.SetIt is Akhet, the season of sorrow and silt, and Set.Set4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
must tense his sandbreath against the slick of wet
once more. It's always the same: though he's unsure
who started the game, or whose face he wears,
he knows he must prepare for the beginning of the end,
the bite of night and all the slippages in the inbetween.
And he swore he'd bait their breath,
but they'd rather choose death than fear,
with their tombstone legs, arms pegged
in sockets and their locked ears,
burying themselves beneath blocks
built to the sun. They outrun him, every time.
It's a crime. He remembers what his mother said:
do what you're able to keep them faithful,
to keep them grateful under the table.
He wonders where it all went wrong.
So he must sink into the long light, fight wanderlust
for blighted floodplains, and try not to ask why.
There are no answers, only questions.
Even his name is disguised by the way they collide in the dust.
He won't look back to watch the waters rise,
or the blackening of the swallowed
From Man to Man Pt 1.From Man to Man Pt 1.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'I never meant to let you down.'
Draven lifted a stray curl of his wife's hair from her face. She smiled in her sleep as if knowing he was there. As silently as he could, he leant over the bed and kissed her softly on the cheek.
'I've tried everything.'
Rising slowly, as quietly as he could manage on the wooden floorboards, Draven retreated from the bed. By the fractured light from the shutters he made for the bedroom door. The walls of the house were thin and he heard a creak from the neighbouring room.
'Best be off before Kale wakes.'
Reaching for the door behind him, still facing the bed and his sleeping wife, Draven paused. Drawn, painfully drawn like poison from a wound, he found his eyes stray to the chest at the foot of the bed. Shut away from the world under key and lock, he linge
A Single WingI have scarsA Single Wing3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I've never had
to fill holes
that don't exist
They say that
I am whole
but my other half
How come I miss what
I've never had
APH - They Were Once HisRoderich's house was in chaos.APH - They Were Once His5 years ago in Drama More Like This
Not that it had never been an absolute mess before, especially after two great wars. But he had just barely managed to set things right after he was finally left alone again when the crisis struck. Now it seemed as if he had not made any progress at all.
People were everywhere. His once carefully kept gardens were filled with haphazardly set tents that ruined the manicured lawn. The hallways of his once seemingly empty house were filled to the brim with arms and limbs trying to find heat and comfort from the November cold. He was hardly able to play his piano anymore, as the music room was crowded. Even his own bedroom offered him no solace.
His original tenants were beginning to complain. Yet despite the fact that he was no longer capable of supporting any more people, still they flocked into his home seeking freedom and comfort. And he was not in any position to deny them what they sought.
After all, he had made a promise.
Just a little over a yea
an infinitesimal sibilancea wisp of a whisperan infinitesimal sibilance2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
remains in possessions
long after we're gone
things we create
or just treasure
faint echoes of others
faint echoes of us
llp - dA - oct2013
DD - jun03/2015
Aftermath: Prophecy Fulfilled Prophecy FulfilledAftermath: Prophecy Fulfilled7 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
By M.R. Anglin
Natalya Aleksandra Ryzhkova - BiographyNatalya Aleksandra Ryzhkova - Biography4 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Full Name: Natalya Ryzhkova
Code Name: Koshka
Date of Birth: December 25th 1982
Place of Birth: Novosibirsk, Russia
Rank: Senior Lieutenant
Occupation: SVR Field Agent
Hair Colour: Brunette (with a flare of red in the fringe)
Eye Colour: Green
Weight: 139 lbs
1999 - Russian Ground Forces
2002 - FSB
2004 - Alpha Group
2010 - Vympel
2013 - Voron
Martial Arts/combat skills:
- Ground Forces: specializing in intelligence
- FSB: Cyber warfare and counter-intelligence
- Spetsnaz: (Alfa/Vympel) rappelling, parachuting, chemicals, explosives, advanced CQB, spy-craft, languages/accents... etc.
- Systema: Koshka is a dedicated Systema
It's The Distance, I Think.It was sitting on our kitchen counter-It's The Distance, I Think.4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Brown glazed and curved, like her-
Perched next to the microwave.
I thought it would best hold
Her spatula and my two bamboo spoons.
She filled it with yellow tulips and
Pink carnations and hydrangea blossoms and
Told me to "Get your own spoon vase"
With bells in her voice and
Her cheeks dimpled and her eyes crinkled,
And I wrapped my arms around her waist and
Punished her back-sass by tickling her ribs until
We were a jumbled mess, strewn
Across the tile floor- with flushed cheeks and
Not a worry in the world.
These days, the curved brown jar
Sits next to my stove top and
Holds my two bamboo spoons,
Three of my own spatulas and a metal whisk.
The tiles have been replaced with hardwood
And my eyes never crinkle
And I can't remember the way hydrangeas smell.
august's skeleton.Sunburnt freedom of Julyaugust's skeleton.3 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
we come tumbling in the auburn joy of boredom
down the spine of summer.
And spelled in the scabs on your knees
is the innocent insolence
scuffing the corners of your memory:
all hyperbole, grinning toothless bravery
swallowed in your father's coat,
whipping around corners and slipping
out of a chiaroscuro childhood.
Oblivion SongsOblivion SongsOblivion Songs10 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
I’ve arranged all of my memories
Into photos and put them
Upon my wall, then
Sat down in my great armchair
And gazed upon them all.
My memories aren’t chronological, but instead linked by scraps of string, reaching across the yellowing wallpaper like the silk strands of a spider’s web. I’m older now, and I do this mainly as a way to waste my time as I sit in this great house that I worked my whole life for, now empty, and think of what could have been altered.
In my study, books sit as my audience, thousands of them. Three thousand four hundred and sixty two. I counted them last week. A fire cackles behind me, illuminating the dim room. And I place my legs, pale and feeble, upon an ottoman and stroke my long-since-grayed beard with one hand as the other hangs lifelessly over the side of the chair. The cat walks to and fro, chasing shadows in the dark. My eyes scan the wall of photos, searching for something that resonates and brings back the sweet
Peter Pan SyndromeWe love the taste of cereal and would have breakfast at every meal if we could - cheerios and chocolate milkshakes over a pile of comic books, dreaming.Peter Pan Syndrome6 years ago in General More Like This
Lets never read directions, but twist our way through streets destination anywhere winding our way to sunset. And it seems so careless, but I just want to let my soul drift with yours in an eternal state of wanderlust.
If youre curious, my favorite color is violet. I sing in the shower sometimes and I read books in the corner next to the vent. I wish I could smell like strawberry candy, and sidewalk chalk was my first paint brush. I have trouble using a desk at home and I will always harbor an affinity for oatmeal raisin cookies. I have nothing to hide
Exhale the stress and breathe me in. Lets shoot up rainbows and somewhere along the line well stop at a diner and, no, its not designer, but we like it that way. Off-tourist-trail vintage please -finding meaning in the unusual our expert
honeysucklei cant discard those sunsoaked flower petal dayshoneysuckle2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
the fragrance of the warmed rough sidewalk
and the air slipping past as soft as forgetting
honeysuckle bloom yields a small kiss of nectar
one that rolls and sings across the tongue in f major
and you would yield small kisses
and i would yield also
The Poet and The Philosopher“Am I real?”The Poet and The Philosopher1 month ago in Short Stories More Like This
“That’s a grand question.”
“And valid, considering the circumstances.”
“What’s your answer?”
“I thought you were the Philosopher here.”
“Are we not entwined?”
“Not necessarily. Unless that’s your answer?”
The restaurant was like the dress from a Klimt painting, stretching down for opulent floor after opulent floor. Sideway marble pillars stretched like a hand, into perfect fractals and then perfect foundation, in which walls of gold leaf and semi-precious mosaics curved into a domed cylinder. The dome itself was made of crystal, and the night sky above showed the light of its infinite stars shimmering, forever.
The crowning features of this restaurant (not named yet) were the colossal chandeliers, hanging from a massive screw in the centre of the dome above. Thousands of bulbs glowed like white-hot eggs, lining the sloping arches and curves of each ornament, before
Will I also returnI was young as spring,Will I also return10 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
and held to autumn's wind
in the highest branches,
before crows hollowed them
autumn flurries return
with the scent of fallen fruit,
shelter for next spring
And then, a quiet explosionTrees, full of green vitality, swayed, shivered in the cool, early morning breeze. Butterflies floated, caressed flowers of all colours. Birds, they soared, danced and sung in the heavens. And below, hand in hand, the pair walked up a grassy hill without saying a word. None were needed. A non-awkward silence, smiles and laughs, were more than enough, precious. Time together, with their black and tan dog, full of heart, sniffing, playing, exploring about their feet – perfect.And then, a quiet explosion7 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The three reached the summit, sat, close, bathed in the warmth of each other’s love and followed the sun’s birth into a crystal clear sky, washing the world with yellows, oranges and reds, with life. They embraced, tightly, with affection, friendship, and with wide eyes, in the distance, saw a star, pure, white, burst into the atmosphere. For seconds, to the Earth's concerto, it fell beautiful, terrible.
The dog barked.
The pair kissed.
And then, a quiet explosion.
A blinding light.
Sometimes You Don't Have to Change the WorldAres is not what I imagined her to be. The great man of myth, muscular and imposing, shining in his armour, with crested helmet and mighty spear, does not stand before me. Instead I face a young woman, hardly more than a girl. She is soft and delicate, with eyes so large they will soak up the world, and skin like spun glass, that glitters in the darkness. A warm glow radiates from within her, not quite visible, but strong enough for me to feel the heat on my face.Sometimes You Don't Have to Change the World11 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The sound of traffic wafts up to us from the street far below. Heavy clouds block out the night sky, reflecting back the poisonous orange of streetlamps and office blocks. The rooftop is high above it all, and we are invisible. That’s why I chose it, to be alone. The last thing I expected was a visitor, proclaiming to be a god.
“Ares?” I scoff, looking her over with something I imagine to be petulance. If not for the fact that she was so decidedly un-human, and that she had materialised on the rooftop with n
.she'll hold him tight tonight.9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and dread the coming mo(u)rning
Hearing Half of a Conversation Forgive me for helping you understandHearing Half of a Conversation2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
you’re not made of words alone.
—Roque Dalton; Clandestine Poems
I first learned how to build a house of playing cards in an adolescent psychiatric unit in suburban Chicago. A roommate taught me a trick, a mindset really, to have while placing the cards themselves— that a house of cards is always stacked against itself to stand. My trial-and-error attempts led to a lengthy row of playing cards
AppointmentsI'm a little early for the appointment. I'm supposed to meet someone after they finish with their engagement. The problem with arriving early is that some people don't take it well; and I don't like being hasty. Sometimes, I'd rather not have the meeting.Appointments1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
While I wait, the city moves around me. People pass me as they briskly walk to their destinations. They hardly pay any mind to their path; instead they are mesmerized by the cell phones and devices they carry. Some don't even notice when they nearly graze me. Anything could happen, and everyone is so hyper-focused on their own self, that they wouldn't notice.
Traffic clogs the streets in somewhat organized lines. Vehicles crawl, protesting with horns and shouting. Everyone is in their own world, even in the cars. A distant siren occasionally adds to the cacophony.
If I listen carefully, I can hear some noise at the end of the alley. They're a bit indistinct. I sigh as I realize I was much earlier than what I liked. The sounds stop sho
unthey call me tide-breaker.un3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
my name frequents
and they speak of me
between the sailors' maps.
I am salt and brine
the oncoming threat
of dark clouds that hang
their gallows above the ocean.
I'm the enigma,
flash of light
on the sea's cusp;
they only ever think
they see me,
but I am always there.
I've seen their
their weathered faces,
that lustful thirst
in the eyes of men surrounded by water.
it is only natural, I suppose,
for those bound in chains
to grow fond of the metallic clacking.
it becomes all they have.
and I, well,
I am only here
to watch and play my part.
their wives at home
will look seaward
but it is I
who will have someone to hold.
they say mermaids
drown unworthy sailors,
but they never acknowledge
that most men simply
throw themselves overboard
at the temptation of something beautiful.
beautifuli want to be dysfunctionalbeautiful4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
because broken is beautiful
[or at least that is what i tell myself-
i am a girl with haunted, sorrowful
eyes and bones so brittle,
just like her heart.]
when will i learn,
not to revel in my sorrow,
and seize the day again?
[when will i learn that bro-
ken, is (harmful) and whole
is not (hurtful)?]
i can be something wonderful,
if you only give me the chance.
LessonsIn forty-seven minutes I will be twenty-one years old and my throat is tight with this notionLessons3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
that every passing moment is a boat taking me further from the boy on the side of the road.
I am terrified of the swelling tide of time, the ripples I will create,
the creases that will be etched into my face
without the laughter lines I know he would have left and
one day someone will ask me how many siblings I have and I will hesitate
because he will be so distant and I can feel it coming.
I never intended to swim without him, but
I am drowning under the weight of pocket-stone-people,
the ones I love who he has never met and won't ever meet
and its forty-four minutes until I turn twenty-one when I realize the relentlessness of this;
how I will age away from him and I am disgusted with myself, with his ashes on the bookshelf,
with this world that keeps making mistakes that can't be fixed.
Twenty one years old and I am a semi-colon, a shuddering pause on the floor,
remembering the time I broke
AtlantisSometimes I think Atlantis wasAtlantis2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Nothing but a sandcastle
Built below the tide line,
And maybe so were we.
the center of the universewhen i die, the earth will remain unchanged.the center of the universe1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
mountains will still soar above the plains, and
the moon will stay in control of the oceans,
repeating its orbit around our planet.
when i die, cities in africa will remain the same.
buildings will not tumble to the ground, and
the citizens will go about their daily lives,
repeating their orbit around the sun.