All posts by kmjmreed

Exit, Entrance to Exit

creative writing, Flash Fiction, poetry, Words, , , , , , , , , , ,

The whites of her eyes trembled like approaching dual headlights in heat-haze.

Each pinkly foot all a blur; cradled loosely by a pair of slip on cups; adjoined by two nonsynchronous shotguns; lock and loading; firing her across the nightclubs remix of slip and adhesion.

Her slight outline; disappearing/reappearing; a visual offbeat to the paparazzi furore that follow her with discord; some giddy travel through extra-terrestrial lights of seizure.

To a close country border,

Fire doors! she cried, unlikely to be heard… or in thought.

Now here is the swing and hinged odds; potholed by scattered youth with inebriated limbs; blotted by dazed fireflies that danced in the smokes.

Surrendering to official air, the same air that blows your sweat gently across your neck into deltas on your chest, only reminiscent… to be felt.

When gravity falters, this Mother Earth is momentarily off her axis.

Her daughter follows one snaking line of shy neon; in and out of sight, forever smaller, staccato, in black, can paranoid be the night?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wind Paintings

poetry, Words, , , , , , , , , , ,

Some sunlit Sunday when the wind began to paint; swirling lines around windowed tombstones,

Chroming dull, jutting decay and the ironic dancing of litter; saturated with audacities,

Shading the herding commuters with realism and the scattered loiterers in impressionism.

Not forgetting the multi-toning of everything with tornadoes, and the requisite highlighting with hurricanes.

Then for some; the inability will be – to see the bigger picture; with all the unnecassary force

Of incessant rains upon swollen, rolling seas.

This weather has found it’s new career.

Simplicity Tapes

poetry, Words, , , , , , , , , ,

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An old cassette tape, when the light catches it handsomely it looks silvered and bronzed like a monument with little dates of significance.

The time is half-past-something or a quarter too, and the day really doesn’t care for its name.

Then I recall Septembers, that this September; the breeze has been as gentle and warm as breath exchanging from lovers in loose conversation.

Randomly, I feel a surge of discomfort within the thought of the inability to appreciate anything, while I continuously slip comfortably into taking average daily life for granted.

Three army helicopters throb, thunderously overhead. They pass in a mini apocalypse parade; for a moment the suburb is drowned with the sound of their rota-blades, the atmosphere feels as if it’s expanding in its protestation.

The air chooses to relax; dropping its noisy luggage, only to float upon its regular self, I notice from beyond my open window, two female voices; unexplainably but noticeably middle-aged, and motherly, using vocabulary that only just resembles my native tongue. I think perhaps that I’ve momentarily forgotten to understand my language.

 

 

 

Listen to the Music

poetry, Words, , , , , , , , ,

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I listen to the music

 That attractive noise

I’ll listen to The Fall

 To The Beach Boys

I listen to the music

 So candid

 Therapeutic

A stinging to my ears

 So enjoyably caustic

I listen to the music

For instant nostalgia

Of where I was

Who with

Or when I found ya

I listen to the music

 I love that drone

So finally I can sleep

 Until the notes find home

I listen to the music

It conjures such love

 Into my ears

 Let it roll with a loose shove

I listen to the music

Feeling happy or stressed

I’ll listen when calm

 Intoxicated

Badly dressed

I listen to the music

 On various compilations

Those imperfect and personal

 Golden-oldie stations

I listen to the music

 Like a hit from the hits

I listen to the music

 When the moment fits

I listen to the music

 And here’s the chorus now

I’ll listen

Until the music’s over

… T’Pau!