art, fiction

The Fox and The Bear

There once was a clever fox who gambled far too much. Tired of hearing his excuses, Raven called the debt. So, he made one last bet.

“The tortoise will beat the hare!” He said.

Raven laughed and greedily accepted.

Fox had a friend, Bear.

“How can you think the tortoise will beat the hare?” Bear asked.

“I have a plan.” Fox told him, and no more.

On the day of the race Fox and Bear were in the carrot patch.

“The Hare is a glutton; he will surely stop to snack on these carrots. And when he does!” Fox sprinkled a magic powder over the carrot patch.

“This powder will make him sleep. Then, the tortoise will win the race!”

“You are very clever!” Said Bear.

“I know.” Said Fox.

They hid in the forest next to the carrot patch to wait. Sure enough, when the hare came along he stopped for a snack and was soon fast asleep. Fox leapt from the forest and danced through the carrot patch.

“We are going to be rich!” he cried. But Bear went over and began sniffing the hare, laying in the grass.

“What are you doing Bear? Leave him be! You’ll wake him.” Fox scolded. Bear did not stop but began nudging the hare around the carrot patch with his nose.

“He is dead.” Stated Bear.

“He is not dead! He is sleeping, dolt!”

Bear put one of the Hare’s feet into his mouth and bit down. The hare did not move.

“He is dead.” Bear stated again. Fox came to where the Hare lay and felt for a pulse.

“Oh no! no, no, NO!” cried Fox. “He cannot be dead! The Ravens will know! They will kill me!” Fox paced around and around the carrot patch pulling on his ears. Bear sat by the hare and wondered if Fox would eventually let him eat it. Finally, Fox stopped pacing.

“I’ve got it!”

Fox looked at the corpse of the hare and then to Bear. “You need to skin him.”

“What?” Said Bear, confused.

“Skin the hare!”

“Why do I have to do it?” Bear asked.

“Because you’re a bear.” Fox said. Bear thought about it and decided he didn’t know what to think about it. So, he skinned the hare. Fox sat and waited. Once Bear had finished Fox leapt on the hide of the hare and began shoving himself inside of it. When he had become fully consumed by the hare’s hide he turned to find a bloody mouthed Bear. The rest of the hare was nowhere to be found.

“Where is the rest of him?” Fox demanded.

“I ate him.” Bear said.

“Why would you do that!” Fox said through the gap in the suit that used to be the hare’s mouth.

Bear thought about it. “Because I’m a bear.” He decided.

“Fair enough” said Fox. “Look!” He points to the road passing near the carrot patch. The tortoise was strides away from the finish line. Fox dashed off toward the finish line. Bear curled up in the carrot patch and slept.

Fox crossed the finish line a hair behind the tortoise. The crowd was so stunned that none noticed how sickly the hare was looking. They ridiculed the hare as Fox grinned beneath its hide.

Once the crowd had their fill, they departed.

Fox, alone, danced.

He danced until the hare’s hide split open and Fox fell out onto the grass, laughing.

He lived happily ever after.

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Standard
poetry

Fox

courbet_fox_in_the_snow

Drag me out of the lake

before it ices

pull my recalcitrant arms

out of their doll sockets

pop pop

goes the farmers gun

hush little rabbits

don’t make a sound

blood is russet against wire

you scrape me void

embed the need

we spin in crystalized catkin

my dress is smothering your

bad notion

starve out the longing

makes you so evil

green glass raised to

moon without

give me one sharp pinch

wake without princes touch

water logged

heavy to the touch

too fast in spin

blackness is a blot of goodness

on the tip of my finger

swallow me

I’m intoxicate

i’ll wake you from the drum

beat you heady into rhythm

let’s jostle for position

ending up rubric on well-worn floor

here the songs consume me

follow the leader

all fall down

watch blooming plague taste our spite

survivors don’t speak loud

hush

I’m so heavy

with the seed you’ve sewn

I could burn

red as a fox

cast in snarl

Standard
poetry, prosetry

Blind

I held a staring competition
with the Sun
in a bid to kill my sight:
a romantic way
to become blind,
cleaner than acid,
tidier than gouging,
a funny story to relay
to the masses
when they say
“What happened, lady?
What happened to your sight?”

She was beating me 2-0
when I realised that even if I
blackened and burnt my soulless eyes
I would forever see
in my mangled, broken mind
you
you
you in that bed
and your tired chest
as it rose and fell
for your final breath
and your yellow lids
half-open
half-shut
snug
over your familiar soft-boiled eyes,
once expressive,
now blind
to my tears and my heartbreak,
to the world that you loved
and loathed with all of your might

I could be blind
but I’d still see
everything inside
my head;
I cannot unsee
Death holding out his hand
for me
to take
to shake
but you grabbing it instead
and leaving me there
so painfully awake
so painfully alive

Even if my sight had died
I know that I’d
still miss you every time
I blink
and if I
threw my pretty
empty eyes away,
chucked them into
the kitchen sink,
washed them down
the nearest drain
I’d see it all again
and again
projected in technicolor
on the walls of my brain

(and the Sun won the battle
against my sight
anyway,
I gave up at 4-0
in favour of getting
blind drunk,
the tried and tested
fail-safe way)

Standard
poetry

Creed

download_20150819_171315-1Translate thought, formed of feeling, spared anchor

If you knew me, at all, you’d be fluent at reading these

Spells hidden within my static mouth and xylophone chest

Words not yet

Emotions at best

Hectoring storm-clouds overhead

They say today it will flood

Maybe with the rain I’ll remove those blue notes and red letters

Yet sent

Sharing is so hard when people claim to know

What they never understand

I open myself to you under a bare bulb and flat sheet

Those colors of my life spill out of me into ether

If you look closely everything secret is stark in review

But most never notice, they only devour, and leave the door ajar

In case you follow them as they walk through empty rooms

We’re two people, we’re here and we’re not

You can spend eternity lying next to someone and know

Nothing

Like an old clock that hasn’t worked in a very long time

Springs to life with familiar tick

Is that my heart? Is that my history?

We are strangers, we are swapping seed

We can die in each other’s arms

And never

Know the secrets of another’s creed

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