Barb Snodgrass
Stories (24)
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On Writing Poetry
The Hemingway "6 word story that made a woman cry" bet is fascinating but mostly because it's part of his Babe Ruthian sized mythis. We don't really know if it went down that way or at all truthfully, there's conflicting history and much hearsay on the topic. It may have been added to or pumped up for effect, we are dramatists after all, and some of us are drunk, another legendary Hemingway trait, historically indulgers seem to whip up a lot of tall tales.
By Barb Snodgrass4 years ago in Poets
The Three Pronged Chocolate Extinction Plan
Tuesday, July 6th: 8:34 PM EST As Hoboken, New Jersey begins to succumb to the drowsiness of dusk, the temperature has just dipped to a mild and breezy 74 degrees. The sidewalk traffic has slowed to a crawl, the majority of which consists of the nightly restaurant exodus in full swing. With the sun's golden rays lightening, just moments away from nesting for the evening; it's next to impossible to imagine someone, within this impressionistic Monet living canvas, possessing a Defcon 3 sense of urgency toward anything right? WRONG! Less than 50 paces from this street corner, seated at the lonely 4 top island of a table in the back room labeled "private" of a nondescript and "will remain nameless" tavern, a top---tip top secret meeting is seconds away from opening it's minutes to discuss and call the shots that will decide the fateful future of the entire planet.
By Barb Snodgrass4 years ago in Fiction
DANGER: Lake Condemned
breath lake water or die walk refusing to stop or hope the backdoor's unlocked new name tag reads stuttering Popeye lightning rod chain ganged to electricity's bite kitten calendar flipping weathering the winds of Fitzgerald's nor'easter until galvanized against clouds capital brimming to strike white hot streaks charged lurking ready in shadow first scent chum proviso ad libitum picnic pomp lake plans sky fall flash winning crippling sweepstakes wafting whiff skin charred tire tread bald can't rescue holiday sans groundhog electron magnet hiding in ocean of dynamo semiconductors traverse gate toll bridge straight through quarter clink my queue unplug pressure cooker point to point last lap while on my brain drudging termites lockstep rhythm ordered to doubletime Soviet precision recurring vision Jim Jones lake frolicking berating my vacation landfill piling up stench days overflowing with pollution oil and water collide. scorched brisket feet earned
By Barb Snodgrass5 years ago in Poets
The White Barn
I came to my grandparent's house for good at the age of five. If you're not familiar with childhood trauma, no worries, you don't have to pretend. I'll just leave all that mess by saying that being a child of neglect and abuse can make it difficult to relate. It's like I don't possess the "MS DOS" baseline programming; and finally, for as long as I can remember I've lived with severe panic attacks, mild to crippling depression; I didn't speak correctly 'til age nine, and I've always been sensitive to other's energy and intent. Couple that little uncanny talent with my Romani descent---and, well, it definitely helps cast a fantastical mystique. I've been painted with several brushes of nickname, nothing I'm offended by but I commonly get empath, lightning rod, dimensional fence jumper, traveler, third eye, gypsy, intuitive, and of course, psychic.
By Barb Snodgrass5 years ago in Fiction
Deuteronomy Digging Dystopia
"What are you doing!? I don't care how many days you haven't been here; today is your day. I am your liaison; I'm here for you. This is your chance to become a contributing member of our community from an unimaginably difficult place. My family and I, the survivors of this town who's grizzled hopeful faces you've seen fighting through oppression everyday, and the United Nations of Earth are depending on you to fuel our bond and will to live to a strength that can challenge the very fabric of dimensional walls. Your 180 redistribution is how we all persevere---it's the only path back to our oneness---our source of strength is our responsibility to act and react out of love. The day the clouds left in 2102 was the reckoning that weeded out the malevolence, the day we evolved, and today is your day to face evolutionary reckoning.
By Barb Snodgrass5 years ago in Fiction
