Memories of a Mermaid
By Natascha Tallowin
A glittering sliver of something was glimpsed on the horizon today
bobbing slowly nearer
like a cork on a rough sea
Every now and then the beauty of it caught the eye of a turning sunbather
And a child even pointed once
declaring it a mermaid
But as the day drew on, interest waned and the beach began to clear.
The glimpse of glitter swelling with the drawing in of the tide
grazed the sand of the shore for the first time
shifting back and forth with the slow rhythmic pulse of lapping waves
Until finally coming to a halt
Moments passed.
The snout of a spaniel snuffled loudly about its form
A dog walker stopped hesitantly
poking, prodding at it with the toe of her shoe
A naked body flopped back
A picture of sullied perfection
luminous skin a wonderful shade of pale,
blue eyes wide open with an expression of mild surprise
A mane of colourless hair lay spattered across the beach, encrusted with sparkling sand
Only the curl of a piece of paper held tight within his hand
With trembling finger tips the dog walker removed the page from his water logged hand.
"I told you not to drown."
It said.
Nov 8, 2010
Skin, E.Seehafer
Skin
By Elaine Seehafer
Tuned in to the
symphonies of depth -
in all that lies below
the glazing surface
of the external -
he peeled back
her outer layers-
as a snake sheds its skin
to be reborn.
His hands gently incised
their path to the river -
her skin extending
and shedding itself
towards the light
By Elaine Seehafer
Tuned in to the
symphonies of depth -
in all that lies below
the glazing surface
of the external -
he peeled back
her outer layers-
as a snake sheds its skin
to be reborn.
His hands gently incised
their path to the river -
her skin extending
and shedding itself
towards the light
Dollop, S.Martin
Dollop
By Stephen Martin
Inside
my
broken
wrist
I weep
& sleep
ugly little dreams.
Outside
beetles & bottles
litter
black
into
Satan's
open suitcase.
Above the spitting
crow is
laughing
at my
shadow-
self
-inflicted poise.
Below
a polka drab
bouquet
of flies
a filthy mantra
begs
indifference.
By Stephen Martin
Inside
my
broken
wrist
I weep
& sleep
ugly little dreams.
Outside
beetles & bottles
litter
black
into
Satan's
open suitcase.
Above the spitting
crow is
laughing
at my
shadow-
self
-inflicted poise.
Below
a polka drab
bouquet
of flies
a filthy mantra
begs
indifference.
Daredevils Covenant, R.Koppelberger
The Daredevils Covenant
By Ron Koppelberger
He had to stave of the terror of an amazing dare, the exposition of chance. His reliance on the savage choices he often made were addictive and difficult to fend off. Jackson Irish was a daredevil of sorts, he crusaded in dangerous dilemma and courageous disaster.
Jackson found himself near the approaching maelstrom of swirling soil, wheat bloom and erupting air. The tornado inched closer to him with each labored exhalation.
He had parachuted from the tallest building in the downtown Hammock, fifty stories high. Jackson had done the turkey trot with trains and approaching cars as well as hanging from lengths of knotted rope by the underbelly of an airplane. He had swallowed glass and nails, cockroaches and snails, and now, Jackson would ride the black sackcloth of a tempest in towering shadow. The darkness of a dirty demon in undeviating destruction, a tornado in full tilt.
As the monster approached the underpass he had a fortunate flash of inspired fear. His courage in doubt he wrested the rare, whimsical moment to the depths of a simple nervous expectation. He was confident in his abilities. The evidence of his purpose was his constructed resolve, borne of primal passions and the desire to conquer death. His disposition would define a miracle.
The twisted wreckage of an SUV flew over the top of the bridge and with a rending metal crash landed on the opposite side of the tow-lane highway. Jackson watched the tempest as it approached in screaming fury. In the final moment between life and certain death Jackson Irish leaped back beneath the bridge. The tornado roared overhead like a fright train and Jackson held fast to the huge steel I-beams.
The swirling demon continued across the landscape without Jackson as a passenger. Jackson was half-caste, a hybrid of sorts now. In benediction he had consulted with god swearing a covenant with life, in those final moments he had seen the darkness and it’s intention to possess his soul. For Jackson a miracle had occurred.
By Ron Koppelberger
He had to stave of the terror of an amazing dare, the exposition of chance. His reliance on the savage choices he often made were addictive and difficult to fend off. Jackson Irish was a daredevil of sorts, he crusaded in dangerous dilemma and courageous disaster.
Jackson found himself near the approaching maelstrom of swirling soil, wheat bloom and erupting air. The tornado inched closer to him with each labored exhalation.
He had parachuted from the tallest building in the downtown Hammock, fifty stories high. Jackson had done the turkey trot with trains and approaching cars as well as hanging from lengths of knotted rope by the underbelly of an airplane. He had swallowed glass and nails, cockroaches and snails, and now, Jackson would ride the black sackcloth of a tempest in towering shadow. The darkness of a dirty demon in undeviating destruction, a tornado in full tilt.
As the monster approached the underpass he had a fortunate flash of inspired fear. His courage in doubt he wrested the rare, whimsical moment to the depths of a simple nervous expectation. He was confident in his abilities. The evidence of his purpose was his constructed resolve, borne of primal passions and the desire to conquer death. His disposition would define a miracle.
The twisted wreckage of an SUV flew over the top of the bridge and with a rending metal crash landed on the opposite side of the tow-lane highway. Jackson watched the tempest as it approached in screaming fury. In the final moment between life and certain death Jackson Irish leaped back beneath the bridge. The tornado roared overhead like a fright train and Jackson held fast to the huge steel I-beams.
The swirling demon continued across the landscape without Jackson as a passenger. Jackson was half-caste, a hybrid of sorts now. In benediction he had consulted with god swearing a covenant with life, in those final moments he had seen the darkness and it’s intention to possess his soul. For Jackson a miracle had occurred.
Fall and Rain, M.Foster
Fall and Rain
By Meridith Foster
Fall and Rain
One and the same
They always complain
Another gloomy day
But I like it
Sleeping in
As the drops tap the roof
Staying warm under cover
And dreaming
By Meridith Foster
Fall and Rain
One and the same
They always complain
Another gloomy day
But I like it
Sleeping in
As the drops tap the roof
Staying warm under cover
And dreaming
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