“Method leads to madness,” uncle Pritchard told me one afternoon while I was struggling to write a single sentence that even remotely inspired me. He’d caught me staring into space while hovering over my notebook, pen at the ready (mind, not so much). He took it as his mission to get me going, so he proceeded to spout a number of phrases that were cliché to nobody but him. “Never break out the driver when a two iron will do. Sugar doesn’t melt, it gets better. All animals wind up orphans if everything goes to plan.” He continued on for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. I eventually said “screw this” and ordered us a pizza, no worthwhile words inked.
Category: Poetry
Magic Mink
I’ve always said to myself that he’d make a fine coat if worn during the autumn months, draped across my shoulders. He would also make a fine blanket around that time of year, depending on the form he wants to take. He tends to surprise me with his various interpretations of shape. I just worry that he may avoid making contact with me, he’s usually on his own and wary of my advances. Even saying hello can be considered a violation of personal space. You know how the old phrase goes: the more magical you are, the more you wish folks would just leave you alone.
Grove
I left a seed
(a kernel of truth)
behind in the busted old car
that’s been put out to pasture
near a grove of lemon trees.
It won’t be long now
before it finds a place
to sprout and make
that hollowed-out corpse
of an automobile
relevant again,
at least to the bees.
Logged Out
Good for you, coming out of that coma so soon. We’re glad to have you back! Now, you’ve been out of commission since three Fridays ago. Do you want to be updated about that time, or are you the type who wants to find out about the past fortnight and change on your own? How about some friendship updates– you can’t find those on the internet so readily, because we now prefer not to use social media as a whole. It’s been lovely so far. We’re nine days removed from when we decided as a group to cease all digital interactions in favor of real ones, as a tribute to you, actually. We logged out of the virtual rat race just like you, buddy.
Over Under
A fellow put on
an undershirt
under an overshirt
under an overcoat,
as he saw it would be
overcast all day.
Whether or not
he went overboard
or undersold his need
for more garments
is yet to be seen,
but his overall
choice of attire
seems fitting.
Slithering
Slithering down the steps of a cathedral like an uncouth serpent between the twelfth and the fifteenth of the month really takes a lot out of a person, especially when coupled with a lack of muffins (or even the basic implements for making those unhealthy breakfast treats). A half-hour of slithering up and down steps, cathedral or otherwise, is all it takes for exhaustion to kick in. Anyone who’s gone that far understands the amount of caloric intake necessary to fuel movement so close to the ground, and more experienced slitherers often have a bag of trail mix on their person for such excursions.
Unaware
A stoic German Shepherd
surveys its land,
unaware that its ancestors
once had actual sheep
to lead around.
It has an unquenchable
need for organization,
which it unleashes
on the people in its life
as often as possible
(especially the little ones
who would rather
run around aimlessly,
completely devoid of guidance).
WHARVED 