans to walk the earth’s surface. All the others had been destroyed in the war with the gods
The Poetic Mind as a MuscleThe Poetic Mind as a MuscleThe Poetic Mind as a Muscle1 month ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
As a poet at any given skill level, you might ponder different ways to advance your mastery of the craft. You might spend weeks dissecting famous and not so famous poets. You might read countless articles on poetic technique. You might just plow through any and every collection you can get your hands on, track all of the most well-know journals, follow all of the contemporaries. All of these things add up to a knowledgeable poet. However, does this necessarily make you a better poet?
No. The reason is that most of us equivocate poetic skill with divinely gifted talent. We often think of poetry as a latent ability that we merely possess or do not. This leads to certain diseases within the mind, whether it be the idea that our words are beyond reproach because they are "self expression," or we decide that words come out and that's all there is to it. Other times we are stricken by the undeniable flaws of our work, even t
001. beginnings.Beginnings are vague things. Quite often you can't pin them down to one event – you have to trawl back further and further through foggy past, peeling apart what ifs and untangling strands of memories.001. beginnings.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Eventually one has to go all the way back to the start of the universe, and that's a question even the experts have to shrug their shoulders at. It's not like you can plug it into a calculator and come out with a balanced algorithm. At least, not yet.
But it is true that sometimes you can fasten down an occurrence or a moment or even just a single breath, like sticking a thumbtack through a dead butterfly, and label it as a 'beginning' i
It Began With Ashes - Prologue.It Began With Ashes - Prologue.8 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"Are we being followed, father?"
"No, Astartes, we are not being followed."
"How can you be sure? You didn't even look!" Astartes whined. Struggling to turn in the saddle behind his father, Astartes craned his neck to look back through the night. The dirt track meandered this way and that, winding through the Emberfen Forest. The path was hard to make out amongst the muddy browns of the woodland, made all the more difficult by the thick canopy obscuring the glow of the stars and moon overhead.
Nicolas shook his head, scratching idly at his flame-red moustache. "Don't let your eyes play tricks on you, son…there's no
Come Home: A PantoumYou'll always come back to meCome Home: A Pantoum8 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
when the lights in the far hills
are done searching. For, new beds
entice adventurers. Too,
when the lights in the far hills
come home, the homespun dream they
entice adventurers too,
but they can't. (Dream we're neither.
Come home.) The homespun dream they
turn pioneers to homebodies,
but they can't dream we're neither,
our wanderlust fit to turn
pioneers to homebodies.
We've always made love free, so
our wanderlust fit. To
turn ourselves towards our home
we've always made love. Free. So
when the last adventurers
turn themselves toward their homes
in faraway lands, I know,
when the last adv
ISLNDSyou like the wayISLNDS1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the i slants,
an error's
guidance
in a sea
of hyphens.
sans-serif
in cropped crests
made to full-
stop breasts
beating;
an obsess-
ion breathing
in lost chests.
now a motive
is seething
with options;
play thief
and proceed greedily,
often.
dive deep
and drink
the leap's froth;
breath is only
as sweet as the
speech that breeds thought.
Titans X We Are One shortTitans X We Are One short9 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
We Are One
[Unknown Location]
Fang: (grabs a bloody and battered Hex by the throat) Looks like you should've brought backup HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Hex: (spits in his face) Go to Hell.
(kicks her hard into a nearby wall with a spin kick) Been there done that my dear.
Virallis: Lord Fang what shall we do with this fallen hero?
Simple we will show the world that the heroes of this world will bow before me.... Live and in living color.
It wasn't long after that Fang and his group of...... Freaks appeared in Metropolis with Hex pinned to a demonic cross.
[Metropolis]
Hunter: LET HER GO!!!!!!!!!
Fang: Ahhhh you must be her team.
(signals
The PullWhen I was younger, someone showed me a video game—too weird for me, but it made her laugh, and she was pretty. You played as this little guy with a squishy hammer for a head, and you rolled a sticky ball around in front of you. As you rolled it, things got stuck until the ball was gigantic. And then... I don't know. I don't remember the point of the game, nor do I remember the name.The Pull8 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
But that image comes back to me every time I am anxious. I am that little person running around, pushing a ball, and things stick to it. Only they aren't cows or trees or parts of buildings: they are things that make me nervous. The attention of people. My
SouvenirsWhen her mom went to check the mail at breakfast, she returned with a thin box in her arms.Souvenirs1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was a package from her father.
Her dad was sort of like a traveler... at least, that was what she assumed he was. His job always had him jumping from city to city, country to country. He'd been to almost everywhere around the world, and every few weeks, he would send her a letter with a little souvenir from his stay. This time, it was a miniature Eiffel Tower.
So he's in France again, she mused, studying the two-foot tall replica. A small chuckle escaped her lips. It was about time he remembered to get it for her! He really should've thought of b
SwallowI swallowed stones for a girl once,Swallow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
tethered a daughter to my arm,
raised her with my own hands,
and pulsed so much blood
through the wire
it became a vein.
Eventually I fell,
slammed to the floor,
like a marionette savagely thrown
against a wall.
My guts were full,
of sediment and
my stomach swelled too much.
I breathed dust and ants,
swallowed as much as I was able,
and tried to get up
with my daughter in tow.
Clumsily falling back over,
with bruised hands and
forced, rough, breathing,
I felt tension
from the other side.
The line pulled taut and hard
and dragged me from its end
across so many splintering boards
I
Giving Again."So…" I look over at her, but she's looking up.Giving Again.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I see the corner of her mouth lift and she says:
"I love your family."
I let out a relieved sigh and send up a mental 'thank god'.
"Well that's good," I smile too," sorry if they seem a bit-off, though."
She laughs in a sudden burst,
her neck and upper back arching off the cement walkway,
her shoulders shaking.
"They're fine trust me. I'll visit again,"
She glances at me from the corner of her eye "…If I can?"
"Of course." I grin at her, but I don't know if she sees since she's still looking at the stars.
"So, when do I get to meet your parents?"
"You're not!" She nearly ye
Letter to a former loverI wrote you lettersLetter to a former lover7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
of these hollow woods,
perhaps your tongue was tied
or planing out your teeth with supple motion
licking forth a better smile
a brighter future, at least
you never answered or gave word
that you had seen the fog riding
from beneath the trees on grey stallions
or that the woods themselves were
leaning out and giving way and
turning grey, mist breeding
hollow spines on brittle branches.
it's your call, starlingmy sister is going to be a cyborgit's your call, starling4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i hope she stays gentle. i heard
that cochlear implants
can sometimes become commanders
the same way that learning commands
formative love. i hope she
stays humble and continues
to make my tinctures in the endearing
way she does,
dissolutions gentle
enough to flood underground tunnels
with flute-song.
she takes my wrist by force
and she decrees that all knowledge
happens in a snow-felled wood
at sunset. it's like the natural life
inside her yearns still
for that brackish obliteration,
and maybe when she's a cyborg
it will detach itself from its carbon
sequestration and fly out to its avalon,
and,
Yet Another Christmas CarolIt was Christmas, celebrated all around Earth - and in Heaven, of course. As for elsewhere...Yet Another Christmas Carol2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
If you believe for a single second that the devils don't celebrate Christmas, you are, well, right, actually. They keep very quiet about it. Not even a mouse would dare speak about it to the Almighty Fiend, Lucifer. The sole exception to this unspoken rule had happened a few years back on the occasion of a Satanically spiked MTV "Merry Christmas" video which had seemed like a good idea for a few hours. Until it became obvious that it had been a pointless endeavor – those who watched MTV regularly had been mostly unaffected, those who didn't had
in the seams(a) when I was young I was a robin that stole the eggs from another's nest.in the seams1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
fitted upon my stare there was a warning –
personal's too personal for me, well i
would not use wings if i had 'em.
a child of rye with a silhouette spoiled by the sun, I was, I am.
and sometimes I see some vengeful sparrows still under my fingernails;
their glistening beaks snap melodies that rib a hundred bird-bone cages,
so light you could blow 'em away with a twist of your lungs.
and there are still words jailed between my teeth and my tongue and I do not speak of,
do not think of
them,
but they rattle between bone and flesh and I
drown them s
Sta.sh
