For today’s images I cut some new filters to play with superstitions in the mirrorworld. I thought it would be fun to see if I could “break” the mirrors with my filters to avoid the bad luck.
OctPoWriMo 2023:Facing Our Fears
I think this is the first time I’ve tried the Mirror Sestet. I like it. I think I’ll play with it some more in future poems.
More Out Than In
Out the window I see the too long grass I doubt
doubt that the dead patches between will ever grow out
small waves on the lake and thick rhodies tall
tall firs behind then tops so far they’re small
I’m looking past the cat who cleans himself the whole time
time to go out and see what’s inside where I’m
surprised to find more reflection than insides
inside’s belongings are covered in me surprised
and bushes and lake and the sad grass on land
land where I stand watching the cat in the window and
he’s still cleaning himself and there’s more land and me
me and the outside to my left in the tv with that me I’m three
Writober 2023
The Sound of Fungus Knuckles Cracking
I had no idea where we were when the train came to a sudden halt. Roger was reading and didn’t even look up. I had been staring at the green blur of light and shadow through the window. When I focused, I didn’t see anything but large white and gray stones protruding down a grassy hill. An announcement came over the loud speaker in German, and though I didn’t understand—or I must not have understood because the words I caught didn’t make sense—the voice was fast and high-pitched.
The train car filled with gasps and other non-verbal reactions. A rush and push to the other side of the car to look out those windows, passengers fighting over opening them, and closing them, made me want to see what was happening. I nudged Roger who looked at me irritated then put down his book, looking confused.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I don’t know. The train’s stopped. Let’s go look between the cars.”
We got up and slipped out the door. Roger opened the external door and we heard war cries, and small white-specked red-topped mushroom raced toward us down the rocky slope. My eyes followed one running poison-looking mushroom to the one behind it until I saw a long-eared troll wearing furs with a spear yelling in a language I had never heard. Behind him an enormous mushroom with eyes and a large mouth and teeth in its stalk—perhaps the father of the one getting frighteningly close to us— towered over everything, pounding its fists, and then it cracked its knuckles. It was a horrible breaking noise that echoed down the hill as if it was already gnawing on our bones. How does a mushroom, a fungus, have knuckles? And teeth?
“Roger, close the door! Now!”
He must not have seen the mushroom at our feet, jumping and growling, trying to grab hold of the train and get to us. He was staring up with his eyes glassed over and his mouth wide open.
“Roger! Move!” I yelled, pushing him back and pulling on the door, but somehow the small mushroom and two of its friends stopped the door and pushed through. I slipped behind Roger and the mushroom missed me but grabbed Roger’s wrist before pushing into the train car. That was all it took to pass its poison. I could see it in Roger’s veins like black ink spreading up his arms and then swirling in his eyes and dripping out of his still gaping mouth. He fell back and slid down to the platform between the train cars. Screams erupted behind me and in front of me.
I hid under Roger’s body hoping to never know what happens next.
Experience Writing 