marble slab in my mind
caught trapped
with sleet n snow
ivory coast
on my counter
life filled in the past
now in marble slab counter top
beauty made forever
LJ Banberry
The pavement was slippery, and everything fell through. The glass was tainted, and I could not see through its imaginary existence. The glass lies and tells me things I tried to forget a few years: remember me, remember something that we painted with black ink and the mascara is smeared.
Elena Larson
Her face was like marble, she never moved, she always looked forward, her eyes slanted downwards, her lips like ice, she sat still as if she was looking for something that was lost but had never been found. Some days she wondered if anyone was still awake but she hated herself for thinking that, she didn’t know, she didn’t have to know, she was perfect by herself. Her marble face was beautiful like it was, like she was born with. I wish I wasn’t like ice, she whispered often.
Her face was like marble, she never moved, she always looked forward, her eyes slanted downwards, her lips like ice, she sat still as if she was looking for something that was lost but had never been found. Some days she wondered if anyone was still awake but she hated herself for thinking that, she didn’t know, she didn’t have to know, she was perfect by herself. Her marble face was beautiful like it was, like she was born with. I wish I wasn’t like ice, she whispered often.
Carisse
There was something about the marble man that sat atop the hill in Lithow County that scared Nim. She knew that it was the pride and joy of the grand total of 242 villagers (including herself) that lived at the bottom of that hill. She knew the rifle he held in his creamy hands was meant to kill the cruel and evil, and the carefully carved out uniform he wore represented the right country, the right cause, the side fighting for the greater good. She knew that the villagers thought he sat upon his cold, stone steed bravely, and all truly believed, that the real man would one day return to Lithow. But Nim was not so sure. She had been to the top of the hill and had watched the marble man. His horse had grown old and his head hung as though it didn’t bother to look or care much what direction it headed in. His uniform had become torn to the point that it was indecipherable and unclear what faction he came from, and his rifle gone, his bloody hands empty. But what worried her most was when she stared into his eyes. Although the rest of his body had blackened and sagged, his eyes were still creamy white, cold marble.
His pocket rocked, rolling its innards
the thin squeak of marbles
against marbles, grinding while spinning
spun and weighted against their cracks
A tenner, a misty, a halfsy,
one a kaleidoscope shipwreck
– petals in dry, clear breath
Another seemed a frozen stream
a eye of seaweed and wave
the wind gave way to nothing
marble slab in my mind
caught trapped
with sleet n snow
ivory coast
on my counter
life filled in the past
now in marble slab counter top
beauty made forever
The pavement was slippery, and everything fell through. The glass was tainted, and I could not see through its imaginary existence. The glass lies and tells me things I tried to forget a few years: remember me, remember something that we painted with black ink and the mascara is smeared.
Her face was like marble, she never moved, she always looked forward, her eyes slanted downwards, her lips like ice, she sat still as if she was looking for something that was lost but had never been found. Some days she wondered if anyone was still awake but she hated herself for thinking that, she didn’t know, she didn’t have to know, she was perfect by herself. Her marble face was beautiful like it was, like she was born with. I wish I wasn’t like ice, she whispered often.
Her face was like marble, she never moved, she always looked forward, her eyes slanted downwards, her lips like ice, she sat still as if she was looking for something that was lost but had never been found. Some days she wondered if anyone was still awake but she hated herself for thinking that, she didn’t know, she didn’t have to know, she was perfect by herself. Her marble face was beautiful like it was, like she was born with. I wish I wasn’t like ice, she whispered often.
There was something about the marble man that sat atop the hill in Lithow County that scared Nim. She knew that it was the pride and joy of the grand total of 242 villagers (including herself) that lived at the bottom of that hill. She knew the rifle he held in his creamy hands was meant to kill the cruel and evil, and the carefully carved out uniform he wore represented the right country, the right cause, the side fighting for the greater good. She knew that the villagers thought he sat upon his cold, stone steed bravely, and all truly believed, that the real man would one day return to Lithow. But Nim was not so sure. She had been to the top of the hill and had watched the marble man. His horse had grown old and his head hung as though it didn’t bother to look or care much what direction it headed in. His uniform had become torn to the point that it was indecipherable and unclear what faction he came from, and his rifle gone, his bloody hands empty. But what worried her most was when she stared into his eyes. Although the rest of his body had blackened and sagged, his eyes were still creamy white, cold marble.