Prose
LOOKING OUT TO SEA"
I lived in South Texas on a peninsula protruding into the Gulf of Mexico in the fishing villages of Fulton and Rockport. I took the photo one foggy day 9 years ago. When I lived there the tropical birds that occupied the coast became my friends and my comfort zone as they seemed to pose for me on many occasions. I have so many personal photos of the beautiful birds of South Texas. I wanted to share with my friends on Vocal.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 years ago in Poets
Last Call
His eyes were closed, his memories calling, beckoning him to take one more stroll, to meet up with someone he couldn't name, to claim his old spot, his favourite table, to have a final whiff of the mead-drenched air, the familiar bartender pulling back the tap to his usual, muck like draft, grinned. He could taste the long ago days, when work was just a way to pass time, to be dutiful, to avoid thinking, remembering all that made him the man he'd become. Just like that he was gone, his mother weeping, his father aware that he could not do anything, nothing to save his own boy. He could smell the day when he was broken by war, hunger, death and perpetual fear. It was of earthworms, of poisonous bile, men spitting, laughing, bragging of the faces they saw in their final state of anguish; the same men who grabbed handfuls of dirt, moistened from melting snow then crammed it into their prisoners mouths. There, now they'd been fed, they'd sneer. Cigarettes, ashes on ashes, foggy mornings with nothing to hear, to touch, to run to. His eyes twitched, heavy and tired, he wanted more than this last bit of life he clung to; he wanted to feel his mother's arms around him, feel her lift him up, out of his suffering, his father to make that well thought out move in the chess game that never was finished. He strolled deeper, back to his first love, her green eyes prodding him to make her his girl; he had kissed her and it was like the first sign of spring, the day the war ended, the sweet bread his mother baked, the strong hug his father gave him when he finally walked through the threshold after his unwanted adventures. She called him from a place with flutes, harps, melodies softly sung; where was this place? He couldn't take his misplaced memories fading in and out; he wanted to escape, just hide in the hay until his life was over, just as he did in the barn, or was it an old train car? He had hidden with another soldier, both too young to have made many choices, there minds had simply been living, soothing, free before the kick at the door. Questions were asked, had he put up a fight? He sat down at his favourite table and sipped his beer, he thought of his wives, his children, chocolate and the bareness of his soul. How could it all lead to somewhere so cold? He'd wanted to make his son's laugh, his daughter feel special, yet how could he when the villains which had such a hold on him sat before him now blocking him from his favourite table, staring at him with cynical smiles, smelling of decay with their skin so thick and meaty. Dare they haunt him as he neared his last hours? He never was what others saw, assumed, projected, felt; he was a constant hostage of his past. It is last call, despite his table full, he stands proudly for his final draft.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Friend
We were never friends; we were enemies forced to become acquainted. I knew it was too good to be true when the specialist said we had to come to an understanding, a symbolic place of acceptance, to live as one. I desperately wanted to conquer you, in fact, I wanted to eradicate you, smother every last bit of you. Friends with the fiend that not only once, yet repeatedly, has stolen from my daily life? I wanted to believe I could be mindful in a graceful way, stop competing with you, learn something profound from you; damn I feel foolish. I saw you sneaking back into my world; I would not allow myself to succumb to your brutal way of showing me some kind of lesson, spiritual growth, whatever they said to name your game. I ignored all the red flags, pushed pass you, denied you existed to everyone. Look at me now; you tawdry show off! We were neck and neck in this ridiculous race for several months, I admit you caught up with me and now we are in a vicious stand off, FRIEND! You are so selfish, wanting all of me for yourself, overtaking potentially truly good people away... again. You run them away, leaving me bowing to you once more. You are to be a challenge, not my problem; screw all of the work I have done to convince myself I could cope, I could blend in with your dominance. Oh, Pain. You have me cornered, I can sense where this is going; I lay here with you now without the mindset, the tools I've misplaced to deal with your greed and want to hit you with my fist, but you will only laugh. Pain, I so wish I could convince you that I am not worthy of your friendship. If I could I would ghost you and never look back.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
