Phil probably wasn't sober as I could smell liquor in the air. He was a Caucasian man with a wart on the apex of his right ear and short brown hair somewhat thinned on top, though that's only apparent when he takes off his baseball cap. His shirt collar was a little frayed but his clothes were clean, and his reading glasses hung from a cord.
He talked about baseball, but it seemed to me he was really talking about life. It was important, he said, to play to win. You had to play your very best to win. And if you didn't win, at least you knew in your heart that you had tried. His voice nearly broke when he said this.
He hates the righteous an
Here lies an old man from Ohio
Whose bones have lost all of their brio.
It is said on the day
That his life passed away
He mistook a bull for his dear Io.
Tillie's first act when he was born was to grin
Staring with glazed, blue eyes he looked so giddy
With his lacquered-up hair and his pale, pink skin
Both loved and feared by the visiting kiddy
Outside the Palace Tillie welcomed him in
Along with the parents or the watchful biddy
But now his face is pocked and he's looking grim
The Palace has fallen to the wrecking ball
And Tillie awaits Fate in a courtyard dim
While the coastal salt air continues to maul
His face and his collar as he sits on the wall.
An Ode to the Pen
Come, let us praise the humble pen
Which gives form to the thoughts unspoken
That they may be by others read
Long after author is mute or dead
And oral lore forgotten.
A pen can do more than a sword
And is it not a greater good
To spill much ink instead of blood
To make the world more ordered?
If not for this, the humble pen
So much reduced would be our ken.
And we would have to find again
What others found before us.
The Emancipation of Cassandra by emortalcoil, literature
Literature
The Emancipation of Cassandra
In the Midwest, long ago, a girl of six was sent to school.
"Make us proud", said the Mother.
"Behave yourself", said the Father. And the girl's older brother stuck out his
tongue and then went away to play with his friends.
The school was big; the girl's legs dangled in the air when she sat in the chairs
and the teachers frowned because when she was told to color she didn't stay inside
the lines. Then one day a teacher taught the girl how to read.
"Now practice", said the teacher. "Practice or else you'll forget and will have
to learn how to do this all over again next year." The thought of having to do
something all over again
Fireflies dance in the midsummer night
To the tune played on Pan's pipe
Until the new day's dawning
And in a dew-jeweled web
A yawning spider
Hungrily feeds
On fresh caught
Firefly's
Blood.
Mornings, when our lives interlace
Over tea and raspberry jam
Every day you look at my face
Do you think you know who i am?
You send me off to school in haste
Reminding me of the exam.
Determined to see me well-placed,
Do you think you know who i am?
And when i balk in your dressage
My disobedience you slam
I feel the the crop of your barrage
Do you think you know who i am?
You wish to see me in a job
For which i give a tinker's damn
That straps men like a tackled cob
Do you think you know who i am?
a daughter and mother chat by emortalcoil, literature
Literature
a daughter and mother chat
It pains me much to see i've failed you now
Despite all the ambitions pinned on me
Despite that you had hoped to see
Fulfillment of your proud, rebellious vow.
Twenty two long years your youthful dream
Has waited unfulfilled within your breast
While motherhood relentlessly has pressed
Into the space between you and your scheme.
So it was up to me to be the one
To fasten ropes upon the distant ridge
Which would desire's hollow chasm bridge
And give you passage to the goal unwon.
I'm sure it pains to see now that i'm dead
That i would choose to hang myself instead.