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JM Romig Sep 2022
A black and white film
About an old man and his dog.
There is no dialogue.
Just ambient sounds -

First, of the alarm clock’s
monotonous song.
Followed by an abrupt
cutting silence as his hand slams
down on the snooze button

Then, the sound of a coffeemaker
spitting and burbling.
The coffee, pouring into a chipped mug.
Sugar, then milk,
the clink of the spoon against the ceramic
as he stirs
the long first sip

As the man looks curiously
at something on the fridge,
just out of frame.
A bag of dogfood opening.

hard kibble ringing against the metal dish.
The dog grumbling - impatiently waiting.
Tupperware  opening
The hum of a microwave, and the beep.
Last night’s stew poured into a bowl
the rest, over the kibble.

The closed caption reads:
[Enthusiastic, sloppy eating noises]

The sound of water running
as the bowls are scrubbed clean.

The door closing as the two leave
for their morning walk.
The old man and the dog
are now sitting on a park bench.

The grass, still wet from the morning dew.
There is a beautiful sunrise
over the nearby lake.

The camera pulls away,
as music overtakes the diegetic sounds
of nearby parkgoers, birds and runners,
and teens playing hooky.

The camera cuts back to for a beat
to the kitchen
in the empty house.

The camera zooms in on a weathered
and well loved piece of paper
held up by a rainbow magnet
on the refrigerator door.

Fade to a black screen,
with white letters:
Fin.
What was on the paper?
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2022
It's a much sweeter today
than yesterday indeed.
Radiant meadows are on fire
beneath the trees
indulging blue fairies'
summer bowl of sun shines
abundantly overflowing
lavishly enough to render in
every rose of humming bees.

Pop up to flowers and bouquets
maybe the song on the birds' lips:
Time is today to jump in
on a London summer clement scene!
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2022
Rose in a dew
I thought I caught
a glimpse of you.

Zooming in
I thought I can
get closer.
Only to eye on
upon a river
amid myriad
over looking stars.

A drop spans out
to be a sea
neither did it tarry.
I thought I would
give up that big
is not for me.

But yet a scene
never washed away
is intact unblurred
beneath the million
waves of the sea.
I thought the moon
will give up!
It can never touch
but always returns
over the sea
can't forget a scene.
So is me
once that
I chanced to see.
Steve Page May 2021
The next time I killed her
it felt forced
too practiced, rehearsed.
And whilst the movement
and the blood
still flowed
I wasn't able to feel
the same spurt
of the joy of completion
and whilst the execution,
was in essence still 'killing',
it was kinda dull, like a boring drilling.

I'll have to try again.

The next time he killed me
I was ready for it
so I lent into it.
And whilst it still stung
I was able to ride the trauma
kept my good side to the camera
and whilst the transition
was in essence still 'dying'
it was kinda arousing, exciting.

I think the third time
might be even better
by some measure.

I'll have to wait
and see.
Killing, like dying, takes practice
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, once upon a long time ago there was too much to take:-)


once saw a scene

so mystical for the eyes to charm to sweep

got back after the longs after the years

looked again with a hope of an appeal

lips dried for the moment not the same

close my eyes escapes don't want more shame

breeze so cold for the fog to ****

the thing that made my heart on thrill

never come back no matter how brilliant

them those of the hunters stole old tastes to a different


                                                                                     ------ravenfeels
Turn the light off for I cannot bare to watch this scene
I never knew that romance could end up so **** ugly
the scene of romance turned ugly
John Darnielle Nov 2020
We broke the doorknob off of the door  
The door swung open easily
We sauntered into the poorly lit store
and looked around lazily
We stole every bit of candy they had inside
Gobbled it all up greedily on our 3 month ride
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone

You headed out to the getaway car
And hit the open road
I saw something written in tall clear letters on your face
but I could not break the code
We had hot caramel sticking to our teeth
and the only love I've ever known burning underneath
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone

I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
I'm gonna miss you when you're gone
Andy Chunn Jul 2020
Overgrowths of arm-post life
Lift upward as my steam-breath
Vanishes thinly into the sky.

Cool sweat drips deliberately
As the stacks grow larger
And the sawdust smells and sticks.

The wagon-load will wallow obediently
As the frost bites cleanly
Through the still winter dusk.

Ash white smoke curls softly
From the cut-stone chimney
Where a portrait of simplicity
Sleeps eternally in my mind.
J J Oct 2020
Mothlet-like owl midges fizzling in and out of the waves
   that shuffle the moon's shed reflection,
hovering and imitating like a wettened rorschach--

with disembodied tiny teeth for feet
suckling from the scurvy gums
where shadows are allowed to be kings.

Kings that observe a godess body that spans the whole sky with ******* made of crinkled ash dripping latex that falls
then cuts into the grass to
                                        spread life--perfection spares no time for the impatient.

Glistening stream,mucky dewlap of the mountain carving a caricature of someone  praying for rain and dreaming of a metamorphoses into ice.

With the night comes tide. Comes time. Comes death. Comes life.

If you were to sit down in one spot
anywhere in the world and not move
for another second of yor life

from there on in--
you would see so much beauty and pain
You'd wonder what you ever did to be

as lucky as you had been.
J J Oct 2020
Flowers are the earth's fruit
    Which await the sun's permission
         To beautify and ripen

And at night may serve
   As guiding lanterns floating atop
          Their mother thorns

To gently lead the moon oceanward.
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