Archive for January, 2010:
In Montana
Somewhere in France, on a piece of a grape, one particle of yeast turns to his neighbor and says, “what brings you here?”
“Nothing really. I opened my eyes and I was here, then you turned and asked me a question. That sums up my entire life,” said the neighbor particle of yeast.
Pride
She was the first to move, pulling gently away from him as she wrapped herself in the sheet and sat up on the bed. Her large, soft eyes stared at him.
“Tell me how you knew about the lions.” She whispered.
Coffee Shop Guy
I’m not really a coffee drinker. Every once in a while on a cold day I’ll decide it’s a good idea (mostly for the “cool coffee in cold weather” look I feel I pull off very well). But on a daily basis, I can’t drink coffee.
Plans for Today
A poem by Ben Nardolilli.
The Arrival
A poem by Robert Francis Flor.
Last Night’s Dinner
A poem by William D. Hicks.
The Last Yiskan
To my fellow humans: I may have become long forgotten, but my attempt at perfection must not be. For those who don’t remember me, I am Lord Absalom, former ruler of the collapsed city of Yiska.
Both Ways
It had been days, weeks, since we had talked. And I hadn’t seen his face in almost a year now. But I still remembered every minute detail of his appearance. Those baby blue eyes still pierced through my soul.
Don’t Go Back to Stoneville
“Boy, there’s a good reason people say don’t go back to Stoneville.” That phrase haunted his memory again. How can you go back to a place you’ve never been to?
Slack Canopy of Third Ave
A poem by Ben Nardolilli.
Memories
A poem by Brian H. McCallum.
Compass Points
A poem by Dominick Montalto.
Gifted
At least Siegfried probably didn’t have to perform the way Jason used to. The tell-tale signs: tattoos of satanic significance, there, the inverted cross on the back of his left hand, black clothes, long black slicker, Doc Marten boots, skinhead-cropped hair, black mascara, and a demeanour of surly indifference to teachers and fellow students.
The Wood of the Suicides
He felt the horror at seeing his sister, a living, breathing girl, frozen in this parody of a human being. Her form stood there, stark white, motionless, exposed to the elements. They had deprived her of the miracle of speech and of motion and frozen her in a half-human caricature of herself.
Palmistry
A poem by Ben Macnair.
The Hero
“I don’t want a pool,” I had said when looking at the house for the first time.
“It causes no extra charge towards the property, most folks…” the man had said.
“I don’t care, I don’t want it; it’s dangerous.”
But even as I had said these words I knew it was out of my hands.
The Colors She Gave to Me
I stand at the edge of a cliff at the edge of the world. The edge of life. At the beginning and the end.
Stage Fright
“So then how do I get rid of the fear?”
“Well I’m glad you asked because that’s what were gonna work on today! When’s your speech?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Great! That’s more than enough time to whip you into shape. So let’s get started.”