Can’t Write Scared

dVerse~ Poets Pub OpenLinkNight #196

 

Can’t Write Scared

At university

the stoned poet said

“you can’t write scared”–

I continued

each word precisely penned

attuned to imaginary readers

whose lips curled derisively

on occasional lapses

of censorship.

I was an egg

concealed in a flimsy shell

like another half-dozen

cosseted caricatures

playing writer

spinning trite phrases

of sweet sounding words

imaginings of pink packaged

saccharine sentiment

but then I succumbed

to non-consumption.

∼∼∼∼∼

On rebirth I cried

“you can’t write scared”

and I didn’t, for a while

developed succinct style

of hewn craft on drafts

pinched words like pennies

wanted bennies, not

in my twenties anymore.

Fear pervades the core

bores into the brain

insane unremarkable drivel

pours through pores

I wrote scared

but scarred surfaces

surge upward

like polished wood

trampled on daily

til frailty exists no more.

 

5/18/2017

Sascha Darlington

(oops. I had farce in there, but deleted it.)

 

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Ex Machina–Friday Fictioneers

crook3

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Thanks to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers. If you’d like to participate, visit here.

For more stories, visit here.


Ex Machina (97 words)

Ask anyone: I am not given to fancy. Yet there’s a quality about this room that terrifies me so much that I avoid it.

In nightmares I hear the rusty grinding of metal on metal, piercing, agonizing cries.

Hugh laughs, pats my shoulder. “Such an imagination. No people were harmed with this equipment.”

During the night, the wind accelerates, howls, shakes the roof shingles, keeps me awake. Next to me Hugh cries out and jolts up in bed. His eyes wildly glance around the room before landing on me.

“Tomorrow we find a new home,” he says.

 

end 1/7/2017

S. Darlington

Let’s Explore the Unknown

tltweek49

Three Line Tales, Week Forty-Nine<– click the linky to join in.

 

Let’s Explore the Unknown (98 words)

“Let’s explore,” you say, a game we played when we were kids, wandering through the woods and pretending—intrepid explorers, time travelers, pirates.

Today your big hand makes my tiny one feel safe, warm, as I am frightened of what the procedure tomorrow will uncover.

As you lead me toward the lake where the wood ducks chatter, you say, “Let’s pretend we’re time travelers” and then you effortlessly lift and twirl me around so gently I feel I am floating on clouds, and I lean back, close my eyes and pretend it’s months into the future from today.

 

end 1/5/2017

S. Darlington