Tag Archives: night

Night shuffle

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Play.

I did not mean to walk your streets tonight, but I did. I walked past your defences, your missing kind, your barely hidden happiness, as someone held me and helped me up.

Skip.

Walls of colour, from A to H, spread themselves before me, leading to hues of pink, gold, oxidized bronze. Your trees hold twinkling fruits, and I still don’t know how to be alone.

Skip.

No silver, no wick, no weaving. The flint is still there, stubborn and content. Glint of glass walls further to one side, no one reading, seasons change, people fall, hearts beat.

Skip.

Is there something I should know? Hall after hall you still keep secrets, even in the open, hardly hidden, standing tall in stone and tar. Bridges need crossing.

Skip.

Before the other side, some of your plainness shows, and still manages to pluck, softly, strings that had settled, gently. You’re the lucky one, you caused it.

Skip.

Orion, inevitably on your sky. Fairy lights, also inevitably, on your skyline. Friends intermittently on your roads, this road. Some have come home, some on your back.

Skip.

It’s getting cold. I’m getting cold. Walk with me some more, first. A ghost above me, pasts beside me, a door just ahead. Am I ever coming back for you..?

…skip.

(Bonus track: No words left after all that. Just step forward, right or wrong foot, doesn’t matter. Time to walk again. Time to set out and find the next one. I might be back.)

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Ghostwriters

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They were huddled in the same room, as if in a crooked nest, some scribbling away, some, admittedly, were typing on small keyboards. At seemingly regular intervals, they would silently squabble as if their worlds mattered more than any of the others. It was a peculiar circle, with more sharp angles than you might envisage – you could feel the tingling tension zig-zagging around the table. There were some lights, but their warmth felt unsure, tentative, even scared of shining too bright, as the shadows would only grow deeper as a result. The trickling noise of tapping on the tables, the clicking of pens, keyboards, thin fingers scuttling across the surfaces, was only interrupted – almost as if on a loop – by a peculiar but all too familiar moan. It would hang in the air for a handful of seconds, haunting all present company, lingering just enough to become uncomfortable, only to slowly dissipate into the incessant scritching on paper, the constant clicking sound of keys.

No eyes looked up, no contact made between the figures in the circle, no movement other than what required for the production of more work, more words, more paper, more screens, more, more, more. Lines building upon lines, stories stacked up precariously and vanishing to other rooms, to other – much wider, much louder, much livelier – worlds.

 

Outside the building, in the growing chill of that autumn night, people passed by, entirely oblivious to the figures inside. It was as if they weren’t really there after all.

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140story – Tryptich

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Story is complete, and summer has definitely gone.

How to Scare You

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As the November chill
starts to creep in
ever so softly

as you walk home
along darker roads
ever so swiftly

as the sharp wind cuts
through your warmth
consider this:

I could cut out for you
some time to kill,
as dawn turns into day
and day into dusk
into night.

I could make you
and all your worries
simply disappear,
vanish where no one
will see.

I could offer you
my whole beating heart
on a cold platter,
my hands reaching out
to yours.

I could cook for you
and we shall feast
on whatever remains
once the light has come
and gone.

I could prepare you
for what awaits
I could tell you
what will come
I could show you
what I’ll do

So come closer,
don’t be afraid.
See? I’m smiling.

NaPoWriMo Day 24 – Paris Sleeps

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Paris sleeps. A giant silence
climbs down to occupy every crack
between tile and brick. Cats and birds
are quiet. I keep watch.

August without claxon. I survive
alone, maybe. I hold in my arms
like Sainte Geneviève my city
peeking out of the cape, in a corner of the painting.

[Original Italian by Maria Luisa Spaziani, ‘Parigi dorme’.]

NaPoWriMo Day 28 – The Son I (Benni)

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I saw you through the door
to the kitchen
an old man’s white head.
The coat in the hallway
shaped by your absence
photos and calendars from years
that no longer exist.
So, sometimes, we have to
live years gone by.
Bent on the table, clutching your arms
as if the world
could escape them. Counting
rips on the tablecloth.
Stubborn.
Father.

I want to not count the floors
in the slowly hissing lift
inside this ugly building
I want to not sigh with relief
when I get out
of these tired walls
I want to be close to you
but I can’t.
The waves take me
to an ocean of light outside
where thundering water falls
into videogame arcades, beating engines
faraway sounds Japan Redondo Seattle
flashes, stars, bonus, new weapons
Mortal Kombat levels like never
in your dreams.
And her eyes, picking me through
perfumes and lying adverts.
Her reflection in the shop window.
Her movements as she wraps
hairspray for happy fascists
hairgel for trolls, spray-on for pixies
smells of the Party
stuffed marines Barbie corpses
tenors fake do-gooders, artists fake evil-doers
been dead for years on a chair
of the Bates Motel top floor.

But me and her together in traffic
ineffable twin clouds.
Before the night’s yellow sun
of a young jaguars’ fast-food
heavy-breathing, on streets
where dealers are brothers
pills, amphetamines, prozac, swords
here I fight and sing
can you hear me father?

You who defended me roaring
you who guarded my fever
and my first idea of death
you who hesitated outside school
unsure, enter or not, and watched me
play through the fence, in the nettles
on the short grass of a modest battle.
You who still seek more bread, more milk
old without a job
wounded, dark, Aztec with no land
how can I tell you that I get high
on what might kill you
on the city and its snakes
on the moon-giant burning
these roofs tonight
and says, you’ll see her, tomorrow
the most beautiful, the only one, the one
who carries her beauty around
like thirst, like a name
like something you don’t need.