Twenty-One Grams
Apparently the soul weighs twenty-one grams. Who would have guessed? Lyla opened her box of dreams, Wound up the dancer And took a deep breath, Then feeling her way Into the plink plonk of the music Poof! She was gone, Like the world she had known Did no longer exist. Tomit was coming, He knew Lyla well, Had hoped she might love him: She might have done too. He spoke with great ease And gave her great fun, He was handsome and clever, Thoughtful, kind, And to a fault he was loyal, But one thing Tomit Could never have known, Was Lyla loved daydreams More than Lyla Could ever have loved, Her sweet gentle Tom. "Lyla, oh Lyla?" He knocked at the door, But no Lyra responded So he peered in the room. "Lyla, oh Lyla," No cause for alarm, The chimes that were plinking Were soothing and calm, "Lyla, oh Lyla?” He stared at the floor But the box that stared back Was not the same box That Tomit Had known To be there before. “My dancer has flown!” He slumped to his knees, But the tune it was fading A magic receding A heart that was weeping A moon that was waning A fawn in the snow That was starving A dew that was falling, A flower whose petals Were ragged and torn, A bull to the slaughter A King to the thorn, The Alpha-Omega, The end of it all: Twenty-one grams. Right there in his arms Consumed by the music box charms, Tomit held the dying remains Of sweet Lyla’s sweet dreams.
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The Lunatic
For all the moon bathing, sea-blinded masters and maidens Mimi looked at the sea And said, 'It's not really me To step in the sea,' But the moon was reflected As pebbles On lazy white ripples: So Mimi couldn't help But be tempted To slip off her night robe And carefully, Lower herself Into its waters. The sea felt like ice, As it rose up her legs. Caused her to gasp As it seeped through her bones. Sent a chill up her spine As it swallowed her arms, Stole all of her breath Then inhaled her whole. 'The sea isn't for me,' She promised herself, But the moon was a saucer Of milk And she was its cat, And safely cocooned In a velvet liquid Spilled moon, She could no more resist Its charms Than escape from All of the castaway dreams, That poor little Mimi had had. 'Hold me,' She pleaded, 'I want to feel real,' But the sea preferred play To soothing her trouble, And not caring That Mimi was frail As a flower, Out of nowhere Came a magnificent surge Of mighty sea power, And sweet, tragic, Moon-bathing Mimi Found herself rudely exhaled, Back to the shore And out of the sea. The Damned and the Cursed.
Nothing but a story. I shared the first half of this on a writers' blogging site and asked for people to suggest endings so I could perhaps write something that wasn't dark. This was the result. :) ‘The horses! Their hooves sound like thunder.’ Rosalie’s voice was too loud, Her whisper a voluptuous crash In the black space under the bed Where she’d buried herself with her sister. Aria’s reply was a tremble: ‘They’ll hear us, They’ll find us,’ She hissed as She bunched up a fist And forked Rosalie sharp-pang In the ribs With the boney bit Of her elbow. Rosalie pinched And Aria snarled, Then on hearing a terrible Clang, clatter and bang! All feuds were forgot And one gripped the other, And like that, They lay Under the bed And cradled each other. Rosalie wished now She remembered her mother. Papa had always been vacant or staged, He’d plenty of friends When the winnings came in, But more than a few enemies made When times got thin. She thought lately She’d try be a good daughter, Tucked him in rugs When he crashed on the floor, Wiped his face clean Of the spew on his chin And threw out the booze He brought through the door. Aria thought only Of ships and the sea, Head cotton wool crammed With tall tales of the damned: Swashbuckling maidens, Pirates, smugglers, sirens, Her world was a play And its cast were her sailors. Rosalie thought Aria quite mad, Aria thought Rosalie dull, But as they listened to the Thump, thump, thump Of the front door, Their hearts throbbed as one And as one they lay still. ‘Knock, knock, big man, We want paying.’ Aria’s hair tickled Rosalie’s ear. Short as a boy’s It stank of dried dirt, Rosalie’s own Was a shiny, thick mane. ‘I’ve nothing to give you,’ Papa told them, ‘Take a look if you like And take what you want.’ And immediately Both girls Inhaled as one body, For both of them knew Father was not to be trusted When father was drunk. Aria paused, then whispered: ‘I hate you.’ Rosalie whispered, ‘I hate you right back.’ But as each found themselves Twisting round the other twin's fingers They both breathed: ‘No. I love you,’ Then ‘click,’ The sound of the latch. Aria was sold to a slave ship, The men thought her too wild To keep a house clean, For over a month She slept in her own filth, Till she tricked the captain And slit up his throat, Then sailed the whole world In her own little boat. Rosalie survived nine years On a farm, She barely knew sleep And was worked to the bone, And when finally Papa sobered Enough to come fetch her, She clawed at his eyeballs And cried for her sister. Aria came home with a fortune And a band full of swashbuckling men, She stormed the whole town Where her childhood was stolen And then… When Rosalie emerged from The damage they’d done, And the twins embraced, And embraced as one, And Rosalie whispered, ‘Looks like you had fun,’ Aria reached in a pocket And pulled out… A gun… 'Who gets it first then my sister?' Rosalie lowered her eyes slowly Then lifted a finger, Pointed it straight at the farmer's wife's head And said, 'That bitch beat me within An inch of my life And I want her dead.' BOOM BOOM! The town jumped to attention, Aria said, 'So? The farmer comes next?' And closing her eyes, Rosalie sighed 'Yes, And all the rest, But please, Aria, Don't touch the children.' BANG BANG went the gun And everyone screamed, But the shooting went on And on and on... Till somebody finally Dragged out their father... And, without hesitation... Aria swooped down like a vulture! But Rosalie cried: 'No! Put back your gun, Then turned to her father and shrieked, 'Father, please RUN!' As father vanished Into the far distance, Aria cautiously eyed up her sister. 'We're twins, Rosalie, we come as a pair, And whether or not you decide to agree, You're coming with me To sail the whole sea. So the sisters set sail for the sunset, And Rosalie found She kind of enjoyed it. As Aria killed and maimed and caused chaos, Rosalie sewed and cleaned And made the men biscuits. And when the day finally came, The ship finally hit, And the game was done And they knew That was it, Together they cradled Each one the other And their hearts beat as one And they died together. As I Reached for a Peach
I reached for a peach, Turned my back on the world, Burrowed inside it Made my bed in its core. I hung lanterns From ripples of grooves In its stone, Used soft fleecy blankets To flesh out its womb. Curled up and spooned up Dug, dug myself in, Outside all sealed off By sweet flesh Insulation. Soft and ripe in its comfort A peachy, warm glow, Till peach was all eaten And, with heavy reluctance, My eyes once again opened And back, back, back, Into the world, I was thrown. Because I am so DESPERATE to get off my meds and out of the very bizarre and frightening world of our health system, I have been experimenting with a fruit and salad only diet. I'm 12 days in - hence the ridiculously expensive consumption of lots of peaches, and, I suppose, the spaciness I'm experiencing when eating them. Anyway, guess what? My joints have actually been incredibly well behaved! (for them!) but, in other news, I have felt like s*** with no energy and yet more weight loss (if anyone mentions that I will kill them) (No joke). I therefore had cooked rice just before and it felt WRONG, but I can literally feel myself coming up on the energy. On top of all this, today I had an MRI -and, unlike everybody else in the whole entire world, I always find them a deeply cocooning experience and hate when I get pulled out. So this flash poem is my world today. Fruit and MRI machines! |