Some snippets from Portia’s Bread and Roses page.
On a Winter Night.
on a winter night
a loud squealing noise
nowhere to be seen
darkness and confusion
first whispering, then screaming
gently disentangling
a result of a bureaucratic mishap.
breathing in the quiet, frosty air
we were waiting outside
a vision or a nightmare
with a fairy-tale lustre
like Stone Age turds
cured in a barrel
not a far-fetched statement
not to be too fussy.
the ridiculous plot thickens
a naval exercise gone wrong
an unnamed hostile foreign power
unspeakable things
with the icy blue fire
glowing amidst its smoke
purposefully meant to distract.
I was standing against the window
I work as a freelance translator
the censors didn't notice
it was snowing heavily by then.
I went out in search of the truth
the existence of which nobody seemed to believe in
they didn’t talk to you but talked down to you.
walking around town with snow shovels after the storm
nostalgic for pen and paper
all wrapped up in self-pity
I’m not being judgmental, just a tad annoyed.
lost in a maze of narrow corridors
in both physical and mental senses
if you catch my drift
all the time wasted during my misadventures
to make discoveries, by accident and sagacity
to be able to understand more deeply
the only linear path is the one from the cradle to the grave
harsh but true
as if that wasn’t bad enough
it is way more complex than this
so much to ponder
I'll spare you the details about the misery I had to endure.
Oh my, Cecil, this is a delightful pastiche/homage/parody, thank you so much! Well, I guess I can call myself a real writer now. And you managed to make something new of it all, well done!