She's got the Block

Oh, Tess. Why, with your beautiful writing, must you mock us so?  --- this writer, regarding this Magpie Tale

Ernest Hemingway: There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

Templeton:  But how, master, how?

Hemingway:  Do not worry.  You have always written before and you will write now.  All you have to do is write one true sentence.  Write the truest sentence that you know.

Templeton:  But today this typewriter mocks me! One sentence you say? Alright...

Much like the garbage disposal, my words are clogged.

at first glance

From the picture
one cannot envision that night
when she drowned her infant in the bathtub
and ran, dripping, to slit the dog's throat
in the backyard while drenched in moonlight
and dancing
Guilty droplets of water spinning off her like a top,
long hair flying in ropes that, from a distance,
blended perfectly with the howling branches of the birch trees

one cannot hear her shrill cackle
taunting the various gods of the night sky
that they should not have challenged her so
 perceiving weakness
because the taste of blood was in her mouth
and who were they to tell her of
demons and descendants



The following was written for the photoprompt provided by Magpie Tales.

The Eye of Joy

        Andontis tugged on his mother's white cloak urgently.

        "Did you ever visit the Eye of Joy when you were a youngling?" he inquired.  They had been standing in line for 136 hours approximately, and he was tired of holding his elimination container.  Andontis unstrapped the satchel around his mother's neck and hurriedly pushed the silver can inside.  His mother admired her son's ability to distract her so covertly as he unburdened himself.

        Geniha estimated another six hours or so, as they were getting closer now and she could see the outline of the pale building across the barren landscape.  The craters shed a strange shadow and she remembered the way the structure resembled a youngling's translucent lips.  Adontis had lived nine rotations now, and his lips had turned from a translucent pale to a dark gray already.  Another mark of his turning from youngling to an Overlord.

        Geniha smiled nostalgically and watched the crowd in front, behind.  All various shades of gray as they shifted in anticipation.  The pigment had left their race long ago, and the chemicals used to sustain life made the vegetation and sky a frosty silver.  Even though smoky atmosphere appeared to reach forever,  Geniha had heard the stories of places beyond where her ancestors had journeyed from eons ago.

        "My grandOver, your great-great grandOver took me here when I was about your age, Andontis," she began.  "I had already visited the Relic of Rubix Cube in Tankcora, so I was excited to see another one of the ten Wonders of ROYGBIV.  The line back then was somewhat shorter, or maybe it didn't seem as long because we didn't complain back then," she joked.

         Andontis broke open a Fuel Capsule and drank the milky center, rolling his eyes.

       "Back then very few Overlords got to visit all ten Wonders in their lifecycle.  You should be glad you have a mother who has vacation time from the Colony.  Maybe someday, you will come with one of your own younglings."  Geniha pulled the blanket around both of them tighter.

        "I'm so excited," Andontis beamed, "I can't wait!" 

        He imagined what would happen as best he could from the stories he heard floating around the Colony.  From what his neighbor told him, he would enter a large spherical building.  There would be armed guards standing on either side of the door, but they were just there to make sure the Eye of Joy was safe and handled gently.  They would be wearing reflective helmets so Andontis wouldn't be able to see their faces but they could see his.  

        Once he entered, he would approach the concrete shelf in the center of the room. (His mom would probably come in with him, just to make sure he knew what to do.)  Andontis would ever so carefully pick up the Eye of Joy and bring it to his visor shield.  He would then lift the shield and peer into it so that it would cover his entire field of vision.  Finally, he would being spinning the Eye ever so slowly to see one of the ten Wonders of ROYGBIV!  The anticipation was crushing him as he sat down on the rocky terrain. 

      "Mom?" Andontis said.

     "Yes, dear?" she replied.

     Andontis wondered aloud, "Is the Eye of Joy heavy?"

     "No, baby," Geniha chuckled.  "Not for a soon-to-be Overlord like yourself!"

     "Good!" he sighed.  "Because it would be terrible to wait all of this time and not be able to lift it."

      Andontis's mother smiled knowingly and began to feel the tingles of excitement growing deep in her belly as well. 

      "I can't explain what it's like," she brushed his white hair out of his eyes.  "There was an old saying about it being worth a thousand words.  But that was back when a thousand was a lot.  So just imagine a thousand words, but alive."

      Andontis shuddered and grinned.

        

This was written for Magpie Tales.

The Refraction of Water

           Stephen Banks never had perfect vision.  He did not discover that he had 50/10 vision, however, until age twelve, when the teachers at PS 404 demanded that he be taken to be tested.  He was always the quiet, helpful child in the back row who never had a lunch and got by in school and life mostly through the generosity of his peers.  He had to learn early on to rely on the kindness of strangers.  This gratitude and the desire to give back, in turn, led him to the job he currently holds at Meadowbrook Nursing Home. 
           He was able to end his shift early to head to the Walmart's parking lot and began waiting anxiously.  The big day was finally here.  Stephen wondered if she would recognize him; he was ashamed to admit to himself that her face was a distant memory to him now.  Mostly when he thought of her the only thing he could pull out of his memory was the smell of Newports and Elvis songs.  It's funny what the mind chooses to remember and what it chooses to forget.
            Focusing on the street, he saw a white Buick Le Sabre pull hesitantly into the empty parking lot.  He sucked in his gut automatically (even though he was still in his truck) and checked his teeth in the rearview mirror.  At this point what's done is done, he repeated to himself like a mantra, in reference to the situation.  Fear gripped his chest and he held nervously onto the door handle as the Le Sabre slowed to a crawl by the side of his truck, finally stopping three spots down from him.  Would she be angry that he didn't look for her sooner?  Should he be less angry that she didn't?
           The rain was coming down gently now, as if the universe was playing into the dramatics occurring in the Walmart parking lot. 
           When he couldn't take one more second of the panic in his throat he opened the door, strangely comforted by the familiar feel of the spring shower against his skin.  He did not know her smile or remember her voice, but he was certain of the sound of the rain smacking on the asphalt.  At once Stephen became hyperaware of her vague form approaching. He kept his head downward, willing himself to keep walking toward her as well.  The five year old boy in him was too terrifed to look directly at her.  Scenes of countless foster homes played in his memory.  Everything had brought him here to this.
          There was a lightness in his head as he felt his glasses slide off his face and heard them bounce on the pavement.  
          Bending down, he blindly fumbled for them. Crouching to retrieve them, he suddenly became furious that her first impression of him after all this time would be this.  He couldn't even keep glasses on his face! Years of hatred boiled up and he felt the vomit begin to rise in his throat.  
          "Stephen?" her voice called and anchored him briefly to the earth.
          He swallowed and began to put his glasses back on as he stood in front of this shadowy, colossal figure that had followed him all his life.  A phantom had become flesh.    There was a brief moment before she came into focus that Stephen saw the cresent shape reflections of the water droplets on his glasses.  He knew that when he looked past them, for the first time, he would see his mother.      


I'm sorry this Magpie was so long, i know usually we like to keep these short...but i am avoiding a take home exam and writing this was more pleasureable that doing the dishes.  Thanks for reading!

Exhibit K

This poem was written for Magpie Tales #58

My dignity tacked up on a wall

like some ancient weaponry

of a long-forgotten battle

The museum curator 

(for posterity)

dusts off my soul 

  held inside a shoddy display case

I will only know this wall,

his calloused grip,

and strangers' eyes.

I will never again know

the elevation of victory,

the spoils of war,

the inside of you.

Autumn's Song

The following poem was written for Magpie Tales, a weekly photoprompt.

Creation on fire;

a symphony of color

playing a tune

that for a moment

drowns out humanity,

making us stop

in our tiny mammalian tracks.

Suddenly--

Hearts on fire

we must bow to a Higher Power

that allows us to sing along,

becoming

part of the chorus

of the eternal

The Long War

The following poem is in response to this week's Magpie Tales prompt.

                The war-torn veteran stood on the grassy slope.  It had been over 50 years since he had stood on this very spot and gazed at her house.  The deceiving sun lit the face of familiar bricks, beckoning him forth.  Since then he had lost his idealism, his youth, and his left arm.

               He was returning, at last, to her.

              Would she stand at the threshold of the door in silence?  Pity?  Anger?

              Was she even alive?

             With every breath he wished so, as she was the one who brought him onto this earth.  And he wanted to be the one to take her out of it.

Haiku

Magpie 26
 

Drip Drop Drip Drop Drip

You are the watering can

to my thirsty soul

Pawned

Magpie Tales #25

Pawned

The leathery old man at the pawn shop reached across the glass countertop and blew cigar smoke in my face.

"Ma'am," he rasped, "You can't sell this lock.  Not while your first love still has the key."