anaphoric trash poem scrambles to explain absencei'm handful of sober eyesanaphoric trash poem scrambles to explain absence1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm sliver of curve
i'm clingy silver
i'm little enveloping aggression
i'm tenderness doubled
i'm column of bitter lips
i'm accidental orange tree
i'm parallel to anodyne
i'm ablative of fingertips
i'm swirl of hollow mouths
i'm throw to the first space
i'm crushed cosmic chaos
i'm rouge page turner
i'm effective butterfly
i'm faded obscurity
i'm electropop Antigone
i'm slick of apple butter
i'm tremble of maternal salt
i'm river hostage
i'm Wednesday mass of the unipolar
i'm triggered religion
i'm beckoning lace of spinal fluid
i'm puff of misted oak
i'm heart-held engagement
i'm a fade letting go
i'm more ancient than gore
i'm more tongue-kissed than glory
i'm crystals calling over smushed centuries
i'm stressed feral
i'm coated in felines
i'm the lighter half of zero divided
i'm struck second
i'm stoppage of touch
i'm rumbled yell in the moth house abdomen
i'm multifaceted sleeper
i'm subconscious bound
i'm silk web of radio song
i'm scratched ocular shimme
Convenience Ducky Short usually avoided using 'convenience' stores. The floors were always grimy, the lighting was too dim for his tired veiny eyes, and the cashiers never spoke more than five words of English. But the thing that irked him most was how every one of them put the Ho-Hos on the very bottom shelf, and every time he would have to find a way to maneuver his long body and old rusty joints into a crouch just so he could reach them.Convenience3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He had been struck with a Ho-Ho craving as he was walking by, and since the only store nearby was a tiny convience store, he had no choice but to go in and claim his cakes. There was no controlling this sort of thing. 'Happy Ho Ho emergencies', his mother used to call them, God rest her soul.
But Ducky hadn't expected a different kind of emergency.
The bell on the door barely had time to jingle before it was drowned out by a frantic holler.
"Freeze, everybody! I've got a gun, so no messing around!"
DFC 12: MirabaiHave you heard of that dusk-coloured fellow?DFC 12: Mirabai3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
News comes by that the princess has married him.
Meera, how you would laugh at those men who worship stones!
A wandering holy man would have stepped back
at that singsong infant desiring for his idol of Krishna
have you heard of that dusk-coloured fellow?
Surely, she has been betrothed away to some prince,
whose family despises her attachment to her Hari.
News comes by that the princess has married him.
No, I know she sings and dances estranged from all family,
but the road her heart walks leads to less lonesome shores and today,
Meera, how you would laugh at those men who worship stones!
How the Poet's Mother Confesses To Him in a DreamLast time I sat in this swing, I was a girlHow the Poet's Mother Confesses To Him in a Dream3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
with charm. I didn't mind the calm,
sitting alone, watching the world burn
sienna and sapphire, mighty seabirds
in flight against its rim. It was early dawn
last time I sat in this swing. I was a girl
waiting to wed a man, trying to discern
whether he cared. I felt embalmed,
sitting alone, watching the world burn
out. Cool air raced in, as if to purl
shoots of Ammophila. I had no qualms
last time. I sat in this swing. I was a girl
who relished the waves' collision. Their uncurl
kept me still in morning's salty balm,
sitting alone. Then, watching the world burn
into daybreak, I quickly stood and hurled
his ring, then returned. That moment became
the last time I sat in this swing. Just a girl
sitting alone, watching her world burn.
last nightlast night, the smell of you seeped into me.last night4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i caught it dripping from my pores
and unfurling from my hair like a sightless memory
then settling comfortably on the pillow beside me
and pooling in the creases of my sheets
like a contented water cat.
last night, the taste of you rubbed into me.
your unique spice grubbed beneath my unpainted nails,
flavoring the back of my tongue and the space between my scapula
with a sweat-salty sweet desire
that I licked from your shoulder while your stomach breathed into mine
and we balanced indelicately on coxae and cotae
like dancing bears on balls.
last night, the idea of you sailed into me.
it came silently, slowly flowing into small dark corners
so it wouldn't frighten me
and waiting for the sunrise,
waiting to be cautiously picked up and examined for solidity,
to be confirmed by the pleasure in your eyes
when i said you'd meet her at Christmas
and you didn't look away.
Air DragonAir DragonAir Dragon4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Written by GerFalcon
If you could fly, weighed two tons, and were carrying a pair of very rich and fragile customers to a charity ball, how would you go about taking off? Would you leap into the air and accelerate as fast as you could into flight? Would you start off on a cliff and plummet into a gentle glide? Perhaps you might try taking off from a standing start using sheer wing power, level off at a hover, then slowly push forward until you reach a comfortable cruising speed? None of these, apparently, is desirable for someone who simply wants to arrive fashionably on dragonback, and I can't hover. I'm a dragon, not a humming bird.
The correct answer is that you find a nice, long, flat spot to take off from and get a running start. The gentler you are with your customers, the happier they'll be, the more they tip, and the more likely it is that they'll talk favorably with their friends and family about their experience with Air Dragon.
I have one such couple getting ready
where god is a butcherwhere god is a butcher5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a slaughterhouse
where the hungry men reincarnate
as bulls. a cleaver spattered in red
teases: chase me, chase me now,
caresses a thigh, then thrusts
its tongue like a knife.
he hangs in wet pieces.
the street salivates with rain,
swallows the leaves
that once lined the way.
a boy eyes his flank,
an old man trades silver
for his feet, a girl enters
and passes him by.
if he had lips
or life, he would beg,
daughter, it is i!
but she chews the fat
with the cashier: a new child,
weather, supper plans after
mass for her widowed mother.
she wraps him in the morning
paper, tucks him in her bag.
the butcher tears his apron
as the clouds gnash above.
she rubs salt against his flesh,
kneads wine into his back, stiff
and splayed on a wooden rack.
slipped into warm jaws,
he finally softens:
contented to be
the last meal.
tomorrow, a lamb will be born
julius caesar hates my choicesDomino's; the first day i met russell. the glasses herejulius caesar hates my choices5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i hate. st david's my second
spliff & the first time i got baked. 2nd
time i got baked me & the
man in my
life kicked in the windscreen of an
abandoned car. life is happening too
slow & too fast. like speeding up
inertia. like the news in the
doctor's office. i have not
got long. wish i had lost my
virginity on a pool table
or been an 8 yearold crack addict. or a tennis
prodigy. or something
more tangible than my blood
liquid swords; my first rap
album & first time we should have kissed. or second time.
i forget. 36 chambers; the
taste of orange vodka & lust. nwa touched me
the beatles. david bowie fucked me. & there are
gaps in my brain where emotions used to
pay the rent. i'm moving out
next week next month next ye
Queen of GeeksUnexpected end to kidnapping caseQueen of Geeks3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
[Sunnyvale Tribune 23 Feb 2007]
In an unexpected development, police have closed the case against the kidnapper of twenty year old Nicole Cantrip. 'The circumstances surrounding Miss Cantrip's alleged disappearance have become clearer,' Inspector Frank Jones told the Tribune, 'and it's come to light that the case was filed in error. There is no evidence whatsoever that a kidnapping took place.' Since Cantrip is over eighteen, the applicable missing person legislation is almost non-existent, much to the dismay of her mother.
'Something has gone horribly wrong when a girl can be forced away from her family by people she's never met and it's called normal,' said a tearful May Cantrip. 'Nix wouldn't have abandoned us, dropped out of all her classes and left everything behind unless
somebody was forcing her.' Mrs. Cantrip claims that her home was invaded by several men who demanded that her daughter accompany them to what she describes as 'a k
our song1.our song3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
one minute you create
fill me up with exultations,
call you and me an island nation--
two souls in a jar
in the sand by the sea--
you say, "that's you and me.
watching the world through glass and sand
in here we free from reprimand."
and i doubt your metaphor
the lies between your
i'll rise above your
too wise to catch your
your eyes (oh damn your eyes)--
pristine wings of dragon flies--
There is no simplicity.
now everything is syncopated
nothing's ever contemplated
everything's on fire
the burning never dissipated
spill all our love over the edge
heels over head
this white-hot undulating
in the heat
begins to crack.
you turn your back.
perhaps this is belated
but I've always hated
the dimple on your chin
like a ugly crater on a bone-dry moon
I hate it when you swoo
Dishwater EyesI have been thinking of new ways I can kill the lights,Dishwater Eyes5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
swimmingly musing the flicker switches in the back of your head
like paying the bills,
and doing the dishes as our children slumber above.
The dishwater is cold, lapping around my heels as I dive
inside your irises and try to figure the prices
of your thoughts;
only to get frustrated with your laziness statistic.
I think I floundered, flapped and drowned;
enveloped in your weariness as I paddled for the shore
of your embrace,
and came up gasping for relief.
The kitchen sink was rusted and overused
from too many table-side taunts,
picking away at my membrane, leaving only
the singular wall of ignorance to my defence.
We blew a fuse, one Sunday, over a bottle of wine
spilt on the floor in a drunken swagger,
and I hid in my ignorance, we could always buy more!
hope and happiness can't be bought though.
So instead of turning off your lights I hid in the shower,
tried to drown myself in dishwater rather than your eyes
and waited for th
ScriptureA spider weavesScripture3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
between two blades of grass
She is black
the swollen curve of her abdomen
rounded and brilliant like the eye of a crow
the twist of her web
as she illuminates the vellum of the field
with the silver script
of small things
SaxLulinda died today.Sax4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I find out when I see Bobsy at the club. I'm taking out my sax and he's playing with a hat when he just says "Lu's dead," just like that, almost like talking about the weather.
I say, "what?" and he just looks at me and keeps playing with the hat so I know it wasn't a joke and I turn around to stare him full in the face. "How'd she die?" I ask him, and he drops the hat and moves to his piano without picking up his feet. "How'd she die?" I ask again, but he opens the cover to the piano and that is Bobsy's way of saying he's done talking.
So, we go to Eggs, sax and I, and he's just drinking some liquor at the table with his chin and his hands so I don't see why I can't ask him. I sit down beside him; sling my sax across the chair, and say, "How'd Lulinda die?" Eggs's eyes get really heavy when he drinks, heavy like they are right now, and he looks at me with those basset hound eyes and says, "Lu? Dead? Oh, I dunno." I'm about to ask again when Lori and Bobsy come to t
House Haunting "I dunno. Look at this paint. There's water condensing on it. Who wants a house where water builds up on the walls?"House Haunting4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Honey, it's okay. When people go looking for houses, they say that one like this has character. Their inherent need to fix things will bring them here in droves."
Penelope shook her head. "Look at this decor. I mean, really! Orange and blue paint. It's so tacky!"
Mortimer smiled at her. "More character, that's all it is. And just think, anyone who moves in here and tries to paint over it, we just melt it away, and they're left looking at this paint job all over again. Wasted effort and no explanation for it." He chuckled. "It should drive them absolutely bonkers."
He had a point. Humans were always falling in love with old, ugly houses. Perhaps it was their desire to connect with history, or to make real, physical changes
Ghazal for the AmericanI live on an island, eighteen hours into your future and upside-down.Ghazal for the American5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This gives me special powers. Ie., I can drink vodka upside-down.
Warning: heavy drinking may cause phantoms. Cinematic ones.
In bold American sports cars, burning on highways upside-down.
That's how the dead roll. Like dice, or green numbers. Like cats.
Their logic is internal, peculiar. It only appears to be upside-down.
Like a cat, I observe phantoms. I am, at times, caught staring.
In ceiling-corners, the ghosts of spiders dandle upside-down.
But that's how I roll. Like cars on highways. Empty bottles. Cats.
Eighteen shots makes you a ghost. It turns me upside-down.
I am oft-capsized. Eighteen hours into your future, I am also drunk.
The cat, observing, finds that I no longer have an upside nor a down.
Dreams'Here we go again', you think. First the dizziness, then the confusion, then the questions that don't stop rolling through your mind. 'Am I real?' You don't feel like it. 'Could this really all be a dream? Possibly.'Dreams8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And then everything feels like it could be in s l o w m o t i o n, but it isn't. Everything could happen or nothing at all. And it's scary. And it's hardto continue on like everything is normal, just for the sake of her. Just so she is happy. Just so they are not worried. You pretend everything is alright, when everything is just the opposite.
But you continue. With these thoughts in your head.
'Am I in a movie?'
2nd person fiction and YouYou like fiction written in the second person. You may not admit it to yourself, but deep down, you really do. It teases you with its confrontational otherness, its flamboyantly displayed post-modernism, its teeth.2nd person fiction and You4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Do not look at its teeth. You do not want to look at its teeth.
Fiction written in the second person and you have a long history of denial. At first, you were sure it couldn't be done. Then it was done, and it was done to you, and you liked it, too, but it was only the one time and you were kind of drunk. It was an experiment, and it was interesting as an experiment, but that was all it was.
Only, of course, it wasn't.
Fiction written in the second person has invaded your dreams, and what's worse, your sexual fantasies. You'd be picturing a luscious blonde, rubbing her rubbables, yearning for your touch, when suddenly a voice would pop into your head, calmly narrating what you were doing: "You are picturing a luscious blonde," the voice would say, "rubbing her rubbables. Hey
Things I will Risk For You c.3Convincing Lawrence that they were heading out to search for Perry was the easy part; convincing Linda of the same thing was the hard part. The mother always needed a good reason for her children to be out at that time searching for their pet platypus, even if it was shortly after dinner. But Phineas' desperation and love for Perry soon won Linda over, and after clearly stating that she did not want them out any later than midnightsummer gave the boys a good excuse to stay up latePhineas and Ferb gave their word to return by then and dashed up the stairs to the elevator Perry had built for them to give them access to his lair.Things I will Risk For You c.34 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Arriving in the platypus' lair, the boys used Perry's fedora to gain access to the transport tubes that led to the OWCA's headquarters. Thanks to the fact that the computer system recognized nothing but the agents' fedorasPhineas and Ferb had offered to upgrade that for them, but Monogram was hesitant in having children fix it up for the agency;
Questions I Never Asked My GrandfatherMy grandfather sits in a wheelchair by the window in the old people's home with his chin leaned into his chest, mumbling incessantly and unintelligibly to himself and drooling a little from the right corner of his mouth. Mom can't come here anymore. She just breaks down at the sight of him so I sometimes come by myself and sit with him in silence for a while.Questions I Never Asked My Grandfather3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It's a sad end to a long and hard life, and I morbidly think to myself that if a political party stepped forth now with the legalization of euthanasia on its agenda, I'd vote for it. After two strokes and a hemorrhage, topped with severe senile dementia, what is the point of letting people exist like robots? I know grandpa thought the same. Before his speech was impaired, he often said that the pacemaker was one of his biggest mistakes, and that people should be allowed to go when it was time to go.
Terrible as it sounds, I'm already starting to think about the obituary that I, having the best way with words in my branch of the fa