In Preparation for the Great Robot WarsThe sun which glints off steel and chrome
Refracted by the superdome
Constricts the pupils of professor
Who teaches bolts and volts and ohm
Through their masks the students wonder
of grassy knolls, ravines asunder
Geology’s of no import
While skies are loud with robot thunder
Gerund and interabang?
Of utile ore there lies the gangue
We learn the language of the drill
and iron claw with copper tang
We train our students by the score
to make scrap of the auto-corps
and extirpate our android fate
In measures for the robot war
A Poem Anent EvilTo balance such dissymmetry
Was fated here soliloquy
(as pigeon is by name a dove,
and philters that by altar wine )
His mingling with this verse, thereof
Makes dissonant polyphony.
Love-pinkened cheek and petal’d prose
(chemical by Bodenstein)
By bloom-robbed breast Hegemone’s
O, mercy for the compass rose !
For East of Here lies Valentine.
Shattered Stories: Lovesick On that fateful night, Fitzwilliam donned his hat of tinfoil, which threw a becoming shadow over his mild features; fixed it at a rakish angle, and stepped outside. Wheatley, the butler, opened a Chinese umbrella to shelter his master, though it was not raining. The waning sun, which stained the landscape port wine, was still quite in danger of ruining Fitzwilliam’s peaches-and-cream complexion. Fitzwilliam was led to his stallion by the butler, all parties presently looking blue as bottles cast beneath the tinted light of the parasol. Wheatley mounted the saddle with style and offered his unemployed hand to Fitzwilliam. The smartly-dressed youth squirmed his way up the horse’s great side, struggling not to get the horse’s horsiness all over his dinner jacket. Nothing spoiled a party quite like the perfume of topical flea medicine layered with laudanum, of which the latter Fitzwilliam dabbed behind his ears for special occasions.
As the noble
Ann Won't EatEmbracing your cello, you take up less space
Than the hollow-boned spruce, bow firm and melodic,
Your hair falling out
All over the strings.
Happy concertos hang on the rafters
Just as you yearned for yourself
A less-permanent proxy for you;
Watching and smiling,
The wooden beams modelling
What we pine for, and though you decline
A ticket to the theater,
Maybe it's possible you can
Find laughter here on the ground-
Because it's funny, like we say all the time
We can't even feed ourselves
How were you supposed to feed the baby?
And maybe it was rape,
But how pure were you to begin with?
You still love him, and
You can't undo that like
He undid you.
It's becoming clearer to me these days
That I won't see you again
Just as I said
Though you didn't really believe that,
It hurts when you're wrong.
So carve your arm up, I love you,
I dare you.
And callous your
Because maybe it's not so flawed
Because wrong can be measured in degrees
Like the cold of your
Winter SweetEyes aglaze; digits icing over
With death in the periphery
An avalanche of downy notes
Flutter by on paper motes
We make snow angels in the dusk
And cake ourselves with frosting coats
AnorexiaOpaque as ocean
Heavy as feather-
Tied to the tether.
Veins that chain
Rip at the wrist!
Bones that bind
Fingers in fist.
For what I can't be-
A soul that can love
What eyes cannot see!
Beast in the KingdomMy watch, a testament to Time, ticks tenaciously. The delicate click of teeth meeting tooth; the beat of a miniature heart. A resonance I recognize from elsewhere-
The mouse lay shivering in the warmth of my palm
The miniscule vessels, chambers, and veins; struggling to pump the precious fluid that slows with every life-shattering breath.
Yes, it is-undoubtedly-the insignificant vibrations of the mouse's beating heart that sound so alike to the timepiece that touches my very veins- both ticking down the time they have left; becoming unwound.
Finding"I wanted nothing more than to grab the envelope and tear it open violently. Nothing has been more excruciating, in my sixty-odd years of existence, than watching Irene unhurriedly study the translucent cerulean envelope, black ink penetrating the waxy paper in places, adorned with stamps of faces marred by the Postal Service. Upon opening the letter, we understand we'd been nothing more than naïve children. We were pawns, utterly disposable."
Helena"I used to wonder, with childlike curiosity, if her hair burned her ears and neck if it were to go unwashed too long. Only on Sunday night, when she bathed, I was convinced the fire was quenched. When she thought no-one was looking, she'd pull out her tortoiseshell hairpins and let her auburn hair flicker in the dimming summer light; we watched, fascinated, through the age-warped windowpanes as they silhouetted a widow aflame."
Restless [Babysitter!Kuroko Tetsuya] [3/10]
RULE NUMBER THREE:
"[Name]-chan, please calm down," he said to the little girl who held his hand and jumped excitedly beside him.
She giggled, untangling her small hands from his grip. "Hey! Where are we going, Tetsu-nii?"
"We're going to see my team-- [Name]-chan, don't climb that bench, please."
"You're going to get hurt. Get down now."
"Aw! You're no fun, Tetsu-nii!" she whined, climbing down from the park bench.
Kuroko sighed, holding out his hand for the sulking five year old to take, but she shook her head at him. Oh, man. Now he upset her, and didn't even know what to do. Get vanilla milkshakes together? No. He had to get to the school gymnasium for practice as soon as possible so he didn't have any time to waste. Okay, maybe he had a little time to waste. For his [Name]-chan.
"Did you want strawberry milk?" he asked, crouching down in front of her and pointing in the direction of a vending machine as they got on school grounds.
The Little Time TravellerIt all begins with a cardboard box; a simple cardboard box. There was nothing special about this brown box with its array of colored lines swirling in no particular direction across the sides; just a canvas for a little boy’s marker collection. In his arms he held Teddy, his protector from the evils in their adventures. Lively blue eyes – filled with a child’s wonder – glanced at his fuzzy friend, a big grin plastered on the young boy’s face.
“That oughta do it,” he said with a nod of his head.
Gathering himself up, he set Teddy down in a chair and made his way to his closet. While sifting through the shirts and trousers, he found his travel attire and presented it to Teddy; a brown newsboy cap, pants, and shoes with a plaid bowtie and suspenders. He also found Teddy’s matching plaid bowtie and a green tweed travelling jacket. Together, they got dressed and assessed their appearance in the mirror.
“We look good, Teddy. Good enough f
Astra"I'm a star!" she declared, with all the solemn seriousness a five year old could muster.
He didn't look up. He was eight, and wasn't interested in frivolities. He was far too grown up for that. "No, you're not."
He could hear the pout in her voice when she adamantly protested. "Am too!"
She was riding on a motorcycle. Her blonde hair spread behind her like a curtain, and her face was buried in the jacket of the person driving. He didn't need to see it, though, to know that she would be smiling, enjoying the blur of speed. He also knew that the smile wouldn't touch her eyes.
He knew nothing of the driver. He wore a helmet, making him one of the nameless, faceless many. He knew she was only along for the ride. She just wanted the thrill, and that was all. If she was happy, she lit up a room.
She burned so brightly that she made his heart ache.
It seemed that they were always spiraling, heading in different directions. She looked tired whenever he saw her, thin and pale. There se
Georgia, 1946"Damp night air and hot summer fear. Looking through the crosshairs while my face caught fire. Flex, shudder, pull, fall. Dust, moonlight, blood. The walk home though the long grass is unbearably uneventful. No serpent to bite or scorpion to sting. Just guilt, silence, dread. Hiss, hiss, the grass screams and clings to your ankles."