Saturday, September 26, 2015

Daphne Sola, Two Poems

LUCK IS NOT A THING . . .

Luck is Somebody.
You can hear his bony toes clicking
as he rushes past
and when he decides
to hold still
merging himself into the landscape
he can still be discerned
by a febrile shimmer in the air.

You may think yourself well set
clinging to the sturdiest limb
of the tallest tree
but when Luck suddenly appears
below you
calling out, “Jump!”,
you scramble to your feet
let go of all the familiar branches
and with all the words
of all the books you have ever read
swirling about your head,
Molly Bloom’s are the only ones
you remember,

“Yes, oh yes!” on your lips
swelling your throat
and you leap out
not knowing if Luck is ready
to catch you in his arms
or only hold you for a moment
before he lets you
tumble to the ground,
takes an instant leap away,
his eyes on another,
leaving behind him only an echo of . . .

click

click

click

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THE POINT OF A KNIFE

Do you feel a pricking,
the point of a knife
under your chin?
Listen, Cock-of-the Walk,
you may take it
for an empty threat
but the hand that holds the knife
relishes fierceness
and will make you howl with pain and love
before sundown.

The hand that holds the knife
can also pluck a string
and oh, bonnie man,
you will dance to her tune
you will stamp the ground
until plumes of dust rise
and though you brim with denial,
welcome the dust
that clouds your eyes.

Grasp hands, then, and
move in blinding circles
glued together from waist to knee,
but, oh, rash and cherished boy . . . ,
no longer boy,
the prick of the knife is in the dance
that fires you
and shivers her,
a spark in an uncaring universe,
for all its brilliance
it is a briefness
that can only flame and die.

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Daphne Sola is a poet, an artist, a musician, and a retired gallery owner. She lives in upstate New York

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Monday, September 14, 2015

My Bat Story

Flash Fiction

Terry Mooney

I got home this evening around 8:30 pm after visiting a friend.
Ate a light supper, went online to check the weather, news, and
Facebook, then got ready for bed. That's when I noticed what
appeared to be a small bat on my bed. I observed it for a moment
and noticed no movement, and it appeared to be dead. So,
I donned a pair of latex gloves, and proceeded to remove the
deceased critter. I took hold of a wing, and to my surprise,
flap, flap, flap, flap, flap.....IT'S ALIVE! I didn't let go, but it
scared the heck out of me. After about 15 seconds, it stopped
flapping, and I took it outside, flung it into the air, and it flew
off "like a bat outta Hell" (as the expression goes). It must have
entered through the back door while I was unloading groceries
earlier in the day. Hey, where's Batman when you need him?

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Terry Mooney is a retired NASA computer expert who lives in South Carolina, where he writes stories and works on his artworks. You can find him on Facebook. //www.facebook.com/terrygmooney


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