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Literature
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Thirty-one years ago this past July twenty-third
two girls, aged fourteen and fifteen, entered
into the world of a story you've never heard...
...because they swallowed the names
like a Coke on a hot summer day...
...because I swallowed everything,
except for the one thing I gave away...
...because all they wanted was some fun
since that is supposedly what girls just say...they...
...as Cyndi belted out in that one...
...and Sheryl while drinkin' beer on Tuesday...
a decade later.
Tripping over ellipses,
still tangled in parentheticals
(like the fact 1988 is a halfway point).
The twenty-ninth of May
was just another day
as we were on our way...to say...hey...
three decades away.
...but they...
returned to my thoughts in a way
that could not anymore be held at bay...
(and the fact 1998 saw a daughter join...this fray)
I wanna be the one to walk in the sun
Time (after time) melts, whiling the hours, the days...
I'm sure it's Bill or Billy or Mack or Buddy
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Shades of Blue and Purpose by ProsePetals
Mature content
Shades of Blue and Purpose :iconprosepetals:ProsePetals 0 4
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Accidental Haiku by ProsePetals Accidental Haiku :iconprosepetals:ProsePetals 0 0
Literature
forty-two keys, zero doors (redux)
my love entered freely
...imperfectly...
without condition
too young, too naïve
...while wary...
for long-known reasons
unguarded directly
believing in mutual bond
...for many seasons...
misplaced trust
was a planted seed
come now to fruition
this old soul
behind these cold eyes
clearly failed to recognize
to distinguish between
the few hard truths
and the myriad soft lies
compounded by silence
...of miles, years...
of complex family ties
the truth of small doses
of pop-psychobabble armchair diagnosis
...ignores history...
...prices paid...
though all paid their due
only I paid mine
for words that were spoken
trust that was broken
things like "love"
...merely token...
the final analysis of me
is not for you
because you don't become perfect
by diminishing others
...an untruth is no less dishonest...
for the fact that it was yours
no matter the need
to be in everyone's good favor
which is why the condition
is not "sin of omission"
it's a lie all the same
...foe, friend, or family...
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Literature
In Remembering Thugs
Have you ever heard of the name Henry McCarty or of the Antrim family? Maybe you have, if you’re from a certain part of the country. More likely, though, the name isn’t familiar.
William Henry McCarty, Jr. was believed to have been born in New York City in approximately 1859, though the year isn’t known, and was quite likely closer to 1861 or 1862. I say approximately, because there is no actual known record of when or where he was born. The likely reason for the guesstimated year is tied up in a mystery likely devised to make him a few years older when he died.
What is known is that he was born to Catherine McCarty, an Irish immigrant (likely due to the Great Famine of 1845), though who his biological father was has never been confirmed. Catherine was said to have been a widow by the time she left New York and went to Indiana, and later Kansas where she met William Antrim, a prospector. The known records indicate that Catherine married Antrim in New Mexico. Because t
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Literature
Ziplocked Enigmas
Twilight slipped behind the curtain of the day
and I sipped a glass of wine - maybe two.
Kismet and claret while I visited with you,
every measured syllable, every forced pause, kept neat and trim.
Clipped and pared into near engima,
an effort made, though so unnecessary -
relatively requisite in obscure but exquisite arrogance.
Elegance sorely lacking as my patience wore thin -
whittled away carelessly, the serrated edge tinged.
Having dined on your mind, I developed mental kuru,
ending up pebbled from the kiss of a dragonfly wingtip -
nose to a hair, then away it flew.
You cringed and recoiled, but I
only whispered metered truth and swept
up the rest of my words with a restless breath;
colored a pale shade of battlescar anathema
right along the side of your face in the shape of my fingers.
Imagination only of course; I'd never strike you.
Tis a shame, though, to leave it at a mere cold shoulder
instead of a satisfying, gratifying whole-hearted slap -
clean-cut and crystal clear.
Inst
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Mature content
Birds and Bells :iconprosepetals:ProsePetals 2 23
Literature
Across the Sea
You never requested my friendship,
but given it was, freely  –
Strange yet welcomed amity
My young friend across the sea.
How were you to understand
with my friendship comes complexity?
Although offered without demand
I give not myself to mediocrity…
To you, I'm a puerile adult – too aged for fun…
Spongebob Squarepants and other frilly things;
In my mind, you're too old for one yet so young…
fretting on politics and worldly happenings.
Never have we met, and likely never will –
Yet you challenge my philosophy…
Questioning constantly my ideas and ideals,
My young friend across the sea.
The span of the ocean and that of our years
Divide our existence – but for Rowling chance,
intellect, and religio-political discourse…
creates the bridge that narrows the distance.
Make me laugh and sometimes scold
- challenge me to consider my own ways…
Forget you not to stay young – never grow old,
No matter how much time adds to your age.
These wishes for you, not humble or meek –
May your le
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Mature content
The Bloodletting :iconprosepetals:ProsePetals 2 31
Literature
Nature in Motion
Sapphire sky above—
to the west, dusk
a painting of crimson, magenta, orange and gold
decorates the horizon.
Fireflies twinkle erratically,
dancing to a melody only they can hear…
Squirrels frolic in the grass and in the trees…
birds twitter about in the branches above.
A perfect summer evening.
To the east,
ominous charcoal thunderheads roll in,
threatening to banish the tranquil scene…
The furries and feathers scurry to their hidey-holes…
fireflies disappear into the shadows.
The scent of ozone is carried in
by an unexpected gush of wind,
driven recklessly at a pulsating pace,
violently whipping the grass and bowing the trees…
Preparing the entrance for the storm to come.
The sky is a blanket of black cloud,
and within,
currents of white veins
crackle and thrash angrily, malevolently.
Suddenly – a single, jagged,
magnificent
bolt of lightening splits the sky apart…
a deafening clap of thunder peals in response.
The heavens open and the tempest begins.
Earth and sky merge in the torre
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Literature
Anger Management
A bottle of carbonated anger
shaken with the force of time
eventually must release its pressure
or face the risk of explosive force.
It destroys all in its path –
guilt or innocence of little concern.
To some, this is of no concern,
for they seldom experience anger.
Walking on their carefree path
measuring step-by-step in time,
never pushed to rage by force –
seemingly immune to external pressure.
I'm not among those free from pressure.
I know my fair share of concern.
While rarely met head-on with force,
my life is fermented in bottled anger –
stewed and steamed and steeped in aging time,
I spill periodically along my path.
The weeds and flowers lining my path
grow and thrive despite my pressure –
building each and every time
she ignores me and voices unwanted concern.
Which serves only to build more anger –
I hold my tongue in check only by sheer force
of will. But that type of force
does nothing to keep me on my desired path.
I would prefer to live in peace without anger,
Without th
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