Anchovy Paste (some like it)

 

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Survive

A short story composed without the assistance of the humble letter ‘A’

I slowly pulled my fingers through the golden flower. Intrigued, I noticed droplets of liquid forming on my fingertips. I stuffed my fingers into my mouth. The sweetness flowed over my tongue.
If this is how to survive in the bush, I think I will be fine.
Things took unlikely turns from this point. “Try this” my instructor grunted. He gently pulled white worms from the split bowl of the tree. My bowels fired. I’m not going to keep this down.
It got progressively worse. Things with legs, things without legs, more with legs, forced upon me.
But I survived!
My pride in completing the course is only outweighed by this complete conviction – If I lose myself in the bush, I will only ever consume the flowers.

Musings (construction, reconstruction and perception)

Does the sun rise for me,

Or am I rushing to greet it?

Does the moon forget to touch me

As she slips below the horizon,

Or have I simply failed to watch anymore?

Does a friend slight me,

Or do I fail to understand his pain?

Does a relationship turn sour,

Or was there nothing there to begin with?

Does the old soldier sip quietly on a rum

Because he needs the drink,

Or does he salute dead mates?

Is life a construction site,

or a constant reconstruction site?

.

.

.

I’m not sure…

Renew

I cut off my hair –

No power did I divest.

No fear walking the tiger’s lair.

 

Not a head was turned,

As I wander through the rest.

No power the fiend – renounced.

 

My heart had been tempered –

Still it hammers in my chest,

The loss freshly remembered.

 

One hand reached out

Reviving only the best.

My heart began to shout –

 

All doubt washed aside,

My mind held no great contest –

True friends will always abide.

Living Colour

 

I live in colour

I came into this world blind

I’ll leave knowing peace