Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Not Growing Up with Fireflies
Not growing up with fireflies I knew no wonder (NO wonder)(truly no wonder, like some Roman scarred by bloodlust wavingsome bread/circus-tendered hand at some poor soulcondemned to die) which sounds dramatic–save for whenI hit one on a highway choked with tiger lilies,running through the town of Van Leer, Tennessee.I stared, dumbfounded, at the incandescent splatter(like some Roman, with one bourgeois ear to Pauland his Good News that even if you lacked religionyou had nature from the start to prove to you that God existed) and the wipers spread it thin–it faded as the skypaled bloodless into dawn, and I was struck (was STRUCK)(truly was struck, as though some parable had resonatedthrough my thick and Gentile mind) with its climactic disappearance,matching stroke for stroke the spangled cloudless blackwith neon lime, and then the aquamarine with a subtle sea-foam,and then the fading ochre-denim with a fading greenish-grey.Then, in light, of course, a spittle-seeming smear. I trustthe sunshine always to decry the mystery.It does not touch the memory that, clinging, now,invites me to hold forth (like some poor Romansinging candidly his praises to a deaf and dying god)(like some dead god, who, hearing him, must then exterminate humanityto make him see the error of his ways.)
By Devon Heavenshire9 years ago in Poets
Love is...
I regret my inability to overcome the pain of all my disappointments. So I try to live without expectation and there by maintain a threadbare existence. To simply live and to simply give. To look beyond the story of suffering into the truth of love and all the joy that is contained in the overwhelming currents of intimate connection. The story of Shama is the story of myself. The story of the peaceful goddess who exploded into a myriad of pieces and somehow each piece found itself and grew itself a new whole until the old reflection was no longer broken. But complete and unified in its own power. For itself, by itself, this is the nature of my soul. And if you are its reflection than yours too. For I am as timeless as the history of cosmic motion. Universe without beginning and without end. I call upon your higher self to trust again. To suspend all beliefs and concepts and simply trust in the unfathomable depths of each living breath. For it is in the breath that true being emerges. All else is just the containment and therefore sacred only in so far as it reveals the core.
By Crystal Pearl9 years ago in Poets
