CavedBits of junk posted. I need to write more and play less.
~astera
Return of the GirlNewest
Of Wood Chaff and WitCoral was convinced the drum talkers were speaking of her. I knew they had better things to speak of than her beauty, however famed in our village and those villages near, but she would bear none of this sense. She thought she fancied them, one or all, but I saw her shudder involuntarily when their mouths opened in a laugh, revealing the raw stubs where tongues used to be. They would not marry, or bear children of their own; there was nothing of the regular round of life for these men. Their lives were the taut skins of their drums, the tight yellows and ochres; the heart’s thump, sounding out a language whose particulars we were familiar witOf Wood Chaff and Wit
by ~astera
On the Nature of LuckI remember learning to swim. The hot feeling that would spread from my belly up; the small cage of my chest burning, heart a warming furnace, neck and shoulders and pinched face afire with the intensity of concentration necessary to hold my breath. I would not count the moments as they passed, but my elder siblings, who took their turns holding me under the gloomy surface of the floodwater lake, would. In the summer, only, I held my breath. Days passed under the water. I felt myself transforming, when first my lungs began to understand the pressures and demands, and later, my arms and legs stretched, bending and knowing their own power. BeforOn the Nature of Luck
by ~astera
AnticipationWith these words she fixed my meditations, my knees pressed to the stone and my forehead almost as close. There was no unwillingness that I could perceive. I felt instead an inability to part with the past, bitterness in the unfolding of our lives that we should become further and further removed from it. It was foolish to long for greatness, for majesty, with even the smallest of daily pleasures beyond the reach of so many. My skin burned with our luxuries, but it would never do to leave our people without some symbol, a scant few icons to which they could look for something better. Could I honestly attest to our power? We managed only to keAnticipation
by ~astera
Favourites
a good housewifeI sit here on this slipcovered sofa hunched over, bent neck, mending tattered and thinning cloth sewing his socks -- when i prick myself suddenly my thumb releasinga good housewife
a single drop of blood i lick away.
I stare at the needle's tip still red then push it into
my fingers' pincushion flesh and pull, the taut cotton thread tingling my skin. I push and pull
through every finger until my little hands are bound like mittens.
by ~nepasavaler
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Why don't you join the poetry contest from [link] ?
It's free and every nitwit such as myself who enters gets a small gift
but someone like you might win one of their $10 000 or $100 000 prizes.
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destruction leads to a very rough road, but it also breeds creation
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Enjoy the Silence...
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like that made sense.
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(x x)
c('')('')
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