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Bother "Y'all, you're from Red Haw, ain't you."
There were several more like him in the waiting room. Their skin marked by sun or a lack of moisture, some in house shoes, one woman without a bra. Children eating potato chips. A baby crying. A black family had taken to a corner of the room, stretching over several chairs, by the window. Rain slid down the glass. By the coke machine, a Choctaw woman which Anna found odd. The entire emergency room was odd, small, the air like pulled cotton. The young man in front of her and her husband, Bear, wore a torn T-shirt, a skull of some sort across the front, dirty jeans on, the knees worn out, stains of oil, grease, down the length of his legs. He looked the sort: a mechanic. His fingernails were filthy. Bear didn't want to shake his hand, but he did, because he was from Red Haw. "You live by the church, yeah? I seen you there. I was born there. I'm Liddy Jennerson's boy, Jasper. I got baptized in that church. You used to play the piano, up there, didn't you." Bear's wife, Anna, "He still does. I hope you and your family are well." "Little one there, the girl, she been coughing too much, and then my wife, but we’re all good,” Liddy Jennerson’s boy, Jasper, said. Anna helped Bear into one of the awful yellow plastic chairs. There was nothing to do now but sit by them. She never dropped her smile. A chair or two down from them, not by them. "Bear's heart. He has a-fib, it'll flutter now and then. A small worry, but we take no chances." The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
MonstersWouldn't it be great if, Monsters came blundering out of the woods, Announcing themselves the crackling hisses of dead leaves carpeting their steps, And the violent crunching of forsaken limbs strewn about the ground, More often than they come slithering out of the woodwork, And out of our closets, As they clink champagne glasses, With cobweb-cloaked skeletons on their way out? Wouldn't it be convenient if, Monsters' tracks never strayed in the mud's memory, Or erased from the shore by a conspiratorial breath? After all, how can one trace their path of destruction that doesn't exist? Then, all that stands between you and the rest of the world is, Your words, Because they do not count as "evidence" to anyone but those who believe them. But no... The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Hum Rapture! I feel thy embrace! Opulent colors swirl as they race Sunshine, to the fields that hold All things of fragrance and taste bud gold. Loveliest creature, timid to touch, but Ingrained with what nature Enchants. I see so much Youth in the world, beginnings so bright Out where the forests hum and ignite Under azure skies. Humming, humming, No rest for the weary, Gentle bird with wings so blurry. #Unreal #Poetry #JessyTurner #ElizabethGilliamHedgepath #Nature #Painting #Scarlet #Innocence #Flight Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Constructing the Natural and the Unnatural The basis for my collage work is to construct and assemble existing picture elements from newspapers, magazines, and print media in the traditional way: with scissors, glue and paper to make a new whole architectural image. As a result, I get to create extraordinary landscapes and surreal worlds. The resulting images should lead the viewer to places that blur the natural border between reality and fiction, and whose origin is stylistically and geographically not situated in any particular style. Denis Schäfer was born in 1973 near Frankfurt/Main, Germany and has lived in Berlin since 1996. In addition to starting his museology studies in 2010, he began taking photographs and creating papercollages. He is particularly concerned with depth of field and perspectives in the development of his collage work. #Unreal #FeaturedArtist #Collage #DenisShafer #GermanArtist #Berlin #CollageArt #MixedMedia #PaperArt Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
(Look Up, Spill-O) Spill-O, look up From your discredited blueprints and self-published books. After so many days spent like a bee in a parked car, ignoring the sun and the fruits of friendship. Making dirty jokes about a fallen tree, Criticizing anthills, interrogating flowers, Peeing beside the mentally ill at Barnes and Noble. Blundering through the many rooms of your father’s house and never guessing where you are. The cats and bears lower their heads to pray. Come on, Spill-O, look up. #Unreal #Poetry #ColinDodd #DayDream#Solitude #AdventuresOfSpillO Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Do Not Reply my darling, i can’t come. STOP stella has found out about you and i. STOP i’ve ordered us champagne, i’ve ordered us cigarettes, i’ve even asked for the seaside suite. STOP will you enjoy them for me? STOP as for me, i will be a love-lost barbarian chasing barbiturates with seltzer in our gloomy hometown weather. STOP will you wear the green hat i bought for you? STOP tilt it to the side and you are Marlene Dietrich’s twin. STOP think of me, i will be the bubbles you will drink; i will be the embers in your ashtray; i will be the sand stuck to your towel. STOP cheers, to our our modern romance. STOP #Unreal #Poetry #DenizZeynep #NeelyJohnson #Poem #Photography #Telegram #BrokenHeart #Love#Affair Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Lace Peonies “What do you think, baby girl?” Jenna said as she shoved the parking brake up, grinning at the grand white house on the patch of garish grass. She stepped out of the car, gravel crunching as the wind messed up highlighted blonde hair. Hand cupped over her bright eyes and fair wrinkles, Jenna squished her face to get a better look at her new home. “Darling?”
Belinda emerged from the car, cradling a pink translucent ball impregnated with a hedgehog. Gray eyes blinked jaggedly to the hollow fields marked by the large, cerulean sky that wrapped her. Knee high socks twisted to their shorts epicenter, turning to the house behind her. A ribbon tamed the 60’s flair of her boy short chocolate hair, a cheap feather wisping in the breeze as she peered up the high windows of all three stories. Stormy tiles marked in cake layers on the white wood sidings, windows growing smaller and darker with every level. Belinda meandering gaze ended at the small porch that hardly wrapped to the other side, swallowing with a shiver. “Mom, I don’t like it,” Belinda said, moving the ball to her chest, leaning back to hold Muffin’s ball in balance. “Mom, can’t we go home? I don’t want to stay.” “This is home, baby!” Jenna said, putting her Coach sunglasses over her eyes and holding her daughter by the shoulders to guide her down the cobblestone path. “215 Gatsby Lane: that is our address now, my sweet.” The moment the door slid open to the house, cool air washed over the pair and Jenna sighed, “I didn’t even realize it was hot outside! How wonderful it is in here!” She smiled at the milky walls and pale carpet. The light from outside was drained through the simple glass, and seemingly no harsh color could pass. Belinda ventured on, wide eyes darting every corner and along the ceiling as Jenna blabbed on. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Maiestas The sea is calling you, Maiestas, A thousand voices, deep and dark-- There's an ache here: A chest filled with secrets, breathless. Why must you rule alone? Oleanders cast to sea to remember Times of golden rays on blue; And a soft whispering wind, smiling. The birds know you Singing an ancient song to the moon. Water lapping the shores, Salt and sighing. When the ships of decades pass Guided by your light, A tale is born, in honor Of cold skin and a warm heart Never forgotten. #Unreal #Poetry #CourtneyBarron #Mermaid #DeepSea #SeaFairy #Painting #Whimsical #TheSea Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Urbania The others opt for glass and steel, Concrete ground and rubber wheel; The others want others still, People galore, but none who feel The pangs and pleasures of changing life The Springs and Falls with tumult rife; The others opt for plastic joy, Numb all sorrow with store-bought toy; The others want a surface-life, For on the surface, to deal with strife: Simply paper over, ignore, deny Pure positivity is their life’s-lie. The others lose their human feel, When they choose that glass and steel; Long lost are they who shun the dirt, Hate the blister, fear hard work. Back to the land? a great notion, yes, But on soulless-man, what can Nature impress? And now I write on blinking screen, Pretending the others are not me; I’ve chosen glass and steel before, I’ve lived that rote-life, fought that war, Now, thinking clear, with love in mind, I choose the life that’s ever-kind. We all must opt, we all must choose; We all must want, we all must lose. But comfort is no poison, And pain no panacea. Moderation in all things; Excess: metaphysical diarrhea. #Unreal #Poetry #AndrewJenkins #ElizabethGilliamHedgepath #Consumption #Nature #Human #Unnatural Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Mister Saxophone Man By K.C. Wallace QuailBellMagazine.com Play those dark notes blue Mister Saxophone Man; inflame the belly in my soul, E flat, G sharp, B flat minor me-- let the good times roll. Blow hard Mister Saxophone Man, tell the truth don’t hide the news. Low down Bass notes puncture my heart, don’t deceive, play me the blues. Tell me Mister Saxophone Man: are the blues real, or just a lie? Do you really feel the pain of the ancestors, in your syncopated lines? Don’t stop howling Mister Saxophone Man, speak loud when silence is heard. Mellow notes plunder me, make my heart beat groan. Got the rhythm Mister Saxophone Man, I know what’s going down. Bebop, hip-hop, and my blue suede shoes. It’s the blues, Just telling me the truth. #Unreal #Poetry #KeithWallace #BeBop #Blue s#Music #Soul #Notes #Beat #MisterSaxophoneMan Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. |