|What kind of art can you submit here?|
To see the rules, follow the following White Rabbit.
The First ProblemThe door wouldn’t open; that was the first problem. She had the right key. She knew that part. And she’d pushed. Hard.The First Problem by beeinthebottle
The girl twisted her hair between her fingers. She should have a magic saber saw, something. Something always in the stories gave the heroine a chance. But the door wouldn’t open, and she didn’t have a magic saw.
She plopped on the porch step. No key. No saw. No knight on horseback. She glanced around, half seriously, for a bottle that said “Eat me” or “Drink me”—even a caterpillar with a hookah.
The girl whistled, pulled out a copy of Archie and Jughead. A one-eared white cat butted its head against her leg.
Then she stomped up to the door. “Pretty please, door—open?”
Nothing. The cat butted her again. It was worth a try.
She lingered in the sun, kicking at the rocks on the sidewalk. Something hard glittered beneath her feet. She leaned over and saw a raised, silver button, slightly
Into the Dark SeaIra was a man I once knew who wore seashells in his hair. He smoked cigars until the vapors clouded around his dread-locked head, and he told once-upon-a-times to us town kids. Ira believed the stars were really fireflies. “They’re the brave ones that done flown too high. Got stuck up there and now they shine all night,” he said.Into the Dark Sea by TheKerwinator
Ira was a man I knew who made a boat and sailed across the sea. “I’ll see you ‘round now,” he said to me. He was a magic man on a paper ship, off to find a neverland of our dreams. “If you are good, I’ll send for you someday.”
I watch fireflies now and wait. He left seashells on his porch. I kick them into rain puddles.
PoppiesHe dreams of herPoppies by Scarlettletters
and bleeds out -
the secret life of poppies
and visions that
have lost their way;
of cardinals thrashing
in the branches
and the pricking of thumbs
like last rites.
He has forgotten himself
a thousand times -
the soft glint
of bone and skin
bristling behind the thick
where she gathers
the lines of his palms
and leans back into
waiting for a key
to find its fate
in the wrong doorway.
RavenThe raven would not say my name -Raven by Scarlettletters
only flutter its wing
and settle on the branch.
I watched its cockle eye
study me and the rooftops
that sang of autumn.
Leaves swirled in the wires
as the air blisterd around me
and I could feel myself
falling once again -
somewhere the light
would still remember me.
Selkie Shores'You're from the mainland, aye?' the fisherman said. 'I'll tell you one of Orkney's legends.'
'Ever heard of selkies?'
'Mermaids, lass,' the fisherman said. 'Nae the fish-tailed women of the deep, mind. They're here on our very shores. You see, selkie means -'
'Seal,' she said. 'I know. Go on.'
'Well, lass, beneath the skins of each seal is a beautiful woman. If one sheds her skin, and a lad finds it and hides it, she has to marry him.'
She laughed. 'Och, away with you!'
''Tis true, lass.'
'Why wouldn't the selkie do anything about it?'
'She cannae find her skin,' said the fisherman, 'and she cannae return to the sea without it.'
'Does she even bother to look for it?'
''Tis generally the bairns that find her skin. Then she leaves her human family for the sea.'
'She must be weak-willed indeed to have this fellow's children.'
'They are weak-willed beings.'
'What about the bull seals?' she asked. 'The men?'
Intelligent Zombies'If you challenge him, you get me.'
Catie stared at him. It took her a long time to answer. Eventually she said, 'We're soldiers, Doc. We don't want you!'
They were standing on the roof of the research building, one in a lab coat and one in camouflage. They looked down on the facility's well kept garden, fenced off from what was left of their world, and was Catie's world still.
'How typical,' said Dr Love. 'Just what I should have expected from the kill first, ask questions later camp. You could really use someone with my brains out there, young Catherine. How do you hope to end this madness if you're only adding to it with your senseless violence?'
'Dr Love,' said Catie. 'You wouldn't last five minutes “out there”. I mowed down fifty zombies to get over here, and now you tell me it's because you can't control one of your own! How do you expect me to take you seriously?'
Dr Love looked sheepish.
'He's not hu
Haworth'Housekeeper? Who says so? I could be a governess!'
'Darling,' said Maria, 'calm down.'
'Why are you being Mother? You are clever! You have an imagination! I'm the housekeeper!'
'Elizabeth, curb your vices!'
Charlotte looked disapproving.
'Not worth teaching French and music to? Fine. You all be governesses! Even her!' She pointed. 'Those people aren't the warm-hearted matrons you'll hope for, young Anne!'
Anne was three and not listening.
They said she was the cleverest one of all, but she died anyway.
'Maria,' Charlotte whispered. 'Are you awake?'
She was not dead yet. She opened her eyes.
'I am content, Charlotte. Comfort Elizabeth.'
'Oh,' said Charlotte, 'they are mistaken! You could not speak so calmly if you were going to die.'
A sob came on Maria's other side.
'Don't fear for me, Emily. No coward soul is mine.'
'Cathy's brother! And now in Ch
PruningEach springtime, over months and years,
I come at you with pruning shears.
I snip the weeds that steal your light,
That grow too wild, that don't look right.
Some flowers were not meant to thrive,
Why keep their feeble hopes alive?
I tear up grass grown tall around,
Too common for such fertile ground.
I cut the drooping heads from you,
Where leaves grow dark, I cut them too.
Then, leaving you in wintry lands,
I lock my shed and wash my hands.
SekhmetNo lion, but a lioness
Were you, their deity of war.
More often god; there, then, goddess,
No lion, but a lioness.
Men may make women powerless,
Yet whose the warlike, godlike roar?
No lion's, but a lioness'.
Were you their deity of war?
|More Journal Entries|