Tag Archives: relationships

Making Waves — a poem in free verse

Making Waves

Truth is something

You can’t always see.

A stone dropped

In an unconscious ocean,

A letter written

But never sent,

Pigtails mid-bounce

Caught on a jump rope.

Truth is the story told

To the sleeping child,

A shard piercing

Luminiferous ether.

Truth is in the silence between

A husband and wife.

Truth is disappointing lace.

Truth is 16 years.

Beetroot.

Coleslaw.

Tears.

Truth is a noxious gas;

Plague doctors with beak masks.

Truth circles Black holes,

It is dandelion fruits

On the air.

Truth is something you

Won’t

See

Here.

–AEW


ADO #5- Sunday Summer (Spenserian Sonnet)

Sunday Summer

Remember that day with us at the park,

When you bought me ice cream

And I traced our initials on tree bark?

Curled up on a tartan blanket, we schemed

Immortal pirates plotting timeless treasure map.

But all was not what it would seem;

The clock ticked on like a timed trap.

You sighed as you laid your head on my lap

Musing on sunlight stealing through leaves on my smile,

Our music the sound of children laughter on a rattletrap.

Your kisses and touch chaste all the while.

The hours languidly flowed into time.

That day is gone but you are still mine.

By AEW


ADO #4 Love Bite (A Spenserian Sonnet)

ADO #4 Love Bite (A Spenserian Sonnet)

The fun of one night,

A once-in-a-lifetime love

Came in the form of a bite,

Or other actions thereof.

What of your bruise, my turtledove,

Now we have been lost to time?

It seems a little sick, sort of,

That the memory was so sublime!

That night we broke a paradigm,

Freed ourselves from reality had been.

We escaped the weak pantomime

With something some would say was sin.

The bruise is healed. It’s all gone;

But our joy from the night lives on and on.

AEW


Frosted Out- A poem

 Frosted Out

My window is frosted in winter’s lace.

Keeping sun’s warmth right off my face,

(Your silence is worse than this frosty place)

To move is my only remedy.

I warm my hands at the fireplace

In hope to thaw out love’s entropy.

 

You ghosted me, you gave me space;

Most likely filled my empty place.

(Who fits the things in your drawer, the lace?)

O! These are not words of jealousy.

The attachment ripped where there is no trace

Since I always knew your inconsistency.

 

All friends show they are of two-face,

The one for me and the one that is base.

You keep my army in a black case

(and convicted to your own fallacy)

Deny you ever gave me chase.

I release our supposed synchronicity.

By A.E. Wallace


Of Level 20 Dragons and Goats- (excerpt)

wpid-img-20140601-wa0000.jpg

The room was filled with a coterie of game aficionados. They all had the same look about them—arrogant and unconcerned about mainstream subjects of fancy. Their blithe demeanour seemingly imbued the air with an ever-so-slightly-unwashed pong. Within the sea of black t-shirts, backpacks and beards, there were a few females attached here and there to some of the men who came out to the opening of the new shop called Games Afoot. Somewhere I could hear the spumescent sounds of a cappuccino maker. I made my way through the crowd to get a cup of coffee and to find Doug.

Doug had sent me a text earlier in the day that simply read: It’s the store opening tonight. She won’t be there. She’s gone. Please come. We had been friends for over twenty years so I cancelled my squash game, dug out my d20 t-shirt and headed out into town without question. It had been ages since I saw him.

I met Doug one summer in 1990 when a friend of a friend invited me to play D&D. Doug was someone’s cousin and was not originally invited to play but there had been a drop out and he was keen to learn something new having just moved to town. Within five minutes of rolling out our characters, I knew this guy would one day be best-man at my wedding—or at least talking about it. Over the years we would have a share of dips and peaks. Failures and successes in our everyday lives would never hold as much weight as to in-game minutes that siphoned off our realities. Everything we ever did revolved around table top games, dice, miniatures and complicated systems until the day we were forced to find ways to fund our paper and plastic addiction. We needed jobs. Doug got one in a pub and I decided to go to the University of Edinburgh.

Doug killed off my 10th level paladin in the summer of ’96 ceremoniously when my character, Khodin, fell to a level 20 dragon the night before I left for Uni. That dragon came up widdershins on our party and smoked me like a kipper. I remember being so angry with him that night. I had plans of going out on an epic storyline that would take me through my days at Edinburgh University. Instead, I sat there eating pizza and drinking ale as I watched as the other PCs rolled and devised and played through one of the best campaigns ever run.

Doug met Linda when I was at Uni. He would send me emails waxing lyrical about how she was the one and how he could not wait until I met her. I remember thinking she looked like some kind of a grimalkin curled up in his arms in the pictures he would email. I thought she was beautiful and cursed his luck. Over the months and years, he looked more and more like she did. He began wearing his hair like some kind of boy-band escapee and he looked more and more serious in his photographs. When I came home and finally met her, she surveyed me and it was obvious that I was not what she expected. I opened up my first ever conversation to her with memoirs of happy goats I encountered on my gap year in China. Her eyes scintillated with each new random topic I brought up and I thought things went well. But I never did get an invitation back to their place again. I would see Doug when she allowed it. I also inherited a lot of his old games and miniatures when they moved into their new place.

My friendship with Doug became more of an online, social network and Xbox one. He had become a businessman. He was even into politics. He had been in the local paper more than once and always with her by his side. As an academic, I could only read about him since I was not the kind that would travel in his circle. The greatest news he ever sent me was his announcement that he was opening a games store. He asked if I would be at the grand opening and I had given him my congratulations and regrets. I said that I had prior commitments but that I would send him a bottle of champagne and a box of ale. When I got his text message, I was all at once nonplussed and elated.

I walked up to him and he beamed at me.

“Mate!” he shouted.

“Hey! Are you ok?”

“I am now, matey,” he said. “Look at all this! This is great!”

“Ah, yes. I meant about Linda. When did she leave? I mean, when I got your message—well, I thought you were upset but you seem ok.”

“Linda. Yes. I’m afraid my relationship reached that level of effloresce that we all hoped would never come. But what did I expect, really. She was not into all this. I am surprised that she stayed with me as long as she did,” he said and raised his cappuccino in the air. “This was her idea. She wanted a barista. I wanted a games parlour. She wanted a business. I wanted a community.”

“She did not like this, I take it?”

“Meeting her was simply an obliquity. I think she was that level 20 dragon I sent to kill you off because I was so upset that you were going away,” said Doug.

“You asshole. Still have not forgiven you for that.”

“I know. But I could not forgive her for not liking your goats,” said Doug. He took out his phone showed me his wallpaper. He had taken my photo and put text on it that read THE BRO GOAT. I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, man,” said Doug. “I should have stood my ground. I knew you before I met her. I have no idea what I was thinking. I’m really sorry.”

“No need.”

“We got a Magic tourney going on later. Shall we play?”

“I brought a deck.”


To Start Things Off, Bring in The Poet

Sent In By Robert Kirkwood

Sent In By Robert Kirkwood

The Sky Shared

between you and I,
pain, anger, fear and beer,
A dolly mix of
years.
Audacious banalities
confound our (now)
mature sensibilities.

We move from day to day
with each other, not with each other
and find it all too real…
so we sit and stare in silence
at a phone
that must ring,
that won’t.

We fill our days with responsibility
and dream the dreams of adolescent angst.
I muse on the summer night
through my bedroom window;
indigo rolling out beyond the conifers
where the little doves coo.

At that same moment,
you walk out in the cerulean air ,
over there,
to forget about me
again.

By A.E. Wallace for RTK


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