6
" Carpe Diem
By Edna Stewart
Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman did it, why can't I?
The words of Horace, his laconic phrase. Does it amuse me or frighten me?
Does it rub salt in an old wound? Horace, Shakespeare, Robert Frost and Walt Whitman my loves,
we've all had a taste of the devils carpe of forbidden food.
My belly is full of mourning over life mishaps of should have's, missed pleasure, and why was I ever born?
The leaf falls from the trees from which it was born in and cascade down like a feather that tumbles and toil in the wind.
One gush! It blows away. It’s trampled, raked, burned and finally turns to ashes which fades away like the leaves of grass.
Did Horace get it right? Trust in nothing?
The shortness of Life is seventy years, Robert Frost and Whitman bared more, but Shakespeare did not.
Butterflies of Curiosities allures me more.
Man is mortal, the fruit is ripe. Seize more my darling!
Enjoy the day. "
― Edna Stewart , The Call of the Christmas Pecan Tree
12
" The world,’ he said, ‘grows hourly more and more sceptical of all that lies beyond its own narrow radius; and our men of science foster the fatal tendency. They condemn as fable all that resists experiment. They reject as false all that cannot be brought to the test of the laboratory or the dissecting-room. Against what superstition have they waged so long and obstinate a war, as against the belief of apparitions? And yet what superstition has maintained its hold upon the minds of men so long and so firmly? Show me any fact in physics, in history, in archaeology, which is supported by testimony so wide and so various. Attested by all races of men, in all ages, and in all climates, by the soberest sages of antiquity, by the rudest savage of today, by the Christian, the Pagan, the Pantheist, the Materialist, this phenomenon is treated as a nursery tale by the philosophers of our century. Circumstantial evidence weighs with them as a feather in the balance. The comparison of causes with effects, however valuable in physical science, is put aside as worthless and unreliable. The evidence of competent witnesses, however conclusive in a court of justice, counts for nothing. He who pauses before he pronounces is condemned as a trifler. He who believes, is a dreamer or a fool. "
― Amelia B. Edwards , The Phantom Coach: Collected Ghost Stories
13
" A bout of nerves crept up my spine and I tilted my head at him, hoping I was imagining the heat spreading over my cheeks to spare myself the embarrassment of blushing merely because he was piercing me with those chocolate eyes that I had never noticed were so amazing. “What are you staring at?”
“Can I take you to prom?” He asked me. Just like that, no hesitation or insecurity to be found in his tone or facial expression. His confidence caught me completely off guard and I gaped at him in a stunned silence for almost twenty full seconds. His expression never faltered, though. He just watched my mouth work to make some sort of intelligible sound, waiting for my answer as he oozes at least the illusion of complete calm.
“Huh?” I blurted in an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak. I sounded like a chipmunk and his smirk made me turn a deep shade of red. “Um… Uh… Prom?” I managed, eloquent as ever.
He laughed at me fondly, nodding his head. “Yeah, prom.”
Shock was not a deep enough word to describe what I was feeling over this proposal. This was Jim, the kid who swore up and down he would rather gouge out his eyes with a grapefruit spoon than put on dress clothes and he was offering to take me to a place where flannel shirts and ratty jeans were unacceptable and dance me around a room in uncomfortable shoes all night long? This couldn’t be real life.
But it was real life. I was sitting in the car with him with my mouth hanging open like a fish waiting for him to laugh and tell me he was kidding, that there was no way he was going to put on a tie for my benefit, and he was sitting right there, a slightly nervous look crossing his features over my dumbstruck expression. Breathe, Lizzie, I scolded myself. Answer him! Say yes!
You could have knocked me over with a feather and I was very relieved to be sitting down in a car so I could prevent anything humiliating from happening. Having already proved I could not trust my voice to answer him I jerkily nodded my head as my mouth grew into a Cheshire cat sized smile. I turned my face away and hid behind my hair as if I could hide my excitement from the world. Jim was visibly euphoric and that only made me want to squeal even more. He was excited to take me out. How cool was that? "
― Melissa Simmons , Best Thing I Never Had (Anthology)
14
" Breath (from the book Blue Bridge)
Whispering to myself
With every step I take,
Trying out names, for I know
There is something yet to be called …..
I know it, something up ahead
Just around the bend
Or over the rise –
A bird taking to the sky
From the edge of a jagged cliff –
A bird floating outwards
In silence ……. A silence
Waiting for a footstep
To crunch on stones,
For a voice to fling upward
Through sharp sunlight
With a name…… calling
Before the bird could call
Before the bird called.
Oh the bird was there alright
And sure it took flight
When it heard me approach
But it broke my heart
With a mighty croak!
So I’m sitting here playing
With a purple flower
Slender stem, no leaves
Purple fizz –
And it’s quiet again.
I am still
I am nothing
And the hill
Is a long, long slope
Down, down, down to the sea
Far below.
I could roll
I could run
I could scream
But I am nothing.
A cool wind blows
And the light is naked and nameless
And the rocks are faces of angels
And the bird in the sky wheels
And cries to forget the earth
And its ancient bones –
Oh, sensual pain –
Wings…. Wings…. Wings,
Singing wings.
If only I could begin
To describe the emptiness
Which fills me to the brim
With new breath
I might almost lose my name
And take instead a feather for my soul. "
― Jay Woodman