Sunday, April 25, 2010

Dissonance (4-25-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)


The world is drenched with
dissonance. Each note portraying
a distinct belief, idea, personality…
The vacant noise plays like a hit single
on the radio that is terrible, and will never
die. But the sound of silence is more haunting.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Koala (4-23-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)


I’m supposed to write a poem today
but I’m too preoccupied watching
watching a film about a killer koala,
with dance scenes. Horrid dance scenes,
terrible background story, but completely
worth my time. So many fetishes to point out
that it is too easy to tear apart, just knowing
koala is enough. Bright colors, karate fighting
actors, and over-dramatic expressions—koala VS bunny VS Frog.
I’m supposed to write a poem today, but this film has kept me away.

Monday, April 19, 2010

The Silent Sanctuary [Revisions Made] - Weasel




He was terrified at the image before him. A boy walked up holding his eyes in his hand while blood was pouring from the sockets, and whispers, “This is what you’ve taken from me. My life. My soul. This is your stolen prize.” The man fell to the floor and started to inch back, away from the child, but lost all strength in his body. The eyes fell into his lap, pupils staring directly at him. Before the man could react, the boy disappeared, and the eyes were gone.
            In the living room the television screamed as it was turned on, “Today’s top stories, there is still no word on the disappearance of a missing ten year old boy. As we reported last week, Conner Williams was last seen at a local Tweety Mart. Authorities are offering a reward for any information that would lead to finding Conner,” a picture of the boy was displayed on the screen. He gazed at it as if he were staring into the eyes of God. His hand reached out as if he were brushing away the boy’s hair from his face to uncover the brown eyes that were peering at him earlier, and then moved down the boys pale cheek, making a stroke like he was wiping a tear away. The man left the television on as he walked into the next room, shelves hung on each wall, filled with lit candles. Each candle held a picture of a different child. He walked to the back wall which had a window placed in the middle splitting the hanging shelf in two. He brought out a new candle, lit it, and then placed a picture of the boy carrying his eyes. It was the same picture of Conner that the news had released.
            “Killer…” a voice shot out of the dimly lit room. The man looked around the room, seeing nothing but empty space. His breathing became more labored, and his heart began to beat faster. “Killer,” the voice spoke again. His breath came out like a dense fog on an early morning, and his body began to tremble, either out of fear, or cold, or both. He walked out of the room, and as he shuts the door a wooden sign with the word Sanctuary carved in it bounces on and off making an echoing noise in the hallway.
            The man stood still for a moment. He noticed that the television was off, and allowed the silence to surround him. Adrenaline began to flow through his body, for he was no longer alone. The house was so dark that he could not see the intruder. He heard their footsteps, and felt a breeze pass by him. He listened closely to the noise. They were small footsteps. They were children’s footsteps. A moment of listening to the intruders and he knew where they were. He opened the door to the sanctuary, and standing before him were the children from his candles, eye sockets dripping with blood, while they held their eyes.
            The room behind them started to fade, as the children laughed and cried hysterically. He wanted to scream, to make some sensible noise to keep the horror in the sanctuary, but he could not gain control of his voice. The children reached out and grabbed his hands, pulled him in, and forced the door shut. Their laughter lingered in the now empty house.
            A few hours had passed and there were police cars driving up. They walked around to the side of the house, and saw his body hanging from the window. The forgotten children looked outside, and watched the police and paramedics cut the body down. His eyes fell from his mouth and onto the grass. And as they take the body away, the children giggle and let the flame of each candle burn out, finally free from the sanctuary. 

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Said The Teapot To The Dictionary (4-13-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)


the plane flew into a
sea of flowers when the
monk had found Nirvana
after hearing the wind go
plop stop drop down the
pit of doom and into a giant
tea-filled cup

Monday, April 12, 2010

Stream of Consciousness (rewritten)


Stream of Consciousness

We’ve all been
sent upon a mission
to conquer lands
of magik gods or leaders.

God damn, I’m tired of bein’ sick
            and I’m sick of bein’ tired.

When will the mind of the human
body escape from the chains of
an old, dark empire and scream out
with bleeding, unprocessed–untouched thought:
“We are the chickens of freedom!”

We drive along the lost highway of life,
waiting for rescue or a requiem in our name,
only to find out we are nameless and
strange creatures with a pulse
in the small joints
            in a systematic world
where everything is chaotic and unclear.
A barrage of new information overloads
our circuitry—that is when the reprogramming begins.

Soon we’ll all be rockin’ and a hoppin’ along the labyrinth, saying to each other, “I’m 964. Who are you?”

Happy little roosters and chickens falling off the face of the Earth with the mind of lady vengeance recycling old story plots with pirate weasels fighting the political mongoose for a brand new magik power turning 964 into a named being àR E B I R T H !

—Weasel



Friday, April 9, 2010

Trauma NPR Three-Minute Fiction Submission



He crossed the street and made his way into the park taking the trail to its public restroom. Entering the empty degraded restroom, he frantically tore off his coat and dropped his glasses on the floor. The man walked up to a mirror and gazed at his reflection, and studying the amount of blood that covered his clothes. He started to run the water and as he rolled up his sleeves to wash the blood, a button fell of the cuffs of his shirt and escaped into the drain. “I killed him,” he spoke to his reflection which brought out a smile that only a clown would wear. He pulled out a picture from his wallet of a young boy and written on the back of the photo read, “Tyler age 10” and set it on the mirror facing him. “I killed him” he repeated in the choked voice.

            It had been years since he read the headlines, “Amber Alert: Missing 10 Year Old Child…” He watched the mirror, as if he were watching the reports on the television. The words “Child Found Dead in Local Park” flowed onto his reflection and underneath the boy’s picture. He could feel and smell the texture of the newspaper as he remembered the words, “Man Charged in Death of Child.”

            He felt no remorse when he took the life of that man who stole his child only a few hours ago. The sun was barely rising as he sat in the café reading a pocket science fiction novel and drinking an iced coffee drink enclosed in a glass bottle. As he skimmed his book he heard a familiar voice and looked up. His son’s murderer stood at the counter, ordering the only thing he could with only three dollars. The man took a seat close to the grieving father, though not recognizing the person’s face. The father closed his book, drank the last of his coffee-flavored beverage, and got up to leave. As he was walking towards the door, he stopped behind the free criminal, smashed his bottle on the table, and then while grasping the top part of the bottle, he forced the glass shards into the back of the neck. The body became still. He looked at the blood which flowed sporadically in the café and on the plastic plant on the table, and then looked at the face of evil one last time.

            Police helicopters flew into the park and hovered over the restroom. The militant power of the government showed no mercy as they waited for his surrender. He plays no tricks as he walks out calmly.

Oblivion Island (4-9-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)


Oblivion Island (4-9-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)

An old toy, no longer seen
by its owner. A television broken and
Replaced. Rubber bands, old cassettes, VHS,
a bank vault full of faded photographs of
the past…all forgotten. All thrown into another
world and pieced together. Theaters born out of
forgotten memories, houses held together by
dust-collecting junk, and an economy of stamp
collecting cards—all form the small unseen realm,
Oblivion Island.



Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Despereaux (4-6-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)




Despereaux (4-6-2010 Poem A Day Challenge)

While other mice cower
at the blade I stand tall,
for I can only harm myself.
Take away the rules, the laws,
the boundaries, and view
your surroundings as limitless.
My name is Despereaux, and
unlike my brothers near me, I
show no fear, for the idea is
only as strong as you make it.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Look [Poem A Day Challenge 4-2-2010]


Look

What visions may come
from the reflection
that lies in the magik waters
before me?

The ripples calm
and I shun my eyes,
for uncertainty is an object
I can hold onto.

-Weasel

Reflection (Poem A Day Challenge 4-1-2010)



Reflection

I walk inside
Passing several faces and
Take a seat by the window
Waiting to order.

I waited awhile, Noticing
The first time couples, family dinners,
And the demolished relationships. The waitress
Passed by several times never glancing my way.

Next to me sat the glass image of myself.
As I studied this reflection the world
In the window had vanished
And my reflection was left alone.