Family
A surprise visit
Brings son and his wife to me
Family are we
Monday, August 23, 2010
Day 21 of 24/7
Summer Day
We sit in the river and watch minnows
They nibble our legs and arms
Watchful of swimming over open palms
Fingerlings feeding on dead skin cells
A spa treatment for free
Everybody wins
We sit in the river and watch minnows
They nibble our legs and arms
Watchful of swimming over open palms
Fingerlings feeding on dead skin cells
A spa treatment for free
Everybody wins
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Day 18 of 24/7
Second Hand Shopping
We walk into Frenchy's
To find what we may
Small size pink Converse
Make Granddaughter's day
Then Daughter goes looking
through handbags galore
Dolce and Gabbana
is her major score
I pull out two Guccis
I'll sell them online
And keep the Liz Claiborne
they suit me just fine
We walk into Frenchy's
To find what we may
Small size pink Converse
Make Granddaughter's day
Then Daughter goes looking
through handbags galore
Dolce and Gabbana
is her major score
I pull out two Guccis
I'll sell them online
And keep the Liz Claiborne
they suit me just fine
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Day 17 of 24/7
This ties into yesterday's work, and is an actual conversation I had with my daughter when she was a tiny thing.
Memories of another time
“When I was the mother and you were the baby, I used to read to you.”
She sits in my lap, the story book in her lap as I read to her. She is no more than three, maybe only two and a half. “Oh, really?” I say.
She nods. “There was a man who was mean to me,” she tells me. I encourage the memory, for such it must be. “And my Aunt Sarah.”
“Where was this?” I ask.
“S—Sc—Sco--Scotland?” She struggles with the word. We've never spoken of Scotland, that I remember. I knew someone named Sarah when I was in grade 6 or 7, but haven't seen her in decades. This fascinates me, the memories of a baby whose mind is closer to there than here. She is convinced that she speaks Spanish and has dreams of the house in Scotland.
Fifteen years later, she remembers the dreams, and we wonder what paths we have travelled together.
Memories of another time
“When I was the mother and you were the baby, I used to read to you.”
She sits in my lap, the story book in her lap as I read to her. She is no more than three, maybe only two and a half. “Oh, really?” I say.
She nods. “There was a man who was mean to me,” she tells me. I encourage the memory, for such it must be. “And my Aunt Sarah.”
“Where was this?” I ask.
“S—Sc—Sco--Scotland?” She struggles with the word. We've never spoken of Scotland, that I remember. I knew someone named Sarah when I was in grade 6 or 7, but haven't seen her in decades. This fascinates me, the memories of a baby whose mind is closer to there than here. She is convinced that she speaks Spanish and has dreams of the house in Scotland.
Fifteen years later, she remembers the dreams, and we wonder what paths we have travelled together.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Day 16 of 24/7
Planning Ahead
“I don't know if I want to be the mother this time. I was the mother two times ago. I want to do something else this time.” Tehl looked at the pad in her lap.
“Okay, then. I haven't been the mother in ages and ages. I think I need to be the mother and learn some new things. I still haven't mastered patience. Being a mother is good for that, isn't it?” Soan looked at the others, most of whom nodded. “Okay, then. Who's going to be the father?”
“I'm already down as your brother,” Teres said. “So I get to be uncle!”
“Who do you want to be your father this time, Jethe?” asked Soan. She made notes on her pad, sketching in details of a life. “And what age difference?”
“Zeni and I need to work out some things together, so he's going to be the father,” said Jethe. “He's already set up who he's going to be born to, and you and he can work out the details of your life together.”
“Zeni. Oh cool! We weren't even in the same lifetimes last time,” said Soan. “We've been talking about being a couple sometime. I'm going to become incapacitated later in life so Zeni can practise nurturing.”
“I'm going to be a handful, you know that, right?” Jethe said. “You want patience, I'll test it for you. I need to learn to be independent; I tend to rely on everyone around me.” Jethe made notes, outlining daily life, specific goals.
The friends sat on benches in warm sunlight, choosing roles and lessons. Here in the Between, it was easy to recognize their own weak spots and strengths, and to choose which weaknesses needed to be explored and how to help each other.
“How will I know you?” Zeni arrived to work on the plans.
Soan smiled. “Let's use that 'I KNOW you' feeling. It's always so cool.”
“Will we both feel it, or just one of us?” Zeni asked.
“This time, I think both of us. It's important for Jethe that we get together and get settled early on.” They sat down and worked out the details of when and how they would meet and marry. Around them, the others planned and erased and created until they were satisfied.
“I'm off, then,” said Zeni. “I'm going to be the oldest one in this group, and my parents are waiting for me to be born. See you soon.”
“Soon for us here,” said Jethe. “But time runs differently down there, remember?”
Zeni nodded. “I know. It'll be years yet. Have fun. Keep an eye on me, make sure I stay on my path, okay?” The others nodded and Zeni left them to be born once more on Earth, taking up yet another life.
“I don't know if I want to be the mother this time. I was the mother two times ago. I want to do something else this time.” Tehl looked at the pad in her lap.
“Okay, then. I haven't been the mother in ages and ages. I think I need to be the mother and learn some new things. I still haven't mastered patience. Being a mother is good for that, isn't it?” Soan looked at the others, most of whom nodded. “Okay, then. Who's going to be the father?”
“I'm already down as your brother,” Teres said. “So I get to be uncle!”
“Who do you want to be your father this time, Jethe?” asked Soan. She made notes on her pad, sketching in details of a life. “And what age difference?”
“Zeni and I need to work out some things together, so he's going to be the father,” said Jethe. “He's already set up who he's going to be born to, and you and he can work out the details of your life together.”
“Zeni. Oh cool! We weren't even in the same lifetimes last time,” said Soan. “We've been talking about being a couple sometime. I'm going to become incapacitated later in life so Zeni can practise nurturing.”
“I'm going to be a handful, you know that, right?” Jethe said. “You want patience, I'll test it for you. I need to learn to be independent; I tend to rely on everyone around me.” Jethe made notes, outlining daily life, specific goals.
The friends sat on benches in warm sunlight, choosing roles and lessons. Here in the Between, it was easy to recognize their own weak spots and strengths, and to choose which weaknesses needed to be explored and how to help each other.
“How will I know you?” Zeni arrived to work on the plans.
Soan smiled. “Let's use that 'I KNOW you' feeling. It's always so cool.”
“Will we both feel it, or just one of us?” Zeni asked.
“This time, I think both of us. It's important for Jethe that we get together and get settled early on.” They sat down and worked out the details of when and how they would meet and marry. Around them, the others planned and erased and created until they were satisfied.
“I'm off, then,” said Zeni. “I'm going to be the oldest one in this group, and my parents are waiting for me to be born. See you soon.”
“Soon for us here,” said Jethe. “But time runs differently down there, remember?”
Zeni nodded. “I know. It'll be years yet. Have fun. Keep an eye on me, make sure I stay on my path, okay?” The others nodded and Zeni left them to be born once more on Earth, taking up yet another life.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Day 15 of 24/7
December 22, 2012
The sun came up
The world went on
Doomsayers sought another date
for Armageddon
***
This is my response to the prediction of the end of the world on December 21/12.
The sun came up
The world went on
Doomsayers sought another date
for Armageddon
***
This is my response to the prediction of the end of the world on December 21/12.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Day 14 of 24/7
This piece is pretty self-explanatory!!
Late at night
I can hear my bed calling to me
It knows my name
“The Jetsons” is playing on the TV
The story is lame
I've made the commitment to write
Each day for a whole twenty-four
So I'm here way too late in the night
Siren bed calls to me through the door
So off to bed I soon will creep
And then I'll lay me down to sleep
Late at night
I can hear my bed calling to me
It knows my name
“The Jetsons” is playing on the TV
The story is lame
I've made the commitment to write
Each day for a whole twenty-four
So I'm here way too late in the night
Siren bed calls to me through the door
So off to bed I soon will creep
And then I'll lay me down to sleep
Friday, August 13, 2010
Cosmic Crokinole
Cosmic Crokinole
Played with uncounted planets for pieces
Caroming into each other--crashing and spinning
Mercury stripped of its outer layers and Venus slowed in her tracks
Two more smash, meld, melt and break apart--Earth and the moon endlessly circling
Mars reshaped, an unknown smashed to rubble, now just an asteroid belt
A solid giant impacts Jupiter and is swallowed whole,
Saturn eats smaller pieces, Neptune gains a moon
Uranus is tipped on its axis, blue ring at a jaunty angle
Little Pluto runs its elliptical orbit, perhaps seeking one last shot
Of the countless pieces only nine remain
Circling the centre waiting for the next round.
Played with uncounted planets for pieces
Caroming into each other--crashing and spinning
Mercury stripped of its outer layers and Venus slowed in her tracks
Two more smash, meld, melt and break apart--Earth and the moon endlessly circling
Mars reshaped, an unknown smashed to rubble, now just an asteroid belt
A solid giant impacts Jupiter and is swallowed whole,
Saturn eats smaller pieces, Neptune gains a moon
Uranus is tipped on its axis, blue ring at a jaunty angle
Little Pluto runs its elliptical orbit, perhaps seeking one last shot
Of the countless pieces only nine remain
Circling the centre waiting for the next round.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Rose
Today's 24/7 is another shortened version of something that's been mulling around in my mind for about a year or so. I really enjoy getting these out in such short fashion.
Rose
She dreamed. Charlie, her darling, was waiting for her. His shy smile flickered and he held out the flower that was her namesake. “I'm here, Rose,” he said. “I told you I'd come for you.”
She smiled in her sleep and murmured his name. “Charlie Darling.”
“What did she say?” A voice intruded into her dream. She fought to stay there, to see Charlie, but more voices, although low, dragged her away. “Who's Charlie, Mother?” her daughter's voice.
“Did she say 'Charlie, darling?'” her granddaughter.
“No, Callista. She said 'Charlie Darling'. He was her beau who went to the trenches in the Great War. He never came home.” That voice was Beryl, Rose's sister. “They were to be married when he got back, but he was killed only a few weeks before Armistice.”
Rose remembered the terrible telegram and the letter from Charlie's mother, telling her of his death. She had felt as if the whole world had ended that day. Oh, she had moved on eventually, married Joseph and had a fine family, but Charlie had always been her Darling, and she had always been his special Rose. A tear slid down her parchment cheek. She was vaguely aware of her sister and daughter's voices talking above her, and then a softer voice at her ear.
“It's okay if Charlie is waiting for you, Nanny.” It was Callista. “You can go to him now. We don't mind. Grampy wouldn't mind.”
Rose sank into the dream again. Charlie's smile widened and this time he stepped forward to take her hand. “Oh, Rose,” he said. “I never stopped loving you, you know.”
“Nor I you, Charlie,” she said. “Never.” She took his hand. Behind him, Joseph waved at her and winked. “It's his time now, Rosey,” he said.
She smiled gratitude at him and he walked away. Charlie took her in his arms and held her close. “It's beautiful here, Rose. You'll remember it from before.”
“But my family,” she began.
“They're fine,” he said. She looked behind her at the shell on the bed. Tears streaked Callista's face as she stroked the veined hand that lay on the coverlet. She heard Callista's voice.
“Nanny's gone.”
Rose looked down at herself, at her hands, young and vibrant again, and then at Charlie, the same as he was the day he went to war. She laughed aloud and let Charlie spin her in a joyous dance, then she and her Darling walked into eternity.
Rose
She dreamed. Charlie, her darling, was waiting for her. His shy smile flickered and he held out the flower that was her namesake. “I'm here, Rose,” he said. “I told you I'd come for you.”
She smiled in her sleep and murmured his name. “Charlie Darling.”
“What did she say?” A voice intruded into her dream. She fought to stay there, to see Charlie, but more voices, although low, dragged her away. “Who's Charlie, Mother?” her daughter's voice.
“Did she say 'Charlie, darling?'” her granddaughter.
“No, Callista. She said 'Charlie Darling'. He was her beau who went to the trenches in the Great War. He never came home.” That voice was Beryl, Rose's sister. “They were to be married when he got back, but he was killed only a few weeks before Armistice.”
Rose remembered the terrible telegram and the letter from Charlie's mother, telling her of his death. She had felt as if the whole world had ended that day. Oh, she had moved on eventually, married Joseph and had a fine family, but Charlie had always been her Darling, and she had always been his special Rose. A tear slid down her parchment cheek. She was vaguely aware of her sister and daughter's voices talking above her, and then a softer voice at her ear.
“It's okay if Charlie is waiting for you, Nanny.” It was Callista. “You can go to him now. We don't mind. Grampy wouldn't mind.”
Rose sank into the dream again. Charlie's smile widened and this time he stepped forward to take her hand. “Oh, Rose,” he said. “I never stopped loving you, you know.”
“Nor I you, Charlie,” she said. “Never.” She took his hand. Behind him, Joseph waved at her and winked. “It's his time now, Rosey,” he said.
She smiled gratitude at him and he walked away. Charlie took her in his arms and held her close. “It's beautiful here, Rose. You'll remember it from before.”
“But my family,” she began.
“They're fine,” he said. She looked behind her at the shell on the bed. Tears streaked Callista's face as she stroked the veined hand that lay on the coverlet. She heard Callista's voice.
“Nanny's gone.”
Rose looked down at herself, at her hands, young and vibrant again, and then at Charlie, the same as he was the day he went to war. She laughed aloud and let Charlie spin her in a joyous dance, then she and her Darling walked into eternity.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Escape
Today's 24/7 effort is another poem related to an ongoing work, and looking again at the Folk's journey from their doomed planet across dimensions to the world where the majority of them settled.
Escape
A flick of a switch, a subtle change
And there has become here
Three moons are now two, how very strange
Days become weeks, a month, now a year
Refugees seek a home
Where imminent nova will not be a fear
Some settle sooner, too tired to roam
Any further, the others move on
Across the dimensions, then finding a home
With only one moon; but the forests are wide
The sun is no danger, no reason to hide.
Escape
A flick of a switch, a subtle change
And there has become here
Three moons are now two, how very strange
Days become weeks, a month, now a year
Refugees seek a home
Where imminent nova will not be a fear
Some settle sooner, too tired to roam
Any further, the others move on
Across the dimensions, then finding a home
With only one moon; but the forests are wide
The sun is no danger, no reason to hide.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Nova
The sun
huge in the sky
oceans steam in the heat
whole forests erupting in flames
we burn
***
Today's 24/7 effort is a cinquain. I seem to be playing with supershort fiction and new forms of poetry.
huge in the sky
oceans steam in the heat
whole forests erupting in flames
we burn
***
Today's 24/7 effort is a cinquain. I seem to be playing with supershort fiction and new forms of poetry.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Consequences
Thou shalt not kill.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” the cardinal replied.
She was a woman; a midwife and herbalist, doing God's work. You caused her death.
“She was a witch. She turned men to stone.” He thought of her ripe body as she bathed in the river, he hidden in the bushes nearby, watching unseen. He remembered the intense erection he had gotten at the sight of her breasts and belly. “She turned me to stone.”
You had a normal man's reaction to her body, her beauty.
“I am a man of God. I am above the temptations of the flesh.”
You were a man, subject to temptation.
“I did God's work more than she did.”
You caused pain and suffering and terror. That is not God's work. That is the work of His adversary.
“I drove out demons!” He thought of the instruments for revealing heresy, for freeing the soul from the the corrupt body. “I earned my place in Heaven, destroying the heretics.”
Ineffable sorrow washed over him from the angels who stood between him and the Gates. She was an innocent. Most of them were.
“No! I only did what was right! It was she who tempted me. She was a witch, I tell you!”
You earned your place Below. It was his work you did, sowing discord among the faithful, causing betrayal in families, making men fear God instead of loving Him. Remember: Love God above all else, and love your neighbour as yourself.
He heard the shrieks of the damned, smelled sulfur. Behind him, fallen angels arose from the depths to escort him.
A soft voice spoke from behind the angels of light. They moved aside and she came forward.
“He has no idea he did wrong,” she said. “He truly believed he did the work of God. When Jesus was being crucified, did he not say, 'Father, forgive them; they know not what they are doing'? So it was with him. Do not let his ignorance damn him.”
The cardinal-that-was stared at her. Her beauty seared his soul. Realization flooded his being, and he fell on his face before her. He wailed, seeing the faces of all those he had believed he had sent to Hell. They gathered behind her and shook their heads in pity.
“Let him in,” they said to the angels of light.
He wept and grovelled. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
“Forgive yourself,” she said. “See the truth, forgive yourself and you may enter.”
She smiled at the angels who bowed their heads as she returned to the others and vanished beyond the pillars. He watched them go. He looked from the angels of light to the darker ones who waited patiently for his soul. Forgive himself? It could take an eternity.
We can wait. But was it the angels of light or of darkness who had spoken?
***
Today's entry in the 24/7 challenge. I'm not completely content with this as it stands, although the idea has been percolating for years. I realize it may cause controversy, and that's okay. I'm playing with the idea of forgiveness and Heaven and Hell.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” the cardinal replied.
She was a woman; a midwife and herbalist, doing God's work. You caused her death.
“She was a witch. She turned men to stone.” He thought of her ripe body as she bathed in the river, he hidden in the bushes nearby, watching unseen. He remembered the intense erection he had gotten at the sight of her breasts and belly. “She turned me to stone.”
You had a normal man's reaction to her body, her beauty.
“I am a man of God. I am above the temptations of the flesh.”
You were a man, subject to temptation.
“I did God's work more than she did.”
You caused pain and suffering and terror. That is not God's work. That is the work of His adversary.
“I drove out demons!” He thought of the instruments for revealing heresy, for freeing the soul from the the corrupt body. “I earned my place in Heaven, destroying the heretics.”
Ineffable sorrow washed over him from the angels who stood between him and the Gates. She was an innocent. Most of them were.
“No! I only did what was right! It was she who tempted me. She was a witch, I tell you!”
You earned your place Below. It was his work you did, sowing discord among the faithful, causing betrayal in families, making men fear God instead of loving Him. Remember: Love God above all else, and love your neighbour as yourself.
He heard the shrieks of the damned, smelled sulfur. Behind him, fallen angels arose from the depths to escort him.
A soft voice spoke from behind the angels of light. They moved aside and she came forward.
“He has no idea he did wrong,” she said. “He truly believed he did the work of God. When Jesus was being crucified, did he not say, 'Father, forgive them; they know not what they are doing'? So it was with him. Do not let his ignorance damn him.”
The cardinal-that-was stared at her. Her beauty seared his soul. Realization flooded his being, and he fell on his face before her. He wailed, seeing the faces of all those he had believed he had sent to Hell. They gathered behind her and shook their heads in pity.
“Let him in,” they said to the angels of light.
He wept and grovelled. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
“Forgive yourself,” she said. “See the truth, forgive yourself and you may enter.”
She smiled at the angels who bowed their heads as she returned to the others and vanished beyond the pillars. He watched them go. He looked from the angels of light to the darker ones who waited patiently for his soul. Forgive himself? It could take an eternity.
We can wait. But was it the angels of light or of darkness who had spoken?
***
Today's entry in the 24/7 challenge. I'm not completely content with this as it stands, although the idea has been percolating for years. I realize it may cause controversy, and that's okay. I'm playing with the idea of forgiveness and Heaven and Hell.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Migrants
For today's effort for 24/7, I tried my hand at a triolet.
Migrants
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
To a planet, a new foreign shore.
The stars shone as never before.
They wondered what fate had in store
As they sped through the void at a pace
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
Migrants
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
To a planet, a new foreign shore.
The stars shone as never before.
They wondered what fate had in store
As they sped through the void at a pace
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
Friday, August 06, 2010
Writer's Block
A notebook, my hand and a pen--
I stare at the blank page again.
I wanted to write--
Will I sit here all night?
No! I'll go watch TV in the den!
That is today's effort for the 24/7 challenge!
I stare at the blank page again.
I wanted to write--
Will I sit here all night?
No! I'll go watch TV in the den!
That is today's effort for the 24/7 challenge!
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Stick to Instant
Stick to Instant
Bloop. Carrie-Ann's mouth twisted in a moué of distaste at the sound. Splut. She grimaced and picked up the wooden spoon, turning back to the stove. Garry loved oatmeal. He could eat it every day for breakfast, but Carrie-Ann couldn't bring herself to make it more than once a week. It was Garry's Saturday treat. She hated the liquid-solid sounds it made and the disgusting way bubbles broke open when they reached the surface. She also hated the way it could grow suddenly if she turned her back on the stove for more than fifteen seconds. From nothing to blorfing all over the stove in fifteen damned seconds! Why couldn't Garry settle for instant oatmeal, but no, it was too sugary, too salty, too fast, too convenient. She rolled her eyes, and stuck the spoon into the pot.
Burblup. Blubblurp! Carrie-Ann gave the oatmeal a half-hearted stir. She held her coffee cup in her other hand and took a sip. Ahhh. Lovely. Burblurblplublup! Ow! A minuscule dot of oatmeal had spewed itself out of the pot and landed on the back of her right hand. She dropped the spoon and brought her hand to her mouth. Damn! That hurt. She licked the oatmeal droplet off her hand and studied the red mark underneath. Stupid oatmeal.
Movement caught her eye and she focused on the pot in time to see the spoon disappearing as oatmeal rose. Up and up the sides of the pot, heading for the rim. Dammit! She set her coffee cup on the counter and reached for the knob on the back of the stove to turn the heat down before the miserable stuff spilled out and hit the burner. The only thing worse than oatmeal was the stench of burning oatmeal.
As her arm moved over the pot, a pseudopod reached up and fastened onto her bath robe. She yanked her arm, not quite believing what she had seen, and then screamed when the pseudopod clutched her arm. The heat seared through the thin terrycloth. Oatmeal poured out of the pot, growing exponentially. Carrie-Ann had time for one more terrified shriek before she vanished inside the mass of hot cereal.
It pulsed and burbled to itself, bubbles continuing to burst on the surface from time to time.
“Carrie-Ann? Are you okay?” Garry's voice was thick with sleep. He stumbled down the hallway toward the kitchen, eyes half closed. “Carrie-Ann? Hon?” He was halfway across the kitchen before he saw the toppled pot, the oatmeal spreading across the floor. His left foot was already touching the edge, which felt almost alive, writhing under his toes. He tried to pull back. Blorblup! Garry's days of eating oatmeal were over.
Bloop. Carrie-Ann's mouth twisted in a moué of distaste at the sound. Splut. She grimaced and picked up the wooden spoon, turning back to the stove. Garry loved oatmeal. He could eat it every day for breakfast, but Carrie-Ann couldn't bring herself to make it more than once a week. It was Garry's Saturday treat. She hated the liquid-solid sounds it made and the disgusting way bubbles broke open when they reached the surface. She also hated the way it could grow suddenly if she turned her back on the stove for more than fifteen seconds. From nothing to blorfing all over the stove in fifteen damned seconds! Why couldn't Garry settle for instant oatmeal, but no, it was too sugary, too salty, too fast, too convenient. She rolled her eyes, and stuck the spoon into the pot.
Burblup. Blubblurp! Carrie-Ann gave the oatmeal a half-hearted stir. She held her coffee cup in her other hand and took a sip. Ahhh. Lovely. Burblurblplublup! Ow! A minuscule dot of oatmeal had spewed itself out of the pot and landed on the back of her right hand. She dropped the spoon and brought her hand to her mouth. Damn! That hurt. She licked the oatmeal droplet off her hand and studied the red mark underneath. Stupid oatmeal.
Movement caught her eye and she focused on the pot in time to see the spoon disappearing as oatmeal rose. Up and up the sides of the pot, heading for the rim. Dammit! She set her coffee cup on the counter and reached for the knob on the back of the stove to turn the heat down before the miserable stuff spilled out and hit the burner. The only thing worse than oatmeal was the stench of burning oatmeal.
As her arm moved over the pot, a pseudopod reached up and fastened onto her bath robe. She yanked her arm, not quite believing what she had seen, and then screamed when the pseudopod clutched her arm. The heat seared through the thin terrycloth. Oatmeal poured out of the pot, growing exponentially. Carrie-Ann had time for one more terrified shriek before she vanished inside the mass of hot cereal.
It pulsed and burbled to itself, bubbles continuing to burst on the surface from time to time.
“Carrie-Ann? Are you okay?” Garry's voice was thick with sleep. He stumbled down the hallway toward the kitchen, eyes half closed. “Carrie-Ann? Hon?” He was halfway across the kitchen before he saw the toppled pot, the oatmeal spreading across the floor. His left foot was already touching the edge, which felt almost alive, writhing under his toes. He tried to pull back. Blorblup! Garry's days of eating oatmeal were over.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
The Last Dance
He danced on the rooftop. Music soared from speakers dragged up from his apartment, lifting his spirit, lifting his body. He leapt and spun, balletic, graceful. Sunlight sparkled on the river, glinted from windows, dazzled his eyes. Still he danced. Tears slid unheeded down his cheeks.
In the city, bodies lay in the streets, stinking in the heat. Rats and seagulls feasted. The source of the plague no longer mattered. Treatment, vaccinations no longer mattered. Humankind no longer mattered. So few survived.
The parapet drew near. He cried aloud and leapt once more. Up and over. And down.
***
Edited on Aug 8 to switch paragraphs 1 and 2. I like this version better.
In the city, bodies lay in the streets, stinking in the heat. Rats and seagulls feasted. The source of the plague no longer mattered. Treatment, vaccinations no longer mattered. Humankind no longer mattered. So few survived.
The parapet drew near. He cried aloud and leapt once more. Up and over. And down.
***
Edited on Aug 8 to switch paragraphs 1 and 2. I like this version better.
Monday, August 02, 2010
Life Changes
Life Changes
Life changes
come at you at the most unexpected times
bringing shivers of anticipation
and shivers of anxiety
where to go next and who to be
what interests to pursue and which to set aside
what friends to cling to and which to let go
and embrace the change that is the only constant in life
Life changes
come at you at the most unexpected times
bringing shivers of anticipation
and shivers of anxiety
where to go next and who to be
what interests to pursue and which to set aside
what friends to cling to and which to let go
and embrace the change that is the only constant in life
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