Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Improbable Limericks

He speaks of once-upon-a-time,
dances adroitly on a dime,
skitters to and fro
if you point a light at his nose,
and never talks in rhyme.

The dreamletts come from here
though gifted with some fear;
will you partake
and aid his sake
or decline to let it appear?

~

A key to open the gate
to worlds free of fate:
to fortune and wonder,
not failure or blunder;
a fresh sauce to spread on your pate.

A new door opens wide
and swallows the oncoming tide.
You're escorted in
by the soaking wet din
and find a new place to hide.

~

All pieces associated with my character on Improbable Island, named DreamClassier. Indubitably more to come.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Wish

what you call for the culling
I call for the fire
what you call for the dying
I call to go higher
what you call for the grave
I call to the water
what you call and repave
I bring to my maker

the world is tumbling
but it won't go away
the world is wanting
but I won't let you stay
the world is wishing
but I can't break my fate
the world is fading
but I can't clean my plate

what you call for the culling,
what you call to the grave,
I call the promised
and your biggest mistake.

you see not their hearts,
just deep in their minds;
I see what they could be,
what chances they'll find.

what you call for the dying,
what you call and repave,
I dig up the dirt
and refuse to behave.

you see just their tails,
not the head of their coin;
I see momentum,
the knife yet poised.

the world is tumbling,
and you set it aspin,
you keep all the cards
and won't let us win.
the world is wishing,
and you hung the moon;
but I found the stars
and they'll join me soon.

the world is wanting,
and you took the key,
locked all the doors
and won't set them free.
the world is fading,
you're backed to a cliff;
I taught them to fly;
you just have to...

Friday, January 17, 2014

History of Worlds' End, 2340 ed. Vol W

Ande Wedemon, in the early twenty-first century, was the first to predict the Rutherford Apocalypse, in his book, "The Cycle of Time." It was his most successful publication released during his lifetime, and his only non-fictional book on the subject. He completed the work shortly before his death in 2046. The idea didn't gain a significant following until the 2330s, but only the most dedicated believers attributed the concept to him.

If you can muddle through his dubious mathematics, one discovers the claim is based on archaic "military time" turning over to a new day at 2359. This clock was retired in the 2150s with the global adoption of decimal time.

In the final chapters, Wedemon admits disbelief in a world-wide catastrophe, saying "2359 marks the end of an era, and 2400--or rather 0000--the beginning of a new one. This is the true meaning of Revelations: the turning and renewal of a cycle... There may be no rain of locusts; I certainly don't expect one.

Aside from "The Cycle of Time," Wedemon is known for his contribution to the world of poetry. Despite free verse being the prevalent style during his lifetime, his dedication to modernized rhyming verse contributed to the rebirth of its popularity in the middle to late twenty-first century.

We he passed in 2046, all of his work was released into the public domain, in accordance with his extensive support of Creative Commons and as written in his final will and testament. He left behind no heirs.
--

This is a brief fictional piece that may serve as a chapter preface to a larger story if I ever figure out what I want to do with it or conceive of any additional passages from the "History of Worlds' End" encyclopedia.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Just Reach

it's like you make excuses to touch me
reach for the keys on my hip
don't wait for my hands
fingers unscrew the clasp

I'm tempted to bury them in my pocket
make you dig for them
don't wait for my hands
fingers unstop my hesitation

I'm tempted to bring it to your attention
don't need excuses to touch me
reach for my hands
fingers take us home

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Angels Take Me

you can take away my computer
if you take away the war,
take away the industry
and leave what came before.

give me the wide open way,
the wilderness and the wood;
give me the subtle green dance;
put things back the way they stood.

take me back to the time
when animals had free reign,
when trees outnumbers houses,
when humanity wasn't to blame,

when magic still had a toehold
and superstitions weighed much more,
when someone like me had a place to be
instead as a brick in someone else's floor.