January 09, 2012
THREE PIECES BY RORY CAMPBELL
Old Jazz
The bus creaked as it traveled on the country road, the rain hit hard off the window. The forest above was dark as the sun disappeared behind the high trees. I sank in my chair being rocked back and forth, side to side as the bus traveled, I slurped out of my bottle of suppressed dreams, and looked down the aisle of the bus, it was empty only the muffled noise of an old radio leaked out from the drivers cabin. Crackled old jazz soothed my mind as I glanced back at the window, as I relaxed and felt slumber overcome me, the radio fell silent and I slept through.
Lovers Last Journey
They journeyed through dark wood their hands intertwined past the twisted old hangman’s tree and through the maze of broken dreams and fallen wells.
He looked at her and she him, he reached out and clasped her hand they fell into a bed of fallen brown leaves. The sun disappeared and the bright moon shone a silver glow illuminating their love and casting off dark nightmares. There they lay no words spoke no signs of life never to move again/blood soaked footprints danced a jig away from the lovers.
Nature’s Gift
There once lived a lonely man, he isolated himself in a dark shack perched on a field of rotten ground. He grudged the peace in others and wished to be free of their company, so he ventured to this shack and ventured no more, his ill spent time of previous life haunted him and he felt cheated by life and was natures twisted joke a relic of a time of his own creation. This lonely man would see beauty but not in others only in the calmness of nature where harsh judging eyes would not fall upon him and he would rejoice in its effortless beauty.
The slow trickling stream would be his song and the trees, grass and all the creatures of the three his counterparts and confidants. On these sparse occasions life’s memories would loosen their grip letting him enjoy moments peace from minds continuous deprived thought which so ages and confused the lonely man.
Through these moments sun would fill all and the coldness of winters kiss would lift and the stranger would emerge from the man mimicking the caterpillar’s transformation to flight and elegant stance. He would ponder more and wander for hours content for however brief a time in his self, And when the sun’s glow faded to red dusk and its brother the moon would be too faded yet to show his face fully, he would slowly marvel at natures gift to lovers and meander silently through the solitary road back to his bleak shack and the steady darkness would once again fill the lonely man and he would be as same.
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