Notes

Singing Over Bones-

Trains of Thought
The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

Will the bones beneath my feet

look up at me and start to sing?

Will they tell me who they  were, their favorite colors, their favorite foods?

I think the bones beneath are fast asleep, they won’t wake up, I think they dream

But  the marble that we leave above their heads

speak so loudly

it’s enough to wake the dead.

Photo A.M Moscoso

 

Photo A.Moscoso

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

The Writer that Almost Wasn’t

Trains of Thought
The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

Weighing Words

 

Franz Von Stuck

 

My eighth grade English teacher

used to give every single one of my papers a D-.

 

That was as close as he could get to failing every thing I handed in- he couldn’t do that with tests if I got the answers correct, but I lost points on those papers too because my A’s looked like O’s and my I’s looked like L’s.

You get the picture.

So my essays and themes and short stories didn’t get failed because I at least handed something in and turned up for class everyday, he told me.

He also did try to get me into remedial English classes, but the only thing that kept him from doing that was that I tested at College level for reading comprehension. He was convinced I had cheated and I had to retake the tests again with two monitors watching me the entire time.

 

So I got a D on my final report card and on the last day of school  he made fun of my essay in front of the other class by reading it out loud with the words butchered because he pronounced the words with the a’s and o’s and l’s and t’s with the letters that he thought he saw.

Did anyone laugh? Not really and did I get upset? No. Because the paper he was making fun of had just won me tickets to see the Seattle Sonics play a game and he knew it.

 

A few years after I graduated from high school I heard my former English teacher’s son had died in mountain climbing accident.

I tried to feel sorry for my teacher  because it was the right thing to do, but you have guessed correctly if you assumed I could careless about the pain and loss he felt.

Our words and how we use them come with a price and a cost and that’s why we should choose, very carefully how we use them- as an English teacher he should have knows that better then anyone.

amm

Masks

Trains of Thought
The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

Cabinet of Curiosities

( Work inspired by my photos and personal mementos )

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I want a new face

a new heart

a new pair of eyes

and a new tongue-

a sharper tongue, a more clever tongue

then the one I have in my head.

I want a new mask

or maybe three

Maybe one of them will tell me

who I am supposed to be.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

The Duck Pond

This was inspired by a Writing Prompt where you pick three spooky words and write a poem or story based on the words.

I chose Banshee, Corrupted and Creep.

 

Banshee blood

corrupted, cursed and revolting

it’s pooling in a pond where I used to feed  the ducks.

 

Who will cage it?

will anyone  swim in it?

Who will watch it creep towards the shore?

Will anybody grab a bucket, sponge scream out in fear

more likely then not

everyone will  pretend as if it’s not there.

 

Banshee blood

corrupt,  cursed and revolting

I wonder if the Ducks that I used to feed

wished it wasn’t there.

 

Cassandra Nevada Gets Fired

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

She timed it so that she would be seated in the boardroom first, before any of those little pissants that were about to do her in drove up the ramp into the car park of the building that she built brick by brick with her own two hands.

Well she signed the paperwork  and brought in the workers that did the actual work but why split hairs now?

Cassandra Nevada was about to be ruled irrelevant and fired and turned away from the only job she had ever had or done well for that matter.

She could have played with her phone as she waited, she could have carved a litteny of profanity- Profanity being one of the many languages she had mastered- at her Father’s insistence and her Mother’s overbearing ‘support’ so that she could be the very best Cassandra Nevada the world had ever known.

She spun around and around in her chair and wondered what she would do with all of the time that would be dropped into her lap. Eating a lot of pizza and drinking heavily she guessed. She saw a lot of cats and in her future too.

The door opened and for a minute it would appear it had opened on it’s one because no one was in the doorway.

But then one pallid face after another gathered in the opening and they filed in- trying very hard to pretend that they were looking her square in the face. Of course they weren’t and that brought the tiniest of smiles to the corners of Cassandra’s mouth.

” Good morning Ms Nevada” Pert and sassy Kirsten Simpson chirped as she closed the door behind herself.

Ah. Kirsten Simpson, it appeared, was the designated Hatchet man. Of course. Send her in last. Just like a Bride walking down the aisle to meet her Groom.

This was Kirsten’s  day apparently.

” I’ve had better, not many but you know. Better.” Cassandra rocked back and forth in her chair and out of habit she motioned for her Board to sit and they sat obediently- if Cassandra had dog treats she would have tossed them around the table.

Kirsten jumped right into the fire.

” The direction of this company, your company has changed and it comes with no small pleasure that you as an individual have not changed with us.”

” Really?” Cassandra was honestly surprised. ” I thought you’d be over joyed with that. I mean, ” Cassandra stood up and at least 8 eight chairs slid back from the conference table and the rest of them tried for no good reason to push themselves closer to it. ” look at all you’ll have to gain.”

Cassandra rolled on: ” Everything- every single pie I have put my fingers into, every single deal I have ever made, every man, woman and child-even the ones who aren’t born yet that will call on us and the services we offer to help them in their time of need.”

” That’s the problem Ms. Nevada. You own so much and all of it is built on old technology, dated research and to be honest your public image…”

” Careful there Sweetheart.”

” It’s a bit- intimidating for-

” Don’t.”

” A woman.”

” Christ on a horse, you really went there.”

” The point is, we need a more approachable and user friendly image and you are not able to project that.”

” You know Kirsten, that was the point. We do serious deals with serious people. ”

” That model-”

Cassandra was trying very hard to not let- to coin a phrase her Mother used- to let her devil’s horns show. Once you lost control of yourself her Father believed you were toast. And he would know. He had a long history of popping arteries.

” The model where we actually ask for signatures- written- not printed, not followed by little emojis on actual paper? That we only used clocks with faces and hands in our offices That I demand my employees are fluent in at least three languages and that yes we are actually closed down on Sundays?”

” Locking us out of our system on Sundays puts us behind, we spend all day-”

” Working. Which is what you get paid for.”

” Come on release me. Go ahead. ”

And they did.

Photo by Tookapic on Pexels.com

 

Cassandra found herself in those last moments in her Company with Kirsten.

” You know, my parents insisted I master Math and Latin. Did you know that?”

” I think we put that out on one of our older info promos we did back in the day.”

” They believed that Math like music is the Universal language. And Latin. So many rules,so many lessons in Latin. It was painful to have to learn a dead language. It’s not like I could trot up to the executive washroom and shoot the breeze with people in it. I am literally the only person in this entire organization that knows it.”

Kirsten looked smug. Cassandra was outdated and old school and she just proved her point- thank you very much.

” Why did they insist on it, if it was a dead language. Your parents were a bit on the theatrical side if not practical from what I understand.”

Cassandra Nevada leaned into Kirsten’s ear and whispered, ” Because, you can raise all sorts of hell with that dead language. All kinds of Hell. ”

And then Cassandra pushed her hair away from her face and she went ahead and let her horns show because it was that kind of day.

 

 

The Blessing

From The Danse Macabre Prompt: Standing on a Literary Legend’s Shoulders

We meet another of The Prince’s guests:

I had found a place to get off of my feet

maybe catch a quick bite

and chew the fat with the locals

 who call this  town I wandered into home.

But before I could settle in and settle down for a spell

at the Diner called ” Lorna’s “

the Sheriff walked in and put a bullet between my eyes.

Good thing it wasn’t silver.

Good thing indeed.