Tag Archives: words

Gratitude: Part 13

Today I am grateful for:
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Conception

Yet another idea I’d had at the top of the Challenge, Conception was always going to be between two sperm and an ovum. A recent news report on NPR about vice-presidential candidate Paul Ryan’s backing of a bill that would classify zygotes as persons led the play to take on a whole new dimension. Clearly, I kind of think that deeming a single-cell as a fully-righted human being is bullshit. Also pre-conception conception in Arizona would be extremely humorous if it weren’t so utterly senseless.

At any rate, this one here’s a comedy, and certainly has its moments. Took a longer turn than I expected, as did the ending rounding up. A little research at the tail of it yielded the possibility, although the unlikelihood of it (I think writers thrive in low probability fields). Regardless, I think it all tied up together nicely at the end. Also, completed at 3 in the morning at a Blackjack table in downtown Las Vegas, so there’s that to boot.

Please enjoy,

-Mick

God Calling

So I’m sitting on my couch trying to write “Slammed” when there’s a knock on my door. I take a gander through the peephole and see a guy that sort of looks like someone who works for my apartment complex. The guy turns out not to be from my complex, but a proselyte for a Christian organization in town who put on plays and concerts, all with, and I would expect no different, a Jesus-theme.

Now, I have spoken to the representatives of this particular organization in front of my apartment before, and every time when I refuse their fliers they get very high and mighty, and fire and brimstone-y. I try and be polite, refuse and just close the door, but they always try to make me feel bad for not believing in Jesus, and they always let me know that I’ll be going to Hell because of it, sometimes raving about such through the closed door.

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Slammed

Among other things, I am a slam poet – a breed of slam poet that is also an actor, which lends a lot of theatricality to my work. It had occurred to me in the past that there is a great opportunity to be strove to through combining theater and performance poetry: this is my first attempt at combining the two.

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An Incomplete Explanation – NaPoWriMo #18

For Taylor, with apologies for being a grouch.

Being in love is:

Nervousness creeping in your fingers, twirling around themselves, trying too hard to keep still and gesticulate at the same time; being afraid that you’ll somehow scare the other person off.

Secreting kisses, pilfered passion, like a tort out a pastry shop from right beneath the baker’s nose, who set them out purposefully, hoping you would come and gobble them up all the while.

Sometimes moving too quickly, despite yourself and your intentions and your mother’s voice warning you about how you wear your heart on your sleeve.

Getting your heart a bit bruised so that you can show your scars to your real love who will love you all the more for them.

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Lusterless Buttresses

II

Lusterless, the words twisted on the page and slowly filled the writ’ with rage,
desiring grander intricacies between those words and thoughts,
between the found and sought,
betwixt the sympathetic and the visages they wrought.

Recluses obtuse in the use of the spruced,
drank juice and hoped that the  world would deduce
dalliances deliberate in the daily aspirations that had been met with cessation,
for sanity, though that eluded too, when on those actuations in his memory on still he drew,
clueless, careless, crafting conformity in cajoling quarantines,
more than sees, explored the seams, ceaseless in their seducing sorrows,
and in the space between them he had sought surcease to borrow.

Hallow harbinger with hollow bones adorns the pallid bust above the door,
he’s left it all alone, as beyond the door he roamed, driven to seek it evermore.

The Better Part of Valor

Never heard the word,
though if there is anything here to learn
it’s that once the fire’s all but burned
the cold will yet again return.

Ache, more than one might take
once loving eyes now cast away in pain,
grains of sighs where once they shone with pride, lost finding love in their bright alight.

Woe, you really ought to go,
wrought this, so why still do you dote
heart, still torn apart with hope
you dashed on rocks and hung with rope?

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