Another Sad Song - Part One******************Another Sad Song - Part One9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Mom! Fuck, just shut up!" Anna screamed, walking ahead of her mother towards the parked car
"Don't speak to me like that! I'm your mother and you should know better"
"Whatever" Anna sighed when she reached the car "can you just unlock the car?"
"Listen to me Annabelle" her mother said, leaning against the drivers side of the car "I've just sat there and listened to your teachers complain about your behaviour, your behaviour that is when you bothered to show up for classes"
Anna sighed in frustration "Momů"
"No, what the hell is going on with you? You didn't used to be like this-"
"Oh fuck not this again" Anna muttered, biting down on her lip ring
"Like that, two years ago you wouldn't have sworn at me like that"
"Can you just unlock the car?"
Her mother sighed, realising that once again she'd failed to reach her daughter "Sure" she whispered, turning the lock, and slipping into the car.
"Honey, honey its okay it was just a dream" Her f
The Importance of Being FrankThe Importance of Being Frank10 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
Nemiah - a fragmentNemiah - a fragment10 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
WasteWaste9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Call me Anna, she says, hoping they'll get the vague reference, but they never do, mainly because it's too obtuse, and partly because nobody really reads Moby Dick these days.
But it matters not, nothing ever does. She wears her hair swept up and her mind swept away. There are the remains of a meal speckled upon her collar and down the front of her top, but people make sure not to comment. It wouldn't be right, but that's for later.
First, call her Anna. Heroines always had such exciting names, she mourned, drowning in jealousy that she instantly hated them all. She embraced the plain out of spite, and insisted that people called her by her boring middle name, started work as a librarian, and married a man who was the human embodiment of beige.
He didn't stand out anymore than she did. He wasn't tall and wasn't short, wore glasses in the least imposing way and sometimes spoke too quietly. He hated repeating himself, so told people to forget he said anything at all if they hadn't heard
NORMANSCRISMUSNORMANSCRISMUS11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
am i mising sumthing?
how did this awl begin
wat duz this holedae
never mined look at all tha presants
a seeson of desepshon
of plesent lys
so cute wen we fule children
wat hapens wen thay find owt tha truth?
wat is tha truth?
never mined look at all tha presants
look at tha presants
stand in aw of tha presants
its all abowt tha presants
you no its sumthing deaper
pretend you no wat it meens
or just enjoy yur presents
and eet turkey or ham
watever you eet evry yeer this tym
and i well call you nayber
and ride yur slay
wen the nite is silent a baby is born
that duznt cry wen thare ar lowd sownds
and sheperds bring presants too
becawse He is speshal
who pepol well always argyoo abowt
But in absence of the heartBut in absence of the heart9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't want elongated days
or shadows that curve & stalk round corners
or even segmented hours,
the next one unattainable.
I never look too far forward
in fear of
the second after eternity
and then nothing will go to plan.
Atop a hill that whispers to the clouds
there lies valleys only seen from here,
valleys usually pathways trodden
to see this monstrous mound
(and not so deep at all).
And gloomy seas set in feathered cliffs,
the rocks are sharp to touch
but from the shore
are statuesque and sculpted
by indecisive tides
that tease my toes
in knowledge they have seen the hidden seabed
& I have not.
I wonder if the deeper sand
is swished around like the sand upon the shore
never here or there
or sometimes taken away
& never seen again.
There are no stories to be told
with each survivor engulfed
and persuaded (only by distance)
to ensure they are secrets kept.
Or if the grains of sand between my toes
have seen it all
but dare not speak
.:fight:.Once again.:fight:.10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I've fallen flat on my face
I can't see Your face for the dirt of my shame...
I fell willingly, knew what I was doing
Refused to stop, though I knew I was hurting You
I have to be honest enough to say that part of me didn't care...
After all has been said and done, I sit on this shower floor
Wondering what went wrong
Wasn't it I that was so passionate about my love for You yesterday?
Now it hurts, like there's a piece of me missing
I can't cry, but I curl into a ball
Lashing at myself for being so stupid...again.
I can see You turning away from me in the acts of my sin
Then being subject to a brutal whip
Because that's how much You love me...
Why? Why do You love a failure such as me?
How could You?
Why offer Yourself for this unworthy one?
I look up,
My AngelMy Angel11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The moment I knew I love you
I knew you were heaven sent
I dreamed of you my angel
Before we ever met
Soon after the start
true love with you
i'd found in my heart
you're sweet and kind
and my love for you
will last a lifetime
I dream of your smile
and it takes my breath away
i want you
I need you
more than i could ever say
All my prayers were answered
when into my life you came to me
now I love you so much
and now your my everything
When I look at the moon
and see all of its grace
your still more beautiful to me
and you always put a smile on my face
Together we are
your always here with me
i'd travel no matter how far
your the one i love
and the only one for me
A Carpenter's DaughterA Carpenter's DaughterA Carpenter's Daughter8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This memory song is late in coming.
The joiner was broken before his work
was complete; the hammer is silent now.
The saw and the rule are dusty with age,
his workbench torn out two summers past, but
I still remember the smell of pinesap and resin
and roofing tar. I am a carpenter's daughter.
My father created cavalries of wood,
sawhorses to hold steady the workday load.
These rigid chargers of lumber, emblazoned
with chalk dust, like fierce warpainted steeds.
His children rode reckless like savages on
mounts of sticky white pine, hammersong
like hooves striking flint, ringing out around.
Across the horizon of my distant youth,
I was enthralled with my father's level.
The forging of alignment, the truth of it,
a tool that quarters no compromise.
A carpenter trims the world and makes it
flush and planed and square, but now
the bubble is no longer between the lines.
He told me not to weep for the mighty trees
who cleaved for the axe with honor and grace;
NevermoreWho am I in this world,Nevermore11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so lonely and rejected,
Who am I in this world,
all alone yet again?
For the world is desolation,
and there is no consolation,
and the truth of life becomes
painfully clear to me now.
'Cause I'm alone in this eternity,
And there is no place for me to go,
No one who's left for me to turn to,
As the shards of my life tear apart my soul,
tear apart my soul.
For even in the morning,
the gloom hovers o'er the land,
And we might as well start mourning,
because Death rears his ugly head.
There is no hope left for me now,
no eternity that I once knew,
And if there is a god in heaven,
may my prayer and my plea come through.
I pray for my love to be well,
because without her I am nothing,
I plead for her restoration.
because without her I will die.
Without her, the world won't keep on turning,
Without her, I've lost my will to live,
Without her, my flame will cease its burning,
Without her, life drowns me in its rive'.
All I've done is naught without her,
And I know that
MirrorsMirrorsMirrors9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Mirrors have long entranced human minds. Visiting sailors would trade looking glasses with the savages, who would be mystified by the reflected world within. In ages past, Narcissus, for want of a portable mirror, withered away above a lake. The 'Hall of Mirrors' is always popular, with children worried, alarmed, intrigued by their misrepresented alternates.
I am today scared by mirrors, because I am compelled to look into them. The image I see, I hate. I hate that it may be this myriad assortment of reflective cells that determines whether I get second glance or not, rather than what I say, do, or the company I keep. I hate that the image is visibly imperfect, as if my private cankers were advertised with every blocked pore. I hate that it is not me, just a shell- I hate how people don't realise this.
I hate that, after all this: I still look.
In Peter Hedges, 'What's Eating Gilbert Grape?' Gilbert, presented with a mirror, looks into it for only a
the sea salty sweet withthe sea salty sweet with10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
birdcry (the sea salty sweet with)
the sea was his womb;
the salt the waves the sea
the boy, he counted waves:
and said: I'll live to be that--
-- old man drowning & crow-
birds cawing &
let's pretend he is deaf:
and the waves have number but not
the sound of rushing past quickly. the
old man doesn't stop drowning, though
a croak, silent & open-mouthed desperation,
carries him under.
I'd Get That Worm For You===I'd Get That Worm For You9 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
If i was a little bird...
i'd get that worm for you
I'd flap my wings till they were tired
just so by you i'd be admired
If i was a little bird
i'd get that worm for you.
I'd fly all around
and scour the grassy ground
in search of those wiggly things.
So happily bound
to bring you what i'd found;
Show the goodness my beak brings.
I've heard songs before
about " if i were this ..."
and " i were that ..."
But i'd do so much more.....
to give you bliss
with a worm real fat !
If i was a little bird
i'd get that worm for you.
I'd pull and tug
on his wormy ass.
An if he got away...
i'd bring you a bug
...cause you's my LASS!
If i was a little bird
i'd get that worm for you.
And at t
The Guinness SestinaOver the bar, a poster reads: "Guinness For Strength."The Guinness Sestina9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I now know that's a lie. I don't feel any different,
just the same, slow beautiful burning I felt
when I gave up Coors Light for something heavier;
a foamy, portly stout, meal and home in a pint
that my ancestors (and now me) found so comforting.
First time I tried it, I was looking for comfort.
I'm Irish and all, too--I wanted something strong,
(would that make me more Irish? Finding it in pints?)
thinking its thickness could somehow make a difference.
I'm a little dude, so maybe something heavy
could change me, inside. Is that a dumb way to feel?
It looked hot like coffee, but in my throat it felt
like swallowing ice cubes. Despite my discomfort,
I drank. Into my stomach it settled, heavy.
"What's wrong, faggot?" my friend asked when I lost the strength
to finish. He sneered. I was indifferent.
I was waiting to be transformed by the pint.
I thought it worked. Though I couldn't finish the pint,
I liked it. I was bett
No AtlantisBeneath the mossy bones of the ocean deepNo Atlantis5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Great spires of stone stretch their fingers high
While weaving angels wrap each rocky keep
And strands of strangling seaweed scratch the sky.
Descending deeper in the waiting dark,
Where sea-bound corpses hold a hollowed hall
And gnashing teeth trace their bloody mark,
The rotting planks of piracy that fall.
What mortal man whose breath could sway this land?
What lung could draw in words to speak its part?
The cruel soul of the sea won't spare his hand
To those who've earned his wrath with silent start.
Can souls find sleep in such a strangled thrall,
Where the waves find rest and stop their ceaseless crawl?
Where the waves find rest and stop their ceaseless crawl,
Raking salty claws in sandy shores,
A vain and panicked grasp before they fall;
The home of homespun hypocrites and whores.
The moon reflects in heartless pantomime
A silver orb of glowing innocence
That mocks them as they're punished
Steps to the SkySteps to the Sky9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
I don't want to think what had happened: a tooth brush gone missing, cat food spilt on the floor, not returning borrowed clothes- For my family nowadays, it was anything that I had done. I knew it would be anything that I did. I opened the door and let myself out.
Avoiding the streets, I climbed to a leafed retreat. It hardly helped: the tree would protect me from the outside, but the greater worry was myself. Speckled leaves fell and I knew that I would never be able to escape on the wind, like they did. I glanced at the sun and knew that it was time to get back. Cleaning up the house would be easy enough, and then I'd just lie low.
On the way home, I was warm in my simple clothes. The cloudless sky was blue. Not the blue of light at a certain frequency, the blue of freedom, renewal. I would have walked slowly, remembering the words of the blind and deaf, but today the destination was more important than the journey.
A feather blew across my gaze. It reminded m
Old HandsGrandpa was always the one to do thingsOld Hands1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
-with his own hands.
He built his house,
our playhouses, tepees and dream castles
with his own hands.
Age 70 he was still climbing our roof,
(the one of the real house)
with his own hands.
So the worst thing
the worst thing
the worst thing was
when he had to watch our hands
-we all had come to help-
tend to his beloved garden
while his hands could do
The worst thing was
when he died
-on the inside-
'I am so useless.'
And I wished,
and I wished,
Undressing PoetryShe clothes herself in poetry,Undressing Poetry3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
seals her skin within the verse.
Each line becomes another garment
that conceals her fixed form's curvature,
but peels away when read.
Last night I dissected a stanza,
clamped it tight between my teeth
and tugged it down her legs.
Her body breathes warm and sweet,
speckled red like a summer strawberry field.
I sucked the juice from her lines and
spit the punctuation like seeds.
My lips mouthed the shape of her words
as my skin grew more sticky with
every splash of imagery dripping down my chin.
I peeled apart her soft pages
with sticky, pink fingertips that left them
clinging to my skin.
A single flawless line remained
between the cloak of poetry, her and me,
so we spoke the words in unison,
revealing everything and setting her verse free.
q: how? a: romantic.if ever a bit discouragedq: how? a: romantic.9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we're all made with worlds inside
though often unavoidable
need not be unenjoyable
it's a matter-of-fact fiction:
wrapped up in
wrapped up in
how long can you
stay a stranger
when it all adds up
to two too tired of alone
and everything entailed
with haunting themes recurring
where our shouts should be
Eliot TalkedEliot Talked10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Eliot talked of a man - who was not quite.
Of a man leaving through the tip of his umbrella,
exiting on that deepburied day,
all openings are one-way.
He'd never told them that.
Spoke Alice of her looking glass -
not a demure lobotomized Liddell,
but that staring girl, hair, black-shock, wild,
and done up like a beggar-child -
"What did you do with Dodgson?"
Here's a girl to set a story to,
sitting on un-marked leaves
fallen to yellow upon the ground
a cold wish of their's was found:
they did not let their larynx...
come friendly blondes and cut
your throats, they are -
"'T peroxide 's been here with me
since nineteen fifty-three."
- fit for nowt but sipping blokes.
They did not let, their little ones out
but suitors took their photos,
Which now are so, some high-Victoriana chÝc
still some parents act, some speak
and the Alices,
they do as they wish.
Here Blooms the DayHere blooms the day! Unrepressed -Here Blooms the Day3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Eschewing cast or mold;
Here blooms, on every leafy tress,
A white lily - tulip - rose;
One plucked for simple vanity -
One cleaved from kin and fold;
If sorrowed by, still thinly sweet -
Still winter bright - still bold;
I fixed my hope on a simple truth:
Dreams shall flourish - grow;
Mine, included - a steadfast rule -
My dreams loomed grandiose.
How startling, then - how easy -
To dispatch a budding rose,
Into the dust where memories steep
Apart the restless world.
Once Upon a DreamOnce Upon a Dream11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Once upon a dream
Love convinced me to believe being with you was necessary.
Blinded, I followed along helplessly with a hand reaching out.
Heartless human nature held responsibility for my sadness,
I assumed the position to defend without a signal of strength.
Freedom releases itself with each backhand that you give me,
with my back against the wall, my eyes beg more while I plead no.
Addicted to the pain like a drug too strong to resist,
I refuse to refuse you, with adoration exceeding boundaries.
I dreamt for a love that could prove itself pure.
Enduring too much for no purpose I could find.
Candy scented gasoline and a sugar coated match,
I stood tricked into believing things could be a different way.
Once upon a dream I found love that didn't hurt me.
In the horror of my reality it held no chance of becomming true.
...And Beauty Lingered--...And Beauty Lingered9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and beauty lingered while we played
spirits infused with a sunlit day
a smile so precious as to guide our way
and beauty toyed with our senses keen
finger kisses on stomachs lean
desires so fed as to strain against stray
and beauty sang as we lay together
spirits infused with each other's tether
exertions so vital as to need no stay
and all the nights capered with beauty's dance
spirits infused in the glow of our trance
lust never quenched in our sweet passion play
and beauty settled like motes of dust
slowy forming a mantle ...
....a sugared crust
spirit's delight for so many years- so little grey
And as i place this rose on beauty's grave
( a kiss for your soul for the love that you gave )
I hope i'll be with you again .... i pray
Spirits whispering of entwinement...
.... some day