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i am here to inform you that my colleague, mister yomanei isman has passed away and left a large sum of money, as inheritance. if you could please help me in a small transaction, i will be happy to provide you a portion--

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Dalit.
Out caste, caste down, castigated, over caste, castoff... Bollywood doesn't show the dirty children. Dalit. Untouchable. Dalit. Unspeakable. Dalit. Read between the lines on sunburnt faces. Dalit. Scrape alleyways for food. Dalit. Untie the knots of old hands. Dalit. Plant seeds of knowledge in the young and old.
You and I
My Best Friend Is A ZombieAuthor's Note: This is a story I wrote almost five years ago. It is completely unedited except for instances where I divided ridiculously long paragraphs into smaller ones. These places are marked with a "~" sign.

It all started Friday, October the 13th. Friday the 13th. He, he. Well, anyway, on Friday the 13th a new kid walked into our school in Goritopia, New Jersey. And that's when it all began. But before I launch into my horrifying, gruesome, definitely-not-happy tale, I'd like to tell you a little about me

My name is Mike. I'm in fifth grade and I LOVE Halloween.

Or at least I used to.

I also like sports. Kickball is the greatest. A
why hopper painted gaspumpswhy everytime i go home
home to parents house
more brokenthings
rotpaint windowsill
loose bricks
cloggedfilter coffeepot

why on xmas morning
8yearsold
found dead missy
blockage cancer
right under christmastree
between karaoke machine and keds
dad said no heaven
missy’s under tomatoes outback

why i was 10yearsold divorced
rushed into it
cricketbaby in waterbottle
married stephen burnette
3weeks kissed eachother’s scabs
wore grassknots around fingers
weekfour he took it off
him all nakedfinger pentacostal
me short hair pants no crying
took grassknot off own finger
ate it

why i dream crazyman dreams
crazyman
Helden     Sunset. Shadows drift in on sun-gilt wings. Edges of nothingness, emptiness, soft, gray bits of time creep in with the clouds. Coiling and slipping across a fire-tinged sky. The sun reaches out with thin, weak, fingers of light, grasping at the edge of the world. It drops below the edge, leaving bits and pieces of itself, bits and pieces of light, left to twist and wither in the clouds.
     Night creeps in, holding to the remnants of the light, cuddling them close like some sort of blanket. The trees below reach towards the sky with winter-stripped limbs, bare and naked and somehow quit
Rant 5.2--Milestones -old dev-Have you ever noticed how the wind is such an accurate symbol of time? It blows constantly, sometimes soft and slow and sometimes hard and quick. The wind itself is invisible, but its effects are seen, heard, and felt all around us. It pushes us along the path of life but eventually simply rushes right by and never looks back. We are too slow to keep up with it, so it leaves us breathless in its wake.

Has anyone else realized how swiftly the wind has soared these past few years? What can we say now that we are faced with so many roads from which to choose? What have we learned from those voices in both the gentle breezes and raging torrents
scabsi killed you
you opened your mouth
and i stuck my hand down your throat
and pulled out your life thread by thread
it glowed in my hands
while you lay pale
your mouth still open but there was nothing
your pain wasn't physical
it was the knowledge of the future that would never be
then why did you let me do it?

why does death bring so much pain
if life only leads to destruction?
we're parasites that rape the earth
leaving irreparable ugly scars
on what is not ours
getting high on the death of the sky-

...but if life is so ugly
then why does it look so beautiful glowing there in my hands?
is there more infinite beauty out there
AntThere is a girl with large thighs
for her size, she is so very small
inside and has tried all her life
to be beautiful.

She would have liked always,
to feel as if she were not there,
as light as air, always,
she would have liked to
float
       away

from her big born big body.
Her family knew her as
a mountain, "God is in the
grandeur!" Who needs details
when there is so much
girl to go around?
A piece for everyone, a joint,
a roast! We'll have roast girl
this Sunday.

One day she'll be
as light as air,
she'll mostly not be there,
one day she'll
float
     
Waiting for the Day BluesI'm waiting for the day
when the weary all find rest.
I'm waiting for the day
when the weary all find rest.
When everyone will find
life's a gift and not a test.

I'm waiting for the day
when the heart is free to tell -
I'm waiting for the day
when the heart is free to tell
all the anger, all the mercy
that it hid away so well.

I'm waiting for the day
when no hand becomes a fist.
I'm waiting for the day
when no hand becomes a fist -
when every hand is open
to all the gifts we missed.

That day is past my vision,
it may be only what I feel.
That day is past my vision,
it may be only what I feel.
The day may never happen,
Flower MuseI always thought it was silly that people have written poems and songs comparing hope and true, eternal love of any kind to flowers. It seems to be a popular way of looking at it, but I think it's ridiculous. And I have thousands of years of experience.

Everybody loves to talk about how there are some flowers that bloom even in winter and how they always come back after winter kills them. They're supposed to symbolize resilience, perseverance, and constancy, which are very necessary components of hope and love. It's all in the name of encouraging people that there are ways to overcome death in all its literal and figurative meanings.

Having
I do not wish to sleep...I do not wish to sleep.

If I sleep I find myself in that most
dangerous of places, my own mind.
I skulk and scuttle through the day's events,
twisting things about until
everything good or bad or somewhere
in between bears little resemblance to
the reality that is my life. If I sleep I find myself
lost in dreams.

I do not wish to sleep.

If I sleep I am catapulted
into worlds more strange and terrible
than anything anyone has ever, or could ever,
or will ever, imagine. Worlds that mix fantasy
and horror and the stuff of nightmares and
late night television into a ball where my soul
is more at home than it is in my own body. If
The long road home - RenkuBefore the dawn
my shoes are tied tight
to clean feet

the crunching of gravel
echoes cereal

in his bed
a lonely pillow
in her arms

a bundle of flowers
laying in the grass

sunrise
and the lake is lit
by swans

an old man passes by
carrying a chess board

along the way
a blackbird protests
the intrusion

the high tide of dew
recedes into hedge shadows

mockingbird
testing its wings
leaves tremble

as the train
slips by the tenements

on a stone wall
slugs follow paving lines
inquisitively

she watches the tom cat
with one hand on her hip

while the kids
play stick ball in the streets
this summer evening

the wasps' nest
How Dare."How dare you!" She cried,
standing on her box,
"How dare you shove your opinions on me!"

"How dare you!" He cried,
back in her face,
"How dare you dismiss them as mean!"

"How dare you!" Cried the woman,
sitting on the bench,
"How dare you disturb my time!"

"How dare you!" Cried the man,
walking his dog,
"How dare you assume it's fine!"

"How dare you!" They cried,
forming a line,
"How dare you scream how dare!"

"How dare, how dare,"
it circled the world,
until all stood screaming "it's unfair!"

Standing on boxes,
shouting at each other,
"how dare, how dare, how dare."

God looked down and rolled his eyes
"How DARE you!" h
Where has all the magic gone?"Where has all the magic gone?
Where are the fairy godmothers
with shining glass slippers
and sparkling dresses that fit in nutshells?
Where are the deep dark forests
that hide a beast at their heart
and conceal from prying eyes the tiny cottages
of long-forgotten witches?
Where are the princes on white horses
riding to their doom
while the princess they left behind
picks up her own sword to defend her love?
Whatever happened to 'happily ever after'?
Where has all the magic gone?
Where have the dragons flown to in their
never-ending quest for gold?
Where are the unicorns
that once lay their heads on maiden's laps?
The griffi
Sonata in G MinorMinor keys speak of sadness
Of heartwrenching loneliness
 Of the softer, washed out emotions of life
  At least...to some they do.

  So she sits at the piano
 And takes what is meant to be triumphant
And makes it melancholy
With a shift of key

A single difference in mood
Caused by a single change
 But to her, she can still hear
  The crowds cheering

  Subtles whispers of fantasy tumble into it
 Notes build, crescendo, fall
And still she plays on
Lost in her own dreams

Music that calls to her,
That creeps deep inside
 Pulling out both sorrow and joy
  Tears and laughter

  She smiles, stands, takes her bows
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read thisHas anyone else ever noticed how the wind is such an accurate symbol of time? It blows constantly, sometimes soft and slow and sometimes hard and quick. The wind itself is invisible, but it is seen, heard, and felt all around us. It pushes us along the path of life but eventually simply rushes right by and never looks back, for we are too slow to keep up with it, and it leaves us breathless in its wake.

At this time of our lives, has anyone else noticed how swiftly the wind has soared these past few years? What can we say now that we are faced with so many roads from which to choose? What have we learned from those voices in both the gentle
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Genisis.And God said!

'Needs another minute or two...'

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Grey

:iconfatkat:

Grey.
Grey is the storms trapped inside his eyes.
Grey is the sound of the wind rushing through a hollow tree as it moans with sorrow.
Grey is the insipid scent of the moss after a summer rain.
Grey is the rough and patchy blanket worn by a young girl.
Grey is the salty taste of death still lingering on the lips of those who have lost.
Grey.
Grey is the sky, just before a rainbow.

1,149

12 67 17
:iconfatkat:

Greyby ~FatKat

DescriptionDetailsShare
Download HTML download, 505 bytes
This is a piece I wrote in seventh grade,
yes it's that old,
but I still like it.

Enjoy

>edit
>I submitted it as romance on purpose...
>Although, I don't know if it applies
>It seemed romantic to me
©2006-2013 ~FatKat
Category: Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

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October 29, 2006
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1,149
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:iconstarwish65:
Mood: Joy ~Starwish65 Mar 5, 2010
wow! thts excellent!
Reply
:iconquestiun:
~Questiun May 3, 2009
It makes me think of the scent of rain, and reminds me that thunderstorms are such beautiful weather...there is also something a little more special about it when first reading it, thinking it was written by an adult, and then reading the comments and being told a seventh grader wrote it...

"Grey is the salty taste of death still lingering on the lips of those who have lost."

a child wrote that, understanding what it meant.

:headbang:
Reply
:iconxaerisx:
~xAerisx Nov 28, 2008  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Beautiful~ I love grey. :3
Reply
:iconfatkat:
~FatKat Dec 1, 2008
Mm, thank you so very much.
b
Reply
:iconlickurlips:
~lickurlips Oct 29, 2007
nothing is black and white, all we see are thousands of shades of grey.
i love this!
:hug:
Reply
:iconfatkat:
~FatKat Oct 30, 2007
!
:heart::hug::heart:
Thank you so so so much!
I'm glad that you enjoyed my piece and I appreciate the favourite.
b
Reply
:iconiaes:
~iAes Sep 13, 2007  Hobbyist General Artist
Oooh, the last line of this is absolutely brilliant. :D
Reply
:iconfatkat:
~FatKat Sep 13, 2007
Thank you so much!
I wrote it all for the last line, really. I came up with the words when the prompt was suggested and then wrote the piece backwards, crafting each line after the next.
:heart:
Thank you very much for adding my humble poem to your favourites.
b
Reply
:iconiaes:
~iAes Sep 13, 2007  Hobbyist General Artist
Oohooh, it's very nice. ;)
Must've been an interesting writing experience...
Reply
:iconfatkat:
~FatKat Sep 13, 2007
Thank you, dear.

I suppose it was. I wrote it in a seventh grade English class, so, really, there wasn't very much ceremony in it...
Alack.
b
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