All posts filed under: Strange Discoveries

Lone Leaf – prikcab (Ian Perlman)

Originally posted on Go Dog Go Café:
? this cold bright morning has me following a lone leaf with crisped edges  scratching the pavement as it tumbles down the street ? has it lost its way  as autumn is chased away by winter’s winds I hope it finds a settling place and warmth in togetherness ? 11.30.19 (irp) #loneleaf #lookinginyourwindow Read more of prikcab (Ian Perlman) at ?

The Dark Apostle

Originally posted on Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver:
Rising from the coals And shadows of flames, Dressed in deep void With eyes like portals To the dense bramble Of your obscure lives, I am your companion. There is passion in your fear that This blood fire is your last sunset. You smolder in my breath, and I thrive on your muffled screams. I hold you down as you writhe in agony, Locked under my gaze. My breath is odious; My face, repugnant. My laughter, the cackling of fire. You recoil, gasping for prayer, But little do you know, I am the answer you seek, For so long you have hidden Inside this clay façade. Living for self in idle pleasure, Slumbering like the dead in this carcass With no clear path to truth Beyond mindless habit and desire. Open your eyes! Can you not see! You rebuke this Demon, but I am the Harbinger sent to alarm and awaken. Look at the Foe who will crack open your heart! If you don’t do it, I must smash…

The Face in the Water – Basilike Pappa

Originally posted on FREE VERSE REVOLUTION:
I am a lake. I lay myself in the heart of this land where the snow falls soft, the rain sings gray, and the dark is trimmed with the song of the nightingale. I am smooth in serenity or ripple in mirth. The world around is mirrored in me – the traveling clouds, the austerity of the woods, the hills, and on one of them a castle of gleaming stone. I am water, that out of which everything is born. I have a million memories. ? She was a queen – tall and sinuous, with black eyes, opal skin and a voice sweet like deceit. She touched me and smiled at the way droplets hung from her fingertips like liquid diamonds. She looked into me, saw her face, and said: ‘How beautiful I am! Surely this lake hasn’t seen a face like mine. Nor should it ever see.’ I rippled in laughter and distorted her image. But she had the phases of the moon under her tongue and the…

On myth, taboo, and the making of boys

Originally posted on Rust Belt Girl:
One of my favorite shots of my boys (age 6) and me (not age 6) When I was on bed-rest, hugely pregnant with my twin boys, I did what I do in any anxiety-producing situation, especially one that would have me lying on my side for three months: I read. In addition to the care-and-feeding-of-babies books, I read about the raising of boys into men, the emotional aspects and the pitfalls to avoid. In my reading, I found prevalent boy-myths to steer clear of (in life, not in writing–myths are fun there, but more on that in a bit). Two common ones: boy as animal (he simply can’t be good); and boy as prince (he can do no wrong, no matter how he tries). Once I delivered my boys into the world, I became uber-focused not on their boyhood but on their infant hood–a precarious time made more precarious by sleep deprivation (mine, not theirs). “Your job is to keep them alive,” the pediatrician said. (If that sounds dire…

Queen of Cups on Freeverse Revolution

Originally posted on FREE VERSE REVOLUTION:
Sea salt in her hair A breeze on her lips Her hands clasp a cup From which only she can drink ? Her throne a thousand pebbles Smoothed by sands of time Her crown woven by grasses From dunes rising tall behind ? The sky a cloudless blue Sunshine warms her face The sound of lapping waves Holds her in an embrace ? Eyes closed, head back Floating in an abyss In her mind’s eternal depths Nothing is amiss ? ? L. Stevens is an intj who loves learning about everything and filing it away for later. She finished second in little infinite’s first haiku contest and her poetry been featured by Pack Poetry and Freeverse Revolution. She writes short stories and poetry about the moon, darkness, and anything else lurking in the deep abyss of her imagination. Occasionally, rays of light shine through her work to contrast the shadows. @everydaystrangeblog

Snow White-Allister Nelson

Originally posted on Heretics, Lovers, and Madmen:
The elven knight went riding with banners alizarin as berries in snow, his face wan, lovesick longing.   Haunting his dreams was a snow-laden lass, fair as a dying rose, iced into clarity by shattered glass.   In twos, in threes, went the Faerie Court, bells on toes, Gabriel’s Hounds baying in the wasted harrow, to humble hut the elf knight goes.   “Oh but who art thou, fair visitor?” said the peasant girl, her hair gray gold, her eyes pale, lips a frostbite plum.   The elven knight let his bridle down, and from his pockets he’s taken an oath ring, and on bended knee he’s gone.   She was poverty-light, bird bones, high small breasts, and she said “Twas better bread you gave me, fair elf.”   “I have no use for gold, to grow cold and old with the dead in fairy mounds.”   “I have no use for silver, no use for jewels, you cannot eat stone outside the fairy realms.”   “I have…


Originally posted on Pura Vida Stories:
The other night I was returning to base when I caught something slithering off the road. I assumed it was a snake, but when I saw what it really was I called everyone else over and told them to look at what I had found, since they were never going to see one again. It was a caecilian. This. Also, word of warning: any post with the word “slithering” in the first sentence isn’t for the faint of heart. Caecilians look like worms, act like snakes, and feel like frogs, but that really doesn’t do justice to how fantastically weird they are.  They are legless amphibians, a distinct lineage whose closest living relative are salamanders but whose closest fictional relative is something out of a David Cronenberg movie. Because besides the lack of external limbs–or external anything, for that matter–caecilians have perfectly smooth segmented bodies with a face so featureless it is often confused for the tail. The ones around here are usually a dull purplish grey, as if they were…


Originally posted on Xanku:
You could reconstruct my life From the things I’ve retained A toy and some books Some jewelry some art A childhood game. Some things I have kept And some have kept me A ring from my mother A gift from my ex An unknown key That I can’t throw away Because I just may Find the lock that it fitted Full of treasure or memory One of these days. I see them through eyes Through the years, as I changed From child to student To woman to crone Am I who I am, Or just what I’ve owned? From the dverse prompt of 8/20/19

Salt by Tracy Lynne Oliver

Originally posted on Jellyfish Review:
Salt While salting my eggs this morning, I had one of those moments where you ponder an everyday thing and how it came to be as such. A thing long taken for granted. In this case, it was the very salt I was shaking. I wondered about its origin. Who was that pioneer who took these tiny, white crystals and thought to put them over food? We all know how salt is made now — of course — but who was the first to find it, to use it? What type of man? For salt is no easy encounter. We know the delicate balance needed. We know the sequence of things that must occur. How then, was it ever revealed? What were the circumstances? Who was the man who first drew salt? Was he a seeker or simply a man who stumbled accidentally? How far he must’ve walked into a mountainous forest before he saw the tell-tale shining light. Who was the man that looked upon the red-gray beam peeking…