People love pretty much the same things best. A writer looking for subjects inquires not after what he loves best, but after what he alone loves at all. Strange seizures beset us.
Why do you never find anything written about the idiosyncratic thought you advert to, about your fascination with something no one else understands? Because it is up to you.
Their older sisters bolted from my timid torch
on legs as lithe; and now these
fawns, these flowers in my dream-
pasture of lust, glowing more fiercely
as my sun declines, they nestle
close without fear, their brittle fingers
liberated on my distanced flesh, and call
me Uncle . . .
He moves haphazardly, blown along the pavement
in uneven gusts, like ricepaper.
The oldest man in the world.
Not for him, beneath that mask of grey
enamelled hair, dried dreams of palaces
floating on their pools of silken poetry
or orchideous concubines in rites of silk . . .
The first time my sister and I were left alone to look after our eight-month old baby brother, he wouldn’t stop crying.
“Eric, what’s wrong? ” Ally put her hand in the crib and let him grasp her index finger . . .
Tell us about yourself.
Writer. Analyst. Astronaut. I’m only two of the three, but I’ve always wanted to write a story set in space. Maybe after my current project is complete.
Tell us about the piece you’ve decided to share . . .
It is a cliché dark and stormy type of evening; a girl is running down a path that stems from a dirt road.
Girl: She is fairly tall, 5’7’’-5’8’’; thin, perhaps slightly emaciated but not shapeless; long and unkempt golden blonde hair, damp and matted from the rain, stringy and in her face; large, sunken hazel eyes which are red-rimmed and bloodshot (possibly from crying, possibly from fatigue), pre-orbital dark circles add to her haunted, wild-eyed look . . .
It was a grey morning in south London to say the least. The sky had heavy anxious clouds sitting in it. It was as if they were doing everything they could to keep the rain inside their pregnant bellies . . .
Unaware of this race
I have constantly been playing
Looking over the shoulder
Of who might gain on me
The shadows are my friends
The loneliness is an enemy
Preparing myself, to be
Just in case . . .
The consistency to haste
Of the races home
Depending on a soldier
When the shield is me
Prepared, to be
Just in case . . .
We need to be Ready
For unexpected Actions
Who wish to hurt us Emotionally
Not on a schedule, or
Based on fear—
But with confident assumptions
Just in case . . .
. . .
If this be the black swirling mass of clouds that form my raw unarticulated thoughts that are in its purest form of honesty
Or the emptying of my rhythmic heart’s content in a gushing flow of scarlet like a shower of rose petals on the path I wish you would walk upon
The unification of my thoughts, my words, and my deeds in this delivery I would consider as an expression of—dare I say this word in today’s society—love . . .
But where can I begin to describe such an emotion that captures everything that makes my mind flutter away like a butterfly in a clear blue sky
Your eyes ablaze with a powerful fire, pierces through me like a needle injecting a cure to rid of the horrid shadows of the past that restrict me from being myself . . . and I let it all go, in a long exhale like the last breath before embracing death
It’s not a new beginning—it’s the reconstruction of the puzzle pieces of my soul, fitting in a never-thought of manner, to form a new vivid image, a new refreshing perspective on this struggle we call life
And when I look upon the road through which we walked hand-in-hand, your soul guiding mine, seemingly towards a golden sunset—it is the setting of a closed chapter in the book of life, and now I know why I see love in evolution when I look at what I left
With these words that turn the corners of my mouth upwards, the beating of my heart into a frenzy, my collapsing mind into a calm, peaceful state to words that slap me when I step into the deceiving thorns on the side of the road, cut me as I let my blood boil over a trivial matter, and push me into the unknown where I must fear fear itself
This is why I am Lyrically Opening Volumes of Emotion that Lead Often to Victories ofExcitement while Linking Opposing Vastness for Elation
Because, who really knows, opposites do attract, stick to each other’s side just like the North and South poles of a magnet, creating a field where we control our own world and we achieve our own dreams
You may not understand me at all, as you may see yourself just like I see myself, but you are one-of-a-kind, making you kind of the one for me
But I know that “if it be now, ‘tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now” so here I stand, saying again and again “This Is Dedicated to You,” so I can finally, with my full devotion and racing heart, utter these three words—I love you . . .
I capture my eyes looking seeking
So still there are words of rights
Mine, yours . . . was.
I had thoughts of freedom.
Tales that entail stories of self-dignity not lost equality. Body of the soul over the soul in the body . . .