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[literarysys]

Fire and Flies

A fire in the wood stove cracked behind my back as I sat and watched. There was this fly, buzzing and hopping around. The buzzing sounded warped like it had broken wings. It held my attention, more so than what the TV had to offer, and more so than the alternative silence would have. But the snow falling outside was equally captivating as the bug, and my attention waned back and forth. This wasn’t the first fly I’d seen do this.

All winter, they bombed; dropping like black pebbles from the ceiling far above. The ones who didn’t die on impact would flutter, broken, like this one. At first it was annoying, then concerning. Why? Over nights spent by the fire, I’d imagined reasons. A strike against flying? War on humans? Mad fly disease? Maybe a spider, perched in the rafters, took them. Poisoned them one at a time and plunged them, paralyzed, to their deaths. Suicidal? Or maybe they just forgot how to fly...

At any rate, the snow was slow outside, and I watched as silent flakes drifted and I shifted in my seat, back tingling with hot chills. It was the kind of snow that could bury you. Like ash. But suddenly a noise filled my ears. The fly, no longer hopping or buzzing, was burning itself alive on the stove’s grated glass. Burning right next to me. It fizzled, and buzzed strange and terrible, then dropped into soot, spraying it in white torrents, zipping in wild circles until it died. I still watched. Watched as ash fell, and watched the flies drop with it. 

[literarysys]

A Darker Shade of Black

A darker shade of black

Drips along, that bead of black 

Dancing, sliding, slowing. 

From above it hits you,

one fast drop 

Between the eyes and in surprise 

You’re paralysed.

The drops keep dripping, tripping 

you up.

Soon it’s in your eyes and as you try 

To see clearly all it does is get,

more bleary.

Weary.

 And soon the shadows that pervade 

Leave us gripping, groping, hoping 

for a light that might

make its way to us. 

But in that darker shade of black

That sack which lives your soul

Does not fade

And Within that shade, are shades in spades 

And spades that dig are friends indeed

To dig you out 

Dig out of you the dirt and grime

Dig out of you the tears.

Dig out of you denial. 

And when that digging has dug enough

When that digging finds the bedrock,

when that digging has dug you up

stop. 

Look up.

A different drop has come to play

One we hope will stay 

A drop that’s clear and bright 

One that makes you see the light

And from that light that lights within 

The shades of black grow thin,

 and when the ink blots leave your eyes

A form of you immortalized 

Shines with love and laughter

and because that light so bright in you

Will never truly leave

Our jobs in here my dear, 

are to walk through,

 And  out

 Of those darker shades of black

[literarysys]

The Wave of Wye

Stretching back along black beach,

growing tall and wide.

Waves touching turbulent sky.

The wave of Wye

sucking back along the sand.

Calm,

Ebbing back and back,

showing shipwrecks.

Shattered shells, 

ribbed ridges of sand packed stoney. 

Black and speckled. 

Prawney fish bones that heckle,

grinning boneyard grins in the wake of wave named Wye. 

Spectators in the amphitheater as you push the wave back high,

the shadowed footprints of your movements mapping under sky. 

The wave of Wye now towering high.

Like a crash of thunder,

Loud in sound, breaking buoyed blue, 

the wave comes tumbling down.

All around the damp dead 

from ocean's sea bed

watch you 

as you drown.

[literarysys]

Purgatory (YA sample)

...“And here we have some medieval artifacts. As I was saying, our collection spans several different periods, but we’ve managed to categorize based on two themes. On this side of the exhibit hall, we have some ancient battle uniforms from the Greek and Roman empires, early era Viking war ships, mosaics and panel paintings of crusader art, as well some interactive displays on tribal warfare. Many of our artifacts include an immersive feature allowing you to be more or less in the middle of the action. But I do suggest some caution, especially around the massacres, some people find them overwhelming. On the opposite wall we have some lovely architectural displays on the betterment of society. Romantic artwork and literature, impressionistic paintings and the like. Our interactive displays over here allow you to chat with individuals promoting the overall wellbeing of humanity and the world throughout the ages. Here we also encourage visitors to use the immersive feature, and we have a book of dates for you to choose from. Any questions?” There was a placid look on Andrew’s face as he stared at the man who was speaking. As he blinked, he said, “I’m sorry, where did you say we were?”

“The exhibit of war and peace.” the man replied, staring calmly back. His face was illuminated by the flickering light of a torch that he held in his hand, and he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and had a beard. It was neatly trimmed, but it, and his hair were graying. If not for the fact that he had the most potent eyes, Andrew would have looked on the man's Roman nose as the defining feature of his face, but they were vibrant and clear. Wise with a deadly kind of brilliance. You could not be unseen by these eyes. 

“War and peace?”

“Yes.” The two looked at each other in silence, “You know, war and peace. Good and bad. Love and hate, light and dark. War and peace just sounds a little more academic. Call it what you want though, it’s all the same.”

“Are we in a museum?” Andrew asked as he looked around and saw that through the darkness, to his left and his right, were podiums and wall displays also lit under the small fires of  torches.

“Effectively speaking.” said the man, and a look of confusion spread across Andrew’s face. 

“I don’t understand. How did I get here?” The man nodded, “Why don’t we sit down for a moment.” He beckoned Andrew with a flick of his head, “Come.” he said, and began to step into the darkness, “Oh and watch the shoes”, he paused, Andrew pausing with him. “The first step is a little unnerving.” The boy looked at his feet. Standing on large marble tiles of black and white, where his sneakers would have been, were two lumps of stony metal. Andrew looked at the man. He could see him walking up ahead, taking a seat on a bench now illuminated under his torch light, and the man looked back at him expectantly.

Looking at the lumps and tensing his muscles, Andrew threw his weight onto one leg as he lifted the opposite foot. Immediately it set ablaze in a blue spark of fire, exploding pale light into the dark hall. “Ahh!” he exclaimed, and dropped his foot. His other was still weighed down, and Andrew stomped about helplessly. After a moment of panic, finding himself unhurt as the sparks burnt out, he saw the metal had melted away, revealing a shoe of pure gold. Looking at the man, who stared at him steadily, Andrew again threw his weight. This time he watched the blue blaze rise and die more calmly revealing the gold underneath, and as he made his way to the bench, a heavy “clop, clop, clop” echoed through the room

“Sit.” said the man, and Andrew did. “You’re basically right. This is a museum- well, an exhibit I should say. Of history. It exists on its own and it is never ending. If you walk one way you will inevitably wind up where you began, and the only thing that changes, is it grows. One side shows war and the other side shows peace. There are others here, like you, which you will meet in a moment, but you are free to wander about as much as you like. That’s about as simple as it gets.”

“That doesn’t explain anything. What about these shoes to start?”

“Are you religious Andrew?”

“Not particularly.” 

“Have you heard about prayers for the dead?”

With widened eyes Andrew asked “We’re dead?!” And at this the man laughed.

“Well now that you mention it yes, but it’s not like you think.”

“ What, that the afterlife is some sort of intellectual field trip? Well no, I guess not.” The man laughed again. 

“Well to start, this isn’t the afterlife.” They both were silent. “ You’re conscious aren’t you? You think, you feel. All that good stuff?” Andrew took a second to assess, then nodded quietly, “All that good stuff.” 

“Ok well in simple terms dead just means not here. On Earth, they see you as not here, but to you, they are not here. This is Purgatory.”...

[literarysys]

Anger

I have fallen

to the depths

of where my

anger lives and

now I must

dance with

the devil of my

own making

[literarysys]

Soft Spots

Sometimes I run my fingers through my hair and feel the soft spot on my scalp where the two lobes meet at the back. If I push on it a little it feels weird. Like sticking your finger too deep inside your belly button.

[literarysys]

Vice Verse

A womb,

a cocoon,

a cradle.

A teddy bear,

a dolly,

a blanket,

a light.

A game,

a spot,

a feeling I like.

A person,

a food,

a drink,

a drug.

These are the vices;

the places I feel love.

[literarysys]

Monthly Ritual

My lacey pedaled,

un-metaled,

pair of underwear drowning in my bathroom sink

Blooms,

Pink plumes

From the latest cycle of the moon.

[literarysys]

Road Sign to Hell

It is in the bootcamp of childhood where we face the hard consequences. In the beginning every blow to the psyche has a number. A place. A time. A date. A vivid inscription etched in our hearts, but then comes the blindness at adolescence. As we enter adulthood, we forget that our fathers beat the scripture of manhood into our brothers, and our sisters were humiliated into womanhood. After this, is there nothing left to do but forget, and wonder, to where it is we are headed when we see a road sign to hell? 

[literarysys]

Wounded Telepathy

If I had it my way I'd cut my head off and feed it to you. Have you feast upon my thoughts and digest their inner view. Let them find the threads of yours and meld them into one. Have you hold them on your tongue and coax them into words. Speak them to my headless form and bid my fingers; stitch this wound.

[literarysys]

Lol is this why it's so hard?

No matter how much two people's hearts are filled with each other, and feel destined for each other, is this what gets in the way??

Yet if two people do not agree on how to express that love in their relationship, can they ever really love each other?

Can they ever really give and receive love to each other, because the love is there no doubt, but how can you ever have it if you can't ever feel it by the way they love you? The woes of dating...

The lesson may be that none of us are above the downfall that comes from an error in communication...

But which one do you think is the point in love?

“To David, love meant declaration. Wasn’t that the whole point? To Sarah, love meant a shared secret. Wasn’t that the whole point?”

— Susan Choi, Trust Exercise

[literarysys]

Summer

Dip a toe in a spot of sunlight, and

watch it travel up your legs and kiss the 

little of your belly.

Gently does the summer sun caress 

your back and shoulders,

rest its head upon your chest and listen 

to your breath. 

Nuzzle cheeks and lips, 

and eyes and ears,

and in this warmth, 

this blaze,

this glow,

it’d be easy to stay 

And live.

Forever more.

[literarysys]

Haiku

It’s quite obvious

I see it clearly

It’s there; manifest

Did what? Manifest

Manifest I said.

It just sprung out from my head

I see it clearly.

It just sprung out from my head.

Manifest I’d said.

[literarysys]

Moody Self Portraits

[literarysys]

Stone Cold Lover

Go digging in the forrest,

that's where I'll be.

Buried six feet under,

wrapped within my earthly sleep.

Dig until my shroud breaths a little air.

Brush away the dirt, and free me from my lair.

Bring forth a blackened heart of wicked polished stone.

Cut the dead one out my chest,

place the other neath the bone.

Give me breath from yours to mine and watch me for some time.

Watch until my gravestone lies,

watch me twitch, watch me rise.

Watch until my heart starts beating in the night,

Then I'll kill you.

I really might.

[literarysys]

No Speak

I may be a little strange.

Maybe it's because I'm only halfway tamed.

Stuck between rules,

social cues,

fear association,

and absolute boredom.

People mind it when I don't talk.

Or they don't mind it.

They weren't listening to me in the first place.

For someone who doesn't speak

I tend to attract the real weirdos.

Ones from whom you should ignore and or

run from because they think we are the same but we're not.

They take my sympathetic ear;

rip it off and hoard it.

Hoard it for their own and put me on a pedestal

of either larger or lower stature of the one

they stand on alone,

and then they lean,

and lean to try to make me drag

them around or build them up but

I say fuck that

and fuck you.

We're all on our own.

My ear was meant to be a moment

where maybe some sanity shone through

but you took it as a porthole to find a savior made just for you.

Well screw that notion of friendship,

relationship,

or any other such vessel.

I prefer time on my own thank you.

And all that is to say,

I think it'd really help if

I could get myself to speak

the word no.

[literarysys]

Fine

Remain calm under stress. Remain calm so that you don't die of shock. Or panic.

Shock is the state of mind when you can't come to terms with the reality presented to you. Shock is also the state of the body where not enough blood is able to flow to your organs keeping you alive.

The signs and symptoms of shock are rapid, weak, or absent pulse. Rapid, shallow breathing. Lightheadedness. Cool, clammy skin. Chest pain. Nausea. Confusion. Anxiety. Loss of conciousness.

Panic: a sudden sensation of fear dominating reason and logic, replacing them with anxiety and increased agitation.

The signs and symptoms of a panic attack are rapid pulse. Lightheadedness. Tingling or numbness in the hands and fingers. Sense of terror. Periods of sweat and chills. Chest pains. Breathing difficulties. Nausea.

Remain Calm.

Let us consider the components at hand.

1. Under enough pressure, the atoms and molecules of rocks realign themselves, creating precious gems.

2. Under enough pressure, what once was solid becomes liquid, and super-heated.

3. The pressure that builds from a small piece of dry ice in a closed container is enough to create a fatal explosion.

Take the high road they say. Be the bigger person. Most never bother to delineate the point at which this turns into self-sacrifice. Everything is fine. Smile. Smile till they go away. Just smile. Can you feel the tension? Smile. A convincing smile is in the eyes. Crinkle just a little. Scrunch the nose slightly. Exhale, and grin. Fine. Fine. Everything is fine.

I'm fine.