Previews to Two New Stories

"Sadness and Cigarette Smoke" (Working Title)

He had come to this bar for years and had left countless partners swinging to Monk, Parker and Coltrane. He steadied the cigarette between his lips and lit the match. He inhaled deeply and felt the first exhilaration fill his lung, his body. One of life’s miracles he thought as he let the smoke mix with the music waiting in the bar’s atmosphere. They swirled around each other, then greeted, and then danced towards the ceiling. Watching over them were framed portraits of jazz greats: Basie, Ellington and Henderson seemed to count time to the dancing elements. Countless partners he thought again and laughed. “Time and time again, I said I’d leave you” began playing when the bar’s door opened, and in walked a woman Cole didn’t recognize.

"Bumps"

On the way back, a dog ran out onto the highway and met my front bumper. I laughed.

“Are you sick? You probably killed that dog. Why did you laugh?”

To this day, I don’t know why. Maybe I saw in that dog my own attempts to pursue a better life across the highway, and like him, I was blindsided. Or, maybe I laughed because of the absurdity of it all. Fate had a contract out for that dog, and I, the pacifist, was its agent in destruction.

Four Seasons

Imbibed with freedom,

I sway back and forth, to the

delight of children.

Wintertime one finds

me dormant underneath mounds

of pristine, white snow.

Falling rain awakes

my potential, but I alone

must reach the surface.

In early sunlight

I find nourishment and strength

for the noontime sun.

Another Haiku

Here's another haiku to add to Incandescent (A Series of Haikus)

Inspiration comes

to man through the advent of

40 watts above.

For Tsutomu Yamaguchi: The Man who Survived Two A-Bombs

Can you hear me now?

I was at Hiroshima.

When sounds turned silent.

I was burned badly, but still

I survived to find

my way to Nagasaki.

I was there both days

when azure skies flashed brightly.

Are you listening?

For I arose from falling

Snowy ash, as the witness.

Human Folklore

Your stories are

Incomprehensible, layered in

Multiplicity, a mixture

Of Strange, Strong Sounds.

Yet, you persist,

These are you stories. Remember, Re

Member us, the fathers, through these...

Your words sprout as

Pomegranates

Fruit that entices and complicates. Have

(you, they, I, we?)

ever cut into a pomegranate?

It is hard to open, the contents

Impossible

to Hold. The seeds

are sour and they stain lips crimson,

Then leave me ashamed, a spectacle

To the timid.

But you never

Cared. You sat in shame, mouths colored

Red. You laugh, then begin telling stories

For the timid.

Sit down, our sons,

our daughters, while we, the fathers,

reveal our common roots and

mold your futures.

Liberty came

Because we took up your cause, long

before you were you. We ask you

to go and Do...

But do what? You

branched out and divided until

stories became the term that holds

all the options.

I want to Un

Ravel you, open through your tall tales

Understanding. I taste the first seeds.

They are sour.

Question

I read this blog called I'll Never Forget the Day I a Book, which is pretty boss. The author reviews books, as well as post interesting questions. In a recent post, he asked about what makes literature "literature." Here's a link to his post.

Leave your comments, and I'll try to think my way through this question.

Music Project: "Lollipop" by Mika

Thou Shalt

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

Thou shalt not commit adultery.

Thou shalt n…

Matt’s hand cramps. He has written the commandment as punishment 178 times. Only 72 more “Thou shalt nots,” and then he presents it to his mother for approval and rebuke. The cramp slowly leaves, but it takes him back to his transgression.

Matt sat alone on the playground. He always does; his mother doesn’t want him playing with the “unwashed.” So, he sits alone, and watches the rest of the fifth grade class play during recess. He once begged Ms. Carpwhipple to stay inside, but she replied,

“Matthew, your mother may not allow you to play, but you still need to be out there with your friends.”

Friends? The girls found him off putting and strange, while the other boys bullied. Only Katie ever talked to Matt. Across the playground his classmates were playing, but at her Matt focused his attention. She was playing double dutch with Sally Jenkins, Dorothy Rosenberg, and Madison Sudweeks, and at each jump her uniformed skirt came up a little higher. Matt tried to look away, but found himself entranced. Katie’s arms found their way to the sky. Matt saw her young skin and smiled. His thoughts turned to her, her chest and possibilities, the brownies she’d make for him….

Adelaide’s voice shattered his thoughts.

“Oh my God! What’s in your pants?”

Sitting at the table, Matt smiles a little more. Only 72 more to go, but all he can think about is brownies. In between the commandments, he begins writing

It is worth it.

It is worth it.
It is