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The Free Renbun Thread ***READ RULES**

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  • #16
    cold hands
    rain dilutes
    this bloody mess

    Gulls wheel over head and trail the wake of the boat, swooping in to snatchs bits of gristle and offal from the air as I flick them to starboard, I finish one tuna and throw the carcass—weighty head and the empty, exposed spine wobbling through the air—and the gulls dive toward it en masse. The smell of diesel exhaust and sea air mix with the iron tang of viscera as I put the next fish up to the cutting board and line the edge of the slender knife behind the pectoral fin for the first slice.
    ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

    Comment


    • Ray Caligiuri
      Ray Caligiuri commented
      Editing a comment
      Great images, Clayton!

    • Susan King
      Susan King commented
      Editing a comment
      I agree - a powerful piece of writing - you’re a difficult act to follow, Clayton!

    • Clayton Beach
      Clayton Beach commented
      Editing a comment
      Pah. “unity in variety,” the next prose should shift in tone, so have at it!

  • #17
    Gulls wheel over head and trail the wake of the boat, swooping in to snatchs bits of gristle and offal from the air as I flick them to starboard, I finish one tuna and throw the carcass—weighty head and the empty, exposed spine wobbling through the air—and the gulls dive toward it en masse. The smell of diesel exhaust and sea air mix with the iron tang of viscera as I put the next fish up to the cutting board and line the edge of the slender knife behind the pectoral fin for the first slice.

    late examen—
    Ishmael's narrative
    cuts to the quick

    Comment


    • Ray Caligiuri
      Ray Caligiuri commented
      Editing a comment
      Hansha, no excuse for being so good!

  • #18
    late examen—
    Ishmael's narrative
    cuts to the quick

    David Allen Coe’s “you never even called me by my name” belts from the stereo as the old brown Ford barrels down a west Texas country backroad. The stick shift is between my legs and I have to move my skinny knees every time my uncle shifts to avoid it rapping painfully against a funny bone. He smells of concrete, alcohol and sour sweat, and he occasionally stops singing to take a swig from the can of Coors Light propped up against the crotch of his faded Levi’s.
    ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

    Comment


    • #19
      David Allen Coe’s “you never even called me by my name” belts from the stereo as the old brown Ford barrels down a west Texas country backroad. The stick shift is between my legs and I have to move my skinny knees every time my uncle shifts to avoid it rapping painfully against a funny bone. He smells of concrete, alcohol and sour sweat, and he occasionally stops singing to take a swig from the can of Coors Light propped up against the crotch of his faded Levi’s.

      evensong
      the calf bleats
      for her mother

      Comment


      • #20
        evensong
        the calf bleats
        for her mother

        On a tour of the petting zoo, I notice rectangular bales of hay stacked into a small hill behind the barn. While they are familiar to me from previous drives through the prairie, I’d never had the chance to see them up close. I sneak away from the group. Surprised by how hard the bales are, and by how itchy I begin to feel, I nonetheless climb to the top. With a longer view across the plains than I ever imagined having, I remain on my perch: ignore the increasingly panicked calls of my Mom.
        https://davereadpoetry.blogspot.com/

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        • #21
          On a tour of the petting zoo, I notice rectangular bales of hay stacked into a small hill behind the barn. While they are familiar to me from previous drives through the prairie, I’d never had the chance to see them up close. I sneak away from the group. Surprised by how hard the bales are, and by how itchy I begin to feel, I nonetheless climb to the top. With a longer view across the plains than I ever imagined having, I remain on my perch: ignore the increasingly panicked calls of my Mom.

          a young lad
          with out-stretched arms
          is the skylark's song

          Comment


          • #22
            a young lad
            with out-stretched arms
            is the skylark’s song

            In the front pew I sit awaiting my parents. Before me is a huge old cross to which a wooden Jesus is nailed. I examine His outstretched arms, the way His head hangs down. My atheist uncle once told me, smugly, that death on a cross comes through asphyxiation. There’s no way, he argued, that Jesus could have called “Why has Thou foresaken me?” while choking to His death.

            The Pastor’s hand on my shoulder startles me. He meets my eye, then looks up to that same cross. “What’s amazing,” he says while pointing with his Bible, “is that everything inside this Book is true.”

            My parents arrive as the service begins. As much as I try to pay attention, I get distracted when the Pastor clears his throat.
            Last edited by Dave Read; 11-26-2019, 10:02 PM.
            https://davereadpoetry.blogspot.com/

            Comment


            • Susan King
              Susan King commented
              Editing a comment
              Fine writing, Dave!

            • Dave Read
              Dave Read commented
              Editing a comment
              Thank you very much Susan!

          • #23
            In the front pew I sit awaiting my parents. Before me is a huge old cross to which a wooden Jesus is nailed. I examine His outstretched arms, the way His head hangs down. My atheist uncle once told me, smugly, that death on a cross comes through asphyxiation. There’s no way, he argued, that Jesus could have called “Why has Thou foresaken me?” while choking to His death.

            The Pastor’s hand on my shoulder startles me. He meets my eye, then looks up to that same cross. “What’s amazing,” he says while pointing with his Bible, “is that everything inside this Book is true.”

            My parents arrive as the service begins. As much as I try to pay attention, I get distracted when the Pastor clears his throat.

            a tui plays
            one voicebox against
            its other

            Comment


            • Hansha Teki
              Hansha Teki commented
              Editing a comment
              "Tui have complex variety of songs and calls, much like parrots. They also resemble parrots in their ability to clearly imitate human speech, and were trained by Māori to replicate complex speech. Tui are also known for their noisy, unusual call, different for each individual, that combine bellbird-like notes with clicks, cackles, timber-like creaks and groans, and wheezing sounds. Songbirds have two voice boxes (syrinxes) and this is what enables them to perform such a myriad of vocalisations. Tui song also exhibits geographical, microgeographic, seasonal, sex and individual variation.

              Some of the wide range of tui sounds are beyond the human register. Watching a tui sing, one can observe gaps in the sound when the beak is agape and throat tufts throbbing. However, ongoing research has so far failed to detect ultrasound within tui vocalisations. Tui will also sing at night, especially around the full moon period."

              https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tui_(bird)

          • #24
            a tui plays
            one voicebox against
            its other

            He wanders through the woods with a hammock but can’t find two trees the right distance apart to hang it. Every pair yields unsatisfactory results. The trees are either too close together (leaving the hammock to sag to the ground), too far apart (stretching it past a comfortable length), too thick at the base to complete a knot, or too thin and weak to hold his weight.

            It’s a forest for chrissakes, he thinks. How hard can this be?

            Frustrated and weary of the effort, he rolls his hammock into a pillow-sized ball — lies down on a bed of leaves.
            https://davereadpoetry.blogspot.com/

            Comment


            • #25
              He wanders through the woods with a hammock but can’t find two trees the right distance apart to hang it. Every pair yields unsatisfactory results. The trees are either too close together (leaving the hammock to sag to the ground), too far apart (stretching it past a comfortable length), too thick at the base to complete a knot, or too thin and weak to hold his weight.

              It’s a forest for chrissakes, he thinks. How hard can this be?

              Frustrated and weary of the effort, he rolls his hammock into a pillow-sized ball — lies down on a bed of leaves.

              lunar halo—
              even the cry of a wolf
              has substance
              ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

              Comment


              • #26
                lunar halo—
                even the cry of a wolf
                has substance

                It seems only yesterday that all seemed so right with the world but there were signs of a gathering disturbance to the balance that we all had taken for granted. Unnamed anxieties crept out from the shadows as darkness fell.

                Comment


                • #27
                  It seems only yesterday that all seemed so right with the world but there were signs of a gathering disturbance to the balance that we all had taken for granted. Unnamed anxieties crept out from the shadows as darkness fell.

                  another unmarked grave
                  pissed off
                  into the wind

                  Comment


                  • #28
                    another unmarked grave
                    pissed off
                    into the wind

                    Staggering away from the wall and through the bushes the vagrant passes a roadside memorial with plastic flowers and a teddy bear that has started to look a little worse for wear. He darts between the cars that are lined up to enter the busy parking lot of the mall, some with little reindeer antlers on the roof and Rudolph noses glued on their grills. On the other side his companions are warming their hands at a 50 gallon drum filled with roaring flame. A few large, wet snowflakes begin to splatter on the asphalt.
                    ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god

                    Comment

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