[x]

Flights of Fancy Nature is best seen through a window. Cars are nice, but televisions give a better view. The important thing is to keep a window, any window, between you and wilderness. This is my strictest maxim, a rule of comfort I put aside only once, years ago. I spend most of my life expressing shock when friends say they're going on a hike or planning to camp out.

It took two hours for Leon to convince me to accompany him on a short ride to the hills. I thought it would be safe. Leon was a good friend. Though he knew that particular day was my day to hit the mall and hang out with the gi

Demons are Smarter Than YouThe mist obediently hovers within the binding circle, coming once more and tamely to my call. How raucous it was when first I summoned it! How loudly it roared its name to the ceiling—how silent were the heavens that night. But now it is silent when it arrives, as silent as the heavens when I call, for I have bade it so. With it comes the sulfurous reek of its home and its own pets—a pair of tiny bat-winged imps no larger than my hand—and a deepening of the shadows in my basement conjury.

The fool has cast his spells of summoning again, and never were more clichéd words uttered than in this room. He thinks I am silent because he ordered

rootslike drowned men who have lost their
clothes and faces, they lay suspended
facing the sun and grinning without
eyes through the ripples of the water.

those passing by wonder how they got here,
these homeless men without fingers or toes
long spindly stumps twisting into lost roots:

reaching to the east, to the south,
to the homes they have forgotten.

Imitating NatureThe morning sun streamed through a series of large plate glass windows lining the library's east wall, its rays warming the room's wooden paneling and illuminating the cavernous space. Tall bookshelves stuffed with literature from across the world towered over polished oak reading tables, each furnished with a plain, green-shaded banker's lamp. On the far side, a massive painting gracing the west wall depicted the solemn face of Saint Patrick, whose protective presence could be felt watching over the library's sole visitor.

All was perfectly quiet, save for a tap, tap, tapping that echoed in the otherwise silent room. Seated at a desk near t

Submerged in Swan Lake

Swans and wings are floating by
on a breeze imbued with jasmine and
willows outstretching their arms in welcome.

Through deep breaths he arrives
plunged in murky, pungent water.
A quiet whisper, and he prays -

"Please... may I linger here?"

Willows lower their arms
and jasmine falls to the Earth
where the wind dies and finally rests.

The crows are cawing hymns,
begging to be swans.
But only the duck submerged in Swan Lake
has delved the desired shore.

Its waters dangerous and plagued
by monsters baring their teeth;
most ghastly and putrid they are
that no crow may ripple its surface
nor any songbird seeking beauty fair.

The Swan M

This Common BloodI am young when I first hear the word 'adoption'. I am so very young, perhaps three, maybe four. I accept it easily when my mother sits me down and explains that I did not grow beneath her heart, but rather in it. I nod my head, smile big, and ask when I'm getting a little sister. My mother kisses me on the forehead and puts her hand on my head as she stands up. "If you wish on a star, Sarah, maybe she will be here very soon." I practice my wishing until night's companions wink merrily in the sky.

Dear Anna,
I turned seventeen just recently. I thought of you when I woke up, and I wondered if you were thinking of me. I like to think that you

on commuting with no hurrythere you go
lighting matches in the rain,
walking with two feet
that the gods gave you
because they cannot walk,

heading home as if with news
of some miraculous disaster,

counting the steps between yourself
and the clouds that disappeared
behind the grey veil of October.

thunder and lightning unfold
so close above

and you dream of a destination
somewhere in the south

where birds and stormy weather coexist.

behind you there is nothing,
running water will erase
every footprint you have left
on the dark sand of this metropolis.

before you there is distance,
enough to live your life
in a constant state of travel,

but not n

grassy field with rustgrassy field with rust
--------------------------

I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there, just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at th

Epitaph for an Old Italian WomanWe walk into the apartment building. The building for old people.
It smells like old people.
We silently take the elevator to the second floor; her room is 205. Mom has the key, so she opens the door. The apartment is so empty. No little old ladies with white hair and a waggling crooked finger.
Empty.
There's still newspaper on the floor by the door. Mom and I remove our shoes and put them on the newspaper, lest her ghost throw shoes at us. Or, maybe, hit us with a broom. She never did it to me, but Mom says she used to.
The pantry is full of food; mostly Fig Newtons. We always brought her Italian cookies when we came to visit, but she'd make us eat them while we were there. We would insist they were for her, but what good were cookies without someone to share them with? Italian cookies, Fig Newtons, and tea.
The cookie jar on the counter is full of tea bags. You could never have Italian cookies and Fig Newtons without

SolsticeOnce upon a time, when you were still sunlighthouses and shimmering existence wherever you were needed most, you found him. He was November, shaky on his first last legs, and you saw through the mind-twistings he feigned to the mind-twistings that were really there, knotted up in his dreams.

You were still birdsong then, and thunderstorms, and your bodyheat melted the frost claws that held him tight. You held onto him as his November deepened. When he howled, you howled with him, and the wind played with your voices and pressed the softness of your lungs against your cageribs—and then against each other's.

November became solstice, and

mia culpa, mia miasmaI'm still counting chromosomes and odd numbers
still playing hopscotch over the symmetry
of your shoulder blades, your whispers
skipping 'cross the seventy percent water
the one forty proof rum, still running
running sheep
until we can sleep,
we,
that thing they called relationship
something common, like counting
rocks at the bottom of a wishing well.
I am slipping through, sliding into
a seamless cervix, and she's serving
throat lozenges in the mean time,
mean time and mean country
serving time in this union, this marriage,
they served cough and coffee
held the Capricorn, held up the register
held the infant to the sag

Across the Sea and Around the KotatsuSpring

Taco Rice

Mom starts with rice. Japanese rice, one, two, three Japanese cup-fulls of rice grains into the cooker, because Sis eats a lot of this stuff. It's one of her favorite dishes, taco rice, and Mom's always happy to make it for her because it's the only way Sis will eat her tomatoes. But back to the rice. "You want to rinse at least three or four times, until the water's kind of clear," Mom says as she cups her hand under the cooker pot, letting the cloudy water wash over her hand.

Rice cooking's easy though – just fill enough water to the point the rice's covered, punch in a time (or set it to "Quick Cook," which with our cre

sunrise, yulethis was the year of traditions begun. the world still dark, the morning still early, i climbed into my uncle's car. we drove out to the ocean, where the rippling sea fuses with the sky. white-headed eagles were perched still in trees. they cocked back their heads, opened their hooked mouths and screamed.

across an empty parking lot where once a cat had followed us. over driftwood pale with frost and sand hardened by the cold, we walked. our breath came out of us in thin plumes. it rose above us and hung there like smoke signals to the gods.

there were gulls on the water, gulls sifting through sand, gulls with their grey backs and fa

Cheap fix, 360Unbound structure;
unhinged bones
locked together
with unsymmetrical
unfit screws.

None of these are meant to be here.
They are
cheap and shaven
and the
grooves are rusted.

There is no tool that can pull them out without breaking,
without collapsing
the planned out
unintended construction.

We had the instructions sure
and all the parts
but
in our fumble,
in the exchange of hands
of ALL the people who
intended to help us;

in all the accidents

(and

no one at fault
or
taking fault
for all our faults)

some fell beneath the table
underneath the drawer
into dark unreachable corners
so we worked with what we

SomedayJane and Ellis floated parallel to one another across the vast canvas of space, eyeing the marble-like planets that slowly crept past them. Their skin reflected the starlight with a dull orange sheen. Ellis had called it 'planet gazing,' an activity he apparently thought suitable for a date.

"Do you see that one below us?" Ellis said, pointing to a round blue mass.

Jane shrugged.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked. "I'll bet it's beautiful on the surface, too. Like the way the dust begins to spiral when a star is forming."

"Something like that," Jane said. She didn't understand his excitement. Planets were nothing interesting. They were just

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Iridescent HellIn the lightest of the light did I dwell,
Blind to the dark, achromatic
Bound in my own iridescent hell,
A frigid hell, the ice emphatic.

I glimpsed him walk, some optical spell,
A shade on the walls, ecstatic,
His laughter like the tinkling of the bells,
His breath as a chemical, miasmatic.

Soon, my terror lifts me, compels,
Tells me of some place, ataractic.
But that devil glides by, my terror wells,
And he wears some mock dalmatic.

I breath my last as life expels,
The blended white, a silent operatic,
A fleeting symphony of yells,
This scintillating hell, panchromatic,

I am under the Devil's spell,
Bound in this iridescen

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The Reaper's Loot

by ~Mordial33, Nov 19, 2012, 1:31:26 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Urban & Spoken Word

Of war, of war this day I write,
Of battle and blood that is shed in the night,
Of cries and screams of blood and pain,
I wish this night to become day's light.

The pain, the pain of the killing pursuit,
The scars etched upon berserker brutes,
The hate and fear of fire and lead,
I see the fruit of the reaper's loot.

Oh fire, oh fire and destruction's start,
Oh copper and lead seeking the foes' hearts,
Oh flesh and bone you sought to rend,
And as their souls depart,

The devil sees your new art.

The Reaper's Lootby ~Mordial33

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Urban & Spoken Word

This is a poem I wrote for...

's Rememberance Day Contest

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Given 2012-12-01

The Reaper's Loot by ~Mordial33 ( Featured by `thorns )

love 3 3

joy 17 17

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

sad 1 1

fear 1 1

~~neutral 0 0~~

~Si1verwing Mar 6, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Wow. This is great. I wish I could say more than that, but I can't really put it into words.

~Mordial33 Mar 6, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you very much! I'm glad you liked it!

~Si1verwing Mar 6, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

You're welcome.

~realartist123 Jan 28, 2013 Student Writer

Fucking. LOVE IT

~realartist123 Jan 30, 2013 Student Writer

What I think attracts me to it is how you used specific language to make the poem sound "old" like a ritual being chanted by a witch after a bloody medieval battle. It gives your poem this folklore feel that I really like.

Other than that, I like it just because it's grim, dark, and sinister. Hope that helped.

~Mordial33 Jan 29, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you very much! If you don't mind me asking, what did you like about it? Was there anything in particular? Thanks again!

~crimsonlegion Dec 15, 2012

really nice my friend, well done

~Mordial33 Jan 29, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you very much for the wonderful comment! It is much appreciated!

~Deus-Suetonius Dec 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

definitely worth the DD <3 beautiful.

~Mordial33 Dec 14, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Thanks man! Much appreciated!

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