Friday, August 30, 2013

from the side

Different men have different preferences.  Some like the watermelons.  Some the cantaloupes.  Some even like those little kiwis.

And some really need to see the sideb--bs.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

the megaphone

Caroline and Wes crossed their arms and hovered from a distance on their front lawn while Angela worked on her 3D sidewalk chalk drawing.

"You know what Stanley's problem is?  He thinks he's entitled to everything," said Caroline.  "His parents protected him too much so now he thinks the world should be served to him on a silver platter!"

Angela lifted her shirt just then to check on the wound below her left breast.  The blood had seeped through the gauze.

"Oh, good gawd!" said Wes.  "Angela, put your shirt down!  I don't agree with that—displaying yourself where anybody can see you.  You're making me look bad.  Oh, happy birthday, by the way."

"Have you taken a close look at it though, lately?" said Caroline.  "Anyway, as I was saying, the trouble with him is that he was never taught how to work hard like us.  He doesn't understand how much effort it took us to get the farm going."

"Yeah, we were such generous people, letting him have a job and everything," said Wes.  "It took years to build up the farm.  Then he took all our lion souvenirs and dumped them on the driveway!  What an asshole."

Angela put down her yellow chalk and reached for the red.  "The souvenirs," she said with quiet voice.  "He had asked if you could remove them from our dining room table.  We both wanted the space."

"There were much more pressing concerns at the time, what with the farm and everything.  This is what it boils down to: we were giving him something really grand and he couldn't even appreciate it."

Angela turned the red chalk onto its side and made a short, thick line.

"Those yellow strokes there," said Wes.  "They need to be longer.  And that weed growing up out of the concrete is going to ruin the bottom corner of your drawing.  Actually, you'd be better off doing it on the road."

"No," she said.

"Stanley owes us an apology," said Caroline.  "We're entitled to it."

Angela sighed and set her chalk down.  She pulled off her shirt and bra then walked over, breasts jiggling for anybody to see, and picked up the megaphone that had been laying beside the stop sign at the corner.

She put it to her mouth and said, "I'm sorry."

Monday, August 26, 2013

composition 18

Lions gather to feast
On the zebra that they hunted down
They lost sight of the horizon
Where did it go?

May the Invisible open
Somewhere inside of us
And passion rise
Passion rise

The lions roar like thunder
Shaking the ground
Their pride over blood and bones

I will sing lest my voice
Be swallowed by the dark

May the Invisible open
Somewhere inside of us
And passion rise
Passion rise

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

he spoke compassion

the farmer
with tender eyes
entered my view
from the hallway

and kept a closed mouth.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

beneath the water

let's be mindful
of the underwater parts
that join the islands
of our archipelago

let's pray for hard clay
to soften
to yearn again
for what is greater

consider the possibility
it can be molded
into something brand new:
a humble island of noble repute

Saturday, August 17, 2013

aug 17 postcard

I'm quite fond of postcards and so is Marian Call.  She's been taking photos of hers and sharing them online.  Click HERE if you want to see the one she posted this morning.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

The House of Hiding

"Where's your lipstick, you whore!" Naylon Fenn yelled as he opened and slammed washroom drawers.  He chucked various items over his head, letting them crash against the shower wall.

Luna stood blinking and silent in the hallway.

When he found it he ripped the cap off and lunged at her.  Frightened as a rabbit, she tried to scamper away but he caught her by the arm and slammed her down.

"Ow!" she said.

"It's good for you," he said.  "It's your discipline."

When he smeared the fuchsia graffiti lipstick over her mouth, she almost didn't notice due to the pain of her shoulder blades pressed against the hardwood floor, his arm heavy like bricks on her chest.

Then came the knocking.

Naylon got off her and snarled, "Go ahead!  Answer the door and show 'em what happens when you cheat."

Luna composed herself best she could and turned the knob with trembling hand.

"Hi."  The girl wore sparkly eyeshadow and jeans torn at the knee.  She flicked hair out of her face and held out a catalogue.  "Have you heard of Integri Lite?  It's a company that makes candles."

Luna accepted the catalogue but didn't respond.

If the girl noticed the violent lipstick job, she didn't let on.

"I could get some products from my car and give you a presentation."

"Oh.  No.  We're not interested.  Our house has enough light in it."

"Okay."  She began to turn, hesitated, then turned back.

Luna said, "Thanks for the catalogue, though."

The girl looked her up and down, then moved closer and said gently, "Hey.  You probably don't want me to tell you this, but... I'm not gonna keep silent."

Luna recoiled and closed the door.    

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

tea, anyone?

by Langston Hughes

by Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.


Wednesday, August 7, 2013

there is a season...

As with physical wounds, emotional wounds need healing time.  Many seemingly improve on their own with forgiveness coming easily, but others can be huge and deep and complicated.  They need plenty of attention and most likely some help from people who have experience or knowledge of such problems.

The trouble with emotional or spiritual wounds is that other people cannot see them and therefore finding help can be difficult.  Also there's the issue of figuring out the best method for exposing an inner wound.  It can't be cared for if nobody can tell what kind of injury it is.

And, notably, two people can have the same type of wound and recover from it in completely different ways in different lengths of time.