Poetry

Interweb Blues

We all wanted to fly

but got caught in interwebs,

trying to shake loose

before body, blood, and soul

are sucked dry

by new eight-legged creatures

that often have no legs,

I want to step back,

want to look a stranger in the eye

and not know the trivial tidbits

of their life,

want to have the opportunity

to make terrible first impressions

repeatedly again

Poetry

Highway Hypnosis

Took the highways as long as

I could handle, took a backroad

to another, blacktops

and gravel for miles

on end,

honestly take a moment

now and then

to wonder how I’m still alive,

back on the highways around

such civilized folks

enraged at their surroundings,

wondering where the last twenty

minutes went, where the miles went,

how I got to the right exit

and stayed between the ditches

while thinking of you,

not thinking

of the road

or anything else

Poetry · Stuff

Who to Follow Friday, Week #3

Guess what day it is?!

Layers. It’s all about layers.

That’s right. It’s Friday but, like, a week later then the last Friday I was going to post it on. Or something. Friday 1.5? We’ll keep it simple and call it Week #3. Take note that there might be weeks like last week where I have to travel quite a bit and might not get it done in time.

The Old Man and the C. D. Anders

Today the spotlight is on three more bloggers. This is a continuation of Week #1 which you can read here. Week #2 can be read here. The first link also mentions how I choose who will be featured.There is nothing required by anyone in these posts, they are here for the purpose of showcasing blogs I enjoy and follow myself. So allow me to show you the three people whose work you should read this week:

a.mermaid’spen_

I don’t exactly know who to @ for the site but more often than not, that’s usually a good thing. It allows people to express themselves freely. And Mermaid has quite a few opinions woven expertly through her work, all of which is worth checking out. Her most recent post is a repost from January and the one before that is a collaboration with blogger Bharath of Bharath’s Banter.

Aby Kittiwake @ AbyKittiwake

There is no shortage of poems on Aby’s site with articles and short stories throughout the site as well. There’s something almost old-fashioned about how the poetry is written but the themes and words are relevant to today. The most recent poem hits pretty close to home and I know her advocacy for mental health will resonate with you.

ALYAZYA

Every work on this site is signed off like a letter with the words: “Love, Alyazya.” Each poem is personal in that regard and yet universal themes are still at the center. “If I die”, her most recent work, displays the level of detail that goes into each of her poems. “Family” puts it on display all the more.

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Those are just three great writers for now. In the coming weeks and months, there will be many more to look at. I chose to do three at a time so that there is not an information overload and it would also allow time to explore their work for the week (and hopefully, beyond that.) That said, I will no doubt not be able to feature every single blog that is great because I don’t know them all.

Here’s where you all come in.

In the comments, feel free to plug a favorite blog that you follow and perhaps put a few words there explaining why you like it. If you’d like, you can also put your own blog down and share a post you enjoyed making.

The most important thing is to enjoy writing and reading other’s writings. This is a blogging platform, after all.

I will try to have these done weekly but you never know, I reckon.

pictured left to right: WordPress, C. D.

Not pictured: the King of the Hoboes 😦

Have a great weekend and as always, God bless. — C. D.

Occasional Prose

Revenge After the Apocalypse (a short story)

Cursed be the name of the bastard that wronged me, for while I suffered in a contrived, man-made hell, he prospered for his crimes and held to high esteem for his misdeeds. I still remember the scent of my beloved Rose as we kissed under the bright, moonlight in the gardens, her sweet face and brown eyes glistening, and how it’s been distorted in my mind by her screaming face as the law came, beat me near to death, and threw me in the cell for an agonizing twenty years, for a crime which I did not commit. I still taste my own blood from that day, I still feel as if I’m crying and the tears of fallen innocence and hope streak down my cheeks, and I still feel the constant, boiling rage as the Traitor himself sat in front of me, a glass window between us, as he laughed and taunted at me. It’s all so clear now, even as our country is barren, as our skyscrapers have been decimated and standing broken and decayed like tombstones, the modern cities I walked in, are now ghost towns, a graveyard of our supposed great society. The atmosphere is thick with smoke, the clouds, a hazy grey, turning the color of a pale green as if a storm is brewing. There is no hope, hardly any human life in these broken streets but I no longer care. All there is the goal, the mission, the revenge.

I remember when I was in that prison. The charges were conspiracy to assassinate the president, a seemingly real plot that was true fiction. There was no evidence, no proof, no witnesses. But my friend, my brother not in blood but in loose bond, Michael, the Traitor, the Fiend, was using me as a convenient pawn. He rose in the ranks of government and needed one more step. The assassination plot was a hoax, a fabrication of a grander scheme to show that our president did not know of our threat from within, let alone, outside our borders. I remember seeing it on the television, the president did die, the true assassin did kill him and suddenly another Civil War erupted, tearing the fabric of our country to the core. Gunfire, missiles, and bombs, there was hardly anyone left when the fighting ceased. I don’t know when it happened or how, but I remember the twentieth year in my prison, the walls burst, and all but I remained in the debris of smoke and concrete. I emerged, happy to be free, but motivated to return to my old life. I searched my old home town, only to learn from news articles and local townspeople that my family died. My sisters, my brother, my parents, taken by the foolishness of war. But when I asked about my dear Rose, it shook me to the core. The bastard Michael took her as his wife, raised children with her. I learned that he lived in the only well kept manor, colonial built with modern furnishings and near a dried riverbank. It was an hour journey, but one I had waited years for.

As I walked to the manor, I felt the rage, no longer burning like before, but now ice cold in my veins. This was it, the moment had arrived, yet even the devil on my shoulder had begun to grow a conscious. Was this right? Spill blood after so much blood had been spilled, after so much chaos had erupted? The questions I left open ended, now was not the time for answers, only the deed. I stepped on the wooden stairs leading up to the front porch. My mind could no longer keep sane, there was no plan, no thought, only the deed, only the action. I kicked the door open, found the bastard lounging in a chair and his smug face barely turned to me. I screamed the words ‘Traitor’, like the rabid dog I was. He slowly got up, gave a condescending look. He talked about how he knew I was coming, and waited for my arrival. He remained calm, and condescending. He knew he did wrong, but did not care. He knew he killed, but did not care. I soon learned that what was condescending and smug was the mask of a man who lost everything as well.

He explained my dear Rose had died in the war. He tried to keep their children safe, but as they fled their home, a stray bullet struck one of the children. The other was separated from Michael, and when Michael tried to go back, he was gone, disappeared into the black, coal mist of mortar fire. Michael was haunted, devastated, and depressed. He disclosed that he was waiting for me to arrive, to put a bullet in his brain. At least, I would have something that no one else would have. Fulfillment. He then gave me the pistol, one bullet remaining. I took it, but I what was I to do? Kill myself and give him more of the living hell he wanted? Or aim for the head and fulfill my revenge.

I gripped the gun, and aimed.

Just pull the trigger. Just pull the trigger. Pull the trigger.

Poetry · Stuff

Who to Follow Friday, Week #2

Guess what day it is?

You doggone right it is, Possum

Today the spotlight is on three more bloggers. This is a continuation of last week’s post which you can read here. That link also mentions how I choose who will be featured (hint: it’s people I follow and it has to do with the app’s way of alphabetizing site names.) There is nothing required by anyone in these posts, they are here for the purpose of showcasing blogs I enjoy and follow myself. So allow me to show you the three people whose work you should read this week:

Serap @ /ɛm/ɛn/piː/

I was looking down the list last week to see who would be featured this week and I saw this site show up. It wasn’t too long before that that I saw she had written a recent post about some upcoming works she was writing. It’ll be nice to read her poems and nonfiction again. Admittedly, I have to run some of it through Google Translate and I know a lot gets lost in that translation, but when you read through her work, everything still shines.

Sâye La Moonbird @ a blue cloud //

I love reading all the different styles on WordPress and this site falls into one of my favorite categories: simple, but not really. You won’t find any two dollar words in her poems, haikus, or nonfiction. The words just roll off the tongue. However, there is always something beneath the surface of all that is blue and true.

Mia Winhertt @ A Struggling Author

Mia’s site features poetry and something called Today’s Tiny Tale. The links are of the most recent posts. The poetry and the short short stories come out weekly. There’s always something to think about in her work, be it the big questions that life poses or day-to-day occurrences. It’s always worth reading though.

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Those are just three great writers for now. In the coming weeks and months, there will be many more to look at. I chose to do three at a time so that there is not an information overload and it would also allow time to explore their work for the week (and hopefully, beyond that.) That said, I will no doubt not be able to feature every single blog that is great because I don’t know them all.

Here’s where you all come in.

In the comments, feel free to plug a favorite blog that you follow and perhaps put a few words there explaining why you like it. If you’d like, you can also put your own blog down and share a post you enjoyed making.

The most important thing is to enjoy writing and reading other’s writings. This is a blogging platform, after all.

So never be afraid to smile like a Possum.

(Had to tie him back in somehow! 😁)

Have a great weekend and as always, God bless. — C. D.