Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Memories,
I make them now,
so far my brain hasn’t forgotten how.
Time shoots by in a quickening blast
and I recall with fondness a nebulous past.
Starry-eyed and glittery mind, I used to look ahead.
Now, sometimes, it’s wearying getting out of bed.
My oceans of thoughts seem dark but calm,
a prelude, or harbinger, of a once-remembered song.
I seek comfort, I seek reminders, I seek the past,
even though I know, like the future,
it never lasts.
I met a woman named Laurel today. She’s young and pleasant. I began wondering about her name. I’ve never met anyone named Oak or Maple as a first name. No Pine or Spruce. I’ve heard of Willows and Magnolias but have never met them.
What about Spruce? It’s in use, but way down at #12,611 in 2018 according to BabyCenter, and it’s a boy’s name.
I can imagine a female named Spruce. “Hello, I’m Spruce.”
“Oh, pleased to meet you, Spruce. Lovely name, by the way.”
We shake hands. “Thank you. I’m named after a tree.”
Works for me.
Oh Lord,
Help me write like crazy
and find the right words,
original words of passion, action, and intentions
that’ll convey the story that I think I’m trying to tell.
In the muses’ name I pray,
Amen.
Edgy dreams undermine my rest even while I sleep.
Sometimes they seem malicious,
but they help restore balance and serenity.
More frequently, they’re insane, causing me concern about my mental health,
although sometimes, they’re not remembered, listing in the gray of my thinking’s edge
like shipwrecks from other times.
I paused in my walking to read
I paused in my reading to think
I paused in my thinking to write
I paused in my writing to walk
Travelin’ and unravelin’
leaving miles of web behind
tangled up with sticky notes
caught flat on my tongue
I see you in my mind’s mirrors
through a complex lens
hearing you
with jaundiced eyes
missing you
until I overflow
and crash
I demand that you see me as how I think I am
in the world as I believe it to be
and not as you think I am
in the world as you see it.
Bored and restless, he left the table in the cafe and walked to stretch his legs. He walked without thought under the trees, sometimes watching the traffic as he went or other pedestrians, but mostly looking inward, until he found himself at one of observation decks. It was empty. He stepped up to look out the windows.
Space seemed as empty as the observation deck. Readouts clicked, whirled, and blinked on panels of information presented in red, blue, green, and amber characters below the window. It all seemed too abstract for consideration. Three things remained concrete to him for now. One, he and his family had made it onto the Ark. Two, they’d left Earth behind. Three, he probably wouldn’t live to see the new world, but his son would.
Right now, those three things were all that mattered.
Michael Seidel, writer 