“Lengthneing Shadows” Post #17: “Eyes From Shadows” by Brian W. Ball

BRAIN W. BALL

Eyes From Shadows

I look for eyes. 

The wind is a giddy blade. I move along the edge of everything, ready, unseen but allowed. I don’t want to kill, just collect.

The eye I have is dry now and hard to use. I keep it with me, twisting the retinal vein around my finger. It helps me think. It helps me find peace. This one needs replacing.

There are places I go and wait for mistakes. I take the old eye from the refrigerator and put it in my pocket. I do nothing without it, a totem of fortune, a pale crystal ball. It’s a miracle of ability. I keep it safe. It tells me what to do.

Then I wait.

Sitting in the cold outside the club, I am both with and separate from the crowd. They mill and talk and text as they rush inside. I watch the hours pass. It rains again.

I am an immortality of tidings and am patient.

In their 20s or later, they come and go. Early becomes later. Shadows grow. I’ve chosen my new friends.

They smoke on the sidewalk. They scroll. They talk too loudly.

They only see selves and blurry reflections of confidence. They are concerned with so much and see so little.

The darkness welcomes full night. Nothing is perfect sense, except this. I will keep their vision safe.

Everything grows long; reason loses shape. Stumbling, they jostle and laugh. Music flies past closing doors. It's loud and ripples quiver puddles. The gutter quakes until streetlights.

They leave. I follow. We are together.

They are far ahead. I am many paces behind, counting cracks and alleys, excited for an avalanche of possibility. My spirit is expectation.

Their scrolls are beacons of light feeding vulnerabilities. They walk loudly, ignorant of monsters in the shadows.

One of them trips down a curb, a raucous spider of sound, giggling drunk echoes the late empty city block. The other, laughing, falls too.

Now. I breathe, shaking, ready. Now.

There is no joy in my work. I am calm. I use precision with no wasted movement or emotion.

Carving around the socket is a function of this order. I'm a blur of speed and circles. I have one eye before she can scream.

The man fights me, but it’s a poor imitation of effort. I crush his fingers in the sight of mindful goodness. I take one eye from each and make them sleep. As soon as I have their drippy red warmth, it settles me. I am flat. I hover between joy and order.

I take the old eye from my pocket, whisper a goodbye and leave it on his cracked phone screen, glowing. I run.

I feel better now. Complete. This was a decision of my sickness. I am sorry for what I’ve done.

I don’t have to wait in long nights full of shadow anymore. I am rich, fulfilled. I slide them in my pocket, still warm, still wet.

I don’t have to imagine visions of happiness. I giggle and move faster. Whenever I want to, I can just take them out and see.

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“Lengthening Shadows” Post #16: “Blackheart Lover” by Tom Zimmerman

TOM ZIMMERMAN

Blackheart Lover

Upon the banks of that infernal stream,
you didn’t weep, you leapt, your faith on top
of you a bully pushing down, a dream
that morphs to blackheart lover who won’t stop
until you’re sobbing sopping wet. Regret
the social creed that gores you, one clean horn,  
the other in your vitals. Not dead yet,
you eat for two, revenge still coiled unborn.
Lone parent, you will rear a child of hell
born deaf to wedding bell or funeral knell,
a demon skimming cream from human love, 
despising manmade gods ensconced above, 
its rage projected onto you, blank slate
cold chiseled, etched by acids of self-hate.

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“Lengthening Shadows” Post #15: Two Poems by Mohamad Ghrbal

MOHAMAD GHRBAL

Mars 

Thoughts fly, the dust beaming  
throughout the Red Planet. From afar, 
it seems as if it’s a perfect sphere,  

Almost like veneers, what’s above  
isn’t what it truly hides beneath.  
Rumor has it that below the surface,
it holds fluid, yet no sign of life.
Can life exist with no fluid?  
Or did life exist before something erased it? 

You travel through the planet,  
curious of what it beholds,  
but scared of falling.  
The planet feels like it’s dropping.  
But remember, even if it looks like a ball, 
it won’t fall. 

---

Waves

There are waves in my head and heart.
Like hydrogen and oxygen in unowned oceans,
Waves within, like water, keep us alive.

Without the heart, the brain has nothing
to send its waves to; without land, ocean
waves would travel on and on.

I have the ability to swim towards land.
But what if there wasn't any land around?

Would I run out of energy, like a brain runs out of power?
If there is no land at all, would I endlessly swim, swim
Endlessly, with no other choice, would I give up?

I wouldn't give up; I would learn to swim better.

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“Lengthening Shadows” Post #14: “Shadows” by Sally Silvennoinen

SALLY SILVENNOINEN

Shadows

We stare in silence at the oak tree stretching, and elongated shadows are cast by the full moon.

—

 

“Lengthening Shadows” Post #13: “House Spirits” by Sally Silvennoinen

SALLY SILVENNOINEN

House Spirits

House spirits are restless tonight. They are wandering around in the shadows of my room. I get out of bed, walk downstairs and step out into the chilly dark night. These spirits slide out the door with me. We settle together on the bench on the porch.
Who are these spirits? Echos of memories, unfulfilled dreams and/or fleeting thoughts?
It gets cold and it's time to go back indoors. A few Spirits have found their way home. They squeeze inside with us befire the screen door slams shut.
The eastern sky begins its rise for a new day. I lie back down in my room. A soft breeze brushes across my face carrying an earthy scent. I feel the presence of spirits in my room. They are content.

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“Lengthening Shadows” Post #12: Three Poems by Diane M. Laboda

DIANE M. LABODA

Edges

I am living a life on the edge,
on the edge of everything—life,
sanity, grief—always grief.

The edges are slippery. Holding on
is tenuous at best. Letting go 
of you is unthinkable every day.

Yet, I know I have to let go of
so many things—people, friends,
my lover, perhaps a brother in the ICU.

This is what the living do. They let go
of kisses, of letters, of long walks
through the woods, of the everyday.

Today the everyday has very sharp edges.
It’s hard to approach my recent cancer 
diagnosis without wondering

how to let go of a lifetime of days
I know I’ll never see, how to let go 
of vigor and embrace fatigue and less-ness.

I am living on an edge that keeps
moving back and forth along an
uncertain continuum—

the one that says “live” on one end
and “die” on the other, that used to
seem so far away in shadows, but no longer.

I know that not every long year belongs
to me alone, not every fractured day,
only what drops in from the universe

is mine for now, if I recognize it,
see it for what it is, like this poem.
Otherwise, it will slip through
my fingers and be gone, spilled
over the edge of today, landing hard, perhaps,
on the edge of tomorrow.


---


Prayer

A mist clings in wisps to the fence line. 
One large oak stands sentinel as if permission 
to enter the inadmissible is needed.
It looks from outside the tree line
to be frightening, foreboding, a singular 
canopy, dark and unfamiliar.

As I enter, I can see the oak
captures each ray of light available,
magnifies it, sparkles it through every leaf.
Every sound, every movement, 
every moment is symbolic, multi-layered.

It is as if the world is kept out on purpose.
It keeps no art, no altar, no ornaments,
no light or flame. Sound bounces off 
the trunk and echoes until it fades away.
What’s left is the solemn, simple
presence of shadows.

A soft rustling, mesmerizing
and hypnotic, swoops and swirls on the air
and enters me, embraces me.
Contentment washes over me and I feel 
welcomed.

I wait, I wait, but what for?
Oak sighs an invitation to reinvent
myself, to leave the past behind.
Its glowing silhouette is filled with
shifting molecules. The air is fresh and feels 
as though I’m breathing in a prayer.


---


Whispers and Shadows

I live between layers of whispers 
and shadows, stuck in a 
nether land of what’s not said
and what’s not heard.

What’s not said can brim a bushel
with angst and longing.
What’s not heard floats by on 
a wing and a prayer.

The question of which layer comes first 
is like asking about the chicken or the egg.
Do we whisper in the shadows? Or
do the shades mute our voices, steal
our thoughts?

Some days start out like any other,
but degrade into talking-to-the-hand.
Clouds gather, breezes chill, tongues
tie mid-word, curiosities abound, thoughts
pool on the floor.

Other days begin in a cloud, stricken
by silence, darkened to full gray by noon.
Walls close in, emotions shutter, quarrelling
under their breath and punching 
each other in the gut.

Healing comes slowly, layer-by-layer—
whispers, shadows, whispers, shadows—
no words, silence, darkness, unease.
It leaves me wanting more, fearing less,
expecting different from each precious day.

I know no other way forward
through silence, through darkness, 
but to put one foot ahead of the other and listen 
for the sound of footsteps. And to have faith
that tomorrow the sun will shine,
somewhere.


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“Lengthening Shadows” Post #11: “Shadows of Dark Lightning” by Ayowole Oladeji

AYOWOLE OLADEJI

Shadows of Dark Lightning

Doomsday past 12 midnight the sky darkens pitch black over the clouds 
Sounds of the creeping doors smashing up and down windows begin to shatter
Then at that moment crawling through dark light heading towards you a black cat 

Then your heart begins to pound like a rolling engine vroom vroom 
That moment the whole light darkens the creepy castle 
You begin to cry please help I'm stuck in the basement 

But no one hears you then so as you begin to walk downstairs  
As you begin to get closer to the door you see a shadow 
You sprint back upstairs so you hide under the bed 
As the door opens you then see in the reflection 
With terror in your eyes, you see Freddie Kruger 
From nightmare on elm street you wake up seeing it was just a dream.

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“Lengthening Shadows” Post #10: “Foraging for Beauty”: Two Photographs by Amy Higgins and Deb Hill

AMY HIGGINS and DEB HILL

Foraging for Beauty

 

“Lengthening Shadows” Post #9: “Across the Room” by Mary Oches

MARY OCHES

Across the Room

The last time I stared across the room
	was the first time you tried to hide
		your face from my gaze.

Your eyes became clouded with doubt,
	your mouth perceptively trembled,
		and my soul became joyless.

What chilling thoughts enveloped your mind,
	what hidden fears scratched and
		clawed vainly at the surface?

What words unspoken screamed to be heard,
	Asking when the lengthening shadow
		Of our love would descend?

---

“Lengthening Shadows” Post #8: “The Pumpkin Man” by Sophia McShane

SOPHIA MCSHANE

The Pumpkin Man

You won't catch him easily; a task that can't be done effortlessly.  

You must wait until the second Friday of October, when the moon is high and full, peaking over the burnt-orange trees, with the forest creatures having fallen into a quiet lull.  

Leave behind all belongings and sentimental things.  Arrive wearing only your pajamas and both tightly tied shoestrings.  

Make sure you have old socks filled in a sizable sack, so it's heavy enough that it drags along the trail behind your back.  

Be certain they're all left socks, and ones you don't like, because you won't see them again after tonight.  Double-check you haven't mixed in any rights in your sack, or else he won't be quickly forgiving.  

When the moon is at her highest, shining light through the dark, make your way to the middle of the farm.  Put your back to the stiff scarecrow with your face turned to the dark velvet tree line.

He will come at exactly 3 o’clock, so do not be late because he leaves at 3, o 3 and never leaves a trace.  

When he does finally arrive, make sure you are fast.  Swiftly dump out the socks and stand back.

He’ll inspect them carefully, with high precision, making sure they're to his liking since this is serious business.  

When he’s all hunched over with his gaunt back curled like a cat's, you must act quickly.  

This is your only chance to seize him, so take the sack you brought without him seeing and quickly snatch him up without missing.  

Snag his orange pumpkin head first into your bag, then shimmy him down into the bottom.  

He might shake around, and wiggle, or yell, but try your best to ignore his requests to let him out. So if you have followed my plan, then you will have now just caught The Pumpkin Man.  You can receive candy whenever you request it, or treats of any kind.  But be careful of his tricks because he his witty; he will try to out sly you with ruses to escape you.  

Until then, enjoy your earned treats and have a happy Halloween!

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