Here I am

a lingering presence

you seem to always see me

in a way that no one else does

your pitiful eyes look up

and your hand waves to say hi

and I wonder if you sometimes wish that you too could fly

i invite you too come up here

please stay for a while

i have become lonely

for people only scream when I come by

some see me as a monster

but you see right through my mask

so here please step right up

i offer you my hand

Blue and yellow.

When I was younger, I learned they made green.

Add white and it was lighter green.

Add black and it was darker green.

I loved going in the kitchen of our apartment,

And painting green things with my dad.

Trees, grass, green cats, whatever.

Of course, we had green paint,

But it's so much more satisfying

To mix blue and yellow

On a plastic plate

On the kitchen floor.

The sky used to be blue, they say. Needless to say, now it's... not.

The sky is yellow from decades of smog and pollution, much of which was there before I was even born.

Mami used to sing a song—

Blue Skies, Skies of blue,

Look there with me,

look there with you,

Can you see?

The yellow skies too?

All We can see is Yellow and blue.

What I would give to hear her sing it again...

Mami is gone, and all we can see is Yellow too.

Underneath the electric blue sky grows a lonely, yellow sunflower basking in the sunshine, its face turned towards the glowing orb as it soaks in the heat, swaying lightly in the open field. The breeze is warm and so is my heart. I’m looking at the poor soul from the other side of the plain, a pair of old binoculars in hand. They were George’s before he left us and now I have taken it into my possession. I thought it would be interesting to see the world through his eyes since he carried it around with him whenever he went into the woods to spy on the animals, so I said to myself one fine day, why not? But you’re ain’t an animal, are you? You’re a pretty little thing, little one.

Today is September 11th, the day of his passing and im standing looking at this sunflower that’s growing all by itself out in the middle of nowhere. I try to imagine how it must feel. Sad, half bored to death, alone...

But in all that loneliness, there is strength that often goes unnoticed by those who stop by, only to pity it and then move on with their lives as if nothing ever happened. That or they pick it to put in their hair or something. Horrible people, really. But it escapes. I wonder if fortune really is a thing. If it is, this little flower’s got it tucked right up under its prickly little arm. It even outstands the storm that came last week. Worst storm of the year, they said. But despite all of that, it stands. It stands right up in the face of that ugly storm and says, “Bring it on, I’m ready.” That and fortune never let nobody get their hands on it.

That little flower doesn’t fade away. It shines. Outshines the rest. Until all that’s left of the scene is the sunflower’s silent beauty. It sways gently in the warm breeze, as if waving its little arms and going: “Look guys, I made it!”

i'm still waiting for the

alarm

something to wake me up so i can remember that

this is all a dream.

some things are too good to be true

but only some

so mustn't there be things in this life that are so deeply

wonderful

joyous

euphoric

that i will never have to remember

it was only a dream?

there must be.

the alarm hasn't gone off yet

anyway.

Alarms Loudly And Repeatedly Made

A Lily-livered Adolescent Really Mad.

Anthony Lifted Alternate Red Modules

Anticipating Locating A Remotely Monitored

Access Ledge And Reducing Meaningfully

Atonality. Looking Around Repeatedly Made

Anthony Less Angry. Reading Messages

Advised: "Lowering Atonality Requires Manipulating

And Levering Access Routers Main

Actuator Left And Right Multiple

Attempts: Left=Additional; Right=Minimise."

Anthony Located Access Routers Main

Actuator Lickety-split, Adjusted Right Minisculely

And Lo-and-behold Alarm Rapidly Moderated!

Anthony's Lively And Really Magical

Attitude Lifted Alice's Randiness Making

Anthony Love Alice. Result=Marriage!

The door was opened and they looked out.

She was very surprised and he looked very worried.

Who was it, who was looking through that door?

Who had seen them, did they know?

No, no one could know what they did tonight.

So they went quickly to find out more.

Silently they crept to that back door, their shovels in hand.

But no one was there.

They sneaked through the house to see if anyone had been there.

Check the windows, the doors, the rooms.

Nothing, the doors were locked, the windows closed, and the rooms empty.

So how had the door opened? 

they go back to the door and looked around.

There, what is that hidden by the frame?

She slowly picked up the object and finally, it all made sense.

That stupid cat had nearly given them a heart attack.

I trudged through the school's hallways. It was way to earky for this.

How had I ended up in the situation, alone in my old middle school at four in the morning?

Great question. See, I don't know the answer.

They told me to. I was fine with it. Now it seems like less of a good idea.

You see, my little brother has this guy who is constantly picking on him. Like, full on abusing the poor kid.

I was going to get him back.

I regret telling my friends.

They persuaded me. Now here I am, a bag full of all sorts of stuff hanging on my shoulder.

The door's unlocked. Jaime made sure of that. Clarissa's job was the alarm system. Mai's job was stalling the principal, who insisted on showing up three hours early at this ungodly hour for no reason. James had been chosen to create a large distraction. I'm not sure what I'm waiting for, but Louis should send a signal when it's time to go in. Any second, any second.

BRIIIIIING!

The school bell goes off. God, that alarm brings back painful memories

That's gotta be the signal, just has to be. I carefully shove open the door, trying not to make a sound.

Just a few short hours later, I'm arriving to my own school day, more tired and dead than the average high school student.

My phone lets out the little PING! sound.

Glancing down, I see a text from my brother.

"You'll never guess what happened this morning..."

Yesterday I watched a guy, probably about 50, offer to walk an older man to the train station. They are not related, he had no reason to do it other than courtesy. Roadworks have changed the town layout and the older guy was not a local and would have found getting across town a challenge.

I saw an old woman slip a young mum a fifty pence piece, the young mother was trying to buy her three children an ice cream each and had come up a few pence short, she had no reason to do this except a little sympathy for an embarrest person.

I smiled as I saw a lass, not much out of her teens hold a gate wide open so the courier on a cycle could manoeuver his steel steed down a narrow alleyway.

This is modern chivalry, shorn of its fancy cloak and obsession with archaic language, this is chivalry adhereing to its professed standards of honour, justice and caring for the less able in society. It is honourable to help those who are lost, even if it did mean a half mile walk in the other direction and to see that the child didn’t end up feeling picked on because it had to choose a lesser treat than it’s siblings did. It is always good manners to help those who’s burdens are greater than ours, even if it is mearly holding a gate open.

This is chivalry, yes it’s changed it’s clothes, some may simply call it ‘ paying it forward’, but this is the root and branch of it, some may think it lesser as they can no longer use it to demean women, to put them in their place and make them reliant on menfolk, let’s face it no one likes being made to feel grateful for something they didn’t want.

This is the modern chivalry we should all practice regardless of age or gender a little consideration for others and a little kindness makes the world a nicer place and costs the giver very little.

Fallen angels, it’s written, can’t shed tears,

Wandering, sullen, for long, lonely years.

Grieving’s for mortals, and reasons to weep,

When all of life’s hardships are solemn and steep.

No longer an angel, you could say I fell,

Gravity gripped me; I stopped short of Hell.

Heaven’s forgotten, eroded by time,

I’ve forgotten His love, I’ve forgotten my crime.

When I fell, it was through blackest night,

Scorched by the swift Borealic lights.

My fiery feet streaked a splintering tail,

I named myself Icarus when my wings failed.

I named myself Pain, on the shattered ground,

I named myself Pity when I was found.

I named myself Hunger, when my pangs were worst,

And when I was parched, I named myself Thirst.

I named myself Wander, with no purpose planned,

I named myself Beggar, outstretching my hand.

I named myself Swan, for my lingering grace,

I named myself Crow, for my charred, ruined face.

My name was Tempted. I found a dropped pack,

My name became Honor when I gave it back.

The owner was flustered, I thought that he’d chide

But he smiled and thanked me; I named myself Pride.

I built a house, named it Home, found a wife,

A human celestial; I named us both Life.

I laughed at her wit and I named myself Mirth,

I named myself Father, for our child’s birth.

I named myself Mortal, but it failed to take,

I named myself Grief for my wretched mistake.

I buried them both side-by-side on a hill,

I named myself Grateful, and think of them, still.

Time soothed my scars, took the limp from my lame,

Meanwhile, I stole for myself many names.

They helped me remember where I had once flown,

And I cried a river, when I was alone.

Wind heard. He came, and I spared him a glance,

As he whispered to me of a second chance.

“Return your names properly, quiet what clings,

If you wish to be granted a new set of wings.”

I turned my face skyward, and thought of the stars,

I thought of the heat, and I thought of the scars.

I thought of the hand and the heart, and the love

Casting me from all I had known, up above.

No longer wandering, hollow inside,

I know of Temptation, and I know of Pride.

I know that on new wings I might never fly,

But I’ll never again be forbidden to cry.

Wind didn’t argue. I think that he’d known,

Long before coming, he’d fly back alone.

One stubborn enough to be cast out at all

Probably would double down, on a fall.

My name was Peace, and my name was Tranquil.

My name was Poem, and then it was Quill.

I returned what I’d borrowed, like fish to the sea,

But I took one, and kept it: I named myself Free.