Wingbeats drum my thin window
The moth is frantic for the feeble light
Powder prints on the glass
shown out as mica glitter
And i am reminded of bird hits
and premature burials
These things, innocent and pure,
do not have duplicity.
Only nature.
My desklamp, a false guide.
My window, invisible.
These i must remedy.
Monthly Archives: October 2019
In flight
Soul-spoken spirit,
unbound, in flight.
Pineal eye gets a look.
Events celestial.
Of a hair’s breadth am I,
in this filament.
Then,
a promise warms me
like an innocent’s blush.
And now
this mote
understands.
Cadaverous
In the wrenching spell of nightmare,
something cadaverous,
phosphorescent on the forest floor.
Bleached as if drowned and months missing.
Current-carried, caught on some subterranean thing.
Tell me it isn’t you.
Tell me.
Oh, my love. My life.
the cane mutiny
As we sat
in stuffy waiting,
you came by,
lady with the cane.
Regal in your latter years.
And I had a flash dream, unreasoning.
You in white apron and slippers,
sounding your steps on creaky pine.
Your support- a bannister with loose pickets.
And you did not rely on it, did you?
The familiar
Lie in it
and
when you want sleep
seek permission
through invention of position
and
if that’s too feeble
then touch-type the words to Lucy sky diamonds
or expert texpert choking smokers
ah you got segments now
wake up
too soon
too late
carry on
with fond regret
of its absence
In the beginning
In the bleak black crack of a Singularity,
a palindrome world is hid.
It had a name that time forgot,
but none could mispronounce
Doppelgangers dwelt in its brimstone airs.
Fleshed out from learned lives in Otherlight,
their honour is the keeping of an Obelisk.
Placed upon this cinder world,
and not made by man or creature,
it is outside of space and time.
None may see it closely,
save for the days of their death.
And, when their spirits flee,
they will have seen a thing, etched in its glassy gleam:
The Yin and the Yang of Existence.
By the Sea
I walked with Clarice today.
She wore a skirt with accordion pleats,
A pink angora sweater,
and real pearls.
Her black shoes had round toes and straps.
Like a doll’s.
Her hair in Shirley Temple ringlets.
They bounced when she skipped,
and she did, twice.
We didn’t hold hands.
I wasn’t sure if she would permit it today.
There is a park bench by the beach.
We sat, and she was prim, like a lady.
Her eyes were on the whitecaps rolling in.
She patted my hand and said
They took her away this morning. My mother.
I said a wishing word last night, and she wouldn’t sleep.
You are my friend, David, aren’t you?
In all of this crimson kingdom,
you’re the only one who can come with me.
I know you see it. The path.
Can you keep me safe? These are mother’s pearls.
I must not say any more words. Will you come?
And I am in fear now.
I know her path. But, to tread it?
Too little, too late?
It doesn’t matter now.
What you say.
What you do.
If you cry,
gnash teeth,
rend clothing,
wear ashes.
There are no more new leaves
to be turned over.
A change of heart grows of its own,
and not quickly.
See,
only a few will have seats
in the parliament of planets.
This…from Meg Sefton
personal note
photog_at 20130821-SU 1954 flickr
Thank you for reading my blog. Since its inception in August 2013, I have published over one hundred forty fiction pieces. Thank you for reading the month of October as I throw down with fellow flash writers for a micro challenge: One prompt based micro a day. I have tried to get into the spirit of Halloween with the theme and tone of each.
Next month is Nancy Stohlman’s annual FlashNano event in which flash fiction writers write one prompt based story per day for the month of November. Though I don’t always finish a full month of stories, I am happy to come up with some new material as well as participate with fellow writers.
When I started the blog in 2013 I was in the midst of treatment for her2 positive breast cancer as well as thyroid cancer. I am still in that fight…
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