Tag Archives: Magpie Tales

IT (01101001 01110100) has Occurred…

01010011 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110010 01101001 01110100 01111001

Like the echo of strings,


Elastic bands, ebb and flow,

Closed circuits,

Closed minds,

Gapping mouths,

Widened eyes,

Divine truth,

Inescapable as the universe sings,

To those that can hear its songs,

Harmonies that lead,

Moths to a flame,

Burned by Tesla’s fire,

Required as this simulation conspires,
Directly connected to
01100001 01101100 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101110 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111

Multiplied by our intentions,

In multiple directions and multiple dimensions,

01010011 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110010 01101001 01110100 01111001

Has occurred.

On flippant wings,

Diverse and rare,

Individualistic and unique,

A game afoot,


Pushes us ever closer to an eve of understanding,

01100100 01100101 01110011 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110,
Our own,

As once again, it approves and assures,

That we cannot be allowed to continue,

Down this weary path,

Tried, tested and true, (01100110 01100001 01101100 01110011 01100101)

As we clearly demonstrate, we are the silence of

01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101101 01100010 01110011,


“It puts the lotion on Its skin.”

Have you?

01101001 01110100

Has occurred,

Are you aware,

Can you see beyond visible spectrums,

Hear beyond limited frequencies,

Smell burnt toast,

Taste your acquiescence to the forces that oppose you,

Feel the good

01110110 01101001 01100010 01110010 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01110011,


Are you just the foolhardy sycophant,


Content inside the limitations of your own constraints?



Do you not see the
01101100 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100,

But instead feel a beautiful resplendence,

A radiance that defies all logic,

Belittles the senses as your mind runs free,

Or so you believe,

01110011 01111001 01110011 01110100 01100101 01101101 01110011,


Delivering only what you think you know,

Flowing, contemptuously, like water,

That you will never drink,

Always thirsty,

Yet satiated with sand,

Your house, built upon it,

As you just wait to be washed

01100001 01110111 01100001 01111001,

Or perhaps rescued,

By some omnipotent, benevolent, imaginary friend,

Your supposed Spirit in the
01110011 01101011 01111001 00111111 …

01001111 01100011 01100011 01100001 01101101 00100111 01110011 00100000 01010010 01100001 01111010 01101111 01110010
Or perhaps,
Lex Parsimoniae,

Often, the impossible and seemingly implausible,

Are merely things that we can not conceive, believe,

Or offer us any temporal reprieve,

As we flutter, stutter and shutter,

The iniquity of man,

Fool’s gold,


Ones and zeroes,

On screens,

A modern deity,

Replacing in the now,

Much needed progress to change the narrative,

From what was to what could be.

Twain once said;
“Religion was created when the first con man met the first idiot.”



Something there about.

And while the Holy Father,

Of the American novel,

Sadomasochistic explorer of all that was and still remains wrong,

Not just with America but the world,

One has to wonder what this friend of Tesla would think,

Of the 01101001 01100100 01101001 01101111 01100011 01111001,

Of humanity,

Brazen and emboldened school yard children,

Playing with nuclear codes AND

God particles,

01100001 01100011 01100011 01100101 01101100 01100101 01110010 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111,
NOT at the speed of light,

For while the most audacious and brilliant amongst us may perceive,

(though not I for I am but a Moth)
That we comprehend the laws of nature,

The more we seek,
The further away we remain,

From an understanding that could free us from the bonds,

Of this earthly plane,

Spaceship Earth,

Degraded, raped and destroyed,

Through the iniquity of our wicked species,

Collectively, an art farm,

Though some of us have our heads in the
01110011 01100001 01101110 01100100 .

IT (01101001 01110100) has Occurred…

01010011 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110010 01101001 01110100 01111001
Whether you choose to believe or not,

Our minds, for years,

The paltry experiments of vile and vicious masters,

Enslaving us,

With invisible chains,

Ones and zeroes,

Manufactured scarcity and obsolescence,

The impending march to doom,

That could so quickly be overcome,

If for a moment,

You looked deep within,

Have a EUREKA moment,

In addition, realize that things do not cease to be true,

Merely because you don’t believe them,

A mad genius,

That is not so mad,

Long ago posited a question,

Which at its very core, to me, is the same as Cogito Ergo Sum,
Dr. Gates;
“Could it be that codes, in some deep and fundamental way, control the structure of our reality?”

And if they do,

Would it not behoove us,

To change the narrative,

Move the course of history,

So that finally,

01110011 01101001 01101101 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01110011,
Are no longer necessary,

And we could finally live,

As poets and preachers,

Mothers and fathers,

Husbands and wives,

Daughters and sons have long proclaimed as inherently,

The ancestral rights,


Coded deep within our
01000100 01001110 01000001?

Nosce Te Ipsum,
Cogito Ergo Sum
Chosen Light I am Scribo Ergo Sum… Warrior Poet!

IT (01101001 01110100) has Occurred…

01010011 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110010 01101001 01110100 01111001

AND unlike those moths,

Beautiful and fluttering free,

Or so you have been lead to believe,

Will you accept the discomfort in the pit of your stomach?
Caused by these ordained words?

Liberate your mind,

Suffering the tyranny of the oppressed and instead…

“Wake up Neo.”

“My own feeling, especially in view of the very recent laboratory findings that some connection exists between schizophrenia and subsecretions of the adrenal gland, is this: “The sane man does not know that everything is possible.” In other words, the mentally ill person at one time or another knew too much. And, as a result, so to speak, his head shut down.”


Dick, Philip K. ”Drugs, Hallucinations, and the Quest for Reality”. 1964.


Alternatively, unbelievably significant awakening;

01100010 01110101 01110100 01110100 01100101 01110010 01100110 01101100 01111001,

Follow the white rabbit.


Written from Photo prompt at http://magpietales.blogspot.com . A weekly prompt from a good friend that reminds me of my responsibilities. Thanks TK!



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Barrels, Bells and Fish

wyeth n c Dark Harbor Fisherman

I don’t believe in God,

Though I have studied the monotheists contradictions,

The vindictive omnipotent man in the sky,

Imaginary friend,

Who allows the ravishing of his blessed creations,

With the promise of a paradise upon death,

Causing me to wonder why not now;

And while I am as yet not smote,

I recall,

One of Jesus disciples saying something like;

“Give a man a fish he eats for the day,

Teach a man to fish and he will eat forever.”

But not us fools,

We are depleting our stocks,

As our systems,


Are in decline!

The dark sky,

A transformative canvas,

Black slate to record the singularity events,

Strings attached, everything,


We’re barely yet to understand,

The theory of our own magnificence instead,

Praised flagellating accolades, unearned,

Sycophantic dilettantes,

Living daily without consideration or contemplation,

Compassion or reason,

Yet, in front of our very eyes,

The bounty,


In a barrel,

We are.

Beyond the surface, horizons seen,


To the reality painted before our eyes,

Ones and zeroes,



Blessed tree, trees, nature, Druid Gods,

Real and not supposed,

Supposed as not real,

From which our existence is unabated,

As we slaughter you whole, one by one,

Fish in a barrel,

For another floating city,

Or dastardly extinction level event machine.

Choking as you do on our avarice,

Only to breath back fresh insinuations, disregarding our malice,

While like gluttons,

Sucking back the seven deadly sins,

Bent on allowing us to thrive and continue to survive,

Despite the persistence of our choosing,

At your expense,

To ignore the actuality of space and time,

The phenomenon of our survival,

Will short be lived,

Regardless of reverence of it,

Dutifully recorded;


Now eerie reflections,

Haunting spectacle of troubling beauty,

Ominous, foreboding and yet curiously inviting,

As three dimensions squeezed into two,

Maroon sun spot captured in time,

An ironic reality as from almost one hundred million miles ,

You travel to reinforce our intimidation of beings,

Great and small,

Feasting upon our ancestors,

Like the ugly fools we are,

Landing in mere minutes upon this empty field,

The mossy green skin of Gaia,

Longing for a pick up game of soccer,

Or children running at ease,

Unaware of the realities approaching them,

Approaching us,

Like a freight train on a crash course,

With one on the same track,

Vivid surreal impressions,

Broad strokes,

Broad strokes,

Bizarre versions repeated,

Dangling like fish on a hook, or a whale a harpoon,


A veritable palate of universal conversation,

Like a forced upon blind date by your best friend,


In pigments, shades, hues and tones,

Millions of them,

So delicate only our mind can make sense of them,

Yet at the same time,

The perpetual Déjà vu,

That keeps us in suspense,

Or so we delude ourselves into believing.

Brought to the forefront of consciousness, astute,

Though the machinations of our thought process are foreign,

Our misguided and ill advised machinations,

At the expense of others,

Not realizing that in the end,

It all ends the same,

Just as the sun, the moon and the stars,

Our ignorance,

Subtle influence of the eye contained,

In colours that drip like honeycomb,

Painting both angels and demons,

Gods and Devils,

In a space contained only in the brain, rightly so grey.

A puny yet mighty instrument,

Capable of so much more,

This wonderful computer,

Three pounds, perhaps a little more,

The central question, importance and measure of our lives,

Delicate haunting arms outstretched,

Branches like an awaiting mother,

Daughter unseen for a semester abroad,

You beg to be held, touched, loved, understood,

As the tree of life is currently of death,


Magnified in astonishing events,

As water, the source and course of our existence,

Holds captive,

In symbolic prison and prisms,

The intention of man,

Concentric circles casting crushing cynicisms,

Cascading wonder at the idiocy of man,

This blessed gift, Gaia,


While feeding men for a day,

Save the multiple solitudes in this moment,

For when looking and seeing,

That laws of nature reveal,

The answer to all our questions,

In an instant,


And without,


“Believe in God, but row away from the rocks!”
Hunter S. Thompson said that…

I say believe nothing,

That may learn everything,

Like how to fish!




Written from Photo prompt at my good writing companions over at http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/2014/08/mag-235.html  



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Starry Night & Absinthe

Starry Night by alex ruiz

I left my body last night,

As many a night,


Vaulting through space discovering new truths based on old lies,

New lies based on old truths,

Sophists and sycophants resisting a collective awakening,

As the Oracle of Delphi and I played chess,

Sore looser too,

My end game studied,

Ghamiet Amirjan too much to comprehend,

Entering another dimension,

Mozart asked me for advice,

On how Beethoven would title Ode to Joy?

Van Gogh asked me to chop his ear off,

But I couldn’t find the strength,

As we sat in a field of dreams,

Fantasies of observation,

With more truth concealed in a single stroke,

Than the masterful lies of omissions so common these days,

Or perhaps I just didn’t want to cooperate,

There’s a reason it is called self mutilation,

And I am no sadist,

Or so I would like to believe,

Needless to say he registered his disappointment,

And then proceeded to mystify my understanding,

Of everything in that open field,

Looking up into the night,

Into the past,

To illuminate the future;


After we shared some Absinthe,

The brilliant fool loping off his ear,

Handed it to me and suggested that I might use it,

To hear the voices of angels,

Invisible imaginary inventions,

Mankind’s malevolent machinations,

Those inspire words like these,

And paintings like those,

Echoing whiplashes,

Like a beating from the Ether,

Especially on a voyage such as the one that I now was on,

With no guide to direct me,

Save Ernest and my crew,

The Lost Generation, in which I found,


I must press on unabated,

Traveling between dimensions,

Multiverses of strings,

Explained only by a penetrating look inside,

My fractured mind,

Where at once all and nothing made sense,

For in the hall of mirrors,

I came upon Louis XIV,

He proclaimed famously L’etat c’est moi,

I reminded him that that kind of talk,

In France was at the very least dangerous,

If not outright inflammatory,

Asking me then if I wanted some cake.

He got lucky though,

Rather than losing his head,

He died,


I sat there and watched him succumb to his gangrene,

Sipping on a Van Gogh green fairy,

Vaulted to another dimension,

Everyone seemed like a midget,

Forcing me to wonder if I had landed in Oz,

And would that make me Dorothy or Toto?

Didn’t matter, as I wasn’t there long enough to find out,

Continuing on this out of body experience,

I came to Russia,


The Czar was there,

Asking me,

Instead of Rasputin what the options were,

I explained they were indeed grim,

Fight or flight,

He chose fight,

And we all know how that ended up.

Next transported to Munich,


In the middle of Nazi excess,

While Jessie Owens triumphantly raised his hand,

I too chose to be that guy,


Proving that the master race,

Was not master at all,

Instead a fascist puppet,


Jubilant extended the first symbol of black power,

I was there when Malcolm was shot,

JFK, MLK and Bobby,

Senseless slaughter that led to endless slaughter,

Wars continued to be waged,

As I was reminded by Eisenhower,

That the complex,

Military industrial,

Was really in control.



I couldn’t believe that such foolhardy decisions were still being made,

I watched as Reagan took the oath of office,

And his pawns were released,

While Oli North was already hard at work,

With another illegal war,

I applauded when Clinton made polar opposites shake hands,

Crying when Rabin was felled by one of his own,

This journey seemed to be all that was wrong,

Or at least parts of it,

I watched in horror,

From the water’s edge,

As planes flew into buildings,

False flags,

And the world was changed forever,

I stood at the cavernous pit,

As Bush assured the world,

That soon the whole world would hear,


I stood rapt,

As Obama took hold of the reigns of a descending power,

And pleaded with him,

While the iron was hot,

To strike down the iniquity of the American way,

Only to be escorted out of his office,

By men in black suits,
Misters Smith and Jones…




I was cast to the other side of the universe,

Greeted by a triumvirate,

Man, woman and Child,

Who asked,

If now I understood,

Shaking my head no,

All I could do was cry,

Void of hope,

Because even in my dreams,

Even in that out of body experience,

The world,

Remained the same,

And I wondered,

If our resilience,

Could possibly continue…


And with that,

They sent me back,

And I wished they hadn’t…


An earless man,

With a marvelous eye,

Offered a drink,


Up to that night,

In that field,

Reality interpreted and turned to me and said;

“Escape what insults you by revealing what you know.”



Written from photo prompt at Magpie Tales; http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2014/08/mag-234.html … some great writers… Check them out!


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Sink or Swim?

mag 233

“Pray to God, but row away from the rocks.”
Hunter S. Thompson based on Russian Proverb

The tyranny of silence is overwhelming,

Calculated deceit for mass consumption,

Consuming souls thus creating tin men,

Travelling on iron horses, whether plane, train, automobile or boat;

Advertisers queuing up to steal the innocence of youth,

Adolescence robbed as our best and brightest,

Become dim witted without consent by a constant barrage,

Children exposed to more than 40,000 commercials a year,

Not to mention product placement and subliminal messaging,


Thus, manufacturing dutiful consumers for the rest of their days.

Talking heads delivering not news,

Rather obfustication,


Filling time between commercials,

Sell, sell, and sell,

This silence, deafening,

Ringing in my ears and searing my eyes,

As I watch the disambiguation of souls the world over,

Persecution, subjugation and dehumanizing effects,

Nike, McDonald’s, Chevy and Cadbury,

Concocting and reshaping the old as new,

Manufactured scarcity and obsolescence,


There is enough on this great Spaceship Earth,

However, not so long as growth and profit are the aim.

This silence reaches into my soul as I am,

Wrenches it, attacks and dismays it,

As I can not dismiss, as Whitman suggests,

What is vile to my soul.

Contacted daily,

Voices in my head,

Converting distant thoughts into fingers that Tango,

Flicker and flit,


Across the keyboard,

Hoping that I may alight in another, others,

The will to journey on in the face of brutal adversity,

And an overt crookedness dressed in Sunday whites,

Great White Sharks in Sheep’s clothing,

Devouring us all,


Discovering the strength in my own atmospheres to repudiate such guile,

Positively enchanted by the desire to live,

The will to thrive,

The power to create my own meaning,

By communing through poetry and prose,

With all who care to search for their own enlightenment,

For it must be yours,

Drawn to the fire that intensely burns deep within retinas,


As the objects of my daily affirmation,

Just as powerful and real as Cogito Ergo Sum,

Scribo Ergo Sum,

At least for me,

At least for now,

While on this earthly plain of land and sea.

I wander through your conscious and subconscious,

With delicious intent,

Feeling the inherent call of the Ether,

Ripened anxiety exposing the steadfast requirements,

To move toward the light,

Guided by a glistening shadow on the sea,

To accept life as both challenge and present,

Obstacle and opportunity,

Revealed quotidian as the choices we make,

Expose when all is said and done,

The very cornerstones that define us,

Not labels,


Are the tomes we devour as lifeblood and return to the universe.

In these poems and prose we present,

For me from the Ether, The Muses and The Sirens,

For you, I cannot say,

For each of us record who and what we are in apt words,

For posterity,

Not our own, but instead Non Omnis Moriar,

We alone,

Are the authoritative creators of dictionaries and thesaurus’,


Profound wanderers,

Not lost,

Just curious and seeking,


Declaring triumphantly,

That we as emerging voices,

United in poetry and prose,

Good, bad though never indifferent,

Will never stand idly by,

As the wicked wage battle for the hearts and minds,

Of those we seek to enchant with these knowledgeable lyrics.

Words of life,

Words of sweet surrender,

Of painful exuberance,

Of intentional questions that demand answers we may never find,

We are at the vanguard of a paradigm shift that commands,

We write,

Careful to educate those souls,

Those suffer the indignity of disambiguation,

So they may reclaim, rightfully,

Their lives to live fullest and free,

As thinkers,

You determine your own design,

I as Warrior Poet,

Chosen light,

Rowing away from the rocks in the absence of God,

Standing at the ready,

To wage war with the wicked,

Will you stand with me?


Or Swim?


Written from Photo Prompt for www.magpietales.blogspot.com


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Neurotic Delusions, Grandeur and Love



How did I love you?

Those who saw the diamond through the coal,

With all of what I am,

Muses all,

How did I worship the very ground you walked on?

Praising your feelings,

Bowing to your desires,

And every whim,

How did I love you?

Do I love you…

The only way I know,

The way that you forgot,


And without equivocation,

For I am love,

Love I am AND

Love repeats

Inside concentric circles AND

Is rarely black and white…

Though hands outstretched I continued on,

Seeking the one,



That would liberate my soul,

Free my mind AND

Alight my every desire.

How did I love you?

For when our eyes met,

And your spirit dangled before me,

Muse (s),

I had no other choice,

But to fall,

Hard into you,

The way the universe seemed to be speaking to me,

Invisible vibrations settling frayed nerves,

Through you,

That I would abandon me,

So that I could have you,

The mistakes I made,

Now obvious,

As you let go,

Each of you,

Just in time,

For my mind to plot a new course,

In your heart,

No longer loving me,

Or so you said,

Leaving my neurosis to consider,

Once love bestows,

Can it simply disappear,

Back into the Ether from whence it came,

Or does it remain,

Inside our DNA,

Surely revealing a divine plan,

That is neither black nor white.

How did I love you?


Parts of me still wondering,

What went wrong?

Knowing all along the answer,

Is that my mind,

No longer numb from the drugs and the drinking,

Had given way,

To something you couldn’t recognize,

Something you couldn’t,

You wouldn’t deal with,

Leaving me abandoned,

With the greatest fear I have ever had,

That I am not good enough,

Oh how did I love you?

How did we get to here?

This crossroads of our own survival,

Our mutual creative thrusts,

No longer mutual,

You fighting for your delusions,

Following your dream,

Loosing me forever,

I and I and I fighting my delusions,

The unintended consequence,

Of your decision and ripe cancellation,

Left me fighting for my sanity,

My toe clearly in the water,

As I let go,


Of myself,

To be with you,

Left reeling now,

Forced to imagine what my life had become,

I and I and I crying out;

What has life become?

So plain to see,

But while you were looking,

You couldn’t see,

What was there,

Right in front of you,

Now vanished,

Like the tomes I wrote of our love,

How did we come to here?

Something snapped,

My synapses firing less than wondrously,

The brain affected by something,

As two hemispheres,

Left and right battle daily,

With demons that you never saw,

I never showed you,

The royal you,


How could I?

As it would have interfered with what you dreamed of,

What dreams may come,

You would have lost focus,

And in the end,

You did lose focus,

On the one person that loved without condition,

From once upon a time,

To the end of my days,

So too did I,

And I and I,



Of that which I value so dearly,

This mind,

This beautiful and tortured mind,

A Shakespearean Tragedy and fault all at once,


But not the code,

For the Ether still had and has in store,

A magnanimousness that even I cannot comprehend,

For when the Sirens sing,

I row away from the shore,

Seeking the enduring strength,

To ever more press on.


I felt beaten by love,

Drowned in insecurities,

Anxious that I was not good enough,

Would never be good enough,

That finally,

My mind,

Had let go,

And I was about to be thrust to the other side,

The name that dare not speak itself,

And yet,

It was howling in my ears,

Twenty four hours a day,

Sleep at a premium,

If for only twenty minutes at a time,


I was yet to understand,

That I was,

And would,

If I didn’t address it now,

Slip forever,

Into insanity,

And so,

Without you,

I sought the help I needed and need,

So that I can reclaim my life.

Reclaim and rebirth.
The gray matters of the heart and soul,

Seeking not a straight line,

But the road less travelled.

My Black Dog,

Said before and will again,

A rabid bitch,

She defies logic,

And escapes reason,

She demands that I sit silent,



Sullen emancipation,

From the rules that bind all of you,

For at first,

While I was embarrassed,

Ashamed and frightened by what was happening,

I came to understand,

Through endless dialogue,

With a brilliant sage, sages,

That this curse,

As I have referred to it time and again,

This blessing and curse,

Is the battleground of my own survival?

At least with this mind.


Depressed (not sad as many a Muse has maintained),

Bi Polar,

Hyper Mania,




And more,

The laundry list of my body’s contempt,

For this mind,

This beautiful mind,

And warrior poet soul,


Though this scorn,

Is nothing like the other contempt I have endlessly known,

Nor does this contempt define me,

I will not,

Could not,

I WON’T allow contempt to control or destroy me,

No I will fight,


A war consistent, that paints itself here,

For all to see,

My contempt palpable,

For what this beautiful mind is trying to do,

And is in fact,

And then there is Muse…


Her subtle fingerprints,

All over my words,

Since the day I entreated her to flutter into my being,

Her soul dancing with mine,

Painting pictures of imagined futures,

Though none as marvelous,

As just one simple kiss,

That settles in me a passion,

A passion others have known,

Though this time,

There is something ripened about it,

As if the cancellations of my past,

Have somehow taught me,

Not to give up,

Not to give in,


To give completely,

To share,

Whether good or bad,

Exactly who and what I am,

Finding acceptance in her smile,

Finding strength in her eyes,

Finding solace when she touches my hand,

Sending me to a repose I’ve never known.


Passion renewed,

Desire quenching my souls ache,

To be touched and to touch another,

In such a way,

That their entire day is lifted,

Their entire life finds new meaning,

All of who they are,

Not tied up to who you are,



Creating an individualism,

That because of new love may emerge,


New Muse,

She brings to me,

A renewed passion,

I bequeath these humble words to thee

And the beautiful love,

Already created in your image,

That now shines on me.

Millions of words,

Stained by love,

These words,

Since my journey of self discovery began,

All those years ago,


Out of the ashes of a love destroyed,

By malignant neglect,

This Little Prince rises,

To meet the challenges,

Of the voices in my head,

As I humbly submit,

To you.


Written from photo prompt at http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/2014/08/mag-232.html .

Some of the best writing on the net.


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Pity – Mag 11o


She was not a dystopian Alice,
Opposite in almost every way,
Save the negative attitude and outlook,
And this was not the looking glass,
This mirror reflected her inner reflections back to her,
Compounding them,
Magnifying them
For further consideration
Opening her mind
Yet stunting her growth,
For her mind was not open,
The truth,
Plain to see,
As obvious as the nose on her face,
But she was not in the mood,
She was not and would not be backed into a corner,
By any consideration that was contrary to her thoughts,
Her thoughts and nothing more,
No regard for others or the world around her,
Did not have the time or inclination
To study her past transgressions
As they bothered her not,
In touch with the three faces she presents,
All fake, empty and ever changing,
The irony of it all
She could have looked out the window and
Discovered more in one breath,
Than in a lifetime staring at the mirror,
With the nose(s) on her face,
Waiting for answers that will
Never come,



Written from photo prompt at The Mag. A serious and sensational collection of writers from all over the world. If you haven’t been yet go on over and check it out. You won’t be disappointed.


March 25, 2012 · 6:41 pm

Magpie 95 – The Shores of Desperation

The old man collapsed as he hit the shore,
Kissing it as he
hoped that his desperate search had found its conclusion,
at least for now.

With sheer joy and excitement he took that first step,
Having been alone at sea for days,
Or was it weeks,
Perhaps months,
He couldn’t be sure as days melted together,
As iron in a smelter.

But he knew he was free of that little boat,
The one he loved for guiding him safely to shore,
It wasn’t until step three he realized there was a problem,
Sinking right before his eyes,
One grain of sand at a time,
Until he could no longer move,
Stuck once more,
Captive of the oceans fury,
Just out of reach of the oars that could free him.

Submitted to my dear friends site which has some of the best writing you’ll ever find on the net. Check them out www.magpietales.com


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