like water with the wind,
their strands were all dissected,
their hands and hearts were pinned,
their pasts were resurrected-
they made stamps out of their sins,
their walls were white and washed they never
blinked to see a picture
their calls quietly severed
they never stopped to think it injured
their paws did lose all padding
their gaze did lose adding
like water in the wind
their strands were all dissected
they hold their stamps out heavy
they fold their arms as levee
they close their eyes as curtains
they draw their mind for shelter
Tag Archives: Water
Just add water
to words.
what are, to
words.
let them
dilute
disintegrate
dissolve like
water
to words.
Here, this mind above
beats to and fro an
air-balloon celebrating
space celebrating space
celeb rating spa ce
si see it is
filled with water
these words
drowned
irrelevance
relevance long gone
evaporated beneath
a humid sun
water face
words or no words
here I am
seeking too hard
to understand
steps stomp into
mud
in a fit
leaving a
mark
and a hit
in the mind
and still the
silence
speaking is
stark
undefined
and music only
sounds like
even matter
lost and flat and
indifferent or
something like that
I wish my face
was water that
dissolved the world
more easily
The Elephant Parade
No one knew where they came from. They only knew that it was while the weather had turned unusually strange. It had begun raining in sheets; walls of quantimous amounts of water cascading mercilessly as if someone had turned the tap on at max from above.
It’s only a little rain, many had thought, expecting it to end soon, that the grey ceiling their tin-box city had newly incorporated would soon dispel in the wind. Days passed, however, and the rain fell unfaltering. The clouds only gathered and condensed into darker greys and fiercer water bullets; the walls of rain became brick walls. People began breathing in water instead of air. When the first death by drowning was announced people stayed indoors more, waiting it out, the brave few who had to leave covered their mouths with masks before facing the screaming new only to return quickly with pellet bruises from the rain’s force. The rain didn’t stop, those sheets of white-metal water fell and fell, blinding the city and isolating everyone within their own islands.
It was on the third day the elephants stepped out of these sheets of rain. Nobody knew where they came from; the zoo creatures had all been safely locked away and accounted for. Nobody saw them clearly, they could only just make out their silhouettes stampeding through the streets of new york, as they peered through their tin-box windows. They heard the elephants trumpets bellow beneath the roaring rain.
..currently reading Stephen King-11.22.63, I’ve noticed that whatever I read tends to influence the tone of my writing (have not find ‘my own’ voice yet), my descriptions are also influenced (or inspired) by Ray Bradbury, who is a genius and his freedom and brilliance in description give me more confidence and freedom in mine
pandaplatter 