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Literature Text
old man River didn’t like the idea of dying,
not one the tiniest bit.
and he tried and tried with all he had,
to find some escape, some freedom.
But fear’s too strong when it comes to that.
We all call death. It can make grown men cry,
and mothers throw their kids the quicker route to hell
so this old man River decided he’d rather die on his
own terms, so he ate his apple a day. Fresh, picked.
They say an old red apple fell on old man River’s head.
Killed him dead, they said.
An old wives tale that no old wives tell.
not one the tiniest bit.
and he tried and tried with all he had,
to find some escape, some freedom.
But fear’s too strong when it comes to that.
We all call death. It can make grown men cry,
and mothers throw their kids the quicker route to hell
so this old man River decided he’d rather die on his
own terms, so he ate his apple a day. Fresh, picked.
They say an old red apple fell on old man River’s head.
Killed him dead, they said.
An old wives tale that no old wives tell.
Literature
Older
Time is a lonely bastard child. I know
how it feels.
I explore the spaces inside, moist hollows
where the angels once worked
their mischief. Strange
what you can grow accustomed to. I probe
the old scar tissue: smooth, numb
in places. I imagine I can feel
their shades, tactile afterimages: a zombie
reflex, a longing
for a longing. It pulls
at the center of my chest.
I miss the certainty of need.
I examine new possibilities, take
steps, show interest, craft a proposition,
cut a book deal. I have always been honest,
good
for others, even at my worst. I read. I write.
I observe, offer advice. Business is easy
to come by.
I have my way with w
Literature
Out from Under You
When I was four, my grandparents’ house started sinking into Halfway Bay. It was a slow process, but it started with a bang.
I was playing in the front yard when a horrible sound of sliding stone hit me. A four-inch-wide crack had split the ground in front of me, leaving the house separated from the rest of the land.
My grandmother was busy removing the blooms from the annuals when the yard split. She jumped up and ran to me when the ground broke.
“Are you all right?” she gasped.
“Yes,” I said. I was fine. It was grandma that didn’t look all right. Her face was too pale and she was breathing hard. I thought s
Literature
on not knowing.
this road was ten miles long.
i traveled barefoot.
Suggested Collections
This is magnificently old. I don't remember when I wrote it, but I just touched it up and decided to submit it.
© 2009 - 2024 Broken-Poet
Comments3
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O.o I dunno what to say but "wow"! And "I've been neglecting your gallery, forgive me, my liege!". You always have such a nice, crisp story-telling style. It's quite refreshing.