An extremely short story poem…

and yes my lovely daughter
this was your beautiful grandmother
the photo taken
the day patriarchy died
and the the smell of
FREEDOM
was finally in the air

 

 

Photo:  Polina Chistyakova
Pexels

She wasn’t like other women…a story poem, of sorts.

people often said
that She wasn’t like
other women
and of course
they were right
except for the genetic part
other than that She might not
have been like other women
I mean no two women are the same
so saying that She wasn’t like other women
was just a simple truth
that could be said about any woman
anyway
She loved information
and picked it up
wherever she could
shoving it into the file cabinets
in her mind
until eventually
EVERYTHING
became information
so relationships
were impossible
even her dog
wasn’t happy
since She was always
asking him questions
and while he answered her questions
She never understood
a word he barked
which was frustrating
for both of them
on so many levels
but still
She fed him well
took him for walks
let him sleep on the bed
and petted him each and every day
so he never ran away
he just hoped for more
She told him that most of the time
her head was filled with so many stories
and interesting facts
that the real world
seemed dull in comparison
She said that if one could live in stories
why would anyone want to live in the real world
where everything was messy
and just plain insane
her dog listened politely
and tried to stay awake
his stories were far less complicated
all he really wanted was good food
a ball
and a soft place to sleep
but he tried
to the best of his ability
to be there for her
because someone once told him
that that’s what friends do for each other
so She spoke of wonders
of beauty
of things that existed elsewhere
while he put his head on her lap
and thought of his ball
that had rolled under the chair
where he couldn’t reach it
because really
he sighed
we do all live in our own
tiny worlds
and we can only see
as far as our eyes
will allow

 

 

 

Picture:  Pixabay

The magical bridge to YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE…a story poe

the wind
sang to her
she listened
it told her of
beautiful things
sunsets
of red and gold
birds with blue
feathers
tipped in
pure silver
of lushness
beyond belief
all of her dreams
could come true
if she just crossed
the bridge

what’s the catch
she asked
there’s ALWAYS
a catch
I probably can’t leave
once I’m there
like Shangri-La
right

the wind
rustled the leave
on the trees
and sent butterflies
to flutter around her
then it said
yes
like Shangri-La
you can never leave

have a nice day
she said
as she turned
and went back
down the path

it’s really nice there
called the wind
but all he heard
was her laughter

 

 

Photo:  Tolga Ahmtler
Pexels

The Game…Story poem

the GAME was everything
it was life itself
it was all that mattered
he was a RUNNER
someone whose only purpose
was to be faster than those
who ran against him
his colors were
blue and white
his suit
fit like a second skin
people bet on him
to win
he ran on the walls
through the neon
his body more machine
than anything else
trained to play
without thinking
the Game
was all that mattered
the Game
was all that mattered
the Game
was
all
that
mattered

 

Photo:  Makul Kumar
Unsplash

Trolly 10…a very short story poem.

Trolly number 10
only showed up
on foggy nights
and only
when there were enough
passengers
to make the trip
worthwhile
not everyone could see
the Trolly
it wasn’t there
for everyone
it’s just that
sometimes
the Ferryman
grew tired of being on
the River Styx
and when that happened
ho came ashore
and drove
Trolly number 10

 

Photo:  Georgi Kalaydzhiey
Unsplash

Romeo and Juliet…a short story poem

Romeo
stood looking up
at the empty balcony
he called for Juliet
over and over again
but she did not appeared
he stayed until dark
then left
to tend whatever animals
or grapevines
he was expected to tend

later that night
Juliet snuck onto the balcony
and called Romeo
sweet Romeo
over and over again
until dawn began nibbling its way
through the darkness
finally
broken hearted
she went inside
to sleep
before she had to tend
to her duties
whatever those duties
might have been
dishes maybe
who knows

anyway

the moral of this story?

TIMING
is everything

 

 

 

Photo:  Gaia Prando
Unsplash

A Place…a story poem…

I think somewhere
there’s a PLACE
where gender roles
are reversed
a Place where
women are strong
and in charge
a Place where
men are never fully
dressed
where they are
seen as objects
and are worth
LESS
a Place
where males
have no rights
a Place
where violence
against men
is the norm
and completely
acceptable
a Place
where there are
Male Shelters
for those men
who are beaten
and broken
a Place
where men have no voice
and their bodies
are for sale
or simply taken
a Place
where men’s choices
are severely limited
and they live
in constant fear
I think there is
a Place like that
somewhere
it’s a Place
many women
call Heaven

 

Photos:  Bjorin Pierre
Unsplash

Neon…The Club…a short story.

“Excuse me,” said the bartender.  “You’re in the wrong place.”

The man looked around, took off his sunglasses and put them on the bar. “Look, it’s late, I’m here to start any trouble.  Can you get me something to drink?  I’m meeting a client here.”

“I’ll look in the back, but I don’t think I have anything for you.”

“Give it your best shot,” said the man, rubbing his eyes.

The bartender walked away and a woman slid onto the stool.  “Mr. Cass?”

He nodded.

“Thank you for meeting me here.  I hope you’re not too uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Can you help me?”

“I can try, but I can’t promise anything.”

She nodded and slid an envelope toward him.  “The photo is in there, along with the cash and something that belonged to him.”

The envelope disappeared into his coat pocket, just as the bartender returned.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t have anything.”

“Then give me a martini, dry.”

“You sure?”

“Why are you so mean?” asked the woman.  “They’re just like everyone else.”

“Using the word they, in that way, automatically means you think THEY are different,” said the bartender.  “Look, I just work here.  There plenty of Vamp bars around. This happens to be for the hearts still beating.  I don’t have blood cocktails in the fridge.  I’m sorry, but the sign says it all.  Coming here is like going to a vegan deli and asking for meat.”

“Sorry, kid,” said the man, throwing a fifty on the bar.  “You’re right.  But she was afraid to meet anywhere else.  I’m sure you can understand that.”

The bartender nodded.  “There’s a place down the block called ALL OF US.  It’s new and serves everyone.  You might want to try meting there next time.”

“She doesn’t want to meet where vampires are drinking.”

“I get it, but this is a place for living people only.  They aren’t afraid to come here, because it’s vampire free.  Shouldn’t they have a place where they feel safe?”

The man stood up, turned to the woman, and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

She watched him walk away, then drank his untouched martini.

 

Photo:  Maksim Goncharenok
Pexels

A story poem about crossings..

it’s not always about
Charon and the River Styx
one can cross over
in any number of ways
there’s always the
Crossroads
and don’t forget
the Brokers
who buy and sell
souls
but few talk about the
Snow Man
he likes the cold
and when he appears
in his dark coat and hat
certain people
can’t help but follow him
into the mists
of flakes and ice
to another beginning
someplace
else
no one
has seen his face
there’s just white
and biting cold
but he’ll get you
where you need to go
you can count
on that

 

 

 

Photo:  Akin Akdag
Pexels

Margo and Scott…a story poem

Margo
and her best friend
Scott
looked out of the round window
and saw the moon
and the stars
they saw the big dipper
and other
constellations
Margo turned to Scott
and asked if he thought that
someone looking at the earth
from very far away
saw them in a constellation as well
and if so
what would it be called
Scott thought hard
and then barked
WAR
Margo wiped a tear
from her eye
and nodded
that’s what I thought too
she said sadly
but if they just saw
you and me
they would call it
LOVE

 

Photo:  Pixabay