Category: creative writing
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For Terence It’s like some evil game nightmare edition of Simon says Why do so many people who look like me comb over the footage, looking for a misstep? The questions begin, inevitable hateful cloaked in willful blindness the cloak victim-blaming always wears: “Yeah but–was he fully complying? Why didn’t he comply exactly?” The wrong…
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“Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.” –Hafiz Fear is ever-present, a room in every house. I think it must be acknowledged to be lived with. Denying fear’s existence, its slithery form under the bed, under the pillow, in your head, in your darkest…
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Bursting Clouds rip open like my heart bursts – whoosh, closed to wide open Swoosh: a purple umbrella floats past; droplets slip, wiggle mercurial jelly-dots. We swim in the same pool, this heavenly, dirty fishbowl.
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I drift to this place where water turns to vapor where the cold night melts
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Steam On the surface, all so calm; moon rising, breeze unspooling winter after-dinner walk belly full, heart content yet beneath: dreams simmer in wait deep, boiling, unseen, building escaping, lost, to the night.
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I’m pleased as punch to have had two stories published this month, and so am taking this moment to celebrate. As any writers out there know, the rejections outnumber the acceptances by a ratio I’d rather not think about. (Plus, I’m not good at math, anyway). So—check them out some cold winter night (or warm…
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Have you ever wanted to be inside and outside at once? Wished to be there and here? Missed what you have, while you still have it?
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I’ve been drunk-binging on nature lately, pulled from my grind-screen work and what I ‘should’ be doing to spend hours just gazing at the wonders of the fall. I end up working way too late to compensate, but you can only see the foliage in the daylight. Such transformation is amazing. It gives me hope.…
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It’s like trying to describe why you love the way oatmeal looks. It’s gray, face it. It oozes. It’s not colorful but it sometimes hides sweet colorful things, like raspberries or bright green bits of a diced Granny Smith.
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I heard voices, and not just the recorded ones in the audio headset. I also heard the voices of prisoners past and prisoners present, calling me to attention.
eeo 