Anvil. Part 9.
A sonic boom cracks the sky beneath the floating city. Tossing to and fro in the wild surf below, the little inflatable raft seems little more than a speck on the ocean’s roiling back. The aging interceptor slows and pulls … Continue reading Anvil. Part 9.
Mirrored. A poem.
I mirrored you subconsciously, perhaps you noticed you in me. You mirrored me subconsciously, perhaps I noticed, but didn’t see. Neither mirror could reveal beyond the veil, our hesitancy. Neither mirror would let us read of love, of fate, of … Continue reading Mirrored. A poem.
Happy Endings. A poem.
Is there any such thing as a happy ending? Maybe only in books and history told by the winner, but not for me and you, we lonely sinners. I find I no longer believe in fairy tales or story book … Continue reading Happy Endings. A poem.
The Truth. A poem.
What would I do if you belonged to another? No hanging tree exists that could free my heart from your beloved tether. Would I drown myself in the incumbent surf, or throw myself from the weary heights, dash all my … Continue reading The Truth. A poem.
Advice for the Young (Poet) at Heart
Poetry was not really my thing. I wrote poetry as a shy, insecure and sensitive teenager, much as other shy, insecure and sensitive teenagers did, but as I grew older it lost its allure. Not because I was less inclined … Continue reading Advice for the Young (Poet) at Heart
Tomb Raider. A movie review.
There’s no such thing as spoilers (in this review, anyway)! Alicia Vikander is the new Tomb Raider (for those of you not familiar with the previous movie incarnation, Angelina Jolie was the titular heroine), and she ably fills the tank … Continue reading Tomb Raider. A movie review.
Back to Life. A poem.
The sun shone through, my hope returned, and I drifted on rays of sutured miracles that stitched the dark and light together. And like the Creator Himself, brought me shining back to life. The All or the Nothing is my … Continue reading Back to Life. A poem.
Anvil. Part 8.
The tall old woman is angry. She throws her cup of shoujiu across the room where it shatters against the wall. “They took my interceptor?” Her eyes are narrow slits, her crow’s feet now a delta fanning both sides of … Continue reading Anvil. Part 8.
Bleach. A poem.
Acid wash away my pain release me from this blinkered Bleach burns me clean and pure tear shreds off my heart and break me Down Until time bleeds on my just Reward And bleaches this world just like The All … Continue reading Bleach. A poem.
The End of the Affair. A poem.
At the end of the affair, when all is lost, was won, when the final note is written when all has come undone. The longing and the passion converted now to envy, the embers now black charcoal of fires that … Continue reading The End of the Affair. A poem.
Hangman. A poem.
I hang on your every word. Every nuance and subtlety tightens your noose and I gasp and grasp for air and the latency of truth. My limbs flail in puppet motions; I’m a paper doll with button joints, anointed in … Continue reading Hangman. A poem.
Wings. A poem.
You endow me with gossamer wings, a loving benefaction granted; a gift that encapsulates and enables flight to peregrine places uncharted and exotic. But with so many destinations and arterial paths and so many cloudy possibilities, only one makes any … Continue reading Wings. A poem.
Annihilation. A movie review.
Alex Garland’s new science fiction movie, Annihilation, is now available on Netflix in Australia (part of Paramount’s current risk management strategy is to recoup production and distribution costs in smaller markets by going directly to streaming). Natalie Portman stars as … Continue reading Annihilation. A movie review.
Night, Again. A poem.
Night, again and here I am, pondering the specificity of my unctuous requests, enraptured and Heaven-sent on the backs of clasped palms, no random incidental tests of charm. Every night I thank Him there, for faith and hope and grace, … Continue reading Night, Again. A poem.
Anvil. Part 7.
It’s six hours out and Granny Chun vomits into the bucket for the seventh time. She groans and spits bile into the foul, bitter broth meandering at the bottom of the pail. Violet is out of her capsule, sleeping restfully, … Continue reading Anvil. Part 7.
Laidback DM: SteveStillStanding.com 