#shortstory poems on Hello Poetry

Frances May 2018

With anvils for feet, the snails may have moved faster, for their noose of anxiety wasn't pulled so tight. They may have covered more than to that of which I see, though the entire existence of their species  may have been as long as I may had been looking. I would shoot arrows of curiosity without knowing where the target be.
  Just as another fairy tale, relief on my feet was seemingly unimaginable, far fetched and unattainable. Like old change, seeds of a variety filled my pockets. The soil and sun were the only things I trusted. Reaping a sow would be a blessing unto me. After years of crawling, discovering, and disappointing wandering with wide eyes, the hills and peaks had shown as a distraction from the lessening softness of my now calloused hands. The necessity of rest was as strong as the need of a newborn baby's mid afternoon nap, but before the seeds are nestled, work mustn't cease. By every stem, petal, fruit, and butterfly, in the center of the valley of a vast bed of wild flowers would I hope to carry this heaviness no more. The desire for this comfort and caress lead me to find a sweet place to rest. For uncountable hours of wandering, only this would be gratification. I came upon a large patch of dirt as dark as midnight. With every handful of soil wriggling of worms graced my hardened palms. Only the ground saw me enchanted by the romance of its potential. The seedlings would be sung; "As you cuddle in the soil, remember that's where your roots will prepare, unto you this watering will fall, as you are all so loyal, I will be loyal to you, the air will give you care, let me lay eyes upon your beautiful hue, as the sun is what you will see, don't leave the soil bare, set yourself free". In the troughs like dried moats, each seed received a adornment of a kiss like that unto a child by their mother. Every hole doused like that of a spring sunflower, and burrowed into the sleeping dusk of dirt with the expectation of an awakening of a blossom. There, as one expects the rising of the sun, I would await the flowers arrival.
I lay suspended by the freedoms of a remote forest. Within the untouched, unadulterated altruistic scene of remoteness, the skepticism let drained. Knowing my skin may not be slaughtered by reaching thorns, I undressed layers of tattered threads. Most of what would freely escape from my lips were the enticement of belief motivated by bliss and enjoyment. Where my skin remained blushed and dewy from the days after the solstice of summer, to the later days of leaves saying good bye to the trees extended arms, and grass frosted by the baker of autumn, like a lightning bolt strikes at random, as did a stagnancy. The seedlings were viewed upon as the old dark witch from the town: cursed. It was as though they had stage fright and the sun was their audience.
I ask, "why, Lord? Has though forsaken my field? What must I bestow?". Concealed, like a feral cat, was the reasoning for this. As ritual as the church goers Sunday excursion, was my ritual of prayer.
Clouding in my mind happened with contemplation of a new pioneering. I knew this to be only a sliver of land off of the plank of fertile country side. Simultaneous  to this fantasy, a shadow danced in the corner of my eyes. Usually trust worthy was my vision, though it became a mystery. Fear not did I, as I turned to follow the darkness, I saw nothing forthright. It's reappearance came as a *****, but as one would in a sword fight, I followed the elusive figure within my eyes. It was as though there was an unsuspecting solar eclipse at high noon. The figure didn't remain hidden, and the dancing ceased. As a knight removes their armor to cradle a loving partner, he opened his cloak to reveal a man with the most poignant essence of freshly mowed grass, smoldering ashes, and a thanksgiving meal. These things were the quintessence of my childhood. His eyes, not beating, but, like a baby's glare, soft and forgiving, unlike the folktales my father told me. Did my eyes deceive me? Ensorcelled, I had succumb to this. Uncontrollably my eyes repeatedly vertically gaze upon him. I met no gaze, but darkness. While the remembrance of evening tide pull you further if not in recognition of its power, without choice, or fight, I had succumb to this. Weighed down by rocks you couldn't see, as though I was called to my knees. His presence eluded to a parental guide. When I lay there, as I become sunk in the soil, He advised me. "This acreage will be your ball and chain for entering this land. With out excavation, Intentions of leaving your possessions have inhibited exiting though you desire continuation. You must water it with your tears". My golden hair became brown with dirt, and my pale skin so dark, as I wept till the sun grew cold, and the moon graced me like a lullaby with soft illumination.
As a once saturated sponge goes dry, by every last drop, drained dry were my eyes, and the ground enriched. After the clock hit twelve for the 10th night, The reaper spoke again. He said "This land was mine. I set it aside, so those who have evil in their heart may not reap what they sow here, so it may not be robbed of its nutrients for something unwholesome. Within it's enchantment, the soil may only be fertile by those who will enrich it with passion. If you wanted to leave you wouldn't be confined, but if your heart remained, as would you. You will stay until you may leave with something beautiful. This priceless soil belonged to me, as this is where my betrothed had lain. The tables have turned because it has been sowed by a someone who has surrendered to me. Your patients serves you. My dear, The wealth is in your heart." His encompassing gratitude, and cherishment remained, as he had left. The grandfather clock sung to the flowers, as did I.
I was always told only the sun could bring beauty in life. I wore a black veil of naive belief. The garden appeared to always have been misted. The sun kissed my plants so gently, their blooms were welcomes to this realm, and the wind would make them frolic together like a colorful oceanic wave, but instead of dolphins peaking the dense surface, you would see the makers of the garden. Relentless pollinators made the perimeter buzz. You could see the twinkle and flutter of every dragonfly, lady bug, butterfly, and bee as their fluorescent wings caught the sun. Almost as though my life depended on it, like a bear in a cave of constant hibernation, I would nestle myself in this secret garden. Leaving here with nothing but flowers intertwined in my hair, and around my heart.

#shortstory #attempt #prose #fairytale

Jay Apr 2018

Unshamed

Daddy yelled at me - "Stop crying, and take it like a man!!" - and I shriveled up into myself, being a baby again. I tried to think of all the happy things we had done before that - Daddy let me watch him play WOW, and he played a board game with me, for the first time since I had met him! - and there were a couple, but it was hard not to feel the pain, and to not cry... Eventually, though, I learned to stop; when Daddy told me to pull my pants down, and bend over the edge of the bed for a spanking, I did it shakily, but I did not cry, even if Daddy hit me with a belt. I 'took it like a man', but it seemed Daddy did not like that, even though that is what he had told me to do. He yelled again - "I might as well spank you double, since it doesn't seem to bother you!!" - but I did not cry. This made Daddy stop eventually, but when Daddy turned into Father, I wished I could get the physicality back. The shaming, and yelling, and screaming, and fighting was so much worse - it made me want to die. When I told father this, he only did it more; so I tried to die. Then he left me on my own, ashamed of me; from then on, I wrote until my fingers callused, and drew until my hand cramped, to have a world of my own, where nobody was shamed for wanting to cry, or end their lives.

Inspired be a prompt on Writetheworld

#dad #sad #shortstory #reliving #pain #unforgivable

Simon Woodstock Apr 2018

Mixed Drinks and a stormy sea

the rain falls on my face and slowly I awaken its dark but the lightning unveils the raging sea in the distance. I drank too much again. When I have too much to drink I feel like god when he stared at the earth as it flooded powerful in the most violent angry way. I can feel the left side of my face swelling up making it hard to see out of my left eye. Everything was going fine til I saw you across the bar with him. The look I saw in your eyes taught me multiplication faster then any teacher ever could. One shot was replaced for two every twenty minutes. Before my mind catches up with my body I'm next to you saying an awkward hello sizing up your new man. The rage makes me white hot to the touch and my mouth shoots out sly remarks like machine guns. The next thing I remember I was staring at the ceiling. I guess that's the cost of loving the daughter of the most powerful mob boss in Miami. You kiss me on the cheek and tell me you wish me the best and like that your leaving with him. I lay there motionless praying to a silent god that the void would absorb me and end my agony. However nothing happens I get up dust myself off and leave to avoid further embarrassment. Parked around back is my old excuse of a car 96 corolla. like an eye sore I spot my car I get in only to spot him again . This time I can hardly believe my eyes she's hitting him and screaming at him. I try to make out the words but they're to far away. The rages begins to stir away to a boiling point when he smacks her across the face. like a bull seeing red I explode and like that I'm out of the car charging him yelling the drunken battle cry of anyone about to get knocked out on the by the beach. I charge like a lion and like a poacher he ready's himself. I feel my knuckles explode as my hand greets his cheek. He sends a deadly left hook at my ribs before falling to the ground. I continued to attack him til he stopped moving and the look in your eyes you gave me was pale white. Looking down at what was now a dead man I ***** everywhere and run away. I don't look back I run straight to my beat down apartment and prepare for the worse. Clockwork really before its six in the morning five guys with guns show up and break my door down. With a butcher knife in hand I run for the back door only to feel the crescendo of bullets entering my body. I fall to the ground and think about what you said.
"I'll never hurt you"

Just a short story I wrote as a spur of the night

#death #shortstory #love #relationships

Kaleigh Mar 2018

Hollow Head

Leave the money on the counter.

I'll get it later.

Can't deal right now.

Can't breathe right now.

Slip my coins into the payphone.

I plead to see you again, but you hang up.

Tears fall like a wonderfall, my bones feel so old, I'm so cold.

Why do I have such a hollow head?

Can't lay myself down to bed.

All these monsters running around, they want my skin.

Sallow me like a pill, spit me out when night turns to gold.

I just don't want to be alone, is the story he told.

He's not a knight or a king, sitting upon a throne.

A lost boy, searching in the dark.

But I'll find him, and call him my own.

Our brains are empty, bile covering the tiled floors.

We met at a party, avoiding contact with everyone else.

But when I saw your eyes, I knew you were going to be mine.

He's my drug and I'm his anecdote.

We're helpless animals, shouting in the dead of night.

Like little kids, we chase each other to the river.

The moon shinning bright, lovers whisper meaningful words.

But we'll travel downtown, your hollow head on my shoulder.

This poem is based off a little short story I'm writing <3

#sad #alone #dark #love #loneliness #poem #shortstory

Jeff Gaines Mar 2018

Thee Longest Piece Ever Uploaded On Hello Poetry (As far as I know) ** I doubt you'll read it through **

OK Reader, I'm going to tell you a tale … with great trepidation. You see, this tale, well, it's kind of like telling someone that you've seen a UFO. They want to believe you, but … it's never really been proven scientifically. Not to mention the fact that most folks who believe in such things are often the tin-hat wearing types, written off as … lets be nice and call them “odd”. And, of course, the more you swear to it, the crazier you appear. It's an epic tale, spanning 30 years of my crazy life.

  But, It's a story I want to tell, because it happened to me. I can barely understand it myself, let alone explain it. So … I'm just going to launch into it and you take it any way you wish.

*  *
Where Can You Be?

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

I'll search with gazes and I'll search with cars,
I'll search the cities and I'll search the stars, well …
I'm gonna find you, oh, wherever you are,
I'm gonna find you baby …  near or far, but …

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

I thought I'd found ya, but she wasn't you,
that girl she left alone and blue, well …
I know that's something that you'd never do,
your love has always been strong and true, but …

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

If you must settle for some other man
and deviate from our immortal plan, well …
I hope you realize I will understand
and I'll try and do the best that I can, but …

Where will I be?
Where will I be, my love?
Hoping the next life sees …
our destiny!

Where can you be?
Where can you be, my love?
Oh, can't you see?
You're not with me!

~Wednesday, April 1st, 1987
10:30 P.M.

  I was singing in a band back in those days and, as it happened, this was the last song I'd ever write for it. Just after this, as it does, it all came crashing down and the band was finished. But in those last days, they pondered this song, with great puzzlement. You see, it was unlike anything I'd brought them before. It wasn't rock … It wasn't a ballad … it wasn't even structured like a “normal” 80's rock song.

  No bridge, no solo, no loud grinding guitars, etc. It even had bits where I hummed, yes hummed, the melody, like a lullaby. As they read the lyrics and I described how it went, they all looked at me like I had three heads and asked where this had come from. It was nothing like anything I'd written before. I could only tell them when and where I'd written it, but had no explanation of what inspired it. It had just came to me, so I wrote it down. They didn't know what to make of it, or even what to do with it.

  One of them said it sounded like a late 70's or early 80's adult contemporary song or even in the vein of The Eagles. Another asked if it was about reincarnation … And I honestly, until that moment, hadn't thought of it that way, I didn't think like that at 24 … but then, one of them said it was “Haunting” …

  “Haunting”?

  “Wow”, I thought, I'd never had anything I'd written described as that before. When I asked him what he meant by that, he told me that it was haunting to think that this poor guy is desperately seeking a girl, that may or may not even know that he exists … in a world with billions of people in it. To top that off, he fears that she may off and marry someone else if he doesn't find her in time.

  This, along with the suggestion of it being about reincarnation made me rethink and rewrite the song. Well, a few lines in the last verse and chorus anyways. It actually made the song flow better and seem more complete. In a way, it actually made the song make more sense … to me and them. Sadly, we never did anything with it. There wouldn't be time. Ha … Time … how ironic. Over 10 years later, came this …

For Someone I've Never Met

Please save a place for me,
deep inside your heart.
Always know that I think of you,
as we both practice our arts.

Our worlds are full of temptations,
so very hard to resist …
and the good Lord knows
we're both far from,
sixteen and never been kissed.

Wealthy men with jaws divine …
Temptresses with looks so fine …
Paths that lead our hearts away …
Paths that surely lead astray …

They'll lead us there every time.
They'll leave us there … so  unkind.
Our hearts must shine,
night and day.
Through any darkness … they'll light our way.

If you never touch my face …
If I never look into your eyes …
We'll always have the comfort of sharing
the same
big, blue sky.

If I never smell your hair …
If you never kiss my lips …
Always know the search for your smile
has launched a thousand ships.

So, I hope you save a place for me
in your heart so sweet and kind.
Please, save a place for me …
Heaven knows you've one in mine.

~Thursday, September 9th, 1999
9 A.M.

“For Someone I've Never Met ” poured out of me in the midst of another breakup from the second, and last, girl that I wanted to marry. That emotion, never found me again. I looked at it on my computer screen and smiled, seeing “Where Can You Be”, in my mind, on my tattered old note pad that I called my “Song Book”. The memory of me writing it while sitting in my Z-28, looking out over the Gulf of Mexico as a beautiful heat lighting storm sent bolts across the sky, came flooding back; as did the debate of reincarnation I'd had with my pals in the rehearsal room all those years before. Here I was, again, writing about “someone” that I sensed, for lack of a better term, was out there … somewhere.

  Well Reader, do you believe in reincarnation? I was never really certain, but, as you can see, I had twice written pieces to someone I wasn't completely sure existed. I had always “sensed” someone out there beginning with the period after I wrote “Where Can You Be?” and thereafter. So, there they were, each written after losing someone I was deeply in love with. Each came out of nowhere, as they usually do. By the time I was in my 40's, I began to think I was either imagining it all (a side effect of being a hopeless romantic) or that I had just somehow missed this person and our “moment”.

  And then …

Epiphany

There was a place.
There was a time …
There, I stood … still unknowing
and everything seemed fine.

But there in that place …
at that moment in time …
the moment I saw the eyes,
I'd never believed I'd find.

Well, what could I say?
What could I do?
In a world filled with billions …
and there … was a you.

I'd always known you were out there …
even written of something amiss.
I never, ever stopped looking for you …
because my heart always said you exist.

My breezy Fall became harshest Winter.
My crazy life left my health running out.
I'd resigned myself that our moment had passed …
but this moment … it removed all doubt.

Well, what could I say?
Tell me, what could I do?
There we stood, staring … alone … in a city of millions …
yes, there … there was a you.

Oh, that mistress fate, she is just so cruel.
Frustration, a curse to be mine.
   I'd searched for you my entire life …
but now … my clock … knows a limit of time.

You see, I would never venture a love with you,
while knowing I'd have to leave you … hurt and alone.
I could only admire from afar … stoic and aloof …
while turning my heart into stone.

Nothing I could ever say and nothing I could ever do …
But now, at long last … at least I finally knew.

There, you stood … green seas, gazing up … into skies of blue.
My long-awaited revelation … become sorrow-laced realization.
There really is … a you.

~August 12th, 2009

  Typical of my life-long Charlie Brown syndrome … After being told in 2005 that I had “the lungs of an eighty-year-old man” and that I had “Six to Ten years” to live, I made a conscious decision in that Doctor's parking lot that I could never have another girlfriend and that I must face this alone. I don't see woman as objects. They are glorious creatures that are here to be our partners and friends and to make our lives amazing. I could never, ever knowingly let a woman fall in love with me, all the while knowing I was going to die and leave her. It's not in me to do such a thing, lonely or not.

  Yes, I'm still alive, I'm stubborn like that. But, some days are better than others and my new doctors say that they don't give people “time limits” anymore … because of people like me. I can't afford the lung transplant. So, as Bono so aptly put in one of his songs: “The rich stay healthy, while the sick stay poor”. It is what it is … and like the energizer bunny, I'm still going. Good for me.

  In the moment that I met her, the morning that followed, and the amazing speed of our nexus over the next several months combined with a string of synchronicities (Coincidences? Did I mention that she too, was a poet and writer?) that not only came after I met her on the sidewalk in front of the publisher we shared, but in those pieces I had written before and in several after; I was pretty much convinced I had actually found her. I have NEVER experienced anything like this, or her, in my entire life.

  So, after all this time, here she was … and there wasn't a **** thing that I could do about it. Besides, she was much younger than I and it probably would never have worked anyways. ****, the universe is rotten sometimes, huh? Maybe, if I'm lucky, things will balance out better in the next life. I can only hope. But I'm reminded, worryingly so, of the **** The Alarm song: “Collide”:

“All of these thoughts pounding in my head …
with the words I've wrote, in the letters I've never sent.
The distance in our lives may change …
Times that you can never erase …
But will our worlds collide?
Will our worlds collide, the next time?”

  Only time will tell.

  “Colors”, and a few others, were written about/for her. But, I could never show them to her. I would never endanger my friendship with her. I just wanted to keep her in my life. That, and that alone, was the only motive I'd ever had with her. I looked forward to seeing her marry, hearing her stories of her three kid's adventures; Hubby, all greasy, working on the car in the driveway, rabbits in her garden at night, eating her precious organic veggies or even about her new curtains. Just to know that she was alive, happy and doing well. I found a solace in her voice I could never describe and I was completely content to just have her in my life and watch hers unfold. Only I could end up in this odd position.

  I feared that she might get weird-ed out because I'd never displayed any romantic inklings toward her, so, to suddenly read these might make her feel a bit, lets say: uncomfortable. Actually, I didn't write them with any romantic intentions, per se; I just did what I always do … write what comes out. Still, there's no denying that they come across romantic. Again, so, so Charlie Brown. (long sigh)

  It is what it is. I also have to ponder the fact that maybe all those Charlie Brown moments in my life were preparing me for this one big, painful one. That does makes sense … ******' Universe.

Colors

Well when you're Green, I'll be your Brown.
Like the earth that loves the flowers,
I'll will be your solid ground.

And I'll be your Azure, when you are Verdigris.
We'll be thee most beautiful ocean
that eyes have ever seen.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
Mixing all of the colors … I'll make everything alright.

Now when you're Blue, I'll be you're Red.
If something should make you wanna cry,
I will feel your pain instead.

And I'll be your Orange, whenever you are Pink.
We'll be thee most amazing sunset,
that the sky could ever ink.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
I'll mix all of your colors … and make everything alright.

Should you be Violet, I will be your Beige.
Like a sleepy moonlit desert,
pasteled in dunes and sage.

And when you're Grey, I will be your Rainbow.
We'll be thee most soothing rainstorm
the world has ever known.

And when you're Black, I'll be your White.
I'll mix all of your colors … yes, I'll make everything alright.

With love on my palette, painting a glorious sunrise …
I'll color all your mornings with a smile and brighten up your skies.
If you should find yourself in sorrow from someones hate or lies …
I'll take the stars down from the heavens … and paint them in your eyes.

So whenever you are Black, I will always be your White.
I'll mix all your colors with a promise … everything will be alright.

Yes, I'll mix all of your colors with a promise … Everything's gonna be alright.

~  Winter 2012

  I wrote this after she had rang me up one afternoon lamenting about her life at the moment, troubled that her latest novel hadn't done as well as she'd hoped and now she had to be waitressing to make ends meet. I tried my best to cheer her up and assured her that she was strong enough to handle anything and that she must keep chasing her dreams. I wrote it as a poem, but I can't help but notice it looks like a song, though I've never heard music for it. Those repeated verses look just like choruses to me.

  Earlier in the day, I had been looking at a booklet of paint swatches. I guess, up there on my roof looking at the Manhattan skyline, her sadness and me looking at all those colors melted together somehow and, as happens, out came this piece. Even this, became another synchronicity as she would name her next novel “Show Me All Your Colors”. I remember seeing it in the bookstore and looking straight up … shaking my head at the sky. Was this the universe telling me to show and tell her all this?

  Well, if it was, I stuck with my gut and kept it to myself. My God, if you only knew how many of these synchronicities there were between her and I. It simply boggles my mind. I wanted to call them “coincidences”, but there were just so **** many of them … Each so unique, they just couldn't be called that. I don't want to tell them all here, because like I said, the more you swear to it, the crazier you sound. And I'm sure your questioning my sanity by now, aren't you? (Smirk)

  OK, OK … this one is definitely romantic. I wrote it one night, drunk to the bejeezus. I'd done what we called “The Crosstown Crawl” with my pal Tristan and a gaggle of assorted waitresses we knew. This involved starting at Brass Monkey on the west side highway in the Gansevoort District and ending at my favorite hookah bar, Karma, on the Lower East Side … Drinking in, and often being “asked to leave” (Read: Kicked out of) every bar that took our interest as we walked (Read: staggered) west to east, staying below 14th St.

  On my way home from the city on the J train, I thought about all the phone conversations we'd had while I was on this train crossing the Williamsburg Bridge. Being drunk, I guess, I caught a bout of sadness that I'd never get to tell her any of this or even how I felt about it all. Before I hit my elevator, this piece was swimming in my head. It's about as mushy a piece as I've ever written … if not thee most! Not the norm for me, but this is, after all, a lot to keep pent up inside you. I wouldn't wish this predicament on anyone.

For My Little Red-Haired Girl …

You …

My Love.
My Queen.
This Shining Light in my eyes.

My Laughs.
My Dreams.
My Soft, Contented Sighs.

My *****.
My Lavender.
My Dew Covered Rose.

My Smile.
My Cinnamon.
The Joy in my heart … ever inspiring my prose.

My Best Friend.
My Co-Star.
My Fearless Partner in Crime.

My Breath.
My Cohort.
My Side-kick throughout time.

My Snow-capped Mountain.
The Wind caressing my face.
My Vast Green Field.

The Ivy Covered Wall
that harbors my soul … ever refusing to yield.

In a different time ...

You … would have been my Life.

You … would have been my World.

You … would have been my Everything

and I will always love you for my own special reasons.

It is just a shame … and I'm so, so sorry … that you … must never, ever know.

Maybe next time.

~Charlie Brown

   When I came-to in the morning and read what I had wrote, I had to laugh a bit. It is borderline corny, very beautiful, very telling and very sad … all at once. I shook my head, laughing and told myself :

  “*******, Sam … yer losin' it. Get your **** together, will ya?”

I guess in my stupor, I was imagining what it would have been like to write something for her. I don't know … There it was and I was stuck with it. I almost deleted it, but, my finger wouldn't press the key. As I told you before … I'd NEVER show this to her. She'd probably never speak to me again.

   As a sadder epilogue, that eventually happened. I still don't know why, but we haven't spoken in years. Maybe she sensed this emotion in me and ran away. Or maybe, just maybe … she thought I'd pushed her away somehow … but for whatever reason, we drifted apart. I guess I'll never know.  As you can see by reading this, that was never my intention. But, like I keep reiterating … It is what it is.

  One day, I called her number to catch up and shoot the breeze. I hadn't spoken to her in a few months as she'd been busy promoting her new novel and I didn't want to pester her. But … it was disconnected … I checked my emails … nothing. I'd never been so confused, she just closed me out. I didn't want to bother her. I was sure she had her reasons and if she wanted to reach out to me again, she would. She had my email and my phone number. But, for now … she was gone … and that was that.

  So, what do you think, Reader? Do I get the Tin hat … or a Badge of courage? Am I bat-**** crazy … or just eccentric? I'll leave it up to you to decide, because as I said, this all happened to me and there isn't a thing I can do about any of it. I just had to get it off of my chest. Thanks for letting me vent.

  Wherever she is … she will always mean the world to me. I can see her green eyes if I close my mine and look for them. Sometimes, on occasion, her face haunts my sleep. Still, I like to picture her, kids playing in a sprinkler behind her, digging in her garden, wearing gloves too big for her hands and a smudge of fresh dirt on her cheek … it makes me smile.

-Sam Webster
Brooklyn, New York
2013

OK, you can stop scratching your head. I'm sorry if you feel like I tricked you or was playing a prank … That was not my intention. This piece is experimental writing, of sorts. If you are wondering, it's titled “Somewhere … Out There”. But I didn't want to put a title at the head of the page, as that might have clued you in too early.

I also confess that “Sam” the narrator is, on no uncertain terms, based loosely on myself. But hey, what better way to string you along? Besides, as Stephen King said, you “Write what you know”. As far as I 'm aware, using poetry within a short story like this, or in this manner, has never been done before. Welcome to the future!

It really belongs in my “From Thee Edge” Collection with the rest of my Twilight-Zone-esque short stories. (You can now read some of these fiction short stories here, posted in my "NoPo@HePo" posts, along with some non-fiction essays. I hope you enjoy them.) But, because I pieced together several of my poems to not only tell the story, but as a vehicle to carry it along as part of it; I wanted to put it here on Hello Poetry just to see if I could convince you long enough to get you through the story … while having you believe it was me speaking to you and that it was all very real to me. Thus, making it feel real to you as you read it.

Was I having you along right up until it was signed by someone else? Or, at least until the narrator addressed himself as “Sam”?

If so, then I accomplished my mission. I'd love to hear your comments on it. If you've been reading any of my other posts, I'm sure you've figured out that I like to run wildly outside of the box sometimes. This was just, as I said, an experiment in a different way to tell a story … fiction or otherwise. As always, I hope that I took you on a journey and, more importantly, that you enjoyed it.

~Jeff Gaines
L.A.
(Lower Alabama)
2015

#riencarnation #shortstory #poetryinashortstory #experimental #experimentalwriting #fiction

Sabila Siddiqui Feb 2018

Prose: Boundaries

"I don't care if it's a joke in your eyes." She said with no hesitancy and a certain sharpness in her voice. Her softness faded and boldness came over. Her stare was razor sharp as though she could **** someone but it was also disciplined more than impulsive. It wasn't rage, it was fire; fierce and courageous that l hadn't ever seen her dress in. She looked intimidating but strong. She looked daunting but fearless. "There is a limit to jokes, I do joke around and it is fun to a certain point. But there are words and actions I will not tolerate and that is my personal choice. My boundary. I don't care if I love you or if you are my friend. I don't care if you are the closest person to me or the farthest. I will not let your actions or words compromise on my self respect anymore. It is my self value that I stand by. Your actions, words do not define me. The way you treat me does not bring down my worth and neither does it matter to me anymore. I am not a reflection of who you treat me. I know who I am now, I know what I stand by. I am not afraid of losing you or afraid to be seen as a person who overreacts" She stepped in closer, sending a shiver down their spine. "This is my self respect, value, and boundary - accept it or leave"

#boundaries #fictionwriting #shortstory #writing #self #respect #value #courage #poetry #story

astrid Feb 2018

spectrum

If I were to tell about rainbows, our story would be a better topic than any other children's stories. Funny how these mere colors affect me with the rain's every finish, seeing myself searching for its presence as I close my umbrella, lift my chin up and play it all in my head again. The way you loved every color it had, and the amount of your affection for its rarity. Never thought such gay colors would bring memories as the sky gets clear, and everything turned gritty.

Red. Red is the color of roses you gave me. I remember how passionate, sweet and warm you were. Your love was not something hidden nor written; it was something felt, felt within every pixel of the thousands of photos of us. Evident were your eyes that would light up but it burned my skin like a matchstick, while I’m hoping that you’ll stay forever. I felt it within every sweet letter, filled with promises of 'see you later'. Felt with your sweet melting glance. Along with every bundle of nerves during our first dance. Felt with every lasting memory of our written story.
Not until the last red roses were delivered and your love began to wither. Our photos turned to you and her. Then written on your sweet letter said, “You can find someone better.” And your glance that became the last, witnessed me asking for another chance.

Instead of fresh rose petals, you brought a basket of oranges when you visited me in the hospital. I was sick as a kid but I miss you that I wanted to plead. I wanted to tell you how my heart bleeds and you're the medicine it needs.
But what can I do as she wrapped her hand around yours? What can I do seeing her finger perfectly mold for a diamond ring? Knowing that she's not just a fling. Both of you even greeted me with a smile. I was left all alone with my sighs. I kept the pain inside, even if it means I lied because I want to be your bride. How could I make you stay and that someday you'll realize it's me you want to embrace? But reality knocks me down. I'll have to wear a gown. Drink a glass of wine on your wedding day. Pretend that after a year or two, I am now okay.

All I know, the sun's yellow rays are festive and shout joy. They hit my bare skin through the curtains as I wake up. I greeted myself with "I only had my pillows beside me" instead of a 'Good morning' that you conventionally whisper to my ears, making my heart hop. I was too convinced you left early for an urgent call, but the yellow note says otherwise. Sticked to my bedroom door, it said "Meet me at 11 am on a cafe", and again, I read it thrice. Instead of notes, you leave me hugs which are nice but that was way before my heavy cries.

With mixed feelings, I opened my closet. I curtly picked my favorite dress, a green one. It is my favorite color. Emerald green to be specific, and tied my hair to a bun. I want to surprise you with a plain girl all gone - had a prep for my only one. That as I enter the cafe, everything will be invisible to your perspective and focus to your only one.
I added lipstick and a pink blush for me again to stand out. I had to erase all my doubts and be the girl you wanted all throughout.

And at ten-thirty, I rode the bus. The skies were blue but they're in brights. People were busy crossing with their heavy suitcases and all might. I remembered you again, and how I gifted you every suitcase that fed your sight.
Uncertain of all the possibilities today, I plastered my face with delight. But what do you mean 'talk'? Something serious? A wedding plan? An engagement? Or just a sip of chat?
The blue walls of the cafe welcomed my path with the aroma of coffee all along. Your eyes didn't look cheery but I didn't mind. Your smile didn't beam at me as it did before, but I didn't mind. You told me to order alone in the counter, but I still didn't mind. At this moment, my senses were frightened and my eyes were holding back everything that might flow.
"All of these were in a bind," you said, and gave me a letter, again, in a yellow colored paper. There might be someone else who dressed better, who cuddled tighter, who made your heart lighter. It said, 'Sorry, I fell out of love, you can find someone better'.

I was dressed with a finely embroidered violet gown, carefully hand-made with tears, surrounded by despair and finished with grief. On your wedding day, I tried to look nice and perfect. So that my unbearable sadness wouldn’t reflect. Then again as I slowly watch you smile as she walks down the aisle; I can’t help not to cry. I am no longer asking why. Violet perfectly describes gloom but perfectly makes you bloom. I realized that I shouldn’t mourn over your union but over the years of my devastation. I realized that it’s useless to weep and to sleep with the pain because it would remain. For it’s time to let you go. Accept that everyone come and go. More importantly free myself from your attachment even if it means shattering my heart into smaller fragments.

--- written with zhari

#heartbreak #lovewins #spokenword #wedding #sad #shortstory #sadendinf

helena alexis Dec 2017

working with him

i sighed and walked up to the counter
to order my food while i was finally
on my break after working for 2 hours
i told my manager what i wanted and he
handed me a number

“why’d you hand me a number?” i asked,
confused because usually we don’t do that

“i’m gonna have riley bring out your food to you” he said with a small smirk
i rolled my eyes
as if that’s going to happen
i thought and sat down at a nearby booth

as i was waiting for my food I glanced at my phone scrolling through social media

until i saw you walking towards me with my food you were smiling and laughing while i was a blushing embarrassed mess

“he really made you do it?!” i blushed as you chuckled

“here you go” you handed me my food with a huge smile on your face as i thanked you while you walked away i couldn’t believe it

i kept looking over at you and blushing
everyone knows now including my manager

so this happened at work today

#crush #cute #simple #story #love #him #unrequited #shortstory

Samuel Adafia Nov 2017

Little Old Lady

The sun blazed and caused a significant amount of precipitation to ooze out of my skin. The woman who sat next to me filled space enough for two but paid for one. Me, the unfortunate one who sat close to her was praying that no one else boards this atrocity of a public transport vehicle. The sweat on our skins made our contact uncomfortably more intimate than it was required for two strangers. It made my skin curl with disgust.
The little old lady stood at the bus stop with a silver wash basin half filled with her catch, fish. She signalled and the trotro staggered to a stop.

#shortstory #ghana #accra