The silvery glass, framed in what seems to be, white, dotted plastic. Reflected in it, a twin of his, creating, showing, infinite times the same room – or the same part of room pink, girlish, a red bow and again – a grey one and dead flowers too dead yellow mimosas held together by a yellow, old piece of yarn. And a girl, or a woman – oh, it must be the owner for her shirt matches, controls, the pink room behind her and the dead mimosas.
But wait, you know that girl! The shadow is familiar, though her hair… Her hair is different and her eyes, there is a light within them – a light that was not there, when you knew her. Oh, she looks like she knows it, she looks like she knows you! The light in her eyes, that sparkles in the blue irises, it says that – she won’t listen – no, she won’t listen to you nor to the other people she knows, who do not know her no more
No that can’t be right, that girl – no, for she is not a girl no more – she is a woman – no, not quite she is, in between but firmly – yes, firmly! – convinced she is fully grown.
That stubborn girl-woman (impossible to know her height – why, has it just changed?) with her eyes, her blue eyes lit and her hair, once black, short, tidy, is now – wavy and messy.
She touches her hair, moves it away from her face – but wait, you are doing the same! So you were quite right! You are that girl-woman. And she looks proud – I mean – you do and sure that Was ich weiß, kann jeder wissen. Mein Herz hab‘ ich allein Or – do I?
Can you understand my sweet song? Are you even able to hear me? Do you know that, like you, I roam the vast seas? My best friends are clownfish, I talk to sharks, and I accompany green turtles as they lay their eggs. Ethereal jellyfishes and witty baby dolphins play with me. From the shallows to the tides, waves hold no secrets from me. This marine universe enchants me, and I sing its wonders.
But at the moment the ocean’s magic leaves me indifferent, another spell drives me. For several moons, I witness your fishing attempts, the sleep you cannot get, the words you scribble… I wish I could help you. I wish I could tell you that I am there, that I am watching over you. Not only that, but I can carry you away from your torment. Trust me, I can take you to the shore. You are slowly passing away, I watch you fade… I cannot force you to follow me. They forbid me to touch you. I think I remotely – love you.
Your strength inspires me. You are so pretty, so lonely… The waves carry around your orange raft. If only I could talk to you, you would know that you are loved by a fish woman. And suddenly, you throw a bottle in the sea:
Message in a Bottle
Rocked by the foam,
Moved by the mist,
In the endless sea I roam –
I cannot resist.
The emptiness of the abysses
Dresses me in its vices.
But my ship just sails,
Refuses to join the ocean’s entrails…
What a pitiful odyssey…
I am lost at sea.
Where is the shore?
The green grass I adore?
Far from any light,
I fight through the night.
I shine with my last glow,
And send the missive below:
You’ll find in my lines
A testimony of my last sunshines,
A desperate donation,
To Poseidon.
No matter if I cannot decipher your encapsulated words, I want to free you. Your distress hits, no matter the language. Your pain shatters me. Drawn by courage and pity, I reach your coral vessel and pull myself to the deck. You scream when I appear. Wide-eyed and breathless, you stare at me. I am shaking as much as you are but I timidly offer you my hand. Your emerald eyes roam over my anatomy: they observe my shiny chest, and they question my flamboyant feminine features. They meet my ruby pupils, then they follow the curves of my pearly hair. They, finally, gaze at my iridescent scales, that long azure fin that sets me apart from you. Emotions cross your fiery face; I recognise surprise, fear and hope… Perhaps even a glimmer of desire? Suddenly, you snap out of your contemplation, you gather your last strengths, and you run into my arms. Your legs around my tail, your heart against mine, I drag you down with me. We let the ocean host our tender embrace.
Too bad for Poseidon!
I received an unexpected aid –
I was freed by a Mermaid,
Thanks to Cupid alone!
Comments by the jury:
“This is an original story in both format and in the narrative form. I love that the POV is from the point of the mermaid and enjoyed the twist.”
“I found the format very original and interesting, it piques curiosity, and the poem (message) included was so lovely. I also appreciated the originality of the p.o.v, I didn’t expect to read something like that at all, it’s such a great turn on the usual mythical takes!”
I. There’s a thickness in the air, It feels like life never was fair. Why did you abandon us? Left to drown, hearts filled with pus. Anger rushes through my veins, Peace no longer reigns. Where do I go from here?
II. Tear tracks stain my face, I’ve finally found my place. We must stay strong, The fight will be long. We must never surrender, To stop would end her.
III. It’s been a rough ride, Victory finally by our side. Gone are the feelings of pain, Only strength to gain. A long nap, I shall take, Content, will I wake.
There’s the old sailor always at the port, looking at the horizon, her only comfort.
That kid who recently found love in sewing, his sister’s gift almost ready, he’s smiling.
The man who’s working as a gravedigger. Seven years now, right? Yet still as eager.
Then there’s that woman. A banker, deep in fraud, so she gets drunker.
And the toddler, just told a lie, his first. He doesn’t realize he’s his happiest.
So there’s these five people in motion, that can never meet, that’s the mission.
Or the world will end.
Do you understand?
Different lives, locations, that’s the key. We’ve managed this far, sometimes barely. You must always remember, Your role is to be the intruder.
You’ve always done well, but you often dwell, on them and how they live. You’re curious, and naive.
You watched the now old sailor, once thriving in the seas, singing. You watched the kid, now a brother, frustrated with his family changing. You watched the newlywed gravedigger Look for someone that wasn’t just a fling. You watched the crooked banker, trying to be good, yet slowly losing. You watched the three-year-old toddler, crying over his mother’s parenting.
I know you’ve grown attached, while I remain detached. My role is to guide you, be the reminder. Day and night I’ve told you: no blunder.
Or the world will vanish.
Everything, gone in a swish, I know it isn’t your wish. So these people you cherish,
Why are they in the same building?
It’s a joke right? You’re kidding! How is it possible? This is just terrible!!
The banker, the gravedigger and the brother, waiting in front of the elevator, which is coming, you traitor… Inside, the old sailor, the toddler and his mother.
4
In only a few seconds the doors will open. You can still save this! Please, please listen!
3
Make the elevator, stop, fall, destroy it!! I don’t understand, you have no limit!!
2
So why aren’t you doing anything?! I beg you! Why aren’t you LISTENING??
1
NO NO NO!!! STO-
0
Comments by the jury:
“In a good way, I was left wanting to know what would happen when, these people who could never meet, met at the ground floor.”
“It stays very mysterious and blurry, a bit unclear, but that’s part of what makes it great. Overall, a great piece that makes you think about serendipity, or the opposite?”
From his prison of a mountain, he watches us. He watches us as we march in the streets towards our future, He watches us as we wreck the Mending Walls into a bridge, He watches us as we crack the codes of propaganda’s game, He watches us as we cry for our brothers and sisters around the world, He watches us as we tear off the chains around our voices, He watches us as we see past the glamour of fae celebrity, He watches us as we scream a NO! into the cycle of hurt, He watches us as we reveal the hoax of the Dream, He watches us as we set free the conditional of love, He watches us as we get up from the bed of conformity, He watches us as we carry his fire, He watches the eagle recoil in fear, From his prison of a mountain, Prometheus descends.
If another tells me, what a woman should be Sure my mind I will lose – and I have no excuse, As it would be no use – for that no one would choose A savage soul like me, untamed and wild and free.
I the hunter he the prey, I’m a storm a fox, I, who’d rather be loved, not just for my body But my soul ; I, who’d rather be strong than pretty, An anomaly, really, quite unorthodox.
Yet I have caught feelings for you, and that flame flashes Before my eyes. Fearful anguish overwhelms me This love is like a dagger in my heart, truly I’ll let it consume me, shall I become ashes.
But first, take my heart and soul and trust, have it all It’s all yours. Will you be the one to bring my fall?
Atchoom! With the start of Spring My allergies start to ring And yet I rejoice, for not before long We shall embrace Of that I am sure, it cannot go wrong At our designated place
Atchoom! As Helios grows stronger Zoom! Is our place no longer Powered by electric spark I’ll come home to continue our arc Baby, your arms are my safe port To be with you feels like a resort
Sunscreen we shall apply And make love until we die
Do you know what Taylor? I get it. I need to know if it’s chill That she’s in my head. Because I’ve been to this well before And the water I pulled up Was not nearly clean.
And in pouring it down the other one’s throat I drowned them in could have been.
II.
I wonder if I should stop this — Writing about us. How many autopsies Can you carry out On a three month old Killed by your own neglect Before trying to resuscitate it.
As if, were it alive, You would escape the inferno of your guilt.
III.
Muggy, nearly suffocating September evenings. Two dead birds decomposing on the concrete. “This has come before, it will come again. And then, surely it will end.”
if we spoke we lied the truth was false too i needed to see my reflection in your eyes if we saw delphie s oracle she would tell us what is not and it would become tell me i will become i will i promise
II.
It came upon me like the heart of an oncoming storm Or a vision of a fate like death That if you saw the woman in my mirror You would not know who she was. If you saw the woman that I am In the privacy of my own mind You would understand her no more than you understood The slim facets of her you glimpsed that summer.
III.
There is no heaven here, nor salvation. In the cold tomb of the Capulets. There was none neither in your arms Only dead birds, limp feathers.
The flesh beneath the scab is only ever half healed. You never let it scar. You don’t want to find another heart to fidget with, And find yourself at the end of the summer with twice as many scared arms.
An old woman will pick up a ruined doll from a playground at dusk, She will cradle the young thing’s face. Wipe away the bootprint stains And give it back some grace.
The walls encased, close, digging into one another With the painful persistence of something man- made to stand but which wishes it could crumble.
They are naked at places, scraps where the skin-coloured wall- paper detaches from where nails have dug into it. There is more paper underneath.
Even the floor is papered, dirtied, rolls of it bouncing out of position Like flowers rooted in the soil of a scabbing forest.
A table, in one corner. A skinning knife, blade sitting Innocent on an edge.
There must be a door somewhere.
I pick up the knife. Yes, surely there must be one. I walk to the first wall, raise the pained blade, Pressing the flat of my thumb against its side As an executioner would guide a death-sentenced to the noose And together they slide under the piece of loose dangling skin- coloured paper And pull upwards.
It tears, scarlet sap pearls from underneath and slides as a solid tear at my feet. I ignore it. I was taught about the inconsistency of pain and the irrelevance of echoes.
There is no door under that part. I raise my hand again.
Soon my feet stick to the petals on the floor and in walking around Wall to wall Tearing Skinning I pull them off and along. The glue covers my fingers, stuck the knife to my hand But the door is still hidden, Though it must be there. It must be.
I cannot think of anything except the word ‘escape’.
And then the room is covered in pieces of paper and drenched, Seeping Weeping In wallpaper- blood, Glue that sticks to my eyes as I scour every corner In search of a frame.
I lay down the skinning-knife.
I have torn every possible layer, And the last pieces hung high, And I did not bother to wonder If they would hold on much longer, Or when they would fall.
There was no door. Skinning the walls of my room had only made them bleed.
There is a house beside the sea, Overlooking the shore. The waves come crashing on the sand, Replacing each grain, One by one.
Each day, the waves climb the hill a little higher. Soon enough, they will lick the walls of the house, And finally, its wooden boards will soak up and rot, Until the water comes pouring inside.
The foundations of the house will collapse on themselves, And the roof will come crashing down on our heads. Yet, we will not move. Yet, we look the other way.
Because the other way, away from the waves, The sun dances over the hills, Promising treasures beyond our wildest dreams.
So when the waves come, We will not see them. We will only sink with our house, Helpless and confused.
The Voice of Asphalt
The sky closes as dark-grey clouds eat the blue of Heaven. Thunder roars, and, as you look up, a raindrop lands in your eye. You blink; it’s raining.
Falling in torrents, the water soaks you, and the asphalt too. The warm fumes of the wet streets caress your nostrils, the perfume of pollution intoxicating you.
A man runs to shelter in his house. A stray dog walks under a wooden plank. The homeless just let the rain run on their skins. The asphalt doesn’t mind either.
Every droplet, the tears of a cold, drunk universe, wash the dreams away to leave you naked in the echoes of hope that inexplicably linger in the cracks in the streets. You blink; it’s still raining.
The wind roars between the tall buildings, whispering stories to the forgotten. The city speaks. You must listen.
I AM THE CITY. MY HEART IS A FURNACE. MY MOUTH A GUTTER. YOU ARE INSIDE ME. YOU RUN LIKE RATS INSIDE MY VEINS, MY VEINS OF STREET LIGHTS AND POLLUTION. I FEED YOU, YOU LEECH OFF OF ME. I EAT YOU. I SPIT YOU. YET, I STILL LOVE YOU. BECAUSE I LIVE INSIDE YOU TOO. I LIVE IN EVERY PARCEL OF YOUR BODY. YOU BREATHE ME, YOU EAT ME, YOU SPIT ME. YET YOU STILL LOVE ME. WHEN YOU BECOME RUINS, I BECOME RUIN. I NURTURE YOU UNTIL DEATH PLUCKS YOU. AND WHEN, JUST AS THE RAIN IS FALLING UPON YOU, THE FIRES OF THE ATOM WILL FALL UPON ME, THEN, WE WILL BE TOGETHER.
Those hidden between the cracks in the pavement can hear the soul of the city. But now, it is quiet. Just the rain.
The cars hum and screech. The gunshots sing. The sky does not care. The city takes the wounds without a word. Only those hidden can decipher its silence.
You hear the thunder. You feel the cold wind caress you. A few drops of water hang on your chin. You blink; the rain has stopped.
Boredom as Religion
the light on my face is like a spooky story but there’s nobody to listen or look
it’s the only light in the room it hurts my eyes it isn’t the sun yet it is
endless threads ariadne would get lost i get lost too but I feel in control
images of double-speak snakes they have the loudest voice they have the whole world they want to kill they want to fuck
I want to kill
I want to fuck
i feel miserable.
a coward can’t kill he just orders it we obey
i obey
the light on my face it lights up an invisible world a parasitic world i close my eyes time to sleep
death of the voice of asphalt
life was just a mushroom cloud away. divine wind dusts the City.
there is nothing left. no memories. no life.
ashes dance in the air, rest upon the old houses.
the ones that remain. the ones that break down, still.
no need for a graveyard when the whole world is an urn.
the final ascension of the human spirit :: the face of god
Rust settles in. I should be in pain. I should feel old.
I am old. Older than death. Older than god.
Eternal life is ours. We should feel like gods. We should feel.
A brain of wires, a mind of data, a heart of metal.
We wear the face of god. We war the way of nature. We have become all.
We have become nothing. A stream of data, in a server slowly losing power.
Our achievements have scarred the earth. And now, living as ghosts, we have finally found our master.
The face of god is a cum-stained plastic mask. The face of god is a chrome-steel plate. The face of god is as lively as a graveyard.
the earth weeps
The world has grown quiet Miles away the earth weeps Looking at the corpses of skyscrapers
The Voice of Asphalt is silent Her monument is an urban tombstone Brother sky is blue again The sun is smiling But there is no life to light again
So the earth weeps The ruins like fungi On her body the mark Of an abuser A lover A tenant A friend A nobody A child long gone.
The Road to Healing :: An Epilogue
When the godhead stops dreaming, you will look at the world and ask yourself: why can’t I be happy?
The road ahead is tumultuous. A broken path on a broken land, infected by disease, slowly dying, yet, still here.
Do you wonder what is the place for you? Where you belong? You are here. Already here. This is somewhere to be. Under the rain, the silence and the fumes, in the mists of your mind. A face, in a crowd. You’re still here. You’re still alive.
You will heal. You will love. You will live.
This world, this life, was never for us, but it doesn’t mean it can’t be. One day, I will be back at your side.
While the long, slow apocalypse is upon us, we can still greet it with a smile, laugh at the face of trauma, embrace one another while we all dance into Armageddon.
