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Cover image for post Knockin', by sandflea68

sandflea68 in Stream of Consciousness

112 reads

Knockin’

Life strolls the oceans of time

watery gunshot clouds reflected

in snapshots of motionless being

bursting with energy from womb

hard times come a knockin’

cracks of understanding erode

dusty pocketfuls of the past

receptacles holding insipid memories

the color of red earthen clay

molded by hands, shattered by age

hard times come a knockin’

rain in soul whispers drips from trees

pitting serenity of peace in grains of sand

unsettled flakes of cold freezing dreams

a thousand thoughts swirling around me

immersed in my struggling troubled soul

hard times come a knockin’

showers awaken steep cliffs of passion

intoxication of moonlight touches my brow

white roses stand up and sing in choruses

vestiges of sin move over to make room

for shadowed hands sharing the stars

warmth of the sun shifts and changes

reflection dulls insanity of screams

making way for encircling arms of love

life itself comes a knockin’

Lynk in Poetry & Free Verse

64 reads

A Sweet Sonic Youth

JUST A LITTLE DETERMINATION

My mind’s fully aware of that ----

yet this rambling form, directly turns

toward, sometimes around, me, break,

fracture the strong concentration that is purely

come here to be written

and lay a thick snap in a liquid coat of souls

of the smooth intermittent

touch of that illusion of perfection.

And with both hands crack the pencil.

Coping cheap weak wood,

MDF particle board, long points intersect,

paint the Drivot addition, and reconstruct

electricals, fastening squiggles

in deep gray Greenfield.

Yet there in the open plywood

in the subflooring

old nail holes and duct rectangles

or circles of greenfield plots, seams

where old walls used to be

and the utilities or heat runs

and some formed pencil lines

extended passed, beamed straight along

the obtuse imaginary level,

where it used to be

straight.

Now with so much more sense

than I do remember; never wrote down….

a great line

Like smooth dental molding

the chair rail, spinning nuts on chrome rods,

frictionless glass panes adjusted, countertops

–appear floating—and sharpened

that unmistakably gleans

and phases the mind, and almost,

chopped phenomenon, inwardly

envisions toward a place……

that’s nothing more than imperfect.

Mmm yes quite like

cutting up cardboard into smaller

more manageable pieces, fragments of boxes

from kitchen cabinets with a maple glaze,

crowned-molded together, trimmed along

the creases, the folds, the rippled ridges

all the way to the jagged angles

-undercabinet lights; glass corner panes;

these cabinets with lights inside, rope lighting

and accented wall-hung units;

and there are

in the magazine reflecting creases,

assembling the bent island

with a snack bar counter leveled slightly higher,

yet at this moment

a shade of gray tall atmosphere

in the background

and marooned Pleiades

purely white in that. . . .

Outline of the partial wall

forms a Corian countertop fastened atop,

brackets that angle, widen the kitchen,

give that sense of space and fastening;

push the vortex back,

with hardwood floors ¾” thick run next to the burber

and the vanishing point which meets the marble foyer,

follow the same island bend and angles

into the high-efficiency gas fireplace,

the center obstruction to the view

into the living and dining rooms

framed around fluted pilaster columns;

breaking levels up to the textured ceiling

to the jutted window,

to the backwall, through wildflowers

into a valley where the Maumee

lines bodies not ten feet apart, crowding the edge

and the position for the slant

as the first fish in March rain [and that’s how

this one began or signaled away, or started just before

it come apart or went or filled myyyhead

once more, but piled more down each side

then turned away the folded crease,

aligned the cleft inside a split-level home

to the edge of the ridge of the river.]

Knifing long cuts

after pouring out foam corner pieces,

the kind of unorganized occasionally glances,

listening to the textured walls gripped

to a whole home radio system

I had to myself that afternoon…..

Reflecting a half painted, an even level

of base cabinet height, all the plugs and switches

absent yet, holes in walls, electrical wires

stubbed for lights and the microwave,

and speaker cables………..

Now I do remember; before installations

An angled Schizophrenia side at how it bugged me

so I must disregard all of that, but

again, and more intermission….

Form ages passing and centuries

between myself and you, the reader;

and then 500 years from now; that split

whenever the tangent

the experts studied and learned everything about

the everything; where it broke off course

but oh how

when they tear into them walls and never know

who I am. Who I was.

But only the mark in the caves or cavities

The stud space of where he

Once was before I started

but to conjure coincidences

in the inventions 500 years from then,

the crafting you are holding world

of who I was.

In that quality

which undertakes

life; and in those very same coincidences

-Yet sharply refract.

Was the River Road home,

the grass hill up from the bend

the street somewhat formed,

too, the in-between entry

as one continual and ceaseless looking

curve; in the built-in blinds open, in the light,

traces met at the center

right through a nook, bay window,

and that soft bench for reading

into the river view, doglegged too.

Emptying blue sky drops yellow

onto Douglas Fir framing construction,

adhesive lines that fume highs and stares

as we lay out the ¾” flooring;

for the garage portion of the addition

then I been telling you about

to allow for the kitchen extension;

working forearm,s form protrusions

of veins in my dreary little limbs

dreamily telling these spirits this;

the same storied entrance in wonderful

formation

of wood skeletons against that sunshine;

but to remember the moments,

the sawdust and dirt,

the splinters roughing up my palms,

the humping of lumber

the science of structure and of things

perfectly refracted within boundaries

antique streamlines

forever untouchable as ideas

and made at angles in the

curved world.

Rices my shoulders

like kidney beans

like stories taking shortcuts

to the neverending -----

Challenge

We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.

Game of Death (Excerpts)

Chapter 2 of 3

indego

Game of Death (Excerpts)

Chapter 2 of 3

indego

Chapter One: When Dusk Turns Dark (Excerpt from Game of Death)

With no shoes on, she was small. She had quite a willowy, delicate frame that only added to her elegance despite the fact she was perceived as weak and frail. Her skin was as pale and as smooth as porcelain, making the girl almost look like a china doll, with her short, blonde hair framing her face delicately, not a strand out of place. Her eyes seemed to resemble polished sapphires, glistening in the moonlight, and her lips were ruby red. Her dress draped around her body, fitting perfectly just like a glove to a hand.The skirt was fashioned out of smooth, milky white, frothy organza that reached her knees. A satin sash pulled in her waist, making it looking smaller than it already was. The bodice of her simple yet glamorous dress was encrusted with tiny little gems and beads that caught the soft moonlight and glowed. The girl walked with the grace of a nimble gazelle and was as bewitching as a peacock showing off her beautiful feathers.

The girl, known as Pearl, had never felt more terrified and insecure. All her life, she had spoken every word strongly and surely, each command strong. Now, for the first time in her life she found herself faced with uncertainty.

The moment she’d volunteered for the elemental games, everyone had been so certain that she would return victorious, and had completely disregarded the rest of the competition. And despite all their words of encouragement, she knew that she was incapable of winning. Which was the main reason for her sneaking out in the middle of the night for a calm walk in the woods.

She let out a sigh and leaned against a tree, the scent of petrichor infiltrating her nostrils. Terrified, she thought of the upcoming morning. There would be tears and goodbyes as she departed for the games, no doubt about it, but she couldn’t help but feel that she might never see any of her family or friends ever again.

Suddenly, an arrow nicked her ear as it flew past, thudding into a nearby tree. Pearl was immediately alert. No one from her tribe went hunting this late at night, and there could only be one possible explanation. It was an invasion.

But then, Pearl thought in a moment of confusion, Why aren't there any horses? Where is the army? The soldiers adorned in shining silver armor should have been visible under the light of the moon.

She trembled as she attempted to come up with an explanation. But before she could form a single thought, a tall figure leapt over the brush in front of her, landing with a light thud, so soft she barely heard it. She automatically reached for her knife, but realized that she was unarmed, wearing only a thin nightgown. There was only one option, she realized as the figure nocked an arrow. She turned and fled into the darkness.

She heard the whizzing sound, and she rolled on the forest floor as five arrows sailed overhead. Her thoughts raced as she ran. No archer she knew could shoot that many arrows in one shot, and there was no possible explanation nor reason some other tribe would send a single man to kill her. That's when it dawned upon her that it was none other than an assassination attempt. This one thought compelled her to move faster.

The assassin wasted no time in following after her. They took to the trees, leaping from branch to branch covering ground ten times quicker than their target. In the faint moonlight that shone through the trees, it was clear to see the girl as she fled towards her village, her nightgown a white beacon in the dark night.

Breathing hard, Pearl came to a halt. She spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of her attacker, but there was no one to be seen around. Relieved, she turned towards her village gates, which was just beyond the edge of the wilderness, no more than a few feet away.

And that's when the arrow pierced her leg. She let out a guttural cry as she collapsed on the forest floor, a pool of blood already forming around her. A hooded figure stepped out of the shadows, and Pearl scrambled up, struggling to see her attacker through the tears that formed in her eyes.

“What do you want?” She cried, as the figure advanced. “Help! Help!”

She threw a desperate look to the edge of the woods. Why was no one coming? Could no guard hear her cries?

The figure laughed, advancing, and Pearl choked back a sob.

“Who are you?” She whispered, staring up into the cold merciless eyes of her killer. She would never get her answer. She gasped as something pierced her lower abdomen. Looking down she saw a knife buried deep inside her stomach. Tears pooled in her eyes, and then she felt something deep inside her give up and turn off. She became limp and motionless, dead in a pool of her own blood.

The hooded figure smirked, before withdrawing a small pendant. She placed it atop the pool of blood and the necklace went from blue to a bright shade of scarlet. She placed it around her neck and a bright flash light illuminated the woods. In the place where the assassin stood a girl that looked exactly like Pearl, blonde hair, green eyes, everything accounted for except for clothing.

She smiled down at the dead body at her feet.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked. “I’m Pearl Evelyn Wavecrest of the Water tribe.”