Debbie Harry’s Heart of Glass, a memory, End Times, murky stars, and back alley dictation.
On Prose. Radio's numero 20, the glue of Blondie opens the show, taking us into the minds of four ridiculously talented writers from the site, from brand new, to still new, and each one with astonishing grace.
Here's the link.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WnuLuDAnm0
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/810544/the-memory https://www.theprose.com/post/809902/thats-great-it-starts-with-an-earthquake
https://www.theprose.com/post/810700/murky-star https://www.theprose.com/post/810722/lackawanna
https://www.theprose.com/post/810160/im-not-dinner
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
I love peonies.
I love peonies.
I told you this a few times,
like when we walked past the flower shop on 2nd St.
Or at that one wedding, looking at the centerpiece.
I love peonies.
We would joke around about how you thought dandelions were better
I argued they were just pretty weeds
and would never be superior to peonies.
I love peonies.
You complimented my new perfume,
said it smelt like flowers.
It was peonie, but what you said was still true.
I love peonies.
I told you it's because they are so unique
that the flower still looks strong, even though it can be delicate.
You said just like me.
I love peonies.
You gave me a surprise;
you said it's my favorite,
and I'd surely love it.
You got me a bouquet of roses.
I love peonies.
Ghostly Flower
Amidst the murky swamp, where danger lurks
There blooms a flower, a ghostly perk
A rare treasure, so beautiful and rare
A Ghost orchid, with an ethereal flair
Its petals, a ghostly white
Glowing in the darkness of the night
Majestic and otherworldly, it sways in the breeze
Entrancing all those who dare to appease
It's said to be haunted, by a spirit so old
Once a human, now a flower to behold
A tragic story, a love gone awry
But in its beauty, her spirit will never die
She dances among the trees, in a ghostly ballet
Her presence felt, in a haunting way
Her love for the orchid, forever bound
Her essence lingers, with every petal found
But as the moon rises high in the sky
A plot twist, catches every eye
For the Ghost orchid, is not just a flower
It's a guardian, of a mystical power
As spirits of the swamp, try to cause harm
The Ghost orchid, raises its magical arm
With a burst of light, and a whispering spell
It banishes the darkness, and all is well
So let us not fear, this ghostly sight
For the Ghost orchid, is a protector of the night
A symbol of love, and a symbol of might
A flower so divine, in its ghostly light.
The Hag
Her throat rattles from the closet, alerting me it’s midnight. She’s coming. I face away. Melatonin hasn’t kicked in so I count backward trying to flee. Five. The door groans. I shrink into the mattress, paralyzed. My therapist said, "Breathe slowly," but broken fingernails scraping bedrails induce hyperventilating. Four. Crippled limbs crackle closer. She wheezes onto my toes. I retract them. Three. Sheets tugging, I pull firm! Another tug, then Another! Two. The bedframe squeaks. Her weight becomes enormous. I suck empty air. Clicking grows louder. She sniffs at my ears.
One. I have to look…
Jawbone unhinged; She screeches!
Thank you for the Countless High School Essays
Ah, William Shakespeare. The unrivaled grandmaster of the English language. Or, as I like to call him, the original king of overrated.
Yeah, it is true that a lot of his works became a fundamental part of literary history, but come on – this man sure came up with a lot of tragedies. I mean, if he ever wrote a rom-com, it would likely conclude with everyone stabbing each other.
And the guy’s character name skills… “Romeo Montague” and “Juliet Capulet”? After hearing these names, you cannot tell me that he did not let toddlers play Scrabble. And “Othello”? Please, even his handkerchief was crying. Then his dramatic streak… who else could come up with “To be or not to be”? Whoever came up with this probably should find a new hobby – one that does not ruin life for everyone else in his play.
That being said, though, I have to thank him for all the timeless quotes he gave us that became the foundation of our modern life. “All the world’s a stage” – yeah, makes sense considering that his plays are pretty much reality tv shows. Well, whoopty doo, Shakespeare – thank you for drama, tragedy and countless high school essays.
Wild Hidden Field
My favorite flowers are wild
not styled in a flashy fashion
or arranged in any way
When I happen upon the happenings
of their meandering meadow
on a perfectly lit Summer day
The sight of the light
is a sight the old would behold
glimmering off blades of young grass
I revel in the scent
that the wind sent adrift
on the breezes that peacefully pass
Alone on a perch overlooking wild hues
hewn from the pastures of purples and blues
I succumb to complacent serenity
The light and the lite breeze
blowing lite on my knees
frees my soul fundamentally
My favorite flowers are wild
not styled in a flashy fashion
or arranged in any way...
Better than bouquets and better than roses
are rose-colored glasses that always exposes
a wild hidden field on a perfect Summer day
Love/Hate
Philandering pandering slinger of words
slinging swords at the hoards
Spewing your anxiety in every direction
in direct dereliction of the weight fame affords
Sweet sweet whispers and smooth dissolves
into guttural violence and all that involves
Sonnets of love to the Gods above
plays of pure tragedy and the pain thereof
Two-faced flip-flopper and theatre hopper
scheming and scamming about town
Fraudulent propster and copulant copp-er
still rizzing with a crooked ass crown
So we can all hate on the histories you create
and comment on your ambitious design
It's sensationalist sizzling but the words are so blistering
they invented the true Test of Time
forever
you the moon
delicate waxing waning
at the drop of a mood
predictably uncertain
I the earth
solid grounded firm steadfast
always beneath to catch you
whenever you fell from space
who knew
frail flawed pocked-marked you
could eliminate obliterate plunge
me into an abyss with no bottom
who knew
at that moment we'd stop spinning
frozen in darkness you unmoving
me an unlit pall of my former self