[New Short Story by Grasshopper]

This one has a metaphor running throughout too

Metaphors running loose, huh? Oh, well, I might read it anyway. :p

Kisses...

TR

[bugs, by TR]

bugs

circle of eyes, centered

gleaming gold

focused

my young cats watch, await

a movement

a twitch

tiny terrified prey

motionless

patient

feline silence is like

nothing else

time stops

a still life in soft browns

beautiful

tension

and suddenly, movement

alert, pounce

defeat

bugs who are about

to die, I

salute you

*

[THE GARDEN, by Nevius]

From The Garden, by Nevius:

In the last four years I had been working hard to make my life simple and clean especially amongst the confusion and grit of New York City. Before that, I was just trying to figure out who the hell I was.

I knew by the time I was seven years old I was gay...

Peter Langer lives alone but has transformed an unused 300 square feet behind his NYC apartment into his own private oasis, the Garden, and just before Halloween, he's sick and tired of the city's 90-plus heat. He wants a change and is about to get it, above and beyond his expectations. When the temperature drops more than forty degrees one evening, he fusses over his ailanthus tree...and finds something new growing in his Garden.

What I found was a boy. From his face he looked to be about sixteen. His lips were deep blue. ?Hey, you Ok??

He made no response, not even retreating from my approach. His eyes were slits. As I reached under the stoop and scooped him up in my arms, I realized he was dressed only in a T-shirt, shorts and sneakers with a dirty white knapsack clutched to his chest.

He must have weighed only 125 pounds soaked as he was, and he was cold! I pulled his head up next to mine as I ran up the stairs and listened for his breath. I couldn?t hear any as I hurried through the kitchen, turned down the hall and into the bathroom.

Grabbing a large towel, I wrapped it around him and laid him in the tub, spinning the hot water tap as I moved his feet aside. The hot water came up quickly and I cranked on the cold to temper the hottest water that I thought he could stand.

?What do I know about any of this,? I thought.

NOTE:.

Read THE GARDEN by new net author Nevius, exclusive to AD!

30 chapters, each delivered to you weekly, by the AWESOME DUDE.

STORY LINK: http://awesomedude.com/stories/The_Garden/...n/garden_01.htm

[I Know Why The Mounted Fish Sings]

I Know Why The Mounted Fish Sings

May 3, 2006 | Issue 42?18

Consider, gentles, the marvel which Fate and father-in-law have seen fit to provide us: wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, a 14-inch bass fish, large of the mouth, fixed and fitted to a rough-hewn board. Yet no fish of mere mortal flesh is this, but a largemouth bass whose heart (larger still!) is cunningly and fearfully in far-away Taiwan of solder and silicon made. A faux-finned freshwater Figaro is he, who though his earthly body remain firmly to its mount affixed, looses such soaring song to prod one's very soul to climb ever upwards. So why, at the merest whim of thee or me, is this die-cast dweller in the murky depths transformed into befinned baritone?

And well may you ask me why, against all sense, a fish imprisoned upon a board may sing. And what's more, no true fish indeed, but a fish of plastic mounted on a board of the same cold synthetic made?how can it then give throat to song? To you incredulous questioners, I say you need but look within the very heart of the fish, and at the battery-operated marvel that is its prerecorded song chip and tiny piezoelectric speaker.

For who's to say that a fish, though mounted, should not sing? Certainly not the oracles and near-divines at Mid-American Novelty, those brave worthies who know no bounds of vision nor of heart, who have such wonders made as Mr. Big-Mouth Bass?not so much a mockery of piscine flash and Pagan revelry as a marriage of the same. And through the judicious, ingenious use of transistor and diode, of mechanical actuator and alkaline battery, have they given their fever-dreams of singing fish a blessed life?a life which, while apart from ours, should in our little lives play its part. And for but a penny less than a score of dollars, who could, by right, say no?

Not I. For even absent a glance into the heart of this noble if simulated scion of wave and water, my own heart leaps up?much as the scaly thing itself feigns to leap from its very board while its electric gills blow to life the Oak Ridge Boys' bumptious ballad "Elvira." For indeed, when this mounted fish sees fit to sing it, my heart is, indeed, afire. Not for the lovely lady in the lyrics, but for the brushless dipole motor which motivates the mounted fish to turn its head and bend its gaze to look right at me.

No?to look right inside me. To look into my soul. And to tell me that, in a world where a fish can sing, there is nothing that I myself could not do, were I only fitted with the proper printed circuit boards, the exact right lengths of pure copper wires, the correct voltage and wattage of battery. The mounted fish stands in joyously less-than-mute testimony that, though there be nothing new under the sun, engineering clever and true may provide us with wondrous novelties.

So ask not for whom the mounted fish sings?it sings for the one who pushes the little red button.

[incubus, by TR]

http://tragicrabbit.org/poems/incubus.htm

incubus

he walks my dreams in beauty

and supple summer grace

as fair as grecian statues

hides heartbreak on his face

he looks at me from moonbeams

with smiles of falling stars

he shines upon my shipwreck

and soothes my sullen scars

he curls up in my seashell

and sleeps inside my skin

like lilies does he toil not

yet neither does he spin

he is my only idol

my gilden jeweled lord

though he is formed of dreamstuff

he is no less adored

I walk my days full blinded

but bright-eyed in the night

then watch inside my eyelids

and writhe as I ignite

I long to lay my head down

upon my cotton sheets

and give myself to visions

that morning e?er defeats

I live inside a story

that blooms best in the night

wherein he is my glory

and moon of my delight

*

[Have you ever been in love?]

Honey, that was beautiful, it made me tear up. Really, really lovely and powerfully chosen words.

Kisses...

TR

[To live in the heart of a horse, by TR]

To live in the heart of a horse

Is to feel sunshine on shoulders

Brush the winds from your hair

As you fly through the green.

To know him is to know fancy

And fear and faithful surrender

He bows to the bridle

With purity and pride.

The horse is a fine, noble beast

His dignity becomes your own

He is the wind made flesh

He is your gift from God.

It is a fine thing, to love a horse.

*

[I AM, by TR]

I Am

I am the choctaw with his hand out, entreating

I am the old chinaman, head bowed, shuffling

I am the black boy watching you with narrowed eyes

I am the hard-faced latina in skirts much too tight

I am the city, I stare at you

I touch you at every turn

Feel me

See me

Hear me

For I speak to you, in multi colors, many languages

I reach out to take your time, your smile, your wallet

I eat your bread and ask for more, then step aside

Mindful of my place, your space, our misplaced selves

I am your people, moving masses

Shoving, loving, living, leaving

Feel me

See me

Speak to me

I am lonely, alone in common crowds, on huddled corners

I have no time, no time at all, my sands rush out, run out

I am empty; in my belly, my heart, within my aching soul

I cast down my eyes, yet long to look, to touch, to feel

I am your shadow, your silent self

I am your brother, your sister

See me

Know me

Hear my cry

Hand out, I beg of you, you have so much and I so little

Take the time, take words, my heart, my coins, my flesh

Swallow me whole like a bitter pill, a dose of humankind

I am your brother, your other, your mirror self, your breed

I am your children, your mother, your father

I am your future, your past, mistakes and all

Feel me

Know me

And then walk on

*

[anabiosis, by TR]

anabiosis(an-uh-bi-O-sis) noun

A return to life after death or apparent death.

Many animals and plants can survive periods of

extreme drought or cold. They reach a state of

suspended animation and can come back to life

even after being dormant for years. One such plant

is the Rose of Jericho, also known as Anastatica or

Resurrection plant. In dry conditions, its stems curl

into a ball. When blown by the wind, it spreads its

seeds along the way. When moistened, it turns into

a green plant again, even after years of dryness.[/color]

anabiosis

verdant, glowing

and growing green

alive again

I thrive again

I lie, in love

and lay beside

stay beside

my love, it?s you

you ring me up

you sing me up

bring me in

and fling me up

my heart awoke

it rose like smoke

mighty oak

each beat, each stroke

your song contrives

a thriving drive

striving jive

I?ve come alive

my rhyme revived

your love arrived

long deprived

but will survive

so long morose

you keep me close

touch my bloom

with love, it grows

so long alone

those days have flown

I should?ve known

my love, my own

my heart was stone

as bare as bone

love, it shone

and life was sown

my heart?s alive

this love will thrive

your kiss drives

me to survive

I am your rose

the one you chose

thus repose

comes to a close

*

[Where exactly to start the story?]

I also proof from a print out, though I also use the screen. The change in format helps bring the eye to what is actually written, rather than what you expect to be written. A change of font or size can do the same thing. This is also why people will sometimes spot mistakes on the final webpage that they didn't spot earlier.

Hmm, I may have to try that, changing the font prior to self-editing. I can see that it might work.

TR

[First Person or Third]

That's what I actually like about first person, the way you can tell things to the reader without the speaker even knowing them, which seems to contradict what some are saying about first person storytelling. I like for the reader to know things that the characters do not, and first person is a great way to do that.

I'm confused. In re-reading this statement, I get the feeling that we have different opinions about what 1st person POV and 3rd person POV are.

In 1st person POV fiction, a story is being told completely by one character, totally through his or her eyes. Everything that happens, every event, is filtered through that person's brain. Just one person, like an autobiographical tale: "This is what happened to me." The only thoughts the reader can hear are those of this one character. Everything that happens in the story has to be seen or heard by this one character; otherwise, they have to find out about it second-hand.

Not when TR is writing the story! No, it could be more than one character, switching off perspectives, but also, and more what I think I meant back then, you can let readers see things by hearing the one guy's view because he doesn't fully understand what the reader does about the situation. I like to use that, actually, and have in a number of stories. What is evident to the reader is not necessarily the same as what's evident to the narrator/first person speaker. That's what I meant...I think.

Old thread...I'll read on, see what's up.

Kisses...

TR

[Where exactly to start the story?]

I'm not a big fan of outlines or rough drafts. I make notes and lists, then think about it a bit, then dive in (and try to finish as much as I can that first sitting...else it ends up in my enormous As Yet Unfinished Folder). I also agree that you can't really get much useful from asking this question; we'd all be writing a different story in our heads as we answered. For instance, me, I'd write it very tongue in cheek and probably have the Thing turn out to be the guy's exboyfriend. Or wicked stepmother. Morphed into a monster by sheer bad personality and/or at full moons.

One thing I do sort of consciously do is try to steer clear of the expected, whether in characterization, plot device or ending. I think it was Der Pec who made that option list, if yes, the one I'd recommend if you put a gun to my head is either start midstory, as he first sees it or whatever, OR at the penultimate moment, then backtrack, keeping readers in suspense regarding the very last moment until, well, the very last word.

I agree that 'plopping thuds' is a tad dreadful...and not in the way you need. I won't say what 'plopping' makes me think of but you might want to find more powerful adjectives for 'thuds', esp in your first paragraph. The initial paragraphs of the story will determine whether many readers will continue to read; you don't want to put them off, you want to intrigue them, catch them up in your net.

Best of luck,

TR

[Hollow Bones, Better Fit for Flying]

*Sigh*

Really lovely, EC, esp the first stanza but also towards the end, too. Sad and beautiful. I so love your word usements.

"Laughter through tears--my favorite emotion!" ~ Dolly P. in Steel Magnolias

Many kisses...

TR

[candy kiss, by TR]

candy kiss

lazy, I lie back

to look at you

upon my pillow

like a chocolate

at a fine hotel

unwrapped, tempting

a taste on my tongue

you lift your eyelids

as if to say

why are you waiting

I gather you

armful of candy

grinning, greedy

I savor my sweet

your brown eyes laughing

hershey kisses

amaretto skin

you pull me close

near enough to eat

slowly, sweetly

enjoying this treat

sated, I lie back

to look at you

upon my pillow

as if that is where

you now belong

breathing, softly

a smile on your face

*

[cinque ? sept, by TR]

cinque ? sept

breath fresh as lilacs

into my open ear

you whisper

Love, I love, I love you

soft words tumbling

on my heart

like falling petals

or summer rain

sweet, so sweet, my darling

and yet I

cannot help but realize

cannot help but see

our beginning and our

ending, our

days flash brightly past

behind my eyes

within my breast

I feel you leaving me

even as we kiss

our lips touching

pulse leaping

chests heaving, sighing

scent of sweat and silence

eyes bright as starlight

I gaze up at you

and murmur

my Love, I loved, goodbye

*

[Queer Prayer, by TR]

Queer Prayer

O God, hear our cry

Out of the depths

And darkness

We lift up our voice

And call to Thee

Hear, O God

We are your people

Each is your child

Every one

You patterned our selves

In your image

Each is good

O Lord, hear our cry

Your queer children

Call to you

Hear, O God, our song

We sing your praise

We are yours

Church full of outcasts

We look to you

Trust in you

O God, hear our cry

Lift queer prayers

To thine ear

Out of the darkness

Despite the world

We are yours

*

[Touch? by TR]

http://tragicrabbit.org/poems/touche.htm

Touch? by TR

left-handed

sinister

raise your weapon, salute

on guard, en pointe; you lunge?

I parry

light as cats

engage, riposte, withdraw

your blue eyes like diamonds.

I wonder

watch, wary

how sweet, how sharp your steel

could I survive your score?

a touch

touch?

I sweat, extend, engage

masque down, you shield your soul.

mesh glitter

metal gleam

how hard and spare you seem

how cold, how quick you move.

once, you claimed

to Love me

game, set and match; I win

yet somehow lost again.

*

[gay friendly Garfield?]

There was a hilarious sketch on the old late-1980s Kids in the Hall TV series from the 1980s, where aliens were kidnapping humans and probing them. One alien turns to the other and says, "you know, we've been abducting these Earth creatures for years and anally probing them, but so far, all we've discovered is that 10% of the male humans seem to enjoy it."

Brought down the house, especially when they cut to the smiling face of one of the (unconcious) humans in the background.

Oh, Kids in the Hall ROCKED, I love those guys!! And I think they were all gay, they did a lot of gay-themed jokes, it always seemed to me.

TR

[Downtown Dallas #3, a TR poem]

Downtown Dallas #3

gray sky, like morning: sweaty, surreal

sun in mothballs, waiting for

a time to shine, to beat with heat

down on concrete and conquered faces

heaven?s heavy hammer

hear the rhythms of negro voices

sweet song of the south, arpeggios

in chocolate and warm honey

smooth as sugared velvet, dark as dreams

lulling to sleep like sheep

billboards woven cunning, spiderlike

they bewitch the eye and stain the brain

sticky webs, luscious color

decorate downtown with blank receipts

sign on the X today

riffs of spanish, like mariachis

scatter among the crush of bodies

soothing sounds of sundrenched lands

girls in smiles and bright patterned dresses

and boys with eyes like does

phallic towers: brick bones, glossy glass

rear up in silent menace

great blank gaze: sooty, smutty, serene

pointy digits, fingering the winds

they poke up at god?s eye

*

[Absolution, a TR poem]

Absolution

I notice you enter

Slender, suited, urbane

Your grey temple arches

Weighty above blue eyes

You stand at the altar

And bring forth the serpent

I watch you meet my eyes

Look away, then turn back

Smoky gaze like incense

Still as sacred statues

I move first, you follow

To make your confessions

Staring, silent; you smile

And I take you in hand

I tell my rosary

Into your trembling lips

At last, you genuflect

Cross your heart, hope to die

Wafer, flesh on your tongue

Swallowed like old sins

You watch me departing

Renewed, relieved, redeemed

I pause at the doorway

To look up at heaven

*

[Game-Japanese IQ Test Game]

http://freeweb.siol.net/danej/riverIQGame.swf

Click on link then click on blue circle .

Use the rules below .

The rules are:

1. Everybody has to cross the river .

2. Only 2 persons on the raft at a time .

3. The father can not stay with any of

the daughters without their mother's

presence .

4. The mother can not stay with

any of the sons without their

father's presence .

5. The thief (striped shirt) can not

stay with any family member if

the Policeman is not there .

6. Only the Father, the Mother

and the Policeman know how

to operate the raft .

To start click on the big blue circle on the right . To move the people click on them . To move the raft click on the pole on the opposite side of the river . Apparently this is an IQ test given to job applicants in Japan .

How long did it take you?

TR

[Welcome Pecman as WW co-moderator!]

All hail Der Pec!

Now you guys have to be good! :violent1:

We are not worthy...

:pottytrain2:

Kisses, :thebirdman: :tongue1:

TR

[TR's VALENTINE DAY SERIES]

I Eat Roses

Taste of cupid

Tart on the tongue

Boys in tight jeans

And me with none

Cigarette smoke

Gin in the glass

Traffic music

Moving on past

My ghost boyfriends

Love in the park

Lone memory

Lost in the dark

Alone in crowds

I eat roses

And memories

Under your noses

No kiss for me

*

[TR's VALENTINE DAY SERIES]

What Valentine?s Day Means To Me

By TR

Candy cuddled in brown crinkle paper

Sugared poison and careless calories

Chocolates so sweet that they eat you alive;

Heart shaped boxes like cute little coffins.

Death and Love, so intimately entwined,

Stupid Cupid and his round little ass;

Red bunting everywhere like sloppy blood

Gilt and crimson swath those candy caskets.

Sweetheart

Beat heart

Love dart

Eat heart:

You bit my love muscle

Though you hardly noticed.

Valentine?s Day has killed me twice, and yet

I stand here still breathing, seeming alive;

That once, I was sure I had succeeded

You, oh, you, I cannot ever forgive.

Yes, I know why you broke down my window

But you?ll never know what you yanked me from:

I died happy that day in the sunshine

The pain was worth it; the light was perfect.

Damn you

Fuck you

Blame you

Hate you:

I woke up in ER

And your guilt was my wound.

And now, we never speak, your eyes are glass

I am your cold burden; you are my debt

Double damn you for thinking I owe you

For pulling me back, for dousing that light.

Of all the men, I have loved you the most

The longest, the hardest and the deepest;

You are my brother and my heart?s desire,

Is that the sin for which you snatched me back?

Sugar hearts

Candy kiss

Arrow shot

Lucky miss:

Delicious Valentine,

For once, my heart is mine.

*

[TR's VALENTINE DAY SERIES]

Oaklawn Valentine

Valentine?s night on the Strip:

Men holding hands, lights on the vine

Red, green, walk; lover beside you

Girls with baskets of roses

Red, pink, white; all cellophane snug

Drink in my hand, I watch them pass

Promenade, hearts on display

Darkness descending, moon on high

Laughing men, smile pretty boys

Pair of dykes with eyes for no one

Paper hearts, moonbeams and roses:

Oaklawn for Lovers, for loveless,

For shame; all I am thinking

As, distant, I watch the loving,

Is how long since I had flowers

Take me to bed, O gibbous Moon

And sing me those songs, like I?m a child

I look and I listen but Things are beyond me

So I down my drink, pay the tab

Buy a white rose for my pillow

And wend my wild way home, Alone.

*