marianb

An Ode to My Deceased Teddy Bear My poor deceased, old teddy bear I fear you've passed away But do not fret, oh teddy bear for in my heart, you'll stay My teddy bear, dear teddy bear you left with sudden start and though you're stuffed, oh teddy bear a knife went through your heart And so here you lay, sweet teddy bear and I hope you're not in pain for if you are, my teddy bear I'll still leave you in the rain And then you'll be soggy, teddy bear your stuffing all over the street the garbage will come, sweet teddy bear for I fear I must be neat Only till Tuesday, old teddy bear and then they'll take you away To the landfill

Inside 'Good morning,' he said to me 'Good afternoon,' I replied 'It's been a long while since I've seen your face.' The street stood out in silver as we walked slowly along through the waterfronts, silk, and swaying lace 'Where've you been,' was the question 'That's taken you away so long?' I shrugged and retorted 'I've seen what I can see.' 'It's been quiet here,' he continued 'rather dull and dusty old. We're all turning somber contemplating what we will be.' The road winded forward through copper hills and clouds all stopped to watch but I just passed them by 'We've missed you here.' their eyes said 'Why can't you ju

Dreams in which I Die I find it kinda funny I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I die Are the best I've ever had Now, let this not deceive you for I know it to be true the others are oh, so dreary and extremely stupid too I always die a good death or one that's relatively fair cause I never really feel the pain when they stab me out of there Yes indeed, I'm safe at home when I'm wacked upon the head as I take my final breath I smile, back within my bed I like to see the outcome even when I'm in my grave so I float along a while still to see my sacrifice relayed And I am so very happy when I wake from death at light

The Conversation "If he's dead I'll have to move out, you know. It would burn my reputation." "Why? We can always dump the body in the yard and say he died there." "What about the blood stains? How would I explain those? Covering them up with a rug seems a bit obvious." "Well, I could kick you in the face and let you bleed all over. Then you couldn't tell the difference!" "Good plan, but I'd rather not ah, indulge myself in such physical discomfort." "Hmm... I suppose we'd better just hope he isn't dead then. Maybe, we should throw water on him or something..." "If he's dead, I hardly think it will matter." "What do you suggest?" "We

Stand with me, friend forgotten watch the brilliant show stay awhile as the sun fades way linger to see it go Listen here, friend remembered as the others run they're clueless to their deprivation they're missing all the fun See this now, friend forever all will pass away Recall the state that I once held it and why I dare to stay Laugh at them, friend of mine watch them as they flee they desert a place that was their home and leave it all to me Hear the engines, loyal friend as they fly to space Not another soul remains now in such silent grace Behold the star, as my friend here see it kiss the ground feel the roar and

Trade: Warrior's Stand 'Hold the bridge!' the echo cried 'The legion will soon come.' Such words cannot stop the pain when another brother dies Now pain was past reality and death could not stop his goal 'Leave!' he had challenged 'And watch your helpless city burn!' Some had gone, of course running to the barren hills leaving shamefully behind their dreams, their love, all hope but who could say they'd chosen wrong when the others all were dead this was what was left now the quick slash of a blade He saw her face in the dripping blood that flowed out of his sword standing on the wall, white face, streaming tears the arro

Building Utopia Lonely city, lost, alone Kingdom of decrepit lives crumbled buildings, raining down upon these barren streets of lies Nothing dwells within the dank the decay of memories frayed black and sodden, brown and crude where tainted dreams are made See the tower, white and cold above the ruined land of past see the people bound within chained and tethered, safe at last Storms corrupted bleak with death brings corroding breath 'er long but the seeping poison fails against the fortress bold and strong Hear the silence echo still the muted voices deep inside striving onto bigger, better eloquent systems of demise w

An Insomniac's Darkman Insomnia draws me up from the hard couch leave the TV blaring cold coffee cup in hand, trudge to the kitchen its yellowed wallpaper pealing and the linoleum water-stained fill my cracked pot, brown with unwashings, from the ever dripping spigot wait on in tired torture for my off-brand motivator once more blackening the refill mug take a sip, wince for a moment, back down the hall slip past the mirror avoiding my own stare hair in disarray, jeans long-past wrinkled eyes blood shot and black return to the desk now, deadline tomorrow,   and a life, as ever, hard pulled flick on the dim light, eyes open

Beautiful Old stained keyboard yellowed, and black around the edges stares up at me in sorrow as I struggle for the beautiful glasses, scratched and spotted sixty-five off of my present prescription headaches radiate from those lenses as I labor towards the beautiful the people, laughing silently the people I know are there but never see because no one really cares that I try to make things beautiful a certain Holy Grail of perfection that I will always strive for because if someone thinks its beautiful then maybe I'll feel that way too as I struggle for perfection as I labor through the pain as I try to make things beautif

I really write prose but, I thought it’d be fun to see What it felt like to be The brevity of wit And, while I was at it, Add a little soul. I’m really a prose writer but, I find it obnoxious that Poet flows off the tongue so easily While prosist seems so Awkward. I’m really an artist in the form of prose-fiction but, I sometimes like to breakaway from the normal And embrace the surreal, the unreal, The impossibly unpossible, and maybe, End up with something more real than I had Imagined. I really am a prose writer but, To be im(perfectly) (dis)honest, It’s the closest I’ll ever come To de

- the roadside orchards were bright as peaches firming in autumn breeze I was broken in lay-by pieces. flat. a lightly-painted lady,  elephant faced with  horse's complexion, approached. Her expression -- that of dripping canvas. I glanced and turned politely (screwdriver in hand) toward my choking car. The pointed sound of her running, heels clicking, dress brushing, over landscape; coating tarmac lime. She clawed onto my arms with pianist fingers, pushing varnish nails into male flesh. Her thin lips flickered pastel dust.  time stood between us, as she  rambled words of  her husband lost;  who'd walked into