3WW, Poetry, short story

fulfilled.3ww

faithful to the cause he wandered over intoxicated by a mouth watering scent hanging in a still air. pressing his nose through brush and dirt he began circling madly as if under a spell to isolate the fragrance. oh so happy and unwilling to howl he plopped into oblivion his paws clutching the prize. tuned in to an unchanging truth he began to scrutinize and sniff the horizon searching the unknown. Noting nothing he chewed and licked till the very last of the bone’s marrow disappeared.

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three word Wednesday: faithful, isolate. scrutinize

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magpie tales, Poetry, short story, six sentences

magpie94.duplicity

somber shelter sincerity, subterfuge speculation, suffocating faceless fantasies he’s not so sure he’ll last another day. cravings for a cigarette his current distraction.

she unexpectedly found herself with thought thinking he was always different. as if this is always as it was. yes, he is just there rummaging about creating an economy of movement.

his difference so subtle only by accident can one catch the commitment in his eyes. living in a halcyon hurricane amongst the quietly unperturbed, they began to gather their sails dreaming of departure.

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magpie tales no 94 photo: Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

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Poetry, short story, SundayScribblings

the world is spinning spring page 8

napowrimoo 2011
my everyday journal day 8, page 8

this everyday journal comes in handy at the oddest moments. i began day 1 of the napowrimo 2011 excited with the anticipation of the finish fully loaded for completion. each day embraced soft and smooth as the freshly laundered shirts of my lover. well that all changed once the dawn of day 7 appeared and took off as a fast filly running a renegade herd. all the while i kept up with my two feet doing what i was suppose to be doing. but by noon i had to acknowledge the anchor of my reasoning was sorta sputtering slow quick in an unseen quicksand yanking all thoughts askew. preoccupied with more pressing nothings i just sorta let go in absence and went with the winged current i was caught in. washed ashore there at the end of the day entangled in bunches of tied up empty words going every which way rushing nowhere and everywhere. extreme the exasperation, i let up on the accelerator slowed to about 85 then 50 then to a cruising 30 and pretty soon i was idle. pulling the plug i parked in a peaceful place and i gotta tell you it felt good, real good. a long while later i settled into supine and the sounds of still. it was around midnight quiet outside and the world was sleeping. unhurried i could hear the momentum of universal slumber.

let’s see now it’s day 11 or is it 12? who knows what day it is but i’m pretty sure it’s way past 8. i’m considering picking up day eight and kick start to catchup. a few seconds pass. ok, i skimmed over my options and, nah, i think i’ll just cruise on in my normal haphazardous literary fashion and catch it next year.

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napowrimo 2011, short story, we write poems

we write poems. firemaker

we write poems: making fire
photo: sherwood411, flickr
day 6, napowrimo 2011

Fire Sticks

night comes and we sleep knowing the sun will return. before long there is a first call commotion. a band of birds on a branch twittering. connected comes the changing of lights. the darkness disappears and just as swiftly appears the soft sincerity of a rising sun. emerging we celebrate the arrival of light that dismisses the cool air and the delicate nourishing dew brushing against our cold bare feet.

in the very first hours of morning we step right into the warm shining day towards the circle where everything began. there in the middle a few thread bare sticks and the ancient fire maker. he simply sat silent whispering little lightning bolts towards the sticks. prancing as alerted fireflies they alight upon the sticks disappear and before a time fire appears in the rising smoke and crackle. he is our fire maker and we bow in reverence. as a people our fire maker gives our village much.

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3WW, haiku my heart, Poetry, short story

release

Female Reed Buntingthomg’s three word wednesday: blink, occasion, kind
rebecca’s friday’s recuerda mi corazon [haiku my heart]
photo: female reed bunting, Ian A Kirk, flickr

possessing a bag of seeds was a kind weight. never felt heavy or burdensome. the notion of planting the empty field across the way was going to be an auspicious occasion. only now the soil rested in a deep surrounding silence.

washing the last of the dishes the open window carelessly captivates with possession. stretching she touches the great wind. and with willowy wings hovering over the vanished, she gazes at the gathering of seeds once scattered, revealing a buried task that took a time lasting long.

and now in the blink of an eye the end began. before her written in fine flare the notice had materialized. with wet hands she reaches and touches the great wind.

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short story, we write poems

opus

we write poems: conversation between two. any sort of two
photo:opera, sanako, flickr

Opera

arrange the setting.
two people.
it’s around early, middle evening.
opera in paris. a wonderful opera.

sharing the evening of passion and pain dressed up lovely. seated in their own, secret thoughts screaming. they do not touch or move. later when the second scene seamlessly pours over, each one emerges in flight, swimming in synesthesia. hinting of a crest the scene burns so brightly. remembering to breathe, air brings back their world. seated separately they never knew what they shared in silent conversation.

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