Urns The pits near the village would bubble and fume, a sulfurous foam of a gangrenous hue. Surrounding the town, steaming and frothing, forming about it a moat of a sort. The paths that ran through them were a noxious and twisted, an odorous maze, no longer attempted. But why should they brave them? Their town was a haven; all sins were indulged and vices partaken, and consequence neatly evaded.The Wizard they praised for this unrivaled blessing, ingenious his magic and craft. 'Twas the urns he provided, all graven and painted, so intricate, fine and ornate. Their corruption provisioned, each soul could be soothed, an urn allotted per dwelling.
Away from the Light "Why didn't you move?"The words echoed through my head as I tried to blink away gray, like coming out of a fog. I realized I was walking along a path through a wood. There were others with me, sweeping me along, not swiftly but steadily. Most of them walked in silence, but the man next to me was talking again."You just stood there! Why didn't you move out of the way?"He was leaning forward to look into my face, gripping my upper arm. No, it wasn't the crowd that swept me along, it was him."Excuse me?" was my adroit reply. I was trying to think where I was and how I got there. My memory was still veiled by that fog."The truck! Why di
Band of Brothers "We're your bodyguards.""What?""We're your bodyguards!" I repeated, presenting my most winning smile. "Agent Noriega sent us."The man that we knew only as Joe Doe just stood there for a moment. He was looking me up and down with his face scrunched like he had been sucking on lemons. His sweeping gaze fixed at a point above my head. I checked to see if my hat was on straight. It was."You're a band," Mr. Doe said, his face still puckered. Those must have been strong lemons."Yes! We're the Band of Brothers!" my smile widened."No, you're a marching band!""Oh! Yes, that's our cover! See, no one would suspect a marching band as bodygu
The Wishing Bear "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"The shouts echoed along the hall, waking the old woman from a drowse. My goodness, she thought. Whether for the shouts or for finding her head nodded to her chest, she wasn't sure.In any case, she rose to see what the ruckus was about. The shouts that woke her had been replaced by the sounds of stomping and sobbing. She shuffled to the corner and peered into the neighboring waiting area, where she spotted a little girl vigorously stomping on a small teddy bear!My goodness! She thought again, this time certain of the cause. As she shuffled closer, the girl picked up the bear and tried to pull it apart
Seraph In the quiet of the evening,winter's early darknesspaints my thoughts with unreality.How could she be, this corporeal seraph?But in the drawing of my breath,I feel her.This supernova soullights the wick and sparks the musewith a simple waving of her hand,whispering to all the little muselingsto be all they can be, to not just livebut be.When her shock-wave envelops us,there is no urge to shrinkfrom the encounterso primal and transforming.Inner forces align in unexpected directionsand lead us, gasping, into aweradiating apollo's heat,it's as though the coal-faced hephaestusleft his cloudy comfort zonet
fate fatalism stalks me.its chalky finger-bonesscrabble at my windows,greedy to pry panesand rend gaps—mouth agapeto vent its algid breath.conjured,like a voodoo zombieof the bayou,by pious disciplesto the temple of matter.they strain to evadethe burden of their choices,worrying at the knots of destinyand scattering dustto fill in our footprints.in a sly reversal of legerdemain,they entice hands from rudders,with their relentless mantra:"free will is illusion!"but illusion is smoke,and stars still burn in my chest.not nebulae, but hard points and brilliant.I pass through them,burning the fog
when the snow comes with our fingers entwined I will sit with youas the golden leaves, lying beneath the snow,become the nourishment of next year's bloomsI will wrap myself about you,against the coming of the coldas you cling to the last of warmthand, exhaling, your spiritbecomes the misty breathin my lungs
Never Hit a Lady "Five minutes, Lana!""Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on!"Lana turned back to her mirror to finish adjusting her costume. "You're a doll, Lana," she said to her reflection. "The fellas are gonna love this get up." Tonight was the debut of her Lady is a Tramp routine, and she had done up the costume herself.Sexier than the sequined number by a mile! Who knew that a dame in a guy's undershirt could be such a vamp! It still needed something, but Lana couldn't put her finger on what."Lookin' real swank, Lana. Hope ya didn't get all dolled up for me."She jumped and whirled toward the voice. The large figure framed in the doorway wore a trenc
NaPoWriMo - set 1 1. breatha momentof bright focusof sharp intake-the sweet pain of breaththat piercing instantendless, until it endstimeless nanosecondgoneconvulsions pull vacuumfrom a closed throatand wrinkled fingersstrain for air2. AprilApril will be bitterAs we braceto give back to Caesarwhat is Caesar'sand the guard is tripledon stolen momentsmy motley fool bows his headletting his day slip byStill, there are Angelsand heaven sends surprises:A finger of lightdelivered in notes of Beethoven3. GuiltIt is far too easyto accept what's offeredBut when the question"what could I have done differently?"
NaPoWriMo - set 2 6. devout"Without religionhow can you value life?"begging the answerhe takes my silence for assent.His shoulder blades deflecting contradictionsthat seek the heat of my eyes-those scattered limbs arrangedby the gentle artof the explosively devout.7. EquineFully clothed in poiseher eyeswindows to her centerher body becomes the ritual.The calcified spiritsuspended-a palpable satisfactionfor meanings lentand collected.Infused with the Spirit Equinethe animal in her gazeis purity.Compelled-I press to the imageskin that cravesindelible imprint.8. InspiredA poet awoke feeling deadwith nary a
NaPoWriMo - set 3 11. shoppingpicking produceand holdinga secret smile-an angelhidden on my shoulder12. EasterRe-tying his tie to perfection (dad doesn't wear clip-ons!) matching suit for suitProper rituals observed-at least the fellowwith the loud voicecan carry a tuneStealing Madeira whiffsas the Mediterranean slowly simmerson my counter topChimes, then squeals-the doorwaya sudden bottleneckfor hugsPeter Cottontail,in his efficiencydrawing a few tearsThrough it all,nothing can stopor even slowthe exchange of tender whispersacross the ether13. Moby CheckAhead the goal were bright as night were dark,
NaPoWriMo - set 4 16. cheers!I often imaginethat everything I can see,all that can be glimpsedthrough the strongestspy glassis just a bubblerising slowlyin my flutecheers!17. cloudsif the clouds were icebergsthrusting their bulksnot to the mysterious depthsbut to the heightswe would hold hands,slide down their slippery sidesand dance on their peaksamong the stars18. tensionA creaking twist then the clack of the ratchetthe rope thrums with stressdeep groans-the wood structure
wind the element of breathrages against my shelterfragments of the past,come frenetic shrapnelstaccato raps accostingdilapidated fencesstars disdain the tantrumwith shimmering laughter
wall nothing to tear my nailsor swallow the pounding of my fistsno cold façadeto freeze the tears on my cheekI'll press my ear to capricious windsfor any hint of your sighs
False Light A moon of stark beauty is rising,whispering to me of youits strains of quietude and false lightin hues of evening repose.I wander through a sea of grassto find the reflecting pool,the looking glass that sets your imagein a sapphire-studded jewel,ripples from the falling leaveslend twinkles to your eyesthat bend the tail of cometsand your mossy hair ablaze.
magic He reaches into the skyto touch the magic he never sawuntil she showed it to him.He holds light-beams like lances,exhales azure and ardor,and summons tempests of starlight.She draws magic from the earth—divining invisible aquifersbeyond the ken of throngs.She pours herselfinto his seething caldera—her condensation forms his tears.In starlight their fingersbrush as they eachbecome the other.Weightless and heedlessof the turning of spheres.
spirits I came to a pool andkneeling, reached out my hand–the ripples showed me your tearsto its spirit I pledplease, go to my loveand wash the pain from her limbsI came to a fire andbowing, gave it my breath–its crackling echoed your criesto its spirit I pledplease, go to my loveand ignite her heart with vitalityI came to a hill andclimbing, gathered the wind–its sighing whispered your trialsto its spirit I pledplease, go to my loveand swell her lungs with your songI looked to the earth andlaying, offered my flesh–its solidness proclaimed your strengthto its spirit I pledplease, go
droplets I see a universe in each droplet–a cosmos of cosmos'encrustingthe supple twisting fabricof petalsa graduated darknessin the depths of the blossomgives me cause to wonder:do the souls who livein that perpetual nightknow aught of the beautythat they cling to?
crescent moon renga the crescent moon–a cupto hold our desireswe drape our vowsacross the starsthe eye of Venuswinksat our fanciesthe Milky Way–our passionpaints the sky
golden mounds golden mounds riseabove red roof-topsand into my memoriespassing through that precise spotwhere you first describedwhat I could seeour bodies mingle –through my breathyou fill me, andI see through your eyesas you saw my worldthrough mine
passing passing close enoughto touch—you are the scent in my nostrilsI, the warmth enfolding you
frame dragging it pullsby stretching spaceas I hoverin petrifactionit swallows light–everyone knows this;but no one can knowjust what that meansuntil wispsof bright memoriesare streaming pastburning sunsin twisted flux–transmuted to ribbonsnot a whimper wins freewhen even lightis lost
birthstones - senryu in my pocketI press our birthstones together
empty jar I tried againto hold sunlight in a jar.It leaked out through my fingersand spilled onto the world around me.I can only spread my armsto let it wash through me—until the clouds comeand I'm leftwith an empty jar.
parachutes we used to play with parachutesa ring of childrenholding the edgeand flinging our hands to the skytaking turnswe would run to the centerwhere nothing existed exceptthe white silkas it gently descended—an exhaled breaththe world would grow smallerand smalleruntil nothing was leftexcept mein a pocket of silk
Underworld The underworld is not pleasant,and its reek sticks to your skin.Demons flitbehind the shadows of your eyes.I knew the feel of your hand in the dark,and the scent of your breathas it cut the fumes.You pulled me, like forceps,from a rotting womb.But the shell is not the pit.That, I carry with meas slime on my skin,seeping through pores andforming dark mazes in my brain.Someday, when your fingertips prisemy viscid eyes open,I'll shed my soiled clothes to standnaked by the sea,and the salt wind will scour me.
peril I held my life in my hand today.A twitch away from knowingall of the answers,or oblivion.Only your eyes held me—and the perilof losing the bells of your voiceforever.
Halcyon i.your darkness hates methe dreaded mantrathat stalks mein the coldest hoursof your apogeeii.I'll take up the crowbarand search for that door hiding my beastif you guide meand grind away my defensesI will meet you at lastin the dark placethat pulls at your souliii.the tunnel to Halcyonis round and smalland nestled cold under my china blast of silencewill paint my last muralin dendritesand hemoglobin
rose you mime a rosewith hands I can't seebutI can seeyour rose
Flight her plumage shimmers,snaring the lights; a feathery prismon poised head with level jawknees lifting so high;legs extended with each certain stridearcing round the stagefloor boards resoundingfrom high-stepping bootsswiftly placedhe pivots,always in sync with her arc—the heat of his pride; a strength,carried to herthrough taut leather,a steady hand on the reinsis a guide towards the perfect course,as is the curve of her thighlong hair of silk in the windof motion, flutters and streamsoff of white shoulders—astonished silence from the crowd'ssingle breath, their gaze followsits transformat
Sta.sh
