Latest Literary Works

Death the Great Navel-Gazer does not sit
on a throne or carry a wristwatch or scythe.
That he who transcends gender creeps
like ivy over windowsills, cracking glass
and brick. He flickers off like the lights
during an afternoon storm, expected—
if not quite so soon—leaving us to wonder
if the food in the fridge will rot and
if our elderly neighbor will survive the heat.

He drops and kneels and fatally worships
man, without whom he would not exist:
the Creator of all things who also does not sit
on thrones and carry scepters, but marches
on like an ant with a hill to build
and a queen to service.

And when he kneels, even the poet’s pupil
cannot take...

Foolish little boy,
I tried.
While you, slick with promise,
whispered nothings in my ear.
(You, who are the clarinet,
lying forgotten on the music stand.)
And they slipped, those everythings,
from my fumbling fingers;
little glitters that shattered through morning dew.
But I never could hold you for long,
even when I wanted to.
In the dark of the encroaching light
and the scent of wet bark and ladybugs,
through the forgotten truths and murmured promises,
I tried.
But I never wanted your love.

* * *

The last whiplash plunged Émon into unconsciousness. He struggled when he first passed out, then let the coolness of sleep overtake him. Nothingness was comforting; he could float in this void forever. Then images began to form. He tried to push them away, but they persisted and he descended into a memory of twelve years ago.

He was five, running his fingers across the dirt floor or a dimly-lit shack. Several other children, probably his siblings, played some sort hand-clapping game in the corner. As usual, they didn’t include him as their voices rose in tuneless melody.

The sun is scorching hot above
It burns the man who cannot die
The wars that brought the Masters down
Have painted blood across...

Walking along a stretch
of green in the dark.

Periodic lights blink
red and yellow
giving the illusion of light.

Pools of shadow hint
at vacancy but stand
full and firm beneath
my feet.

Hesitant footsteps, moving
through the mist of my breath.
Tombstones line up behind
barbed wire fences,
the imprisoned dead,
grey-faced and worn.

Deep green weeds grow
enmeshed in metal.
Turning right, gaping
holes in planks of wood
standing tall before houses.
Silent sentinels in the night.

Distractions; stars glare down,
and the wind whispers promises
of, but never warrants, action.
Wandering direction, wavering
thought; no straight line to
walk through the increasing
gloom.

They want to make buttons

out of my bones.



They say old age

claimed me,

buttoning me up,

nice and tidy.



They blind themselves

to the cut marks

and fractures.



Nature did not

do this to me.

He did.



But he is their king,

their hero who did

no wrong.

They'll never believe it.



"Oh poor old man!

We must give him

a proper burial!"



Yes, that's right.

Toss me back

into the dirt.



Don't even bother

looking into

my eye sockets.



Slap a stone on top, too.

Just the right touch'

to pretend you care.



Rest In Peace.

Yeah right.



One day,

some brave soul
...

Author's Note: I mean to continue this. It's a older piece but a movie i saw yesterday reminded me of this story so much I felt compelled to pull it out and dust it off and revise it a little. I kept it to my original style of the drabble/vignettes and the shifting points of vew, but now I'm not sure if I want to keep it that way. I would dearly love some advice and some concrit. I need to get jump started on these characters again, and I need some feedback on how understandable it is (at the very least).

(numbers=word counts, from when I was trying to keep to a stricter drabble format)
_________



In Being Left Standing

I. (177) Just an Invitation…

Her eyes were huge. Wide, silver, the colour of the sky above...

She sat outside, watching the sun set. The last rays warmed her skin as she enjoyed the mesmerising sight. She had enjoyed many a sunset in her time, but none could quite compare to the majesty seen from the heights of the Ageless Mountains. It was peaceful here. That’s what she liked about it, what had convinced her to stay and make it her home.

It was a shame that it would not remain so for long. She sighed, leaning back in her chair. The rough hewn wood of it rested only a foot away from the edge of a cliff. The abyss spiralled thousands of feet down and low hanging blankets of cloud drifted on the breeze below. She could see roots, bugs, birds and things.

As the day slowly died, Magda watched and waited.

*

Footsteps crunched...

Okay, I know I haven't reviewed much yet on here, but I can't believe there's only two submissions to sci-fi? I would, of course, really appreciate reviews to this piece, though. I'm trying to get it ready for submission to a magazine; I put it on YWS but didn't get much response. So, please sink your teeth in. Thank you much!

P.S. I'm also desperately in need of a better title.

---------------------------------

Even years later when everything else had faded to bittersweet nostalgia, one moment stood out clear as a snapshot in Aneke’s memory: the one lucid instant that she realized that she loved Maddox. She knew the exact moment when the unmistakable feeling split through her chest. They had ducked into the underground...