tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62552000583083479002024-02-10T00:52:34.380-08:00The Jolly Bard<i>a literary journal</i>Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-50194599046483738252023-05-14T06:30:00.001-07:002023-05-14T06:30:00.149-07:00The OneMaya<br>
Anyango Story—<br>
Your birth overcame the odds.<br>
Any other couple may have turned back<br>
<br>
After two rounds of egg extraction<br>
Not yielding more than five possibilities.<br>
Your egg became the only option.<br>
Any other couple may have turned back.<br>
Number of eggs: one.<br>
God smiled down on us;<br>
One egg was enough.<br>
<br>
So here you are,<br>
Tenacious one.<br>
One egg conceived when it seemed impossible.<br>
Rejoice in your life, little one;<br>
You are the reason we didn’t turn back.<br>
<br>
<i>—29 Apr 23</i>Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-91461948456690611162023-05-04T17:45:00.002-07:002023-05-04T17:45:28.769-07:00A Moment for LifeWe’re only holding on.<br>
<br>
I struggle between<br>
Grace {my soul} nearly dismembered<br>
Shivering from drugs and shock<br>
Needing someone else’s blood to try to stop the machines from<br>
<div style="text-indent: 32em">beep</div>
<div style="text-indent: 35em">ing</div>
And<br>
Maya {her name is Maya} barely knowing<br>
Crying from a brutal separation<br>
Needing someone else’s touch to try to stop the hunger—<br>
<br>
So much suffering for such a happy occasion.<br>
<br>
And we call this the miracle of life.<br>
We call this the special joy and<br>
The blessing.<br>
Congratulations, it’s anxiety!<br>
Best wishes.<br>
Go home.<br>
We need this bed now.<br>
<br>
The line that separates life and death is almost non-existent.<br>
<br>
<i>-14 Apr 23</i>Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-78800601219040360282019-04-20T18:50:00.000-07:002019-04-20T18:50:31.954-07:00PoetryI can write poetry and<br />
do all the time if<br />
only in my head. It<br />
often doesn't make it out.<br />
<br />
I can create lines at<br />
the drop of a hat.<br />
Just like that.<br />
But, if you dropped your<br />
hat, I would likely reach<br />
to pick it up for you<br />
and not<br />
waste your time with<br />
poetic ramblings.<br />
<br />
That's the thing<br />
about idioms.<br />
<br />
If you told me, “I<br />
need nine poems from you<br />
by Thursday,”<br />
I'd pick up my pen and<br />
write until Friday, because<br />
I'm not good<br />
with deadlines.<br />
<br />
But sure, nine poems<br />
or ninety-nine, no<br />
problem.<br />
<br />
I can write about what is around right now:<br />
<br />
poems titled:<br />
<br />
Trash (or, Plastic Pickup)<br />
Parked Cars (or, Serenity Standing By)<br />
City Tree (or, Loneliness) (or, Isolation)<br />
School Crossing Sign (or, Don't Shoot)<br />
Lamppost (or, Post, Electric)<br />
Front Stoop (or, Safe)<br />
Walton Avenue (or, One Way to Go)<br />
Construction Barriers (or, Cuidado)<br />
The Number Four (or, Parking Spot) (or, Subway?)<br />
<br />
What depth might be explored?<br />
What humanity illuminated?<br />
What ink arranged?<br />
Meaning conflated?<br />
<br />
The trick<br />
is getting it out.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-79992411007451105272018-12-27T06:13:00.000-08:002018-12-27T06:13:03.564-08:00Darn meIgnite the air around me<br />
<br />
Gasoline<br />
I can't breathe<br />
<br />
Vapors sweet and<br />
noxious<br />
<br />
Head is floating but<br />
Body is heavy<br />
<br />
Leave me on this earth<br />
Like a worn out sock<br />
Stretched beyond my limit<br />
<br />
(w)Hol(e)y in the wrong ways<br />
<br />
Feet in<br />
Toes our<br />
Ankle hairs itching<br />
<br />
Defeated<br />
<br />
<br />
I embrace the love that once was<br />
In order to love again Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-32792617438769942018-12-26T09:00:00.000-08:002018-12-26T09:00:44.365-08:00FeelingsWhat we share<br />
the rain the air<br />
the way the wind goes dancing through your hair<br />
<br />
the doubt the fear<br />
the feeling when you're near<br />
the sound of heartbeats pounding in your ear<br />
<br />
the rainy day<br />
the pain delayed<br />
the hate that anyone might feel betrayed<br />
<br />
the smell of time<br />
the sense of wine<br />
the way it feels to call somebody mine.<br />
<br />
<i>(22 Aug 18)</i>Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-84620110357515903262017-12-12T09:15:00.000-08:002018-01-03T20:43:48.404-08:00The InvitationCaught in a moment where<br />
my self<br />
had separated from<br />
my body,<br />
<br />
perhaps only slightly, and<br />
perhaps imperceptibly. You<br />
invited me to take part whenever---<br />
<br />
not to even call ahead.<br />
<br />
But<br />
I was too undone to say<br />
much more than<br />
thanks.<br />
<br />
(28 Nov 17)Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-48313656111421296562017-12-06T20:52:00.000-08:002017-12-06T20:52:09.512-08:00Christmas Day, 2013“He ended his days in a homeless shelter in Budapest” was how Dustin thought it would end for him, but he was wrong. It occurred to him just moments before his actual end, as he had a bit of time to himself to collect his thoughts before it all went to black.<br />
<br />
It had been Christmas Day and was continuing to be so when Dustin, thirty and mild-mannered, lost it. Like, just <i>fucking lost</i> it. He’d had quite enough of trying to be the best person he could be in order to impress his wife, Hannah. It hadn’t worked. She had moved out anyway, she had decided to see other people anyway, and she had dismissed in her own, special, silent way the idea of ever coming back. Dustin insisted on counselling, which they attended with little success; Dustin made plans to see her, which never went quite as planned. On their last outing ever together, they ate lunch at a local chain bar and had a pleasant chat about nothing important. They could do that rather well. It was the important stuff they could never quite work through.<br />
<br />
There was a lot of back and forth, very little up and down, and a slight bit of side to side. It was driving Dustin nuts—Brazil nuts, banana nut bread nuts, all the nuts—but he kept doing his best to stay cool and collected in hopes that patience would rule the day. (It wouldn’t.)<br />
<br />
After their final lunch together, Hannah went away for the holidays. She did that last year, too, leaving Dustin all by himself. This year, she didn’t even wait for the holidays to leave him all by himself. She had rented a room month-to-month somewhere nearby. She didn’t want to reveal her secret location, but it was a small town and he’d stumbled across her car before—compact, black, sleek except for a dented fender, with a stupid yellow antenna ball which begged everyone to know that the person inside the car shouldn’t be taken <i>too</i> seriously.<br />
<br />
And so, Christmas Day. Dustin, having gone through all his usual morning bleakness with the added discomfort of being without a family for the holiday, decided to take a walk. It being a holiday, he took a great swig of Hannah’s favorite rum, which she was saving for a special occasion that never occurred. He loaded his pockets with all manner of keys and his wallet, for identification. He used a red marker to leave a note on the beige carpet in the middle of the living room floor—“It’s all yours”—just in case he didn’t get back. He might have simply burned the place down, but in the end, Dustin was frightened of making too much of a scene. Instead, he put his sunglasses on and walked out the door, not taking great care to close it after. <i>Yeah, that’ll get her</i>, he thought.<br />
<br />
At this point, his feet took over, his brain having checked out long ago. He was sweating. Every sidewalk led uphill, and the sun was roasting him. He turned a corner off the main road and was in a little patch of suburbia with imported trees and absurd green lawns. Cars lined the street, but he spotted a familiar one in an instant—a little black thing with a dented fender and that stupid <i>fucking</i> yellow antenna ball. Time passed. He stared at the car; the car just sat there, because that’s what parked cars do. He approached it; it glowed to life. He glanced around, but there was no one. He placed his hand on the door handle and heard the click of the unlocking door. He opened it quickly and slid inside. In a moment, he precisely adjusted the seat and mirrors for himself, which was like second nature to him he had performed the action so often, but as if in a previous life. The old Dustin was gone; a new Dustin had begun. He pushed a button and an obscure Christmas album began playing. He moved to turn it off, but thought better of it. It’s Christmas <i>fucking</i> Day.<br />
<br />
Now, through a series of small but impactful events, Dustin was driving Hannah’s car around town. He wasn't quite sure where to go. Maybe he should just park it somewhere else, as a practical joke. But what message was he trying to send, anyway? A bit of the morning fogginess was seeping away. The sun blazed out in the big open sky as weird Christmas music blared at him. An on-ramp appeared, and thus he turned onto the freeway—just to drive around a bit, he told himself, to sort things out. Something about the high speed would help bring him to a semblance of peace which would allow him to figure out the next phase of his life, his new life, Dustin two-point-oh. At eighty miles-per-hour, he looked around the untidy car, Hannah’s untidy car. Seeing all those bits of Hannah he missed so greatly brought him profound grief. She was gone. This—all of this—was no longer his to enjoy or to nag about or to help clean out or add to. Suddenly, he felt guilty for having taken Hannah’s car at all. Suddenly, he felt angry about the affair she’d carried on for a month which took her three <i>fucking</i> months to tell him about fully. Suddenly, he was ashamed, broken, lost, confused—<br />
<br />
Well, never mind. Flying off the freeway and into a fiery wreck seems to have taken care of it.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-88146249306483805512017-11-07T10:28:00.000-08:002017-11-07T10:28:03.416-08:00It's not my fault It's not my fault<br />
The racism of others<br />
The greed<br />
The hate—<br />
<br />
These things I did not create.<br />
<br />
I am not THEM.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
and yet...<br />
<br />
Here I bear the mark of Cain<br />
Born of a system that oppresses Others<br />
<br />
for no GOOD reason.<br />
<br />
I tip toe<br />
I guard<br />
I let others speak<br />
<br />
Does oppression of self (ac)count for anything?<br />
<br />
Wait!<br />
I have been oppressed, too!<br />
The System™ oppresses everyone.<br />
<br />
Is the argument that I get to CHOOSE<br />
to be oppressed?<br />
That true oppression means<br />
LACK of CHOICES?<br />
<br />
I wish I had the money to prove you wrong.<br />
All I can do is create art.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-1335214807010230682017-05-09T20:33:00.001-07:002017-05-09T20:33:22.315-07:00TitaniaLet me swim inside your sweetness for a while,<br />
Basking in the glory of your smile,<br />
Chanting little praises in your ear;<br />
In these arms you have no fear.<br />
Let me stroke the softness of your cheek—<br />
A midsummer's dream; I might yet gleek.<br />
You, fairy princess, and I, the ass.<br />
(I know, you'd say I have more class.)<br />
Let us sit in fields of flowers and gaze.<br />
In dew-dripped ground, in golden rays,<br />
These days will seem so long, too short.<br />
That's how it is when spirits court. Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-52240379445257645302016-10-20T22:34:00.000-07:002016-10-20T22:34:08.240-07:00BullyWhat is there to argue?<br />
You already think you've won.<br />
No sense in wasting breath,<br />
Except you won't stop your bulldozer,<br />
And you seem to be mistaken<br />
On the definition of consent.<br />
<br />
Why do you need to argue?<br />
You already know you're right,<br />
Although your statements are untrue<br />
And your morals don't seem good.<br />
Are you hearing what the world is saying?<br />
Are you open to some change?<br />
<br />
It's said to “be the change you want to see.”<br />
Is what you want to see just more disharmony?Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-62835332854263590342016-04-26T11:24:00.001-07:002016-04-26T11:24:30.433-07:00Cold PintEggs and cream frozen into confection<br />
Eliciting confession in flavored bliss<br />
Mint presents cool but not that fake green kind<br />
Which lies and says that anything green must be good<br />
<br />
The mint is balanced by the crunch of<br />
Cookies<br />
Chocolate<br />
Creamy<br />
Feeling a bit forbidden<br />
Perhaps even salty amongst the sugary sweet<br />
The frozen feast<br />
<br />
I am eaten in one directly from the container<br />
Forcing warm tear-covered hands to ice over<br />
Providing comfort where others have failed<br />
<br />
Perhaps I can be their one true friendKevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-82096328396262071442016-04-23T20:25:00.000-07:002016-04-23T20:25:11.522-07:00Scene on a Set of StairsShe in her red dress.<br />
She in her black top.<br />
She and she sharing space and<br />
<span style="margin: 220px;">Atoms.</span><br />
<br />
She with her energy.<br />
She with her strength.<br />
She and she in each other and<br />
<span style="margin: 220px;">The world.</span><br />
<br />
She in her insecurity.<br />
She in her apology.<br />
She and she politely living and<br />
<span style="margin: 220px;">In love.</span>Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-71616216034867609362016-02-12T20:59:00.000-08:002016-02-26T21:02:57.285-08:00AntipathyWe washed and dried the last full load<br />
As night washed out the day.<br />
Our silence felt like warmth between<br />
The walls of green and grey.<br />
We danced there once among the stars,<br />
Two fire lights at play.<br />
Between the curtains, books, and keys,<br />
None knew you would betray.<br />
<br />
These longed-for nights of quiet bliss,<br />
The moonlight on the bay,<br />
The shelves I built and gave to you,<br />
The candles in the tray,<br />
The hopeful days before the storm<br />
That caused you once to stray—<br />
All these things could not have known<br />
That you would walk away.<br />
<br />
How could that silence feel so right<br />
When all we knew would fray?<br />
You strayed again and more again<br />
Until you would not stay.<br />
You snuffed the flames that fed our love.<br />
Was that the only way?<br />
How could we dance then? How could we<br />
Have nothing left to say?Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-73926650978854540992015-10-30T21:38:00.000-07:002015-10-30T21:38:07.421-07:00Electric BlueThe electric-blue-haired goddess smiled yellow sunbeams down,<br />
Down on wherever she looked: on<br />
The ruddy-bearded men in cloth hats,<br />
Tirelessly working; on<br />
The fair and dark children in summer dresses and overalls,<br />
Fearlessly laughing; on<br />
The mothers and fathers leaning on tree trunks,<br />
Whispering, knowing; on<br />
The young lovers tripping through the forest paths,<br />
Breathless, gay; on<br />
The grey-headed elders with their canes and candies,<br />
Humming, waiting.<br />
All these, she smiled on, giving blessing to thought and comfort to pain,<br />
Granting wishes and hoping for change,<br />
Singing silently and praying earnestly.<br />
All these she smiled to, she lifted up beyond the heavens,<br />
Where human minds only hope to wander.<br />
All these she lifted up in joy and harmony,<br />
Electric-blue hair, and love.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-52096006109366678582015-08-25T20:29:00.001-07:002016-03-02T00:20:47.258-08:00Star MapsCounting the stars from my Los Angeles balcony—<br />
Nine, I think, tonight;<br />
Just enough for one constellation or<br />
Two, if you're creative.<br />
There are one or two stars<br />
Only seen if you<br />
Remember where they might be. <br />
<br />
There is the off-chance you're hallucinating. <br />
<br />
Tonight's constellation is Poodle,<br />
After the canine god of Beverly Hills—<br />
Ferociously pouffy. <br />
<br />
Remember planets shouldn't twinkle.<br />
Horizon is misleading—<br />
There are towers upon the unseen mountains.<br />
A tribe in Costa Rica saw a postcard from New York and said<br />
They lined up all the stars in<br />
Neat little rows:<br />
Their understanding of cities.<br />
<br />
Remember the moving lights are airplanes. <br />
<br />
From where I am those stars of Poodle<br />
Point south toward those hollow hills<br />
Where fame and fortune fashion<br />
Empty lives.<br />
After all,<br />
The poodle without fur is just another dog. <br />
<br />
Remember stargazing as a youngster—<br />
Backs upon the dewy lawn;<br />
Cool summer nights,<br />
Carefree and wistful,<br />
In the woods away from cities,<br />
Far from pollution—a purer place;<br />
Imagining why ancients thought that<br />
Dippers looked like bears;<br />
Hoping that the bears would know to stay away,<br />
Excited that they might not;<br />
Hoping that a girl you liked would<br />
Like to stargaze too. <br />
<br />
Remember that you're hoping still. <br />
<br />
An empty person is just waiting to be filled. <br />
<br />
<br />
22aug15 Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-57181625552659233852015-08-13T21:41:00.000-07:002015-08-13T21:58:00.122-07:00F*** OffGeraldine Taylor told Rex Carrington to fuck off, and he did. He fucked right off the planet. As he fucked off, he held a sign in the porthole that said “G.T.—THAT DRESS <u>DID</u> MAKE YOU LOOK FAT,” which the news cameras were unfortunate not to have gotten. The rocket ship Rex fucked off in was state-of-the-art, as they say, though the making of rocket ships is more of a science than an art. The press told him to say something cliché before he left, so his last radio communication was “So long, fuckers,” though they heard the thing they wanted to instead. <br />
<br />
As Rex left the fiery atmosphere of the planet, he felt truly free for the first time in his life. He was almost grateful to Geraldine for telling him to fuck off. It had taken years for him to finally fuck off in this manner. First he simply left the apartment, but he felt it wasn't enough. He went to other cities, other countries; still, it wasn't enough. One night, having fucked off to a bar, an ad on the t.v. caught his eye. “Always wanted to really get away from it all?” Rex had. “Ever thought about travelling to space?” Rex hadn't. But it intrigued him. <br />
<br />
For some reason, Rex was just what they were looking for. He studied long and hard everything he would need to know to operate a rocket ship, even though they told him he wouldn't need to do much of anything. Rex had decided he would play along, but when the moment came, he would cut communications and hijack the craft. They would never see it coming. <br />
<br />
He laughed as he floated around the ship, free to do whatever pleased him. He was free from laws and rules, free from anything that would hold him down, and certainly free from Geraldine. <br />
<br />
Settling in at the controls, he gave himself commands: “Straight on to Venus. Full speed. Steady as she goes.” The green-blue orb floated away. <br />
<br />
Then he waited. Hours ticked by. This is what fucking off feels like, he told himself. <br />
<br />
He slept and had an awful dream that he would see Geraldine on Venus. Not just Geraldine, but a whole planetful of Geraldines. He awoke feeling achey and decided to change course to Mercury instead. He dreamt about cars and ice cream trucks after that. <br />
<br />
After some time, a fellow named George joined Rex in the ship. George seemed well aware of his being a hallucination, but that didn't bother Rex all too much. George was apologetic about it. Rex just liked the company. Then one day George was replaced by his much more attractive sister, Maggie, who disappeared every time Rex went to touch her. It was during one of these futile exercises that a bell went off, like a school bell. He looked out the window and was surprised to see a very familiar orb mightily looking back at him. <br />
<br />
He had made a miscalculation. He pulled at the controls, but the rocket ship was powerless against gravity, one of those laws from which Rex hadn't actually been able to free himself. He hadn't fucked off after all. <br />
<br />
Uh oh, he thought as he ventured towards the heat death of the sun. I fucked up. Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-43036015650500424082015-08-08T21:29:00.003-07:002015-08-09T18:07:56.513-07:00AlikeSynonyms are an
interesting thing in that two words which are the same are really
not.<br />
“Quiet” lacks the static of “silence”,<br />
As
“unnerved” lacks the crinkle of “disquieted”.<br />
“Laugh”
is quite pedestrian beside “chuckle”, “titter”, “giggle”,
“guffaw”, and “roar”;<br />
Though “roar” can also be like
“yell” or “bellow” or “shout”.<br />
“Rain” can be a
“downpour” or a “drizzle”,<br />
And “sleep” can be “repose”
or simply “rest”.<br />
Though alike, they carry different weights
and measures,<br />
Different characters and tones.<br />
There is “green”,
but each shade has its own purpose on the painter's palette,<br />
As
each word has on the speaker's;<br />
“Chartreuse” and “forest”
and “olive” each color the world in its own way,<br />
Just as the
humans who created them.<br />
All alike, yet unique.
Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-32779784067075436842015-04-08T20:20:00.002-07:002015-04-08T20:20:58.718-07:00Monday, December 29, 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BJQM3wVAQ1whvwco29_o3_vlplRkzQHrq2rVdeuzGzrA4d8G6cL_Pa5alPSlq5P2JiEUGcT8txAyaaoX1IPjCbj342wQTn93WYtY7XcRhdoapeskFYoXcdaS41UwdXG19dhxSSq6vO52/s1600/20150328_140040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BJQM3wVAQ1whvwco29_o3_vlplRkzQHrq2rVdeuzGzrA4d8G6cL_Pa5alPSlq5P2JiEUGcT8txAyaaoX1IPjCbj342wQTn93WYtY7XcRhdoapeskFYoXcdaS41UwdXG19dhxSSq6vO52/s1600/20150328_140040.jpg" height="320" width="192" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>To Cassandra.</i> </span><br />
<br />
Flying over Kansas, I<br />
Thought of you down there<br />
Enjoying your holidays while I<br />
Went off to enjoy mine. I<br />
Thought of how funny it would be to<br />
Interrupt yours by<br />
Diverting the plane, but<br />
Thought you and/or the TSA would<br />
Not approve.<br />
Hope you're having fun!Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-8930798032843340462014-12-02T00:45:00.004-08:002014-12-02T00:45:50.686-08:00The CatThe cat lived a while then it died, the whole thing about cats living nine lives being more about survival while alive than rising from the dead. We were eating fish and green beans at the time, the mundane things being the ones you remember when a living creature who is beloved dies. Cheryl had been longer than usual coming home, which I suppose had been more usual lately, which I probably should have picked up on as having less to do with working more and more to do with us working less. Maybe the cat had noticed and decided to check out before the dishes started breaking.<br />
<br />
Burying the cat was the last funeral we attended together. It was a few weeks before the last Thanksgiving we had together, and another month before the Christmas she was out of town. She'd been out of town for Christmas before, but this was more unusual because she didn't come back. I was left with an empty house and the somewhat fresh grave of a cat, which had to be dug again when the first rain came and washed away the loose topsoil. It wasn't even my cat.<br />
<br />
All that remained of what had been were photos and a blanket embroidered with our names. I stayed until after the silence drove me mad, maybe one or two days too late. Then I took the few things I had left and moved on. There would be other cats, perhaps; but there would always be one Cheryl.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-66568845200902349372014-10-30T13:58:00.002-07:002014-10-30T13:58:38.509-07:00Us in Alaskastanding in the arctic wind I'm<br />
wrapped with insecurities like you're<br />
wrapped up in your scarf;<br />
perhaps it un-becomes me.<br />
<br />
meaning only kindness but I'm<br />
leaning out of balance as you're<br />
leaning on his arm;<br />
seems to be the chill.<br />
<br />
landing on a light-shy truth I'm<br />
bundled fraying nerves while you're<br />
bundled in your coat<br />
a hundred cares away.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-87233888932747231482014-05-29T19:02:00.005-07:002014-05-29T19:02:53.752-07:00so you could<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I endured the ordeal of your mama's
death</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
so you could have an affair.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I held your hand through E.R. trips</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
so you could say you don't care.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I moved with you so far away,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I did some work for little pay,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I helped you find a job you like</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
so you could take a hike.<br />
<br />
(dec 2013) </div>
Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-19049275066532933602014-05-08T15:45:00.001-07:002014-05-08T15:45:05.441-07:00Francis Left the Hotel Bar
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Francis left the hotel bar and walked
through the rain-soaked streets as though searching, though with no
particular aim or goal. He could go to another bar somewhere else
now, or find a quiet café in which to sulk until dawn. The bar at
the hotel had been too friendly, too inviting. He wanted to be
intrusive with his brooding.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And what of Annabel? he thought, which
sent warmth to his face in many forms: first, the warmth of love, of
romance, of comfort; then the warmth of anger, of shame, of agony.
Love always won, always wins. She'd left him not long ago, but the
sting of her departure loomed over him. She had taken so long to
finally leave that it caused Francis no relief when she did, and no
amount of his protestation would cause her to stay. She left in the
way that sloths descend trees: slowly and with sharp claws.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Francis rounded a corner and the word
“failure” entered his mind. He had failed and been failed.
Annabel was his life's goal, his dream. He had spent more than half
his life pursuing her, in one way or another, until finally they were
wed, and only a couple years ago. Their second anniversary was one of painful
revelation, as Annabel's indiscretions could no longer be contained.
They had always leaked out slowly, in tiny droplets, but now a single
finger could not keep the dam whole. The trickle became a stream
became a deluge. Francis was already a scored pane of glass before
the force of the month-long affair shattered him completely. The
pieces scattered far and wide, and he had no means by which to pick
them all up himself. Annabel had been his closest friend, the only
one who could possibly help reassemble him. Now he was alone, broken,
and all spread out. So he wandered from bar to bar, finding a piece
here, a shard there. In this way, he could make himself whole again.
Or die drinking.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
(13 Dec 13)</div>
Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-53693554981525297352014-04-30T23:57:00.002-07:002014-04-30T23:57:42.343-07:00AdagesStart running when you wake up<br />
Not to make up for lost time, but to<br />
Get a jump on the time that is now.<br />
The time you've lost<br />
Is the cost of admission.<br />
No permission is needed, just be prepared to ask for<br />
Forgiveness.<br />
Live necessarily, out of necessity.<br />
Find breathlessity.<br />
Your moments become vivider.<br />
Live less livider.<br />
Contentment is less bentment,<br />
But get bent when it's<br />
Meant for good.<br />
You're in charge of that, it's understood.<br />
Live life to the fullest, but<br />
Don't be the foolest.<br />
Yes, sometimes you'll be the elf;<br />
No mess unmesses itself.<br />
The penny you save might mean<br />
The day you don't shave.<br />
It could get worse, but<br />
The universe has got you<br />
Even when you've not.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-14929666204308838172014-04-15T23:27:00.001-07:002014-04-15T23:36:20.228-07:00Stopped timeI said that I had a wandering faith<br />
That weekday night we closed the bar and<br />
Accidentally went on that date together.<br />
At some point you said you wanted to marry a Jew.<br />
Am I close enough? I wondered to myself as we<br />
Sipped our whisky, yours Irish and mine American.<br />
Your faith wanders, too, you said.<br />
I thought we might wander together a while, but<br />
You had other plans.Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6255200058308347900.post-4038808073567498442014-04-13T18:39:00.000-07:002014-04-13T18:39:07.265-07:00QuestionsIs love meant to be?<br />
What are we waiting to see?<br />
How does a moment become an eternity?<br />
And who gets to choose?<br />
Is there something to lose?<br />
What is fantasy? What is reality?<br />
Are there ways to escape from insane?<br />
Will the questions give something to gain,<br />
Or will the answers just lead to more rain?Kevin F. Storyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00526239017379203269noreply@blogger.com0