Heartvalves and Clockwork by Beau-Penemuel, literature
Literature
Heartvalves and Clockwork
I never wanted to be your grand scheme of things,
The big blowouts that required confetti and balloons,
Required sacrifices and credit cards that took you months to pay off plus interest.
I pictured myself more as the antique item that was on sale in a thrift shop that caught your eye,
Beaten and worn, and yet surprisingly still useful even if I was put on a shelf and just admired every once and awhile.
Tick, tick, tick, tick,
My hand is stuck on the time past five because its the moment where I realized my baggage was really never left behind,
I pray you dont notice as I am starting to take up too much of your time,
My emotions are like the
I spent this morning leaning on something
wrapped in comforters, stacked with pillows
so I couldn't tell what it was, couldn't tell
that it was hard and cold,
couldn't tell that it was a tiredness that would stretch
like taffy being pulled, pulled, pulled
as I stare at the floor
not wholly unconvinced that my time was being wasted
and this is in fact not where I need to be.
The thing under the blankets unfolded around me,
nondescriptly taking up the whole sky to cast it’s shape
over the campus and the cars and the people.
It’s the wall closing in the voices
making them reverberate and echo,
it’s the floor under my feet, th
We never shared a good relationship, my son and I.
There was always a distance between us, a gap that never seem to lessen. And I knew my reserved nature was partly, largely, to blame. I wanted that distance gone. But I didn’t know how, or what to do about it.
Perhaps now, with him all grown up, it’s too late for us.
*
My wife is the bridge between us; the person who made the three of us a family. She’s the anchor that keeps us from drifting apart.
She insists that we share at least one meal per day as a family. And honestl
The visiting sifu drew his blade and steadied it in front of him, his chest perpendicular to the class line.
"Perhaps one of the most important things to know about studying the blade in ninjutsu is that you are not here to look good. The blade is not a showy weapon, it has one purpose only and that is to kill. Ninjutsu is only about taking as many strikes as are neessary to kill, and kill swiftly. When you practice with the blade, you must be prepared to accept that truth."
The class, full of beginners like myself, was silent. Up until this workshop, we had been practicing an American mixed martial art. It was what this sifu would call sho
Hair black as coffee and it unfurls in caffeine-driven curls,
while from obsidian eyes cinnamon sparkles down her cheeks to meet shades of desert rose
(and they match the energy of her mind and the temperament of a day of gale-force warning)
Black thunder clouds of cynicism and sarcasm alternating with iridescent soap-bubble lightness of deep southern-blue skies,
from time to time suddenly expelling a shooting star of childish-sweet glee, an expression of delight at the sight of something big-eyedly cute
(and though these seem mismatched and incoherent they all are sugar-fuelled)
Black tea in a white mug and donut-ringed fingers clicking aw
we play chinese whispers with our feelings;
hands glide through empty air,
faintest touches, faintest feelings
stir
as you bend and curve into me,
my hands press into your chest
firmly to shield you
from me
i am the dragon and you are the knight,
we can pretend you win - i win,
i don’t mind which
(which is the right way round again?)
spinning in your fairytale dreams
my heart is the damsel waiting for you
but i am the dragon, the tower, the witch -
we both know where my weak point is
(you are the hero of this story,
vanquishing the monster
with one sharp stab
straight into the centre of my chest,
right between the eyes)
we were s
The familiar sounds of the bar buzzed around Emily as she slipped into the worn wood stool at the counter. “Stone IPA, please."
The bartender nodded and commented, “Nice choice,” as he popped the lid off for her.
Emily regarded the bar like an old, crappy apartment: bitterly and with a twinge of nostalgia. This room was the same place that she had met some of her closest friends as well as the same place she got into her first bar fight. Both bad and good times inhabited this place, and she wasn’t sure if she was glad to be back or not. The last visit, after all, wasn't under good circumstances. She had vowed that ni