A Hollow Place

I am far from

Hollow,

But it's a little

Empty in my head.

Nothing in

The attic but

Dusty albums,

Notebooks

and Cobwebs.

My eyes are

Windows in

Need of cleaning,

And my hollow

Thoughts give

Spiders

Something

To read.

Reviews

[Gypsy Dreamweaver]

A nice piece. The attic is filled with dusty albums that would seem to contain photos of a full life, the notebooks I see as journals or diaries telling of a life rich in memories backed up by the photos. The spiders are the lucky ones here benefitting from the experiences living between the pages.

[ZeeArsonist]

This imagery is so familiar. I think as writers, we feel so much. we have these phantom limbs of ideas, rhythms. contents need to be handled just so. for fear of access denied. the flower that falls apart as soon as you touch it, extraction failure. I like the idea of this spider quite a bit. Makes me think, "well if i can't figure out what to do with these inaccessible things, maybe this spider will make something of it." comrades. Also there is an excellent short story author that you might like. Stanley Donwood.

Lachrymose- By Stanley Donwood
My life was dust in a sunlit stairwell; tiny fragments of things that were no longer there, floating aimlessly, sinking slowly. I shared my room with a fly that moved erratically round the light-bulb. I copied its movements into a notepad, hoping that they would spell out letters, words, sentences. And that there might be some meaning there.
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- last
Nothing, I thought. The fly lived in my room all summer and never said anything useful. Just round and round the lightbulb. Every day. It never seemed to rest, or eat. Maybe it slept when I slept. I didn't know much about that. It doesn't do to think too hard about sleep. Or love, or hunger. Some things get easier with thought, like mathematics. But other things are best left alone. Just going round and round.
I wanted to be like a piece of music played on a piano in a circular room at the top of a tower. When I looked out of the window I wanted to see a rolling pine forest stretching to the horizon. The truth was that my music sounded like traffic and my view was of a wall five metres distant.
Tear Wine.
4 1/2 litres (8 pints) tears
1kg (2 1/4 lb) white sugar
Juice of 2 lemons
General purpose yeast
Boil the tears as soon as possible after crying as they can very easily sour. Add the sugar to the boiling tears. Add the lemon juice. Start the yeast in a glass. Leave the tear mixture to cool to blood heat, then add the started yeast. Leave to ferment in a darkened room for three days then strain off into a 4.5 litre (1 gallon) jar and seal with an airlock. Bottle, cork and store when fermentation ceases. This wine may be drunk after a month but it is even better after six months.
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[Saint No-One]

Thank you for the review :) and I really did enjoy the short story.

[Firefly]

i really like this one, you are slowly becoming my favourite writer on this, i look forward to your new work.

[Emily B]

folks are always a little confounded when i stop to move a spider that is bound for the death squad, no reason to squish them just because they came within view

i wonder of all the books in my house, which the spiders enjoy most . . .

[RyanXIII]

Its like a mind full of lost hopes and dreams, a writer or somesort of artist, failled and never to be noticed or appreciated again... touching.

[lyss]

:)