Woodwork, or: Far from the tree

A limerick Respected for both mind and might, The nails he hit lost every fight; So, where had I come from? His son who was all thumbs Knew only to dream and to write. ‘What do you see’ Prompt #154 For Sadje’s weekly #WDYS prompt, she offered the photo to the right as inspiration for… Continue reading Woodwork, or: Far from the tree

Red, or: Blue pill

EPIGRAPH: Doubt is the origin of wisdom. -René Descartes (1596 – 1650) An 'Emmett' poem I doubt enough for all; Doubt tints the lens through which I look; Enough crushing disappointments - that is all it took. For, really, how often can one smash up against a wall? All my silly childhood fantasies, I long… Continue reading Red, or: Blue pill

The lazy gulls would mock her

As Aatami grew increasingly distant, Tuulikki became despondent at her self-chosen earthly fate. Whenever her human mate left on business, she'd rescue two dazzling cloth wings from the laundry and stand, arms apart, against the wind at the shore. The lazy gulls would mock her mercilessly, but Tuulikki's contempt for herself was greater. This piece… Continue reading The lazy gulls would mock her

Generation, or: Conception

A Choka a letdown for him yet one more disappointment my shitty longhand he noted nonchalantly had much concerned him before he had concluded my generation needed but know how to type my shitty longhand would not be an obstacle like some of my other traits Choka? The most intricate Japanese Poetry form is the… Continue reading Generation, or: Conception

Once known as Baby Bubbles

Once known as Baby Bubbles, the sibilance of her childhood lisp had precluded a successful career in her family's jazz singing tradition. Dejected, she'd turned to busking instead. Singer & Songwriter Michal Elia Kamal (image source) This piece of flash fiction was written in response to: The Sunday Muse #222;Fandango’s One-Word Challenge: 'tradition';Ragtag Daily Prompt Saturday: 'bubbles';Sammi… Continue reading Once known as Baby Bubbles

Rusted afternoons, or: Bloodstained glass

Poetry Partners #108 'No Longer', a poem by Aishwarya Kannan of 'Timelessly' In the midst of an afternoon slumber Scribbling along the walls Hoping that it would last longer I don’t know why it ended But the dream was all I had ephemeral, but so close If only he could also be sad To know… Continue reading Rusted afternoons, or: Bloodstained glass

Young man, or: Old man

Brilliant failed old man sons young man tells him he's clever but the child... Why bother if genius didn't help his hero failure and disappointment ultimate destroyers of families of respect of self- respect His work in graduate school lands him promising job that disappoints with its soullessness even at top of his game he… Continue reading Young man, or: Old man

Cloudless, or: Unbounded

EPIGRAPH: It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes.-Truman Capote (1924 – 1984), Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories unbounded in a boy's eyes unbounded by societal norms by truisms, by words, by my own eyes, by contrary evidence unbounded… Continue reading Cloudless, or: Unbounded