smooth shine of snow
smooth poem
the sun stretches out its rays to touch a smooth surface
a piece of peace in the middle of nowhere
where no bird sings in no man’s land
the heavy head of heaven lies
on the glorious grandiose ground
let the sleeping dogs lie soundly under the velvety blanket
sprinkled with glittery gold and ashen abandonment
delusions of grandeur in all their splendour
anyone who strays here will be swept away alive
since the dawn of time there have been stories to tell
about a house on ropes and ghosts seen near the fishing village
the footsteps startled and muffled for years
there was never time for sentiment
in one moment of the storm everything turned on its head
there is no house anymore
just an ecstatic and sublime expression of ulterior joy
suspended on ropes like kites
soaring through the sky like lost wintry birds
asking for forgiveness for erstwhile obliterated trails
worthwhile only as far as they have been tested
---
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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One Minute to Noon
“OK, guys!” I screech over the macaw-like chatter in my sophomore English class. My students are sharing mementos they accumulated during summer vacation. The assignment is to interview each other and write an expository essay about another student’s treasure: Misty’s coquina shells and sand dollars from Florida, Ruth’s two Navajo pottery mugs from New Mexico, Roxy’s perfume from Paris, Kevin’s chocolate from Hershey Pennsylvania, a picador’s sword from a bullfight in San Fermin Spain, where one of my favorite students, Manny Pérez, ran with the bulls at festival.
By Lacy Loar-Gruenler5 days ago in Fiction
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