Pamela Williams
Bio
“Suppose I had wings like the dawning day and flew across the ocean. Even then your powerful arm would guide and protect me.”
— Psalm 139:9–10, Contemporary English Version (CEV)
Stories (51)
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DECEPTION
Midnight gusts of wind rattled the windows giving the gallery an eerie ambiance. A red-headed woman and a thin man opened a crate of terracotta mythical beasts in the gallery’s darkened room. The woman removed a beast from the box and brushed sawdust away, revealing cracked, sunken eyes.
By Pamela Williams3 years ago in Fiction
Seabirds
Distract me, renew my courage, for life is cruel, it seems. I feel comforted by a dream, a dream of the green sea. I can smell the salt and feel the sun on my skin. I can hear the sloshing of the waves. I wish to live by the green sea. The roaring ocean blue is yet another mood to be felt another time. Right now, at this moment, I crave the green and feel camaraderie with seabirds, the seabirds, and their screams.
By Pamela Williams3 years ago in Poets
Reminiscence
A cool breeze flows in as Norma reclines on a chaise lounge next to the window. She loosens her hair from clips, sips Merlot from fine crystal, and watches fireflies amidst the darkness; she remembers a cool breeze from the ocean swirling around the dunes and a guy from the past. They kept each other warm that night and sipped wine from plastic cups. She forgot his name when her jeans turned to suits, dunes to desks, plastic to crystal. She wanders to the kitchen pantry and finds a plastic cup. Her unsteady hand dumps Merlot from crystal to plastic.
By Pamela Williams3 years ago in Fiction
Drowning in the Sea
Under crescent moon, I cast my line from a boat on the sea. Clouds moved in like a shadow, and upon me came a spiral wind, and waves broke over bow. Choking waves invaded me, while riptides pulled me underneath where fish may have consumed at their desire. Serrated edges I did not see as the moon became your face. Never a gull sang that night, but thoughts of your voice, a conch echo, a spiritual melody. I felt a spin of core and plume, a rise of burning lava. I looked for you and found you as a lighthouse on the shore, reflection in pools of water and drips like fingers plucking harp strings in my darkest hour.
By Pamela Williams4 years ago in Poets
NEVERMORE
A shroud over muddy water shields my eyes from bright intrusion. Reminisce in the rain; that dead crow in the driveway. I thought the antiquated card of death meant a new beginning but is more a macabre or a malo animo. Will I see you in my dreams? Shall we kiss farewell a thousand days? Your clothes are in the closet and in the dresser drawers. Your pillow is still crumpled where we entwined in cosmic rays. Your towel in the shower is still damp. An angel from someplace alit and gathered all the treasure and left behind red lips as a kiss to compensate. I hesitate to sleep and wake up once again, to open eyes and comprehend Poe’s slick black nevermore.
By Pamela Williams4 years ago in Poets
