The theme is "Weather."
The theme is "Weather."
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The following poems from the June 2, 2015 Poetry Fishbowl are currently available. Poems may be sponsored via PayPal -- there's a permanent donation button on my LiveJournal profile page -- or you can write to me and discuss other methods.
There are still verses left in the linkback poem "Learning to See." Linking to this page will reveal new verses of that.
"An Eye Toward the Future"
This inspired the free-verse poem "An Eye Toward the Future." It is basically a celebration of the evolution of the eyeball.
30 lines, Buy It Now = $15
I wove in a lot of this to make the free-verse poem "Hacking Perceptions." Astin travels to Cascabel, making observations about xyr own identity and the aftermath of the war and the importance of making changes if any peace is to be had whatsoever.
196 lines, Buy It Now = $98
(Available after "Who Is Devoid of the Power" has been sponsored and posted.)
Astin's trip to Cascabel held hope and dread
in equal proportions: hope of establishing
a new portal planet for the trade network that
xe was weaving throughout the Lacuna,
and dread of leaving the shelter of
a culture that respected xyr identity.
When Shiv got out of prison,
the first thing he did was
to look for a gas station.
He didn't need gas;
he could get home on a bus.
He needed comfort food.
Shaeth thought that his old life
was over and done with, except that
bits of it kept washing up in his new life
when he least expected it.
He stared at the evil cultist
passed out on the temple threshold
and wondered what to do.
"Want to do a couples exercise
for our third date?" Chiara said,
her breath tickling warm
over Cuoio's ear.
"Okay," he said.
He had no idea what
she was talking about,
but he was eager to find out.
It was a struggle for Cassandra
to let Aidan help her, but the choices
were either that or live with the wreck
that the clipper had left of her superpower
and the rest of herself around it.
The drummer boy turned out to be
not entirely inept at strategy,
which surprised Gorrein at first,
but thinking further it made sense
that he would attract followers with
that sort of knack, regardless of age.
When the Analyst first began to suspect"Dust Motes Rising"
a data cluster concerning bridges and superpowers,
she put together some preliminary ideas. Bridges,
it turned out, had been designed to accommodate
vehicles, wind, water, earthquakes, ice, and
even jumpers ... but not superpowers.
Nathaniel was whining about monsters again,"the nature of the season"
and if Hannah couldn't figure out why,
she felt pretty sure that she'd wind up
dealing with Howl again.
"Okay, show me these monsters," she said.
"Under the bed," he said, pointing.
By the third morning, the people"Who is Devoid of the Power"
exposed to the zetetic substances
had begun to regain their energy.
Derreck clambered out of bed
and attended to morning necessities.
The dog park module had arrived,
complete with astroturf on the floor,
holographic projectors on the walls
to display urban or rural scenes, and
a water fountain. A fire hydrant
and a tree trunk provided options
suitable for scent marking.
It was Operetta who told Astin
of another trader running a loop
from Carinan space, a fellow
by the name of Knox who
supposedly had connections
through the old military supply lines.
Yossele the golem and
Menachem the blacksmith
traveled together, and on Fridays
they always stopped early so they
could prepare for Shabbat.
In Africa, the grass follows the rain,
the cows follow the grass, and
the people follow the cows.
At the border, a Sudanese guard
eyes the couple approaching.
Netta and Chung-Cha worked together
to help people communicate, splicing
the language of resistance from bits of
English and Yiddish and German
and all the rest spoken by those
who had until recently been slaves.
The following poems from the March 3, 2015 Poetry Fishbowl are currently available. Poems may be sponsored via PayPal -- there's a permanent donation button on my LiveJournal profile page -- or you can write to me and discuss other methods.
There are still verses left in the linkback poem "To Choose a Direction." Linking to this page will reveal new verses of that.
"Bunker Skills" (Polychrome Heroics)
Regarding the SCA, they're a valuable archive of traditional skills. This led to the free-verse poem "Bunker Skills." Mallory goes to a SCAdian event and learns about improvisational cooking.
100 lines, Buy It Now = $50 SOLD
(This is set a few months down the timeline, has already been sponsored, and will be posted after some other poems have been published.)
Mallory drifted through the faire,
borrowed skirts swishing around her ankles,
and tried to think of herself as this Maudelyn person
whom she was trying to portray.
Maudelyn was the daughter of travelers,
her parents sometimes working as traders
and other times as entertainers,
often in trouble and never knowing
what to do with themselves or their daughter.
Efeilyu made the last few
delicate connections to bring
his monitor screens active,
then signaled the lab
that everything was ready.
Teloim jittered in her seat,
checking and rechecking
equipment that was already set.
Mallory caught a bus to
the Sanger Women's Center
in time for the baby class
offered for college mothers.
When Mallory woke up, she was
stretched out on the futon -- which was
still in couch mode, rather than bed mode --
and covered with her new peach blanket,
the fabric warm and fuzzy under her fingers.
Hadyn enjoyed art class.
Unlike math or reading, it wasn't
something you could flunk;
as long as you gave it a good try,
you got credit for the work.
Cassandra has survived the worst
that life could throw at her,
and she's still kicking.
She has survived growing up
with parents who think sex is dirty
and superpowers are evil.
Igor was feeding the chickens when
Shandor and Fridrik returned from the forest
through the slanting afternoon light.
Shandor was half-carrying Fridrik,
who left a trail of bright red blood
over the white snow.
In the morning, Victor carefully extricated himself
from the cuddlesome pile of limbs that had
taken over his bed, leaving Igor and Csilla
entwined while he slipped into the bathroom.
After breakfast, Victor went to the back of his closet
and pulled out what he privately thought of as
his "lord clothes," the gold-piped black suit and
his best white shirt with pearl buttons all down
the front placket, gold cufflinks and stickpin,
tall black boots hugging his legs, then
a top hat and frock coat over it all.
Usually he felt pretentious putting on
such a show, but today it felt different.
Today it felt like armor, like a knight
girding himself for the battle to come.