The water hose hissed and, for a moment,
The faint scent of sunbaked rubber
Filled the humid air.
Water tickled small, laughing bodies
Running barefoot through lush grass
Peppered with dried needle leaves.
They take refuge behind a rundown car
With cracked windows that resembled
A spiderweb glistening in the sun.
Prompt: Poetics: Sometimes August isn’t recognized by Sanaa Rizvi (from A Dash of Sunny) on d’Verse ~ Poets Pub. Join in on the fun by posting your response to the prompt via Mr. Linky.
A shaded balcony
Chlorine wafting from the pool like a Siren's song
Scrape of colorful chalk, tattooing concrete
Flowers in bloom
Red petals dancing in summer's light
Cyclist meandering by
Wheels cracking and spokes creaking
Wind in grass
Dried morning trimmings blanketing the walkway
Written for d’Verse ~ Poet’s Pub poetry challenge: MTB/Poetry Form: The Eleventh Power & More.
Funny story: I accidentally locked myself on my balcony while I was drafting this.
I thought of the future, and spoke of the past.
~Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Three Stories
My son, forgive me
I tried to show my angels
But taught my demons
Written for dVerse ~ Poet’s Pub‘s 11th year celebration prompt: Poetics ~ Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
There is nothing more torturous than an agitated mind.
It’s like a treasure chest of unspoken riches
Selfishly guarded, every jewel meticulously analyzed
Accumulating over a short time–
Epiphanies, suspicions, fears, schemes–
Until it overflows
And the tortured realizes too late
That it was easier to open than shut.
Written in response to Patrick Jenning’s Pic and a Word Challenge: Experience ~ Pic and a World Challenge #313
The year is 3020 and time travel is an execution method.
A few years back, it was a hopeful science experiment. “Humanity’s next great breakthrough,” said World Union’s propagandists. It earned them a few willing volunteers. A couple hundred if I remember right, but after humanity’s next great breakthrough turned its volunteers into charred corpses, WU couldn’t find a soul patriotic enough to step into a pod.
So these bastards used it to kill “criminals” or, better said, revolutionaries like me.
I wish I kept quiet. If I hadn’t written those papers. If I’d just stayed an obedient citizen…
My feet felt heavy as my handlers led me to my pod. My heart beat rattled my body and I couldn’t find the strength to walk anymore. Hands yanked me from the ground and tossed me into my pod. They strapped my arms to my seat and, when I was secured, pressed a button that lowered the pod’s door. It made a hiss as it sealed me in.
A priest stood outside and prayed for me, but I couldn’t hear him. Not over my loud breathing. Not over my heartbeat, now thundering in my ears.
The machine whirled to life when he disappeared from view. I felt it attack my body first, pulling me apart atom by atom, then it went for my mind and crushed it.
The year is 1985; I live in London with my wife, and I’m the first human to survive a time jump.
Photo: Clock by Splitshire via Pixabay.
I want to be alone… with someone who wants to be alone.Dimitri Zaik
We rented a motel room in a city far away from our respective lives. The moment we entered, we killed our phones then sequestered them in the old drawer – charging be damned – officially going off grid.
Two chocolates and a courtesy “Hope You Enjoy Your Stay” note sat in the center of the bed. We pushed them onto the floor and stowed away under the cold covers, embracing each other for warmth and, at some primal level, a need to belong.
But when our embrace didn’t scare away the loneliness that festered within us, we resorted to kissing it away.
Our respective decomposing worlds faded into a fog, leaving us alone.
Under satin sheets
Your soft snoring in my ears
Sheltered in your warmth
Photo: Morning Blankets by Cottonbro via Pexels.
Prompt: Solitude ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #257 by Patrick Jennings via Pix to Words.
Quote: Dimitri Zaik
The following is an excerpt from my upcoming ebook, Musings from Rock Bottom. Details are below!
Every bit of me
Wants to believe we
Are real, that in
Our silences, a chord,
Silvery, binds us together.
Unseen but felt, reminding
Us that we are
Kindred souls in love
Fated to be by
God or whatever force
That put us here.
Every bit of me
Wants to believe this.
But the wounds from
Past chords prevent me.
Chords I believed were
Like ours—precious loves—
Until brutishly snatched away
Like ripping an embedded
Hangnail from a finger.
In my eyes
My wounds prove
“Love” is foolish.
Every bit of me
Wants you to
Prove me wrong.
Continue reading “Every Bit of Me”
Photo: Three Heart Balloons by Kristina Paukshtite via Pexels.
There was nothing like it. Their first kiss. The way they’d fallen in love. The loneliness that existed before and the salvation he brought. She could see a life with him: a house, a little dog, and maybe a child.
She dragged her knife against rigid metal, grating its edge to a sharp point. Well, she thought, turning to her victim subdued in the kitchen chair. His new girlfriend is welcomed to my leftovers.
Continue reading “Leftovers”
Photo:Knife Kitchen Block by Congerdesign via Pixabay.
She was here.
But not really.
She’s in limbo.
Like between sleeping and awake.
Like between breathing and not.
An elaborate veneer of external liveliness.
Photo: Woman Sitting via Pixabay.