Literature's Next Frontier


Flamingo

POETRY:

vacuum of celebrity eyes

by William Wakefield Quill-blue

This is about the random postings
That leave their mark
On you

I never meant
Throw the gondola down

Take off the headphones
When Raffle with yourself

Sentence fragments
and her it's all intentional

The geese breaking through the atmosphere

Silver birds punctual
Arrival

Honking of a vacuum
Showboat on the shore

Vacuum of celebrity eyes

See their random
Performance

It left a mark on you




Posted on: March 28 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

NON-FICTION:

(Working on it)

by Anonymous

Ever notice how the words in your head don't end up on the page or screen? Somewhere between the thought and action of writing it down your self conscience gets in the way. Always trying to muster in some real world addvice? "Don't put that there!" Or "This sounds much better use this!" Somewhere between the mind that thought up the idea and the mind that makes it happen something is lost. A good author knows how to silece this very loud and obnoxious voice and let the words flow freely onto the page. For some it comes naturally and nothing is lost in the translation, but in my case there is a disconnect with myself. Try as I might the creativity in my mind is slowly replaced by my waking conscience and it sileces the part of me that urns to create. It's my own fault really for letting it get so bad, in days past I would spend hours in my mind just thinking and relishing in the creation of a new idea. I had no need to write anything down because it was all in my mind safely filed away for me to grow upon and expand as I pleased. A few years ago I had this desperate need to start writing these thoughts down though, at the time I just thought of this as a new way to express myself, and I was happy to ablige. My first attempts were laughable, as bad as what I'm writing now might seem my previous attempts were worse. At the time I thought nothing of this new urge to write, I would sit down and type away for hours on end enjoying every minute. After I was done frantically writing it all down I'd go back and re-read my "Works" and be estatic that I had done so. I never did anything with them. I'd file and type and repeat until the day was gone. I never showed anyone these so called books I was writing for fear that they would not be as amazing as I had thought them to be. I was happy to just know that they were out of my head and stored somewhere tangible.....After all my stories where put to paper however my mind stopped creating new stories. My once safe haven of enjoyment was now a place of woe and heartbreat. It was at this point I knew why I was so desperate to write these stories down, my mind was telling me that these were the last it was ever to produce...I tried to write others, but to no avail. I took classes, read books, and tried to find my muse, but I did not succeed. The realization of this has only just now become apparent as this is the first time I have written anything in over a year, it shows. My mind is not filled with the wonder and joy that it once had, but only of what bills need to be paid, and of what needs to be done at my dead end job. I need to go to school, that will solve my problems....Or will it only create more? Where will I get the money to pay for this? Where will I find the time? I guess these things are what sepperate the dilleginet from the dreamers. Dreamers only wish for things to happen, the dilligent will make them happen. I come home at the end of a day and the very thought of these things drives me to drink. I never really care for alcohol until it provided me with a pleasent escape from the manotony of my mundane life. In a way I suppose it's a good thing I wrote all those stories down, At least now they're out of my head, and will no longer clutter my mind with delusions of grandure. Becoming a writer? I can barrely form a congnitive sentence, let alone an entire book....It still saddens me deep down I suppose that the dream I once had is only just that, and it will never come true. I lost all those stories I wrote about recently, I erased them willingly from an old hard drive I desperatly needed for my computer....I just gave them up....Like they never meant anything to me.....Like that was never my life......Like it was never my dream...The real world is a dark and fucked up place, and let this be a lesson to all of you out there whom come across my drunken ramblings. Never give up on yourself, never let something get in the way of your dream....Never be like me.


Posted on: March 25 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

POETRY:

claustrophobic suitcase

by William Wakefield Quill-blue

We're in the sticks

A motor struggles
In the distance

Out here
Not much
happens

A ghost country
Fed by wolves

We take turns
Dousing each other
In beer

Slanted trunks
Of vampiric hosts

We're in space
Forever clarifying

A sad rotor
Drifts on the Breeze

Take heed
still in your
weaselly ways

Make junk
Not craven plates

The motor stitches harder

"Let's ca Sri a ate the"

Let's concentrate on the collapsing

Put it in the trail around us

Photographic evidence
Blatant imagery around us

Can't you see the geometry
The harsh slant of the valley

Accidents so again they say so
again accidents

The balance of the
claustrophobic suitcase

Baggage carts
filled to the brim
space they proceed to unpack

Motor idles as
another control is pushed

Logic rearrange sentence
Logic reiterates soliloquies
of separatists that
bring loaded spectacles

Grinning face with smiling eyesHernandez photo photo

Dishes photo garment
Msoft impressive the
harsh collapse of the
signaling of sector five
of this slingshot
Saturnalia step down
to see Tony stupor do
#Proper sequence branches
of these lakes rivers

From about it spells
a big giant picture
Run to put the flame
Washer hands and ashes

Slurring of the secrets
that thing that sends some love
along with smells
that smell out small
small oh small
token doctor
if you can win
if you can
Did they really want this

What's a lot of footage
Doing in a place like this

All mixed up and
celebrity next contestant
Harassed
By the way and

By the wind




Posted on: March 22 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

POETRY:

Let's pretend she's home again

by William Wakefield Quill-blue

Let's pretend

It didn't end

Befriend a lost soul

Haunting each other's sky

No way to make it right

Wait for day lights end

Haunting a blustery sky

She's home again




Posted on: March 15 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

POETRY:

swim on to the frozen heart of space

by William Wakefield Quill-blue

Swim on to the
Frozen heart of space

Taking Time
In reverse
With no remorse

Parting the black waves
The undulating curtains
Of all memories
Rising up like sun flares
Snatched by an ethereal hand

That plucks the giant strings in the center
Our entire world
Throbs along with the note
That only planets hear

Rush to dissolve
your throwaway dreams

Swim on through blackness
full time awareness
sending a signal by
Singing
Songs in the dark
To these triumphant acrobats
Make no mistake
This is our time
Of swimming to the dawn

Rush to dissolve
your throwaway dreams

Swim on to the
Frozen heart of space

You and your ripe
Vera-melt creamer
Balanced on your
Diagonal lip juncture

Strafing blatant
arrangers
In their
Arrogant
hush puppies

Folding chairs
laid out with

CDs of
Long forgotten
Bands

Memory Lane
Invaded by Strangers

Sellout to the
Great Compromise
Forgiven and Forgotten

Never forsaken
Some kind of angle
seeking
In a
Casual
hot pursuit

Folding chairs
splayed
Out at all angles

Songs of the world
Forgotten on
Memory Lane

Arrogant drive
by
Full Moon

Sellout to
the Omipetence

Chairs all splayed
In songs of
forgotten Angels

Sellout to
the high hopes
The unfolding
doodles of dreamers

Part man made.
One part home sliced






Posted on: March 12 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

FICTION:

Wilting Flower

by Madsidy Quill-red

I could feel his eyes on me the first time my father had introduced us. It was early Saturday morning and i had gone down to my fathers study to ask if he'd fancy some coffee. I stood in the doorway of his study watching him and a man I had not seen before, he had on glasses with a thin frame, with dark brown hair that fell just before his eyebrows. They were both sharing a laugh when father noticed my presence.

"Ah, Mary Ann!" Father gestured me to come in. Both men stood up to greet me.

"This is my lovely daughter Mary Ann Bishop." Father spoke proudly of me, it had put a faint smile on my face to hear him refer to me as 'lovely'. "And Mary, This is Jeremy Markus, He owns the property next door to ours as of this Monday."

Jeremy Markus kept his eyes on me as he reached my hand, his hand was warm and much larger than mine "Pleasure to meet you Ms. Bishop." His voice was raspy and it sent chills down my spine.

"And you, Sir." I slightly bowed my head, he let go of my hand. He appeared quite younger than my father, whom is currently 47 years. But Jeremy Markus still had a vibrant look in his being. He looked to my father who spoke,

"What can I help you with, Mary Ann?" He seated himself back into the large leather beige colored chair.

"Lisa was wondering whether you'd like your coffee now." I explained, Lisa being one of our house keepers.

"Ah, Mr. Markus would you like some coffee?" Father first asked the man who seated across from him.

"I wish I could stay longer but I have already delayed many important manners I must deal with as regards to my new home." Mr. Markus stood back up.

"Then another time," Father smiled and said his goodbye to Mr. Markus.

"It was nice meeting you, Ms. Bishop." Mr. Markus appeared to have a small smirk upon his face but I couldn't quite tell, he brushed by me, looking down at me with roaming eyes, I felt my face heat in realizing just now that I was in but a nightgown. I could smell his musky but intriguing after shave. I retreated up to my room to change my appearance.

 After Sunday, Came Monday.. I woke up to the sound of moving trucks and men chatting amongst themselves. It was early 8am on a breezy summer day in June. I stood up still awaking, I went to my rather big closet as my family did quite well, my father being a talented Non-fiction author and professor at a university several miles away. Not to mention my mother who received a large sum of money inherited down to her by my grandfather who passed last May.

I dressed in white stockings, a white hat, and a leaf green floral patterned dress that stopped just before my kneecaps. I hurried downstairs then out the door before Lisa could tell me to eat breakfast. I seated on the porch swing, the breeze felt good, I wanted to take off my hat but knew mother would scold me if I did, she says that I have fair and sensitive skin which she was right about, a few minutes in the clear sun would turn me red as an apple, is what she alway's said. I watched as the moving truck men unloaded furniture from the back, A large four seat-er couch in bright red colour. What man would have that taste in furniture? I pondered, unless of course, he is wed.

"Are you gon' sit out there all mornin' child?" Lisa called out the screen door, "Come in and eat your breakfast."

I sighed and stood up, turning my head to the house next door where the moving men still hauled things into the house. I saw a glimpse of a woman wearing an all white suite, with a large hat. I heard her shout "Careful with that now! It cost more than you make in a year!"

Later that day I stood in my thoughts, thinking of Mr. Markus and that woman I had seen. Mother entered the sitting room and spoke, "Mary Ann, your birthday is to arrive soon, we must send out invitations immediately." She said, without looking at me, rather looking at Lisa who poured her tea.

I stood up fast and clapped my hands together in excitement, "Oh, mother! You mean to say we can host a party here?"

"Now settle down, you will give me a migraine with all that excitement. Your father and I have already made a guest list. We will have finished the invitations by tonight."

"Thank you mother, thank you!" I rushed over and gave her a kiss on each cheek. Though she did not smile I knew she was glad that I was happy.

 

The next morning I came across the invitations to my birthday party on the dining room table, I looked through them and stopped at the invitation that had Mr. and Mrs. Markus written on it in neat cursive, obviously my fathers hand writing.

"I was 'bout to take those to the post office, would you like to accompany me, dear?" Lisa asked picking up the invitations, but not the one in my hand.

"No thank you, But.. Could I take this one myself? They live right next door, It seems inconvenient to mail it." I pointed out.

"I suppose.. Just make sure ya not bothering those people." Lisa left for her errands.

I walked up the driveway of a big tan coloured house, it was maybe even bigger than ours. I knocked twice on the door. A young boy who appeared 6 or 7 years opened the door widely. He stood there blinking for a moment before running away into another room. A house keeper came to the door,

"Sorry about that, he's a bit shy around strangers," She paused, "But you're no stranger, you must be the young lady next door. Come in." She smiled and stepped aside. I walked into the house that had boxes here and there, I followed the woman into the dining room where she said I could have a seat in, sense the sitting room was still being situated. The house keeper was shorter than me, I stood at 5'5. She had to be barely 5 feet tall and in her late 40's.

After waiting a few moments I heard a familiar raspy voice behind me, "We meet again, Ms. Mary Ann Bishop." He chuckled slightly to himself. I stood up and greeted him.

"What brings you here on this pretty day?" He asked, but he did not sound curious, he sounded more.. sure of himself? "I.. I brought an invitation for a party my family is hosting f-for my 15th." I stuttered feeling nervous for some reason, I tried to steady myself by standing up as straight as I could manage.

"Ah, 15th? Of course a young woman would want a party." He smiled, opening the invitation. "My wife loves these events, so I'm sure she'd accompany me to your special day."

"Thank you, I'd be pleased if you both could attend. I'm sure my father would be, too." There was a silence, not an awkward one, but an intimidating silence that filled the room.. Mr. Markus stood there observing me closely. I felt my cheeks flare up and started towards the door. I turned around for a moment to speak,

"I hope I didn't burden you with my visit, I'll be going now." I bowed slightly.

"You did not burden me at all, you're welcome anytime, Ms. Mary Ann." He stared into my eyes with a seriousness that made my chest feel heavy. I left in a hurry feeling his eyes still on me, my face still flared red.

When I returned home I disappeared into my room and started on my summer studies.. Trying to get my mind off of this man who filled my thoughts.. Jeremy Markus

______________________________________________________________________________

 

Wednesday afternoon father called me down to his study,

"Yes, father?" I asked.

"Come here for a moment please, there's something I have for you." He said.

Suddenly I became excited, I rushed over to see what it was. Father handed me a baby blue journal with my name 'Mary' engraved into the cover.

"I absolutely love it!" I shrieked, Flipping through the blank pages.

"I thought because your mother was so heartfelt about writing poetry you could start on it." Father smiled and lifted a pencil from his desk then handed it over to me.

"I cannot wait to start, Thank you again." I smiled and jolted out of the study and into the study.

Several day's after father gave me my journal, I still sit there taunted by the blank pages, I throw it onto my bed and go downstairs for lunch before Lisa called me.

"Hello Mary" Lisa greeted me as I sat down in the dining room. Father at the university as he was everyday, Sometimes he'd have classes at night instead of the afternoon, like yesterday. Father was a respected literature teacher and my mother ran several charities that took up most of her time. I'm proud to have such accomplished people as my parents but, I must admit I miss their company. I don't have many friend besides the ones I only see in school.

After I had eaten lunch I went out to sit on the porch swing with my little blue journal. I watched the child next door play with a red rubber ball. He noticed me looking and stood there blinking, again. What a strange kid I thought to myself. Mr. Markus came out and walked over to the boy.. "Okay now we can play" He put his hand on the shoulder of the boy and followed his eyes, before Mr. Markus could find mine I stuck my head inside my journal, not daring to look up.

"Mary Ann!" I looked up from my journal to see Mr. Markus waving me over to his yard. I walked over hesitantly with journal in hand.

"Good afternoon, Sir" I bowed slightly.

He chuckled and said "Stop with the 'Sir' and 'Mr', we're neighbors." His smile was so welcoming, it was practically pulling me towards the man.

""Yes, em, Markus." I said quietly. He chuckled softly again.

"Jack say Hi so Mary Ann." He spoke to the little boy.

"....." he stayed silent.

"My apoligies Mary Ann, He's very shy, it must be he likes you a lot." Markus ruffled Jack's hair. "You can go play, I'll be there in a moment." He dismissed little Jack.

"Is he your son?" I asked bluntly.

"He's from my wives first marriage but, I've known him sense he was but a few months old.

"I see.." I said looking down.

"What do you have there?" Markus gestured to my journal.

"My journal, it was a gift from my father I received shortly ago." I held it with both hands in front of me.

"It's very pretty, as are you." His sentence faded out, I froze but my face burned red. Did I just imagine that being said? It had to be! "..Have you written anything in it yet?"

"N-No, my father wants me to write poetry, yet my mind seems to be coming up with nothing.."

"I'm sure you'll find something to write about, you seem to have a keen perception." He said.

"Thank you, Sir." He looked at me troubling, "I mean, Markus." his scowl turns into a smile in a split second. I said good day and started towards the front door of my home.

When father arrived home he called me into the sitting room, "I ran into Jeremy Markus outside just now, they seem to be settled in their new home.." Father started taking off his tie. "He said that had run into you earlier with your journal, said you were having writers block, is that true?"

"Well, yes father.. It is true." I looked down, hoping he would not be disappointed.

"Mr. Markus offered to lend you some poetic books he has in his study, he said you may borrow them as long as you bring them back. I told him you would kindly accept, so you're due over there at 12 o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, father."

"Now go rest, it's late." He dismissed me.

I ran upstairs to my room, Tomorrow I'd be going over to Markus's house, I felt a twirl of butterflies in my stomach.. I'm so happy. But, this is wrong.. To feel this way about a man so much older than me, and married! Surely this isn't right.. I dressed into my nightgown and fell asleep with these thoughts running through my head.

The next day I headed over to Markus's house with journal in hand, I knocked twice. Markus opened the door with a smile, I noticed he didn't have his spectacles on, he was dressed casually. He gestured me in and led me down a narrow hallway into his study, his study was much larger than my fathers.

He told me to have a seat anywhere, I sat down across from an empty chair. He went to his desk and came back with two books. He handed them to me,

"This is all I've found so far," I looked at the two books, one being Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman and the other The Sonnets, by William Shakespeare. He took the empty seat across from me. "Shakespeare is one of my favorites.. I suggest you read into that one first, of course I value the book very much so please, be careful."

"I'm not reckless.." I looked into his eyes. He smiled.

"You're right, it's not you who is reckless, I must admit it is me who's reckless.." His smile faded as he placed his head in his hands. I took a deep breath and stood up, setting the books on the small table next to me. Slowly I walked towards him, as if he'd run if I was too subtle. He lifted his head slightly, I cupped his head in my hands, he looked up to me with his eyes wide and watery, his lips parted. I looked down at his lips and leaned down to press them against my own. It was a warm kiss that left me drowsy when I pulled away. His eyes still looked at me stunned.

"Perhaps I too, am reckless." I said softly. I gathered the books and stopped at the doorway where he followed me closely behind, I turn around and say "I'll bring these back to you on Sunday, if that's alright."

He nodded looking at my lips. I reached to open the front door but he forced it shut with his hand leaning harshly against it. He looked from my face to my lips for what felt like hours but was  only minutes. He leaned down pushing his lips against mine, gentle but firm. Without moving his eyes from mine he moved his hand to the doorknob and opened it and backed away.

As soon as I arrived home I went to my room, face-planting onto my bed. My heart was still pounding rapidly... What have I started?


Posted on: March 10 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

POETRY:

Human calliope

by William Wakefield Quill-blue

projected selections sold to the

highest bettering of myself
In the Milky Way
Spectrum of things

the clouds
They drop from the sky
like ice cubes

That
enter when
I say entertainment

there's a Dirty people alert

That and a few batten
down the hatches

The doctrine of the turncoat
is the plethora of religiously
gastro-astronomically
gigantic ergonomic solutions that
Groove on the gravy train
Space lyrics all around you

I'm fine
With the all
of the spacesuits
of the
Herky-jerky man

a Human calliope

Let's reflect on the projected selections
sold to the highest bettering of myself
In the Milky Way's dark
Spectrum of things
They drop from the sky like ice cubes

They enter whenever I say entertainment


Posted on: March 05 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

POETRY:

Pushed the wrong button's (Remote)

by William Wakefield Quill-blue

Changing religions on channels
different channels they project
dogmatic lifestyle arrangements

In this determined to solve
all the unsolvable there is
a collection of history and
a mythology that will surround
you and keep you in the night

from the day comes
the end of another century
but it's all history just conspiring
to surround the looping energy
that projects out of bodies

and they power the main core
that is stored deep within
and it is holy and it runs everything


Posted on: March 05 2015

0 Comments

Not yet rated / 5

Displaying all 8 Article

Activity Feed

You need to be logged in to do that.

Login-facebook-button Or sign in with your username and password.