swallowed by the water flowers at last
the canoe breathed across the swamp
I found the roots of an ancient oak
felled by Paul Bunyan
shed on by the ox
and dove,
a dove falling into the light,
to the tree's top,
waving in the murky green,
strange fish like oxen
strange waters
strange trees
the dove and the ancient oak
She knew that she would find him here. It was his escape, the place he came to find peace. It was quiet and he was rolling up alone, up and down the rink. first with the jack, then with his favourite woods, he never tired of it.
'Dad!' she called.
'Hello, Nicola. I won't be a moment.'
She watched as he bent slowly and lifted his woods, tucking them into the crook of his arm. he slipped the jack into his pocket and patted is to make sure it was safe. According to Dad, you couldn't leave a jack lying...
Water. Surrounded her from every direction on the huge cruise ship. She loved being out in the ocean, looking out as far as she could see and seeing nothing but water.
Her husband, on the other hand...
"Honey, please get up. Open your eyes and see!"
He shook his head, grasping tighter to his paper bag. "Shouldn't have allowed you to talk me into this...never should have listened to you."
She sighed, thinking her husband sounded so sickly and confused. Sad thing is he never threw up, loaded up on motion sickness meds weeks in advanced, and he barely felt...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. Once, in Bucharest, a old man in a red scarf lost his way on a familiar street. Once, in Brooklyn, a young boy in red shoes ran home from school as fast as he could. Today, in a red coat, I found the answer to my final question.
Snow was falling bringing the kind of cold that made you huddle into your coat. I walked across a field I crossed every day. Hopped the stile and cut through a stand of trees to reach the bus...
This dream was better than waking. Like many others-- She was there. She looked different in every dream, talked different, had a different name; but she was the same person every time. She was an aspect of me, who I wish I could be, who I knew I never could be.
Except in the dream. While I was still the awkward, shy man I always was, in my dream I could share dinner with a woman who had all the qualities I wanted. She could talk without feeling nervous. She was ambitious, no regrets of /not/ doing something. And, of...
PUNCH
Graham Pererson was a murderer. He killed people. Often.
Under the guise of a little old man he scoured the late evening streets for his victims. He carried a small bag and a walking stick.
He had a nicely worked out system which had, to date, never failed him.
And so tonight, April 1, he locked his door behind him and headed towards the suberbs.
They were starting to head home in groups of two and three from their nights of debauchery. He hated them. All of them.
A young woman seperated from her group and turned a corner....
Lily was far too young for this. She wore a billowy petticoat and a large hat as she chased after Mother. Ever since Mother decided that Frank (Francois) the adventurer was her new love, she darted across Africa and the Middle East like an excitable dog chasing a rawhide.
Lily was sweating under the Egyptian sun in all her layers. She envied the Bedouin girls and their head-covering scarves. Less itchy than this hat, she thought. Late at night, when Mother and Frank kicked her out of the tent, she'd squat on the sand and look at far-off Bedouin tents...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. And it was very hard for her to. What, with her being overweight. To people of this society, fatties are not pretties.
At least, that's what her father has always told her.
But right now. Standing here right now. Before him. He, who can't seem to look away.
She feels like Halle Berry.
In a simple pair of blue jeans, and a T - Shirt, she walked outside to get the mail. She forgotten that her sister was going out with a bunch of her friends. Assuming she wasn't invited on...
There was blood on my pillow. For that matter, there was blood in my mouth; It tasted like copper. I don't usually notice the taste of blood, but this caught me somewhat by surprise.
I got up, gargled some water, and carefully probed my mouth with my tongue. As far as I could tell, nothing hurt, and no more blood was coming out. Maybe I cut myself early in my sleep.
I got up properly, fully enjoying the freshly risen sun which was busy spraying it's yellow rays through the forest canopy. There was a fresh campfire pit just visible...
It was midnight on the roof,the stars bright and shining, the moon full and gleaming. Sat up there alone I contemplated my own existence. As this speck in the whole tapestry of existence, can my life have meaning? Will I be able to understand all that life presents to me?
These questions plagued my mind for a few minutes, turning over slowly whilst I search for any answer, to questions I knew would be impossible to find one for. In the tranquility of the night, the mind often wanders to such matters. Within the idea of the unknowable, is the...