Flash Fiction Friday #37: Une Nuit Dans Les Bois

fff#37: (inclusion) pair, pare, pear, peer, père, pier.

 “They just don’t respect us any more, Anansi. Hunters come and go as they please, and they don’t tell the stories like they used to. Ask the children who Papa Bois is and they think is some guava switch to jumbie them into behaving good in school!” His leafy beard rustled as he shook his head.

 “You complain, Bouchon, but at least they talk of you. You know who they replaced me with? That stinkin’ Brer Rabbit. A rabbit! What part of Anansi the Spider-man did they miss? Cho, thinking about all that foolishness have me irate. You have any pear to calm me down in this big old forest of yours Père Bois?”

 Pears?” Papa Bois asked in confusion. “I can’t really leave the forest in this condition.” He glanced to his pair of cloven feet.

 “Not dat kind of pear, man. Avocado pear, what unno call it around here? Zaboca.”

“Ah,” sounded Papa Bois. He snapped his fingers, and the two old men peered into the darkness of the woods. 

 The rotting leaves of the forest floor quieted the backward footsteps of the small childlike creature that delivered the dark green avocado to the pair. He tipped his brimmed hat at the gentlemen, then disappeared back into the thicket. Anansi gave an exaggerated shudder. “Dem douen always disturbed me. I don’t know how you take care of them.”

Papa Bois sighed. “I don’t like them either. And I leave the minding to Mama D’leau. They like the water anyway.”

He tossed a small hunting knife to Anansi, who caught it deftly and began to pare his avocado.

 “How did you get here anyway? Surely not by flying, I know you don’t like to go any higher than a coconut tree,” asked Papa Bois.

 “I have my ways,” said Anansi mysteriously, pausing for a moment, then laughing boisterously. “No, I came in by boat, then took a taxi in from the pier. And the taxi driver made sure I wasn’t going to hunt.” Anansi cleared his throat and continued in an impeccable Trinidadian accent, “Doh try an hunt out of season eh, ‘cause Papa Bois go well do fuh yuh. I had a breddren who-”

 “Yes, yes I know. He had a ‘breddren’ who I caught and punished,” interrupted Papa Bois with a chuckle.

 “You see Bouchon? They didn’t forget us completely yet. Now eat some zaboca and enjoy the night.” 

Flash Fiction Friday #36: Charisma

fff#36: (inclusion) paw, poor, pore, pour

It seeps out of your very pores,

What ever it is you’ve been blessed with,

You’ve been anointed with,

Your cup is overflowing with it,

And the poor fools that

Paw at your feet

Lap up the lagniappe that pours

From your chalice.

Call To Worship

The artist has no comment.

I come to your temple to worship,

I’m on my knees at the altar,

Give me the wine,

Let me taste your body.

I adore with word,

Thought

And deed,

Let my lips sing your praises.

Let me worship at your temple,

And when I call your name,

It will never be in vain.

Flash Fiction Friday #35: Rites Of Passage

First fff written for the new year. (not the first given eh... this one is a good 2 and half weeks old.... but it was hard to find something that wasn't dirty....)

fff#35: (inclusion) spank, drank, thank, stank, rank

 “Drink it nah boy!”

Jason hesitated. The clear liquid in the purple plastic cup stank. In fact, it smelled almost exactly like the methylated spirits his mother had used to clean his grazed knees last month. The same mother who would deliver the spanking, no, it was safe to say he would receive a cut-ass for this, if she found out what he was doing now.

 It all begun when Kwasi, the eldest of their group, decided, thanks to his older brother, that alcohol was what really separated boys from men. So the vodka had been borrowed from someone’s liquor cabinet, and Jason did his part by bringing the plastic cups he knew his mother wouldn’t miss.

 “Yuh ‘fraid or what?” someone goaded.

That was enough. Jason drank it down in one gulp to the whoops and hollers of his friends. The cup was refilled and passed to the next boy, and Jason was once more secure in their ranks, until some new stipulation of manhood was discovered.

Fruition

(Clearly i'm on a roll today! must be the no sleep).

The words form like fruit in the tree of the mind,

If left too long, the birds of distraction

Peck away, leaving only, and even then

Only perhaps, a husk to make more fertile grounds.

Pick it too soon and hope against hope

As you force it to ripen that comes out right,

But the skin is too green and the flavor is wrong,

Though sometimes you can catch it at

Just the right time, and nurture it in a

Paper bag, and when it is ready,

Even through the slight tartness,

You can barely tell the difference.

And sometimes, the fruit falls,

Perfect in it’s form, succulent in

Its cadence, from the tree of the

Mind, directly to the mouth.

Insomnia

They promised that insomnia

Would bring words

Like long awaited rain,

But instead it

Keeps you awake too late

With your distractions

And makes you miss your thoughts,

Then sleep long enough

For the days

To seem one.

Insomnia only brings

Diversions,

Frivolity

And agitation,

And when that

Wears you out,

A sleep too black

For thought to thrive.

Insomnia doesn’t bring rain;

It is the storm grey

Cloud that teases

And threatens,

Then flitters away

Whispering promises

To come another day.

Tricks

i'm really not amused. must this really be the theme of my first piece of the year? sigh. also, i've added a like button to all content. feel free to use :)

I know your secret.

You wait until the taste

Of you has 

All but faded

To spring forth

And remind me

That you’re still there,
To make sure
I never forget.

I know your trick,

But that doesn’t

Mean I don’t

Fall for it every time.