Trapped in the Pages of Insanity

Our first fiction assignment was to write a flash fiction piece - something short and to the point.  The added element is we had to include something referred to as a "trope" - a singular object, idea, etc around which the action in the piece revolves.  Suggestions for locations included a yard sale, so I started thinking about a yard sale gone wrong.

This was what flowed from my fingertips, sitting in class...

Trapped in the Pages of Insanity

 

 



The sun, burning through the early morning fog, cut the chill like a barber’s razor.  Grass crunched under heavy feet, dew glistening like diamonds.

The tattered remains of a former life scattered the lawn on rickety wooden tables.  Brightly colored plastic, smooth glazed ceramics, and tarnished metal beckoned like the perfume of a beautiful woman.

Among the broken toys and tattered clothing, he saw something – something as beautiful as it was terrible.  He’d been looking for this book for years, and here it was – tossed aside like garbage.

His fingers gingerly brushed the cover, cool to the touch… jagged along a torn edge.  He lifted it, the smell of paper, ink, and dust – a heady aroma to any bibliophile – assaulted his senses and touched parts of him he’d thought long dead.

He must have it!

Setting the book down, he reached for his wallet.  He checked for cash and, elated with his find, went to grab his treasure again.

It was gone!

He looked around, wild eyed and panicked.  He must have it!  Where’d it go?

A woman walked away from him, something in her hands.

“Give it to me,” he shouted.

She looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

“I just found it!  You can’t take it!”

She shook her head and turned to leave.

He ran, tackling her from behind and knocking her to the ground.

“I have to have it!”  His eyes, glazed with adrenaline, bulged from his face.

He ripped it out of her hands, only to find his treasured book was a lunchbox the lady had just bought.

He rolled off her, defeated… depressed…

He laid there, looking up at a clear blue sky.  In the distance, flashing lights and sirens grew closer.

As soon as he escaped again, he’d find his precious book…

His prize…

His treasure…

… that part of his soul he’d lost so long ago to the ravages of time and insanity.

Petroglyph

This poem is another which flowed from the Walk and Write at the UAF Museum of the North.  The first exhibit I saw were these petroglyphs recreated on large, smooth river stones.  I sat in the floor, running my hands over the stones, letting my fingers dip into the carvings, and immediately had to write.

This is what I wrote (it has not been edited or rewritten):

Petroglyph

 

River stone
Washed smooth over the
Course of a millennia,
Rough edges eroded to
Reveal the heart

Chosen not by size or color,

Not by location or age
But by emotion…
Intuition…
Insight…
Hope.

Excess stone chipped and chiseled,

Piece by piece,
Like paint flaking in the sun.

Hands move carefully…

Deliberately…
Guided by the ghosts of
Those gone before
Until a shape is clear.

Cast in pale relief from a dark shell,

The tale is told, the story sung,
A myth made real in the face of that
River stone.

Re:

Poetry surrounds us in all forms.  A common theme in some poetry is starting with a question or idea while yet another common element is repetition of an idea, object, etc.

This assignment was to write a poem beginning with the line "I'd like to begin again" and, within the poem, we had to have some repetition. 

This was also our first wild word assignment.  My word was splices.

The thought with which I was immediately struck was how some people in internet chat rooms simply say "re," if another chatter has disconnected and quickly rejoined.  This is the poem that flowed from that idea.

Re:

 

I’d like to begin again…

Rewind

          to that first moment
Reset
          the clock to zero hour
Reboot
          the CPU which splices memory
Rearrange
          circumstances, fate, chance

Yes, I’d like to begin again…

Recognize

          moments too precious to waste
Reembark
          on that path leading to my future
Reform
          my opinion of time, of choice
Rebuild
          my sense of me

We should be allowed to begin again.

Turn Back Time

Studying poetry forms, we read one type of poem where the content is pure supposition.  Our assignment was to write a poem like that.

This was also a wild word assignment.  My word was smoke-filled.

Turn Back Time

 

Suppose you could turn back time –
Dispel those smoke-filled echoes
Of a memory,
A hallucination of regret
Which causes a fear…
A fear beyond comfort.

Suppose you could rewind your life –

Erase the mistakes made until,
Once again,
You stand alone in a
Fragment of nothingness.

Suppose futurity no longer

Teemed with endless destruction –
A future where the righteous and
Unrighteous alike were
Consumed…
Consumed in an eternal fire with
An air of breathless intensity.

Leaving an Unforgettable Mark

This was an interesting assignment.  We were talking about music and poetry, and we read some poems that revolved around music at their cores.

The assignment was to write a poem that centered around music - whether it was an actual song or if it was something like the birds in the trees or the call of whales.

Leaving an Unforgettable Mark

 

Surrounds by chaos,
Swallowed in the mists of the time,
Someone plays my song.

The first few notes

Pierce the miasma,
Taking me back again

Hot, humid, almost holy

Summer sun’s sweltering stare
Streams through clouded windows

Sitting in the back pew,

Exchanging glances and notes,
His hand brushing mine

Silently laughing at a

Shared joke, a thought
Meant to entertain

First blush of love

At the height of youth –
Naïve, trusting, fleeting

Struck down by distance –

The miles, the years –
Before the bud could bloom

Left with the memories of

A summer romance in
The innocence of childhood.

All that’s left?  A wistful smile

Echoed in the refrains for
My son of a preacher man.