Category: Poetry like stories


It’s quick, the shift from unknowing to knowing. It happens light switch fast, and is just as blinding as light after dark. Trapped is more than the word can portray. Trapped is knowledge of limits, is the feeling of unbalanced, is the need for air. It widens eyes, harshens sounds, lengthens seconds, and crystalizes thoughts. When the revelation hit… the world shuddered, it suddenly held itself between the blink and the breath, both waiting and poised. The next moment, so critical, was drawn thin to the point of becoming brittle. A crackable thing. Fragile but complete.

Then we both moved.

Advertisements

Today I came undone. It was an interesting feeling akin to screaming from a dream, pointless and jarring. My words were nothing more than pathetic echoes reverberating out of me, attached to nothing, devoid of meaning. Scales fell from my eyes, liquid fire, blinding me to the light. As I stood in the maelstrom, begging it to strike harder, I paid willingly in pounds of flesh. Eased by the warm rush of blood. Calmed by the whiring in my ears.

My masks lay at my feet strewn like flowers, representations of things I dare not name. They are my most and least honest appendage in one. The masks repel and call to me with the same voice. It’s familiar, and my fingers itch to pull them up, obedient as always.

An acrid taste upon my tongue sours my stomach. Perhaps this pill wasn’t meant for swallowing, but the hour is late and I’ve already decided. So while Fate looms chill and shadowy behind me, a shark, keen in bloody water, I drop my arms, stand firm, and adjust my posture. I am ready to continue because continue is what I do.

​”This is the single greatest witch hunt!” His voice caught somewhere between a whine and a yell carried on the heavy air out into the night. As the inky darkness accepted the words rolling them over and over in fading echos it gained a chill edge, causing those whose shoulders it brushed to shiver. Developing a weightiness the wind filled with shadows and percieved threats. Shreiking across the miles it tore at sanity shreading peace no regard for the distraction left in its wake. Ringing with the sound of history repeated the bluster rages on, but fear not for it is followed by the winds of change.

 As seen in the Atlantic – Andrew Kelly

When I’m gone let me go, but carve my name upon a stone. 

Such a silly thing to pop into a persons head, especially a healthy person, but there it was. An unshakeable truth that once thought could not be set aside. All of a sudden the graveyard I was passing looked even more beautiful and tranquil. And selfish. And prideful. 

What makes us want to inscribe our name in stone after we pass on to what is next? Could it be our very human desire to be eternal and more than just existed? To be remembered requires no such monuments so the reason must be much more personal and deeply dark.

Are we naive to carve into the very earth our names? If even the names of young lovers inscribed in passion is eventually lost to growth; then surely with time even a name writ in pain will wear away. We are but yelling into a void hoping the echo might be heard by someone… by anyone. 

Oddly the thought made me smile. I want a stone; on a hill, near a tree, overlooking a pond. I want the wind and rain to slowly wash my name away. I want to be lost to time like all those who came before me, but first I want the taste of imortality. So till time has had its way with me let that stone stand as proof I lived and loved. 

For as the deep set lines wear away my need for them shall surely fade.

By Megatruth as seen on DeviantArt


I shiver chafing my hands together on the bus. Even sitting uncomfortably close to a stranger my fingers and toes ache with cold. Standing on curbs waiting for late public transportation has that effect on even the most weather worn new englanders I imagine.

Staring out the window I feel myself begin to thaw in the sunlight. Now I can see it. The riot of color, the light frost turning to dew on the grass… Then I can see it. There under a blanket on the cold stone footer of the decorative bridge lays a person covered with a blanket a shopping cart at their feet. 

The shiver comes again. This time it is the cold creeping under my skin and into my soul. 

How dare I complain. 

The image whips past me as the light changes, no matter it is burned into my mind. 

All rights to the owner of the image whom I thank

It happened in an instant, the shift from givers to users, and world merrily followed after.  Down hill.  For all the good it did us.

image

I am not a product of abuse…

     no cuts or bruises mar my visage.

I am a survivor of indifference….

     proud of the scars upon my psyche and the mended fractures to my resolve.

And so I live with the uneasy truce

     between who I see in the mirror and the worn out images

held up in reference

     so that I might try, tirelessly, to compete with a stereotype which has never evolved.

My success?

     Downplayed.

My dreams?

     Limited.

My identity?

     Predetermined.

So still I come home to clean, cook, and amuse

     as if there had been no woman’s suffrage,

and I smile and nod in deference

     as those around me try to force me to devolve.

But I know my strength and my views

     and I feel not alone, as I am but one in this strong female lineage.

So ignore me and worse… make your inferences.

   I know I’m good getting better as I absolve…

your hateful sin of indifference.

image

All rights to owner. As seen on Enlightened Conflict

    

My love

image

As seen on Huffington Post - all rights to owner -

My love is not easy to explain. 

It is an ache inside me; reminding me that I would rather hurt than be wrong.  It is the part of me that clings to promises both unbreakable and unknowable. 

It terrifies me.  Freezing me in place. 

I cannot define it, this love of mine.  It does not fit well in the pre-labeled boxes I am familiar with.  It is not the stuff fairy tales are made of.

But it is mine, and for reasons I can not justify I choose it again every day.

My love is not easy to explain.

666

Shadowy gusts rattle lonely brittle leaves.

Creeping darkness presses in upon me.

Rigid Jack-o-lantern stares fill my sight.

Each echoed footstep intensifies my fear.

As his breath moistened my neck.

My knees buckle and I finally…

image

All rights to owner

*******
I recently saw a six word story challenge on Leigh’s Wordsmithery. It involved telling a Halloween story scary, funny, or other in only six words. Building upon this already difficult challenge of sixes I set out to tell a Halloween story in 6-6-6 format.
6 sentences
6 words per sentence
6 sentences must spell out the final 6 letter word of the tale, using the first letter of each sentence.

It took me just over 24 hours but here you go…I hope you enjoy it 🙂

Just to…

My Lady…

With dew covered lips you enticed me,

A maiden making promises of womanhood,

And I ran to you

Just to walk with you.

With honeyed words you called to me,

A woman in full bloom,

And I dreamt of you

Just to lie with you.

With heavy limbs you gestured to me,

A mother flush with life,

And I stayed with you,

Just to lose myself in you.

With bleak eyes will you beckon me,

A sage at the well of wisdom,

For I would sit with you

Till the end of you.

image

*******
Today marks the first day of fall, my favorite season. So… doubly inspired by the idea of the Maid/Mother/Crone female trinity, found in Celtic mythology, and the transitions from one season to the next I wrote my ode to mother nature.

Break out the sweaters, heat up some cider, and let the leaves fall ’cause its Autumn!

%d bloggers like this: