She gazed around the room from beneath her false eyelashes, beyond her rouged cheeks and sculpted nose to the man who was her date. Did he notice her carefully placed lipstick, smeared beyond the edge of her lips in hopeful illusion?
As she listened to him drone on and on, she focused on wiggling her trapped feet, nestled deep within stiff, expensive running shoes. Men never really have anything interesting to say, after all, and personal comfort was so, well, comforting. Hands half concealed by overly-large grey sweatshirt, her fingers touched one another sensuously. She smiled, her lipstick smeared face stretching over bulging cheek muscles - you could tell the woman smiled a lot by the sheer size of her face.
The man she was with was handsome, with grey hair but he had aged well. In his striped shirt and khaki pants he seemed ready for a golf tournament. Perhaps he would invite her on one. Is she really paying any attention to me? he wondered, and simultaneously, do I care? Maybe I'll just take her back to my place and play hide the salami. He hoped no one was reading his mind as he thought these embarrassing, revealing thoughts. Little did he know!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Space Rats
Uproarious laughter disturbed the spaceport, where a group of raucious miscreants, some human, some not, had recently disembarked from their spacecraft and invaded the otherwise peaceful confines. They jabbered as they advanced down the corridor towards the bar.
“No really, think about it guys. Steve’s got his missing thumb, or doesn’t got it, either way, hey Steve, do you feel a phantom thumb?” Steve gave a thumbs down, but the gesture lacked something.
“No, but I can almost feel your soft neck, choked beneath my good thumb,” he said, reaching out in mock aggression.
“err, ok, how about, Glen, how did you lose your left eyeball?
“A glubrious sporlak melfed me.” Glen slapped himself hard in the face and pertended to wrestle his arm.
“Not a line you’d use to pick up a woman, I dare say! Moving on, where are your legs, Blobra?” The instigator held up an imaginary microphone to the purple pile of spooge oozing down the hallway that was their ships navigator.
“What legs?” the purple creature belched.
"Badum, ching! My point exactly. We’re all grossly disfigured. Look at Ronjon with that sour, ugly, car crash face. How’d your face get like that, Ronny?” He held up the "mic" to Ronjon's twisted mouth.
“Well I started talking to this guy about his ugly face, and before I knew it, I got my ass clobbered.” Ronjon took a hard swing at his tormenter, who darted deftly out of the way.
“Ok, well, I didn’t mean it, you ugly screwball."
They all rolled their eyes simulataneously, as though watching a space rat run up one wall and down the other. The presence of this one man made their space travels either greatly entertaining or irritating as hell, often enough it depended on how hung over they were on any given day.
“No really, think about it guys. Steve’s got his missing thumb, or doesn’t got it, either way, hey Steve, do you feel a phantom thumb?” Steve gave a thumbs down, but the gesture lacked something.
“No, but I can almost feel your soft neck, choked beneath my good thumb,” he said, reaching out in mock aggression.
“err, ok, how about, Glen, how did you lose your left eyeball?
“A glubrious sporlak melfed me.” Glen slapped himself hard in the face and pertended to wrestle his arm.
“Not a line you’d use to pick up a woman, I dare say! Moving on, where are your legs, Blobra?” The instigator held up an imaginary microphone to the purple pile of spooge oozing down the hallway that was their ships navigator.
“What legs?” the purple creature belched.
"Badum, ching! My point exactly. We’re all grossly disfigured. Look at Ronjon with that sour, ugly, car crash face. How’d your face get like that, Ronny?” He held up the "mic" to Ronjon's twisted mouth.
“Well I started talking to this guy about his ugly face, and before I knew it, I got my ass clobbered.” Ronjon took a hard swing at his tormenter, who darted deftly out of the way.
“Ok, well, I didn’t mean it, you ugly screwball."
They all rolled their eyes simulataneously, as though watching a space rat run up one wall and down the other. The presence of this one man made their space travels either greatly entertaining or irritating as hell, often enough it depended on how hung over they were on any given day.
The Wordsmith
Someone once told me,
I should write a non-rhyming poem.
As my stupid words smear themselves
across pure white page,
I wonder if I am ultimately wasting
my reader's time.
My classmates are probably reading this, thinking
"Does he have a point?"
O, joyous mystery!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Temptuous Trixy and Testosterone Tod.
The man sipped his alcoholic drink. The attractive waitress came over with his sandwich, leaning low over the table. Her auburn hair fell in locks around high cheekbones and cascaded over her curvaceous bosom.
“Do you like that?” the woman asked. Do I ever, he thought to himself.
“Uh, like what?” he asked. The party music thumped over her, “… sex on the beach”
Excuse me? Oh, the drink, he realized miserably.
“it’s a delicious substitute for the real thing,” he said loudly.
“You might like a long, slow screw against the wall,” she said. Was she flirting? Would I ever! The man blushed and sputtered in his drink, which dribbled down his chin. If only that were a proposition instead of a beverage. He decided to try his luck.
“Can I buy you a drink after work, maybe something with more innocent connotation, a coke perhaps?” The beautiful waitress looked him over.
“You’re not really my type,” She confessed. But you’re my type, he thought silently.
“What’s your uhh?” he asked all casual.
“Type? Usually young, dumb and hot.”
“Would 29, smart, and ugly suffice for an evening?”
“I suppose I could make just one exception.”
Score! His inner voice shouted.
“I’ll wait for you, after closing.” He finished.
“I’ll see you after work.”she said with a mischevious smile, leaving to wait on other tables. You dog you! He inwardly congradulated myself. What a hottie potatie!
“Do you like that?” the woman asked. Do I ever, he thought to himself.
“Uh, like what?” he asked. The party music thumped over her, “… sex on the beach”
Excuse me? Oh, the drink, he realized miserably.
“it’s a delicious substitute for the real thing,” he said loudly.
“You might like a long, slow screw against the wall,” she said. Was she flirting? Would I ever! The man blushed and sputtered in his drink, which dribbled down his chin. If only that were a proposition instead of a beverage. He decided to try his luck.
“Can I buy you a drink after work, maybe something with more innocent connotation, a coke perhaps?” The beautiful waitress looked him over.
“You’re not really my type,” She confessed. But you’re my type, he thought silently.
“What’s your uhh?” he asked all casual.
“Type? Usually young, dumb and hot.”
“Would 29, smart, and ugly suffice for an evening?”
“I suppose I could make just one exception.”
Score! His inner voice shouted.
“I’ll wait for you, after closing.” He finished.
“I’ll see you after work.”she said with a mischevious smile, leaving to wait on other tables. You dog you! He inwardly congradulated myself. What a hottie potatie!
(Photo courtesy of Google and may be subject to copywrite)
The Obsidian Song
Listen intent to the obsidian song,
of wing'd ravens in their throngs
They gather in the hemlock grove,
to discuss a treasure trove
of knowledge gathered throughout ages,
of regal faeries and their sages,
of nights spent beneath glittering stars,
of the vexations and spoils of wars,
of raccoons playing in the stream,
of iron beasts, breathing steam,
of deer, white tails coyly flashing
of canid teeth, grinding, gnashing,
of little black babies in the trees
leaping about from knee to knee.
Corvus Corax is ever learning,
gathering knowledge in his yearning,
he plucks the eyes of the fatted calf,
while cackling a solemn laugh.
of wing'd ravens in their throngs
They gather in the hemlock grove,
to discuss a treasure trove
of knowledge gathered throughout ages,
of regal faeries and their sages,
of nights spent beneath glittering stars,
of the vexations and spoils of wars,
of raccoons playing in the stream,
of iron beasts, breathing steam,
of deer, white tails coyly flashing
of canid teeth, grinding, gnashing,
of little black babies in the trees
leaping about from knee to knee.
Corvus Corax is ever learning,
gathering knowledge in his yearning,
he plucks the eyes of the fatted calf,
while cackling a solemn laugh.
(Photo courtesy of Google Picture Search and may be subject to copywrite)
The Wee Bee
A field of flowers, green sinew,
sacred towers, past I flew,
until I came unto a flower
surpassing others in the power
of it's scent and in I went
to gather nectar, and now spent,
I return unto my honeyed nest,
beyond field, and over the crest
of yonder hill,
oh what a thrill
it is to be a little bee
with pungent nectar inside of me.
sacred towers, past I flew,
until I came unto a flower
surpassing others in the power
of it's scent and in I went
to gather nectar, and now spent,
I return unto my honeyed nest,
beyond field, and over the crest
of yonder hill,
oh what a thrill
it is to be a little bee
with pungent nectar inside of me.
(Photo courtesy of Google Search and may be subject to copywrite)
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The Golem
Life on earth comes from heat,
whether from the sun or beneath our feet.
And humans know a greater heat
that makes our hearts take jumps and leap.
And for the worms, there is the cool
dank darkness, cold and cruel.
For the gods there is heat still,
the heat of battle upon the hill
which is the human soul, who's heat
Is a man's character, his mete.
Heat's a part of human life,
our bodies, love and even strife.
Life is a matrix of elements aligned.
The elements of life are living in kind.
Water and electricity mix
to create life, and also fix
the many little bits of sand,
minerals, rocks, and the land
into beautiful things, with wing or horn.
What is life before the form?
Do I stand before you dead, self glorified but nothing more today
than an automaton of heat, water, electricity and clay?
whether from the sun or beneath our feet.
And humans know a greater heat
that makes our hearts take jumps and leap.
And for the worms, there is the cool
dank darkness, cold and cruel.
For the gods there is heat still,
the heat of battle upon the hill
which is the human soul, who's heat
Is a man's character, his mete.
Heat's a part of human life,
our bodies, love and even strife.
Life is a matrix of elements aligned.
The elements of life are living in kind.
Water and electricity mix
to create life, and also fix
the many little bits of sand,
minerals, rocks, and the land
into beautiful things, with wing or horn.
What is life before the form?
Do I stand before you dead, self glorified but nothing more today
than an automaton of heat, water, electricity and clay?
(Image courtesy of Google and possibly subject to copyright)
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
The Longest Journey
Steel blue waves roll in.
The wet wind kisses my skin
goodbye, sirens chant an ocean song,
singing “wait for me, I won’t be long,
bring me on your journey far,"
The day conceals the invisible star,
that guides me on my journey hence,
to and fro and whence
I came I must return
to the fire, a phoenix burned
to ashes, scattered at sea
upon waves eternal, rolling home to thee.
(Image courtesy of Google and may be subject to copywrite)
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