Wednesday whisper

The Great Amazing Maxioff

By

Serena Mossgraves

They don’t make handcuffs like they used to. Magic was once a true skill, but anymore even a child could break free of the flimsy craftsmanship. Dale sat there mourning the days of vaudeville as he held the broken cuffs. He had planned this show for months, and replacing the cuffs would be the proverbial straw that broke the show. So many things had gone badly, he was beginning to doubt that he would even make opening night.
Stage magic was a dying art. He knew getting the audience would be difficult. Still he wanted desperately to try. With malfunctioning props though, he felt the doubts creeping in. ‘Just one show,’ he found himself silently wishing. ‘If only I can do just one perfect show! It would mean everything!’
From the darkness of the theatre, that he believed was empty, came the wheezy voice. At first he startled, afraid that he was imagining it. “And what do you offer, for the one perfect show?” Searching the seats, Dale was surprised to see a small wizened man sitting in the first row.
“Who are you, come closer! I thought myself alone. If I spoke, it was only for me. ” He clarified the point as if the thought was scandalous somehow. His mind decided that he had spoken the thought. It was after all the only way it could have been heard.
Laughter rang across the theatre as the man stepped up to the stage. “What’s a name matter, I asked a question. What would you give for your perfect show? Pretend that you imagined me, and then answer! You never know, perhaps the universe will hear you.” His crackling laugh roughened his voice, making it hard to understand.
Dale considered the question. He ran it over and over trying to figure out if he should answer or not. Finally, seeing no reason why he should not answer, blurted. “Anything. I would literally give anything.” The little man smiled.
“Granted!” The man vanished. Dale awoke with a start. The theatre was empty! Sitting next to him was the antique handcuffs he had been so lucky to find. He shook his head at the weirdness of dreams, and continued to rehearse. Opening night was but a day away.

Two days later….

The audience was excited. Word was the show the night before was perfect. All of the tricks had been masterful! The Great Amazing Maxioff (aka Dale) was a superb showman. The lights in the theatre lowered and the curtains were drawn… To display the corpse of the magician who had apparently passed on.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

You Saved Me

By

Patricia Harris

You say that you feel
like you were a curse…
before you I was a soul
lost in the void.
I had no idea
what I should do
or who I was…

I had never seen
anyone else
remotely like me.
until you.

you saved me,
by introducing me
to who you are.

Wednesday whisper

Poetry

Sirens lullaby

By

Serena Mossgraves

Blood in the street,
youth for the reaper to greet.
regrets pour from the end
of the gun like just another rainstorm .

Perhaps the community is so used
to playing the game,
oh well that's just fireworks again...
and the reaper's approach
will go unnoticed.

Or the sirens will be the lullaby
the infants remember
because of how oft they have
heard them .

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Welcome Back

By

Patricia Harris

The door was closed
So long ago on who
We were, forgotten children
Pretending to be human
In the world turning us into
Monsters.

Taking away the idea
That were allowed to
Play, allowed to be
Happy…

Welcome back
To the forgotten places
Where childhood stows.

Wednesday whisper

Wednesday whisper
Poetry

What the Dead Know

By

Serena Mossgraves

Regrets add weight 
To the soul,
Leaving knowledge
Of what life has been
Stripped away
From all that was
Worthwhile.

Instead of fighting with
What the Dead know,
The living should be
Thinking about how
To live instead.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Caustic

By

Patricia Harris

The words that drip from your tongue
burn deeply into the soul,
Caustic like the acid,
Perhaps I am lost in a fog
of the brain melted by what you had to say…

I stand here broken,
wondering if I have made
many the wrong choice,
Walking through the acid rain…
for someone who will never see
the damage inflicted.
For the one who will always
cause me pain.

Wednesday whisper

Poetry

Hell

By

Serena Mossgraves

I read somewhere
That Hell was a place
Of fire and suffering,
I think not.

Hell is familiar,
That place you go
over and over again.

Hell is repetition,
and unending.

Hell is the moment
where the pain feels
the most like home.

Perhaps there might
be suffering,
but in the moment
would you see it so?
Or would you merely accept
that this is all you have
ever really known?

Monday Poetry

Poetry

Singularity

By

Patricia Harris

Perhaps I am not the person
I thought I would be,
So like everyone else.

Perhaps I am but a
singularity,
a lost note
in a song sung
by the divine.

Wednesday whisper

Poetry

Flutter

By

Serena Mossgraves

The first sensation
Nearly too much,
So when the darkness comes,
Seeping across too warm skin…
Maybe it was enough to bring
The asylum doors open.

The crimson flower
Blooming into the abstract,
Making sure I doubt whether
It was even reality
Or just the flutter of
A dream.

Monday Poetry

Poetry

He is not My friend

By

Patricia Harris

He said he was my buddy,
My brother, my bestie,
Anything to get me closer.
He wanted me to want more,
Wanted me hooked on
What he had in store.

He is not my friend,
He is the chills in the
Middle of the night,

He is not my friend,
He is the last minute
Need to fight.

He is not my friend,
He is my dealer.