THE GIFT OF INNOCENCE, THE TRAGEDY OF IGNORANCE...

...James Conway

(part 5 of 5 of feature week!)

Boon looked down at his fellow Maerrisian, who was strapping him into the small interior of the drop pod. Unlike him, Krogna was born a low-line blood, thus was small, skinny, and weak. Despite this, Krogna had brains, discipline, and a good heart. Today Boon thought it was oddly cold. It was a big day for the Outer Alliance. A decision was going to be made after all the years of sluggish debate.




He noticed Krogna was looking up at him with those small, dark, deep-set eyes. It was often hard knowing what was going on when someone was a third of your height. Krogna looked concerned.



"Munalie ecca unno," said the small grey creature peering up at him. There was ice in his voice, and he was most certainly pushing it hard today.



"Munalie ecca unno," he repeated, this time kicking Boon on the shin.



"Ourg, ourg," Boon pleaded, before pressing a small green button on a collar around his neck, which lit up a few shades brighter than his natural skin tone.



The grey waited before he clicked his fingers frantically. "Doo doo, faryoup."



"Maips taka," whispered Boon.



The grey slapped his forehead-loud enough for others in the distance to hear. "Faryoup, faryoup, FAROUP," shouted Krogna, before he kicked the large green once again, this time with real anger. "Mok tabooplu, faryoup."



Boon sighed with relief, pressing the green button until it turned dark once more. Then he pressed an amber button near the green instead. It lit up brightly, lighting the small interior of his pod. He cleared his throat.



"You . . . hear . . . me?"



Krogna smiled before pressing his own amber button. "Yes, you speak Earthling. Question is, you understand it?"



Boon nodded. "Yes."



"Good, good." He pulled out a data pad and began pressing symbols with his three long slender fingers until the screen flashed red. "You know procedure, yes?"



"Yes," Boon grunted

Krogna pressed a button inside the interior and suddenly dozens of large rope membranes came from holes in the sides, wrapping around Boon, steadying him upright, tightly. A soft, large metallic hose hovered over the green, and wavered above his lips before pushing forward and down his throat, which he accepted. A yellow looking substance slowly filled his lungs.



"Good luck, friend," Krogna said, and pressed another button, shutting and sealing the pod's doors. He punched a code from the outside, then looked through a small window where he watched the interior fill up with thick red gel. Moments later a deep noise rattled throughout the ship. The pod slid from its cradle, suction pulled the tear shaped craft through a tunnel carved deep within. The pod followed its path, picking up speed before being shot into space, toward that always debatable lonely blue and green gem known as Earth.



Even with his lungs filled with breathable liquid and surrounded by cold, shock absorbing gel, Boon was going to be conscious for the duration of the short trip.



The journey from the Maerrisian Battleship to Earth would be fairly simple. The Battleship itself was in sync with its surroundings-creating perfect cloaking. Earthlings were probably another century away from figuring out they had been watched by such a vessel for centuries. But, by then, it would be too late.



The pod, which was only a few meters larger than Boon himself, would look like a falling star, a purple one in fact. The impact was not going to be fun-a dry landing, impacting the Earth at around five hundred miles per hour. At its peak speed, the pod would travel close to seventeen hundred, but thrusters would kick in a mile out, and hopefully the gel would be bound properly by the time impact occurred. The pod was designed to hit at its point, where large fiber-like tentacles would harpoon out and grasp objects, preventing the craft from lodging too far into whatever lay below. The drop-pod started to rock heavily, and Boon went over the basics of the plan to settle his nerves.



The Maerrisian's had decided to keep watch over the ever advancing Earth for nearly six hundred years, and had recently discovered that conflicts on the pretty planet were not going so well. Intelligence was gathering hard facts over eighteen Earth months, and as much as everyone wanted to dismiss it, governments were well on their way to beginning what they would call 'World War III'. The council agreed this would not be allowed. Losing humanity was acceptable, but the Earth itself was one of a kind. The human weapons were advancing far to fast, and another World War would only advance this further. Today a decision would be made. Should the planet itself be saved now?



Other species over the decades had tried communicating with humanity, but everything so far had been swiftly swatted by governments. The Maerrisian were a different matter for the humans, for they were the first, and they had created The Outer Rim Alliance. What they decided, all others followed. His initial objective was to make first contact. From there, word was to spread so that, in time, talking to the governments would be possible, but only after word had gotten out to enough people. If this objective was compromised, he was to make contact with the Battleship where Maerrisian Cruisers were waiting in deep space to play their role, a more sinister one, for humans. The planet would benefit much more if it came to the later, Boon figured.



The pod shot through the atmosphere with a purple trail arcing behind it. The thrusters engaged one mile out, and the red and orange membrane tentacles homed in on everything surrounding the landing site, attaching to trees, rocks, a scarecrow, and dozens of other structures. The pod kissed the Earth. Dirt, rocks, and parts of a tree sprang hundreds of meters into the air.



Silence slowly returned to the land, which was mostly in darkness. Fingers of orange and purple crept across the horizon from the east. Roosters in the distance announcing the awakening of a new day.



Time passed, and the first rays of light brushed upon the ivory colored pod. A small, soft click came and steam poured forth. A door popped out slightly, and red ooze gushed out from within. Moments later, another hiss and the door slid completely open, light penetrating the interior, dampening the purple and blue flashing lights.



Boon leaped out, hunching, whist covering his eye, protecting them from the sudden glare. He felt the red ooze on his body crystallize as the sunlight washed over him, which he dusted off. He heard a chirp, most likely a bird, and then stood up straight, rising to his full height of fifteen feet. He stretched out the aches that had spread throughout his one ton frame, all ripping muscle.



He started walking, but stopped. "Stupid!"

　

He backtracked to the craft, reached inside, and grabbed a large object. A massive, dull ebony and silver sword, which was ten feet long with a blade that, at the base, was six inches thick. It was big, and it was for the strong-bad ass and unbreakable-unlike those it chose to greet. He slipped it into the holster over his back, where it hung diagonally.



Boon licked his lips and spat on his green grubby hands. He wiped them over two, large black ridged horns rising out just above his forehead, and twisting back over his head. They gleamed slightly. It was a sign of respect to keep your horns wet and gleaming.



On his left arm, Boon had a touch-screen-data-pad plugged in. The information told him he was five human miles away from the nearest town-a small village by the looks of it, with few people. This, he thought, was a good start.



Just a few miles into the trek, he stopped and wiped sweat from his forehead. It was running down his back in large globs. Earth was much cooler than his home world, but the gravity was heavier. It could have been due to ten years planted on that stinking observation battleship, now that he thought about it. How he hoped this mission wouldn't take long . . .



As he was nearing the town, a small amber dot appeared on the screen. Someone was close. This was it.

Around him hundreds of colorful trees stood only slightly taller than his huge frame. They were full of round berries, or seeds, or maybe fruit. Human ecology was a weak point, which he cared little for. Boon liked meat, greasy meat, full of dripping fat.



The monitor said the human was only twenty meters away. He walked toward a bigger tree-a much larger one, without the round things, just lots of shade. He hid behind it, or as much as a one ton, fifteen foot alien that looked half human and half bull could.



Peering around the trunk, he was somewhat bemused. The human was small. It was very small, Boon thought, has to be a child. He really wished he had Krogna's brain, or had at least paid attention in class.

　

The child was sitting on the ground playing with some toys that were made in the image of a human. The child was too busy to notice anything else. It was talking to the toys in a high-pitched voice, and then talking back in a deeper one. Were humans really this odd? It looked so strange-long, curly black locks hung to its shoulders. It had fluffy pink cheeks, huge blue eyes, and it must like meat as well, because Boon could see it had many teeth missing. It was wearing a white sleeveless dress with blue flowers. The mud on the ground had stained its knees and dress.



If he wanted to complete the mission, he had to find an elder. He stepped around the tree, slowly walking so the little human would not look up from its activity. Underfoot a thick fallen tree branch snapped beneath Boon's left foot. "Great," he muttered under his breath.



The little one saw him. He was sure it would run off screaming. This was not going to plan.



The child looked at its two toy Earthlings and said, "Look, look, another friend for your wedding." It placed the toys in the mud, got up clumsily, and rushed toward Boon with an odd looking expression-a smile.



This was unexpected, he thought.



The little one walked up to him, in his shadow, standing not much taller than his knee. It bent its neck back, and the child's blue eyes stared deep into his own.



"Wowwy, you sure are big," it said as it cocked its head to the side, "and green."



Boon wriggled his snout and snorted. It smelt . . . off.



The child laughed, whilst covering its mouth.



"Will you come to their wedding?" it asked, pointing to the lifeless toys laying face down in the mud. "Please, please, please?"



Boon turned his head, hoping maybe the child would get bored. It walked around until it was in his vision again, than waved.

　

It covered its eyes, blocking the bright morning sun "Hello."



"Human."



It laughed again. "You talk funny."



He snorted again. "You look stupid, and smell strange."



The child placed its hand on its hips and frowned. "How rude," then it laughed. "Mummy would think so. She always says that to daddy, but he's not, daddy's funny."



"I must talk to an Elder, child. Important."



The child's smile fell away before it pulled something out of a pocket in the dress. It was round and pink. He had seen them on the trees.



"At least have an apple, they're super yummy, double even." It stretched an arm out which still didn't reach his waist. "Just don't eat too many. Your tummy will hurt." It strained on its tippy-toes and thrust the apple toward him, until it was making strange gasping sounds.



He sighed, bent down, and with his finger tips, grasped the small apple from its hand.



"Try it, try it."



He placed it in his mouth and barely tasted it-so small it could have got stuck between his teeth. He thought he tasted something sweet, maybe.



"Will you be my friend?" the child suddenly asked.



He snorted as he often did when confused. "Sure, but . . . "



The child placed a hand around one of his fingers, or tried to, and then tried to pull him over to the toys. "Come on, just for a while. Please, please."



They sat for almost an hour. Apparently the white doll, named Lisa, was marrying the ebony doll, Gregory. After the wedding, he sat and pretended to drink champagne out of a white plastic teacup. The girl child told him how Mummy was always nagging Daddy, and making him mad. She told him how Daddy was always working, and she told him how a boy called Dale had kissed her behind the barn last week on her sixth birthday. It was gross apparently.



"Mary," a voice called out in the distance. "Mary, where are you?" It sounded worried.



"Mummy," the girl cried out in response. She grabbed his finger again. "Come, lets go meet the adults now."



"You are sure?"



She nodded. "Hurry though, Mummy hates waiting."



Together they got up. She handed him Lisa and Gregory while she wiped dirt off her skirt and knees. "Follow me." She kept a hold of his finger and tried to skip along.



They reached the end of the line of trees, coming to a field which was open. A hundred yards away was a small white house, in between stood some bigger humans. Perfect, Boon thought, Elders.



Mary ran toward her mother. "Mummy, Mummy. Look at my new friend . . . "



Mary's mother screamed. "Mary, get over here now, get over here." She ran toward the child, grabbing her arm. She let out another blood curdling scream when she saw how close she was to it.



"A monster!" she screamed. "Martin, get the gun! Now! Fast! Hurry!" Her words were a blur in the haste of panic.



She dragged Mary by the arm and ran. Mary cried with pain. "Mummy he's my friend," she said. "Ouch! Mummy, that hurts. Mummy!"



The child's mother let go of her Mary's arm and looked down with a snarl. She swung her hand, slapping her daughter hard across the face. It sounded like the large branch Boon had snapped under his foot earlier "How dare you? How dare you be so reckless?"



A bunch of men came running-all holding what Boon figured were weapons. He looked at Mary, crying with a large red hand print on her face.



How could this have gone wrong so fast.



"What the hell is that?" screamed one man with a strange straw hat on.



"Oh my god!" screamed another



"Good Lord, what the hell?" exclaimed the last of the three men-a smoke hanging from his lips.



"Shoot it, shoot it," pleaded the woman.



Boon stepped forward. "Please humans, we talk . . . "



They either didn't hear, or didn't care. The three men aimed their guns toward the green creature and pulled their triggers. He was shot in the chest, legs, and arms. None of the shots were critical, or even close to being so. One thing Maerrisian's had was muscle, and tough skin. As weak as the bullets may have been, dark blue blood dribbled down from the wounds where the bullets lodged. Another round of shots came his way with more shots hitting-one in the mouth. It hurt. His body started to feel itchy, sore even. He didn't like this. Nobody was listening to him or wanted to.



"Leave him alone!" cried Mary. She dropped Lisa and Gregory and ran toward her new friend. She ran as fast as her legs would allow her.



The girl had only crossed half the distance between the two before her body twisted in funny directions-her mouth opening up before a scream escaped. She fell awkwardly to the ground.



The mother screamed as well, but silenced when the monster rushed toward Mary, picking her up. "Leave my daughter alone, you beast!" she yelled.



Boon looked at the girl who was on her back, sobbing. Her white dress with the delicate blue flower pattern was now blooming red buds. He bent down, picking her up, watching the buds turn into rose petals. He ignored the older humans' cries and ran back toward the line of trees as fast as he could, with the child cradled on his arm. He had to cover some distance, and fast.



Every once in awhile, he looked down at the child to make sure she was still breathing. After ten minutes of running, he had left the humans well and truly behind. He stopped, sat down, and lifted his hands to get a closer look of Mary.



The red flowers that had appeared were now one giant flower on Mary's chest. It had spread out with ribbons of crimson, now running down her left arm, and out the corner of her mouth. She coughed and the flow became stronger.



"Mummy," she whispered, then shook her head. "No, it's you." Her eyes swam in happiness.



Boon snorted. "It's me. It's Boon."



The girl tried to smile. "You'll be my friend always, won't you?"



Boon felt an odd pain in his chest. "Forever and ever, little human." It felt so tight, so hard to breathe.



Something inside his chest ached and his eyes stung. He didn't know what was wrong, but he couldn't stop snorting. He had never felt a pain like this in his entire life.



He wanted to say more, but when he looked down, the girl's arm fell off his hand, limply-her eyes open, but lifeless. Boon knew she was dead.



He placed her on the ground gently before punching the nearest tree as hard as he could, almost tearing it from the earth, letting out a deafening roar of anger. Birds in the distance took flight, unhappy to be startled.



Time passed-he wasn't sure how long-but the sun rose well over his head and started to lower again, on the other side. His mind felt numb. He no longer knew what to do. He wanted humans to suffer so badly, but allowing this would mean girls like Mary would never have the chance to live. He stroked Mary's cold cheek. "Someone else's decision. No longer Boon's."



He waited until he heard voices. It was dark now and he could see light flashing through the distant trees. He no longer cared. As horrid as humans were, they had given him something-anger, rage. He didn't care anymore. Life felt different-meanings no longer the same.



He walked toward the lights where one beam finally struck him. "Over there, OVER THERE!" A loud machine rattling noise exploded around him, dozens of them, followed by pain all over. He ran near a cluster of three lights, stomping until they went away and voices screamed in agony.



There was nothing more he could do. More lights came forth, dozens and dozens, so many voices, so much hate. He didn't care though, it was surprising, he thought. He sank to his knees as hundreds of bullets penetrated his skin, and eventually deeper within. His vision became dark. The world became silent. He fell forward-from his knees, onto the earth. For a second he heard cheers of victory around him. His last thought was what everything intelligent, and stupid alike, in the universe thinks at some point in their life. Why?



Somewhere in the lands we all shall come to know one day, a human girl named Mary, and a Maerrisian known as Boon, danced in God's embrace as one, where they were friends forever and ever.

Untitled Picture #2...

...by James Conway

(part 4 of 5 for feature week!)

Untitled Picture #1...

...by James Conway

(part 3 of 5 for feature week)

Our Eden...

...by James Conway

(part 2 of 5 for feature week!)

Lost in the darkness of my mind


Believing I would never walk again in light

My world had crumbled leaving me exposed

Black feathered beasts circled, picking at my bones



I turned around to find you were still smiling

An angel's light to save me from my blindness

Fresh wounds making it hard to stop the bleeding

You took me away to heal in your Eden



The miles we swiftly put behind us

And I will never forget that act of kindness

As the days passed I began to feel stronger

The black cloud hanging over me no longer



I am sorry for every minute I was away

For every second I didn't truly see your face

Or the pain that was growing in your eyes

As you were forced to watch my spirit die



I love you my love, more than I can say

And I promise to treasure every day

And every breath, and every season

Knowing one day we will return to our Eden.

Lights Out...

...by James Conway

(day 1 of 5 for feature week!)

I lock the door behind me, privacy aplenty.


No Angels welcome here, only the demon from within.

I turn the tap, a loud hiss arguing against it's will.

Warmth of the water fills the room.



Reflecting into the mirror like yesterdays past, I see nothing I care for today.

Eons pass while the tomb fills up completely.

I wait.

One last drag from the cigarette, my only honest friend at this hour.

Time for bravery to take the call, no more failed promises.

No more waiting.



Steam releases toward the ceiling.

Stupid tears fall's from blackness within.

A window fogs up, God wants no part in this.

The metal feels hot between my fevering and cursed fingers.



The silence is almost deafening apart from the beat in my chest, which pleas for mercy.

Surprisingly, pain is minimal, nothing like I would imagine.

Warm ribbons of red roll down the last of my mortality, licking at my fingers



I match the other, as dozen's of streams run down in race.

Bombs drop forth and splash into the coffin, flowering like crimson rose's.

I close my eyes, slide deeper into the fading warmth

The amber from the cigarette goes out

I follow.

Soul's Rebirth...

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 5 of 5 for feature week!)

If I were a thread, what could I weave?




Would it be anything that you would believe?





There is a sky. There is an earth.



Is there any more to this existence's berth?





Life expands. It reaches out.



Harboring, within and without, a field of doubt.





Deeper and farther, I seek to go.



What I am seeking is more than I know.





I seek the stars. I leave the earth.



In you, God, I find my soul's rebirth.





Take my life, take my all.



I will trust in you, and I will never fall.

Break the Thread...

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 4 of 5 for feature week!)

In and out we weave, we weave.




Ourselves and other we deceive, deceive.



Lies we are taught to believe, believe.



Original thought not free to conceive, conceive.





People all want to control, control.



Tell you what to put in your bowl, bowl.



Tell you what to believe in your soul, soul.



Until they bury you in a hole, hole.





Will you break the thread, thread?



The one that controls your head, head.



When you’re laying alone in your bed, bed.



Thinking of what others have said, said.





Beyond what you now know, know.



There is information to show, show.



It tells you where you will go, go.



To Heaven or Hell by what you sow, sow.

Quality Time...

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 2 of 5 of her feature week!)

I Miss You...

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)


Six more days,




and I would have



held you in my arms.



                                         I



hate that I lost you.



I never got to know



you, so how can I



                                        miss



you so very much?



My special baby boy,



no one else can be



                                     you.



I held you in the



hospital. Even though



you didn’t move in



                                       my



arms. I kissed you



even though you



couldn’t feel my



                                      love.



You will be part



of me forever. I’ll



always remember you,



                                       and



will always hold you



in a special place in



my heart. Love will



                                       always



be a part of my



memories of you.



I miss you, and always



                                         will.

Time vs. Life...

...by Claudette Young

(part 5 of 5 for feature week)


Experts say that time is without

measure, infinite. I cannot argue with

Logic that can’t be disputed.

Nevertheless, time is measured in

Days, and months, and years; a

Situation which should never have

Arisen. Time should be measured

In the amount of life one can

Capture within a single breath.

Life and living is all that time

For us entails. So many people live

For tomorrow without realizing

That one lives only today since

Tomorrow can never reach the

Doorstep of the midnight sun.

However, the question of what is

Life rears up, causing a certain

Stir of confusion. I can only

Answer the question by saying...



Life is a baby’s smile or cry.

It watches a child’s first step

Toward understanding. It

Surrounds one’s mind with all the

Knowledge it can hold. Life sees a

Flower bloom and the rainbow

After a summer shower. It learns

To cry in compassion for

Fellow men. Life learns to love

Deeply and quietly within

The mind and soul without

Asking for return of that love.

Life hears the wails of pain

From those who starve and thirst

From loneliness. Life kisses

And caresses a loved one.

Life touches an elder.

It is love, peace, and honor. But

Above all else, life is God, for

He alone was the unknown genius

Who created its body.

These occurrences are life –

All of which can be contained

Within a sunbeam. Because of what

Life is, time and all its measurements

Are unimportant, irrelevant and

Totally immaterial. Because, you see,

One experiences Life, not Time.

Cycles...

...by Claudette Young

(part 4 of 5 of feature week)

Time measures


Life’s pleasures,

Gentle birth

Less Death’s mirth.

Walking tall

Seeing small.

Man arises

Time chastises.

Spirit Walk...

...by Claudette Young

(part 3 of 5 for feature week)

Walking paths of shadow


Timeless in my effort,

Gliding along, hearing

The wind rustle grasses

In fields waiting fallow.

Gently do I wander,

Trails of dimmer needing,

A hunter among masses.

Voices...

...by Claudette Young

(part 2 of 5 for feature week)

Enshrouding mist of dream time


Whisper secrets never heard,

Give pause to thought more sublime

Of roofless palaces unlearned

Waiting, breathless, listening

To sighs teaching lessons real,

Heart’s demands always demanding

Desires fulfilled, needs repeal

Illusion, leaving behind pleasure

In shifting sands under sky’s azure.

Big Bang...

...by Claudette Young

(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)

Ending here, ending now,


Finish truth but how

The void fills the soul,

Atoms create the whole

Energy sparks abound,

Breeding, feeding, profound. 

Resurrection...

...by Jim Bronyaur & Laura Ebohon

(final day of feature week!)

(Jim Bronyaur)

…do they come back?


Inked letters –

hacked to paper

what story do they carry… tell…

Does a softer ground mean more

- than a frozen one?

Is it a misty thought

(or spirit)

That comes…

A soft touch on the back of your neck

or the lost wandering up a cement drive…

I’m back. I’m here. I’m ready.

(Laura Ebohon)

Layers of tainted skin


like gathered fabric

pleated by time into ruffles of sin,

where guilt slowly infiltrated

subtle, endless needles

sewing yarn of sorrow and regrets...

Fragile conscience,

Blind to the spiritual nature

of forgiveness,

Holy gift of departing memories from pain

Looking for the guidance of divine power

holding on to the belief that beyond Life

on the other side of these walls of Time,

over the bridge of Death,

under these dark tunnels of crimes,

through the maze of convictions,

there are eternal flames of Love,

and the possibility of Salvation...

In an ethereal journey back to Life

running through green fields of peace

swimming in calm seas of wonder

passing by streets of celestial calm

where we talk without words

we see the invisible

we breath eternity

In the screaming light of Resurrection!

Life...

...by Jim Bronyaur

(part 4 of 5 of feature week with Laura Ebohon)

Awake!


Begin!

(to understand all that will remain unknown).

The time has started…

(it’s also losing breath by breath –

and someday you’ll learn to appreciate that –

once you get closer to that last one…)

Yes, the blood may be existed

but it’s the celebration of innocence.

(and innocent).

It’s the fresh eyes of the “new” –

those too (two) are in such a way given life.

(again).

The sounds outside –

and inside –

they all add up to something greater than we can ever understand.

Like the changing winds that push and pull seasons

Like the rolling clouds bringing picture and thunder

Like the other skies… long fingers spin and big eyes mean.

But this… only this… just this…

This… this is life.

Life...

...by Laura Ebohon

(part 3 of 5 of the feature week with Jim Bronyaur)

Growth of tissues


covered in a membrane of surreal events,

mother cell of multicellular layers

procreation of reflections,

vegetative production of wishes...

In that room

suspended between life and whispers,

surrounded by cell walls,

beating of hearts and pulsing of souls,

through the net of little holes of hope

thick thread-like organisms,

Breaths and a feverish search for happiness

anxiously determined by the conjectures of time

when pain strikes like poison

relentlessly,

locking doors,

relegating desires,

creating divisions.

Like a deep chasm between conscious being

and unconscious dreaming

connecting again

through the bridge of destiny,

eye lids shut

freezing images

in departments of never.

Coincidences

missed opportunities

and the strongest will

to see tomorrow's colorful rainbows

through rain drops of doubts

and whistling of winds...

Tilting against windmills!

Death...

...by Jim Bronyaur
(part 2 of 5 of feature week w/ Laura Ebohon)

It’s been a good run…


As if bubbly rusted holes tear flesh away

As if the engine won’t start –

and all the little pieces break and shatter.

When the passing time deals its final winning hand

you aren’t the only one with fuzzy eyes…

but you do get the answer to the biggest mystery…

(what’s next?)

I can only imagine how feeble the feeling of failing must be –

to know IT’s coming… any second…

(breath in, breath out, breath in, breath…)

There is the trickster lurking –

the more evil hands of the clock

(the ones rubbing together –

creating sweat in the small lines of the hands –

as they reach for your neck…)

It happens more than you think.

(but so does good things…)

It happens more than you have ever thought about.

(it does.)

There will be a last good morning

There will be a last good night

There will be a last bloomed flower

- a last kiss

- a last moment you will never have back

I don’t make the rules.

I can only follow.

I am the piece of paper in the wind.

I am the autumn leaf that makes it through winter.

I am the blade of grass that will not be cut.

But no matter what I am or what I try

(or you)

Everything will end. Yes –

it will.

Death...

...by Laura Ebohon

(part 1 of 5 for the feature week)

Curtains drop shut on this stage,


without the anticipation of a closing scene,

no hints, no premonitions...

A simple termination of all biological functions,

no words, no gestures

definitive extinction of breaths and hopes,

destruction of plans

left to blow in the wind of never.

Looking from the other side of consciousness

through holes in the wall of time

everything seems so small...

light, paper thin...

Tears are dry,

hands are cold,

Unknown voices all around

whispering secrets

no wish, no desire,

no saviour, no sin...

Immense space of nothing

only flashbacks of padded images and colors

without memory

wandering through dreams and reality

It all seems so far away,

existence and essence

ideas and abstractions.

Trying to reach those fields of colors,

getting caught by a lightning,

finding you,

entering the walls of your heart

where death dies again

it dissolves in the endless spirals of your embrace.

The Request

by
P.J. Kaiser

Leonard’s car tires crunched in the gravel driveway. He got out of the car, climbed the porch stairs and knocked. Viv’s blue eyes appeared at the window cutout. She flipped on the porch light, opened the door and took him by the hand into the living room where her father sat reading a magazine. Viv winked at Leonard and slipped out of the room. Leonard and Mr. Baldwin exchanged pleasantries, then Leonard got to the point.




“Well, sir -” Leonard nervously laced his fingers together and squeezed. “I’d like to ask your permission to marry your daughter.”



Mr. Baldwin set his jaw off to one side. “Oh, is that so?”



Leonard nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ve been dating for a year now and I’ve got a good job down at the plant -”



“Look, Leonard. I like you and your family. But I’ve got reservations about you marrying my daughter.”



So his suspicions were true. Viv had said it would be easy, but Leonard wasn’t so sure. “What sort of reservations, sir?”



Mr. Baldwin leaned back in his chair. “Well, it seems to me you have trouble with follow-thru, son. You were on the varsity football team in high school and quit halfway through the season. You got a good job at the bank after graduation and left there after only four months. How do I know that a year from now you won’t change your mind about Viv?”



With each accusation, Leonard held his head a bit lower. “Sir, with all due respect. I had to quit the football team because I had a stress fracture in my shin. I left the bank because they didn’t fulfill their commitment to move me into a teller position after three months even though I was doing a good job for them. I am very trustworthy and I will take good care of Viv. I love her more than the moon and the stars.”



Mr. Baldwin shook his head. “Leonard, I just need some time to think about this. I don’t think I can give you my blessing right now.”



With the back of his hand, Leonard wiped at a tear running from the corner of his eye. He struggled to keep his voice steady. “Sir, with all due respect. I’m not leaving until you give us your blessing.”



Mr. Baldwin rose from his chair. “Well, I am certainly not going to physically throw you out of our home, but I think it would be prudent for you to go now.”



Leonard looked up at Mr. Baldwin and pushed himself up off of the couch. “OK, Mr. Baldwin. I’ll wait on the front porch until you change your mind.” He took a few steps towards the door.



“Don’t be silly, Leonard. It’s cold outside. No, you head on home and we’ll talk again in a few days.”



Leonard turned towards Mr. Baldwin and shook his head. “No, sir. I came to get your blessing on my marriage to your daughter and I’m here to prove to you that my intentions are honest.” Leonard strode out the door and settled himself into the adirondack chair on the porch.



Propping his feet up on the footstool, he listened to the autumn night sounds: leaves crunching under the feet of passing animals and the occasional car going by. In the darkness, his mind’s eye saw the small ravine behind the house and the next ridge blanketed in trees and bushes. Leonard and Viv had spent many hours sitting on that porch during their courtship and had hiked many miles through the woods behind the Baldwin house.



Leonard pulled his coat closer and wrapped his arms around himself to keep the warmth in. He just started to drop off to sleep when he heard the door open and Viv slipped out. She wore her coat over a long robe and set a small tray on the table next to Leonard’s chair.



Leonard smiled as he saw steam rising from a bowl and a mug.



“Are you really staying out here all night, Leonard? You’ll freeze.”



“No, Viv. I’ll be just fine. I’ve got my heavy coat. And now it looks like I have some delicious soup and tea as well.”



She grinned at him. “Papa doesn’t know I’ve come out. I just wanted to give you some food and this…” Viv leaned down and kissed him. Her lips warmed Leonard to the tips of his toes. He reached out to pull her to him, but she pulled away. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go in.” Just before she slipped through the door, she mouthed, “I love you.” And then she disappeared.



He savored the soup and tea and drifted off to sleep before he became chilled again. He awoke several times at the sound of a passing animal and each time had more difficulty getting back to sleep as the cold seeped into his bones. One time he awoke and moved his hand to scratch the side of his face only to discover that a warm woolen blanket covered him. He smiled, pulled the blanket closer and dropped off to sleep.



In the early morning hours, he awoke to the discovery that the porch faced due east. The first rays of dawn shone into his squinting eyes. The sun sat behind the next hill directly behind the largest tree on the hillside. The light filtered through the trees and bushes into the ravine and cast ethereal gray shadows on the ground in the morning mist. Leonard knew that this was the light of tomorrow. Of his new life with Viv.



He enjoyed this spectacular light show until the sun rose above the tree and filled the valley with bright light. The birds woke and chirped their own songs to meet the day. Leonard, distracted by the spectacle playing out before him, didn’t hear the door open. Mr. Baldwin stepped out and sank into the chair next to Leonard.



Leonard turned and said, “Good morning, sir.”



“Good morning, Leonard. I’m surprised to see you still here. Were you cold last night?”



“No, sir. Not very. I had good thoughts to keep me warm.” Leonard smiled.



“You seem very optimistic, Leonard. Maybe too optimistic given that you asked me last night for my daughter’s hand in marriage and I said ‘no.’”



Leonard’s smile faded. “Yes, I suppose that’s so.” He turned his gaze back towards the view. “The sunrise from this porch is amazing. Have you seen how the light seems to drift down into the ravine like a river? It’s really an incredible sight.”



Mr. Baldwin nodded slowly and looked out over the valley. “Yes, I have seen it. I frequently come out here before the sunrise to enjoy it.”



“It’s quite a show.” Both men fixed their gaze on the trees on the next ridge as the silence settled between them.



Some minutes later, Mr. Baldwin broke the stillness. “Leonard, I’ve changed my mind. I give you my blessing. I admire your optimism and I know that you’ll take good care of my Viv.”



Leonard nodded and grinned a confident smile. “Thank you, sir.”



BIO:  P.J. is a former information technology professional turned stay-at-home mom/aspiring writer. She and her husband have two young children and live in Hoboken, New Jersey.  http://inspiredbyreallife.com/




(Want to part of the Aug & Sept Pic 1 k? Click here!)

Autumn Rain

by

Katrina DeLallo

An autumn rain falls, kindling the world.

The golden sunset, caught in boughs of trees,
Darts through like arrow-shots of flaming dusk,
Illuminating autumn’s rushing breeze.
An evening mist lies o’er the shadowed field,
Shot through with spears of sunlight’s waning flame
A wind sings through the boughs of dark-cast pines,
And on its flowing song I hear your name.
A drizzling rain, like autumn turning white,
Cries from the clouds and frosts the meadow grass.
The oak tree shreds the sunset into flags,
And transforms shards of mist to sunset glass.
The gloaming dusk and mist conceal the ground,
My eyes are further blinded by my tears.
We only had a summer, you and I,
I’d wagered we’d have half a hundred years.
The oak tree stands, a sentinel for your grave,
And nothing that I do can ease my pain.
We’d plans and dreams, for children, love, and life,
But now I’ve nothing, only autumn rain.

(Want to part of the Aug & Sept Pic 1 k? Click here!)

Pic 1 k (Aug & Sept)

Here is the picture for the Aug & Sept Pic 1 k. The rules are simple - write a poem and/or story about this picture. When you're done, email it to SoftWhispersStuff@gmail.com with PIC 1 K in the subject line. If accepted, the poem and/or story will be posted on the Soft Whispers site. Read the submissions for more details!

...And we're back!

Yup, just like that... the site is ready to go. Like the minor updates to the look? I do. AND, I've made some changes to submissions because, well, the other submissions page was just plain crazy. Too many rules for a simple e-zine in my opinion. Not to repeat everything on the submissions page, but here is an idea of what has changed:

• Soft Whispers will be doing feature weeks (biweekly) instead of posting things everyday. Feature weeks will be one or two authors sharing five pieces of work throughout the week. Poetry. Art. Short stories. Pictures.

• Pic 1 k will be bimonthly with submissions being posted right to the Soft Whispers site.

• A Line at a Time will be monthly instead of biweekly.

Please be sure to read the submissions page before submitting. And as always, if you have questions... bother me. I love it. Oh, that reminds me too - there's a new email address - SoftWhispersStuff@gmail.com AND we are starting our mailing list again. Sign up! First and foremost, the Pic 1 k will start today and end September 30, 2010. We're starting where we left off of last month since there were already two entries, you'll get an idea of what we're looking for. For the first feature week, it will be September 6 - 10 featuring myself and my dear friend from Italy, Laura Mercurio Ebohon. We are going to write poetry about the words LIFE, DEATH, and RESSURECTION. (You don't want to miss it!) With that said, submissions are open... flood the inbox! J

Join our mailing list!

Check this out... If you want to stay up to date with Soft Whispers, then sign up below. We will email about new feature weeks, author information, programs, contests, and anthologies. Trust us... you don't want to be left out!

Name:

E-mail:

Please confirm your e-mail:

Comments/Questions:

Stay tuned...

First and foremost, I deeply apologize for the delay and lack of activity here in the past week or two. Life has been a tad bit busy, Blogger's new features are driving me crazy, and to top it all off, something happened with the Soft Whispers gmail account.

I am also in the process of restructuring the site a little bit with different projects, submissions, etc. I'm trying to find a way to make it exciting and actually use Blogger's new features... which means I have to *gulp* read instructions.

I just wanted to let everyone know that #sw isn't going anywhere. Stay tuned and stay put. And for those who had submitted stuff in the past three weeks, please resubmit to our new email address at SoftWhispersStuff@gmail.com.

I'm going to change things such as having the A Line at a Time project be a full month thing instead of bi-weekly. The Pic 1 k will be changed a little bit too. Also, I'm going to propose and look for "feature weeks" featuring one or two people with just their work all week long. Trust me, the changes will be sweet.

Thanks for hanging in there and like I said, stay put. It'll be worth it.

J

Love and Wine in the Afternoon

by
Rosalyn H. Marhatta

She traces the rim of the wineglass
with her index finger
feeling the tune it plays as the air shivers
around the table of sparkling expectations.

Tilting the glass to her lips,
she blows a melody into the red liquid of dreams
and stares across the table at him, watching
as he folds the napkin into his lap for the third time
to cover his thoughts
of her closeness
and what would happen after dinner.

He adjusts his collar and pulls at it
before he leans
into her aura
to touch the air closest to her with his lips
and feel the heat of her breath that shimmers with the scent of rose petals
and lemon drops.

Her eyelashes flutter like hummingbird wings
as she screens her emotions with the care of
a surgeon making his first cut.

Never the gambler, the wine emboldens her
and she throws her emotional dice
on the table and swallows the last of her reserve
before drinking in his desire
and tasting the wine of her future
after dinner.

On the Air

by
Maria Kelly

the Breath of the World is not

stoppered in a jar,

or produced with a machine.

the Wind whispers on its way

from Here to Somewhere Else:

it is Nature’s greatest contradiction.

it is neither close nor far.

it is invisible,

and is as unknowable

as the hour of one’s Death.

it is as fleeting and as constant

and as precious as Life.

it moves---and lives:

with everything,

through everything,

in Everything.

Polar Melt

by
Gary Beck

Sea ice in the Arctic,
habitat for polar bears,
is melting so quickly
that bears are losing their homes
and must swim for their lives
in a desperate attempt
to reach the polar ice edge,
so far away most won't arrive.
Since we won't stop climate change,
perhaps President Obama
should order the construction
of artificial ice floes
to house an endangered species.

Pink Tree

by
Rebecca Besser

Triumpant

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Fearlessly flying




Freedom flourishing



Boasting and cheering



It’s done, complete



The winner you meet



It’s all because of defeat



The high mountain



The ridge sharp



Balance required



The prize of great worth



Taken



Triumphant

A Line at a Time #24

It's simple: Look at the picture below and send me the first line that comes to your mind (softwhisperssubmissions@gmail.com). ALL lines will be published on the site and in our monthly issue! (Be sure to include your name and link to Twitter, site, etc.)

The rusted points... aimed at my heart

A Line at a Time #23 - THE RESULTS

The sun, the stars, the sky... is on fire

The golden gleam of life....desire

I look into the brilliance, and inside the golden fire I see your face

And my soul rejoices with the light...

THE CONTRIBUTORS:

 The sun, the stars, the sky... is on fire (Jim Bronyaur, www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)


The golden gleam of life....desire (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)


I look into the brilliance, and inside the golden fire I see your face (Katrina DeLallo)


And my soul rejoices with the light... (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

Untitled Picture (1)

by
Maria Kelly

Untitled (2)

by
Cynthia Schuerr

Wisdom Filled

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Shimmering in the winter sun




Silver haired



Wise and frail



Able to move fingers still



Sewing precious treasures



Cross stitch, running stitch



Sweet embroidered beauties



Ready to mark the pages



Of books still yet to read



Faces familiar



Friendly family



The joyful life



Know soon



The end is near



A memory



Left for all



Enchanted



Endearing

Untitled picture:

by
Cynthia Schuerr

A Line at a Time #23

It's simple: Look at the picture below and send me the first line that comes to your mind (softwhisperssubmissions@gmail.com). ALL lines will be published on the site and in our monthly issue! (Be sure to include your name and link to Twitter, site, etc.)

The sun, the stars, the sky... is on fire

A Line at a Time #22 - THE RESULTS

Everything I thought I knew has now left me...

Where am I? What am I waking to?
They waited below and they called to me; some with encouragement, others with derision.

Do you think you'll be able to put any weight on that other foot?

Broken, alone, and wandering. . .

THE CONTRIBUTORS:

Everything I thought I knew has now left me... (Jim Bronyaur, www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)
Where am I? What am I waking to? (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)


They waited below and they called to me; some with encouragement, others with derision. (Mo Joria)


Do you think you'll be able to put any weight on that other foot? (Claudette Young, http://claudsy.wordpress.com)


Broken, alone, and wandering. . . (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

My Quicksand (part two)

by
V.J. Maddox

So the fairytale had ended –
But the story, continued on.
I sunk deeper in my quicksand…
My will, my spirit – Broken. Gone.
I didn’t know you anymore,
But you didn’t seem to care.
I was suppose to adjust, and quickly.
No matter how unfair.
I clung to that faded dream…
The one of you and me.
It became a heavy weight upon my shoulders
A shroud wrapped tightly – suffocating me.
My broken heart… shattered.
There wasn’t much left to mend.
The crunch of the pieces under your feet, was deafening…
I tried to cover my ears – and pleaded for it to end.
I don’t know how I did it…
No one lent me a helping hand.
I climbed out of that god damn pit myself,
And somehow –
With as much pride that was left for me to command,
I wiped off the sludge surrounding me –
And I escaped the ghost of you.
My Love… My Life… My Quicksand.

Implosion

by
Jim Bronyaur / Laura Mercurio Ebohon

It was easy to fall




harder to realize it!



It all happened



at the center of those days



where time was a side matter



planning



strategic demolition



of these walls



brick by brick



layer by layer



a gravitational collapse



an implosion of senses



crashing stars in our sky



What is left now of all that noise?



broken pieces



without color



without texture



thin and fragile



like leaves in the autumn wind



they make no sound



floating restless



holding hope



of touching the ground

________
rusted rumble



chasing the time.



Each word –



another shot



another chip off a broken heart.







Stained glass eyes



distort the truth.



A one sided, endless cycle of love.



The love disguised for



Want.



Need.



Touch.



Taste. . .







The warm breath on your neck –



feels greater than the cold winter breeze.



The punch of reality.



The shadow that passes with the day.



A soft touch on your cheek –



feels greater than a bitter winter smack.



The punch of reality.



The shadow that passes with the day.







Can you catch your breath as if races from you?



Can you follow the sound of your own footsteps?







The door.



The entrance.



The life.



The words.



The heart.



The handle is so cold outside. . .



but inside. . .



inside is warm. . .



everything falls inside.

1st place winner for June's Pic 1 K....

...is Rebecca Besser and her poem THE TRAVELER.

What was the inspiration for your poem? And don't say the picture! Besides that...


Hmmm... I guess it would have to be that inside we are all travelers, as we seek our way through life. We are always looking for a path, safety, and the things we need to make it to the next day. The Traveler is all of us.


Okay, what's going on over at Living Dead Press these days?

Lots! There are a couple anthologies open. They are actively seeking children's halloween stories and Extreme Aquatic stories. Check out their submissions page for details.

End of Days 4 will be available really soon! Which we are BOTH in!

Also, LDP's first children's antho will be available soon. Which I'm in and edited. ;)


I read you have a submission goal for this year? What is it? How's it going?

Well, my goal this year was a submissions number. I wanted to submit at least 150 times this year. The more submissions you get out there, the more chances you have for a yes. So far this year I've been published a bunch! It seems to be working. ;) I'm currently at 110, and it's only half way through the year.

Unofficial goals were to get into an antho and get a novel done. I've been in a few anthos, so I made that one. Now I just have to work on the novel!


Do you think the world will end in 2012?

Nope. Just because we expect it to. :p


If you could meet one person - alive or dead - who would it be?

That was really easy for me, since I'm a Christian...... Jesus. Would love to meet him face to face. Can you ever imagine how AWESOME that would be? (Although, being a Christian, I've already meet him. hehehe)


Tell everyone again (in case they didn't read last month's interview) - where else can people find you?

Most of my info is on my website: http://www.rebeccabesser.com/

I'm also on Facebook!

AND... here's a teaser of the winning poem:

The vacant pinnacle stands erect on the horizon.



A sign of hope to the traveler.


Unused ground, decaying buildings in a row.


A sign of yesterday to the traveler.

To read Becca's winning poem check out the FREE Issue Six of Soft Whispers - check it out!

2nd place winner for June's Pic 1 K....

...is Michelle Dennis Evans with her story BUILDING.

Besides the picture, what was the inspiration for the story?

Wow, there were so many things that inspired this story. One was that my husband and I just annulled a business agreement with a partner. Another piece of inspiration was that my brother has taken over a family business but still has our father and uncle working with him. So I have been thinking about businesses that work and businesses that fail and all the businesses in between.

How long did it take you to write?

I wrote it over two sessions. I wasn’t happy with the flow so I had to leave it for a few days and re-write parts. It would have taken around one to one and a half hours all up.


What's your favorite food?

Chocolate!


Where can Soft Whispers readers find you on the internet?

 (site, Twitter, etc.) Ah haaa free promotion – Love it! Readers can find me on Twitter @MichelleDEvans , Facebook @ Michelle Dennis Evans and my blog is http://michelledevans.blogspot.com



Where else have you been published?

So far I’ve been published in, 12 Days of Christmas Anthology, Eclectic Flash and Write Online. I’m soon to be published in, The best of Friday Flash 2009 Anthology and Daily Flash: 365 Days of Flash Fiction.



What's your favorite song?

I listen to a lot of music and I love love love heaps of songs but can’t think of one that stands out as a favourite.


What are you plans for 2010?
 
In January I declared that this was the year of getting published. Now that I have been published, I hope to get paid for what I love to do. Outside of my writing my husband and I are just setting up our new Real Estate business ‘Finesse’ Of course we expect nothing but success for the rest of the year.
 
How about a little teaser of the story?
 
Des, do you remember when we were in the building phase?' Joe asked. 'And we thought nothing would come in our way, and we were as tall in chest as anyone had ever seen.'



'Sure, I remember,' said Des, 'some 40 years ago now.'

Read the rest of Michelle's winning story in the FREE Issue Six of Soft Whispers - check it out!

Issue Six - NOW AVAILABLE!

Great issue here... check it out:

Read Issue Six!

July Pic 1 k

In case you havn't heard yet, we have expanded Pic 1 k into poetry. So here's the idea - you look at the picture below... write a story about it in less than a 1,000 words OR write a poem about the picture in less than a 1,000 words.


Remember the saying "A picture is worth a thousand words?" Well, prove it!

BUT there's more!



Normally the winner of Pic 1 k gets a nice interview the site but I've decided to spice things up a little... this month I am offering as follows:



ANY submission that I like will be posted on Soft Whispers site and in the monthly issue



2nd place author will receive an interview on the site to brag about ANYTHING they want!



1st place will recieve an interview PLUS a $5 giftcard from Amazon.



(Yes, I know that $5 isn't much but I don't have much so to me it's like giving a lot!)



When your story or poem is finished email it to SoftWhispersSubmissions@gmail.com with PIC 1 K in the subject. Make sure you include a bio! And please, no formatting or crazy fonts. I'm a boring guy - I prefer 12pt Times New Roman.



Winners will be anounce by August 5th and the giftcard will be mailed by August 10th.





Okay, so with this all said... check out this month's Pic 1 k and GET WRITING!
 

Explosion

by
Laura Mercurio Ebohon

It was a crash




sudden



unexpected collision



It sounded like thunder



it smelled like storm



it played like strong beats



It looked like shreds of flesh



drops of blood



floating rags



in the wind of unknown lands



blowing against far away skies



My earthly refuge was invaded



my heavenly home was attacked



my path was crossed



Then the explosion...



Red flames and yellow screams



grey clouds black smoke



Roads and buildings became dust



Like sand of deserts



running through my hands



Silence took over



Quiet like hope



Still like patience



white mantle



of the inevitable sound of never...

Explosion

by
Jim Bronyaur

What's left -

the world behind

Signalling seasons

a broken traffic light

Sending souls crashing

at intersections hung

between now and death.

The faded treeline shades

to brown

The high mountains sink -

just a little.

Popping glass dances around

titled signs point all ways

all ways to the heart

always to the heart

an explosion

feel.

Descend

by
Laura Mercurio Ebohon

Inclinations




curved words



falling down



on this white desert



like little drops of hope



taking shape in clouds of smoke







Slides



bending acts



extending downwards



laying on this black valley



landslides of events



sweeping life away







Avalanches



heart tremors



sliding down



the mountainside of our soul



precipitation of feelings



descending impacts

Meet Laura Mercurio Ebohon!

“Writing (therapeutical ladder to the sky), reading, traveling, exploring, captivating images, observing the mysteries-miracles of life, attempting verses…”




My first poetry book: Italian – English poetry “Se guardo dentro – If I look inside” is out now



I feel the essence of my writing could be described as: ”sliding” into myself trying to find the “real me” keeping at the same time my eyes wide open on the world and its wonders.



I think this life is a passage through stormy and sunny places leading us to the light I have been searching since I was a little girl. I would like to learn more and share more through my verses.



I cannot really tell you the what or the how but I am sure that you will see in some of my verses the intricate maze of my journey and you will recognize the when and the why I felt my inner spiritual journey had to be explored even more to finally find the communion between mind, body and soul… Always looking for peace.



Find out more about Laura and her book of poetry here: http://iamlauramercurio.com/2010/06/03/se-guardo-dentro-if-i-look-inside/

Descend

by
Jim Bronyaur

Watching as the falling
the calling

they come.

Bringing they spread

they become

all okay.

Secrets the world can't know

can't believe

it's real.

The sorry and the sorrow

the sadness

the sound.

Creaking to the wet

the dark

one last kiss.

I've Never Loved

by
BD Hudison

I've never loved
  (like I've loved)
I've never taken
  (like I've taken)
Waiting on a cracked corner to travel -
far away the cries of freedom slowly burn and die.
They leave me - always leaving - always just packing up and moving on.
But here I stand - I stay - like a block of cement.  I'm attached to this ground - to this place - to everything around me that seems like it won't be here tommorow.
I've never loved... a place... as much as I do this.

Rested

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Ready to go




No weary no lack



Energy to burn



Exhilarating adventure



Willing to launch



Focus renewed



Freedom found



Soul



Mind



Body



Filled and refuelled



Ready to run



Rested in Him



Rested and ready

Destiny

by
Jim Bronyaur

 For I am the creator of destiny


My weathered hands tear apart on cracked grounds

they tear apart on beat up hearts

(why is fate such a cruel beast?)

The crossroads you face

The time you spend looking and waiting for

(the sign)

Why, my dearest life,

that time is wasted

the sign is held deep within.

deep within a place of existent

(that is often left behind)

The place (you may ask) is not one of fortune.

not one of greed.

not one of lust.

not even on of hope.

But of life.

But of yourself.

But of your heart.

All within your destiny…

The destiny I create

And hand to you with the care

while my scars bleed to show that time is real.

the crow and the line... (THE PAGES)

by
Jack Roth

“A crow perched

so nice

on an electrical line.

Mouth open.

It’s calling.

It’s calling.

It’s…”

___

Calling.

___

“Did she fuck him?”

“When can we meet?”

“Why’s she invited? I’ll just have to be nice.”

“No, I’m not mad…”

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t…”

“She can’t…”

“…if he tries harder…”

“Why the fuck…”

“…couldn’t even eat today…”

___

Passing through

with a heavy coat of conversation

My hands still stained from the

last request.

Days rested in sorrow are a

playground

and

war zone.

The spill becomes so much

my head hurts…

My dark friend eyes me and smiles

I could reach up and snap –

(that fucking neck)

I could breathe once –

(and the world would be a waste pile)

___

“…acts like a jerk in front…”

“I told you that…”

“…lost the fucking ball…”

“Well, they just need better…”

___

Voices of calamity –

they will be the ones that pull

(the fucking trigger)

I just guide.

(in the darkness with light…

…in the shadows that never cast…

…you can only see what I show…

…and feel what I touch…)

The edge of town comes…

I must keep moving.

The darkness of the forest

gives warmth as

I know it’ll be great.

Until the return.

___

“Look at him screaming.”

(It’s calling out.”)

“What for?”

(“Crows mean death.”)

“Not if that line gives it a zap.”

(Crows always mean death.”)


Read the entire THE PAGES series (hosted by The Penny Dreadful) at Read THE PAGES!