Posted in friday fictioneers

Captivate

She appeared in the music shop window. An enigmatic child before Christmas breathing slow circles of lust across the glass. Day after day she faded in and out, inching closer to the gold plated door handles. Her rats nest hair, highlighted by shimmering grey, and clanging camping pots scared patrons away.

The day she finally slid her dirty fingers across the grand piano keys we knew. Whatever she unleashed, it was beauty the world wouldn’t be ready for. 

People looked on. Phones took video. It wasn’t long before every mind became captivated. 

We haven’t seen her in months now.

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Word Count: 98
For
Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Posted in Word Prompt

Fall Away From Time (Repost)

Silence sounds like …
Your spirit spinning
Out of control to the DJ.
Your breath slowing
In puffs of hazy cigarette smoke.
Your heart pounding
Under the soft weight of my hand.
Your smile against
My hair under the cold moon.
The fading drops
Of my rocks failing to skip.
Your fingers drawing
Shivering lines down my back.
Silence sounds like …
All those things I feel in my soul
When your eyes lock with mine
And we fall away from time.
143

Originally published here in Dec. 2017. The prompt at the time was silence. Today’s RDP prompt is intimate

I couldn’t let love day go by without something!

I’m in the final weeks of my grad program. Unfortunately that’s meant I haven’t been on here. But if anyone’s interested in my research on investment in clean energy let me know and I may post the presentation here for all to see!

Posted in What Pegman Saw

The Art of Dying

There’s a certain beauty to life alone.
A certain finesse to the fine art of dying in no ones arms but your own.
I’ve lost count of the seconds slowly rolling into days.
Those things were never ours anyway.
It’s funny …
The noises your mind will come up with to keep time floating in oceans with little salt.
At first you know it’s just the children in your head playing.
Then you begin to doubt as shadows creep out.
Humans can die from any number of ailments …
A common cold to a lightening strike,
Historic rejection or morbid curiosity,
It’s what makes us the same.
At least that’s what they say.
Maybe I relied too much on silence in those days.

My shadows frolic through the roaring break.
They toss their hands to the wind
And dance the steps to heaven.
I don’t imagine they’ll let me live.


Word Count: 147

A write for
What Pegman Saw. This weeks location is St. Helena island. For more information and rules visit the link. To read more stories click the blue froggy below.

Art of Dying is also a song by George Harrison, not really much in common with this piece but still nice to listen to.

Posted in Word Prompt

Rivulets of Love (Repost)

Back in April the WordPress daily word was rivulet, today the word of the day challenge is rivulet so I’m sharing this one again.

Standing beside you silence is broken even when nothing is said. Funny isn’t it? The stars and the sky; did they dance and dive, bring cosmic planes of every color into a swirling whirling dance of lightening intensity before your eyes met mine?

Has the world always fallen silent at the beckon of your gasp, a movement so sudden and rasp, or was it just mine?

Strange thing isn’t it? To feel everything you’ve ever been step into the light of everything you’ll ever be, knowing no matter the fragility broken will never be … again …

Oh this feeling, again and again. Melodies in languages I fear I will never understand, kisses along paths I may never travel beneath moonlit branches otherworldly in their desire.

It dissipates but not into illusion, a dream of roses and foreign spring days. It sinks beneath the current, becoming the undertow, dragging us along in this sweet abandon, forever familiar. You are home. You are forever, over and over and over.

Such are the rivulets of love that stream from our silent smiles, glancing eyes, as we stand quiet, forever reaching in fear of loving alone the other.

Posted in flash fiction

Colossus

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Write Photo 10/4

Rocks and the ankles of fragile women; obstacles the ocean must break. These waves scream on approach, all foam and gnashing jaws.

Amber eyes aglow against purple skies, beset concrete brows and permanent growls. No, the ocean sees, intimidation must be quelled.

It has no choice but to settle and whittle. Slowly it carves away that which once was, pulling it out to the deep.

Slow lines hollow into caverns, places steeped in crystalline mystery. While the water gathers, quietly sabotaging steady feet.

We forget secrets the water promises to keep. As we watch colossus fall, we wonder if she ever stood at all.

I’ve seen some people I follow participating in this and I’ve been meaning to check it out. I saw this weeks photo and thought it was just so stunning. But I know I’m kind of late!

Posted in Word Prompt

Read To Me

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I want you to read to me when I’m sick;
Lying in bed, tossing and turning,
Heart racing and head spinning,
Vision shaking and hands quaking.
I want you to gently sing
The psalms of old poets to clear
What’s left of my mind.
I won’t be angry
If you cover your face;
If you call this a contaminated place.
I just want you to brush matted hair aside
And say ‘I love you’ one last time.

 


The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch has posts for you to read

Posted in Photo

I Gave My Soul to a New Religion … 16 – 21/365

Pictures to catch me up on “picture a day”. I should start calling it picture dump to catch me up. We all know I love music. I’ve been feeling down and having a hard time lately so this weekend I hopped around to a couple of cities to visit my favorite soul surgeons.

Leah Shapiro , drummer for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Robert Levon Been, bass (and all the instruments also) of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Peter Hayes, guitar (and all kinds of other instruments) of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

These guys were the opening band, The Night Beats. Lovely way to open the shows. In Houston the bassist’s mom came up and got on the rail with us. She couldn’t stop gushing about how adorable her son was on stage. That’s support man

I went to two cities, Houston and New Orleans. Other than my pictures of the show in Houston I didn’t really take many others. I just didn’t find as much that captivated me.

New Orleans … that’s going to be it’s own post because it’s one of my favorite US cities (with the exception of the band pictures, BRMC pics above are the New Orleans show).

Candid

Posted in Photo

Numbered Days 4/365

My heart could be filled

But truth be told …

My days are numbered here.

This disease is terminal.

The doctors don’t know what to do.

“Well,” he says as he raps spindly hands

“You can’t stay forever in the land of the damned.”

Indeed Father Time.

It appears I’ve been diagnosed with life.

I can’t stop my feet from wandering

Or my mind from pandering

The sweet effects of a sunset over the sea.

I suddenly, it seems, have things

I need to be

Rather than this old burnt out bag of flesh

And crumbling calcium deposits collected for me.

So tell me dear, tell me love

You know our days are numbered here …