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8M Dec 2018
In a time so long ago
There lived a girl
By the name of Octavia

She was shy and mute
Not so much mute,
As just did not like to speak

Her parents were worried
She did well in school

Her social skills


She combed her long black hair at night
Quiet as a mouse
In the small, dark little house
She rested

Her parents had enough
She could not function in society
They locked her up
And told her to stay

She did not mind
After all, there were books
And a comb for her long black hair
To comb at night

Every day, she did just that

The town she lived in
f  orgot  a  bou  t h   e r

Bit by bit
She became unnerved

"Octavia, Octavia,"
She heard the voices say
"Why don't you come out and play?"

She shook her head, and read her book.

The voices stopped, then returned the next day.
Nothing else could be heard

Then, footsteps

Could someone be there for her?


They weren't

Eventually, the voices grew forms

Shadows of children, smiling and laughing
Octavia was wary and bitter
She did not like them
She combed her hair

One of them took the comb and ran
Octavia cried
Her hair would no longer be beautiful
Her beauty would


She paced throughout the room, reading her books
They became boring to her
Reading the same things, over and over again
Her bitterness grew stronger

She saw an old book, torn from time
And tears formed in her eyes
Weeping, she ripped a page out

And then another

And another

and another


more, more

m   o re

All her books were gone
Nothing to do
Except listen to the voices
She knew that they were messing with her
She did not know how to stop them
They held her hand tight
And told her,
"Play, play, don't be scared"

And then, she stopped being scared

Her parents, regret in their hearts
Unlocked the door, and found nothing
Except a girl with unkempt hair
And a trail of ripped pages

She looked at them, and a smirk grew across her face

"Don't you see? I play with the voices, and the voices play with me."
A bit dark.
should they take objection
to the stylish comb others
they'll vacate the others
spot in the

many a time this course
of action has been
where others were so

they weren't happy
no not at
on seeing the others
who'd so

every bit of veneration
had to be kept on
even though the others were
far more exceptional of

they thought that they
ruled at the
so the others were abruptly
given their terse

we are aware of how
which is to promptly
clear the others
Besotted winged pollinators
roistering barrage drowned
amidst general insectivorous cacophony
indistinct auditory signals communicated

intermingled with bounteous wafting fragrance
midwifed edenic floral pullulation
sensate admixture viz colored spectrum
amidst unrehearsed extemporaneous

orchestral suite bedded lambs
amorous ewe man like bleating songs
nature all aflutter actively socially vociferating
profuse living color rainbow pastiche

teeming soundgarden smorgasbord
cornucopia ignites mordent Utopian aural swath
visual vistas stilling spellbinding
spilling riotous carpeted web

uniting doubting Thomas's existentialism
despite unanswered queries
asper diverse modalities each specie evolved
to survive despite countervailing destructive forces

generating plethora pandemonium ironically
promulgating harmonic exemplary convergence
Highland Manor concourse aflame with new life
parented by instinctive imprimatur anonymous patents

now genetic mapping usurped with untold outcome
analysis bred crispr discovery Earthlings fiddling
glorifies honied indemnity Judeo-Christian kudos
leaves of grass kudzo resistance mutation immunizes

biosphere once prolific differentiation shrinks
becoming monocultural setting virtual stage
catastrophe plus food shortage would become
global debacle predicated, sans virulent

viral and/or bacterial strain renting asunder
tripwire unspooling delicate webbed whirl
already widely compromised more so
since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring

**** sapiens population explosion
pits profligate predilections planet Earth in extremis
dire crisis cavalierly dismissed humans
in hot pursuit racking up superfluous wealth

***** deeds done dirt cheap - tricking
mother nature, who will unwittingly
spring scrumptious feeding off scrimmage
forcing capitulation or total extinction

meanwhile fostering long tall floral inflorescence
a composite having sessile flowers
apiary abuzz, cuz queen bee
can no longer wax bereft of royal jelly.
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
a thousand restless fingers
pluck along my nerves
and crawl swarming bees
over my flesh
******* dry honey
and I as a comb am empty
waiting on the waxing moon
to bring in the tide
exposed and littered
on the cracked seabed
lighting beeswax candles
impromptu runway lights
for those aeroplanes
who always fail to land
and wasted afternoons
fade into wasted nights
tossing to and fro
I sleep
under the cupboards instead
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Blood for Honey", available on Amazon or through Lulu.

— The End —