The ripples in my glass of water were my proof,
There are little creatures that I can not see…
There are small things, smaller than me!
But here I stand on my kitchen floor
so much bigger yet feeling so small.
Tag: Story blog
The Savior
“He will save us, don’t you worry,
loving and strong, the hero will return.”
The priest found a way to calm the crowd
So they stood still as their town burned to the ground
“Will he rebuild my tree house father?” The boy wondered
“He will make you a new one, a better one, in heaven!”
But the boy wondered if he can find the way to heaven through this fire.
“Father, do we have to see hell to enjoy heaven?”
The priest said loudly: “HE WILL SAVE US!”
But everyone was gone.
The flame surrounded the red eyed man.
And the boy stood still as the fire engulfed them both.
Man
Born screaming, he did not choose this.
Died screaming, he does not want it to end.
Answers
I have found the missing key,
but where’s the door?
I have found a key,
I don’t know what for.
The Pond, Part 2
An unexpected visitor
The bird that sat on her window, it looked familiar as if it belonged to a different place
She can see that the city was not his place
Maybe he followed her train to where the trees don’t grow
Where the cars’ noises block the voices in her head
She can no longer hear her best friend—the inspiration
Looking out of her cold studio apartment’s window, she can’t see the stars
Her lover’s words resonate in her ears, he was right—she misses counting the bright pins in the sky
That yellow cheerful bird’s singing covered all the other noises around her
She wondered if he had been a messenger, if he carried a letter from The Pond for her
Although her apartment stood high above the man-made trails beneath
It was no match to the mountain she used to live on,
The broken kitchen counters that he’d promised to fix,
The cotton filled pillows, the wooden chair he proudly carved.
She closes her eyes humming with the bird, harmonies she once knew so well
She can smell it, the pond’s stench—what she hated and loved so much
But it escapes her before she can capture it; she wished to paint it on her pale grey wall
The memories were too old, and the paint has run dry.
The King and the Clown
This time, the King bowed to the crowd
And told them stories of fictional heroes
Of battles fought with the gods
The glorious fictions were beautiful
The horses were flying! No—the men were flying horses!
The exploits of ancient warrior-centaurs gripped the crowd
Then tiny fairies winged their infinitesimal paths
Fixing what the horsemen destroyed
Before the destruction was tallied, it vanished!
As if no battle was fought
As if gods and centaurs never grappled hugely
The King framed his tales in beauty
Standing onstage and seen by young and old
Barking some words powerfully, whispering others softly
Becoming a cast of characters
One moment the handsome hero
The next a filthy beggar
Rapt, the children followed his movements
And the women leaned closer every time he praised them
In those moments, the King spun beautiful words his Kingdom wanted to hear
But then it was over
The man’s creation ended
The curtains closed
Backstage, the King took off his crown
And dressed as a clown and went forth again
When he and his monkeys performed playful tricks
The crowd regathered
Among them, only one child noticed
The king had only been a clown
(written by me, Dec 2009)
Mystery
The opened window
The hasty wind
The strange creatures clinging to the trees
It was him
Floating from city to city
His chair remains empty
Waiting to be filled
Trees
The dead trees cried to me once
It is cold here
Help me—too big to have a shelter, too attached to my roots to move
The cold winters took away my loyal leaves
Left me with naked branches, lonely
Cover me…help me
But I didn’t hear them; I was too cold to pay attention
(By me, written March 2010)
The Pond, Part 1
A hesitant kiss on the cheek, close to her mouth,
He doesn’t know what to do, can’t stop the train.
Soon she’ll be gone.
The frogs in the pond, he yelled, they are begging you to stay… it’s not just me!
These trees! They cried all night while you laid between the sheets.
And you know the cricket, that one that you asked me to take outside, he sung by our window all day long…it’s not just me dear, it’s not just me!
She couldn’t look him in the eye. One way ticket is all she can afford. Is all she wanted– secretly.
The vibrations of the ground told him that the train is near.
There’s nothing he can do
He looked at her, with a sad smile: “look at me darling!”
“You know, the mountains won’t meet the flat ground you’re going to…the smell of hot concrete will make you miss the pond’s stench. The stars! They won’t be visible dear! Won’t you miss the stars?”
Her cold hands that he held on to were so warm once.
She wasn’t in love anymore. The pond was a thing of the past…she’s ready for the next train.
She didn’t even pack her cloths
A hand bag is all she took, filled with papers and colored pens… and a dried old flower that he couldn’t remember giving to her.
She hasn’t stopped loving him; she just needed a new muse.
Her fuel was inspiration and the pond has run out.
(By me, written Feb 2012)
Stranger Paths 