Sunday, January 31, 2010

CAROUSEL HORSES

Nikki knew better because she wasn’t a little girl anymore, well, she almost knew better, she thought she’d try one more angle before she abandoned her romantic hopes completely over this particular kind of stallion. Maybe it was the music playing or the undulating movement hypnotizing her to ride, but whatever it was, Nikki relented to the magnificent creature, knowing he was not a real stallion and yet hoping that if she just whispered to him the secrets of how to be a real stallion, he would break free from the gelded carousel and they could ride off into the sunset. Her own intuition instantly smirked at that one but Nikki avoided it by leaning back with stretched arms and just curled her fingers around the pole that went through the middle of the stallion. He could not see the pole, of course, but Nikki could, and yet she ignored the plastic reigns and concentrated on the breeze in her hair instead as she closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the ride. The beast seemed proud to be chosen and he communicated to her what he thought was beautiful and important and he bade her to stay with him always; the poor thing was tired of new riders and wanted one single one forever. Nikki smiled at him as the music played and they went round and round; she smiled and tried to encourage the carousel horse to be a real stallion before the music stopped. The horse made a silent whinny, showing his beautiful teeth and a bridle molded magnificently just like the rest of him, she thought, as she touched his perfectly hard, wind swept hair. He was beautiful, his profile rivaled the musculature of any stallion and for all the impressive posturing, he hadn’t understand a single word she said. The music stopped and Nikki climbed down for the last time, accepting that wishes didn’t change carousel horses into real ones. Nikki would remember him fondly but she needed a real stallion, not one that just stood there beautifully.



BIO: Olive Rosehips parents actually named her Rhonda Monique and she looks to quotes to make sense of things. She believes as Leonardo da Vinci says, that "There are three classes of people: "Those who see. Those who see when they are shown, and those who do not see." She also has a thing for horses so this story was destined to be written. Apologies to any carousel horses who may think they recognize themselves in this fiction, this fiction is not intended to offend. Olive writes to clear her mind because painting her toe nails vivid shades of red doesn't always complete her. Olive is a published author, whose short stories and poetry appear in magazines and books. She blogs creatively at http://oliverosehips.blogspot.com/ and http://pentenscribes.ning.com/ .

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Be 5/5ths


"Be amended 5/5ths, be amended 5/5ths human."-Common from "It's Your World"

The world needs ALL of you, since there is only one of you on Earth. The worlds needs for you to fully BE who you were purposed and created to be. The destiny of another is dependent on you fulfilling your destiny, and extraneous issues are trying to pull you away from that greatness. You have to be deliberate about keeping yourself built up as a strong, humble being. When at 5/5ths, you are at your absolute strongest, best self. The minute you start to let go, shrink, and diminish is the moment of great vulnerability. Vulnerable to offense, fear, distrust, unhappiness, and bitterness. Be amended as the song suggests. Your amendment is in YOUR hands. Be 5/5ths so that the world can be 5/5ths.

Bio:
Kandice Na'Te is a futuristic, earthy teacher, writer, and business owner who chooses to see the world for what it can be. Writing is the one thing that allows her to positively express herself uninterrupted. She has been writing since she was in grade school, but now fully realizes the powerful potential of written word. She has decided to follow her heart and hope for the very best. To follow her journey go to www.kandicenate.blogspot.com

REPLICATION

The pale gold walls of Georgiana's sewing room blanched in the arc of lamplight above the wooden trestle table, its once squared edges blunted by years of use. She'd always been attracted to objects with a history--something she'd been denied as an abandoned child..

The quilt before her was composed of a hand-appliqu├ęd central medallion and three pieced borders. She'd haunted garage sales and thrift shops for vintage-looking fabrics and threads, not overlooking pieces with light stains.

The hand quilting process she labored over now was the most tedious--tiny stitches that left her fingers aching after the perfectionist in her worried at the threads and fabrics as she went along, gently abrading them with white paper sacks to obtain a genuine, timeworn look.

This
quilt design, chosen from photos of post Civil War period pieces, had resulted from an afternoon of research at the library. She expected it to bring twenty thousand dollars with a carefully worded ad on eBay that would artlessly reveal it's supposed age.

She wasn't driven by the money so much as having her work accepted as something legitimate. It nearly took away the sting of her own uncertain lineage, the obstacles that had been placed before her at birth.

She looked up briefly and massaged the kinks in her neck, wondering for the thousandth time if somewhere in the universe, someone was watching, cheering her on.

Sue Elliis lives and writes near Spokane, Washington. Her short stories and poetry have appeared at such places as Sniplits, Flash Me Magazine, Dead Mule School of Southern Literature and Wild Violet. She is a member of The Internet Writers Workshop. Look for her book reviews at The Internet Review of Books.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Rx

Regularly I fill your soul with unleaded streams of premium inspiration. Your body never runs on E. The high from my hallucinogenic mind numbing fumes keep you running to my earth shattering pumps like clockwork!

Many have tried to counterfeit the quality of my elixir of thought provoking images, but alas you cannot make a mockery of my vivacious fuel.

You are used to the wholesome goodness of my clutch, driving without this sublime octane leaves you blind, and numb. Anytime you need my metaphysical to invigorate you, succumb to the estate streams of soul in the psychological.


Bio: Todd Covington lives in New Jersey. His mellifluous use of words has invoked light in every line he writes. Many of his inspirations and short stories can be found @ www.flashinthedays.com is the view into the era of a long lost time.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Ramayana's Daydream


I tasted the juices, millions of years old. My feet were covered in earth. I hugged the ground, and the ground, like an impoverished boy curled next to a space heater in an attic-turned-bedroom with makeshift walls, hugged back. Naked girls pirouetting danced through my mind, the background a cave dimly lit by fire. What would I think if I left that cave? What would I do if the fire went dim? One slight change of path, and what would the ancient juices taste like? What would my feet be covered with? I am turning into a rocket. I hope death is like a space launch.


Bio: John Arthur lives in New Jersey. He likes to read, write, listen to music, and play music. He sings in a band called The Deafening Colors: http://www.myspace.com/thedeafeningcolors.