Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
till we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an ap for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bags
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
Napo 8- SusanWhy did you lock her out of heaven
and throw the key
into the lions land?
A beautiful girl enjoying
a new fantasy to live.
She'd stopped believing, but
faith stays in a heart longer
than a head.
"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now,
and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age"
Napo 7- Teen of the 90'sI wanted to be Posh Spice because my
hair was brown bobbed and she dated David
Beckham; I wanted to marry him. I
had no internet and recorded songs
on the radio to tape, daring to
pause and knock out the DJ’s droll. I sang
to S Club and thought I was the coolest
in my smiley faced top and my yingyang
friendship necklaces. You had to know the
Macarena not just for weddings but
school discos too and then every steps routine
to fit in. Slow dances with boys made me
wish again that they were David Beckham
and not greasy teens with bad curtains for
hair. They pressed themselves against you before
travelling to the next girl in leopard
print skirt. Viva forever was merely
a fantasy ; one I’d dream the whole of
the nineties, hoping my teenage self could
find her inner strength, her true girl power.
Napo 6- IreneShe left you a letter
outwitting at last the greatest.
A photograph, filched;
a King’s humiliation.
In your eyes she
holds the highest.
Napo 4- Warrior with painted faceThere’s a warrior with a painted face
and streaks of black across his chest; he stands
wild with pride. His merciless eyes ignited by the
echoes of fallen enemies. He slew
two hundred men and just scars mark their defence.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
who prays to gods mightier than he; he kneels
arms open to implore. He calls upon his army
to pray with him; equals once more. He watches
embers burn before retiring to his tent.
There’s a warrior with a painted face
and inside his heart rests a son and daughter
sleeping. There is a reason he is
Napo 3- Leaving the Train Station
Leaving the train station
alone I watch strangers head home.
The waves for yellow cabs and
stench of fresh-lit cigarettes, I let
the cold cloud white breath.
Even at midnight, a long-coated businessman
hurries past with laptop bag bulging and blackberry to ear. Behind me,
a clip-clack of heels and giggles-
their night hasn’t ended.
Across the road, three youths in hooded
tops kick a can whilst eating chips only stopping
as clip-clacks pass them and swoon
immaturity. Swear words exchange.
In the ice-wind rubbish travels as if taking
a commute, tapa-tapping the concrete.
Exhausted I can only wait with
white breath etching blue hands desperate to be
warmed. Eyes fight; tired and
Because I Don't JustFab.ComI hadn't planned to kill her with my $1,000 leopard-and-gold-bangles shoe. I mean...I'd planned killing her. Hell, I had journals FULL of techniques. Improperly cooked blowfish delivered to her favorite table in her favorite restaurant was the one I'd been leaning toward. The problem was, Demii (emphasis on the double-i) was a snake in blonde ringlets and Louis Vuitton. A very gorgeous, very LOTIONED snake.
Snakes have a bad habit of...slipping out of things, if you know what I mean, and Demii's engagement ring had a bad habit of falling off. Including, just before I shoved my stiletto through her right eye, my ex-boyfriend's crystal-lined fishbowl. The expensive four piece suit from Ann Taylor she HAD to have were bound to follow, and I could only imagine the reaction Facebook acquaintances would have to finding out my fiance had left me for someone else the night before our wedding. Again.
my cat is sadmy cat is sad.
no one else in his family is a cat
we are all human except for him
he is excluded from most things
and no one tells him why
he just wants to play
and be loved
he looks at us with wonder
he says hello i am a cat what is my existence
what is that / why it and not me / please can you look at me
and love me too
can i have some of your food please I'm sorry i don't like my food so much
do you want to play with my toys? this one is my favourite
do you like me
are we brothers
why didnt i grow up
why am i so small
can you help me be happy
where are you going
He's putting me to sleep and sings me french lullabies.
He reads me fairytales, tells me about romance and adventure.
He wipes away my tears when I cry and strokes my cheeks till they're dry again.
And in the morning he kisses me awake, humming my favourite song.
He's my daddy and I love him. He's my daddy and he loves me.
Sometimes I hear daddy cry. He yells, he shouts the ugly words.
He screams at momma but why? Momma's here with me. Her eyes are blank, skin blue like winter.
I see daddy in the kitchen, searching for the knife. I close the door and hide under my bed.
He's my daddy and I love him. He's my daddy and he loves me.
He loved momma, too.
Daddy, may I go to sleep tonight?
May I live another day awoken by your kisses?
May I sit with momma for a little while?
Daddy, pretty please?
A Gentle TouchThe fingers that crawled through my hair have gone still, curling inward like the legs of a dead spider.
Your hands were always lovely, but I can hold them better now.
Consumption: VoicesThe blood demon's eyes were bloodshot as he stared out the window.
He had spent a month in the Blood Dormitory so far, where blood flowed under the crystalline surface of the rooms. The walls, ceiling, floor--everything was made of crystal, and he could feel the blood just centimeters away. It called out to him--as if it were trapped--and he longed to break the barrier between himself and the blood that needed rescuing.
He swore he hadn't noticed it before. Sure, he'd glanced around when he'd toted his possessions into the room, but his room mate distracted him enough that he'd given the walls and ceiling a brief sentence or two in thought before moving onto much more important things. Such as making sure that he drew the same line in the sand between his section of the room and Theon's, and enforced said line to ensure his room mate wouldn't cross over into his space. He remembered pausing in the process of drawing, staring down at the crystal, its shiny surface catching h
Micro-fiction contest entry - ''Undead''Sirens filled the air in the distance, mingling with the sounds of gunfire and shouting. It wouldn't do any good. The undead were already flooding the streets. However slow and shambling, the sheer number would overwhelm the remaining police officers. They should have left when they had the chance. I crept through the alleyway, unseen. Survivors were violent. It seems people become irrational and selfish when their world is ending. Nobody is safe. I stopped suddenly, hearing a noise nearby. A young girl panted as she ran, clutching a single can of beans in her arms. She desperately clung to her food... It reminded me of my own hunger. She screamed as I leapt onto her, apparently unaware of my position in the shadows. Her screams were cut short as I bore my teeth into her throat. Dry, rasping moans surrounded us as others came to join in my feast.
Zombie Apocalypse by DeDorgoth