Blackbird's Sonnet - Thanksgiving

Luminescent flakes drifted and scattered, glowing in the pearly light of the neon moon. A blackbird, head cocked and body stilled, sat in silence, scaly feet near-dead in their lack of movement. For a moment, he remained statue-like, before the shrill cry of an excited child startled him out of his stupor. He blinked, ruffled his glossy feathers free of a thin blanket of snow, and craned his fluid neck warily in the direction the noise had come.

There in the moonlight, a child danced, shrieking in delight, wooly hands pounding thickly against one another. Blond hair curled from under the rim of his scarlet wool hat, spilling from underneath the material in unruly corkscrews every chance it got. A woman, face young but back bent and weary, stood beside her son, chapped lips drawn into exhausted, somewhat forced smile.

Her fingers, bare, were clasped tightly to each other. And from the black bird’s vantage point, he could see the sallow band of skin, lighter than the adjacent stretches, which stood bare where once a ring had sat.

The black bird shifted and shuddered for a second before slowly, delicately parting his ochre beak and warbling his song into the night, the notes curling into the depths of the blackness like the strings of a reverberating violin.

With a tremor, the sky unfolded, a ribbon of color snaking through the darkness in a drifting dance of green, red, blue, orange, and yellow.

The woman’s face lifted, startled, even as her son’s breath quieted in awe. The northern lights rippled through the hazel of her eyes, washing the dull ache away. With a slow, broad ripple, she beamed, and the northern lights danced in her disbelieving eyes.

And the blackbird, his purpose fulfilled, lay down once again and settled himself into his cozy, sleepy stupor with a content glow warming his inky chest.

Introduction

Long, long ago, in a galaxy relatively close, there once lived a small, brainwashed child who loved to play Sims 3. We'll call this child "Child A." Now, Child A used to have goals and aspirations and talents of all sorts. But once she was introduced to the magical world of virtual reality, they all went away! As unfortunate as this may seem, Child A just didn't care anymore as long as she had her Sims!

Now meanwhile, Child A's parents, Adult B and Adult C, grew very worried. Child A no longer drew, no longer dreamed, and no longer took pictures. In fact, it was as if Child A had no creativity at all!

And so, Adult B and Adult C hatched a plan, and banned Child A from ever playing Sims again unless she'd done something creative first. Child A didn't like this of course, and wailed and cussed and complained for days and days. Then, one day, Child A began to notice things around her again. The sky, the grass, the people- "How wonderful!" She thought. And promptly, she picked up her pencil again and welcomed back her tools and her life, living happily ever after, Sims 3 just a perpetually dark shadow in her young, opportunistic life.

The end.

Yours truly,

Me

Halloween

            Darkness was everywhere and the children were afraid. The unborn squirmed in their mothers' wombs, primal terror birthing silent mews and fluttering heartbeats. Their mothers, being less tuned to the natural tug of order and terror, where wholly unsuspecting of what was to come. They didn't know until they received their telegraphs, until long after their husbands' bodies had stilled and begun to warp. But the children knew, and they quaked in their warm cocoons and dreaded their arrival into a world where blood mixed with blood. This world where blood mixed with blood so thoroughly that no one could tell whose was whose.

The Nation - Education

If Algebra were a nation,

T'would be located somewhere,

With mountains mighty high,

and fields quite charmingly fair.

All on its own,

Somewhere between Belgium and France,

Awaits the land of Algebra,

Where its wheat does wave and dance.

You can wade in the grasses,

Breath in the fresh air,

But if you're to walk in a direction,

You will not get there.

You'll think you understand it.

You'll be positive in the soil.

You'll watch the wheat wave,

And your belly will hunger at your toils.

The mountains will grow farther,

With their crystal springs,

and your throat will cry,

Parched for wet things.

Eventually you will fall,

You will collapse-

Hungry and thirsty,

Calculator just out of grasp.

Ungrateful - Thanksgiving

I know this is bad,
For it is thanksgiving,
But I need some cash,
To make my living.

I have all that I need.
How can I lie?
I have a bed,
I can make my own chai.

I adore my dog,
But good god,
I need college cash,
Before I commit fraud.

I've labored,
I've sobbed and cried -
I'm pathetic,
But hell, I try.

But for now,
I am option free.
I've worked my butt off,
With my college philosophy.

So I'll try yet again,
Keep fighting for life-
Education is what I need,
Though it's laden with strife.

Grateful - Thanksgiving (Blah)

I am always thankful.
It's a bit of a hereditary problem.
My father is grateful.
 my mother is grateful,

And my dog is grateful.
 So, almost by default,
I am too.
I am grateful that my family's grateful.

I'm so grateful that my family's
grateful enough to make me greatful.
So grateful for the love.
So grateful for the turkey.

And so, so damn grateful,
Indeed,
Always truly,
For my dog.

                   Can't get into my creative strory-writing mood today! On the other hand, I found a massive website full of funny poems. Funny, as in vulgar. They amuse me. It makes me want to try writing again!

A gentleman from Surrey
Ate too much hot, Indian curry
It was just like a hit
When he shouted: "Oh, shit"
And ran to the loo in a hurry

           -Anita V

 

Winter is here and a grouch
It's a time when you sneeze and you slouch
You can't take your women
Out canoein' or swimmin'
But there's a lot you can do on the couch!

-Doc'




 

Halloween Story / The Key

    "You know... there's nothing as tempting as a locked door." His lips curved into a leer, teeth flasing ivory underneath cracked, rosy lips. He was beautiful. Enticing, seductive, dangerous. His entire being was a siren-call, a warning in designer jeans. I loathed him.

      He exhaled, blowing vapors in my face with exaggerated slowness as he waited for my response. His eyes flashed, fingers twitching with calculated strength as he ground his ciggarette into the heavy cement walls. I shivered, reminded again of our close proximity and location. It was an old bunker. Spent condoms and empty bottles littered the floor, forming a dense mat beneath my KEDS. The door waited. It's deadbolt sat slightly ajar - techinically, the door was locked. But a simple shove would knock the deadbolt from it's perilous perch, and allow this boy and I access to something I wasn't sure I was ready for.

     "Let's just stay out here," I mumbled uneasily. I attempted to turn my head away, but suddenly, those fingers were there, gripping me in place. He sneered and blew his foul, empty breath into my face. Frozen, I watched as he moved closer, dropping the spent ciggarette down my gaping cleavage. Startled, I started to pull away - but he was there again, holding me in place. He was beautiful. He was all dark eyes and long, unashamed stares. A part of me hated it, hating the way his eyes roved my body andexplored the swell of my breasts. I part of me loved it, and I hated that too.

      Then we were moving. His hands were moving, our feet stumbling, my head was reeling. His hands ripped at my shirt, cold nails skimming the soft expanse of my stomach. I hated it, I hated it. Then came the locked door - a quick shove, then an unlocked door. On we stumbled, his eyes narrowed and cruel now. So beautiful. With a quick, harsh shove, I was no longer standing. I hated it, hated it, hated it. But there was no stopping him now. The door was open.