You like what you see? Maybe you should take a picture.
Do you like what you see? You’ve been staring long enough to have formed an opinion. My money is on ‘like.’
“To know what exactly?”
Whether or not you like what you’ve been staring at ever since walked in here.
“Staring? Me? Was I really?”
You may have looked away once or twice, but not that I could see.
My short-story, I Am Flying, #1 in “Literary Fiction - Short Stories” at Amazon, is available for free today.
My short-story-long, I Am Flying, currently #6 in “Literary Fiction - Short Stories” at Amazon, is available for free today and throughout Monday, July 21st.
You, who are responsible, have demonstrated your inability to behave in a civil manner. Repugnant is your complete disregard for human life. Empty is your justification. Horrified are your friends and neighbors. With this latest detestable act, you have removed yourself from the greater community. Dwell in solitude as you contemplate the necessary steps for re-acceptance and inclusion. It will…
Every now and then, I become less and less tolerant of that screeching nails-across-the-chalkboard voice you’ve been blessed with, and feel compelled, beyond relief, to share it with the rest of the world. Is there any question as to why I maneuver my frame towards inner sanctuary … curled into cotton with a folktale tome that was bound to bring me joy?
“What’s that, Dear? I was drying my hair.”
If she moves at all, I just might explode right here
This pipe bomb has a hair trigger
There could be significant collateral damage
However, in any light, the complete package is breathtaking
Although confident that I could pull this off alone
Knowing that two hands are better than one, I invited her to come with me
Earlier in the week she had complained about getting the short end of the stick
Oh to have leisure charmed in such a way
That your disposition is envied by the freckled calico grimalkin
Vacillating between trepidation and cunning, a gentle push precedes my entrance
My presence, betrayed once again by my own handiwork
Your lack of acknowledgement strengthens my hope
That feigned resistance truly is an invocation for attention
Improbable as it may be, this moment’s splendor…
Your elusive matter not withstanding
The moan of the worn spring-gate declares your arrival
Confidence warranted without confirmation, until…
The creak of the porch stoop matches your pace
A shoeless absconder from normalcy
My eyes resist the sun’s midday intrusion
Color, as well as shades of gray, ineptly incurs detection
Unfinished reflections of sincerity rest at my side
In a language commonly…
My Life…My Sea
How long…will this continue?
When will I have peace of mind?
Statues have better odds and get more attention
I can remember buttoning my own shirt
Combing my hair by myself
I still give thanks
No one can hear me
My hands brought together in prayer
Now a spectator sport of monotony
By the way,
I perceive sound…hear everyone plainly
A colorless omission, silence is not; nor has it ever been golden. Although cherished when desired, and for the most part, a welcomed comfort, there are those times when quiet interactive discord is quite excruciatingly painful to bear. Your absence the rule … not an exception.
James F. Ross