Tag Archives: stories

Three Crows Bathing in the River

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Walking along the trail I saw
Three crows bathing in the river
Their feathers ruffled from the wind and water
A brilliant blackness glistening in the sun
Mimicking the water’s surface
With its diamonds and mirrors of light
I stumbled forward
Tripping on the unseen root
My eyes focused on the
Three Black Birds
Staring back at me
While the scenery started
Morphing into something different
Than my original interpretation
Of the river, of the flock
A slimy sheen covered the water
The sun masking my first glances
The distance preventing acknowledgement of other senses
The stench burning into my nostrils
The three black birds standing proud
With their beaks pointing towards the sky
Then I realized
The murder was actually
Three white doves covered in mud
I am grateful for walks ❤️
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Blistered and Sore

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That voice
Echoing in through the
left and exiting the right
Eerily comforting
addicting
Similar ideals with multiple
personalities and emotions
One day is alright and
the people come out to play
The next, is cloudy and raining
No one is around at all
Relating on words and feelings
I see you
Even perched on this outside balcony
Making claim to a seat that
was never really here
I pause and think you
would probably like it
Or, at least relate to
the comforting darkness
Shadowing me in through the night
Claiming all burned from the sun;
blistered and sore.

I and grateful for rationality ❤

Uninhabitable Hollows

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Everyone is asleep
While I find solace in
this empty closet
Sitting on the floor
comfortable and writing
Absently twirling a wayward strand
and chewing on my bottom lip
These habitual reminders that
we never really change
(Except maybe our levels of
awareness and perception;
intuition?)
We all sometimes feel the
embarrassment from judgement
Thoughts that solidify
forming concrete structures in
our minds
Uninhabitable geometric spaces
that appear empty and dark
Some days I want to bulldoze
this whole city down
But as they say, the sun
always shines after the night
Illuminating these hollows
within our minds
Power igniting to imagine
new beginnings
Replacing each structure with
rows of flowering trees
Thoughts that I find now as my
hands dig through the soil
to plant the seeds
Preparing myself for future
times of solitude
Just like this
Where I can spend these
precious moments
Smelling the flowers and
enjoying the beauty
Instead of closing in and
retreating to the stories that
never end

I am grateful for road trips ❤

Bite into the Onion

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I said “bite into the onion!”

Only because of a memory of

sitting at some stranger’s apartment

feeling hungry:

 

The countertop was an aqua shade of blue

But not the good kind of blue that
reminds me of Caribbean waters

It was dirtied with specks of black and green

a form of modernism that some

person imagined ideal for eating

 

I was analyzing the marble

only inches from my face

Instead of focusing on the objects

and shapes alive and breathing, those

dancing around in their frenzied confusion

There was a chef of sorts, making his

claim to fame from the hours spent

grilling at one of the downtown bars

 

He was watching me and I only

realized because he told me and

I looked up, saw his affront

Staring intently, as if he were challenging

to inspire embarrassment with a shade of

question, for me to offer an explanation

Or, maybe both…people always

tend to think more thoughts than

what seems plausible;

An apparent stereotype of my own

relating on close mindedness that only first

glances can conceive

 

His stature was clear

The game was on, without both

players realizing when it had started

A chess match apparently already won, seeing his

daggers slice and tear through the

layers of vulnerabilities on the surface

Wearing his best victory grin, he

came closer thinking the game was

over as he thought about his checkmate

King riding Queen in complete

dominance

 

All of the while keeping his hands busy

pretending to cook something and

almost abandoning his own disguise

to celebrate his achievement

Peeling back the first few layers

of the onion, slowly and methodically

More interested in appearances

than anything substantially filling

 

That was the story, the tale in my mind

When I tried to explain myself to a

different person later on in life

As if I could relate the feelings and emotions

of one moment and transpire it

into the next

“Bite into the Onion!” was met

with distracted thickness and

judgment of appropriate responses

 

A different chess game, perhaps

With no victors or losers to give

attention

Only me and my bad breath

with the pieces laid out on the table

 

 

I am grateful for challenges ❤

Just another day…

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Stumbling about
the elite of kamakazi grasshoppers
Divebombing from root to leaf to bark to stone
Criss-crossing across the
bleached pavement before
my step catches up
The tall grass stalks sway
And the shadows mimic
the trees overhead
The colorful movement and
mixture of every green
Imaginable

Then there was John Lennon
driving a yellow vw bug
Glasses and all,
Reincarnation of man and car
Checking into the 904
Or wherever that road
leads down to
Somewhere

At the end, my pathway was blocked
by slimy demons asking
the questions everyone is
wondering, not that it really matters
But there they were with all
of the intimidation that only
half-wit monsters can muster
More impressed with portrayal
of deception, rather than a
More relatable diversion, like,
Whatever

Just another day…

I am grateful for the days ❤

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The Book

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At the bottom of a box I found a book

A thrill, really

An excitement to begin someone else’s story,

without really knowing anything about

any of it

 

The pages turned, the words placed elegantly

across the off-white surface

Calligraphy adorning the beginning

of each chapter, the first letter of

the first word

 

The writer was good in displaying his craft

Creating time portals for lost souls

to try to find their bodies again

A fascinating relation of one person haunting her while

she haunted him

The battle of love

retold in the countless war stories

of the oldER, ordER

 

I opened the book wide

Folded it out and laid it upon the wooden

desk, as I continued to

flip, flip, flip

not noticing the time

passing or the music echoing somewhere

from some corner

of the room

 

Until I stopped on open blank pages;

as if it didn’t even exist

The story just ended

 

I am grateful for shorter days ❤

The Little Girl

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There is a little girl with blonde pigtails

and white ribbons, wearing

A frilly blue dress adorned with a

red nautical helm

Maybe five, by chance six

Staring blankly through the

photograph

 

“All the world knows is only

what we can see

All the words we speak, clearly

are only heard by any of the

random opportunities given

Who would listen to a few questions?”

 

She asks in her little girl

squeaky voice

 

“Are we so quick to deny any

interpretations different

That we can ignore the

explanations floating on

the tips of our tongues

Shut out the chances of awareness?

Wave your hand, stand up to meet

the people just out of reach

Wake up, open your eyes

to see the ones staring at you.”

 

Maybe I’m going crazy

maybe I’m going blind

Maybe the little girl speaking is

only a figment of my vapid

imagination

Maybe someone is listening

on the other side;

maybe another lost soul

in an altered time?

 

The picture sits in a book with

other similar photos of other

People with their smiling faces peering out and

saving some of the stories long forgotten

 

“Until next time…”

 

She says,

As I box away the memories

Adding a few additional pieces

to contemplate and to store inside;

A metaphorical reflection created of a mirrored image of

the cardboard container

 

“Goodbye”

 

I whisper.

And the little girl waits until she

is remembered again…

I am grateful for lost treasures ❤