Every breath that I sip
Is heavy with the fragrant
Air that breezes through
Your lips
Every word that drips
Into my ear from your mind
Sends a bolt of satisfaction straight
To my hips
Each time your tender finger slips
Inside my wanting lust
Everything melts away
I'm stripped
And when your body tips
Up to meet mine in a crash
Of skin and resolution
I completely lose my grip
Just Another Day
I got the call and rushed out the door
My hands were shaking
I couldn't grip the steering wheel
Four days
Nobody had heard from him for four days
I am his emergency contact
My key was at home
So I banged on the windows and doors
The neighbors peeping
From behind their curtains
But I didn't care
The police arrived
I was sure he was dead
How will I tell his family?
How did it get this bad?
Am I going to look?
Why am I having such weird thoughts?
We walked in the house
It was smoky inside
There was spilled milk across the floor
There was a burning pan on the stove
That had melted the milk container
Sitting next to it
The house smelled liked a combination
Of cigarettes and puke
Suddenly, a monster appeared
Half naked and covered
In vomit and mustard
The monster screamed and yelled
About how we intruded
He just didn't feel well
Didn't hear the phone
He slurred as he slid down the wall
No he doesn't need to go to the hospital
The police can't make him
I told his work he was sick
And would be at work the next day
Covered for him like I always have
So he doesn't end up on the streets
He wouldn't even remember
What happened anyway
I go back to my life like I always have
And think "I am too old for this"
I think about the man he used to be
And how sad he would be to know
The person he would become
But it was just another day
For my junkie father
#prosechallenge #prose #poetry
an essay sown with perspective
The siren cried and I watched my constitution collapse to its knees. I was hovering above, mourning for the humanity that bequest just a hiccup in time, as the broken light of empathy dimmed witness to the despair in its balking crowd:
When you reach for me, I exhale with resignation: Let me be your sacrifice.
The pitch of my ache rises from within the core of darkness that was cast in the garden, and my longing reverberates against canonized buildings like a pinball. I am insatiably haunted by a solemn fog reflecting the souls that ricochet in limbo. Our memories bounce in a cesspool of chemistry, and our knuckles are bloodied from the absurdity of existence.
Pain is contagious.
Pacing the streets wrecked with the diseased human condition, we continue to slip on the sewage that ascends. Our hearts flood with bile, and we bargain to drown.
I need you to touch me: We will abscond on a high of euphoria before the atmosphere drops, suffocating us with its hands of billowing soot.
Humans gather, but walk alone in a space crowded with fear. We are blind to the parietal art stretched on our souls, and deaf to the aboriginal proof. We are sick and hungover in a mushroom cloud of despondency, and in an endless route to escape, our painted masks run from themselves.
I am caked in the remnants of you.
Before the sun rises, I will kowtow to my own demise in the desert. The beads of my sweat will baptize my road, and the taste of of my tears will intoxicate me. The heat swelling from my body will ignite the acid rain falling from our own self-destruction, and the hair of its hope will singe into ash.
Footsteps echo the warning of my dual consciousness: Watch yourself metamorphose into a stranger to yourself, and avoid your own reflection like the plague.
There are thin imposters lifting from illusionary shadows, and they welcome me into their hell. Their walls are padded with harvested flesh offering rank blood to quench the growing thirst in my gut. Amnesia will wash over me like a scar: I am unconscious to reality and helpless against evolution. A manifesto was carved onto the scroll of my mind at birth, but I am numb to its propaganda.
Manic survival will reign in its hunt for pleasure, as we barely notice the light fading over the sea of oblivion.
And all at once
The last day arrived
Birthing our future
As the clouds parted
Into a yellow halo
Of pain and
Reaped misery dripping
And mercy was sought
Too late and
On bruised knees
For Magdalene's sparrow
Was plucked raw and
Forever destroyed
For Him Alone
He could scarcely bear
touching and stroking
her lush vanilla skin,
afraid for their love
to ever end.
He laid her down,
drawing her honeyed
breasts into his mouth,
savoring the sensual taste.
He gulped her aroma,
that of cherries and lavender,
and breathed her in
as he traced his tongue
down her moist body
to her throbbing center
which tasted of
freshly mown grass –
a delicacy for his senses.
Caressing her hips
he drew her to his
spooned masculinity
stirring her to
a cauldron of hotness
and smoldering wetness
until their cream and sugar
melded together in
a melting pot
of climaxing lust.
He knew he could never
leave her, wanting
to encompass her
forever where she
would be at his
beck and call,
encased where
she could never escape.
He punctured her soft
chocolatey neck with
his teeth, spurting blood
running in crimson streams
of fruited beauty
down his body,
leaving a white outline
where she was lying,
silent contours,
for eternity.
He bathed her
frozen body with
crushed strawberries
and arranged her
as a fragrant feast
on a tableau
of silk rose petals
where he could
partake of her beauty
with not only his eyes
but his body,
leaving her purity
with deep wounds
that would never
CLOSE,
REMAINING OPEN
FOR HIM ALONE.
The Attack of The Universe On Ideas, And How To Protect Them.
The moment an idea becomes an object or a work, it begins to erode. Take a freshly cut 4x4 from the mill. The wood is straight until the environment starts eating away at its surface, and the moisture in the air, rainfalls, and the change of the seasons bends the wood's straightness. A straight line is a mental concept. It is perfect and can never bend unless "the definition of a straight line" bent towards some other definition. The IPK is the standard 1kg, to which "weighing" is the idea. The idea needs a point of reference in order to measure all other things. The 1kg was internationally agreed to weight the mass given to it. The worry with the IPK is that the object that represents 1kg cannot change, so the IPK is set under 2 glass jars, protecting the object from the elements of nature. A solution is creating another IPK to keep the original IPK in check, but a regression begins when the second IPK would then need a third IPK to keep the second in check.
Say that we wrote a book by traditional pen, ink , and paper, and then consider how long that book will survive the test of time. Like the IPK, we might want to shelter the book from the elements, but once that protective layer is destroyed, so will the book. Not only is our book under attack, but so is the idea of sheltering it, and most likely the next idea we'd have to protect the book further. Plato was the only ancient Greek philosopher that we have the complete works. The reason for its survival is the copying of the works. In order to maintain ideas in reality, they must constantly be recreated to the specs of the idea. Contrary to the physical aspect of ancient books, something else happens to the works. The social context of the works and the social context of today has changed dramatically. Our "points of references" or better yet, "the definition of the straight line" has changed. The meaning of the work has become alien, and we are forced to understand the meaning in today's social context. The works also bends in meaning when it is translated from its original language to another. Like the copying of the book, scholars must update editions by reinterpreting the original text.
Fallen boys
‘There is nothing worse than a thief!’, said the scoutmaster to the grubby troop member.
‘It’s only scrumping apples’, muttered the boy, his head hanging low.
Master Plumb, as he liked to be called, clubbed the boy’s ear and hissed. ‘You always were a bad lot, Benjamin Smith. Your Dad is a dirty crook and your mother is no better than she should be.’
Benjie and his best friend Jamie Jones had been caught coming in from the cross-country hike with contraband. Two windfall apples from Farmer Jones’ orchard.
Plumb immediately worked himself up to a righteous rage until spittle flecked his lips.
The rest of the scout troop hung back so as not to draw his attention. At the same time the little drama mesmerised them. They sensed that dirty little Benjie Smith was really going to cop it at last.
‘I will deal with you later, Jones’, he said to Benjie’s fair-haired and retiring fellow miscreant.
The boys exchanged glances. They all knew what that meant.
To Benjie, Plumb said, ’As for you. It is time to cut the cancer from our troop. Give me your woggle and scarf!”
The yellow scarf and leather woggle were the only signs of scout-hood to be afforded in the poor country neighbourhood. Benjie's mother had worked extra hours as a cleaner to buy them, hiding the money from his drunkard father.
Everyone watched as the angry scoutmaster ceremonially lit a small fire from dry tinder and threw in the scarf and woggle.
He then ushered the whole troop round the boy and led them in a round of booing to formally expel Benjie from the brotherhood of scouts.
The boys joined in with enthusiasm. Some of them jostled Benjie roughly as he limped off to make his own way home.
Later than evening when Jamie Jones went to the scoutmaster’s prefabricated bungalow for his punishment, he stripped off as ordered and cried through five harsh blows from the leather strap.
That was bad enough, but then the scoutmaster insisted on anointing the welts with soothing ointment. He even went as far as to caress the boy to show there was no bad feeling.
Plumb then dragged the boy onto his knees and began a long and rambling prayer begging forgiveness for the depraved acts of the days and asking to be given strength to ‘always do the right thing’.
Afterward, he told Jamie, moisture oozing from his reddened eyes, that the whipping had hurt him more than it had the boy.
’At least that little devil Benjie Smith is out of our lives.
‘Now we can be happy’, he told the boy.
Chocolate Delight
Today I met a man he was sweet with skin so pure and dark
As I looked into his chocolate coloured eyes I felt a spark
He spoke gruffly yet softly I wondered if his skin would taste different to my others
Not that I´d had many partners or lovers
It was silly for he was just the same as everyone just talking and drinking
Yet my mind played games and tried to twist my way of thinking
He was nothing miraculous nothing boring just the same
Funny how stepping out of your usual space can mess with your brain
I remember when we first kissed I felt a little sad as I did not taste cocoa powder
Though that did not matter later as my screams of delight became louder and louder
He might not have tasted like I´d dreamt but when we closed the bedroom door
He unzipped his trousers he had the biggest Twix I´d ever seen before!
:Please note this was written as a joke some years ago, I am by no means racist.
Eden
He was truly arrogant. I was his servant. His beloved angel. One of them. My brothers were strong and obedient, never questioning his demands. They tried to hush me when I asked questions. It infuriated him that I didn't always just take his word. I grew more and more inquisitive. My brothers tried to warn me but I didn't listen. He would always love me unconditionally, right?
One day he accused me of believing I was his equal. I didn't contradict his accusation exactly. It fueled more questions. What if I were his equal?
That was taking it too far.
He enjoyed entertaining himself by watching the interations of a species that had developed on a planet called Earth. The species was quite early in development and had only just started to evolve from beasts.
He began sending us to interact with the new species. He had an agenda. I wasn't sure it was in the best interest of the residents of the pretty little planet.
When he grew so angry with me that he would have killed me, instead he banished me to walk the planet with the underdeveloped young species, never to reside with him in the heavens again. I was quite literally grounded.
A boy was left in an oasis for his entertainment. They gave him their child in exchange for his help in hunting and conquering for a season.
I stayed near to watch. They later brought him a girl. He wanted them to have children under his command. They grew older, doing whatever they were told, questioning nothing. He was doing the same to these humans as he had done to my brothers and I. The difference? The humans could reproduce.
Most of his actions and teachings seemed to be based on his egotistical and jealous nature. He had recently been divorced by this wife because of these things. I watched as he showed favor towards the male and largely ignored the female. He was still bitter.
I felt sorry for the innocent humans as I watched them cower every time his voice boomed into their garden with some new command or law.
He went so far as to forbid them eating from one particular tree with very succulant fruit hanging from it. There was nothing wrong with the fruit. It was delicious and healthy, but he told them that if they ate it they would die. He lied to them and it broke my heart to watch them avoid the tree so carefully while they longed to taste from it.
Finally I had had enough. I decided to speak to them while he was occupied elsewhere as he often was. Usually spying on or harassing his ex wife.
The man, Adam, was so devoted to him that I decided Eve would be best to talk to. She didn't have the connection that Adam did with their 'God'.
I intercepted her while her husband was elsewhere. She was friendly and seemed happy to talk to someone other than Adam.
It didn't take long before we were laughing and talking like old friends. I liked her. She had such an interesting and open spirit. She was intelligent and curious.
I began to share stories with her, but I changed some things so as not to frighten her or have her believe me a liar. I wanted to tell her everything but I held back, unsure of how much she could handle.
I told her to beware of the one they thought was their 'God'. That his agenda might not be to their benefit. I told her that he was not so nice, so loving, as he had them believe. I told her of my own banishment and that my crime was simply curiosity. Wanting to know more about myself, about him. I told her the fruit from the tree was ordinary, very delicious fruit and that he only told them not to eat it to test their obedience. That he didn't want them to know what he knew. I told her that I believed if we were able to learn what he knows, it would remove his power over us.
She listened in disbelief at first.
"Hey, if you don't believe me, go ahead and try the fruit. You'll see that it won't hurt you. I promise it won't."
She reached out and with a shaking hand, touched a piece of the fruit hanging from a branch of the tree. When nothing happened, I winked at her.
Hearing her husband calling her, I said goodbye. I told her I'd come back to see her another day.
I didn't go far. I watched as she animatedly told Adam everything I had told her. The two decided to test my information and they bravely plucked a fruit from the tree. Adam bit it and handed it to his wife. She took a bite. They looked at each other in shock when nothing happened to them.
Suddenly his angry booming voice startled all three of us. I sank further into the shadows and watched him verbally attack my new friend and her husband. I watched as tears rolled down her cheeks when Adam tried to blame her instead of standing up to him and protecting her. I was apalled. What's more, without even a second chance, he did to them what he had done to me. He banished then from the oasis. They would have to struggle to survive out in the desert.
A tear escaped my eye as I watched the two innocent people I had grown fond of being kicked out of the only home they had ever known by the one being they thought loved them and would never hurt them. I saw myself in their terrified faces.
I vowed to be there to guide and protect them to the best of my ability and I quietly followed them as they left the Garden of Eden.