70 in a 70

Only sadness as I wrote this. It's not a personal experience, but for many it is too real.

Driving along, thoughts wandering

imagination going wild

with thoughts of

parties and fun,

drinks and his favorite girl.

 

In the zone, signs clearly stood

speed limit obvious

double the fines

people working

sons and daughters,

Dads and Moms.

 

110 through a 70

not a cop in sight

he could almost taste

the beer

and feel the burn

of whiskey.

 

Earning that pay cheque

to fund a college degree,

or to put food on the table,

to pay the mortgage

pay the tax man

Just an hour left in this cold day.

 

Light traffic.

Good, don't have to delay

his arrival.

Anticipation...

 

Squealing tires

screams

thuds

sirens

 

Supper got cold

waiting for

the arrival of

 

Dad, Mom?

Why the tears?

Family grieves

a community cries

 

Driving along

in the back of

the cruiser.

Fear, self loathing.

 

70 in a 70

Everyone goes home safe.

And nobody tries

to arrive early

at the dire cost

of someone

not arriving

at all.

Stained

My love for you has stained

my heart

to the deepest shade of

desire, the color of

sheer gossamer covering my

eyes, that look at you

through the blur of

my tears.

No amount of blood

can paint my heart

red again.

The Apparition

Written for a challenge posed by Lori Fetters-Lopez on her website. She provided the picture below as our inspiration. The picture credits also go to Lori. Check out her work at her website. You can also find her on Twitter @fetterslopez

http://lostinthewriting.net/something-new-this-way-comes/




The apparition came out of the orange-ish cloud silently, like a wraith. In the child’s mind’s eye, it was the most fearsome thing he had ever seen or imagined. He thought about yelling out for his parents, but he didn’t want to bother them. They had been yelling at each other again, and he didn’t want to be the cause of their anger. Eyes tightly shut, he tried to will the creature away. But it came closer, and took form. Looking somewhat like a German Shepherd with black eyes, it seemed to grin at the boy. Behind it the cloud swirled in a seemingly evil maelstrom of color. Biting his lip to prevent his scream from escaping, a tear slid silently down his cheek. This was a whole new level of fright. A silent prayer escaped from his thoughts. The dog’s (for there was no other way to describe it) skinny human-like arms reached out, and wrapped up the boy in a warm embrace. In his mind’s eye, he found solace. Fear was gone.

Senses

I drink you in, all of you

this great gift of sight

allows me to witness

that which is most

beautiful

 

I hear the very clear tones

of a bird singing,

the most entrancing of music,

soft, gentle...

your voice speaks

 

I breathe in the essence

of your very being

perfumes aromatic,

spices, flowers.

that fragrance beckons

 

Your lips I taste

every sweet kiss

borne of love

salty and sweet

the greatest flavor

 

It's you I touch

I feel your skin

your shape formed

from perfection

created for this embrace.

Who's There?

A story made up of 57 words. I wrote this for a competition. It is based on a true experience that could only have happened on a Monday.

Sitting alone in my office, I’m working. I’m concentrating on fixing this laptop. My mind is focused. I swear nobody came into the office. I wasn’t THAT focused. But I felt it, and it creeped me out. I don’t believe in the supernatural, but I can’t deny this. It gave me goosebumps, that breath on my neck.

November 10, 2012

The last couple weeks have been terribly uninspired. This seems to be a common theme for me. I try not to get too down about it, because at some point in time the words will come to me and I will fire off another poem that I am pleased with, or even a piece of flash fiction that makes me happy. Yes, I have ventured out of my comfort zone of strictly poetry and actually wrote a piece of flash fiction. It is on my website, so if you want to read it, look under the Story Spinner category. There's only one thing listed there, so you can't miss it. But, as I was saying, it's been difficult to find words the last little while. And I keep promising myself that I will write in my journal again, just to get writing, but I never do...or at least rarely. Soon enough something good will happen. I just need to stay positive and keep writing.

FF

The Box

This is my first attempt at flash fiction. I admit I have a lot of growing to do as an author, but I am pretty proud of this one. I wrote it with some one in mind who is going through a tough time. Please enjoy.

Imagine a box. A non-descript box, just sitting on the ground. All around you, people are walking around this box, paying it no attention. But something about this particular box draws you in. It is almost like there is a force within that is grabbing hold of you, willing you to at the very least investigate this box.

You draw near.

Fear enters your heart. It’s an evil world we live in, and boxes are notorious for their particular brand of badness. Maybe that’s why nobody else is approaching this box.

Brave! Be brave! Approach the box and find out what it is all about. Let the chips fall where they may! And as you approach the box, you see it. Your name. Your name is printed on the outside of the box. Now why on earth would there be a box with your name on it in the middle of this street?

Your fear dissipates.

Reaching out, you take hold of the box. You turn it about, looking at all sides. The only striking feature is your name on it. Your hands tremble.

You sit on a near by bench, and ponder your next move. The box sits at your feet. Again you think of the evil that you have seen and heard of. You truly don’t want to get hurt. But then again, what can getting hurt do to you that hasn’t already happened? After all, life is never easy. Take no risks and get no rewards. To Valhalla with them all! They don’t hurt you; they can’t hurt you…at least, not as much as this box could hurt you.

You don’t want to hurt. You want to be alive.

The power within the box draws you in. Your choice is made. You have to open the box, and let the consequences be damned. You alone make choices for yourself. Nobody can help with this one.

Slowly and fearfully you open the box. You peer inside, relieved that so far nothing bad has happened. You see another box.

Your fear is born again. Another box? Really? But the second one looks so different. It is anything but bland. It shines. And if it was possible for a box to glow, this one could be described as glowing. But there is something else. This one is pulsing. Your curiosity is piqued.

You go through the same fears as you prepare to look inside this second box. As you lift it out, your hands are warmed. The box is radiated a low heat, enough to put its warmth into your skin.

You open the second box. You can’t resist. You gasp. This is not what you expected. Inside the box is….your heart. Whole. Pure. Innocent.

Your faith in humanity is restored. For some kind soul has restored your heart. You smile. Your tears are now joyous. You are complete. You can love. Love yourself, and love others.

All because of a non-descript box.

November 3, 2012

So, this is what it's like to write in my journal. Interesting. Hopefully I write something worthy. After all, I haven't been here for quite some time. So here I sit, in an empty church building listening to my boy play the pipe organ. The music he plays is a huge source of inspiration to me. I do not get tired of it. And so here I am....writing. I've written a number of poems in the past little while, some good, some bad. But even the not so good ones I like, because they are my words. Will I present them to the public. Probably not. But a really interesting thing about some of the bad stuff I've written is that I find little gems in the words that evolve into a better piece. This is why I rarely throw out anything. That little gem is just waiting for me. So I make it a habit to read through my folder called 'Not Fit For Human Consumption'. I laugh at the crap, I chortle at the thoughts, but I grasp at that tiny gem.

The last thing today is this: Why write? I read an article today that a twitter acquaintance wrote. She ended her article with this statement:

So, my friends, the point of this post is to keep writing. Keep writing from your heart, keep sharing stories you love, which you yourself would want to read. And hopefully along the way, it will come across the desk of an editor who believes in the story as much as you do, but has the eye to see things you can’t and make it even better.

And that captured exactly why I write. I write because I love words and I want to share them. And if nobody likes them, that is ok with me. It just means I haven't yet reached the person who does like my words. I thank Jaimie Engle ( http://jaimiengle.com) for her wise words. It always helps to be reminded of these things.

I leave my journal tonight with a most important hashtag. My Tweeps will understand.

#AmWriting

FF