Unappreciated Works Feature #8

The new feature is up now! The works for the month of September are:

They Become Ants
The people down the street become ants.
The sun reflects off the sidewalk,
and makes the people at a distance
look exactly like ants.
They walk around, carrying whatever.
They look in my direction on occasion,
blinded by the glint in my crown,
going about their individual jobs.
The people down the street become ants.
Maybe it’s because they’re more
than an arm’s length away. :thumb393479569: Crossbreed
The man put salt and pepper in the same container,
and called it Salper.
And the world exploded.
Cows mixed with pigs and became Pows.
They have a beef flavored bacon that is delicious.
Black lights combined with regular lights,
and exploded, creating a shower of glass
and deadly fumes.
Jelly beans mixed with gumdrops,
and really didn’t change at all.
Ketchup mixed with mustard
creating a toxic goo that was
banned by the FDA.
Fun note, the officer who investigated the
substance was nicknamed “Agent Orange.”
Dryer sheets combined with wet wipes,
allowing scientists to discover a new property of matter.
USBs mixed with mini USBs,
which pissed everyone off because now
they didn’t know how to plug anything in.
Cars were crossbred with the motorcycle,
creating a hideous motorized tricycle,
but that had already been invented,
so the creation was scrapped.
The iPhone was crossed with a real phone,
which came out similar to the iPhone,
except people occasionally used the ph Autumn Leaves
Golden shades lie on the autumnal wood.
The wood liked to talk in the speech of beech and oak.
Wild ducks who fly on sadly
Have nothing to regret and are far from this doom.
Being sorry - for whom?
We all are wandering, roving –
You come and go and leave the empty home.
It dreams of those who roam through the world
And deep in the pool the moonlight is drowning.
I am alone. Everywhere reigns silence.
The wild ducks have gone by the wind long ago.
I am yearning for the leaves' abundance –
On the damp woody ground multi-coloured jewels are gathering.
Although, the flames of colours are manifold,
The yellow foliage of the ashes stays tight.
I let my words fall sorrowfully
Like the trees let fall their leaves.
And once when time – in sign of new stars –
Will sweep away those leaves,
It must be said that the autumnal wood liked
To talk in its speech of beech and oak to them. Turtles
The new giant turtles bled a blue goo. Seeing the room, you would have thought it was just the paint job. There were cleaners for just this purpose, and they frequently made guesses as to what happened. One of them was cleaning the carpet, the other was wiping down the walls.
MAN 1. I heard they have a sort of… spring loaded heel, so they can jump like three feet in the air.
MAN 2. Slow movers, high jumpers. I can see that. What I don’t understand is the shell.
1. We’ve been over this. Their planet has an unusually hot sun. They hide under the shell to keep cool.
2. But they can’t find shade? Aren’t there trees? I mean, whatever tall growing things they have there? You don’t get such long necks eating off the floor. For crying out loud, they’ve achieved space travel! Surely they can reach up and pick an apple.
1. Or whatever they have there.
2. Or whatever they have there. I can’t imagine a world where you can eat from a tree or whatever, and can On Being Baptized in the Coffee Barn Parking LotYesterday, George pressed his tan, calloused hands
on each side of my jaw, as if trying
to press his fingertips against the herniated
cartilage and ruined joints, and feverishly muttered
a prayer in tongues. Between his
chanting, he begged God to cure me
of my ailments and accept me into his kingdom.
Today, several Vicodin later,
migraine still pulsing,
I can't help but wonder if I didn't
believe hard enough. The Cold Time
The man built houses out of ice.
He lived in them for a short time,
yet he was always surprised
when they always melted.
It was always a sad occasion
to see his houses melt,
and it made him wonder
why he wasted all that time.
He wished that his creation
wasn’t destined to die before him,
that his palaces of clear cut crystal
would see the end of time.
Then, one time,
his house didn’t melt.
It stood forever,
against a frozen backdrop. I wish that my heart will surviveI wish that my heart will survive all pain
Which I bear in it
Since you have left me
And no part matches the other any longer.
I wish that my heart will survive the loneliness
Which catches up with me at any time.
I cannot form a clear thought anymore -
Only out of fear to miss something from you.
I wish that my heart will survive this night
While the moon watches over the earth.
For we used to count the stars together
And have chosen the most beautiful for us.
I wish that my heart will survive the past
Which frees me from everyday life so often,
Which shows my lost love to me
That will nevermore come back.
I wish that my heart will survive the future.
Perhaps my heart will come back to its senses,
And will be able to give love furthermore,
Will simply live on.
I wish that my heart will survive eternity
And will continue to live until a better time.
Maybe people will still think of me
And will give me seconds of their lives.
My heart lives but will never smile again,
For only with you Flash Photography
There is no rest for
the man who stays in pictures.
He doesn’t choose which
picture he goes to,
but he can leave one at any time.
He’s lived in this picture now
for 30 years, so he thinks.
He does not age,
and the people around him
are still.
There is no motion for
the man who stays in pictures.
Life is stagnant and cruel.
He is afraid to leave this frame.
It’s not the best one he’s seen,
but the next one could be much worse.
Then there’s the one after that.
From picture to picture,
the man gets a little older.
He sees the people he’s fallen in love with
slowly disappear.
They go away, and leave no trace.
Then he will go away,
when the film runs out.
There is no living for
the man who stays in pictures.
There are only the Kodachrome burns
on his fingertips,
from pictures he’s never taken,
from pictures he’ll never see. :thumb391832960: ParadiseI
Sun shining down on me
A warm breeze blows by
Soft sand beneath my feet
Waves breaking on the shore
Few clouds in the sky
Tropical drink in my hand
No one around for miles
Welcome to my island paradise
II
Flashing lights up and down the Strip
Reminding me very much of an acid trip
Go into a casino and place my bet
A thousand bucks later and still not done yet
Being Mr. High Roller day after day
With jackpots always seeming to come my way
A pull of the handle, a roll of the dice
Tell me this isn't paradise
III
Winter
Clear night
Freshly fallen snow
Cozy rustic alpine lodge
Warmth of a crackling fire
Thick wool robe and fuzzy slippers
Relaxing after a day on the slopes
Spending my golden years in a wintry paradise
IV
Give me the mountains
Give me the sky
Give me tranquility by and by
Give me a pole
Give me some bait
Give me a perfect day out on the lake
Give me all these things, no matter the price
Well worth it for a life spent in paradise
V
house is Conversations: Cell Phones
I have conversations with myself.
I want to talk about cell phones. I think they are useful, and I don’t think they are used properly. My evidence is anecdotal in nature, but I don’t think this would be interesting if it were factual.
I used to be in plays at my high school. It really changes your perspective on what’s going on in a play. For every few people onstage, there are at least a few people flipping out backstage. Then there are the people who aren’t performing that night, if you have multiple casts. For us, that meant we showed up and goofed around silently in another room.
We mainly played games. Truth or dare was off the table, as “dare” usually entailed making noise, so out of necessity, we played truth or truth. It was my favorite thing, as I’m usually prepared to divulge every detail of my life at the drop of a hat. It also gave me the chance to ask the weirdest question that I could think of. “If we were all trapped on a desert is

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