Fresh ink and new blood, and more: Amount of strength, honeyed earth, a muted past, seasons, and screams of the dying.
Some new blood and fresh ink flavor Prose. Radio's number 37, with a handful plus two pieces from the inimitable talent of our writers. Good to see all the new writers bringing their style to pages of Prose. --And also good to see Last and area_man in the mix with them today, and AndyDrew closing it out with something beautiful and dark and light, in its own way.
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5iHmKR3IOg
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/816003/christ-like-without-the-benefits https://www.theprose.com/post/815932/lake https://www.theprose.com/post/815971/back-and-forth
https://www.theprose.com/post/815979/the-watch https://www.theprose.com/post/815993/space-age-bodhisattva https://www.theprose.com/post/815994/seasons
https://www.theprose.com/post/815920/wee-woo-bus
And.
As always...
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
The Things I Have Conquered Today
The things I have conquered today, may not seem like much to you.
But while you were at work away, I did laundry and then went though
Our old baby's old clothes and his room, Some I threw out or gave away.
A few I kept, because quite soon, our boy's child may come here to stay
A night or two, with me and you.
If I keep up my health and smile, our son might allow me to hold
The precious girl just for a while and keep me from growing too old.
I washed the dishes and dried them, and I changed the sheets on our bed.
In your pants, I took up the hem. I painted the chicken coop red.
I wanted to spruce the lawn up.
Amazon Chest
The Amazon chest I ordered last week
was mistakenly delivered to a house down the street.
This got me to thinking about what’s in a name.
What’s Amazon mean besides the longest river
and the preposterous claim
about female warriors stripped of a breast
from left side of their Amazonian chests
so they could shoot arrows along with the best.
Yet neither breasts nor boobs bound or removed
help female archers or in any way improve
their shooting or fighting or even delighting
and now with all the plastic polluting that’s frightening
I’m questioning all I’ve been taught in school.
Indeed, what I’ve learned makes me mostly a fool.
So it may be time to be taught once again
about all the ideas I thought were my friends.
And what do you think? Are we on the brink
of usurping mentations that we all thought were in sync?
The Pencil
“Hey, can I borrow a pencil?”
I’m sitting in my 10th-grade Chemistry class when I speak those fated words. We’re about to take a test, one of those scantron things that have to be filled out in No. 2 pencil only, and I can’t find my pencil anywhere. I lean over to the kid sitting next to me. Tom Peli-something. He’s a bit weird, and I’ve never really spoken to him much before, but I’m desperate, and this kid’s always prepared.
“Sure.” Tom pulls another pencil out of his backpack. Before he hands it to me, he holds it up between us. “Just so you know, it’s haunted.”
“What?” Did I just hear what I think I heard? I knew the kid was weird, but what the hell?
Mrs. Conway’s sharp voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Put everything away except for your pencils and erasers. I will not pass out the test until everything is away and the room is quiet. And you will need the entire class period for this test.”
After a few more whispers and shuffles of books and other materials, the class grows quiet. Tom is still holding the pencil between us.
“Whatever, I’ll take it,” I say, grabbing the pencil out of his hand.
Tom just shrugs. “Okay. I warned you.”
Mrs. Conway hands out the test, and I get to work filling in the little bubbles for what I hope are the right answers.
C. Hydrochloric Acid
A. Carbon Dioxide
B. 18 Electrons
C. Hydro—
“Of all the things you could do with a pencil, and you’re just filling in those little bubbles?”
I look up at the sound of the small voice. It sounds like the speaker is right in front of me, but there’s no one there. I look around, but no one else seems to have heard the voice. Confused, I return to reading the next question.
If a sample of matter is uniform throughout and cannot be separated into other substances by physical means—
“I’m not complaining, really. It’s just that there are so many other things you could use me for.”
Again, I look up, but there’s no one there. I glance over at Tom, but he is focusing on his test. I scan the room, looking for any sign that someone else heard the voice, but all of my classmates have their eyes on their test.
“Do you need something, Mr. Speero?” Mrs. Conway is at her desk, glaring a warning at me over her glasses.
“No, Mrs. Conway,” I answer quickly and try to get back to my test.
But when I pick up my pencil to fill in the next bubble, I notice something on the eraser. Something sitting on the eraser.
“I mean, you could doodle, or even sketch a masterpiece!” the thing says. “You could write a story or a letter. Even an essay would be better than this!”
I gasp and drop the pencil on my desk, drawing the attention of several of my classmates and my teacher.
“Mr. Speero! Is there a problem?”
“Um, can I go to the bathroom?”
Mrs. Conway looks at me sternly and then rolls her eyes. “Fine. But don’t dawdle, or I might suspect you are up to something.”
I just nod at her, stealthily grab the pencil, stuff it in my pocket, and walk out of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Tom smirking at me as I leave.
When I make it to the bathroom, I pull the pencil out of my pocket and stare at it. It looks like an ordinary pencil – yellow except for the black lettering spelling out the brand name and a number 2, with a dull, lead point on one end and a pink eraser held in place by its metal holder.
Suddenly, the eraser begins to morph. Two little arms stick out and grab the edge of the eraser, and soon a head appears. The little thing pulls itself all the way out as if he were pulling himself out of a hole. When his entire body emerges, he sits down on the edge of the eraser and looks at me thoughtfully.
I stare back at him in fascination. He looks like a fully grown man, but he can’t be more than half an inch tall, and he’s entirely white, though slightly transparent. He’s wearing an equally white, equally transparent outfit consisting of khakis, a collared shirt, and a sweater vest, and on his nose sits a pair of wire-framed glasses.
“What are you?”
The little man shrugged. “Ghost, ghoul, poltergeist. Call me whatever you like; I’m not picky.”
“Tom was telling the truth?”
“He usually does. One of the reasons most people think he’s kind of weird.”
“So, do you, like, belong to him?”
The ghost looks indignant. “I don’t belong to anyone! Tom just happens to be the current keeper of the pencil that I haunt. Or, at least he was. Now, that honor has been passed to you!”
“What? Because I borrowed the pencil?”
“Yes!” the little ghost says excitedly. “And now you get the benefit of my great wisdom!”
“Look, I just needed a pencil to take this stupid Chem test.” Then an idea hit me. “Wait, the benefit of your wisdom? Does that mean you can help me on my test?”
He sighs. “I suppose I can. But I wouldn’t be much help. The sciences are all well and good, but they don’t hold the pure passion and depth of literature or art. If you really want to put me to work, set me loose on an analysis of Shakespeare or a short story about the futile pursuit of love. I was a writer, painter, and professor of art and literature in a past life, you see.”
“Of course you were,” I mutter. “Look, I gotta get back to finish the test or Mrs. Conway will fail me for suspected cheating. Sorry, but I don’t have any use for a haunted pencil. Tom can have you back.”
“Wait!” the little man shouts at me as I exit the bathroom. “I can make myself useful! I can! I’m intelligent and ambitious. Together, we can really go places!”
“Not interested.”
“Please, don’t give me back to that idiotic boy!” the ghost begs. “I cannot stand that imbecile!”
Getting tired of the little ghost’s whining, I shove the pencil into the pocket of my jeans, but that doesn’t shut him up. His muffled voice stays with me all the way down the hall from the bathroom to my chemistry class.
“You don’t know what it’s like! He’s had my pencil for four years, and I don’t think I can take it a day longer. Please! Don’t give it back to him!”
His pleas are starting to wear on me, and I consider giving in and just keeping the pencil for the sake of the little whiny ghost professor, but when I enter my classroom, I come face to face with Mrs. Conway.
“Are you ready to take your test now, Mr. Speero?”
“Um, actually, I need a pencil.” Her raised eyebrow tells me that she doesn’t quite believe me, but she still leads me to her desk, pulls a sharpened pencil from her drawer, and hands it to me.
“Anything else?”
“No, Mrs. Conway. Thank you.”
I walk silently to my desk as Mrs. Conway sits down at hers. The little professor is still yammering away in my pocket, making my next decision easier. I pull the haunted pencil from my pocket and hold it out to Tom.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I whisper.
Tom looks up from his desk and glances at me and then the pencil. The little professor is now on his knees on top of the eraser, his hands clasped as he pleads with me. “Don’t do it! I’m begging you! I’ll do anything! I’ll—”
Tom shrugs and reaches for the pencil. The instant Tom takes the pencil from my hand, the ghost disappears, and I can no longer hear him.
Tom smiles down at the pencil. “Hello again,” he whispers to it before sliding it back into his backpack. Then, he goes back to his test without another word.
Trying to shake the memory of the tiny ghost from my mind, I do the same.
Which element below has the highest electronegativity?
10 minute walk
In the park there's Gypsy technicians
engineering freedom around the oak trees that lead to nowhere.
And I would have hung around
saddled in the stars titling in the shadow of foreheads passing by.
I would've dragged the constellations nearer to the earth.
A midnight blue scattered around my waist.
Turning gold in the pink flesh of the crooked arms of the moon.
In February.
But,
I'm capturing blood in my head instead.
Dashing mentally into what seems an eternal corner.
Rolling in cross legged nothings of restless meditations and spent cigarettes choked between my fingers.
I am hungry.
And I don't dance very much anymore.
I sigh about it and start to believe it.
Sing it like a song.
Biding my time
battling the urge to break bread under a bridge...
Losing my sense of traffic upon the rivers dimpled wave smaller than a hush- booming-
make room for my eyes caught in the privacy of trash bags whistling against the wind.
Smooth Operator, a jealous heart, a neurotic, reclamation, and let it bleed.
When sentiment is left to chance, thoughts of Sade opens episode 29 on the show, into a perfect hand of five pieces from five writers on the site, up to ride on the airwaves from here, their words into you.
Here's the link to Prose. Radio:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZP9zXwUkek
And here are the pieces featured:
https://www.theprose.com/post/538382/fall-ritual https://www.theprose.com/post/814220/for-clarencet https://www.theprose.com/post/813959/errant-thoughts
https://www.theprose.com/post/814081/reclaiming-me https://www.theprose.com/post/814211/3-kinds-of-followers
And, as always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
For Tiger
When he appeared
On our back porch
A couple of years ago
He looked like
A holocaust person
Then one day
He showed up
Late for dinner
With a 4-inch gash
On the side of his neck
And by the look in his eyes
I knew his wound
Was man-made
So, I took him down
And had his head
Sewed back on
And now
He is the definition
Of the beauty
Of what can be
When endurance
And heart
Intersect
And bloom
David Burdett
4/28/2024
he quit taking notes years ago
my story repeated many times
same beginning same ending
he knows how I feel about it
angry bitter regretful enraged
we've gone over it over it over
somethings can't be undone
somethings can't be unstuck
maybe it's all a bit life lesson
perhaps you needed this fall
will make you a better person
having loved lost lived through
makes you strong resilient stuff
unmovable untouchable muted
tell me again tell me again again