The Fella: A Halloween TaleOne All-Hallow's-Eve so dreary, I did homework, bored and weary,The Fella: A Halloween Tale6 years ago in Spooky Stories More Like This
Over many a heavy volume of biology and lore
While I studied, still and sleepy, I felt a presence, close and creepy
As if someone had come to greet me, greet me sitting at my chore
"'Tis just a dream," I muttered, "So sleepy and about to snore
Only this and nothing more."
But a devil-beast appearing in my work soon interfering,
Straight it wheeled my desk chair in front of laptop and Explorer
Then upon the cushion sinking, Fe'la betook himself to linking
Webpage unto webpage, winking as he led me to procrastination's door
Will this fiend so costumed leave me study anymore?
Quoth the Fella, "Nevermore."
That Demon Fella, never jaunting, still is haunting, still is haunting,
On the closed lid of the laptop that is sitting on my floor;
And his eyes they are compelling me to never sleep, impelling
And my desk-light o'er him felling, as I browse through dA's store
And my soul from out that website tha
Lewis and ClarkLewis and ClarkLewis and Clark6 years ago in Open More Like This
As we stood overlooking the great Pacific
I cannot deny the incredible sadness that I felt.
For months we had journeyed,
For months we had trodden and suffered and
And suddenly we had reached the unarguable end.
The breakers crashed and roared,
While smaller, smoother waves tumbled harmlessly onto the white sand.
Salt wind, tears in our eyes, oh
The sight of a storm out at sea.
Camp that night was silent as death,
For, now that we had done what we came to do
What was left?
We would return the way we came,
Through a fresh young land, but no longer a virgin one.
We had crossed one infinity and reached another,
But that infinity was not ours.
The next morning, we shouldered our belongings
And turned our back on the Pacific.
My greatest fear
Was that, returning, I might discover my own bootprints
In the dust, returning to the ocean.
AbsenseAbsenceAbsense6 years ago in Open More Like This
There is something truly refreshing
About letting it all go.
About ripping off years of metaphors,
Peeling back each comparison, which,
however adequate it may be
Is just compensation, clutter,
Of the beautiful absence.
The moment is useless
If we never let down to the heart of the matter,
Which is what no metaphor can capture,
No simile can define,
And all the likeness in the world cannot tame.
Creamy fresh pages of lies
Are nothing special. What makes this unique
Is its reality. One which says it as it sees it.
But always, ever and only itself.
Its the art of being what we mean.
There is less beauty in making things obscure,
And for once,
One must let go,
Strip off the imagination,
And say exactly how things are.
I find that all this talk of petals, electricity, oceans,
Snowfall, battles, and raindrops
Is simply one layer of meaning
Holding DeathHolding DeathHolding Death6 years ago in Open More Like This
I held death today.
It wasnt so black or dark, it was just
Five chances at it;
Five spurts of dirt snake their way up the embankment.
I feel lightning ricochet through my bones
And thunder cracking, dimly, through the headset, fading off in a little trail,
A wisp of whitish smoke.
My aim is good
But too much awe grips me
Because I have learned the art of taking life.
The scent of clover beneath my feet,
Bees bumbling into my goggles and tiny insects of sweat
Crawl down my spine.
I squeeze my lids shut and suddenly glimpse
A frail gilded hummingbird,
Its beauty matched only by its futile
Frantic beating of wings against air.