Poem: Feeling the Beat

Poem created in response to Poetic Bloomings’ “An Entertaining Summer” Poem-A-Day event

Day 13, July 13th

Prompt: Hot Fun in the Summertime

(form: pantoum)

Two versions:  Both have the same two stanzas, but the final two are different because my first version doesn’t quite fit “Hot Fun in the Summertime”.

Feeling the Beat
I could just feel the beat
creeping in through the walls
there would be no retreat
no slacking at all

creeping in through the walls
came the raucous chorus
no slacking at all
a huge crowd before us

came the raucous chorus
someone fired off a gun
a huge crowd before us
the violence was done

someone fired off a gun
there would be no retreat
the violence was done
I would soon lose the beat

version ii
I could just feel the beat
creeping in through the walls
there would be no retreat
no slacking at all

creeping in through the walls
came the raucous chorus
no slacking at all
a huge crowd before us

came the raucous chorus
at last I found the one
a huge crowd before us
we sneaked off for some fun

at last I found the one
there would be no retreat
we sneaked off for some fun
I could just feel the beat

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Flash Fiction: Tears in Rain

This story inspired by the Tuesday Picture Prompt:  What do you see? on Flashy Fiction, August 6, 2013.

Automata (2013)image courtesy of Digital Blasphemy

Tears in Rain

I came upon them by chance. In this overcrowded, non-stop, bleary-eyed city, I try to take a break from the bustle by sneaking up onto the roof. I can still hear all the noise from the streets below, and the occasional hover car still buzzes up and over the building, but it’s less crazy…and not cramped like my tiny apartment.

So, I was up on the roof, and it was raining, which isn’t unusual. I was sitting down, leaning back against some sort of roof top ventilation box, I guess. I don’t know, I mean, I’m not a building expert, but it seems like it would be something for ventilation. Anyway, I thought I heard someone cry out. A few seconds later, I heard it again. I started to get up and turn around to look over the top of the box and I saw this half-naked guy standing there in the rain, holding some sort of bird in one hand and with the other, he’s holding up this guy in a trench coat by his wrist.

I didn’t know what was going on, so I froze, crouched down a little bit, actually, but not so much that I couldn’t still kind of see. Once the half-naked guy put trench coat guy down, he stood staring at him for a minute then sat down, never taking his eyes off of him. Then he started talking crazy, claiming he’d been off the planet and seen stuff no one’s ever seen. I rose up a bit higher to keep him in sight while he was talking about all these things being memories and how, once he died, they’d be gone, “like tears in rain.”  He paused a second, said it was time to die, grinned like he knew something, then bent his head and didn’t move again.

I looked over at trench coat guy, who hadn’t said a word the whole time, and he was just staring at the guy, like he was in shock. I recognized him as a cop I’d seen around now and then, so I decided I didn’t need to call the cops about a possible dead guy on the roof when I got back down to my apartment, which is a good thing because my wife started in on me as soon as I got back in the door.

“Tears in rain,” he said.

You can’t write this stuff.

Poem: Making the Call

Poem created in response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day10, 10 Nov 2011.  Topic: different perspective

Making the Call

Two years ago, tonight, over the phone
my mother immortalized these words for me:
“We’re not going to be morose about this.”
I know what it’s like to receive the news
but hadn’t considered her perspective.

Picking up the phone, dialing the number
waiting for it to be answered, “Hey, mom.”
“We’re not going to be morose about this.”
The strength, the courage, it must have taken
calmly to tell your son you are dying.