eakwithoutasound

side: itsgettingdarkinher <3 “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” — Jorge Luis Borges A whimsical space of poetry and prose from a thirty-something female who just likes writing prompts and reading.

[eakwithoutasound]

scrubbed clean

In a timid, tepid shower, tiny, taciturn screams rained down of flighty, fury; fodder for our thoughts.

Salty, sadness drowned in water, scarlet, sodden eyes of sorrow, dissolving, dainty; droplets of our secrets.

A tear, scrubbed clean.

[eakwithoutasound]

Rotisserie-Sweet

Hen Henry hears the knife blade slicing, and thinks, What luck for me! The humans prep the fresh, green veggies, and set the table on the patio. Charcoal sizzles in the silver chimney; Hen Henry gulps and keeps on snacking on four-leaf clover in the yard.

Smells incredible strutts through her mind, as she paces through the flower garden; Hen Henry kept ba-gawk-ing at the sky I’ve never seen them this excited for my birthday meal before.

The humans laugh, Hen Henry trembles, jittery legs dancing among the tulip sways; the guest of honor, rotisserie-sweet, sings proudly in the evening chill; as the humans call Hen Henry nearer.

The grill was glowing hot and ready, humans gathering at the table now, almost ready for the pomp-n'-circ'; around Hen Henry the family gathered, to deliver a delicious birthday feast: wilted kale and crunchy broccoli ends, a supper-favorite of the pet chicken.

Hen Henry savored the tasty nibbles, of the summer family barbecue.

[eakwithoutasound]

Claustrophobic Timelapse

I am in this room I am the room I am gone and back. I belong as a question. I am me. I am we. I am a stranger. Cracked Tessellated

I am plural against the wall. I am here and there and nowhere, Deciding whether to exist, Where to exist, When to exist. I am me. I am three. I coexist. I am under. I am over. I am under again. I’m in the shadows, traveling, frozen, glitched. I am a mirrored image, a reversal, a transformation.

I am here. I am me. I am not here. Am I me? I am there, and here… Where is here if here is there? I am folded and stretched. I am compounded. Overlapping Misaligned

I am a version of me. An identical, non-agreeing self. A picture of myself. I am split into four corners. I am double-vision on the couch. Duplicates Reprints

I am tessellated through the room. I am a pattern of misunderstanding. I understand me. I am here in this room and here and there. I am sitting, standing, moving, leaning Edge-to-edge Over-filled Sardine-squished

I disappear through the door Over-and-over-and-again-and-again And out the window, once. I am here. I am me. And that is me. I am distributed, redistributed. Looping Reappearing.

I am in this room. I was in this room. I will be in this room. I am overlapping. I am me. I am not me. I am in and out, myself. We are all here, in some time. Paused Existing.

image: Jr Korpa

[eakwithoutasound]

Night-Glow

At night, the house glowed blue-bright, a blinding cage of artificial light; screens flickered over sleep-drawn faces, digital worlds draining quicker than footraces.

Outside, Wind called softly in the darkness.

No child looked up, stuck in a technological trance, as Mother Nature fought to have any chance. The electronic chirps of games clashed across couches, while arguments sparked between restless slouches.

Louder now, Rain tapped at the window.

Yet the children scrolled on uninterrupted, malleable, sponge-brains slowly corrupted, overtaken by algorithms built for addiction, unaware of life beyond their screen-born affliction.

Attention was called, when Thunder did rumble.

A side-eye of reassurance across the room, then back to button-pushing in the tomb. Enough is enough when children need rescue, from the glare of media they cannot see through.

In a final stand, Nature cut the power.

Huddled together, with no fantasyland, removed from technology by Gaia’s command, the youngsters crowded to the picture window, mesmerized by the flash of the wild light-show.

and Mother Earth, in quiet starlight, lulled tired eyes to night’s moon-glow.

[eakwithoutasound]

Headstones of a Corpse Planet

A planet once-alive, now extinct.

The oceans cracked first, dust-shattered plains to nowhere; shriveled worms of dried-up rivers crisscrossed the barren land.

Ebony-dead, crooked-tree headstones, marked the loss of a breathing world; the sky, a perpetual ash-choked slate, charred beneath dying-starshine.

Life gone, a corpse-planet adrift. image: NIR HIMI

[eakwithoutasound]

A Non-Terminating Lullaby

I recited the pattern against my pillow, 3.14159 sheep leaping behind my eyelids in the slow rhythm of a dripping faucet -2653589 fractions of a moment when infinity no longer frightens me.

And then the digits slide down the roof, -793238 fear pouring in a never-ending storm, fractures of lightning split the night, -46264 thunder in my mind drowning out the tessellating fear.

The sea expands beyond the horizon -3383779 waves colliding endlessly I drop my anchor into the unknown -5028841971 gently swaying repetition my favorite grouping of the ungraspable.

This fear of an eternal cosmic slide, -693993 sprinkles on my Cosmic Brownie, banana splits and frozen yogurt, -7510 licks to the center of the Tootsie Pop, at least the numbers taste of pi.

And in sleep, the phobia tightens its grip, 3.1415... repeats again to infinity, a memorized lullaby to ward off apeirophobia.

[eakwithoutasound]

A Kintsugi Ceramic

A fractured ceramic of colorful spirit, shattered and scarred yet together mosaic.

With golden bandages, threaded through cracks, strengthening the beauty within and without.

[eakwithoutasound]

Velvet Solace

Call it love, or don’t.

We were never as certain as dawn, but solidly fragile like glass.

This connection like the moonlight reflects the sun, slipping like an echo of unforgettable flame.

Tucked safely in the veil of shadow, we drift; Our dreams whisper in the forbidden silence.

What a soft little secret our love does bloom, this shimmering mirage may just as quickly vanish.

Feather-light be the distant pulse between us, a beating heart upon the tide of the horizon.

Swaying of a far-off lantern softly calling, rekindle this ember to a flickering flame.

Of overwhelming thunder and lightning bright, a downpour of feeling soaking our soul.

Petal soft, barely noticeable within the storm, we stray to the edge of frosty longing.

In the light of day, but a memory, nothing left of a love now hollow.

Together no more, we’re ink and ruin; what once was fire, just charred ash remains.

Love it was, now lost.

[eakwithoutasound]

Beyond the Rainbow

Rainbow arches welcome us home to the eternal horizon, serendipity abounds as, hand in hand, we approach the heavenly gates. Reminiscing upon the stained-glass memories reflected behind us, together we step into a kaleidoscopic afterlife of peace.

[eakwithoutasound]

Five-Line Death

Denial devours the daylight, delving delirious into doubt, Anger aggravates ache, amplifying anarchic audacity, Bargaining beyond belief, battling bruised breaths, Depression descends, drowning in deep, dark delirium, Acceptance ascends, awakening an abiding afterglow.

[eakwithoutasound]

Neon Transmissions

It may be normal to peregrinate through night as if the darkness is empty.

The sound of footsteps behind you just static drowning out the signal, screams tangled in antenna whirring, a typical night of logging interference.

But to some, the night is never vacant; it fractures into currents of cyber-voltage.

A neon ghost arcing through the grid, a pulse of ultraviolet encryption, ancestors rendered in electric residue, a conduit of memories glitching into light.

Once you perceive them, the signal doesn’t drop.

Spectral charges imprint into circuitry, neon signals shadowprint the past, burning through the silence in colors lost on the unawake.

Because ghosts, if that’s what they are, never stopped transmitting.

[eakwithoutasound]

Exploding Kernels

Tasty, poppable, mouthwatering, gold. Savory, wholesome, satisfyingly light. Airy, flavorful, irresistible popcorn.

[eakwithoutasound]

Flowing Motion

                        Zig-zag                 ,ssorcssirc                   around             .moor eht                 Flip-flop             pots-non               back-and-forth         .retaw-fo-tuo-hsif             Ping-pong               ,gnicap                   racing,                 .traeh                   Spin-top             ,pord-dnim               dizzy,           ,yzzid               …chill.

[eakwithoutasound]

Too Late

I once asked the question, “dare we?” It lingered unanswered by thee, till I’d given my heart, and we drifted apart, then you whispered too late... “dare we?”

[eakwithoutasound]

Dog Road Trip

Load the car. bags of clothes, dog food, only what matters stacked in the back.

The dogs curl into the leftover space, a puzzle of fur and cozy. A cold nose finds my elbow from the backseat.

Drive.

The first stretch is easy, the road still wide with promise.

But somewhere between miles, the lake becomes a mirage, slipping just out of reach.

The last stretch, chaos.

Restless bodies, whimpers like small questions rising from the back, "are we there yet?"

Then, it fills the air.

The smell of the lake sweet as cake, a magnetic pull. Noses lift, pointed toward summer joy.

The door opens.

SPLASH!

[eakwithoutasound]

The Unfeared Silence

Twas silence in my mind and bones, did settle deep in anxious woes, all dread and jitters taking hold, my heart tight-held by hushward-dark.

Beware the soundless in-between, the restless numbward creeping; Beware the unhearing-ear of void, the anxious, uneasy static-shadow.

Now sing a song, my sound-warden, a woodwind hymn resounding bright; Just stamp your feet and clap your hands, let laughter counterflow the silence.

Twas bedtime stories, loving-lit, did wrap us safe and warm, a heart made full by songlight swell, will drift into a quiet dream.

[eakwithoutasound]

Fading Like Amy

I used to run with paper crowns upon my head, named my glittery, vibrant imagination “Amy,” and chased her ’round the yard in a superhero cape. We built castles from discarded cardboard, and hid from the demons under the bed.

One summer Amy quietly washed away like chalk drawings of dragons on the drive. I pretended it was part of growing up, being mature and content with being alone in rooms where walls no longer talked back.

And then the silence began to ferment, brewing like poison within my blood, a black, potent mold festering within, draining me, drawing down the last of life, until even the mirror did not reflect me.

I was alone in a shattered, storybook home, imaginative in name and absence, unqualified to be a bedtime story. I became the fantasy friend I once needed, looping through rooms where I was never seen.