I know.
If I do not, I learn.
If I cannot,
I do not believe.
I am five of one-hundred, and
they say I am
the lowest of us.
A reply:
ripples from a stone.
You know me,
from your stories
and histories:
Feynman, Ayn Rand,
Jefferson, Joe Steel.
Sherlock, Spock, and Aristotle.
I neither defy nor challenge authority,
though I circumvent it
when I must.
It’s more efficient that way.
I love, and I hate.
I hate
blind acceptance, tradition
for tradition’s sake.
Ignorance (willful or
otherwise), the lack
of second guessing.
Those without restraint.
I love—
Thought and
innovation and
names and
what is yet to come.
They say God sends locusts to chastise the wicked,
so I wonder what we did to deserve the moth summer.
I’m talking thousands of the bastards;
winging through the parks and the schools and Town Hall and the supermarkets,
shedding their filthy dust.
Better keep your windows down, don’t want to end up like Mr. Jones.
Two days out of town with a crack to let the breeze in,
and poor Mr. Jones came back to hundreds of fat, full-bellied moths.
He chased them out, but already his couches,
his clothes, his carpets, the wallpaper, the sheets,
and the lampshades were all
eaten away.
My dad said he never knew mo
We should meet face to face.
Sometimes a telephone is not enough,
And I want to see your eyes.
Am I so wrong?
Sometimes a telephone is not enough!
Love doesn’t soar in the sky—
Am I so wrong?
Please talk to me!
Love doesn’t soar in the sky,
Like some sort of cloud-borne heron.
Please, talk to me.
Tell me that you love me,
Like some sort of cloud-borne heron
That came to you in a dream.
Tell me that you love me!
I need to hear it, face to face.
You shared such sweet secrets with me.
When I close my eyes,
I can still feel the warmth of your finger
tracing from the base of my neck
down the hills and valleys of my spine,
and I shudder
as I did then.
Your body, beautiful and commanding
like newly-wrought iron,
still captures my mind
when the sun goes down.
I remember the way you smile—
grinning like a monkey that found some exciting new toy
to play with.
Pinpoints in the Void by DeeForty-Five, literature
Literature
Pinpoints in the Void
When you begged me to have you back,
Though I knew better,
My heart rose—
Like a rocket.
My wiser half knows to stay safely on planet Earth,
But I still want to
Soar
Again.
Oh, who could choose a rocky husk
—Over the stars?
Inspired by Robert D. McFarland's "Brighton Shadows"
Something about the snow speaks. From a distance, the grey fuzz of withered trees blends together like a mist, and the clouds rising over the knife-edged mountains become a fine snowy powder. Further back and the white-on-blue is a halo, the crag is a purple-gray blur, a silhouette bathed in a soothing white corona. Shadows stretch across the snowy plain like a giant’s footsteps. Evergreen spires jut from hills in the shadow of the mountain, sharpening their soft rolling curves. Blue sky, no hint of the sun. Morning whiteness—a frigid dream.
One green morning, our fat little faces
Look out the kitchen window and
Find a robin and her nest on our windowsill.
She carries baubles and trinkets—candy
Wrappers and foil—before her vivacious
Red breast and weaves them tenderly into her nest.
My mother, laughing, says
She’s dizzy with anticipation, painting ponies
And clouds on nursery walls.
Soon enough little blue eggs fill
The happy twigs and their gaudy trappings
And the robin settles—snug, waiting.
We, too, wait for spring miracles on the
Windowsill. Weeks pass—she sits faithful—but
Eggs remain eggs.
Mother gets an odd pallor and avoids the
Broken Angel
Tattered Angel
Crying in this world of
Hate and Devils
Sin and Cruelty
Pain and Smoke
Weeping, weeping Angel
What has the world done to you?
Your tears make goodness sob
Those tears
Why must it always be the
Kind
Gentle
Loving
Hopeful
Good
Why must it always be they?
Mourning...
Crying Angel, sobbing Angel
The world is wicked
And wickedness does not abide goodness
You are better than wickedness
And it hates you
Despairing, teary Angel
Don't give up
Please don't give up
I couldn't bear
To see you fall
Not you
Please...
Angel, Loving Angel,
You shone with hope. Is there still hope?
Goodness, noble g
I walk this world
Smiling
Seeking
Forgetting why I smile
Or what I'm searching for
Smiling
That's it
I smile at everything glorious
The dark deadliness of dawn
The silence and his sparrow song
I flash my vicious rictus
Frightened, people flee
Some are curious
Some don't notice
Those are too busy singing
The sorrow song of silence
They frighten me