“he says, you’re beautiful…”


Where laughter lives…

Originally posted on Life Through Blue Eyes:

he says

he says,
“you’re beautiful”
I smile, letting it reach my eyes
but I don’t believe him
not for a minute
I think, his eyes are blind
from lust
from a euphoric fog
of satiety
from anything that prevents
him seeing what my eyes do…
no svelte lines here,
no smooth and unmarred visage
only renaissance flesh
and a face with lines
where laughter lives
he can’t be right
he’s high
or the wine
has clouded his judgement
he repeats, “you’re beautiful”
and I wonder if my mirror, mirror
on the wall
has been lying to me
all along

View original

#FiveSentenceFiction: Grief

Spadassin“I’d never kill anything living, unless it is a threat to you” he says to her with tenderness.

She looks at him: she believes, and yet she knows, she’s known him for so long.

“I avoid walking on insects, or even plants, I keep away from fearful animals…”

Her eyes take in the uniform, the weapons, the thin lips of a professional assassin: her sweet husband.

“When you die, I shall remember,” she says at last, “and my grief will be my companion , all the way to the gates of Hell.”


Visions from Hell, Paolo GirardiThe small bird was close to our window: her voice rose high and clear in the light mist shrouding the garden. She was celebrating life and the dawn of a new day, she was saying hope is alive, and look at me: I am small, but I am here, for God is great and I am a small spark of life in His Creation.

So the dark thoughts of the night were dissipated: the ugly sight of a vicious murderer, walking free from a court room, thanking the corrupt judge, and smiling to the hapless “world press”, the thousands of women and children massacred by powerful armies over five continents, the despair of seeing a once great nation protecting the greedy, the torturers, the hordes of trolls masquerading under the symbols of hate and death…

As I write I hesitate to turn on the news. For it is mostly lies and irrelevance. This is not a place for a writer to tread: and it is Sunday, which used to be a day of peace.

Then I think of the small bird: this is a new day, and somewhere the angels are smiling, ready to turn the Devil and his legions to ashes.

Image: Visions from Hell, Paolo Girardi

#DailyPrompt: Greetings, Stranger (ou la Beauté du Diable)

Honoré Daumier - The RescueGreetings… I recognise him straightaway, even before he spoke. This time it was not the pretty woman, but a handsome man, the latin, middle-aged type, careful haircut, immaculate shirt, evidently educated and well dressed. His French was impeccable.

He smile when he heard my name. I was determined to play along, for a little while. I replied that “looking for me” was not difficult: after all, I am a public figure. He asked if he could sit. “Be my guest” I said.

He’d overdone the aftershave: it’s always so, some details he cannot control, and the image is never all that convincing. We know he’s a fraud. For a few minutes we were silent, watching the crowds of late Summer, an endless flow of tourists and idle residents.

“You know,” he said, “I very much liked your last book.” “Which one,” I asked: “I have just published two!”

He did not blush, but I could sense his discomfort. “No worries,” I continued, “It’s a great concern for me, though, that you even find the time to read, you have been so busy lately…”

He looked at me , puzzled. “Yes, I said, killing children, bombing cities, raping girls, poisoning our atmosphere… How do you find time for anything else?”

But he had already left. Satan is a coward.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Darkness

Antonioni short film “Superstizione”The low growl of the city, and this feeble light that does not mean dawn: sleep has evaded me.

For I think of you: the multitude, you, who used to count for nothing, but now you do, and they know it.

The future belongs to you, a future full of light, full of hope.

The darkness, still to be defeated, grows weaker, and its cruelty more vicious, but you have much experience of that.

And so morning will come, chasing away the clouds, and the demons.

#VisDare 77: Precocious #WritersWednesday

PrecociousI see your little family, slowly following the narrow track on your journey,

And I admire you, your beautiful silhouette, the narrow shoulders, and baby Lama in her cot.

This is a long route, but you are safe, for, secretly, the mountains are protecting you.

Here, behind the clouds, there is no shelling, no bombs, no beating:

You have left this war far behind, and are making your way to a new world of Peace.


Also inspired by the tragedy in the Ukraine and Novorossiya

#Confession ~ #Bergmannkiez

Berlin 2014 | airfield TempelhofI ride to Gendarmenmarkt, and stop, leaning on my bike in front of the Französischer Dom.

You are there, talking to a friend; I stay silent, just watching, petrified lest I break that instant.

But you see me, smile: la beauté du diable…

We stay for a few minutes, chatting.

An old man sells bubbles bottles to the children, the late Summer air is still warm.

You have been working at the library nearby, I am riveted to your eyes, your lips.

We say hello to the friend, and start riding towards Kreuzberg – you know the city so well now.

In your street, we have a couple of beers at the pub, just in front of your door.

Then we walk to Italo, pushing the bikes. We both like this place.

The young waitress has eyes only for you (I don’t blame her), and messes up the order. You say: good food, but lamentable service. We laugh.

I fear the end of the evening, but you have much to do still.

Finally we finish the wine, on the pavement we hug.

You ride away, waving.

I feel like death.


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