Bright fireflies glow,
Filling all the midnight sky,
Light my lonely hut.
I want to know what brand of fake beef the cook
Uses for this feef stirfry.
Plant Pioneers -
They’re originally balls.
The feef in the sweet & sour is homemade.
I’m drinking a diet cola I didn’t buy here.
But to be fair, all that is left in terms of drinks for sale here
Is water.
To try make the stirfry & noodles last,
I’m writing & using chopsticks & writing.
I piled up the large help yourself buffet box as high as I could without food spilling on the counter,
But I am still hungry & have almost finished it -
It’s like cuddling a close friend made out of food
That will fall from my arms back into the Wok
So the food never goes cold.
Only in the lead up to Christmas can a food friend
Cooling into frost
Be friendly.
I’ll buy cold berries from the market for the Shoebox Christmas party.
& Even among soy sauce tossed broccoli,
There’s a place for plain cucumber chunks.
Having finished eating,
Imma sit here for another twenty minutes
& Order another buffet boxful if I’m then still hungry.
I am currently hungrier than when I started.
I should save some cola for the potential second portion.
There was a hut in the woods
Guarded by trees reaching the sky
Decorated by the flying leaves
Tidied by the wind dancing around
I tried to reach it
I tried to catch it
And every time I got closer
It ran far far away
I thought I could find answers
I thought I'd find myself
I thought the fog would clear
I thought the blindfold could be taken off
But all I saw
Was a blurry version of me
Confused, Angry and Sad
Holding spears and arrows
Holding myself back
No it wasn't a mirror
She stood in front of me
In a warm room
In the hut in the woods
I could hear the stream and I could hear the rain
It was vivid
Too vivid
Almost nightmarish
Almost real
She had the same face
The same expression
The same dressing
And the same thoughts
Yet she stood there
All fierce and fearless
Just like the storm outside
She told me
"This place no longer suits you,
Leave
For this hut doesn't hold the answers
You need"
There between the sandy dunes
And the ageless azure shore
Stood a little driftwood hut
That I’d never seen before
The beach grass waved and whispered
And the ocean waved and roared
As I found myself enticed
To step inside the door
Who had built this humble house
This sturdy little shell
To listen to the sea’s song in
Or let some hermit dwell?
Or maybe it was meant to be
A place to meditate
To find myself inside myself
While I sit and wait.
A man of pure heart
hurts by hate
As is going to the hut
That is near the woman with cat,
Who is having haircut.
Thoughts like entries in a old maritime log;
They're kenneled on a shelf like a dog;
From a ship; dry docked in a bottle,
Within a remote hut; of daub and wattle,
In my mistakes, perhaps there were no lessons found worth learning;
My mind keeps them in a structure; that could so easily be set to burning
I have no desire; to become someone I don't understand
So many that were close to me; have let that foul demon, get the upper hand;
So good is the chance, my memories will be gone historically; without a trace;
Their discovery won't be fulfilled; until there's a ghost, standing in my place
in southern Sudan,
the traditional hut house
deep regard, hut off
In Nigeria demands some guilt
You’d lived and never a house built;
More forgivable one did strive
But at last could not a car drive.
You have to God leave out of this:
You know among your friends what you miss.
In my country we keep flashing guilt
For huts we’d planned but had not built
Day by day in the mirror wilt,
When dead turns faster into silt…
Mansion ensures one’s names don’t wilt:
Keep living after you’d turned dust…
So, for a house, not women lust.
You let the quest grow into Must’
And it cause to explode like Gust!
I do not want to insinuate they are dangerous but….
I hide in the brush when I meet one or run to my hut.
I am careful to never make eye contact or make a loud step
Green elves and ghost goblin gremlins all have a dangerous rep
They are masters of animals, especially good with a wolf.
A cyclops runs from them, or he ends up with them on his hoof
They are intensely intense – their stare will dazzle your eyes.
I am running away from one now, no big surprise.
Hut boy left the house,
mom is unaware of the scene,
street kids telling stories of sighting him running out.
mom's shivering fear couldn't picture unhappy boy,
her feet dragging around, so do her eyes wavering.
she's believing in some incident caused; but
not that he caused this incident
fellow kids reporting stories differently or somewhat similar
of the shouting school kids after school
the train track by bushes; he used to walk on
the dirty pond; he used to throw pebbles on
a hollow tree; he used to climb on
an abandoned, fallen house's wall; he used to sit on;
to see a road of carts and cars on
his buddy unfolds a story of;
his loving the faded green car; always going to left
Oh, that heads to the city, mom screamed.
there's nothing by the pond or tree or house or track
kids scared my son or might force him or abuse
he might have gone after the green car,
he might be in the city.
we need to go to the city, we need to go to the city;
facing dad by mom, we must go to the city;
because my son is in the city.
The city is full of defeats and unending paths,
lots of cars and some green cars,
lots of kids and none like her boy.
The frogs croaked and it was dawn,
there were so many that they formed a carpet.
Grass full of them noisy...
The satanic moon fading and emptying the world...
The silence announcing your arrival...
Soon the lake mirror reproduced
the dizzy flight of dragonflies
but did not reflect him,
that dared across the field
kicking locusts,
crushing beetles and ants,
limping horrible to the hut
where he stole my kiss and blood,
sneaking back into the woods.
Now I look, terrified, for the dog.
That unnecessary bum...
Always running mad,
scaring birds, skunks and rats,
seeming to mock my terrible thirst,
the fleecy neck veins pulsing
with what I now need to live
The steam was coming from something boiling in the cauldron. The old woman glided across the dirt floor, a bunch of herbs in her hand. It was dark, you could barely see the steam taking the shape of a skull. Then a flash of lightning lit up the twisted trees around the hut and the stone path that led into the woods.
A dog barked as the old woman opened the door, eyes red in her wrinkled face.
She stopped suddenly, looked around, opened her mouth and her horrible scream froze the seas, dried up the crops, killed the cattle and made you go away from me forever, my love.
He had this place
a shed to shed skins in.
At the burnt-out end of day
under a naked electric light
he sat to empty his mind
of all issues,
all the well-thumbed memories
that brought him no joy
or gain.
The light bulb began to swing back and forth.
He began to count the gentle swings.
As he watched
the swings gained strength
swung faster.
He lost count,
then he lost himself,
The hut disappeared and returned
as night shed his soul from his shell.
The body for a while
still counted
steps it would take no more.
Issues and memories
littered the floor.
Little green hut was embarrassed and alarmed,
After renting a room to selfish rooting pigs
Both had bamboozled her; she was easily charmed.
They had messed up her house, ruined her digs.
Left muddy footprints splattered all over her wall.
She explained that they had been friends with some of her kin.
You were fooled neighbors said, making her feel small.
Humiliated, little green hut ran away and was never seen again.
In confluence of the river of life
Who hymn lots to gain
gets pain like hell besides having
a lot of gems and
wealth.
Those whose biography sails
love and compassion fair and faith
lives in love in words and thought
heaven they deserves to got
though may live in
dilapidated
home.
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