Refracted Neurons

It was two days on from the longest night, morning glistening  in street lamps, puddles reflecting multiple moons, glistening feathers pinned back in predatory symmetry, the metal of a pole. And because the out-of- place is my kind of awe, we stared at each other unblinking, like the time a church was being razed and a sole stained glass remained sparkling  above the tumbling dust, or when someone who never heard of you sang out your name like the light it is, trickling like sun across  the back of my neck. ************************** I was walking to the bus the other day when I saw something odd on a street sign. I’ve never had fantastic night vision, so even though it looked like an owl, I figured it was probably a piece of wood. As I walked by it, I rubbernecked like an old man watching a young woman in hot pants. If it was wood, it was wood with feathers growing out of it. Now remember, this is the c...

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city.  It had a kitchen with a door.  And on that door was a memo typed entirely in Comic Sans font.  “Terrible,” mumbled Vera.  She peeled the memo off the door, the paper tearing around the taped corners. A hand reached for the doorknob, then paused, “Do you have to do that like that?”  It was Lynn, and he was scowling, “At least peel the tape first so you don’t leave these dismembered corners.” He was the last person Vera wanted to catch her tearing down office correspondence.  Not only was Lynn a manager, not only was his resting expression one of perpetual disapproval, but he also made her feel as if she had eaten an entire bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans.  Her nerves buzzed, her mind sang nonsense, and guilt slapped each of her cheeks with splotches.  “But did you see the font,” Vera held up the paper, hoping her hand didn’t tremble, “What does this font say to y...

It was Saturday morning and I was pulling the calash across the main thoroughfare.  The young master preferred the calash, it was fast and had a fold-away cover in case the rain stopped.  He preferred me for much the same reason, I was responsive to the reigns and quick on slippery cobbles. “Oh the way Ginny maneuvers!” he would boast to the other young men, “I’d take her over any thoroughbred.”  I feel much the same, for all a horse needs to be happy is a kind master. Anyhow, it was morning, and we were crossing the road with the clock tower.  Horses, carriages, and carts were weaving this way and that and a policeman stood in the middle, playing a song on his whistle while he danced.  A white stallion was coming towards us, pulling a brougham. If the color of him had not been enough to get my attention, his high action and rolling eyes would have.  “Is that not Miss Eloise’s carriage?” my master twisted in his seat, “She must have got a new ho...

Fall is the end of porch swings and blackberries, a riotous end of wind-blown rain of comfort falling away in red and orange. The tendril of sorrow that sprouts in me will not grow.                            It is not the growing season. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ I haven't written poetry in a while, so hopefully, this little snippet will prime the pump.  Unless the pump has frozen over, which is possible.  It's sooooooo cold here already.  

Happy Inktober, I guess.  I don't really draw a whole lot, but   Mighty Jack and Zita the Spacegirl  inspired me to attempt the scene with the bloom cannon. I'm not 100% happy with it, but look how cute Madrigal turned out:

Source: https://pixabay.com/images/id-2354583/ ”You think he’s gonna show?” Jose yelled in Charlotte’s ear.   ”Oh, he’ll show,” Charlotte stood on her toes, straining to see above the crowd.  One hundred conversations overlapped each other in the Gold City Hall, bouncing off the walls until the vowels and consonants became a single roar.  ”You would think a mistress would at least get a better seat,” she complained to herself. ”What?” Jose leaned into her, his elbow poking her ribs. ”I said, ’You would think they’d have brought in extra seats!’” ”Yeah, but no one cares about some nobody Healers!  Look!” Jose pointed.   A woman with coiffed blonde attired in a navy pants suit strode into the front row.  ”Janice,” Charlotte thought, ”She sleeps in a separate room.” Behind Janice was a young man in a Mage school uniform, his hair cut with military precision.  ”Ugh.” Seeing the mayor’s son, Orville was always jarring to Ch...

Source:  https://pixabay.com/illustrations/hands-sphere-light-fingers-magic-1835994/ “What kind of magic was that?”  Orville opened his eyes.  Pain dug its claws into his chest, making every breath he drew an agony.  The sky above him was a searing blue, interrupted only by a gust of sand that rolled over him like a fog.  Choking, he tried to sit up, but unseen hands pinned him to the ground.  Unable to do anything else, he made the sign for Light with his right hand.  He was certain he would suffocate, his pulse banging in his ears, his brain screaming for air.  The wind billowed around him, stinging him with sand.  It gusted, it wafted, and then it was still.  Light filtered through the brown air from his hand.  It was only enough to illuminate the space around him, nowhere near enough to inflict damage on the unseen enemy. And still, the hands held him down. The sand swirled in the air like dust motes.  He co...