Weekly Writing Challenge: As Easy as Pie

HeartCore

by: RS Jacobs (c)

My heart is wood, your heart is fire;

You are burning up all that I am.

But sizzling like a side of ham,

I am consumed by your heart’s pyre.

My heart is paint, your heart is rain;

You make me feel I should run away.

But splattering like I am wet clay,

I find a way to bear the pain.

My heart is earth, your heart’s a tree;

Your roots dig in to the softest place.

But standing tall like a mountain face,

I hold the roots you’ve given me.

My heart is flesh, your heart’s a blade;

You tear me up into bloody bits.

But stretching out like an eagle’s wings,

I guard you as a scabbard made.

wings, bird, flying bird, falcon

Your heart is strong, but I still move;

I will fight flame and will water part.

And searching for the key to your heart,

You’ve shown me what I have to prove.

I will break, I will bend, and change my ways,

If I may have that heart one of these days.

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Take the challenge! http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/weekly-writing-challenge-metaphor-and-similie/

Death’s Court

–by: R S Jacobs

The ashen soil is littered with broken, discarded hilts.
The earth and stone are spattered with darkened, disheartened stains.
Blood-scarlet moonlight descends as arrows cease their falling.
No lofty goal is fought for; all herein indulging guilt.
Each of us fights our battles all alone; surviving pain.
But I am still here, resolved, to finish this damned calling.tomb, stone tomb, underground tomb, tomb of the kings, Cyprus, Paphos

I fight alone
I fight alone
No allies, no support
I stand alone
I stand alone
No backup, no cohort
This is my own
This is my own
My audience – death’s court.

When the battle began, I thought I had an army.
I stood a chance, I could prevail, with them on my side.
Evil would fall, victory won, the day would be mine.
But this force was beset with lies; they would betray me.
And those who stayed were not enough; each one turned aside
For their interests prevailed, and mine were just left behind.

I live alone
I live alone
No loving, no good night
I die alone
I die alone
No gravestone, only spite
This is my own
This is my own
My audience – death’s court.

I fight alone
No allies, no support
I stand alone
No backup, no cohort
I live alone
No loving, no good night
I die alone
No gravestone, only spite
This is my own…

My audience – death’s court.

Naru’s Last Moments — An Excerpt

Prologue

Deep blue light was cast over all the rough rocks and sand of the sweeping desert plain, by a slowly setting blue sun. In that sunset desert, sunset, Fujairah sunrise, Fujairah sunset, beach sunrise, beach sunset, blue sunrise, blue sunsetthere stood an imposing figure, one with black smoky skin, the smoky texture of which seem to swirl around a dim red light. His eyes, as the build of this creature suggested it was male, were glowing yellow with in black slits for pupils.  Ragged grey hairs jutted from its ashen scalp in every direction, frayed and twisted with age.  Hidden just underneath this bird’s nest of hair were the points of two small horns barely jutting out from the creature’s head. Despite horns and these unusual features, he stood on two feet. From the creature’s back, long wavering shadows, like tattered cloth, waved in the wind from their mooring place on its shoulders.

In his cruel red claws, the creature held a grim black bow made of bone and the branches of some long dead tree. With its other hand, the creature reached for a quiver on its hip, selected a long black shaft with crimson feathers and a nasty looking barb on the tip, and knocked the arrow. He drew it to sight the target, and let fly.

isms

man looking out window, man alone, museum, man thinkingR. S. Jacobisms:

 

Life, at times, is about losing what you value, and gaining an appreciation for the value of what you still have.

 

What you seek will come to you in time. What you run from will find you quickly.

 

I take a step forward, in faith that I will take another, and not take my next one back. Here’s to progress, and to finding joy no matter what.

Ghosts of the Past

by: RS Jacobs

See, up there in the window —window, window through trees, middle east house

Looks just like a smudge or smoke.

I tell you, it’s a girl, though.

I mean it, guys! There’s no joke.

She is up there watching me

From her old wooden confines.

I think that the past plays host

To some kind of freaky ghost!

She was born in a dark place —

Chased by a death-pale monster

With lots of teeth in its face.

She fled; he could not find her.

One friend she had; went too far.

Then when he left, she gave up.

Now his roommate’s room plays host

To her joyous, hating ghost!

She came from a broken home —

All who lived there don’t belong.

She wrote life in many tomes,

Even if she wrote it wrong.

Though he tried to help her write,

All he did was tear the page.

Now his mobile home plays host

To her quiet, screaming ghost!

She had lived a hard-knock life —

Good was bad things in disguise.

Her mind grew fast to take strife,

And her heart strong through demise.

He dared to enter this fray

To become the friend she needs.

Will his deepest soul play host

To a third surviving ghost?

I’m warning you, my dear friends:

We should all get moving fast.

Lest we should each meet our end

And become ghosts of the past!

Finding My Oasis

By: RS Jacobs (c)2012

desert, sand, dunes, sand dunes,

Like waves washing up on shore;

Like snow falling on the peaks;

Like the sand in an hourglass;

Of them all, you mean much more.

As time flies in days and weeks,

I think of you — the hard times pass.

Every time we speak, it’s like a wave came in,island, snoopy island, beach, shore, waves, snorkeling

And you rode it to me, stranded on the shore.

I know my luck. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.

Yet each wave brings you back, again and again,

And each time one crashes in, I thirst for more.

If I’m asleep, then I want to keep dreaming.

winter, trees, snowy trees, snow on ground, woods, forest, winter wonderlandEach time I see you, it’s like winter’s first snow

That had fallen last night in white drifts and peaks.

I check my eyes. The month’s not even July.

But the snow keeps falling, and that’s when I know,

That when the snow melts and it stays gone for weeks,

The next chance to see your face will make time fly.

When you’re not around, life is like desert sand —oasis, wadi, palm trees, creek, hills, mountain, desert stream

Hot and abrasive and going nowhere fast.

I grit my teeth. It’s been days since I’ve seen grass.

You’re an oasis: life puts you in demand.

When you are back with me, the sandstorm has passed.

Finding you has put an end to the hourglass.

For Want of Magic Thread

In A Dream (For Want Of Magic Thread)[1]

by: RS Jacobs

I dream of what I have never witnessed,

Such dreams as I have not heard of before;

A world where I may shoot flame from my fist,

Or else one of pure light and bright color.

elephant painting, tree painting, art, paintingI fly adorned in light angel’s plumage,

Then fall into Dante’s circles of doom.[2]

My mind then shifts to twisted homage,

With my rich crop caught in temptress’ vile loom.[3]

Beasts hide in my mind to cruelly conspire;

Will I from this nightmare ever egress?

If I cannot escape this foul mind’s mire,

Then I will not ever in life progress.

If all is as my mind makes these things seem,

I have great doubt I will escape this dream.

–RSJacobs 2011


[1] This is a reference to the story of Theseus and Ariadne, in which Theseus must navigate Daedalus’ labyrinth to slay the Minotaur, then find his way out. Daedalus built the labyrinth so confusingly that he himself nearly failed to escape. When Theseus was challenged to this daunting task, Ariadne gave him a skein of enchanted thread that would show him the way out.

[2] Dante Alighieri, writer of the Divine Comedy – Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise. In the story of Inferno, Dante travels through the Nine Circles of Hell.

[3] This refers to the Biblical story of Samson and Delilah, in which Delilah wished to know the source of Samson’s supernatural strength and how to remove that power. Samson lied to her, saying that weaving his hair into a loom would drain him of all his strength.