Words That We Couldn't Say - The Seatbelts
Feathers and Thorns chapters 9 and 10 posted.
“Farewell Blues”
Just one more time, play those sweet jazz blues.
Nothing vibes like a saxophone crooning a scotch on the rocks.
Nothing hits as hard as the sound of that old name coming around again.
So just one more time babe, sing that song for me.
I See Fire - Jasmine Thompson
Chapters seven and eight of Feathers and Thorns posted.
“Anesidora”
I didn’t watch the world begin, but I might watch it end.
The scent of wafting willows on the breeze was always my favorite.
I used to lie on the grassy hilltop, watching cars drive passed as I dug my toes into the cold, squishy dirt.
The night-clouded sky would burst with glorious splendor as Helios’ gift crest the horizon.
Some days I’d simply drift away, until pangs of hunger rumbling in my belly would nag about things I’d forgotten.
But I never gave up a chance to watch Selene draw her blanket over the dusk, leaving a glittery trail of star-crumbs on her way home.
My mistake was a simple one, like most are.
But no one ever cares about who you were when you become the world’s worst criminal.
So they say.
I liked to smile. I like smiles.
The look on another’s face when my supple skin brushes a little too close to theirs.
So close I’m euphoric in a sea of their light, sweet perfumes and colognes.
They shy away, afraid, but then they see my smile.
People are lonely until you invite them into you.
I don’t think I was ever really “evil.”
Evil-ish, maybe, but in the same way–I think–that most people are “good-ish.”
Whether that’s true at all doesn’t change much: I found the jar.
The way hot, cheesy pepperonis stick between your teeth is how I know love.
I’ve met dazzling people–some for whom the word “rapture,” is now reserved.
And there have been some whom I’d just as soon forget, and probably have.
Other things have happened on occasion: sunrises with friends on the lawn, the ocean pier at sunset, so many day dreams I’ll never remember.
But there has always been, and ever shall be, sticky sweet pizza.
When it was all said and done, there was only one thing left.
I’m guessing by now you know what it is.
You’ve heard the story, I’m sure.
There’s just one small thing: I lied.
The jar is empty.
Really wanna know what’s left?
Me. The world’s worst criminal.
Good luck.
King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men
First draft of Emarosa is done.
Starting the first round of revisions and edits, so expect the posted stuff to change sooner or later.
May have to remove it at some point if it gets picked up for anything, so there’s that too.
Chapters five and six posted.
“Vintage Skies“
Cracks in the curtain invite burning rays of light into crusty, bed-ridden eyes.
The stomach’s growl preaches no forgiveness for a lazy boy on a lazy morning.
Through the window he casts a glance to clear, vintage skies.
He’ll never know if they glance back.
The day begins like a day begins.
Warm tea sparks the fire in his Irish Cream eyes.
Radio breaks the radio silence, singing songs it’ll always sing.
A stuffed puppy on a cabinet; in his mind it sings along.
Toward the fridge he turns, a calendar with expired days left unmarked.
In the margin lies a note: “Good morning hun.”
There’s probably more to the story than the greeting implies.
But on the bottom a drawing with the caption, “See You Space Cowboy.”
Sizzling eggs came and went, their aroma drifting through an open screen door.
The weatherman should’ve taken a day off, ‘cause them clear skies are rainin’ awful hard.
Or was that tomorrow? And yesterday’s tomorrow, or the day before?
Gets harder to tell them apart.
An overlit room grows dim in the afternoon.
That’s a time best reserved for porches.
And the clouds go by like time never was.
Time was, they never would.
In between, some things happen and some things don’t.
Yet the sun grows tired or the Earth grows turn-y, and it’s time for another tomorrow.
Before long (how long was it) aging bones find their way to an expanse of a bed always welcoming.
And those crusty, bed-ridden eyes hide themselves away until tomorrow.
Santa Monica Dream - Angus & Julia Stone
To a friend moving on to the next page–best of luck.
Otherwise, Feathers and Thorns chapter four posted.
“Clara”
You were fear pacing through uninvited thoughts.
Before we met you, we knew you only by the remainder of space misplaced.
When omniscience strikes it bears no warning, for you should know already.
Are we built around you, or for you?
Mattering matters.
To caress an angel is to learn both glory and sorrow.
The same lesson burns bright upon a pyre.
Things otherwise bountiful to life with such lackluster intensity.
Passion and fire are not the same, but try to convince a paramour.
Try to be a paramour.
Some say nothing’s sad until it’s over, and then everything is.
Some say time heals all wounds, and quitters never win.
You thought you could be angry, but we weren’t worth the fight.
We dreamt you were our life sentence, and we could want no possibility of parole.
And so the world turns.
Killers murder because they must, and lovers do the same.
Yet the word Soldier means either, depending on your name.
Close your eyes and look around.
You’ve already wished so many hopes for the last time, and still you’re waiting.
When have you ever reached tomorrow?
Carry On Wayward Son - Kansas
Happy Valentines’ month to you.
May you cherish those close, and appreciate the blessings that linger.
Chapter 3 of Feathers and Thorns posted.
The Good, The Bad And The Dirty - Panic! At The Disco
Site was down for a bit earlier for some serious back-end upgrades.
Should be much faster and more reliable now.
Also added some seasonal shiny, but if you spot any kinks, let me know?
Anyway, Feathers and Thorns chapter 2 posted.
Below is the companion piece to something I wrote a while ago entitled Puppy.
There’s always another perspective, even if we never see it.
Because a smile never grins without tears to begin.
“Of Mine”
I walked away from my puppy true,
Because I didn’t know how to be me without you.
But I could never disappear entirely.
Because I am your friend too.
I watched as you wandered,
Seeing both the joy and fear as you pondered.
Happy to be you, but happier as you found my clues.
Because I’m your friend too.
I know this seems cruel,
But if I never let you go we’d both be the fool,
So even though it pains me, I’ll allow this reverie,
Because I’m your friend too.
This might be a mistake,
Taking risks for growth’s sake,
But I can’t hide the hard choices from you,
Because I’m your friend too.
You’re so brave with all your might,
Though when you jumped the cliff you gave me such a big fright!
My heart stopped when I barely caught you,
But I’ll never let you fall ‘cause I’m your friend too.
We almost went down together (and if we had, it’d be okay),
Because no matter what comes at the end of the day,
I’m always your friend,
And you’re ever mine too.
Don’t Let Them See You Cry - Manchester Orchestra
Getting back into the flow of things.
I hope the New Year has been treating you well, and you’re well on your way to where ever it is you’d like to explore.
First chapter of Emarosa, Act II: Feathers and Thorns, posted.
“Kintsugi”
Sammy Dean wet his jeans on the first day of school.
He later aced the SATs and went on to become a football star,
But to those who knew him best,
Sammy Dean wet his jeans on the first day of school.
You know when you know, but up until that moment you’re never quite sure.
You’ve been mistaken so many times before, and deceived on top of that.
Things are easier when you don’t care, but then they’re just things.
Trusting comes hard when you’d rather think about what’s for dinner.
I adore the girls who are always cold and still trying to save that warmth.
Never been able to get close to fire without getting burned.
I remind myself that every day is that “Just one more day,”
and I’ve never lost the lust for the taste of one good, deep breath.
You’re sort of aware of everything around you,
as much as it relates to your schedule.
But you never stop to really admire yourself anymore.
Not like you did when you were a kid.
Jenny Lee and her army of three never walk alone.
Strength in numbers keep their rivals at bay,
But no one’s ever known who they are.
Jenny Lee and her army of three never walk alone.
Daughters - John Mayer
So this was supposed to have posted a couple weeks ago, but my automated posting systems apparently need some work…
Anyway!
—
Out for a couple weeks, but today’s my daughter’s birthday.
In honor of that, the first interlude for Emarosa, The Willow in the Wood, is posted, along with a poem for her.
“For My Daughter”
You are, of course, beautiful.
But no one cares about that.
Beauty is a dime a dozen, my dear,
and if you get caught up in it you’ll surely lose yourself.
You are, without a doubt, strong.
But people can’t see inside you.
No one will ever know the things that burn within,
But if you’re lucky, a precious few will try.
You are, most certainly, clever.
But wit alone doesn’t mean much if you don’t know how to use it.
If you have to tell everyone how great you are,
You probably aren’t.
You are, in no unclear terms, loved.
But it won’t always feel like it.
There will be days darkness looms in the skies above,
And it’ll take all you have to keep looking forward.
Most of all, you are my daughter.
But you’re no longer a child, and it’s time you found the world.
Whatever path you choose, do it with confidence, and do it with grace.
Your life’s my gift as mine is yours, don’t put it waste.
To All Of You (acoustic) - Syd matters
Merry New Years Eve!
The rest of Emarosa and the Sea of Dragonfire has been posted (chapter 9 and chapter 10).
This completes Act I.
There are two more acts, as well as two interludes to look forward to for the New Year.
All the best.
Love Myself - Hailee Steinfeld
Happy Summer-like Christmas and other assorted holidays!
New Emarosa (chapter 8) posted, and short story added entitled Broken Angels.
All the best.
“Broken Angels”
The crusty old man, no more wise than bitter, took his seat at an empty evening diner on the edge of town. Whether he’d been there before was of no great consequence (for he himself could not recall); the place held a distinct, I shouldn’t be here but what the hell, feeling. It was the sort of place you’d end up when you’ve reached the end of your road. The 20s, or maybe 30s something waitress, appeared equal parts amused and amazed at the crusty man’s furious, bushy eyebrows as he seated himself at the counter.
“What can I get’cha?” she asked.
“Coffee. Black,” he grunted.
He stared out the window as he waited, the sun riding the mountain ridges chasing the dusk. His disposition faded with the daylight. Before long ceramic clinked from the counter, his coffee mug steaming before him.
“What brings ya out ‘ere?” the waitress asked.
“Dunno,” he murmured, burning his chapped lips at the sip.
“Yeah, we get that a lot.” She leaned on the counter opposite of him, receiving no great notice.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here…” the crusty codger wondered aloud.
The man kept his gaze on the window, watching watercolors spill across the skyline as the mountains finally defeated the day. Tiny specks grew more daring by the minute, sprinkling across the empyrean, heralding Luna to begin her ascent. The waitress grinned a halfhearted grin, watching the weary traveler with interest.
“I dun’ think anyone s’pose ta’ be here. We jes’ are.” The waitress remarked.
“It isn’t that. It’s different. I really think I’m not meant to be anywhere…” He insisted, his million-yard stare unable to pierce his cooling coffee.
“It’s always diff’ernt luv. But here ya’ are,” she smirked, her eyes aglow in the hum of the illuminating fluorescent sign now lighting the window.
The old coot with crusty brows snorted. He rose from his stool, digging through obviously empty pockets. His face turned flush the longer his fingers scrambled about his trousers, his furious brows softening into something closer to sullen. Perhaps even pathetic.
The waitress simply smiled, and came around the counter. With her hands on her hips, her face shifted into a I’ve told you so many times before scowl that you’d find only on an old friend that knew even your dumbest secrets. The man lowered his head in shame. The waitress came up behind the old codger, wrapping her arms around him as she leaned her chin over his shoulder. Clearly taken aback, the man did his best to look to her.
“No worries luv,” she spoke as, with a single finger, she gently nudged his face toward a Help Wanted sign collecting dust in the window. “If ya’ got nowhere ta’ be anyway, may as well be ‘ere,” she gave him a loving kiss on the cheek as she took his coffee back to fetch a refill. When she returned, she found bushy brow’s cheeks glistening. He sighed. Looking up to her through moist eyes, he stammered as he tried to get the words out.
“I’m sorry. Honestly, I’ve got nothing left. I just–” the waitress placed her finger on his burnt, chapped lips.
“Hush luv. We all go ta’ places like that sooner or later. But we don’t have ta’ do it alone.”
She took a seat next to the old man, pouring a cup for herself as the scars decorating her wrists became apparent. She turned to him, listening to stories of days past he could scarcely remember, of foolish dreams in which he might still believe.
After some time, she shared her own stories of life, work, and the things most people don’t discuss, turning cups of coffee into a lingering kindness. Whether they recalled each other’s names in the morning no could really say, but one thing’s for sure: though neither were well-met to make it through the day, they’d carried one another through another otherwise endless night.