imaginary friend

WANTED

Kind owner for a pleasing plaid flamingo.

This flamingo is well traveled and well behaved.

He enjoys trying to camouflage as one of your shirts in your closet and riding on the back of your bike. He also enjoys a good game of go-fish.

The only reason I must find a new home for this pleasant flamingo is because I’m moving away to college. Growing up. But I am hoping to find another child who could love him as much as I have. If you are interested please write a note to:

Kelly Mardy

P.O. Box 2598

Huffington, IL

Closure (For May 26 & 27)

I guess it all started the day you said hi to me. Isn't that how all these funny life experiences start?
I found your lisp more attractive than naught.
Little by little every minuscule spot in my heart was filled up with thoughts and feelings towards and of you.
It was funny how everything played out. In fact, it kind of went down like I imagined a fairy tale would.
I became lost in a strange feeling I couldn't quite describe. Yet, while I was stumbling over words, you knew exactly how you felt.
So you left. I can't say I blame you, either.
But, I have my heart back now, you know.
 -
My hands hover over the keyboard. This is it. This is the last line to the closing letter of this friendship. How can I tell you that I'm thankful for the hurt? How can I tell you I'm stronger now than I've ever been? How can I tell you, you made my happier times happier because of the tears and the heartache?
-

And even though, our "us" didn't work out, I know that what I’ve dreamed of having my entire life, a prince who will make me feel beautiful and special, he’s out there.

I just have to wait.

and I hope, I really really hope, you find your princess.

Promised Land

Here in the darkness under an enemy roof

I close my eyes and shudder

I’ve seen the truth exposed.

Didn’t they promise a haven? Refuge beyond the perimeter?

Isn’t that why I came here, with this ticking weight strapped to my chest?

But where is the sun?

the green grass?

this land of milk and honey?

I see through slatted windows a wasteland stretching on and on forever.

Clear skies and birdsong vanish in the dust.

It’s the death of the sun.

Their last deception.

No more false assumptions

I do this, I die, and it ends.

Just like that.

Dawn and Dusk

I’ll see you in the morning dawn, my love

When day is breaking over the horizon

When the morning dew is falling, cool and clean

When the moon begins to hide her face

Afraid of the sun

Or perhaps just playing hard to get

I’ll see you in the evening dusk, my love

When day is dying at the edge of the world

When the heat is fading, baked and dry

When the sun begins to run away

Afraid of the moon

Or perhaps chasing her around the world again

And I’ll not hide my face from you, my love

Alarm (for 5.28.2013)

They ignore me.

They persistently ignore me.

They hate me.

Consistently thrown into the corner. 

It’s not my fault. I’m made the way I am.

Sure, my voice is annoying. 

But without me, you wouldn’t remember anything.

Sure I interrupt you when you are in your happiest moment. 

When you’re sleeping.

I’m sorry, alright?

They hate me. 

They throw my body across the room.

They slap me about til I’m quiet. 

Til not a sound comes out of me.

Yet day in and day out I’m here.

 Waiting for my time. 

Waiting to speak in that annoying voice you hate. 

somewhere in the grey

Even without colors, they were able to make us laugh and cry, these performers hidden in the grey scale. Even with all the power that color has these comedians and singers, news reporters and characters, conveyed their emotions and the emotions of others. Even though it was visually less intoxicating they still managed to captivate their audiences. And maybe the effect was even more acute without the added distractions of HD and surround sound. Maybe their personalities and stories were all the more vivid because of the simplicity.

Regardless, somewhere in the grey a whole lot of color was hiding.

on love, emotion, and commitment (a double drabble)

LOVE: A strong affection (a moderate feeling or emotion) for another arising out of kinship or personal ties. (Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

Would we demote love to this simple definition?

Love is not merely a strong affection; neither does it arise out of kinship or personal ties. For love is death to self (no moderate feeling would promote this) and it reaches far beyond those we will ever meet.

Only in the 4^th definition given by Merriam-Webster do we find something closer to a complete meaning.

LOVE: “an unselfish, loyal benevolent (marked by or disposed to doing good) concern for the good of another.”

This, more or less, is love; concern for another despite personal desires, despite fickle feelings. It is everlasting; it is binding.

But again, it is so much more. It is an emotion that feels fiery passion, but is not driven by this unpredictable force; rather it is driven by the desire for good in another, a desire for hope, and peace for another even at the cost of your own happiness. But even more importantly it is the action upon this drive.

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13 (ESV)

regarding you {forever and always}

On spring twilights I’d like to go dancing in a parking lot.

On summer evenings I’d like to sit and watch the sunset and hold your hand.

On autumn afternoons I’d like to jump in some crunchy leaf piles with you.

On winter mornings I’d like to cuddle next to you and sip a not-too-hot mocha.

And when the storms come and when the darkness falls I’ll be forever truly yours.

And when the sun shines and when the mist rises, I’ll stand here next to you.

Because in every season, on every day I’d like to be with you.

photography

There is such satisfaction in capturing light on mirrors, turning something three-dimensional into electronic pixels. It’s tactile—cool LCD screen pressed against my nose, smooth shutter release button, hands wrapped around the textured plastic grips; it’s auditory—pressure against the shutter relaying a crisp, two-toned snap; it’s olfactory—inhale, exhale, pause, click; it’s visual—looking through the viewfinder, capturing moment for memory; it’s even gustatory—saliva and tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth, teeth clenched, as I pause everything to preserve this moment. It’s a complete activity, this thing called photography, engaging all senses, body, mind, and soul.

A Heartless Winter (for May 28 and 29)

The winter is here again.

The faceless cold that steals children from their mother’s sides, that brings disease, and death. And the snow. The snow that leads the trappers astray. The swirling, plunging, cold, blinding snow. It freezes limbs. It blinds all who try to venture out in it. There is no pity from the wind here, no hope to be spared from another cruel winter. A mother can only pray her children be spared from the harshness of winter and the snow does not lead their husband to death while he is checking the traps he so carefully laid.

---

The snow swirls outside the window. Brightly burning candles illuminate the bedside where a mother is sitting. Her children lay on the bed, snuggled together for warmth. A faint whimper draws her attention to the cradle by the fire of the one room house. She knows it is dangerous for a babe in a winter such as this. She rocks her infant son to quite his cries and prays a mother’s prayer that her baby survive the winter, her older two children remain healthy, and the snow not lead her husband to death while he is out checking their traps. 

a fan letter

Dear Harold,

I watched your show the last night and I just wanted to add my well wishes to everyone else’s and say a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY! It is so awesome that you are now the oldest living avocado. I mean wow! A whole century is a long time for anyone to live—let alone an avocado. I love hearing your life stories—you’ve lived through so much. I especially like the ones about your wife and how you survived the wars. So inspiring!! I hope someday I can have as many amazing stories as you!

Sincerely,

An Adoring Fan

I Don't Understand

Here in the darkness under an enemy roof

With death strapped to my chest beneath this uniform

Surrounded by a hundred perfect copies of me

Same green eyes, same radiation suit

Same kind of man with a past just like mine.

What turned you into murderers?

Was it when you were stolen from the fire?

or back when the sky first burned and the law burned with it?

or when they melted you and turned you into captives?

Is that why you hunt us?

Or is it for the very same reason that I’ve come here to kill you tonight.

Sixty Years

They were celebrating sixty years of marriage that day in the park, complete with cake and ice cream and great-grandchildren.  The sunbeams filtered onto the partygoers, spotted and speckled, light and shadow.

They smiled at each other, over the heads of their family members, gaze meeting in the middle, softening their worn faces and crinkling the corners of their eyes. And he walked over to her, cane supporting his slow movements.

His hand was spotted with age. Hers were bent and twisted with arthritis. But they clasped them together. And they were young newlyweds again. And love made them beautiful. 

Social Justice

       “We must do this for the poor,” you say. When have you ever encountered the poor without a look of disgust, without a complaint afterwards? “I can’t believe they let homeless people on the trains!” you say. Who is “they?” The same people you expect to take care of the poor so you don’t have to dirty your hands?

       That gentleman who had the audacity to sit near you? Did you ask him if he’s eaten today? Would you offer him the cheeseburger you bought to treat yourself after a long day walking in the city?

Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite.

Fool's Errand

I’m dressed in my enemy’s uniform. Trying not to think about how long it took to peel the dead man’s flesh from this radiation suit. Or about how green will be the last I ever see.

Am I a fool?

Absolutely.

But this whole life has been a fool’s game without ever an end in sight.

Until now.

And damn if I don’t do my all to keep it.

But there’s one thing I can’t get out of my head, something digging deeper.

Just one bomb. One sacrificed life. Then everyone’s  free.

It all just seems a little too…

simple.