Minding Naught and Seeing Zilch

“That is the eternal folly of man. To be chasing after the sweet flesh, without realizing that it is simply a pretty cover for the bones.” ~ Neil Gaiman

Fear no skull,
child, bleached bones don’t lie.
Grinning flesh
with hard eyes?
Yes, mind the real reaper—
wails ooze through his teeth.

The child laughed,
following the flesh
and the grin,
minding naught
and seeing zilch, missing all
hints of the past kills.

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the wee notes…
– Bastet, over at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie, is reading two of my favorite books (American Gods and Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman). Since these novels are part of a series where my beloved Gaiman weaves fantastically dark urban legends around the myths of old and new gods, Bastet invites us to conjure our own tall tale or poem. I found inspiration in the quote at the beginning of this post and a pair of prescription glasses I saw sprouting out of a naked tree.
– This is my first dance with Shadorma, a poetic form consisting of a 6-line stanza presented as such: (3/5/3/3/7/5). The form is alleged to have originated in Spain. The form is short and asks for no rhyme. So… you’ll probably see more of them around here. Also, they can be linked together to create a shadorma series.
–  Linked to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry, 342.

yep, it seems someone went home in a blur

Sparkles and Hope

The shine in his eyes spoke of intensity born from new love, or old hate. “What has happened to you, Lamb?” She used to smile when he called her that. Now, she wanted to grab the word and ram it down his throat. “It was always you and me against this vermin-ridden world, my Lamb. When we met—”

“When we met, you promised to coat me with sparkles and fill me with hope,” she said. “I didn’t realize the sparkles would come from chains, or that the hope would seep into my bones through the holes you would stab into my flesh.” She watched her words skinning off pretense. Control was alien to his mask.

“You don’t know what you think you’re doing. You can’t win this game.” He took a step towards her.

She widened her stance and bared her teeth. “If you think this is a game, you should look again and try to figure out who the ignorant player might be. When we met, I said I was tired of being a slave to war and pain. I never meant that I wouldn’t fight for freedom.”

“Sit down, woman!”

The knife came out of nowhere. One moment, he was standing in front of her—lips puckered tightly and skin tinged with a sickly shade of rage—then blade and man rushed towards her, aiming for her womb.

Her body remembered. She placed one arm over the old scar, and used the other to smack him in the nose. “No,” she said, smacking him again when he tried to take another step. “No. You are done. Go.”

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a wee note…

– Linked to The Twiglet #4 (“When we met”) and to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie #145.

“Painful”, by Natalia Drepina