Tag Archives: short

NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo 2016 19 – III

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I.
Capro da guardia,
l’età rimane virtù
in barriera. Bon.

II.
Rossa, ma solo
per ragioni tattiche,
e sibilante.

III.
Padàuan, trio,
ménage mai corrisposto.
Minore di tre.
(Input da Napowrimo.net giorno 18 – i rumori di casa)

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NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo 2016 18 – Vrùm

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Non m’intendo tanto di auto
motori o macchine
ma c’è un attimo, una frazione
di pressione del destro sul pedale
che sale, nel piede, nella gamba,
cresce al ginocchio coscia anca
e anche i princìpi ammutoliscono
la musica va in sottofondo
lo sfondo si perde
in quell’attimo, in quel giro,
in quel peso spostato da lato
stinco polpaccio ditone
pressione su quel pedale.

(Andata/ritorno Prato-Pisa aeroporto. Macchina ‘nuova’ in autostrada. Vrùm.)

NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo 2016 5-14: Travel Haikus

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  1. Recarsi al gate
    numéro quarante-trois.
    Have a good flight, sir.
  2. Chicago. Drive, drive,
    drive, Indiana, drive, pause,
    drive, drive, Kentucky.
  3. America runs
    on coffee, sugar, and size.
    Look up, take in, gulp.
  4. Fast! Fast food, fast lane,
    fast track, fast! Quick! Get to the
    next thing, do it fast!
  5. Americana,
    Ethiopian, pizza,
    Mexican. Omnom.
  6. Pit stop: goldfish in
    a bag, flag cake mix,
    chilli nut cookie.
  7. Where Batman began,
    and Transformers wreaked havoc,
    I rise, high, and soar.
  8. Fellow robot fan,
    father, driver, artist, host.
    Good human, and friend.
  9. Travel bugs should not
    bite while on ten hour flights.
    *Cough* blurgh *passes out*
  10. It may be cheating
    but horizontal poems
    are all I could do.

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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 – Transcontinental

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140story is still running, terribly strong for a tiny Twitter thing. Give them some love!

140story – Summeresque edition

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Can you hear the waves crushing crashing..?