Tag Archives: poetry

Enchanted Reverie: A Dance of Autumnal Souls

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

My poor attempt at the verse below originated from this tweet:

“The trees in the autumnal forest shed their brittle bark skin, and the fallen leaves, no longer content to rest upon the ground, began assembling into intricate patterns, forming creatures that danced with eerie grace, beckoning me to join their spectral masquerade.”

In the realm of autumnal splendor, where trees shed their golden shroud,
I witnessed an enchanting sight, both eerie and profound.
Leaves, once scattered upon the ground, embraced a vibrant choreography,
Assembling into ethereal forms, crafted with divine artistry.
Their gentle rustling transformed to a symphony, an ancient melody,
As skeletal creatures emerged, inviting me to a spectral jubilee.
Beneath the moon's celestial glow, they swayed in eerie harmony,
A masquerade of skeletal grace, their movements a mesmerizing decree.
With each step, they whispered tales of forgotten souls and ancient lore,
Their haunting beauty captivating, urging me to explore more.
Their bony fingers beckoned, extending an invitation to partake,
To immerse within their spectral realm, to wander and forsake.
In this ethereal dance, I found a sublime connection,
Between life's delicate fragility and death's profound reflection.
Their skeletal frames, once unsettling, revealed a poetic grace,
In their elegant presence, darkness and beauty interlaced.
So I joined their spectral waltz, embracing the mysterious unknown,
Lost in the autumnal enchantment, in their world I have grown.
In this realm of artistry, where leaves transcend their earthly fate,
I dance with the spectral beings, their beauty resonates.
For in the haunting masquerade, I found solace and release,
An eternal autumnal enchantment, where art and death find peace.

The One Rule: A Story ReTold in Haiku

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

When I get bored, I experiment (hey, everyone’s gotta have a hobby) so I decided to take one of my Tiny Stories and tell it in a series of haikus. Let me know what you think (the actual story follows the haiku, for comparison).

Jenna's warning sounds,
Bernadette doubts its power,
Seduction awaits.

Eyes locked, Bryce's secret,
Svengali of enticement,
Web of seduction.

Bernadette's challenge,
Promising to stay untouched,
Ignoring warnings.

The office reveals,
A gnome-like man, quite ordinary,
Invisible allure.

Bernadette's gaze breaks,
Green eyes captivate her soul,
Fantasies take hold.

Consumed by desire,
Bryce seeks her essence true,
She willingly falls.

Original version:

“Before you step in there,” Jenna said, making sure to lock eyes with her friend. “I need to warn you about Bryce’s…ability.”

“Ability? C’mon, Jenn.” Bernadette hadn’t meant her tone to sound so dismissive but she had other more important matters on her mind at the moment.

“It’s uncanny, actually.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Do you believe in the power of seduction?”

“Um, I believe that people who are seduced wanted to be seduced.”

“Well, you might want to rethink that.”

“Why? Because you think I’m going to walk in there and suddenly become enticed into taking a course of action counterproductive to my goals?”

“I’m not calling into question your intestinal fortitude, Bernie, it’s just that I’ve seen firsthand that man in action and I’m telling you Bryce has this weird Svengali innate ability to ensnare people into his web of seduction, women and men alike.”

“Hashtag challenge accepted. I think I’m going to be just fine.”

“Look, just do me a favor please, and gird your loins.”

“Gird my what? Did we just slip and accidentally fall into the Old Testament?”

“Promise me you’ll avoid eye contact.”

“What?”

“Train your eyes on the point just between his eyes and soften your focus.”

“Soften my—?”

“Promise me!”

“Okay, okay, I promise…gawd. You are so weird.”

“Good luck in there.”

The office was on the smallish side compared to the others Bernadette had seen in the building but the weight of a room had been dispersed equally as to lend an air of spaciousness. Bryce offered a smile as he gestured to the leather chair opposite him across the desk.

Bernadette, armed with her list of questions, took the seat and made the attempt to soften her focus and not make eye contact, but the truth of the matter was she wanted to look, to see what all the fuss was about.

And she wasn’t all that impressed.

Not that she considered herself a statuesque beauty by any stretch of the imagination, nor did she feel in a position to judge anyone’s appearance, but after all the send-up, Bryce MacDowell turned out to be a nebbishy gnome of a man. Frankly, he was quite ordinary enough in appearance to be considered invisible in modern-day society and any charisma granted to him likely wouldn’t have had the power to beguile even the weakest of minds.

The one rule in being granted the interview, not to look the man directly in the eye, Bernadette had broken that in less than a minute. And in even less time than that she found herself gazing into the most exhilarating green eyes in existence, eyes older, wiser, and more powerful than anything she had ever encountered or read about in her entire life. His plain forgettable face became an immaculate work of art that ran through every aspect of her mind. She was instantly and utterly consumed by fantasies of kissing his lips that seemed so tender, pink, and inviting, of running her fingers through the obsidian silk of his hair, of caressing his pearlescent alabaster skin, of letting him inside her, not physically, no, that would surely come later. She knew he truly wanted access to the core of her being. He wanted to absorb her very soul…

…and she was happy to let him.

In Shadow’s Shroud

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

In shadow’s shroud, a figure drew so near,
No light escaped its form, so dark and stark.
Its features blurred, a countenance to fear,
But Death’s true nature, not grim, began to mark.

“You’ve come for me?” I asked, my voice betrayed,
Though courage I displayed, my fear still reigned.
“I’m always present,” Reaper softly said,
“Death’s not to blame for death, ’tis life’s refrain.”

Tranquility washed over me in waves,
As Reaper’s words brought comfort to my soul.
The journey’s end, the ultimate of graves,
Embrace of satisfaction made me whole.

Hand in hand with Reaper, warm and soft,
I exhaled all the worldly, frail and oft.

Blind Date From Hell: She Said/He Said

Posted by Madd_Fictional on 
She Said:

Eager to meet him,
An enigma from the web,
Yet upon his arrival,
My heart filled with dread.

His visage bore a scowl,
A sneer graced his lips.
He offered no greeting,
Just grunted and dismissed.

At dinner, he ordered,
A dish not to my taste.
When I dared to object,
He told me to make haste.

He boasted of his riches,
His stature and his fame,
Yet I struggled to discern,
The charm beneath his claims.

As the evening progressed,
His demeanor only soured.
I yearned for sweet escape,
From this man so dour.

At last, when he departed,
I exhaled a sigh of peace.
Vowing to never again endure,
Such torment, by the least!

If you venture on a blind date,
Heed your instincts from the start.
Lest you find yourself entangled,
With a suitor most bizarre.

He Said:

Eager to meet her,
A vision from the virtual sphere,
But upon her entrance,
My heart sank with a tinge of fear.

Her countenance was stern,
A perfunctory greeting she gave.
I pondered her intentions,
Her presence here, so grave.

She appeared displeased,
With the meal I had chosen.
I attempted conversation,
Her retorts, curt and frozen.

She lamented her employment,
Her life in disarray.
I endeavored to empathize,
But found it hard to convey.

As the hours ticked by,
Her mood only grew bitter.
I strove to shift the focus,
But felt my efforts wither.

When the date concluded,
I relished my release.
Resolute in my conviction,
To never see her again, at least.

If you embark on a blind date,
Approach it with an open heart.
Or you may just encounter,
A romance that's doomed from the start.

They Said:

From Her Perspective:

I deemed him uncouth,
On that initial blind encounter.
Yet, unexpectedly, in time,
My sentiments began to flounder.

We crossed paths once more,
In a quaint café, by chance.
And before I was aware,
We were lost in a lively dance.

We discovered common ground,
In our shared passions and delights.
And in spite of our turbulent beginning,
Our love unfurled, took flight.

We ventured into courtship,
His true nature unveiled.
I grasped that my first judgement,
Had been woefully curtailed.

As we delved into love's depths,
I recognized my past mistake.
Our disastrous introduction,
Merely a hiccup to forsake.

From His Perspective:

Our initial rendezvous was calamitous,
I presumed we'd part for good.
Yet fate contrived another meeting,
And my resolve, misunderstood.

We conversed with fervor,
I felt my soul ignite.
Despite her former iciness,
I yearned to reunite.

As we grew acquainted,
A fresh aspect emerged.
And despite our rocky genesis,
Our hearts began to converge.

Our love swelled with vigor,
Through trust and tender care.
I knew that I'd discovered,
A partner beyond compare.

Our nuptials were flawless,
Exchanging heartfelt vows.
I recognized that our devotion,
Had blossomed from a simple browse.

If a first date leaves you disenchanted,
Do not hastily foreclose.
For you may uncover true love,
And a lifetime of repose.

Don’t even bother looking at me like that. I ain’t a poet, and my mama knows it.

A Poignant Story, Simply Told

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

In my daily ‘net wanderings I tripped and fell over the above ad from Thailand for a mobile phone company—which really doesn’t factor into the story at all—that serves as a prime example of simple story telling.

All the elements of dramatic structure are present. But instead of creating a long-winded post that most wouldn’t read, I’ve decided to take my own advice and keep it simple. Though not a poet, I wrote my thoughts on the subject in verse:

I have banged on ad nauseum in some previous post
About the best stories told are where less is the most
Abandon complex words you once deem so refined
As it tends to leave more than a few readers behind
Complication wasn’t missed or mourned when it died
As people pursued minimalism, a life more simplified
Leave the clutter behind and your work unpolluted
And remember the old adage:

I said I wasn’t a poet, now you see that it’s true, not only does mama know it, but my daddy do, too.

Sally forth and be writeful.

— Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

A Poignant Story, Simply Told

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

In my daily ‘net wanderings I tripped and fell over the above ad from Thailand for a mobile phone company—which really doesn’t factor into the story at all—that serves as a prime example of simple story telling.

All the elements of dramatic structure are present. But instead of creating a long-winded post that most wouldn’t read, I’ve decided to take my own advice and keep it simple. Though not a poet, I wrote my thoughts on the subject in verse:

I have banged on ad nauseum in some previous post
About the best stories told are where less is the most
Abandon complex words you once deem so refined
As it tends to leave more than a few readers behind
Complication wasn’t missed or mourned when it died
As people pursued minimalism, a life more simplified
Leave the clutter behind and your work unpolluted
And remember the old adage:

I said I wasn’t a poet, now you see that it’s true, not only does mama know it, but my daddy do, too.

Sally forth and be writeful.

— Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

So You Want To Be A Writer by Charles Bukowski

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.