Sunday, February 10, 2013

A Flash Fiction Piece About Poetry.

Been writing A Lot lately, heavy stuff, mostly.  Dark, often grim, dread-filled and more; the usual.  Cheerful stuff for the lover of fiction that does not flinch.  Amidst this, though, little breaks are taken. A couple flash pieces, some poetry.  And something like the following, a flash piece dealing with poetry...and a whole lot more.  Light fantasy, yet with a positive message.  Funny, the last short story I completed, "Where the Light Won't Find You," all 5,800 words of it, also ended up in a positive place; well, for the most part.  After monstrous things happened.  What?  No, not getting mellow, one simply must allow the stories to take their own paths, and if something somewhat positive is the result, well, let it be.  I mean, somebody can die a strange, horrible death in the next story.  Anyway, there's the Vampire-related novel in progress that has a balance of black humor and a Dark Soul that probably demands I step away from it on occasion and write, well, whatever comes up, which might be something with less weight but no less depth.  Especially if you pay attention.  Like with this piece, called, "Wake Up!"  My Love, Alessandra, had mentioned receiving a magnet with poetry on it.  I took that and ran with it.  Sure, it's less than 400 words, but I think it works.



Wake Up!
by John Claude Smith

Every morning for the last two weeks, Carina would wake up and eagerly walk into her kitchen, to read a new poem.  They were posted on her refrigerator, scribbled on however many post-it notes were necessary to include all of the words within the poem.  At first she was surprised; after all, she lived alone.  But after it happened for a few days, it became a reason to get up amid the hardships of a life gone off the rails.  Once she had wanted to be a writer, a poet.  But life dug in its heels and stole that dream.  The days now were long and uninspiring.  But with the inception of the daily poems, a spark of joy had been lit.  That’s why, when she woke up and practically sprinted to the refrigerator this bright, early Saturday morning, a day off from the senseless drudgery and mindless drivel that was work, she was saddened to see no poem posted.  Sorrow washed over her.  She spent the day in a haze, wondering from whence the poems had come, and if they would continue tomorrow.  They had to.  But when she got up Sunday morning and there was again no poem, tears stained her eyes.  This magical event that had touched her life…it seemed now it was gone forever.  Then she thought to herself—no.  It doesn’t have to end this way.  Poetry should be a regular part of her day.  After all, she had once wanted to be a writer, a poet.  She went to her computer desk and grabbed a pen and a pad of paper.  She boiled some water as she paced, making coffee.  She glanced at the pad and pen on her kitchen table, wary but wondering.  The mug warmed her fingers to the task as she sat down and picked up the pen, pressing it firmly to the paper.  Words flowed, life sighed in appreciation.  The spark became a flame, one she promised to stoke every day.  After all, if she didn’t write the poems within her, who else would? 

There ya go!  Actually, truth be told, that was written in about 2-3 minutes soon after she had mentioned the poetry magnet, tweaked slightly thereafter.  I said, hey, what if somebody woke up every morning and there was a new poem on their refrigerator?  This was after making a reference to Refrigerator Poetry and so forth and so on and ran with it.  Odd how the brain works, what triggers it to create, eh?  
More Dark stuff next time, I expect.  Or...talking about the Art of Reading, something close to my heart but in what way?  Hmmm...

Now, though, about ready to dig into something gruesome and surreal.  I think it's called, "The Lumper."  Don't ask...ahem...