Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Anderson's Tale

The following prose is a re-telling of Hans Christian Anderson's "The Little Mermaid". As you know, I love mermaids. I also love the fairy tales written by Anderson. I wanted to take the beloved story of my childhood and retell it through the eyes of a young adult. Hopefully, Anderson would enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

(c) A.F. 4/12/12

Part I

Lights, thousands of lights, in an ebony sea of sparks.
Colors - glinting, exploding mid-air.
A wooden mammoth slicing the sea-foam,
Blurring the rainbow reflections in ripples.
You, cloaked in a white blouse, riding the sea-beast
As Poseidon guides his golden chariot ashore.
Your black-brown hair, fingered by the wind.
The drops of sky-water beginning to run down your face
Like tears.
Your eyes, smiling, deep as an abyss.
And I am swallowed by your white-sand grin.
The Gods clash, wrathful, at my desire;
How most unnatural for a bottom-feeder to love a son of Zeus.
A blazing light slashes through the dark,
And Olympus quakes in detest.
Aphrodite sides with Thetis, while Dionysus stumbles drunkenly
Into Hera's bed chamber.
The arrows of Cupid are split in two by blades of envy, and anger,
And Fate.
Prometheus laughs at his liver, as flames engulf the wood-beast's belly.
You, you are cast aside, as rubbish, landing among the sea-hurtled debris.
I, I dive - dive into the brackish brine.
You have fallen! Sinking lower into tumbling tides.
Thin ivory, barnacled fingers stretch towards your shadowy shape.
I long to grasp a single fiber of your ghostly shroud.
Together, we break the surface of that tortured glass.
I struggle to keep your head and nose above the licking doom.
I memorize your peaceful face, the way the rain rests upon your eye-lashes,
The sound of your heart beneath my breast.
And as I lie you gently, your head upon the damp earth, silently
My heart breaks at having to let you go.
You will return to your world, I to mine.
And you will never know - these eyes, these lips, this heart.
I, I will never see your eyes look thankfully at mine.
The water pours around my face as I withdra.
Whether the salt consumes me from the dark sea's throat
Or from my pearled eyes, I will never know.

Part II

I dive, dive into the kelpy depths, propelling to the cave
Of the Grendel's dame.
Bones in sludge; eels slipping through the teeth,
The place where peepers once gazed, long ago.
A liquid Hades as I enter Dante's nightmarish realm.
She - twisted figure of bile-green scales - surronded by the death
Of the land dwellers.
Black-pearl eyes above a dagger-smile, beckoning,
That I should enter her lair.
What I ask for has a price, known well by Philomina, by Hieronimo,
By the daughter of Titus.
But you - could you, would you, love a fish more than a mute?
I nod; consent.
A million flashes of fragmented-scenes pool before my eyes as oil:
A pain, as knives, in two ivory stems,
The light of your eyes, the warmth of the sun within your palms,
The sound of lyres, and muses, chanting as the tinkle-pop of bubbles,
A demi-goddess floating over sand-dunes,
Hero's shadow falling into blackness,
The rising sun casting rays of glitter across your sleeping cheek,
Ash-scales scattered to the wind,
The roll of the foam upon a sea-green tide...
Red iron fills my lungs as my tongue is slit from my mouth.
The water turns crimson, rolling down my chin.
A Great White, somewhere, lifts his snout; aroused, and hungry.
I, I kick through the bleeding waves.
The pain beneath my lips, filled with burning salt; I try to scream -
But I cannot.
My throat burns, the stinging rawness of my wound-fee, washed
With crill, with weeds, with mulch.
I choke, I sputter. Kicking, kicking, up towards the light!
To the land-life taste.
Suede chaffed digits claw towards that first-breath moment;
The eruption of a blow-hole, the embrace of the wind-tossed sand.
A sliver of doubt where I almost let go, don't kick, don't try...
But then, who would read our story?
A fabled-fate writ in stone.
I break the water's barrier, and the icy-fire kiss of air
Rolls against my voiceless cry.

(c) A.F. 4/12/12


Crush

This poem/prose (whatever you wanna call it) is pretty self explanatory. I hope you enjoy.

(c) A.F. 4/10/12

"Crush"

How many times -
Times I looked at you,
You looking at me.
I memorized the curve of your jaw,
The eye-lines, the smile, the hue in the iris .
You - you are made of the glittering dawn;
Of the fragmented glass beads;
Of the waking hour's kiss
Upon the green0edged fields.

How many times -
Times I tred to speak;
Speechless Philomina -
Tongue cut out, raw and bleeding,
Blood dripping down my chin.
The words - words never to speak;
Reflecting Hieronimo.
A sea-maid's salty mouth, mutilated for a taste,
A breath (of humanity). I - - -
Choking, sputtering, as you walk away.

How many times -
Times I weeped, knowing.
You, unknowingly shattering
My chest-cage - fragmented - like your attention.
Parakeet strangled, slowly beat-breaking.
You - you are gold-platinum, I merely of ore.
Were that we could weld such precious metal
With a baser substance.
Alas! A diamond will always shatter glass.

One last time -
Time I looked at you,
You - looking at her.
I fell and shattered, uncaught.
Each second: razor blades and venom lies.
You - you are but a wicked mirage; a siren -
Luring, Oasis false, thirst- driven lovers to drown,
Drowning in dust-dry sand,
Laughing, smiling,
As the final feather drops.

(c) A.F. 4/10/12


Monday, January 5, 2015

Lucky; Rainbow Cloud

I wrote this poem back in college, basically it's about taking in all of your surroundings, finding the beauty even when there seems like there isn't any, and just having hope.

(c) A.F. 3/20/12

"Lucky; Rainbow Cloud"

Look up!
Today might be the day;
The sky is cornflow'r blue
With cotton candy clouds,
The windows reflect light into a thousand stars.
Oh, today might be the day!

The trees are bare with little sprigs
And sprouts of ever-green,
The grass is dry as straw - like bone
Upon the shore.
Look up, love!
Today might just be the day.

I glanced up but a moment -
One second sooner, one breath later,
I might have missed it -
That one cloud with all the spectrum.
Where is your pot of gold, Roy?
Your colors are shining, contained in
A misty white puff.

But, I looked up and saw you.
Yes, today might be the day:
To fall in love, to score a goal,
To pass a test, to find your way home.
Look up! Dear, just look up!
Today might be the day.

(c) A.F. 3/20/12



Saturday, February 15, 2014

She's Perfectly Imperfect

There was a girl in one of my English classes back in college. I wrote this about her one morning.

(c) 3/15/12
"Imperfect"

She's beautiful, in all her imperfection. The way her dark brown hair lies unkempt, blown wild by the wind. It falls across her face in immeasurable layers. The way her gaudy red lipstick is oily smeared across puckered lips. It contrasts with the ivory bone-hue of her cheeks. The way her lashes, clumped with sticky tar, close and open over deer-in-headlights, ice-blue eyes. The way her nails, gnawed down, are polished a sickly, shiny mucus-green. They chip and flake reflections of metal bands. The way her thighs seemingly expand against the seat she sits upon. Their pasty whiteness flattens soft like dough. The way her calf curves, dangling in mid-air. The wine-stain mark upon her bony ankle - a rouge rash, permanent from birth. The way her stubby toes curl as she kicks her shoes off, barefoot in the breeze of early Spring. That second toe a wee-bit longer than the first. In all her imperfection, she is beauty. 

(c) 3/15/12 


Longing for Love

I think this one is pretty self-explanatory.

(c) A.F. 3/8/12

LONGING

Oh! My sweet, dear, heart!
Heart of my soul!
Where have you gone on this brisk Spring day?
Wrap around me your warmth, your scent,
Let me breathe you in!
Forget the world!
Forget this Hell we're living in!
Oh! My darling, life, mine!
Caress my skin with your rosy-hot lips -
Soft, so soft;
Your mouth of velvet, and those wandering hands!
Gaze upon me with that sparkle in your burnt-topaz eyes!
Return this look of longing!
Let me take you love, take you to that moment of ecstasy!
Oh! My soul, mate, true!
Let me take you in, entwine my legs around you!
The warmth of our bodies colliding as we merge our souls - together - two in one!
Touch me, hold me, love me!
Kiss me, show me, fill me!
Run away with me to that cliff where we'll topple over together!
Euphoria -
And when it is over,
Say that you will never let me go.

(c) A.F. 3/8/12


Another Thursday

This was something I came up with while walking on my way to class one morning back in College. It kind of branches off of one of the posts I made earlier on. Anyway, here it is.

(c) A.F. 3/8/12

"Another Thursday"

The trees are bare;
Flesh darkened, soggy and bloated from the rain;
Molested by the March winds.

We bump along 
Polluting the air of the smudged blue-gray sky.
We stare through the dirt coated windows at
The world as it passes us by.
We.
Wasting our years of promise and youth.

Watered coffee stains seep into the cracks on buildings.
Our voices bleed together into white noise;
Words and sentences become merely gumbo.
Yet we are forever separated in our selfish search for
Individuality.

It's a Thursday morning.
The Spring breeze nips at our chilled throats.
We stumble over sidewalks, cracked and filled with mud, with twigs, with worms.
We battle with Time.
Always.
And - THIS- 
THIS is what we pay for.

(c) A.F. 3/8/12

I know I'm not the only one whose ever contemplated College. Hope y'all can relate. 


Shameless Begging

One time when I was on spring break in Texas, there was a guy on the street just asking everyone for money. He even followed people halfway down the block just to get their attention. When I passed him by, I got the idea to write this.

(c) A.F. 2/29/12

Shameless

Have you no shame Sir?
You, sitting on the curb, empty cup in hand. 
"Spare change Ma'am?"
"No Sir. Sorry Sir" - shameless Sir.
You, with your sweat-beaded, mocha-brown skin,
Eyes squinting upwards, groveling.
Hands grabbing, reaching outstretched, and empty.
Have you no shame?
You, Sir - intelligent enough to speak; to know the value of a shilling. 
Your theatricalities and puppy dog eyes could move any sensible dame to pity.
But not I, Sir. No Sir. 
You and I, we are one in the same Sire; both penniless in these hard times.
Though you may sleep on the cobblestone streets (I in my warm quilted bed).
But - Oh, Sir! - shameless Sir, why must you beg?
Arte thou crippled? Hysteric? Victim to thine self or others? 
Have you no shame?
Sir, I avoid meeting your glassy, black-eyed gaze. 
I quicken my pace - "Sorry Sir".
I have no coins. I choose not to spare. 
I struggle too Sir! I must eat true Sir!
Tonight, I shall sleep in my bed - you in your box,, with your makeshift fire - shameless.
Perhaps, you shall beg again tomorrow
And some poor, empathetic soul shall take pity on you.
But not I Sir. 
I, I shall hold shame Sir (but only for a moment),
And then Sir, I'll just let it go and I'll never think of you,
Shameless Sir,
As more than a shadow, a blur, a faceless, inhuman -
Shame. 

(c) A.F. 2/29/12

I hope all of you get the irony of this piece.