Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Poetry Wednesday 23 Oct 13

Toxic Vision

by Patrick Loafman

Clouds, steel gray as the sides of salmon, brushed themselves
against the swollen bellies of mountains, and the full moon fell
into the river and sizzled.

Then I was hiking somewhere upriver to where bearded old men
become spruce trees, until everything became too vivid
and I collapsed, falling to the skin of the earth, my head rattling
the bells of chocolate lilies, their tongues oozing nectar into my ear.

Beneath the bitter umbrellas of oxalis, I could see stardust and red mites.
Moss braided itself into a green rope, and I climbed further down this toxic
vision, turning glistening pages of liverworts, shattered wings of cicadas,
searching the undersides of the smallest leaves for a window or a mirror.

I kept descending down this green rope into smaller and smaller forests,
into the gray tangle of mycelia. Maybe, I imagined, this is death’s journey,
to enter the earth’s pores like water.

Patrick Loafman is an author, wildlife biologist and artist.  This poem is adapted from a paragraph from his new novel Somewhere Upriver.  Read more about his novel, see his gourd art and watch videos of him playing gourd musical instruments at

Monday, October 21, 2013

A Letter Home

Characterization exercise for my work-in-progress space opera, Where Pirates Go to Die.


I don't know if you'll ever read this.  Had to write anyway.  Seems like something a good son should do.

I'm sure you're wondering how good of a son I actually am.  I know I disappointed you and Dad, and for that I am terribly sorry.

You never got to hear my side of the story.  The one where I claim my innocence.  Flyers ripped me from the interplanetary transport.  Without warning was the way they wanted it.

They wouldn't let me correspond while I was incarcerated.  Not that being on this ship is any less of a prison.  But, at least I have some sort of future.  It's not the future you and dad wanted for me.  I'll never be able to go back to that life.

There are a lot of things I will never be able to do again.  I have accepted that fact.  That doesn't mean that I don't miss you or my work, however trivial it seems now.

If this reaches you, I hope it reaches you well.  Destiny is taking me another way.  I don't know what I did to deserve this, but perhaps this is what I need to do.

All my love,