50.726217, -2.841747We arrived solemnly at a day masquerading as romance. I emerged from the people carrier and ingested the familiarity of the place; Langdon Woods. Now, those pathways are dug into my palms. Deep trenches scratched into the whorls of my fingertips. Reminders of where I've been.
We walked for a while, hand in hand. You pointed out cashmere blankets of bluebells that bowed their heads as we marched past. I saw them repeat infinitely, a kaleidoscopic tessellation of my many copies of this memory, each slightly different (some faded and well worn). I remembered the bluebells infused with the smell of you.
After a time, we grew weary. Sweat bubbled onto our skin until our hands could no longer grasp. I rested. Sat on a worn smooth log bench facing the town where we lived, I ate, and drank, and filled myself with thoughts of you.
You had other places to be and went quicker than I, I couldn't make my body match yours and I lost you. The woods felt heavier, and the trees wav
GrowthI remember the day I caught him 'gardening'. His cheeks stained cherry with the brisk wind that trotted beside him up and down the smothered garden path. He dropped a seed as his feet brushed past each other. Up and down he walked, a solemn lieutenant. I asked him what he was doing and those wide sky eyes reflected the ice as he told me he was trying to grow flowers for his mother. I looked at the seeds spilt on the snow and told him that they could never grow in these circumstances. I will never forget the clench in my heart when he responded, with a child's tongue; "I know".Growth9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
hemingway in chinaBecause the baby was a girl.hemingway in china9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I Didn't Hear YouWhen you say goodbye to me - said goodbye to me. I didn't hear you. I didn't really consider the tangible loss of us. I was busy. Because in my mind I was hearing years worth of goodbyes, that run in a steady loop of vinyl to make the white noise soundtrack to my tears. I was busy listening.I Didn't Hear You9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
You left me for a logical and reasonable reason. I'll never understand it. I'll never really process what your goodbye meant or how it was intended. It was lost on me. I was busy. Because in my mind I was listing all the reasons that I told myself you would eventually leave me over. It was the hummingbird heart of our relationship that behind what I would say, there was what I thought. Two very different things.
Underneath a less than gracious acceptance of you moving on, there are cracks so wide that the substance that the cracks are between becomes the cracks in the emptiness. My head is empty space with slithers of pain far and few between.
But on those cliff blades that make up the terra
TerminalI want to kill you.Terminal10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want our love to be terminal,
And for it to be wrapped
around your heart tight when you die.
I want you to be looking
into my eyes when you do,
And I want you to know
what I have done to you,
I want our love to be terminal,
Or rather; til death do us part.
I meant what I said,
I want our love to last until you die,
Or I die,
Or beyond that.
I want to spend my life with you.
The HallwayI'd love to say that I agreed to it because it was what my other half, Paul, wanted; but that isn't really the truth. In actuality, I did it for a hallway.The Hallway6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
He had told me he wanted to get married in the church where his parents got married thirty six years previously and whilst I liked the sentiment I was unsure about the religious side of the ceremony. That and I'd never been to the church and wasn't sure I would like it. I needn't have worried. St. Matthias' main room was an inner room so the stained glass windows were lit from behind by huge pillar candles. Inside they had hanging lanterns full of more candles and it gave the stone room a golden glow.
In my mind I wavered. I had wanted my wedding colour to be Tiffany blue, but the golden glow of this room was so romantic, so heavenly. I could see hurricane jars on either side of the aisle with floating candles and pink petals, streams of light white chiffon gently waving down the walls, balls of white and pink peonies hanging from t
To His Coy Mistress[es]i. earl and lady greyTo His Coy Mistress[es]1 year ago in Letters More Like This
you have often graced me with your soft-spoken company, bergamot blossoms adorning your dark hair, fragrant as your steamy exhalations. you remind me of simple home and something untouchably elegant, pale and supple when i dress your skin with pallid cream and soften your thin, graceful hands. on a bleak winter evening, snow glittering by lamplight, you are a royal pleasure: a warm complement.
i will lay you on the finest saris, those embroidered with gold threads and flawless diamonds that shimmer like your black eyes. you are the champagne of my harem, floral yet astringent, fine-boned cheeks seeking nothing less than perfection. your tiger soul knows your worth, seductive and mysterious; in the autumn, you remind me of leaves ripe with color, falling from my desperate touch: a distant lover.
you are the sun's daughter birthed by soil, a celestial soothing who blooms
A chance secondI lie awake, staring at the cornices.A chance second10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
3AM: my fingers worry at the corners of my sheet.
My anxiety worries at the corners of my rib.
I bite and tug and huff out my misery
As the silence keeps me awake.
I lay with pressure of your absence
Pressing down over my nose and mouth.
A soft asphixiation of the heart, of the sanity.
It is a hot grey night in London.
You are awake, startled by the sunlight.
7AM: you can't lift your weighty skull from the sheet.
The day sirens, but you stay, settled,
Under the weight of your shroud, your loss,
Only the silence keeps you awake.
Unknowingly, for the first time in weeks
We are unintentionally in sync;
Laid out in funerial colours as we die.
It is a dull blue day in Dubai.
AfterIt follows me.After10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
My silver skeined ghost.
An almost imperceptible thread;
only visible when you shine light
directly upon it.
It follows me.
It rides the underground.
It hides under bridges,
It is woven into the spools of tar
that form the roads between.
Inevitably if I walk too fast
it reminds me -
Like the tug of stitches in your cheek
that reminds you; you have lost your wisdom.
It reminds me.
It trips me in doorways,
when my mind is elsewhere.
If I look away from it -
- it slips round my neck.
Another knot to throw over the beams
it mauls me without a fair chance.
I tried to sever it. I can't.
Only the corrosion of time has a chance.
So for now, I am tethered
to the fragment of my heart
that I tore out for you.
Although we have placed it in a shroud
and declared it dead,
the umbilical thrumming keeps me awake.
It does not desist;
the connection to that unwanted slab of meat.
they were divorced before you criedI found hope walking a corner down 9th and I was afraid to ask, really. I was afraid to ask, "I'm sorry to bother you but did you kill your wife?" And I kept praying that if I did muster the courage to croak out loud, his jaundiced eyes adorned in kohl would widen and his gaze would fall before he sighed and muttered, "I'm not who you think i am and she cheated on me."they were divorced before you cried6 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I would laugh because I expected it and my stature would stagger. It would lower and crawl into the pavement with my dignity as hope stands there worried, asking if there was a gas leak in the basement. I wouldn't stop laughing until he asked why and when he would, I'd smile. I'd smile and wipe a tear before murmuring to him, "Happiness sleeps around the minute you leave the house. I haven't laughed this hard since she told me she was going to stay."
The Power of RejectionA chasm opens between the dream of success and the fear of rejection. It can be impassible, the Grand Canyon of risk deterrents. And so many choose to never cross it, deciding it is much better to stay on the dream side than to hazard having hopes dashed against the cavern floor below.The Power of Rejection1 year ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The fear paralyzes. It rockets hearts into throats, becomes a mountain, elicits a high-pitched shriek of terror at the very thought of trying to take on the possibility of rejection. It keeps drawings secreted away in sketchbooks or songs buried five folders deep on a desktop creations labored over and loved but never given the chance to be loved by others. Unaided, unencouraged and unseen, creativity trudges on unchallenged, unbettered and unrewarded. All because safety is better than the dread and anxiety that comes with showing others into our world.
We'd been sitting on completed stories for months, too afraid to send them out. The first time face-to-face with the precipice of potential reject
Better.I. White dress. You did your makeup in the upstairs bathroom mirror. There is hope on your lips and powder on your skin. You are hiding your imperfections because how else would anyone fall in love with you? White dress you wore to make Tyler put his hands on your waist. White dress you wore in the summer. And in the laundry room, you wash blood off of a boy's hand, licking it once. Red blood you wished would stay in his veins. Red blood that goes straight to his heart where you once were. Red blood in the laundry room, where you make promises you'd never get a chance to keep. White dress you're wearing in the winter. White dress you press against Him when you whisper, "I think You're very handsome." White dress to mark the innocence you wish you could shake. A brown shoe is lost in the snow when you lay next to the handsome boy with the appropriate hands as He whispers, "You're better than you think you are."Better.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
II. Black pants. You did your makeup in the airport bathroom. You
ShiverShe shiversShiver6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and throws her head back hard into the pillow
(the goose down feathers spike her,
fierce into her scalp, but she thrashes again).
and bites her neck with a gurgle
(transferring an 'I love you'
from the tips of his teeth, to her veins).
her nails scratching a line into his back
(he crosses it, she crosses herself and prays,
she prays for nought - he exclaims; "Oh God").
He cries out
as her muscles contract in spasm
(he spills his guts to her, overjoyed
by her assumed compliance.)
as her body tries to force the intrusion out.
(and the muscle of her heart flutters once more
and, overwrought, shatters. Again.)
SolitaryTrigger warning: Discussion of sanity and suicide.Solitary6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The plan had been so simple. Thirty six hours in solitary confinement, Meredith was struggling. Last week this had all seemed so simple. So obvious. It seemed like she had devised the perfect escape plan. Things weren't working out as intended.
Firstly, and above all else - even breathing or thinking - there was the thirst. Her throat roared with it and she could feel its acidic anger snarl its way up and down her throat with each breath. She'd imagined discomfort, but not pain. She was starting to reconsider.
Her tongue was sore. The slab of meat in her mouth felt like unswallowed food as it got drier, and the taste when she could summon enough saliva to swallow was rancid, and reminded her of her ex boyfriends unwanted dry probings. In a desperate bid for freedom a few hours ago she had tried biting through her tongue, people did it in prison so she knew it was possible, but the pain was too sharp to work through and she didn'
In absence of a poem.I chewed my pen to the nibIn absence of a poem.10 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and swallowed the ink thoughtlessly,
but no matter how long I thought,
I couldn't say what you mean to me.
I tried, I tried and I tested,
every word in my diminutive range,
but I screwed up more pieces of paper
and happened upon something strange;
I noticed words, which have served me,
for all of my formative years,
had no power to convey my gratitude
for the times that you dried my tears.
Whenever I doubt myself (often),
You're the one who tells me I'm wrong
You lift up my chin and remind me, wait
for the good things that will come along.
I can't find a way to express how
you are the saving grace in my head.
So words can't tell you how I love you -
I hope my silence will tell you instead.
SpellboundI am not enchanted.Spellbound6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The dreams come
but they are not dreams at all
and I am not asleep.
Your hand sliding up my thigh
and your groan slicks itself onto my neck,
embeds itself into my skin.
I wear the remnants
of your ecstasy in my flesh still.
It crawls when any other nears it.
It came to be that your bed-side clock
replaced my fearful heartbeat
as I laid in stasis and hoped -
for a passing; of time, of fingers, of life.
I cannot sleep with ticking in my ear anymore
I don't think of time running out, but of paralysis.
I think of lapses of concentration,
I think of those slow burning moments
that stretched out longer than I wanted
and lasted longer still. I think of the tears.
I am not enchanted.
The days pass
but they are not days at all
and I am not awake.
I am pacified by the numbness
of lobe or cortex that controls memory,
a self imposed strike out against you,
a strike my hand should have made.
Regret is buried
six feet beneath my fingernails.
DaleHear me read itDale8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
They will not silence the bells for you.
The roses will not halt their will to wilt
and lilies will disassemble under the earth.
They will not dust Frankincense over cities
and trees will not bow down in grief
willingly donating limbs to become tissues.
But throats will dry out mid-sentence and
black hankerchiefs will be dubbed into pockets.
There will be enough salt to melt the ice
embedded around the hearts of old enemies.
Old enemies will turn friend once more
and the church will be full, packed with love.
The world is unlikely to take a moment's prayer;
Earth spins too fast to pause for any of us.
But the meagre collection of people you touched
(meagréd only by the tear-ridden knowledge
that you would have touched many more in time)
Will ache tonight and whisper of your friendship.
You were and always will be; loved.
Two Birds with One StoneToday, I found the fragile yet well-preserved corpse of a robin stuck to a gravel road that, by trick of the eye, churned steadily in the late afternoon humidity; when the evening cooled, I weighed, measured, plucked, and then boiled the songbird in one of Father's new iron pots until its remaining feathers and flesh easily parted from its saturated bones, which were left out to dry in the summer garden until they became as white as your teeth. With meticulous care, I cleaned and then arranged the skeleton in the shape of its natural design before I reinforced its structure with thin copper wires, mounting the finished piece on a cherrywood plaque I signed with my Christian name.Two Birds with One Stone6 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The robin now sits on my windowsill, staring onto the grey winter dawn. Its song has never been so sweet as when I imagine it whistling a mournful aubade, welcoming the sun as it rises and melts the snow so it will later freeze into a glittering sheet of ice. As I write this letter, hunched over my desk and fe
The Fox BrideThe sky is a kind of periwinkle; dusky and undecided if it is lavender or blue, and the full leaves of the chestnut trees are black against the sodium backlight from the streetlamps. Ethereal is the word for them, as within the wrought iron casings are nothing more than softly glowing orange globes. They may as well be faery lanterns.The Fox Bride2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
But that is my imagination running away with me again, so I bring my attention back down from the sky and the leaves and the imaginary world that lies in the space between them, back to the quiet pleasure of my company. She's done up in scarlet tonight, which is my favorite color on her, and one she so rarely wears at home, but it complements her olive skin and her dark hair and makes her shine. She's smiling at me again in that way that says she knows I was drifting and it amuses her.
"Where did you go just now?" she asks.
"It's alright, but do I wonder where you go."
"Oh, up among the trees."
"Is it pleasant there?"
"Yes," I smile at h
ConversationAnd I've been telling you, you know, how heavy the sun feels and how it makes my muscles jump like a bird's wings as it flutters gently down on a windowsill. I still have those glass bottles on my mantle where the morning light hits themstill there, full of colored water and seashells. And maybe I'll tell you how they light up the ceiling in blue and green and pale yellow just like they always have, like nothing ever changed.Conversation2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I smell you on the sea air, sometimes, when it rushes in past the thin white curtains you helped me hang. They still bounce with every gust like exuberant dogs. And I've been telling you how the salt has most assuredly worked its way into my marrow now, and maybe if someone were to put me in a pie they'd find it too brackish for their taste. And then I wonder just how much you taste like the sea.
The ocean beats my heart for me nowadays. Even inside, even at night, I can feel each breaker rumbling through my sternum and radiating along my ribs. And I've been
your heart was a broken sailorThere's probably a reason why I can't say that I've known you since my elbows were just dimples on my arms. And that may be simply because the sky exchanged hemispheres four years into your birth but we're just on the opposite ends of a conventional compass. Though distance is a mixture of coarse wave and rugged land levels, there have been more in our union than the planet can already decorate on its face.your heart was a broken sailor8 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The international date line has a sharp, pungent sense of humor that gives and takes hours all at the expense of fuel on the plane you're on right now. All I can say is that you have the power to give me words and no control over when to take them. The ammonium of its irony - that blessed imaginary line - sublimes over time as tragedy transcends into broken, forced smiles. It should have made me bitter. It should have faked into nothing by now. But we're still here with crescent dimples so genuine they don't leave. It's not fear, it's the time. This longitudinal that somehow control
Got The Time Mister?Life is short. A hundred years sounds mammothian. It swells in your mouth and tumbles heavily off the tongue. A hundred years. It deceives us, life is short. Life is too short to accept sadness. To resign yourself to misery. Sometimes these things happen to us, and that is alright, but to choose to cloak ourselves with chain-mail before swimming in the lake at twilight... well. Life is short.Got The Time Mister?7 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Life is too short to hate your job, you only get one shot at this experience of the universe (even if you believe in reincarnation you will never be this person again). Life is too short to accept friends, lovers or family who damage you, in any manner. You may not think very highly of yourself but you are all you have and it's okay to protect your most valuable asset: your life.
Life is not long enough to let people abuse your trust, lie, cheat or steal from you. It is not long enough to feel guilty when you do something wrong, but there is plenty of time to take a moment to consider all the thin
HAIKUWRIMOCOMPLETE 2013HAIKUWRIMO10 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
February 28th, 2013
A feeble whimper for help;
roar of these raw times.
February 27th, 2013
Gluttonous ash cloud
sucks the moon's blood
and swallows the night.
February 26th, 2013
Bark! An explosion!
Angry bodies escape the
network of lung cells.
February 25th, 2013
multiplying, honing in,
determined to kill.
February 24th, 2013
Tea and sympathy
for my dear sister.
February 23rd, 2013
I will hold my breath
as the north wind does the same
waiting for your love.
February 22nd, 2013
He hovers behind;
February 21st, 2013
A long slow curve,
your smile upon my shoulder,
a scar of your touch.
February 20th, 2013
Where do you go while I sleep?
To whom do you run?
February 19th, 2013
Whorls from fingers
Imprinted in the trees
Count their rings too.
February 18th, 2013
United, We WriteHear me read itUnited, We Write9 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
0hgravity, if by some divine fortune you should decide that today is the day you will fail me, then let me soar through the ChemicalSkyline. Grant me a-lovely-anxiety that raises a storm InTheStarryNightSky for me to riseandbe above all else. Let me soar.
How I long to be the frail rider-on-the-storm and not a victim of the RoamingShadow, Rogue-Of-The-Night, that BlackVelvetNightmare of my nights and days. I long