Apotheosis: Prometheus Re-BoundI thought I saw each day flow by,
from final rest to birthing cry:
the total sum of deeds undone
are bleached beneath the blazing sun
and offered up to passers-by.
The crows will claw, the seagulls cry,
the terns will carry tidbits high,
the pterodactyls catch and run
I thought I saw.
But vivisect or vivify,
the price will never be as high
as back when I had purchased one
brand-new, and clearly underdone;
to Zeus in gratitude, I'll testify:
"I thought I saw."
FebruumA bitter chill is carried on the wind:Februum6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
it hasn't anything to do with cold,
but all the same, reminds me how thin-skinned
I am, in terms of being pigeonholed
by those who place more value on themselves
(and all the propaganda they've been told)
than on the truth. Were I the one who delves
into the reasons why, I might unearth
a viscid blend: of fragile sense of selves
exaggerating their own sense of worth,
amalgamated with hypocrisy
and left to stew on High. That such a dearth
of charity and common courtesy
could be directed at my unassum-
ing person, marks a huge discrepancy
between all those I wish I could, and whom
I actually can trust not to betray
my confidence; but do I dare presume
so much? Perhaps I'd better not portray
myself as quite so innocent in this
fiasco, this exquisite disarray:
if I've solicited the Judas kiss,
I'll forfeit all complaints about the pill
I have to swallow; self-analysis
might help me vanquish February's chill.
Religion Free DVD PlayerAs an avowed atheist, I've always despised overt religious subtext in my movies. So when I ran across a back-alley electronics shop offering "Religion Free DVD Players", I snatched one up faster than a Southern Baptist preacher could call out, "Hallelujah!"Religion Free DVD Player2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Set-up was a breeze, thank Nobody. So the first movie I popped in was one of my favorites, The Wizard of Oz.
Well, by the time the angelic Glinda introduces herself to saintly little Dorothy in front of the Munchkin choir, I was already beginning to suspect that something might be off. And it only got worse, as her ragtag band of pilgrims undergoes their yellow-brick hajj to the Emerald Mosque: complete with the decadent drug-fueled temptation to abandon the journey; the air assault by, and subsequent ritual stoning of, Satan's winged minions; the circling of the Ka'aba while searching for its concealed entrance; the ultimate purification of Evil with a convenient bucket of holy water; the climactic meeti
pale horseWhat if God was a gunfighter, wearing Hispale horse3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Navy Colt revolver low on His
hip a'swagger, each bullet a Flood that He promised
He'd never use again. That was then,
but Now, when
He turns His cheek,
Is there a tear running down for the Son
we took from him?
Does He look down on us,
and see a gang of outlaws,
shiftless Sons of Bitches,
fanning the Seven Deadlies
drinking the Seven Deadlies
like hands in a poker game,
like shots of rotgut,
seeing double when He walks in,
and Hell coming with him?
BrackishAfter the wet season, beforeBrackish4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the midsummer night's drought,
I flight for the floodplains, where
the northern downpour bleeds out
and sweeps its love to the mouth
of my lungs. I sleep in the crux
of an oxbow, let my dreams flux
and flow fractured, deltaic. For this
is the way I piece myself apart,
a resolution, my absolution
in a new avulsion.
During the day, I move south
towards the river mouth, picking
pebbles, coral fangs from the riverbed.
A loose tooth is a common truth
in these parts. Bones are febrile,
eyelashes are made of chalk, salt.
Tears turn brackish. They cake
and crack on the flats of my hands.
This is my Pangaea,
this swollen geography,
this slacken land.
The point of no return.
Here, all else ends.
By dusk I meet the saltmarsh
and dehusk, grow halophytic
in the nightlight. I pull out
my hair, my fingernails, and
fill the gaps in my spine
with reed rhythms, saline.
The final rite: turning flesh to grass.
Tomorrow, morning mist
will drag the whitewash back,
ashes to ash.
Six-Syllable LifeI'd read;Six-Syllable Life3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Nerd Humor(An Open Source Poem)Nerd Humor8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd compiled a REALbasic poem
in which a Python
with a bad Lisp
concocted a Scheme
to swap a dull Ruby
for a shiny new Perl
from the king Cobol
while making Smalltalk
over a cup of Java
before knocking him out with a SNOBOL
My prof gave it a C++
ImaginagerieThe chickens are locked in the closet;Imaginagerie5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the dinosaur's under the bed.
The toad has just jumped from the windowsill
and landed on top of my head.
The ferrets are out planting flowers;
the peacock's new plumage is torn.
The unicorn used my last dishtowel
to polish its glimmering horn.
The reindeer have raided the pantry;
the dolphin won't fit in the tub.
The lemmings ate all of my lemon drops,
then played hide-and-seek with the cub.
The donkey's been braying all morning;
the cheetah's been chasing her tail.
The pony just peed on the welcome mat,
while the kangaroo chewed all my mail.
Oh, for a real-world puppy,
perhaps a kitten or two...
My daydreams are running all wildly,
just like my invisible zoo!
The Gravedigger"I better get an epic funeral."The Gravedigger3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
A Soldier's WishlistDear Santa,A Soldier's Wishlist3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's been a while since I wrote;
just give me a moment to clear my throat.
I'm a little out of practice
so forgive me if I seem quite callous.
I've got some complaints you've heard before,
but let me leave those at the door.
I watched the NORAD radar blip
but never got my Battleship.
Haven't believed since I was nine
but sitting here on the front line
I've got a wish not just for me
but for the men in my cavalry.
If it can't fit into a sack,
if such a load would break your back,
then I'd settle for a smoke and ticket home
but while I'm writing here alone
here's the list I never sent;
peace on earth, goodwill towards men.
My Friend NatalieJoey led Cassandra down the stairs blindfolded, guiding her carefully down each and every step to make sure she didn't trip. He'd spent all day cleaning the house so that, unlike most days, the floor wasn't covered in his stepdaughter's toys. (Well, she would be his stepdaughter, if tonight went well.)My Friend Natalie3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Are you sure I'm not about to step on a pony, Joey? I could've sworn there was a pony on these stairs last night." Cassandra had spent most of the day in bed and didn't entirely believe Joey when he told her that the house was clean and tidy.
"I'm sure, babe. You'll be fine. Trust me." He laughed as he said it, which didn't entirely help in getting her to believe him. "Just one more step down and we're done with the stairs. We're nearly there now."
"Okay. I trust you. Honest." She didn't sound it, but the excitement of knowing there was a surprise waiting for her set her off giggling as well.
"And then we just come round here, and round the corner and," He stopped her at the door
The Cello's LamentThey call me brute.The Cello's Lament3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm permitted to chant,
but they won't let me Sing.
They've confused non-agility for
my belly enfolds the earth;
my throat trills at the stars;
my eyes embrace the cays
of the sea.
I am an omnivore,
yet they will only feed me leaves.
What Am I?I lurk in the corners of your mind,What Am I?3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Slithering through the undergrowth of ideas
Forsaken and tossed to the abyss,
Emerging from the shadowy depths
When you want me least.
You scowl at me and call me
For my tortuous forms of amusement.
I follow the law of thermodynamics:
I can neither create nor destroy.
How else can I entertain myself but
Inflict such pain on hapless
Beings such as yourself?
The best is letting little bits of
False hope is always cruelest.
As you lie there in agony
Unable to wrench yourself from my grip,
Remember who is the fickle one
And who always keeps their promises.
Hate she who has forsaken you, not me,
For I may cease taunting you for a while
Or simply take a nap.
But unlike the unreliable one
You pay tribute to,
I shall follow you even into the grave.
Sestina: Dick and WangRichard, whose nickname is Dick,Sestina: Dick and Wang4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
set out to make wieners.
He approached the cock
and grabbed the metal rod
to kill it when--Ding-dong!
the doorbell rang. It was Wang.
Wang Long, who insisted on Wang,
called out: "You there, Dick?"
He didn't reply. The rooster clucked. Ding-dong!
the doorbell sang. Dick needed to make wieners.
He hefted the rod
and swung at the cock
but missed and hit the table. Bam! The cock
squawked and ran. "What was that?" said Wang.
Dick replied, "Nothing!" and raised his rod
to swing again. Bam! Another miss. Bam! Dick
really needed to make wieners.
Wang hit the button: Ding-dong!
it rang again. Ding-dong!
it sang again and the cock
ran again to avoid becoming wieners.
Dick sighed and in the background, Wang
asked if he was alright. Dick
sighed again and let go of the rod
which fell with a loud clatter. The rod
rolled on the floor. Ding-dong!
the doorbell went and Dick
walked to the door and opened it. The co
The Way of the WorldWhen we are youngThe Way of the World3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Our wings unfurl
We are thrown from the nest
And encouraged to fly.
When we get older
Our wings are bound
We are caught and caged,
Forced to sing for the pleasure of others.
Death, Judgment, RebirthLast Time in the ICUDeath, Judgment, Rebirth1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Shadow rats, beady red eyes focused hungrily
Stay still too long and they’ll swarm
Sharp little teeth rending flesh
They know the sick and weak
They can wait
Tenth floor ICU, down with the disease again
He’s resting quietly, the nurse says
She looks like a huge black rat
Does she know what’s happening?
Closing the door
She walks away
Sweet childhood dreams are interrupted
Rats gnawing away at the edges
Toothy little kisses all over
Cleaning, cleansing scurry
Down to the bone
Sentenced to Live
Firelight, poker-faced patchwork man reading aloud
An old but vaguely familiar tome, his tone is somber
Was I one of the wicked? Weren’t we all?
Who can say that they were good?
Sentenced to live yet another life
I cry; I’ve had enough living
I want to sleep forever, leave my shell behind
To crumble to dust, useless, I won’t need it
Every door opens to the same world
Is this hell, then? The onl
Fragments1. Your clockwork appendages were cold to the touch, the industrial complex you called your mind was grating gear against gear where the unoiled works kept clacking away; your heart was a tick-tocking machine that counted the hours while the corrosion settled in.Fragments4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
2. "You know what you need?
"You need an adventure. Let's go have one."
3. I wanted to hold the thunder in glass jars and write long letters on faded parchment; instead I applied to retail stores to fuel my obsessions for the easily consumed and quickly forgotten.
4. He turned at the sound of my camera snapping, just in time for me to capture the expression on his face curious, unguarded.
5. I believe I'm hollow inside I believe everything that comes out of my mouth is nothing more than the brontide of all the stones I've swallowed.
6. She didn't want to say anything if she interrupted now, his epiphany would be lost and they really needed to get the wormhole working.
All the same, the hatchet in her
Actinium DreamsY'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium and yet have no special talent of your own?Actinium Dreams3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the worst possible mix of autism, Alpha rays and ADHD.
And I do at least have my own nemesis, of sorts: the cadre of good ol' boys who call themselves DOTA, whose main ability seems to be workin' together to nullify and trap super-powered elementals. But t'be honest, they don't seem to have anything against me personally; I think they just have a ge
The IntentionWho am I to draw up from this weary mindThe Intention3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and proclaim its labors to be clever or novel?
I am a stranger in a world of ash and dust.
Every song has been sung and faded;
Every poet's pen runs dry.
Every lover, every enemy, every heart begging repose
Has fulfilled its time in this space
And poured out its entirety for generations to come
(or at least this was the intention;
we are often lost in translation).
So, who am I to produce a creation borne of experiences worn and cliché?
Who are we--
each and every one, so anomalous to have this time to live--
Who are we to entwine our sorrows with sorrows long forgotten?
Who are we to dip our pen in the pain
poured from a late lover's heart,
Or fold ourselves intimately into the arms
of those who knew our lives
Before we came into this world?