Up-to-date (only 49 minutes late!)-Haiku

Practice.

Artist! Writer! Practice your skills. Read something, pen something, sketch something still. Swiftly unraveled, Long work to re-bind, The tenuous strands 'tween thumb, fingers and mind. Let not the dreams slip, Through unclenching hands. Guide them, direct them. Make patterns of sand. Pay no mind to mistakes, They belong, let them be. They're trees in the forest you're trying to see. Make ready your keyboard, Sketch paper and ink, You're readier now than you may ever think.

Toothache

Her tooth swelled to cartoonish sizes, pushing others out of the way and sinking a chainsaw deep into her gray matter. It lengthened, piercing her brain and erupting through the back of her skull. A throbbing pain echoes through her body, riding her nerves like electric death through a power line. The frayed ends of the heavy electric cord were buried there in the small space between her teeth and deeper, pouring 10 million volts of pain into her very soul. The tiny evil bone, unrelenting in its persecution, begins to vibrate. Her molars clatter and they are made of glass. Every click of her jaws sends a fresh scream to her lips. She digs her long fingernails into her eyeballs, but the distraction is momentary as the earthquake in her mouth comes to a violent head. Some unseen force ignites the tooth in white hot fire, she can taste her searing gums. The flames spread, and soon her throat is engulfed and she blisters her lungs with ...

Front Porch Ramble #5

The old man who lived across the street sometimes glared at Jeremy while he sat smoking, his lawn waiting very patiently for a trim. In the 8 years he had lived here, he had never learned the man's name. So long after moving to the neighborhood it would have been awkward to seek introductions. Jeremy thought of him as a man with nothing else to do but dedicate himself to a nicely tended lawn and well maintained landscaping. This was in part due to the spotless emerald carpet that left no doubts as to property lines, but also due to the 8 plastic cans in varying hues that appeared on the curb every Monday morning on yard waste day. Without fail, Jeremy had never seen less than 3 bins out week after week. He sometimes wondered if the old man was slowly digging out an in ground pool in the backyard, or perhaps something more nefarious. No, there was the old woman, poking her head out to check on his progress. This was real life after all, n...

Front Porch Rambles

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