Tales to Come

crisp snow in winter

crunchy steps in a wilderness path

mittened hand in yours

scarlet cardinal chirping greeting

branch giving way, cracking under boots

tiny puffs of breath ascending, disappearing 

sideways smile, stolen sideways glance

sunset coloured hair covering face

stunning smile hidden carefully, shyly

powder white fox chatting under log

swishing a puffy and patient tail

sparkly eyes glittering 

sideways smile, stolen sideway glance

eyes crinkled in silent laughter

smile wide and giddy

stop for a kiss

bigger puffs of breath

laughter floating lazily upwards in cold muffled air

almost to the crackling fire

warmth in love and life and home

wintry naps on couch await

tiny puffs of breath ascending, disappearing

branch giving way, cracking under boots

scarlet cardinal chirping farewell

mittened hand in yours

crunchy steps on a  homeward path

crisp snow in winter

A Chitter in the Leaves

"Keep up, sleepyhead!" she giggled, chittering through the trees,
sundress shimmering, shifting, slipping.
"We're almost there, oh, I can't wait!" the girl chattered,
shimmying between trees, barefoot goddess to a fallen land.
A raven cocked its head, far above, listening carefully to a wanderlust queen.

"But where, where are we going?" he replied, breathless and shirt-torn,
burr-filled boots slowing his headlong abandon.
"I can never see this city you always talk about!" he scolded her,
crunching a rotten log, cracking scraggly branches scraping his face.
A raven cocked his glossy head the other way, carefully watching a forlorn king.

"But don't you remember?" she mock gasped, jumping ahead,
hand reaching backwards, fingers curling in invitation.
"It's my birthday! turning suddenly while running backwards,
hair hiding eyes, brown strands summer stunning.
A raven jumped, faithless flight, simple streaming.

"Of course, gorgeous!" he responded, clasping her hand,
sweat-stained palm reaching for beauty.
"But I'm dying to see this city," he yelled into the wind,
catching up to her, his sky siren, his movement.
A raven, ink-stained, circled and circled, breathing a deadly song.

"We're there, oh, we're there!" she squealed,
awakening the morning, suddenly stopping a headlong dance.
"Oh my god, it's breathtaking," she murmured,
leaning into his chest, sinking into his arms.
A raven dove, amongst the chitter in the leaves, and chased its shadow to the ground.

The Adventures of Lincoln Wilde: A Children's Story

Written by: Brennan Davis

--

Seriously, I have two last names for my first. It’s just Lincoln Wilde. My mom and dad never gave me a middle name, but with a full name like Lincoln Wilde Wagner it’s a good thing they didn’t! It sounds weird to a lot of people, but I think it's cool because I’m named after a famous president, wacky Irish author and German composer.

The thing that's not cool is that sometimes I get the feeling I'm not the only one in charge of my body. And I'm not talking about my mom asking me if I've brushed every tooth for 33 seconds, or my sister yelling at me about her rights as a teenager, and how that somehow means she never has to do the dishes.

No, I mean like there are things inside of me, little beings hustling back and forth giving orders and making life weird for me sometimes.

For example, one day Jarvis Jasper (I know, you would think people would make fun of HIS name too) accidentally punched me in no-contact football in PE and I blacked out for 3 minutes. I only met the brain that time, and he didn't seem too worried.

But, another day was totally different. I remember it clearly. I was lying down on the soft green grass lawn in our school's recess ground and I saw this cloud that looked like a heart. And not the Valentine's day heart you might be thinking about, but the real one, the one that pumps non-stop. And suddenly, I didn't know where I was!

It was the strangest trip I've taken so far.

I opened my eyes and was instantly pushed by a fiercely red platelet (at least that's what I heard someone yelling in the background) into the heart's muscular wall. “Watch out nincompoop! I'm trying to get to the lungs, move out of the way!” Sheesh, it was hectic wherever I was.

Everybody seemed to know what and where they were going, and looking around with confused eyes the size of dinner plates it didn't take me long to find the boss. He seemed overworked, but turned happy and boastful when I asked him where I was and why he was yelling so much.

 “SON!” he roared, all the while patting a sad blue platelet on the back or slapping a bright red daydreaming platelet in the face, “this is no picnic! You think I have it easy up here like the gallbladder and appendix's lives? They help pass things around, but when the day's done, your body doesn't need them!”

“We never stop working, and if it weren't for the emotional roller-coaster I have to keep in check, I would be a lot happier. I pump these lazy good-for-nothing platelets all day, every day, 24/7, no matter what. Even when you're sleeping I'm working this cardiac muscle!”

“But excuse me sir, I just wanted to...”

“No buts to me young man. You want me to keep your body systems full of blood? You want me to feed the brain, lungs, intestines, liver, stomach and everything else and not stop? Then you better move on, whered’ju say you were going?”

“Ummm, I didn’t say an….”

”Hey! You, aorta, keep moving those platelets, and take this kid up to see the brain, he’s been expecting him. Make sure to run your arteries nice and clean ONE WAY, don’t let any of those platelets coming back to me in veins get mixed up. Then we’ll have serious problems. Alright, off you go, we wouldn’t want that uppity brain getting impatient with us down here in the center of the body. He’s somehow involved in everything, some sort of control center for the nervous center he calls it. Bah, does he pump blood to the capillaries in the fingers? No, who does that you might ask?....”

And just like that I was whooshed through the aorta near my own neck and suddenly came to a floating halt in a room crowded with numbers, thoughts and smells. It seemed eerily familiar from the time I blacked out, but I tried not to think about it. There were so many rooms and places to go in the room I didn’t even know where to begin.

“Ahhhh, so you’ve deigned to come and visit me again, have you young man? And tell me, are you satisfied with my performance? Am I controlling the systems to your liking? Come on, speak up young man! Are you here to complain about that pesky digestive system passing gas on you in the middle of a test? Or even burping in front of Mrs. Bedford when she asked you how your lunch was? I’ve already reprimanded the digestive system for that, and then I always have to keep a close eye out on that stomach, who knows what he’ll try and burn up this time with his acid. I mean, come on, even though I’m 75% water, I still have almost 33 billion neurons firing huh? Which reminds me...”

“Wait! Slow down, I was just shot up here by the heart, he said you would be expecting me?”

“Ah yes, about that. Look Lincoln. All us systems in here enjoy how you’re progressing and all, but I have to tell you, we’re not getting enough information. I mean, from me to you, haha! From ME to YOU, I AM you, anyway. I have a lot of space to fill with trivia, statistics, facts, opinions, etc. and frankly, you’re not giving it to me fast enough. Just look at these rooms, how empty they are! My synapses are lightning fast and some people say I am capable of 70,000 thoughts per day! Can you believe that? I’ll also keep growing at least until you’re 18 years old, think of how powerful I could be!

“So, you think you could challenge me a bit? Push the limits? Get more answers? Take risks! Now there’s a good boy…ah, the lungs are calling you, threatening to cut off my oxygen levels if they don’t get to speak with you. Unfortunately I can’t live without oxygen, though I’m hesitant to tell them that, so you should go appease those two sacs of hot air. See you again soon, Lincoln? Remember, inquire and make me stronger, I like to work out like muscles too you know!”

And those were the last words I heard my brain speak to me that day, before I landed with a squishy squashy sound in what can only be described as a huge breathing bag of blood. Now don’t get disgusted, these lungs were really nice to me! I was hanging on to what they called the alveoli, when the Mr. Living Lung Boss came and took hold of my hand. He seemed fresh and happy.

“Glad to see you’re lying down a bit Lincoln, breathing in that coooool fresh air. AH! Doesn’t it just make you want to jump up and down with smiles? Oh, wait, you’re in here and out there is air and over there is…Ah, anyway, glad you spoke to the brain, he’s the thought center around here, I just take blood from the heart and oxygen from the windpipe (siiiiiiiiiigh) mix ‘em all up and shoot blood full of oxygen all around the body. Cool huh?!

Man, when you raced the other day in gym class you sure had all of us systems working over-time! Had the circulatory, respiratory and nervous systems going craaazy trying to get you to win that race. And win you did young Lincoln, well done! Keep that exercise coming, without that we get all lazy down here, you know? Exercise keeps my bloody friends over here whooshing in and out of all your muscles and organs and with that you can grow stronger. That’s it, that’s all I wanted to say, OH, and also, wake up! We’re slowing down which means you’re falling asleep! (Winks an eye)

“Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln are you okay? Is something on your mind?”

“Mrs. Bedford?”

“Yes Lincoln, I’ve been calling your name for a minute now and you’ve been here staring up at the clouds as if you’re talking with someone. Is something on your mind?”

“Ummm, yes, actually, what’s a synapse?”

“Now that’s an interesting question, where on earth did you hear that?”

--

(Illustration note: Brain winking to himself)

Circles in the Sand (Poem)

"Look," he pointed,
and nudged his chin towards a clearing of sand,
as they walked hand in hand towards the end of the beach,
"we'll draw it there."

"But I don't see anything," she mused,
while salty air toyed with a few strands of her hair,
and tried to lift the long sundress clinging to her skin.
"Trust me, you'll see it," he winked at her,
holding her hand a bit closer,
wondering how many times in their lives they had held hands while smiling.

Closer they drew,
and the palm trees hummed a quicker tune,
as frothy sea water licked upwards on the sand,
faster and faster to an unbreakable rhythm.

Approaching a circle in the sand,
the man's smile widened, flashing a toothy grin.
"See?! I told you it would be here!" he shouted triumphantly,
running towards the circles, pulling her laughing behind.

Breathless,
and wishing for nothing else in the world to change the moment he was in,
the man fell to his knees, transfixed to the visions dancing and twirling,
coupling with sunshine and shadow.
He looked backwards and upwards, happiness painted on his smile,
at his best friend with sun-rays winking through plaits of tangled hair.

"It's perfect," she sighed.

Random colorings

The Magician Rises (Poem)

Dropping the book in fear,
the strange magician took flight down the street,
a crooked warren of stones tumbling him forwards.

In desperation, he grasped for a gaslit streetlight post,
and whirled himself around the corner,
discarded strings of rain flowering behind him.

His eyes, now a straw yellow, honeyed with fear,
took in the hat bobbing closer to a drain's opening,
and he stumbled downwards,
fingers madly scrabbling,
a broken aura of magic tinkling to the street in shards.

Muttering and mumbling, he finally clenched his hat,
as thunder like a rolling timpani swept into the air.

Soaked, wrinkled and triumphant,
the silent magician began to weep into his hat,
as the current formed different patterns around his knees,
continuing its inexorable journey towards blackness.

His muttering did not cease,
even as he stood up,
the ripped hem of his robe catching in a gathering gust,
the wind singing a dangerous tune.

"I will paint this life with magic," he whispered,
flicking the hat open with a practiced movement,
and placing it atop his weathered head.

Only then did he begin his slow gait,
away from a terrible hidden storm,
away from a book being swallowed in silt,
and towards a direction from where no one has come.

The Magician Falls (Poem)

Startled at the magician's response,
the little boy went wide-eyed with sadness,
for he had never seen what a crushed dream looks like,
nor tasted the flavor of failure.

The magician sat for a still moment,
swirling his crooked fingers around the gutter's eddies,
and picking idly at a string dangling from his sleeve.
With no warning he lashed out at the boy,
grabbing him around his neck,
curling a vicious hand until his fingers met in the back.
Standing slowly up, ram-rod tall,
still holding the boy dangling from his hand,
the magician began to smile,
and his eyes turned to dark pools of honey.

"I have never lost my hatred," he hissed,
as his fingers clenched tighter around fading innocence.
His broken-wire hair caught in a muddy wind,
that whistled as it ran up his sleeves and through a myriad of pockets.
Carefully he began to walk, holding the boy aloft,
while the boy's eyes stared, seeing no pain,
watching as grayness crept down the street.

A passing movement paused the magician's steps,
and he glanced down to see that in his hurry,
he had let his hat slip away with the swiftly running gutter,
now raven black in color, filled with frustration.
Looking back at the boy in terror,
he discovered he held only a book,
a collection of poems written by a boy long since forgotten,
soaked in the same drizzle carrying his hat around a corner and out of sight.

As Wine Might Swim (Poem)

Let's make a painting together,
a canvas covered in travels and poetry,
an acrylic tube of days covered in laughter,
an oil painting drying on sun-licked beaches and dinner-time stories.

Let's draw a picture together,
of a camel's eyelashes in pencil, etched on paper, thick like winter snow,
of a chopped up sea in marker, permanently riding turquoise waves,
of a bouquet of flowers sitting on your desk.

Let's mix some paper up,
and glue it in a thousand directions,
cut it in a thousand facets,
and let it dry in a mosaic and mist of color and life.

Let's make a painting together,
and watch it dry as wine might swim around on a warm coastal breeze.