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Literature Text
Mind held in a paralysis
so I sit, while snow settles around me
And the plinking-plucking of the shamisen resounds
In my ears
The cleanest sound I've ever heard
smooth
Short-lived
A voice trembles
Carrying the music through waves of blue and grey
While twilight leans in, listening
To the crooning
Frail determination
Of his voice
so I sit, while snow settles around me
And the plinking-plucking of the shamisen resounds
In my ears
The cleanest sound I've ever heard
smooth
Short-lived
A voice trembles
Carrying the music through waves of blue and grey
While twilight leans in, listening
To the crooning
Frail determination
Of his voice
Literature
Father
She must have been
beautiful
sugar sweet
perfect
as you dressed her in innocence.
I'm sure her hair smelled of better times
and her eyes tugged at your conscience
and promised worlds
that made yours seem tragically thin.
And you were ...
weak
Now tell me, (father)
what broke your heart?
To find out you were the perfect liar?
Or to speak that ugly truth
that smashed everything
to blood-drawing shards of memories?
Because I don't need
your second-hand love
anymore.
I know, one day
you will contemplate gravity's fragilty
and fall into the sky
while we lie sleepless through nights gone hollow
with a bullet for the pain
an
Literature
One for Dad
I was back in the house where I could feel the melancholy
of the lonesome, crowded west.
The same house but all the memories seemed so far away.
The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the air,
and the walls I had once scratched and dented were bare.
A film of neglect clung to the books he never let me touch,
“Always end up damaged.” he’d say.
Not realising that love changes things,
makes friendships stronger, give things sentiment.
Those worn covers and creased pages,
not a sign of carelessness but a sign of greatest care.
There were the bottles of wisdom placed in the cellar,
full of learning, but paling to the lesso
Literature
Screened
I park parallel to the gutter, turn the car off, and sit a moment. The engine ticks slowly cool and I watch a couple of cars pass by me and find spaces further down the street. My car is comfortable and quiet and I have forty-five minutes to kill before I should head to class. I pull the lever on the side of my seat so I can lounge back as though I am in Dad’s armchair at home.
It is overcast and the sun has only been out for maybe two hours. Everything looks greyer.
From my new vantage point, I can see a construction site about thirty metres in front of me. I wonder what they’re building—it looks very square, and as thoug
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