demands

Tell me a story.

Let it have stars in it, wearing hats and popping balloons with their fiery breaths.

Let it have antlers like the great behemoths in the North; like they bellow through the winds.

Let it have bears in it, rummaging through campsites for peanut butter and bones.

Let it have pincers like the scuttling vagrants of so many shores.

Let it have food in it, tell me of wine and piled platters on my dining-table legs.

Let it have beaks like those winged troops of monsters in their nests.

Let it have sex in it, let there be writhing continuity of ecstatic conversation.

Let it have arms like all us conscious things who know each other.

Don’t tell me

that you

fucking

like

this

poem.

Tell me a story.

48 Comments

  1. Just curious here. You obviously want more in life and bored. So why ask for another story instaed of going out there and geting the action you say you want here? THat or make me see another point to your poem. I might have missed it. Quite Frankley if I want another story, I’ll go buy a book.

  2. I`m going to write you a story then. I think you are going to have to wait a bit for me to post it, because it definitely wouldn`t all fit into this tiny box. But it starts this way: “Once upon a time, when the world was small and wild, there lived a …”

  3. Okay, I DIDN’T like this poem. That’s my story, too. I finally read something of yours that left me – flat. What a relief to discover you aren’t perfect. But you are damned good.

  4. Here’s a story, one that I haven’t been able to share on my blog. Hope that you enjoy …

    Far too brief the Summer Day

    The hot sun bears down on the empty park as the day ripens.
    Where does the winding path lead?
    Past the sun reflecting water,
    through short trimmed grass,
    to the base of the tall stern leafy sentinel
    that watches over the shaded glade.

    The light breeze draws scents from the living breathing earth, and carries soft yet earnest voices over the silence of the day.
    The voices mingle, then quiet suddenly,
    mouths joined in shared silence.
    Trunks and branches intertwine while the sun warms through the leaves, heating the earth and the beating hearts below.
    Spiders hang patiently watching for their prey, and life’s clock turns.

    Fragile butterflies find refuge in a nearby garden of roses streaked with other wild painted visitors.
    They circle each other, following perfumed scents, seeking sweet nectar.
    The pointed questions below lead to growing, blossoming, buds.
    As the day fades, they settle to rest, their energy spent from the pursuit.

    In the yellow twilight, the fading sun’s rays still glisten on gentle ripples in the pond.
    Cattails and grasses cast lengthening shadows on the water.
    Dragonflies flit sprightly over the rippled surface after their prey, satisfying their desires.
    Lovers admire the soft pastel scene as the sun sets on their time together.

    In the darkening night, animal eyes dance in the moonlight, searching for their soul-mates.
    As they pair, they settle quietly in nature’s soft bed.
    A gentle breeze kisses and caresses pale and lightly furred skin.
    In the night sky, stars align, trembling celestial bodies joining as destiny demanded.

  5. Submit to your demands
    As I might taste your six inch heels
    Your words taste sweeter than leather
    But they burn in your mouth,
    Until they escaped here
    Now shared, they are free
    As now are we …

  6. Once upon a time, a blogger went to a post. She read a poem, itching to transcribe pithy comments about the content of said poem. Alas–a directive therein put the kibosh on that game plan, and so she thought long and hard–becoming hopelessly distracted by a shiny object on her computer hutch–and finally, wrote a compliment thinly disguised as a lame-duck story.

    Quack Quack

    The end.

    (I effing loved it!)

  7. Because nobody wants a poem that becomes a forgotten burden. Stories are so much better. Unfortunately, I have no stories to tell. Wish i could share some steamy dreams with writhing bodies in them, but i stopped dreaming in that manner. But i’ll read the ones posted 😉

  8. I’m a lousy storyteller and fiction writer, but given your parameters, here goes.

    As the couples in a remote cabin celebrated a birthday by drinking wine and laughing at the tales of beaked monsters, outside of the cabin in this remote area was a different story. On one side were bears finding delights of honey and fruits in the garage while on the other side, a male moose’s antler’s where rustling the limbs as he humped the heck out of his mate.

    Alright … how many of your requirements did I hit in two sentences?

  9. When my first-grader was a toddler, I would put her to sleep reading to her and telling her stories. And sometimes she would do what you have done here….”Tell me a story….that has a machine in it, a bad machine, and the princess has to run through the forest, and she gets away from the machine and she is safe in the castle…and…and..” and she would tell me the story….

  10. Poem is great – quick story for you:

    The writer looked deep within her soul, every day for her inspiration and honesty to fuel her words. One day, the soul looked back and surprised the writer by having a voice to say ‘You look within to find the truth, but it is just me here and I am no more true, nor false, than you. Look outside yourself and see, even there you will find both of us, in ways you have not imagined’. And so the writer turned her attention outwards and for the first time truly saw herself, and her soul, as a manifest part of the Other.

    Lieterally just made that up then thinking about my ow process and its limitations, so not sure how deep or good it is!! 🙂

Love you, too

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