Flying-Fingers October 2015

Oct 3, 201511 min read

Deviation Actions

copper9lives

Published: Oct 3, 2015

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Hello,

copper9lives here... let's get some creative juices flowing!

1. FEATURE

The prompts for September were: wasteland, lost and found, betrayal, and forgiveness. But it was only me that submitted! Are you interested in monthly prompts? Leave a comment below!

Snow BlindLost
In the heavy snow-silence
of deepest winter solitude
Far from the warmth of kith and kin
You lament the death of someone
you never knew
Because she died alone.
I am stunned by the irony.
Here in the empty waste
With only your own footsteps
to guide you
How long can the burning bridges
in your wake
Sustain? Darkest HourDeath, death, divorce, desertion
Staggered against me, fallen one by one
Felled past
Failed future…
When the last friend
Turned her shoulder
Politely excusing herself
From the wrack and ruin
I sat on the concrete —
Hard as resolve was not —
Astonished by the pain
of simply breathing
At the intersection
Of next and nevermore.
Beyond me,
A double rainbow glimmered
Blithely on the sunlit sea. Father's DayThere are times I wonder
At how far you've spun yourself away,
Dwindling in conscious distance
but for the occasional reminder...
Surfacing in a dream, perhaps:
turning over a frost-silvered leaf
to find wild strawberries,
nestled against the warm, dark soil.

I travel now in my own small circles
And dream of larger ones
Find happiness in the details —
many of which
You taught me to seek, patiently —
And explore the blooms of my life,
one at a time.
What distant soil do you now nourish
the growth of spirit with?
What foreign garden do you keep
that never knew my footsteps as a child?
Have you tales to tell, of where you've been,
returning?
Or do you wander the desolate shore
of shipwreck,
Amongst the storm-wrack
and the things you've jettisoned
Crying to the heedless winds
The Trundler

The waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov

UPDATE!

Since October is my favorite month, I'll be featuring anything autumn or Halloween-themed in November, so gimme your submissions! Put them HERE!

2. CRITIQUE CLUB

Hey, y'all! Would you be interested in a Critique Club? If so, reply below, and I'll set up a folder!

Rules

Put at least three questions you want answered in your artist comments.

Submit your work to the Critique Club folder.

Critique at least one other work present. In other words, one critique per submission.

If this becomes popular, we can consider setting up monthly chat events to discuss our work, or pick a work to critique.

3. THE LIT COMMUNITY: PULLING TOGETHER

Are you a member of a group that has gone silent — no activity, no journals, no features, no events, and no interaction whatsoever? Comment below with a link to the group — I've been thinking of inviting the active members of graveyard groups to join us! Let's resurrect some ghosts!