A germ is generated. Begins to quicken,
Nourished by actions from surrounding forces.
Darkness consumes, rolls into oblivion.
Greedily it speeds down uncharted courses
Ignorant of ruins left in its wake,
Nourished by actions from surrounding forces.
Like ripples from pebbles thrown into a lake
Each change creates change
Ignorant of ruins left in its wake.
It continues toward a limitless range.
Once bright becomes umber,
Each change creates change.
Emotions explode leaving solitude somber
It seeks out and reaches each corner of existence.
Once bright becomes umber.
Fullness is leeched, then weighted with absence.
A germ is generated, begins to quicken.
It seeks out and reaches each corner of existence
Darkness consumes, rolls into oblivion.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Silent was the Night
My latest Villanelle. I thought I'd give you something to look over since I'm supposed to discuss this form of writing when next we meet--I think. So I wrote this.
Suddenly so soft, so silent was the night.
An abrupt and final ending to a harsh and bitter row.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.
What began with utter happiness, at last her future bright,
Unexpectedly to her became a haunting tale of woe
Suddenly. So soft, so silent was the night.
His words held every kindness, manners proper, deeds polite.
In no way could she dream the man would turn to greatest foe.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.
Not a soul to notice in her eyes the perilous plight.
Her silver voice extinguished by his presence ‘ere she go.
Suddenly, so soft, so silent was the night.
In the end her strength was beaten by his evil, pressing might.
Not allowed to disobey, she dared to tell him no.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.
Now she lies so still, eyes open without sight.
Her body slight adheres to the bloodstained rocks below.
Suddenly so soft. So silent was the night.
Never again to turn her face toward the light.
Suddenly so soft, so silent was the night.
An abrupt and final ending to a harsh and bitter row.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.
What began with utter happiness, at last her future bright,
Unexpectedly to her became a haunting tale of woe
Suddenly. So soft, so silent was the night.
His words held every kindness, manners proper, deeds polite.
In no way could she dream the man would turn to greatest foe.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.
Not a soul to notice in her eyes the perilous plight.
Her silver voice extinguished by his presence ‘ere she go.
Suddenly, so soft, so silent was the night.
In the end her strength was beaten by his evil, pressing might.
Not allowed to disobey, she dared to tell him no.
Never will she turn her face toward the light.
Now she lies so still, eyes open without sight.
Her body slight adheres to the bloodstained rocks below.
Suddenly so soft. So silent was the night.
Never again to turn her face toward the light.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Under The Harvest Moon - Carl Sandburg
I have this posted in my cubicle. Every time I read it, I envision it. I think it's great. I chose it as my first poem for Carl S.
Under the Harvest Moon
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
Under the Harvest Moon
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
Whole
I love you.
My young dreams were about you,
full grown and whole.
You had an easy future where
you were
swift and smart, and whole and mine,
and though,
what you have become is so much more,
I mourn
the loss of your innocence
and mine.
My young dreams were about you,
full grown and whole.
You had an easy future where
you were
swift and smart, and whole and mine,
and though,
what you have become is so much more,
I mourn
the loss of your innocence
and mine.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
My Dad
I'm putting this poem on here because Rachel met my Dad today and had seen him previously. I told her I'd put this on for you all to read. I wrote it almost 3 years ago.
Thanks for coming Rachel and family!
My Dad
An old man strolls humbly through the market.
The seriousness of his face is belied by
The twinkling of his faded blue eyes.
Two young teenagers spy the old man.
His clothes of red and green, and beard of snowy white,
Cause them to change direction.
It’s July.
Walking with his grown daughter he sees them.
Their surreptitious whispers reach his searching ears.
His steps slow.
Their courage gained, they boldly approach.
Are you him? they ask hoping his answer will keep
Their dream alive.
Two young boys,
Too old to believe,
Young enough to desire its truth.
Have you been good? he questions,
Seeing the truth in their expressive eyes.
Wide-eyed faces nod their assent.
One gleaming eye winks as a gentle smile crosses his face.
Worn loving hands disappear inside seemingly empty pockets.
Two sweet, striped canes pass into eager young hands.
Be good! he exclaims, then turns and rejoins his proud knowing daughter.
Whistling merrily, he resumes his absent search down the aisle,
Leaving behind,
Two believers.
Thanks for coming Rachel and family!
My Dad
An old man strolls humbly through the market.
The seriousness of his face is belied by
The twinkling of his faded blue eyes.
Two young teenagers spy the old man.
His clothes of red and green, and beard of snowy white,
Cause them to change direction.
It’s July.
Walking with his grown daughter he sees them.
Their surreptitious whispers reach his searching ears.
His steps slow.
Their courage gained, they boldly approach.
Are you him? they ask hoping his answer will keep
Their dream alive.
Two young boys,
Too old to believe,
Young enough to desire its truth.
Have you been good? he questions,
Seeing the truth in their expressive eyes.
Wide-eyed faces nod their assent.
One gleaming eye winks as a gentle smile crosses his face.
Worn loving hands disappear inside seemingly empty pockets.
Two sweet, striped canes pass into eager young hands.
Be good! he exclaims, then turns and rejoins his proud knowing daughter.
Whistling merrily, he resumes his absent search down the aisle,
Leaving behind,
Two believers.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Paper Women
Here is the final product if you get a minute. I am not sure I like it. But too late now! It's long so if you don't read it fine. I will only torture you a little.
See you all Saturday!
Paper Women: by Amy Wright
Charlotte deftly pushed the needle under her skin. It smoothly sunk through five layers of epidermis and when she felt the lack of tension, the vacant fluidity of blood, she pushed the clear liquid deep into her body. She bit her lip to stifle a cry and then let go. Without thinking, she placed the needle and the vial back into the kit and zipped it shut. She put the kit away, where Isaac would never find it and where it would mean the most; behind the rigid, rejected manuscripts on the large cherry wood bookshelf. No one liked to even look in that direction anymore.
Approximately thirty five minutes before going comatose with the dose she had given herself. It would be enough.
She languidly walked over to the couch and lay down on her side putting her arm under her head. With care, she smoothed her silk, black slip loose over her hips and admired the dip of her waist. She ran her hand over her breasts, her waist and hips, the deep, tender curves, and wondered what it was he didn’t want anymore.
Isabel would know soon, find her insulin kit missing. But she wouldn’t know right away it was her that took it. Not until it was too late.
She waited for Isaac who was due home any minute now. If he was late….if he disappointed her this time…
It didn’t matter this time.
But he came. And as usual, threw his jacket on the floor next to the couch and headed straight for the kitchen. Charlotte listened attentively to the clanging dishes, the opening and shutting of the microwave, the water faucet and Isaac’s low, preposterous cursing at every kitchen appliance that gave him trouble. She heard him pour two cups of coffee, stir, tap, sip.
All this took 11 minutes.
He came to her at last bringing with him a cup of coffee, coffee that would never be cool enough for her tongue. Knowing Isaac, it was sweet with sugar and cream. She took a deep breath, shaky, ready to begin. But he always unnerved her. His thick red hair, swept carelessly back behind his head. He wore makeup-a touch of mascara at the tip of his eyelashes and dark, penciled in brows all to direct probing eyes to his own; green, bright discs of exquisiteness. He was lovely, always lovely.
She had rehearsed her speech a million times in dreams that she never quite finished. It was her death diatribe.
Isaac sat into his hard oak chair, his mother’s antique trophy, and blew into his sweltering cup of coffee.
“Hello, Charlotte. How was your day?”
“I know why you want me, Isaac. You believe I am vacant. You want me because I never ask you to discuss me. I have wholly sacrificed myself for your needs. I am your personal graveyard, I believe. Strategically designed by you. Your shreds of ego shamelessly large and obese. Right here. In me. “
“Grow up, Charlotte.”
“I am grown up. You just don’t like who I am.”
“I have been here five minutes and you are already trying to hurt me.”
Charlotte moved from the couch to the floor. She lay supine, her head fuzzy and light, but still she had the mind to bend her legs just a bit at the knees so as to make her legs look longer and leaner.
“I am trying to shock you. Besides, I hate myself. You know that. Sometimes I can follow the echo of death like the bloody tracks of a wounded deer. “I hate myself comes” out of my head while I brush my hair. I am making eggs for breakfast and “I hate myself” comes out of no where. “I hate myself” before I fall asleep. “I hate myself” while I shower. Whenever I take a breath. It gets worse and worse. I don’t know where it comes from. And I believe I really do hate myself, Isaac. I can see myself dead so clearly that I ache because of it.”
“Do we have to talk about this, Charlotte?”
“No. We don’t. I can talk about something else.”
“What else do you want to talk about?”
“Your women. All women. They are foolish… incapable, helpless victims. They never fully live because they endlessly doubt themselves. I’ve never met a woman I liked. They disgust me. Almost as much as fucking you disgusts me.”
“I disgust you, Charlotte? I’ve had enough of your abuse.”
“I’m not abusing you am I? I am so sorry, Isaac. Please don’t leave.”
“I am leaving. You’re cruel. You’re drunk already and it’s not even six. It’s disgusting. I have better things to do than this.”
Isaac headed for the door, as he had many times before, but Charlotte picked herself off the floor and ran to him.
“Don’t leave Isaac. Please!”
She sunk to her knees and grabbed him around the legs then buried her face between his thighs. He paused and looked down at the top of her head.
“Charlotte, do I really disgust you?”
“No, Isaac. Never. I was lying. Don’t leave me, okay? You can’t.”
Isaac stood for a moment then began stroking Charlotte’s long, dark hair. He helped her to her feet. She was unsteady and swayed a little.
“Okay Charlotte. But can you stop this endless tirade of hate and loathing? It really is getting to be a big bore.”
“Yes. But I need to ask you a question, Isaac. Just one.” Isaac headed back towards his chair.
“Drink your coffee, Charlotte.”
“Isaac, why did you do it?”
“I cannot do this right now.” He headed for the kitchen…
“You can’t answer me. You never will, will you?” He stopped.
“Drink your coffee and stop talking. Just don’t talk. You’re much prettier when you don’t talk.”
She whispered, “I know that.”
Despite her best efforts, her eyes began to fill with tears. She cried and he pretended not to see.
“Do you think I am a writer, Isaac? Do you think I am any good? My stories keep coming back to me. When they come back they are suddenly different to me. As if they have been regurgitated and turned into acidic waste. I wonder what I do wrong…”
“You’re an artist, Charlotte. More of one than anyone I know. No one sees it just yet. That’s all.”
“When Isabel and I were younger we used to pretend we were famous ice skaters. Can you believe that? And Isabel always thought I was better than her and really I was. She would wear this gaudy purple leotard that made her look like a marshmallow Peep. And I had tailored tutus from ballet class. She wasn’t very pretty, you know. And it always ended in this trite competition between the two of us. She always had to win.”
“I don’t want to talk about Isabel.”
Charlotte lay on the floor again, so relaxed she felt herself melting into the linoleum.
Isaac stared at her and felt a prick of alarm.
“Charlotte, please drink your coffee.”
“Why?”
“Because you are drunk.”
“I am not.”
“Drink it.”
“I am dizzy. It’s the strangest feeling. I often imagined myself dying on pain killers. I would take just three of four you know, not enough to kill me, but I would lie on the bed and imagine I was to die soon. And I would be overcome with euphoria until I wondered if my stomach would seize with pain. Or if I would lose my senses and go crazy. That fear consumed me and every time, I panicked. I would make myself get up and walk around. But I think it isn’t nearly that frightening now.”
“For God’s sake, Charlotte. What is the matter with you?”
“Do you remember that story I told you? When I stole Isabel’s boyfriend from her when we were juniors in high school? We went on a fieldtrip to Williamsburg and he sat with me in the back of the bus. And everyone loved Isabel so much more than me and they started throwing paper balls and calling me terrible names. But you know what the weirdest thing was? All that time he was undoing my bra, feeling me everywhere he could without being too profane. I couldn’t even feel his dirty hands. I didn’t care. Because straight across from me sat Isabel with her new boyfriend. She watched it all and I saw her smile. I saw her laugh when one of the guys called me a worthless, skinny whore. It wasn’t nice of her.”
“It wasn’t nice of you to steal her boyfriend.”
“He didn’t want her anymore. Do you think she is pretty, Isaac? Prettier than me?”
“It doesn’t matter. You know that.”
“But it does matter. You chose her over me.”
“I did not choose her over you.”
“But you did! And how can you say that? When you slept with her I am sure that I was there somewhere. I am sure that in some remote island in your mind, I flitted across. For a moment at least. But you still did it.”
“I can’t talk about this with you.”
“You never can. She’s not really that nice, you know. More than once she has been nasty. She’s a snake. She gets at me when she can. Little things, like when I wear make-up she says, ‘Uh! I could never wear make-up. It makes me feel fake.’ She ridiculously coughs and holds her nose when I wear my perfume.” It’s silly and her way of getting to me.”
Charlotte became quiet. Isaac looked over to her and saw that she was crying again. She was trembling and for a moment Isaac thought about going to her. To calm her but Charlotte was always so dramatic. But worry fingered his spine. She wouldn’t really try to kill herself. She wasn’t that strong. Still…he got up and began searching the room for anything she might have used.
“Charlotte, what is wrong with you? Something’s not right.”
“Don’t worry so much, Isaac. I feel very pleasant. Though my head spins. Do you remember my sister? You only met her once. My father didn’t like her. Did you know he thought she was too fat? He told her so. He told her not to wear skirts because people would laugh at her. Laugh and laugh. She stopped eating for a while. Even became anorexic but when she was thin like that, she just looked sad and yellow. But my father thought that she was beautiful then. Just that once. She started eating again after she got married and he stopped talking to her, really. He always talked to me. She hated me for that.”
“Charlotte, what have you done? Have you done something?” He was searching frantically now. Looking under the couch cushions and in the bureau drawers. Charlotte giggled.
“I said, don’t worry, Isaac. All I want you to do is listen right now. I had to do this.”
“Do what? What is it you are doing? Have you been drinking too much again? Why don’t you drink the goddamn coffee I brought you? This is completely silly the way you are worrying me.”
“But I am fine. But you must tell me now? About Isabel? Because she never loved me, Isaac. And I wonder when you chose her if you thought she was better somehow. It’s all a lie. She’s a lie.”
“I told you. I didn’t choose her.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Of course you chose her.”
“She was very forceful with me. You wouldn’t think it of her. But she wouldn’t slow down for anything. Charlotte, do you understand this at all?”
“You’re getting angry. But you forget you did this to me.” Isaac stood helplessly. Charlotte’s eyes were closed and she looked asleep, spread loosely across the floor.
“I let Isabel hold her and I wish now…I wish I hadn’t. Isabel was so afraid of her and I thought…I thought perhaps she just didn’t know how to hold a baby. But I think it was because she wanted that baby to be hers. Is that true Isaac?”
Isaac stood impotent in front of Charlotte.
“And Isaac, when we were at the funeral, I think about it now, you stood so close to Isabel then. And I tried not to look at you. I held my mother’s hand because you wouldn’t hold mine. And Isabel, maybe I saw her smile then too. Maybe she was happy because even then, she had you more than I did, Isaac.”
“Jesus, Charlotte.” But that was all he could say. He trembled violently.
“Emily. I miss her.” Charlotte’s sobs consumed her. For a moment it looked as though Charlotte was having seizures. She jerked. She moaned but still, she seemed coherent enough, Isaac thought. But he started looking again, looking everywhere. He knew there were no pills. She wasn’t allowed them.
“It was days later, wasn’t it? That I walked in on you and her?”
“It was a month, Charlotte. Don’t exaggerate.”
“Yes, a month. And I saw her smile then too. Her large breasts looking straight at me, chiding me, telling me how inadequate I was. She didn’t say anything at all, do you remember? Just sat there. So I had to ask her to get out of my bed. You were so frantic, Isaac. It was quite funny. But she stared at me and didn’t move. You had to jerk her up and practically dress her. I studied her body then. She was so big. So large. And me, so thin as I would think you liked.”
“Charlotte, where are the pills?”
“I don’t have any pills. You know that. I am not allowed.”
“Then what is this? What is happening with you?”
“And when she left she was laughing. Laughing at me. And you stood and let her, remember? She was so wicked. And she came to hug me, she said it was only sex. It didn’t have anything to do with our friendship. ‘Oh please be mature about this, Charlotte’ she said. You stood there with your mouth wide open not doing anything. I felt my heart would burst open right there. But you stood there in your faded blue underwear trying to cover more up while she pranced around like a porn star. You let her hurt me.”
“Charlotte, what did you expect I would do? I couldn’t do anything. Not for you or her. It was too late.”
“Would you still do it? If you could choose again?”
Isaac didn’t answer. For a minute all he could do was shudder. Emily. Isabel. It had all become so sinister. His life and Charlotte’s. If she did die, if Charlotte was dying, she might find a peace he could never give her.
“Isaac just come sit next to me for a moment. Please. I feel so cold.” Isaac came to her and he was sweating and shaking, but Charlotte couldn’t have felt this. Not now. He kissed her forehead and was stunned. She was cold. She was moist and slippery.
“Let me just tell you, Charlotte. Isabel means nothing to me. Not now. I think I went to her because the baby had died and I didn’t know what else to do. You wouldn’t talk to me anymore. And one night she came over wearing a dress just like yours, the red one with the black sash. She even smelled like you. And she asked me if I was feeling okay because you were at work, that’s all you did was work. You never had time for anyone and I was suffering day and night. Isabel took my hand and started crying; telling me that she felt it was her baby that died because you two were like sisters. And then, things just happened. I don’t love her. At the funeral it was you who abandoned me. You couldn’t look at me in the face as if I had done it, and she came and held my hand. Charlotte, please. Listen.”
Charlotte could barely lift her head. And when the knock came at the door minutes later, she was already placid in a deep impenetrable coma. Isaac left her there on the floor while he scrambled for a telephone, scrambled for the keys, scrambled for an extra minute, another chance to fix things.
And if he had heard the knock at the door, certainly he would have shut it as quickly as he opened it. Isabel stood waiting for a few minutes before she left. She had brought with her a gift for Isaac, an expensive blue shirt she had found in her favorite department store. She loved to dress him. He was beautiful. Wonderful. Perhaps the kindest man she had ever known. Charlotte had the life of a goddess. She was always the lucky one.
See you all Saturday!
Paper Women: by Amy Wright
Charlotte deftly pushed the needle under her skin. It smoothly sunk through five layers of epidermis and when she felt the lack of tension, the vacant fluidity of blood, she pushed the clear liquid deep into her body. She bit her lip to stifle a cry and then let go. Without thinking, she placed the needle and the vial back into the kit and zipped it shut. She put the kit away, where Isaac would never find it and where it would mean the most; behind the rigid, rejected manuscripts on the large cherry wood bookshelf. No one liked to even look in that direction anymore.
Approximately thirty five minutes before going comatose with the dose she had given herself. It would be enough.
She languidly walked over to the couch and lay down on her side putting her arm under her head. With care, she smoothed her silk, black slip loose over her hips and admired the dip of her waist. She ran her hand over her breasts, her waist and hips, the deep, tender curves, and wondered what it was he didn’t want anymore.
Isabel would know soon, find her insulin kit missing. But she wouldn’t know right away it was her that took it. Not until it was too late.
She waited for Isaac who was due home any minute now. If he was late….if he disappointed her this time…
It didn’t matter this time.
But he came. And as usual, threw his jacket on the floor next to the couch and headed straight for the kitchen. Charlotte listened attentively to the clanging dishes, the opening and shutting of the microwave, the water faucet and Isaac’s low, preposterous cursing at every kitchen appliance that gave him trouble. She heard him pour two cups of coffee, stir, tap, sip.
All this took 11 minutes.
He came to her at last bringing with him a cup of coffee, coffee that would never be cool enough for her tongue. Knowing Isaac, it was sweet with sugar and cream. She took a deep breath, shaky, ready to begin. But he always unnerved her. His thick red hair, swept carelessly back behind his head. He wore makeup-a touch of mascara at the tip of his eyelashes and dark, penciled in brows all to direct probing eyes to his own; green, bright discs of exquisiteness. He was lovely, always lovely.
She had rehearsed her speech a million times in dreams that she never quite finished. It was her death diatribe.
Isaac sat into his hard oak chair, his mother’s antique trophy, and blew into his sweltering cup of coffee.
“Hello, Charlotte. How was your day?”
“I know why you want me, Isaac. You believe I am vacant. You want me because I never ask you to discuss me. I have wholly sacrificed myself for your needs. I am your personal graveyard, I believe. Strategically designed by you. Your shreds of ego shamelessly large and obese. Right here. In me. “
“Grow up, Charlotte.”
“I am grown up. You just don’t like who I am.”
“I have been here five minutes and you are already trying to hurt me.”
Charlotte moved from the couch to the floor. She lay supine, her head fuzzy and light, but still she had the mind to bend her legs just a bit at the knees so as to make her legs look longer and leaner.
“I am trying to shock you. Besides, I hate myself. You know that. Sometimes I can follow the echo of death like the bloody tracks of a wounded deer. “I hate myself comes” out of my head while I brush my hair. I am making eggs for breakfast and “I hate myself” comes out of no where. “I hate myself” before I fall asleep. “I hate myself” while I shower. Whenever I take a breath. It gets worse and worse. I don’t know where it comes from. And I believe I really do hate myself, Isaac. I can see myself dead so clearly that I ache because of it.”
“Do we have to talk about this, Charlotte?”
“No. We don’t. I can talk about something else.”
“What else do you want to talk about?”
“Your women. All women. They are foolish… incapable, helpless victims. They never fully live because they endlessly doubt themselves. I’ve never met a woman I liked. They disgust me. Almost as much as fucking you disgusts me.”
“I disgust you, Charlotte? I’ve had enough of your abuse.”
“I’m not abusing you am I? I am so sorry, Isaac. Please don’t leave.”
“I am leaving. You’re cruel. You’re drunk already and it’s not even six. It’s disgusting. I have better things to do than this.”
Isaac headed for the door, as he had many times before, but Charlotte picked herself off the floor and ran to him.
“Don’t leave Isaac. Please!”
She sunk to her knees and grabbed him around the legs then buried her face between his thighs. He paused and looked down at the top of her head.
“Charlotte, do I really disgust you?”
“No, Isaac. Never. I was lying. Don’t leave me, okay? You can’t.”
Isaac stood for a moment then began stroking Charlotte’s long, dark hair. He helped her to her feet. She was unsteady and swayed a little.
“Okay Charlotte. But can you stop this endless tirade of hate and loathing? It really is getting to be a big bore.”
“Yes. But I need to ask you a question, Isaac. Just one.” Isaac headed back towards his chair.
“Drink your coffee, Charlotte.”
“Isaac, why did you do it?”
“I cannot do this right now.” He headed for the kitchen…
“You can’t answer me. You never will, will you?” He stopped.
“Drink your coffee and stop talking. Just don’t talk. You’re much prettier when you don’t talk.”
She whispered, “I know that.”
Despite her best efforts, her eyes began to fill with tears. She cried and he pretended not to see.
“Do you think I am a writer, Isaac? Do you think I am any good? My stories keep coming back to me. When they come back they are suddenly different to me. As if they have been regurgitated and turned into acidic waste. I wonder what I do wrong…”
“You’re an artist, Charlotte. More of one than anyone I know. No one sees it just yet. That’s all.”
“When Isabel and I were younger we used to pretend we were famous ice skaters. Can you believe that? And Isabel always thought I was better than her and really I was. She would wear this gaudy purple leotard that made her look like a marshmallow Peep. And I had tailored tutus from ballet class. She wasn’t very pretty, you know. And it always ended in this trite competition between the two of us. She always had to win.”
“I don’t want to talk about Isabel.”
Charlotte lay on the floor again, so relaxed she felt herself melting into the linoleum.
Isaac stared at her and felt a prick of alarm.
“Charlotte, please drink your coffee.”
“Why?”
“Because you are drunk.”
“I am not.”
“Drink it.”
“I am dizzy. It’s the strangest feeling. I often imagined myself dying on pain killers. I would take just three of four you know, not enough to kill me, but I would lie on the bed and imagine I was to die soon. And I would be overcome with euphoria until I wondered if my stomach would seize with pain. Or if I would lose my senses and go crazy. That fear consumed me and every time, I panicked. I would make myself get up and walk around. But I think it isn’t nearly that frightening now.”
“For God’s sake, Charlotte. What is the matter with you?”
“Do you remember that story I told you? When I stole Isabel’s boyfriend from her when we were juniors in high school? We went on a fieldtrip to Williamsburg and he sat with me in the back of the bus. And everyone loved Isabel so much more than me and they started throwing paper balls and calling me terrible names. But you know what the weirdest thing was? All that time he was undoing my bra, feeling me everywhere he could without being too profane. I couldn’t even feel his dirty hands. I didn’t care. Because straight across from me sat Isabel with her new boyfriend. She watched it all and I saw her smile. I saw her laugh when one of the guys called me a worthless, skinny whore. It wasn’t nice of her.”
“It wasn’t nice of you to steal her boyfriend.”
“He didn’t want her anymore. Do you think she is pretty, Isaac? Prettier than me?”
“It doesn’t matter. You know that.”
“But it does matter. You chose her over me.”
“I did not choose her over you.”
“But you did! And how can you say that? When you slept with her I am sure that I was there somewhere. I am sure that in some remote island in your mind, I flitted across. For a moment at least. But you still did it.”
“I can’t talk about this with you.”
“You never can. She’s not really that nice, you know. More than once she has been nasty. She’s a snake. She gets at me when she can. Little things, like when I wear make-up she says, ‘Uh! I could never wear make-up. It makes me feel fake.’ She ridiculously coughs and holds her nose when I wear my perfume.” It’s silly and her way of getting to me.”
Charlotte became quiet. Isaac looked over to her and saw that she was crying again. She was trembling and for a moment Isaac thought about going to her. To calm her but Charlotte was always so dramatic. But worry fingered his spine. She wouldn’t really try to kill herself. She wasn’t that strong. Still…he got up and began searching the room for anything she might have used.
“Charlotte, what is wrong with you? Something’s not right.”
“Don’t worry so much, Isaac. I feel very pleasant. Though my head spins. Do you remember my sister? You only met her once. My father didn’t like her. Did you know he thought she was too fat? He told her so. He told her not to wear skirts because people would laugh at her. Laugh and laugh. She stopped eating for a while. Even became anorexic but when she was thin like that, she just looked sad and yellow. But my father thought that she was beautiful then. Just that once. She started eating again after she got married and he stopped talking to her, really. He always talked to me. She hated me for that.”
“Charlotte, what have you done? Have you done something?” He was searching frantically now. Looking under the couch cushions and in the bureau drawers. Charlotte giggled.
“I said, don’t worry, Isaac. All I want you to do is listen right now. I had to do this.”
“Do what? What is it you are doing? Have you been drinking too much again? Why don’t you drink the goddamn coffee I brought you? This is completely silly the way you are worrying me.”
“But I am fine. But you must tell me now? About Isabel? Because she never loved me, Isaac. And I wonder when you chose her if you thought she was better somehow. It’s all a lie. She’s a lie.”
“I told you. I didn’t choose her.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Of course you chose her.”
“She was very forceful with me. You wouldn’t think it of her. But she wouldn’t slow down for anything. Charlotte, do you understand this at all?”
“You’re getting angry. But you forget you did this to me.” Isaac stood helplessly. Charlotte’s eyes were closed and she looked asleep, spread loosely across the floor.
“I let Isabel hold her and I wish now…I wish I hadn’t. Isabel was so afraid of her and I thought…I thought perhaps she just didn’t know how to hold a baby. But I think it was because she wanted that baby to be hers. Is that true Isaac?”
Isaac stood impotent in front of Charlotte.
“And Isaac, when we were at the funeral, I think about it now, you stood so close to Isabel then. And I tried not to look at you. I held my mother’s hand because you wouldn’t hold mine. And Isabel, maybe I saw her smile then too. Maybe she was happy because even then, she had you more than I did, Isaac.”
“Jesus, Charlotte.” But that was all he could say. He trembled violently.
“Emily. I miss her.” Charlotte’s sobs consumed her. For a moment it looked as though Charlotte was having seizures. She jerked. She moaned but still, she seemed coherent enough, Isaac thought. But he started looking again, looking everywhere. He knew there were no pills. She wasn’t allowed them.
“It was days later, wasn’t it? That I walked in on you and her?”
“It was a month, Charlotte. Don’t exaggerate.”
“Yes, a month. And I saw her smile then too. Her large breasts looking straight at me, chiding me, telling me how inadequate I was. She didn’t say anything at all, do you remember? Just sat there. So I had to ask her to get out of my bed. You were so frantic, Isaac. It was quite funny. But she stared at me and didn’t move. You had to jerk her up and practically dress her. I studied her body then. She was so big. So large. And me, so thin as I would think you liked.”
“Charlotte, where are the pills?”
“I don’t have any pills. You know that. I am not allowed.”
“Then what is this? What is happening with you?”
“And when she left she was laughing. Laughing at me. And you stood and let her, remember? She was so wicked. And she came to hug me, she said it was only sex. It didn’t have anything to do with our friendship. ‘Oh please be mature about this, Charlotte’ she said. You stood there with your mouth wide open not doing anything. I felt my heart would burst open right there. But you stood there in your faded blue underwear trying to cover more up while she pranced around like a porn star. You let her hurt me.”
“Charlotte, what did you expect I would do? I couldn’t do anything. Not for you or her. It was too late.”
“Would you still do it? If you could choose again?”
Isaac didn’t answer. For a minute all he could do was shudder. Emily. Isabel. It had all become so sinister. His life and Charlotte’s. If she did die, if Charlotte was dying, she might find a peace he could never give her.
“Isaac just come sit next to me for a moment. Please. I feel so cold.” Isaac came to her and he was sweating and shaking, but Charlotte couldn’t have felt this. Not now. He kissed her forehead and was stunned. She was cold. She was moist and slippery.
“Let me just tell you, Charlotte. Isabel means nothing to me. Not now. I think I went to her because the baby had died and I didn’t know what else to do. You wouldn’t talk to me anymore. And one night she came over wearing a dress just like yours, the red one with the black sash. She even smelled like you. And she asked me if I was feeling okay because you were at work, that’s all you did was work. You never had time for anyone and I was suffering day and night. Isabel took my hand and started crying; telling me that she felt it was her baby that died because you two were like sisters. And then, things just happened. I don’t love her. At the funeral it was you who abandoned me. You couldn’t look at me in the face as if I had done it, and she came and held my hand. Charlotte, please. Listen.”
Charlotte could barely lift her head. And when the knock came at the door minutes later, she was already placid in a deep impenetrable coma. Isaac left her there on the floor while he scrambled for a telephone, scrambled for the keys, scrambled for an extra minute, another chance to fix things.
And if he had heard the knock at the door, certainly he would have shut it as quickly as he opened it. Isabel stood waiting for a few minutes before she left. She had brought with her a gift for Isaac, an expensive blue shirt she had found in her favorite department store. She loved to dress him. He was beautiful. Wonderful. Perhaps the kindest man she had ever known. Charlotte had the life of a goddess. She was always the lucky one.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Can You Guess?
I sat down to write something profound...and of course nothing came to mind. So, I wrote this, but I can't decide how to end it. Any suggestions??? It really isn't finished, so any advice will be considered. I just wanted to post something so you guys don't think I'm a complete LOSER!!
Let me know if you guess the title.
Let me know if you guess the title.
I see him sometimes at the lake.
I once spied him picking flowers.
I wondered, at the time, who they were for.
I’ve seen him in town—numerous places.
I saw him once at a restaurant I frequent.
I thought he looked lonely at his table for one.
I find it interesting that he travels alone.
I’ve yet to see him with another.
I, myself, prefer the company of my thoughts.
I caught him watching me last night.
I was standing at the bar waiting to order a drink.
I’m working up the courage to talk to him.
I saw his smile this morning.
I glanced up from my coffee just as he looked up from his.
I smiled, and he smiled back.
I’ve decided today is the day.
I’ll look for him at my favorite restaurant.
I have a feeling he’ll be there.
I knew it, he’s here.
I think he’s talking to someone…though,
I don’t see anyone near.
I slowly walk toward him—
I see him begin to meet me halfway.
I feel nervous at the thought of greeting him.
I say “Hello.” He mirrors, as if our minds entwine.
I laugh nervously as he chuckles.
I’m delighted by his easy going manner.
I try to talk, and stop as he starts speaking. He stops.
I start again—as does he—we stop.
I’m embarrassed and a little confused.
I reach out to take his hand when he offers it.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Not sure what the title is yet.
Something I am working on for class. Tell me what you think-if it drags or whatever. It is very unfinished. But need to know if I should go on.
You want me because I am vacant, Isaac. Because I never ask you to discuss me. I have wholly sacrificed myself for your needs. I am your personal graveyard, I believe. Strategically designed by you. Your shreds of ego, your glorious reflection, shamelessly large and obese. Right here. In me.
Grow up, Charlotte.
I am grown up. You just don’t like who I am.
You are only trying to hurt me.
Charlotte held a cigarette between her fingers. She was lying supine on the floor, bending her legs just a bit at the knees so as to make her legs look longer and leaner.
I am trying to shock you. Besides, I hate myself. You know that. Sometimes I can follow that echo like the bloody tracks of a wounded deer. “I hate myself comes” out of my head while I brush my hair. I am eating my dinner and “I hate myself” comes out of no where as if another voice is chiding me from the beyond. But I believe I really do hate myself, Isaac. I can see myself dead so clearly that I ache because of it.
Do we have to talk about this, Charlotte?
No. We don’t. I can talk about something else.
What else do you want to talk about?
Women. They are ridiculous, Isaac. They aren’t capable of living because they endlessly doubt themselves. I’ve never met a woman I liked. They disgust me. Almost as much as fucking you disgusts me.
I disgust you now? I’m leaving, Charlotte. I’ve had enough of your abuse.
I’m not abusing you am I? I am so sorry, Isaac. Please don’t leave.
I am leaving. You’re cruel.
Ted picked up his coat from the back of the couch and started for the door.
Don’t leave Ted. Please!
Ted kept walking so Charlotte jumped off the couch and ran to him. She sunk to her knees and grabbed him around the legs then buried her face between his thighs. He paused and looked down at the top of her head.
Charlotte, do I really disgust you?
No, Isaac. Never. I was lying. Don’t leave me, okay?
Isaac stood for a moment then began stroking Charlotte’s long, dark hair. He helped her to her feet. She was unsteady and swayed a little.
Okay Charlotte. But can you stop this endless tirade of hate and loathing? It really is getting to be a big bore.
Yes. But I need to ask you a question, Isaac. Just one.
Drink your coffee, Charlotte.
Isaac, why did you do it? She was my best friend.
Do you need a refill, dear?
You can’t answer me. You never will, will you?
Drink your coffee and stop talking. Just don’t talk. You’re much prettier when you don’t talk.
I’ll stop talking.
Despite her best efforts, her eyes began to fill with tears. She hugged Ted tightly and whispered into his ear. He led her to the couch and patted her head. He ran his hands over her breasts and smoothed her dress down against her legs. She cried and he pretended not to see.
Do you think I am an artist, Ted? Do you think I am any good? My stories keep coming back to me. When they come back there are suddenly different to me. As if they have been regurgitated and turned into acidic waste. I wonder what I do wrong…
I am getting you more coffee.
When Isabel and I were younger we used to pretend we were famous ice skaters. Can you believe that? And Isabel always thought I was better than her and really I was. She would wear this gaudy purple leotard that made her look like a marshmallow Peep. She wasn’t very pretty, you know. All her boyfriends preferred me.
I don’t want to talk about Isabel.
Isaac moved towards the kitchen and Charlotte lay on the couch with her hands folded under her head. He brought back another cup of coffee and set it in front of Charlotte but she didn’t touch it.
Charlotte, please drink the coffee.
Why?
Because you are drunk.
I am not.
Drink it.
I am getting dizzy. It’s the strangest feeling. I often imagined myself dying on Percocet. I would get euphoric and imagine that I had just overdosed and would soon die. The strangest things would happen! A fear would overcome the peace and I would make myself get up and walk around. But I think it isn’t nearly that frightening now.
For God’s sake, Charlotte. What is the matter with you?
Do remember that story I told you? When I stole Isabel’s boyfriend from her and we went on a fieldtrip to Williamsburg on the bus. Everyone always loved Isabel so much more than me really and some of the guys started throwing paper balls at me and calling me terrible names. But you know what the weirdest thing was? All that time Ricky was undoing my bra, feeling me everywhere he could without being too profane. I couldn’t even feel his hands. I didn’t care about his dirty hands. And Isabel sat right across from me with her new boyfriend and watched it all and I saw her smile. I saw her laugh when one of the guys called me a worthless whore. It wasn’t nice of her.
It wasn’t nice of you to steal her boyfriend.
He didn’t want her anymore. Do you think she is pretty, Isaac? Prettier than me?
It doesn’t matter. You know that.
But it does matter. You chose her over me.
I did not choose her over you.
But you did! And how can you say that? When you slept with her I am sure that I was there somewhere. I am sure that in some remoter island in your mind, I flitted across. And you still chose to do it.
I can’t talk about this with you.
I think Isabel is plump. Even chubby. She’s not really that nice, you know. More than once she has been nasty, like a snake on the hunt. She gets at me when she can. Little things, like when I talk about putting on make-up she says, “Uh! I could never wear make-up. It makes me feel fake.” But I know what she is really saying. She is saying that even though I get more attention, more men, more compliments, she is the prettier one because her beauty is real.
Maybe it is.
Is that what you think, Isaac?
Charlotte became quiet. Isaac looked over to her and saw that she was crying again. She was trembling and for a moment Isaac thought about going to her. To calm her but Charlotte was always so dramatic.
You want me because I am vacant, Isaac. Because I never ask you to discuss me. I have wholly sacrificed myself for your needs. I am your personal graveyard, I believe. Strategically designed by you. Your shreds of ego, your glorious reflection, shamelessly large and obese. Right here. In me.
Grow up, Charlotte.
I am grown up. You just don’t like who I am.
You are only trying to hurt me.
Charlotte held a cigarette between her fingers. She was lying supine on the floor, bending her legs just a bit at the knees so as to make her legs look longer and leaner.
I am trying to shock you. Besides, I hate myself. You know that. Sometimes I can follow that echo like the bloody tracks of a wounded deer. “I hate myself comes” out of my head while I brush my hair. I am eating my dinner and “I hate myself” comes out of no where as if another voice is chiding me from the beyond. But I believe I really do hate myself, Isaac. I can see myself dead so clearly that I ache because of it.
Do we have to talk about this, Charlotte?
No. We don’t. I can talk about something else.
What else do you want to talk about?
Women. They are ridiculous, Isaac. They aren’t capable of living because they endlessly doubt themselves. I’ve never met a woman I liked. They disgust me. Almost as much as fucking you disgusts me.
I disgust you now? I’m leaving, Charlotte. I’ve had enough of your abuse.
I’m not abusing you am I? I am so sorry, Isaac. Please don’t leave.
I am leaving. You’re cruel.
Ted picked up his coat from the back of the couch and started for the door.
Don’t leave Ted. Please!
Ted kept walking so Charlotte jumped off the couch and ran to him. She sunk to her knees and grabbed him around the legs then buried her face between his thighs. He paused and looked down at the top of her head.
Charlotte, do I really disgust you?
No, Isaac. Never. I was lying. Don’t leave me, okay?
Isaac stood for a moment then began stroking Charlotte’s long, dark hair. He helped her to her feet. She was unsteady and swayed a little.
Okay Charlotte. But can you stop this endless tirade of hate and loathing? It really is getting to be a big bore.
Yes. But I need to ask you a question, Isaac. Just one.
Drink your coffee, Charlotte.
Isaac, why did you do it? She was my best friend.
Do you need a refill, dear?
You can’t answer me. You never will, will you?
Drink your coffee and stop talking. Just don’t talk. You’re much prettier when you don’t talk.
I’ll stop talking.
Despite her best efforts, her eyes began to fill with tears. She hugged Ted tightly and whispered into his ear. He led her to the couch and patted her head. He ran his hands over her breasts and smoothed her dress down against her legs. She cried and he pretended not to see.
Do you think I am an artist, Ted? Do you think I am any good? My stories keep coming back to me. When they come back there are suddenly different to me. As if they have been regurgitated and turned into acidic waste. I wonder what I do wrong…
I am getting you more coffee.
When Isabel and I were younger we used to pretend we were famous ice skaters. Can you believe that? And Isabel always thought I was better than her and really I was. She would wear this gaudy purple leotard that made her look like a marshmallow Peep. She wasn’t very pretty, you know. All her boyfriends preferred me.
I don’t want to talk about Isabel.
Isaac moved towards the kitchen and Charlotte lay on the couch with her hands folded under her head. He brought back another cup of coffee and set it in front of Charlotte but she didn’t touch it.
Charlotte, please drink the coffee.
Why?
Because you are drunk.
I am not.
Drink it.
I am getting dizzy. It’s the strangest feeling. I often imagined myself dying on Percocet. I would get euphoric and imagine that I had just overdosed and would soon die. The strangest things would happen! A fear would overcome the peace and I would make myself get up and walk around. But I think it isn’t nearly that frightening now.
For God’s sake, Charlotte. What is the matter with you?
Do remember that story I told you? When I stole Isabel’s boyfriend from her and we went on a fieldtrip to Williamsburg on the bus. Everyone always loved Isabel so much more than me really and some of the guys started throwing paper balls at me and calling me terrible names. But you know what the weirdest thing was? All that time Ricky was undoing my bra, feeling me everywhere he could without being too profane. I couldn’t even feel his hands. I didn’t care about his dirty hands. And Isabel sat right across from me with her new boyfriend and watched it all and I saw her smile. I saw her laugh when one of the guys called me a worthless whore. It wasn’t nice of her.
It wasn’t nice of you to steal her boyfriend.
He didn’t want her anymore. Do you think she is pretty, Isaac? Prettier than me?
It doesn’t matter. You know that.
But it does matter. You chose her over me.
I did not choose her over you.
But you did! And how can you say that? When you slept with her I am sure that I was there somewhere. I am sure that in some remoter island in your mind, I flitted across. And you still chose to do it.
I can’t talk about this with you.
I think Isabel is plump. Even chubby. She’s not really that nice, you know. More than once she has been nasty, like a snake on the hunt. She gets at me when she can. Little things, like when I talk about putting on make-up she says, “Uh! I could never wear make-up. It makes me feel fake.” But I know what she is really saying. She is saying that even though I get more attention, more men, more compliments, she is the prettier one because her beauty is real.
Maybe it is.
Is that what you think, Isaac?
Charlotte became quiet. Isaac looked over to her and saw that she was crying again. She was trembling and for a moment Isaac thought about going to her. To calm her but Charlotte was always so dramatic.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Bending Edna
He is neither brown nor black
And he never will be all mine;
He learned his hands on a machine's back
And his mouth on a long ago valentine.
He has less hair than he needs,
In the sun 'tis no woe to him or me.
And his voice sings deep as a frog in the reeds
or like whale song vibrating from the sea.
He loves me all that he can
And his ways to my ways resign;
But he was not made for any single woman
And he never will be all mine.
And he never will be all mine;
He learned his hands on a machine's back
And his mouth on a long ago valentine.
He has less hair than he needs,
In the sun 'tis no woe to him or me.
And his voice sings deep as a frog in the reeds
or like whale song vibrating from the sea.
He loves me all that he can
And his ways to my ways resign;
But he was not made for any single woman
And he never will be all mine.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Over you
I am consumed
Foolish
Brought loosely
To my knees.
I have men everywhere I turn.
All over the place.
Ubiquitously haunting corners
Imbedded in the fat of my brain.
In the wisps of my watery soul.
I am sick.
Tenderly pushed over the edge with jealousy
With possessiveness,
Madness.
For someone who cannot be mine.
Is mine.
An affair
Of acidic poisons.
I could never have enough of you
In ten million years.
More.
I am Sick.
I desire flesh.
Your smell, your taste, your body.
If you were here
I could make you feel things you never felt before.
Erotic Exorbitance. Endless.
Evermore. Evermore. Endless evermore.
And you come back and say to me;
Never. No more.
You have the pulse of a corpse.
And the soul of a guillotine.
And I will take it like I have to.
But I don’t promise not to punish you first.
Because I won’t have another like you.
There isn’t another.
I would surrender all to you
like an overdone roast-
fall smoothly
gently
apart at your touch,
My lips
My legs
Like butter.
Slippery and silent.
For one more bleeding
Of You.
Into me.
Foolish
Brought loosely
To my knees.
I have men everywhere I turn.
All over the place.
Ubiquitously haunting corners
Imbedded in the fat of my brain.
In the wisps of my watery soul.
I am sick.
Tenderly pushed over the edge with jealousy
With possessiveness,
Madness.
For someone who cannot be mine.
Is mine.
An affair
Of acidic poisons.
I could never have enough of you
In ten million years.
More.
I am Sick.
I desire flesh.
Your smell, your taste, your body.
If you were here
I could make you feel things you never felt before.
Erotic Exorbitance. Endless.
Evermore. Evermore. Endless evermore.
And you come back and say to me;
Never. No more.
You have the pulse of a corpse.
And the soul of a guillotine.
And I will take it like I have to.
But I don’t promise not to punish you first.
Because I won’t have another like you.
There isn’t another.
I would surrender all to you
like an overdone roast-
fall smoothly
gently
apart at your touch,
My lips
My legs
Like butter.
Slippery and silent.
For one more bleeding
Of You.
Into me.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Hair
The hair on my warty mole keeps growing in.
There’s also one on my chin.
The blondest one was on my cheek.
I pluck all of these every week.
If I didn’t pluck, or tweeze, or shave,
Would I turn into a gorilla and live in a cave?
There’s also one on my chin.
The blondest one was on my cheek.
I pluck all of these every week.
If I didn’t pluck, or tweeze, or shave,
Would I turn into a gorilla and live in a cave?
Obsession
I watched across the couch and he stared away from me.
I watched him sleep every night, breathing softly.
He golfed. He walked. He cooked.
I know every square inch of his face,
The way his nose curves at the end,
The huge pores on his face,
The bushy eyebrows hovering over his crystal blue eyes,
His white-haired whiskers mixing with the red on his chin, on his mouth.
I follow him to the music store.
He buys some strings for his guitar,
Picking up the store guitar, he strums softly.
He plays for a while,
Plays faster, harder, then stops.
Putting the guitar down,
He fingers a guitar strap and leaves.
He picks up the phone.
He doesn’t answer, checks the caller ID,
He sets the phone back down, turns off the ringer.
I’m watching.
He eats, drinks, fucks, sleeps.
He breathes.
I am there.
I watched him sleep every night, breathing softly.
He golfed. He walked. He cooked.
I know every square inch of his face,
The way his nose curves at the end,
The huge pores on his face,
The bushy eyebrows hovering over his crystal blue eyes,
His white-haired whiskers mixing with the red on his chin, on his mouth.
I follow him to the music store.
He buys some strings for his guitar,
Picking up the store guitar, he strums softly.
He plays for a while,
Plays faster, harder, then stops.
Putting the guitar down,
He fingers a guitar strap and leaves.
He picks up the phone.
He doesn’t answer, checks the caller ID,
He sets the phone back down, turns off the ringer.
I’m watching.
He eats, drinks, fucks, sleeps.
He breathes.
I am there.
Customer Service Black Hole
Cranky Train Operator
I bet it was your fault
That the train broke down
You were late to pick everyone up
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you.
You’re never happy to see your riders.
You’re always yelling at everyone over the P.A.
Inside and outside the train and
At the station, where I waited for you to take me home.
Wenchy Walmart Woman
You didn’t have to tell me twice
That the dressing room was closed
But you did anyway.
Do you have a mental problem?
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you.
You’re never happy to see your customers.
You’re silent, dismissive or
Just plain invisible.
Am I?
Cranky Train Operator
I bet it was your fault
That the train broke down
You were late to pick everyone up
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you.
You’re never happy to see your riders.
You’re always yelling at everyone over the P.A.
Inside and outside the train and
At the station, where I waited for you to take me home.
Wenchy Walmart Woman
You didn’t have to tell me twice
That the dressing room was closed
But you did anyway.
Do you have a mental problem?
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you.
You’re never happy to see your customers.
You’re silent, dismissive or
Just plain invisible.
Am I?
Sunday, July 6, 2008
The Smurfettes
Well, well. My first post! And this thing is darn cool. I have a poem. It is called the OW.
It's in your best interest to run.
For I am her.
And though I don't exist
As a mind, or a soul, or a heart
I exist as a body.
As paper exists for the hand
You write me as you want me
For I am meaningless
As discourse.
But I am as light as air
And I am where you take me
I'll never go away
I am the scent in the trees
In the skin
In his clothes.
In your mouth.
I am everywhere you go.
But remember
I am paper.
And I mean no more
than what you make me.
It's in your best interest to run.
For I am her.
And though I don't exist
As a mind, or a soul, or a heart
I exist as a body.
As paper exists for the hand
You write me as you want me
For I am meaningless
As discourse.
But I am as light as air
And I am where you take me
I'll never go away
I am the scent in the trees
In the skin
In his clothes.
In your mouth.
I am everywhere you go.
But remember
I am paper.
And I mean no more
than what you make me.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Flesh-Eating Aliens
My daughter has informed me that this is like an action-suspense instead of a horror, but I did try. There is blood and knives. I'll work on it. Have at it.
When they came, it wasn’t the normal saucers you see in all of the cool science fiction movies. Their ships had these triangular shaped noses and there were big boxes in the back. They were enormous, half a city block enormous. They were on every other corner like 7-11. They had this landing gear out that made them look like big insects, like cockroaches or grasshoppers.
Nobody fought against them. I didn’t. It was on the news that the government had made a trade, technology that would change our lives and help the environment for living arrangements because they were refugees. I don’t think they spelled out real well in the contracts what they lived on. They just planted their ships wherever was pretty or convenient and began unpacking like they’d just finished a trip to the Grand Canyon in an RV.
When they came out of their ships, all of the aliens were an emerald green. They looked like people but with bigger, solid black eyes and green hair. They had long, tendril-like fingers with hooks at the end and they never opened their mouths when they smiled. They started out normal and pretended to like us. They worked on the technology, adapting their energy science to our current technology. They made friends with everybody.
It was weird how some of them started turning pink while the others stayed green. The city streets were different. The aliens, the Rakii, were everywhere but I started to see fewer humans at night. I’d drive to the store and see the Rakii, the aliens, everywhere. Less and less humans walked at night. I’d drive to the store and there were fewer and fewer humans working. The homeless shelters started to empty. Everyone was excited at the new jobs provided by the technology. We discovered later that the pink Rakii were kidnapping, sucking the blood and eating the people they found at night.
The anti-gravity propellant and power systems were revolutionary, and as the smog began to clear, the Rakii became more aggressive. They began to openly take people in broad daylight, friends or family, resistant or not. They would take them to their houses and eat them at their leisure.
After three months, the Rakii began to smile, full, gruesome smiles with an abundant double row of jagged teeth and sharp incisors. Most of them began to turn a gruesome, unnatural shade of pink. They were eating.
They began to put necklaces on humans. After a year, all humans had been captured and collared with these necklaces. They would keep us compliant and close to them.
They ate my husband first. There was an agreement between him and Melfa, the head female of the group, that I would survive as a slave if he went peacefully. I watched for years as Melfa kept me to serve her. I don’t know why they continued to let me live. She and her pod family, her fellow female travelers, Nila, Ria and Ki and the service alien male, Lien ate everyone I knew and the rest of my family - my sister and my mother. They were ruthlessly hungry. I cried but I could not resist. The necklace wouldn’t allow it.
Nothing changed until five years later when Melfa came to me.
“I’m hungry,” she whined. In that nasally voice that only they had. Her red skin was almost a blushing green. It meant she wasn’t lying. She was hungry. I felt my stomach sink. I didn’t want to do what it took to feed her, feed any of them.
She looked at me. I didn’t want to. It would mean a part of myself would literally be hers. They ate people. First, they expected hands or parts of you that they thought you could sacrifice and still serve their needs. Then, they expected you to die to feed them. They fed off the fear too.
“I won’t hurt you myself. I made a promise to your husband. If you give me a part of you voluntarily, it won’t break our agreement.”
I thought about this for a moment. “Why would I do this?”
“If you don’t, I’ll eat the little one there.” She pointed to the little girl, Terry. She was supposed to have been kept as a slave for her parents being eaten last month.
“What’s to stop you from eating her after you eat me?”
“I won’t kill you. I only want a finger. Feed me one finger at a time and Terry lives.”
I didn’t want to give her anything. I hated them. They kept hurting me and everyone else. I began to see her turn pink as she fed off my anguished energy. The necklace wouldn’t let me rebel, or plan, but I always felt the torment. Melfa had told me that one of the reasons they didn’t want to kill me was because they so enjoyed the strong emotion I felt. Apparently, they were getting hungry more often now. There were less and less people to eat. Every day, more ships took off to search the surrounding solar systems for a close planet with edible people. They found one planet in a solar system only 80 light years away, only to discover that they were methane breathing, nitrogen based organisms. The aliens needed to feed off people like us, iron-based humans. They were still searching.
“Can’t you wait until the new farmed humans come?”
“No! I’m hungry now.” Melfa said haughtily. “Make your choice or I’ll make it for you.” She flipped her green hair back behind her shoulders and smiled at me. “Here, I brought the knife.” She handed it to me.
I looked at it warily. Next to it, she had set a searing iron to sear my wound closed. I grabbed something to put in my mouth. “I can’t do it.”
“Fine. Terry, come here, child.” She took the knife from me and began to walk towards Terry who was only eight and shaking like a leaf, terrified of what was coming.
“No.” I grabbed the knife and swung at my left hand, aiming for my little finger. I heard the knife hit the table and then a clunk on the floor. Had I dropped the knife? I looked down. It was still on the table. I felt burning in my last two fingers and looked at my hand. I’d hit two fingers instead of one and tears began to stream down my face.
“Hand me the fingers,” she said.
I gave them to her haltingly, sobbing with pain. Ki used the searing iron to burn my hand to stop the bleeding.
She grabbed the fingers, stared at me, soaking in the torment I was radiating and began to tear at the fingers with her teeth.
“Umm, so good. I can’t decide which I like more, the fingers or your anguish. Thanks for the snack. I’m just so hungry we may not be able to wait for the farmed ones. Terry come here.”
“You promised.” I hoarsely whispered, Melfa’s image blurred from pain and tears.
“Ki, come grab Terry. Put her in the pantry. We’ll eat her for dinner tonight. Help Nina with her cuts. She’ll need to serve me.”
I wanted to kill them all. Something was different. I felt the need to hurt them. I looked down and the necklace was on the floor. The pendant had separated from the ribbon holding it. The control pendant had been cut off when I had cut my fingers off. I had gained freedom for my fingers.
I couldn’t fight them there were too many, but I realized now I could run. I had to leave before it got dark. I grabbed what was left of my necklace, tied it together and hid it underneath my shirt. It looked like it was still together at the top from a small distance.
Then I sat down before I fell over from the shock of the loss of my fingers and promptly lost consciousness.
I awoke to find myself in the same position, an hour later. No one had come near me. I still had the knife. I grabbed the searer with my thumb and forefinger of my injured hand and stuck it in my apron pocket and went to find Terry in the pantry. I would not let them win. Terry and I were going to get out of here.
It was early afternoon and the Rakii would rest and pray to their green and pink god before dinner. I walked slowly into the kitchen. I was still suffering from shock and found Terry waiting patiently in the pantry on the stool to become Rakii dinner. I leaned over and grabbed her necklace and chopped off the pendant part and stuck it under her shirt. She began to cry.
“Quiet, I’m trying to get us out of here. Do you want to come?”
She stopped sobbing, nodded and grabbed my good hand. I placed it on my apron pocket and whispered for her to follow me. I stood up and started walking away from the pantry. Ki had risen early from her prayers to start preparing dinner.
“Help me prepare Terry for dinner, Nina. Please sharpen the knives.” Ki said.
Terry began to cry.
Ki noticed the change in Terry.
I pulled my knife out of my apron pocket where I’d placed it when Ki had come in and stabbed her in the stomach, where her heart was, catching her by surprise. She fell over and greenish, pink swirling blood began to pool out of her stomach all over the floor. She began to gasp quietly, coughing.
“I can’t do this for you, Ki.” I grabbed the knife, cleaned it on her clothes and put it back in my pocket. Terry and I walked out the back door quietly, not waking anyone.
We caught a transit to the city center. I didn’t know where to go but staying on Earth, where humans were quickly becoming extinct was not an option. I caught the transit for the airfield and found an old freighter junkyard. There had to be something or some way to leave this planet.
When they came, it wasn’t the normal saucers you see in all of the cool science fiction movies. Their ships had these triangular shaped noses and there were big boxes in the back. They were enormous, half a city block enormous. They were on every other corner like 7-11. They had this landing gear out that made them look like big insects, like cockroaches or grasshoppers.
Nobody fought against them. I didn’t. It was on the news that the government had made a trade, technology that would change our lives and help the environment for living arrangements because they were refugees. I don’t think they spelled out real well in the contracts what they lived on. They just planted their ships wherever was pretty or convenient and began unpacking like they’d just finished a trip to the Grand Canyon in an RV.
When they came out of their ships, all of the aliens were an emerald green. They looked like people but with bigger, solid black eyes and green hair. They had long, tendril-like fingers with hooks at the end and they never opened their mouths when they smiled. They started out normal and pretended to like us. They worked on the technology, adapting their energy science to our current technology. They made friends with everybody.
It was weird how some of them started turning pink while the others stayed green. The city streets were different. The aliens, the Rakii, were everywhere but I started to see fewer humans at night. I’d drive to the store and see the Rakii, the aliens, everywhere. Less and less humans walked at night. I’d drive to the store and there were fewer and fewer humans working. The homeless shelters started to empty. Everyone was excited at the new jobs provided by the technology. We discovered later that the pink Rakii were kidnapping, sucking the blood and eating the people they found at night.
The anti-gravity propellant and power systems were revolutionary, and as the smog began to clear, the Rakii became more aggressive. They began to openly take people in broad daylight, friends or family, resistant or not. They would take them to their houses and eat them at their leisure.
After three months, the Rakii began to smile, full, gruesome smiles with an abundant double row of jagged teeth and sharp incisors. Most of them began to turn a gruesome, unnatural shade of pink. They were eating.
They began to put necklaces on humans. After a year, all humans had been captured and collared with these necklaces. They would keep us compliant and close to them.
They ate my husband first. There was an agreement between him and Melfa, the head female of the group, that I would survive as a slave if he went peacefully. I watched for years as Melfa kept me to serve her. I don’t know why they continued to let me live. She and her pod family, her fellow female travelers, Nila, Ria and Ki and the service alien male, Lien ate everyone I knew and the rest of my family - my sister and my mother. They were ruthlessly hungry. I cried but I could not resist. The necklace wouldn’t allow it.
Nothing changed until five years later when Melfa came to me.
“I’m hungry,” she whined. In that nasally voice that only they had. Her red skin was almost a blushing green. It meant she wasn’t lying. She was hungry. I felt my stomach sink. I didn’t want to do what it took to feed her, feed any of them.
She looked at me. I didn’t want to. It would mean a part of myself would literally be hers. They ate people. First, they expected hands or parts of you that they thought you could sacrifice and still serve their needs. Then, they expected you to die to feed them. They fed off the fear too.
“I won’t hurt you myself. I made a promise to your husband. If you give me a part of you voluntarily, it won’t break our agreement.”
I thought about this for a moment. “Why would I do this?”
“If you don’t, I’ll eat the little one there.” She pointed to the little girl, Terry. She was supposed to have been kept as a slave for her parents being eaten last month.
“What’s to stop you from eating her after you eat me?”
“I won’t kill you. I only want a finger. Feed me one finger at a time and Terry lives.”
I didn’t want to give her anything. I hated them. They kept hurting me and everyone else. I began to see her turn pink as she fed off my anguished energy. The necklace wouldn’t let me rebel, or plan, but I always felt the torment. Melfa had told me that one of the reasons they didn’t want to kill me was because they so enjoyed the strong emotion I felt. Apparently, they were getting hungry more often now. There were less and less people to eat. Every day, more ships took off to search the surrounding solar systems for a close planet with edible people. They found one planet in a solar system only 80 light years away, only to discover that they were methane breathing, nitrogen based organisms. The aliens needed to feed off people like us, iron-based humans. They were still searching.
“Can’t you wait until the new farmed humans come?”
“No! I’m hungry now.” Melfa said haughtily. “Make your choice or I’ll make it for you.” She flipped her green hair back behind her shoulders and smiled at me. “Here, I brought the knife.” She handed it to me.
I looked at it warily. Next to it, she had set a searing iron to sear my wound closed. I grabbed something to put in my mouth. “I can’t do it.”
“Fine. Terry, come here, child.” She took the knife from me and began to walk towards Terry who was only eight and shaking like a leaf, terrified of what was coming.
“No.” I grabbed the knife and swung at my left hand, aiming for my little finger. I heard the knife hit the table and then a clunk on the floor. Had I dropped the knife? I looked down. It was still on the table. I felt burning in my last two fingers and looked at my hand. I’d hit two fingers instead of one and tears began to stream down my face.
“Hand me the fingers,” she said.
I gave them to her haltingly, sobbing with pain. Ki used the searing iron to burn my hand to stop the bleeding.
She grabbed the fingers, stared at me, soaking in the torment I was radiating and began to tear at the fingers with her teeth.
“Umm, so good. I can’t decide which I like more, the fingers or your anguish. Thanks for the snack. I’m just so hungry we may not be able to wait for the farmed ones. Terry come here.”
“You promised.” I hoarsely whispered, Melfa’s image blurred from pain and tears.
“Ki, come grab Terry. Put her in the pantry. We’ll eat her for dinner tonight. Help Nina with her cuts. She’ll need to serve me.”
I wanted to kill them all. Something was different. I felt the need to hurt them. I looked down and the necklace was on the floor. The pendant had separated from the ribbon holding it. The control pendant had been cut off when I had cut my fingers off. I had gained freedom for my fingers.
I couldn’t fight them there were too many, but I realized now I could run. I had to leave before it got dark. I grabbed what was left of my necklace, tied it together and hid it underneath my shirt. It looked like it was still together at the top from a small distance.
Then I sat down before I fell over from the shock of the loss of my fingers and promptly lost consciousness.
I awoke to find myself in the same position, an hour later. No one had come near me. I still had the knife. I grabbed the searer with my thumb and forefinger of my injured hand and stuck it in my apron pocket and went to find Terry in the pantry. I would not let them win. Terry and I were going to get out of here.
It was early afternoon and the Rakii would rest and pray to their green and pink god before dinner. I walked slowly into the kitchen. I was still suffering from shock and found Terry waiting patiently in the pantry on the stool to become Rakii dinner. I leaned over and grabbed her necklace and chopped off the pendant part and stuck it under her shirt. She began to cry.
“Quiet, I’m trying to get us out of here. Do you want to come?”
She stopped sobbing, nodded and grabbed my good hand. I placed it on my apron pocket and whispered for her to follow me. I stood up and started walking away from the pantry. Ki had risen early from her prayers to start preparing dinner.
“Help me prepare Terry for dinner, Nina. Please sharpen the knives.” Ki said.
Terry began to cry.
Ki noticed the change in Terry.
I pulled my knife out of my apron pocket where I’d placed it when Ki had come in and stabbed her in the stomach, where her heart was, catching her by surprise. She fell over and greenish, pink swirling blood began to pool out of her stomach all over the floor. She began to gasp quietly, coughing.
“I can’t do this for you, Ki.” I grabbed the knife, cleaned it on her clothes and put it back in my pocket. Terry and I walked out the back door quietly, not waking anyone.
We caught a transit to the city center. I didn’t know where to go but staying on Earth, where humans were quickly becoming extinct was not an option. I caught the transit for the airfield and found an old freighter junkyard. There had to be something or some way to leave this planet.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
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