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fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.

Archive for the category “NaBloPoMo”

boots

hide and seek

A spontaneous game of hide and seek between an alley and a vacant lot. In a bold moment of childlike faith, two kids hid themselves in plain sight, behind a weather-worn For Lease sign.

In case you wondered, at the end of the game, they weren’t “it”.

because

NaBloPoMo 2018 will be (for me) a combination of Instagram-friendly posts… of short poems and square photos… in anticipation of an entirely new direction for 2019. This month, I will also be giving details on my very soon forthcoming third book, Mourning Person, and any other really nifty information on what’s new with our publishing house, Silver Star Laboratory.

I’m glad you’re here. See you tomorrow.

Bill

November Is No More

today pic

November is no more.

The frenzy.  The confusion.  The push to the finish.

(and that’s just when you’re sleeping)

Every day a panic where there need be none, all because of a looming, self-imposed midnight deadline that causes content anxiety in the most honored of bloggers.  And gives all wannabe bloggers the only reason they need to disengage from all social media until after the New Year.

So before I go off into blogging witness protection for the next month, here’s a little recap of the November that was.

NaBloPoMo 2016.

 

Where most of my good ideas came from…

urban-lumberjack

 

Where most of my bad ideas came from…

bed

 

My most favorite post…

There Must Be Something More

more

 

Your most favorite post…

Shitheap

 

img_1482

 

The reason I quit every year…

typewriter-bleed

 

The reason I don’t…

cheer-peppers

 

Thank you to the Cheer Peppers, and thank you to their creator, Ra Avis…

ra-avis

 

And as much as it pains me to say this here and now…

I’ll see all of you here again, next year.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

There Must Be Something More

more

There must be something more

than what is right in front of us. 

More than your next meal,

next crap,

next fuck. 

More than work,

more than the distractions of play. 

Traffic,

or unpaid overtime. 

Frozen dinners from Trader Joe’s,

or Wild Turkey on the rocks

to help you sleep at night. 

 

There must be something more

than what fights so hard for your attention. 

Bingeing on shows in a weekend

because you are too tired most nights

to watch just one episode at a time. 

And chasing,

always chasing whatever it is

you think will fill the hole,

complete the puzzle,

satisfy that unspoken need. 

But it isn’t really there,

because it doesn’t know your name. 

 

There must be something more

than what you’ve been told. 

More than what you haven’t been told,

or even dreamed with your

last moments of sleep before

you get up and do the same things

all over again,

until the day you can’t. 

Because you died sooner than

you were led to believe was possible. 

 

There must be something more

than what never satisfies,

always leaves you longing

or reminiscing,

or grieving.

And I would tell you what it is, 

but it doesn’t know my name either.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

The Interview

interview

 

Question:

“Why do you write?”

Answer:

“So people will cry.  Because, see… I don’t cry.  About anything.  A tear.  Maybe.  The kind that gets caught in the corner of your eye, and never escapes.  I write so others can feel what I can’t.”

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

 

*for the full text of “The Interview” click here to visit the wonderful blog from David Ellis, Too Full to Write.

Happy Birthday

happy-birthday-jpg

Happy Birthday,

Baby! 

I thought of you,

today. 

I surprised myself,

because I even got the date right. 

I pictured you having a good time,

then,

I pictured you

fucking some guy

I will never know the name of. 

Finally,

I thought,

you deserve it.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Post Office

mail

Hank had his post office,

and I have my warehouse. 

Dismal places,

on graveyard shifts together,

a generation apart. 

We also both had San Pedro. 

We both got out. 

One of us dead,

the other dying. 

Because we all die a little,

every day. 

Some of us are just better at it

than others.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Fuck the Future

fuck-the-future-jpg

A day for reflection,

about the past,

sure,

but more about the present. 

I am loved,

and I am hated. 

That doesn’t make me special,

just human. 

All that matters to me now is,

who is doing the loving,

and who is doing the hating. 

And fuck the future,

until tomorrow.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Black Friday

crows

Tell me what

a bluebird looks like.

Crows,

I’ve seen.

I take them home,

every night,

in dreams.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

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