The Day You Drowned- to Oswaldo, my first friendThe Day You Drowned by $wreckling
I could hear the ocean that morning, some
thirty miles from the coast, in that way
the waves always break down without anyone
around to see the waves break down
and it made no sense that I would wake
to the sound of the waves breaking down that
morning, but there I was, awake, ocean
in my ears, and alone. I learned what happened
much later, bike tire treading water at our
park, a sign hung in the rain. You were
alone, skirting, dancing with the shore
the way you always would, the way you always did
until then, when the ocean danced with you
and led you onward, your favorite music with
your favorite partner leading you on, foam
stepping forward, you stepping back. When
the false step happened, the ocean cradled you
because you were its favorite partner
and it never wanted to lose you, to be left
alone. You, being gracious, went along.
The ocean was in my ears this morning. I hope
you're still dancing in the ocean's arms.
Yellow BeastsFighting was not Edgar's strongest point. He could hold his own against any opponent he needed to, but he wasn't looking for conquest, and anything that wasn't territorial wasn't worth investing in. In his mind this was enough. He would occasionally spar with the big man, but Edgar knew he didn't need to defend the mountain from the big man. More importantly, he knew he'd lose against the big man. At most he would kill wild animals to keep them from using the mountain as a nesting or breeding ground, or else to eat.Yellow Beasts by $wreckling
But when the big yellow beasts started showing up on the side of the mountain, Edgar began to worry. They never came high enough up the mountain that he had to interact with them, but he didn't like how close they were, or the noise they made. And it became increasingly apparent to Edgar that they made noise all the time, and that the noise changed regularly. Many nights he could see unnatural light coming from them, though some nights there was no light, and no noise. Thos
Barbarian in the SnowChildren set Edgar off in ways he never understood. Their constant crying and yelling and neediness made the hair on his forearms stand on end, and he wanted nothing more than to send them flying from the mountaintop. It took the big man who always yanked on his ponytail to keep him from killing the children.Barbarian in the Snow by $wreckling
When summer rolled around, Edgar hid at the top of the mountain where it was cooler than on the flatlands. Because of the heat, he rarely dealt with others, but the big man and the children came up once in a while for the same reason he hid out near the summit. Edgar wouldn't dare hurt the children while the big man was around, no matter how much he wanted to.
One particular morning, the sun was masked by clouds, and Edgar found himself trudging through a layer of snow. He preferred the snow to the heat, and he was prepared to spend the day curled up in the snow, even if it meant getting sick, when several children came running up the mountain in the snow. He grabbed his bon
The BoneEdgar reached down, picked up a bone, examined it. Eyed it. Sniffed it. Considered licking it. Set it back down. Picked it back up. Considered licking it again. Set it aside from the other bones. Then moved on to a different bone and repeated the process. He did this several times before finally settling on a thick bone riddled with clinging frost that was nearly the length of his arm. He dusted some of the frost off with his glove-covered hand, flipped it over a few times, rolled it around in his hands and sniffed it like the others before finally raising it to his mouth, tongue outstretched.The Bone by $wreckling
A hand yanked at the base of Edgar's long brown ponytail, and his tongue swiftly leaped back from the bone. "What have I told you about licking frozen objects, boy?"
"I'm not a boy." Edgar turned around and faced the broad, bearded man that had pulled on his ponytail.
"Then stop acting like one and get a move on. If we're gonna make food tonight we need to have things to cook. And you won't be an
Obligatory Bird PoemThis poem is about birds or perhapsObligatory Bird Poem by $wreckling
about flying as this is what bird poems
come to and I have not written a bird
poem yet. It is a sparrow at first, small
cold and self-conscious, pecking at bread
crumbs on streets which may well be snow
covered with how they are not recognizable
and this is like standing at Gare de l'Est
watching transit and transit go by and by
and not knowing what even one sign
might say. Trains are less fun when you're
watching them go, and this is no longer
a bird poem, which is why I don't write
I am not in transit the way a bird is, and watching
birds in transit is intrusive, the way watching
people on trains is intrusive. Everyone
on a train is lost until they arrive, even when
they know where they are going and how
they are getting there; until they arrive
can they guarantee that they'll get there? This
is what being a bird is like, going everywhere
without knowing anywhere, one unexpected
turn away from running headlong into a mirror
Alexander the GreatThis sea's arms are not enough alone,Alexander the Great by $wreckling
spread wide and wider, spanning out
beyond my reach, to that western
edge where men go to their ends. I,
left the familiar world in my left hand,
not old nor bold enough to challenge
the killing sea I know, am quiet, pensive.
Met by red earth, led by bright star, the child
Apollo rising bright and red, alive, each day
I wake, pensive, quiet. To find that place,
the spring of life from which Apollo leaps,
that is my goal. Guided by the free
right hand, I will charge east, ever on
until I find that eternal ocean, the counter
to this infinite sea of end belonging
to my father, his forefathers, and the dying
world in my left hand. I shall become
the red sun child, always bright, alive.
Sanctuary Bringing homework to absent nerds wasn’t Will Oxman’s style. He had a reputation to keep. But despite his complaints and arguments against the biology teacher that he and Thornton Wilson shared, he couldn’t deny that he lived the closest. Following that failed conversation, Will decided to accidentally forget to stop by Thornton’s house. He let slip at lunch that he was going to accidentally forget, and was met with approval and a small sense of reassurance. The Ox, as he was known to the football team, wasn’t a delivery boy for a nerd.Sanctuary by $wreckling
Four hours later, Will stood—somewhat awkwardly—outside the Wilson house, fist hovering between his chest and the large wooden door. He’d mentioned the homework over dinner, at which point his mother stared him down.
Who Cares About...?WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR MISTRESS' EYES?Who Cares About...? by `HaveTales-WillTell
(A Rebuttal to Shakespeare's Sonnet CXXX)
Why should it matter in the least if her
Lips are coral red or pale pink?
If suntanned breasts are worrying you, sir,
You need your head examined, one would think.
And you honestly believe her cheeks and hair
Detract because they differ from the norm?
I doubt you'd find another who would care;
For as they are, they are indeed well-formed.
As to her breath and voice, I will concede
That reeks and rasps as adjectives fit well;
But Listerine will satisfy her need,
And huskiness in speech, a flaw? Do tell!
You love her, faults and all, or so you've said—