papers/lighter/text

crumbled and rolled

Recurring Dream 10/20/2014

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 1:32 pm
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Appreciate your teeth.
I lose mine twice a week in my sleep.
Instinctual, like birds migrating south
They clamber, bloodied, out of my mouth
Their enamel feet leaving tracks in the street.
Gumming on food I long to eat,
I’m unable to stop their retreat.
Appreciate your teeth.

 

Stalemate 04/28/2015

Filed under: poetry,sonnet — paperslightertext @ 5:18 pm
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Holly tried to teach me the rules of the game.
A cruel competition, merit-based, laced with shame,
Like chess, where you must think three steps ahead
Is your opponent the goal, the person, or the chessboard instead?

You seem to play by your own set of rules.
Every time I make a move, I end up looking a fool
Are we playing a different game altogether?
I thought this was chess, but maybe it’s checkers,

Mancala, War, Clue, Guess Who? Possibly Risk
You’ve conquered me with an iron fist
What recourse is left for my foolish heart
But to transform my failures into art?

All art aside, I realize to my chagrin:
The rules are rigged and I will never win.

 

The Wall 04/16/2015

Filed under: fiction,short story,the wall — paperslightertext @ 11:04 am
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It was by chance that she discovered the wall.

She’d recently had a fall. After all her horses and all her men took great pains to rebuild her, she was careful about walls. The view from the apex wasn’t worth the risk of dismemberment and death. She charted a new path through the woods so she wouldn’t have to walk past the place where she’d taken a tumble.

Along this detour, she stumbled upon a modest wall not more than five and a half feet tall. It was ordinary enough. Yet she discovered soon that although the wall was not tall, it was impossible to scale.

What was it about the wall?

The wall was funny. The wall was a great listener. The wall was kind of cute.

She soon realized the wall was selectively permeable. Jokes were allowed to slip through its membranes. With practice, she found she could force compliments through. Heartfelt sentiments and sarcastic jabs alike penetrated the wall, but only the barbs were returned. Each volley escalated the play-fight, until she emerged waving the white flag. They drafted a treaty, and she came to accept the wall’s terms, even if she had to accept she’d lost this battle. But this was but one battle in the war.

The wall described her as determined, which was a polite way of saying she was stubborn.

Week after week she returned to the wall. Her hunch was that eventually the wall would let its guard down, and she’d learn its weakness. She didn’t realize how obsessed she’d become with the stupid wall. All she wanted was to be in its presence, admiring its fortitude and excellent work ethic. She was in awe of the wall. How could it persist in its consistency?

She wrote poems on the wall. She sang songs that floated above the bricks and found their way in. These messages were received but not acknowledged, like texts she’d sent that never got a response. Nothing she did made the wall budge even an inch.

The wall was stony. The wall was stoic. The wall loved no one.

But the wall was living, breathing. She pointed this out, to which the wall retorted that walls are emotionless.

She grew ever more determined to deconstruct the wall. She suspected that behind those bricks lived a complexity and depth the likes of which she could spend a lifetime exploring and never quite understand.

She came to accept that this might also mean a lifetime of toil for little reward.

Still she lost sleep over the wall. Consulting the cards yielded the same result each time: now is not the time for action.

So she killed time, continuing to ask the cards only to hear the same response over and over. Be patient. Once a week she’d visit to scribble a verse on its surface. She knew her transmissions were received because each Saturday when she returned, the words had vanished. They’d been absorbed into the brick.

What did it mean?

This question tore her apart. The cards chided her for inquiring so many times. Why don’t you just ask the wall yourself?

How could she have been so stupid? This whole time, she’d never thought to ask.

Every appendage in her body trembled with trepidation as she approached the wall. The question burned her esophagus, rising in her throat like bile.

Who are you?

It was like every cliché in every fairy tale the wall loved so much. Free of its cursed metaphoric state, the wall transformed into a door before her very eyes.

The door was modest, about five and a half feet tall. The door was kind-hearted and thoughtful, although it had a prickly exterior. The door was perfectly ordinary, but she cherished him regardless.

The door hasn’t opened yet, but it will soon.

 

Yahrzeit 03/23/2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 6:34 pm
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Melissa’s wish made me cry Ghibli tears.
Quivering drops for Sol, like pomegranate seeds sown,
Droplets dotting the dirt. Stackings stones on Gladys’ grave,
I cave; I light the candle every year on this day.
I wonder where Sol’s soul sprouts,
Contemplate placing a stone.
This candle stands in for him,
So I’m never alone. I’m carrying him on
With everyone I’ve ever known.

 

03/19/2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 4:46 pm

“when were sonnets sloppy?”
I don’t get much traffic from search engines, but when I do, I’m always mystified at the terms that bring people here.
When were sonnets sloppy, indeed?

 

probability 03/12/2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 1:27 am
Tags: ,

To thine own self I have been cruel
I’ve pined for you like a smarmy fool
Now I seek solace as usual in sonnets
Stung by the solitary bee in my bonnet

Endogamy, exogamy
Assumes the goal’s monogamy
You tell me you’re old school
But I was never ones for rules,

I’ve seen the table, the charts and data
I’m aware the odds aren’t in my favor
Sure, statistically it’s unrealistic,
But you and I are no statistic.

Uncommon, yes, but certainly not rare,
Yet quite unique considered as a pair.

 

Almost Triolet 02/22/2015

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 1:27 am
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I know exactly what kind of old man you’ll be.
But can you imagine an elderly me?
You’ll take slices of lemon in your tea,
You know exactly what kind of old man you’ll be:
An old grump still projecting your problems on Bri.
What awaits us in the realm of possibility?
I know exactly what kind of old man you’ll be.
But can you see elderly you with elderly me?

 

Overextended 12/02/2014

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 3:33 am
Tags: ,

Lavender, sandalwood, patchouli,
Musky like over-steeped mint tea
Scent recalls a fragrant memory
Of a rescuer to my rescuee.

Unable to reciprocate my devotion,
His distance spawned a supernova of emotion
A beautiful mess, a stunning implosion,
So please pardon my corrosion.

My whole world folded in like origami,
But y’know, it’s funny:
That’s role reversal. c’est la vie.

 

 
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