Writing, Ideas, & Stories
two ring-shaped holes,
convulsions
grab control.
the night sky
span
full speed ahead-
upright, cold bricks.
–
the end-
courses through these veins…
their fangs sting,
gastric liquid
flooding-
flooding
futile for one to chew.
it’ll be all over.
in a blink-
or two.
–
colors blending together
like a water painting
hair long and bright
rosy cheeks
a tender smile.
fresh pancakes on a warm sunday morning
songs in the key of life spins on our vinyl
sun blaring through the open winda
& fwess owan juis
sirens hum from outside
chatter rushes double-time
gurneys turning
like the Strip Circuit.
D?
IV bags skittering across
wheelchairs thrust
past the apex
the turn into surgery-
might not see th-
Dolores? Hey Dolores?
these samples
they’re waiting for you.
–
I am-
I don’t recognize the nurses
the doctors
the patients
cost of a double shift.
LED panels
burn into my retinas
samples cradled-
spinout-
–
overheating… whimpering-
frosty vinyl tile holds me close
i think,
i’ll stay here.
for
a pit stop.
–
sharp beeps
revving
faster, faster
blinders peeling,
on shaky toes,
samples unscathed…
one more
patient,
patience.
smeared paint on the bathroom mirror
red and green hand prints stained,
porcelain’s melting embrace
rattled limbs.
the hallway’s axis
flipped
bedroom stripped of spirit
hangers guarded the carpet
cracked boxes
deserted nightstand
bare picture frames
except one
faced down
ours.
–
stumble fumble tumble
fresh slippery floor
let the inside rain
fall
–
by the time sun shrinks from the blinds
nothing but an empty wrist
a clock ticks further down
halfheartedly.
–
kitchen, doors left ajar
all pots
no lids.
the foyer-
ravaged,
nothing but the furniture,
and there,
a plum purple washcloth,
scent of
lavender
–
and
–
coconut.
–
clenched in a grip
swung the front door
and walked.
“he’s coming he’s coming!
wake Jake wake!”
before Jake could wrestle
the rheum from his eyes
he can hear stomping, doors shutting-
he’s here.
–
a shabby tan pointy hat
he tips it with his right.
cabbages and carrots sit atop an olive cloak
staffs peek outside a wimpy carriage
perfect smoke circles
autumn brown pip in his left palm,
he’s here.
–
“and alas, Valen drew
his last arrow
released it through the oil lamp
struck the great ogre, Duarg in his last eye.”
the old wizard chuckled,
he waved his right palm,
and.
the flames we sat around grew,
“Valen set the ‘hole ogre ablaze-
Stonemerr really let ’em have it.
aye, he was just relieved to retrieve his axe from the beast i reckon,
from thee other eye.”
he paused again,
Jake wrestled the growing sweat from his temple
the wizard meets each of our eyes
rose his left hand,
“an that is the battle of Tison,
just outside their neighboring forest”
–
Jake remembers,
the stories his mama used to tell
of the wizard
mostly dressed in brown
in his left hand-
the power of life,
spawn blooming lush like Tison’s forest,
seas deep as the oceans of Sophis,
an his right-
capable of leaving cities in ruins
fire that could cover our village
an more-
–
wizard wizard
where will you go,
as Jake returned to the present,
the wizard
pipe in left,
“i never left you hatchlings”
he raised his right hand-
sweat from Jake’s brow
dripped past his lip.
with the smoke from his pipe
he snuffed the near flames
a gale rose our hats
Jake’s eyes grew
the wizard brought thumb
and finger together,
his right hand
suspended
his eyes paused on mine-
he snapped-
and.
he was gone
hear ye hear ye!
go
embrace our champion, ser Christian
dazzle his soles with roses
with your affection!
oh ser Christian, you are so strong
held the young and needy
by the skin of their throats,
Deus Vult!
oh champion, you are so wise
disturbed endless prayers
set torches to their churches,
Deus Vult!
oh champion, you are so brave
crossed with unarmed peasants
constructed a river of their blood,
Deus Vult!
praise thee praise thee, champion
oh ser Christian!
protect these lands!
Deus Vult!
“you wouldn’t grow without me”
mocked the sun.
leaky petals scurried
across untamed fields;
Marisol wept.
–
no matter Marisol’s nimble roots
the sun endlessly on her trail,
up till
the sun splits west
and Marisol hears the moon-
her voice, one more time.
–
Marisol awaits the east for her beauty
while the night-gales slumber;
her song supports, feeds
safeguards
choir of shining lights glimmer
on her every note.
clouds part as she journeys after the
villain
one day
she’ll trap him.
tender fantasy;
atop a spirited colt
nurturing our prized ten-acre
of controlled
wild wilderness.
–
gritty dreaming;
hubba bubba poppin’ over freshly
brushed mounds,
salty breeze and thirty ounces of ash
blasted-
over Coors stadium on a tuesday
summer night.
–
vast idea;
reaching-
reaching- open palmed
to an open night sky on desert’s back
unbound
deep below the surface
past the dirt
the roots
below the unseen life
rests a weary, enchanted mole.
–
the child snickers from underneath her
covers:
“a mole? with magic?”
–
“what’s so unbelievable about that?”
meeting her dark, hidden gaze
–
she erupts from her burrow-
the covers act her cloak-
“well, how come no one’s seen it?”
her hands curl into whiskers.
–
“maybe we have,”
the child’s face melts into a waiting palm,
weariness in, wonder out,
–
“maybe we have,
and we weren’t looking for
hard enough.”
“would you burn this all down, to save her?”
his open palm gestured behind him
highlighting a mostly vacant parking lot
convenience store with a couple of loiterers
water-damaged apartment complex with towels hanging from railings
kids playing make-believe
a couple- a couple maybe returning from a lively first date
snickering and whispering, a future alive in their clasped hands
and a homeless man.
–
I would.
it’s a shadow
feint whispers
it’s a shadow
come and go as you please
it’s a shadow
a vision, mortal, growling through unsealed cracks
it’s a shadow
a movie on loop without a power cord
it’s a shadow
it’s just a shadow
it’s just my shadow.
Saint's Muse 