Writing, Ideas, & Stories
Put a bow on it. It’s me
I’ve wrapped carefully
between snowman and
sly penguins. A tinkered
trinket passed from father
to father lost, forgotten,
than resurfaced. I’m
not going to make it to
next Christmas. I’ll leave
it under the tree next
to your Mustang with a tag
must stay. Don’t lose it, I
put a bow on it.
Oh Captain My Captain:
I salute you.
You never know the
change, until someone
changes it for you first.
Delude my spirit and
my mind will carry me.
End our life and
our hearts will live on.
Oh Captain My Captain:
I can see the tears behind
the mask. You spent
your last three wishes
on us.
I’ll challenge the not
on the blade of love
so these wonder gifts
don’t end yours here.
R.I.P. Robin~
Blood has been drawn.
Words echo through the Chambers for
eternity. Your apologies
matter not in this duel.
Match volume for volume
scream from the top of our covers
Blood has been drawn.
Your words will never leave
this cavity. Somber sleeps have
ceased. Our suite is no longer
sweet. And now
we rest our voice for
tomorrow’s screech.
Storm charged Pokemon extend their eyes onto the mask of Franklin. Hoot’s chanted through the onyx forest bouncing back and forth through the trees. Franklin looks around for Vanessa and her Pokemon.
“Vanessa!”
The hoot’s emerged louder from higher branches pouring over the dimming trail. Leaves fell to the ground around the forsaken shrub.
“Vanessa! Where are you? Todd? Daisy?”
The Pokemon climbed into the cloudy moonlight, revealing sandy wings and crystal eyes. The Pokemon dove towards Fan-out
“Franklin?”
Franklin gasped for air and looked around the lit bedroom.
“Franklin? I heard you calling me.”
Vanessa worried expression was shielded from her younger siblings peaking through a ajar slit.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry for waking you guys.”
Vanessa looked at the window, “It’s already almost time to go for the second round. You must of had a long day.”
Make and break them
step over than on
backwards over these words.
Follow without a fight
solemn on this beautiful night
backwards over these words.
You wonder why we gave
up the chase in this maze
under these walls
you called home.
You said a lot a lifetime ago now
backwards over your words
we follow no one.
The gray smoke rose into the night sky, revealing singed winged Pokemon flapping in all directions. Next to Vanessa stood a large mustard mouse with a lighting bolt tail. The mouse’s shoulder had a fanged scar as the moon passed through the clouds.
“Good Job, Jacob,” Vanessa said returning Jacob to his ball. The family trouted along the aligned path with Franklin close behind.
The sea of trees parted and Vanessa stood in front of a log built home. The family with no hesitation entered and Franklin continued to stagger. The cozy home showed no sign of barren.
Framed pictures decorated the walls. Places and people Franklin didn’t recognize posed with Pokemon.
“This is our family. All around the regions,” Vanessa said. “That out Uncle, Lt. Surge, he’s retiring this year so our cousin is applying to take his place.” Lt. Surge was a mountain of a man standing next to a mustard mouse similiar to Vanessa’s.
“This way Franklin, your room is ready.” Daisy rushed from the open door, the bed was freshly made, floors clean, and another couple of pictures on a oak dresser.
“Goodnight, Franklin.”
Trial and error.
She only learned through
the her meals.
Dancing trays and singing birds
over breakfast. It was over
after breakfast. Margarita’s
cover the dusk and Grand Slam
in the rise. It was over
after breakfast.
The dusk came too soon-
like it always did, waiting in line
for dinner.
The hand graces ice life
and numb to the tips.
A single ivory sail and
a few fallen friends
crusade. Silence criples
the lone wolf in
shattering darkness, he
doesn’t want to be
next. Bravery comes in
twos and beauty shapes it.
Land in a unseeable distance
shapes him for the promise of
future.
Shackle me whole
fill me with your helium filled lies.
Chain me down
to an earth crusted melting pot.
This is not my home.
I remember the light sand
falling between my fingers.
The antique shop our uncle
bought his first guitar. I’ll run
when I can. Flee to the memory
of his first note. To the sun
shimmering off the golden
specs of dust.
She came back to my dreams last night.
Tight roping around my finger tips
swirling drapes flashed on her tender lips.
I didn’t think you would come back.
We crashed our boat flying like a kite,
cursed, spoke your honest plight.
We read of the same scripts.
I wished for your hands and lack
of spite and I’ll meet you after I pack.
Saint's Muse 