Musings of JR Simmang

PINE BOX Let me be your blossoming daisy. Up from the ground, push me. The days we spend are numbered anyway, so let us spend them, unchambered, drifting crazy. GAUDI, OR THE IMPORTANCE OF COMPLETION The sanctuary won’t be finished. Outside, the line is filled with famished souls, feet shuffling, kids running, old parents disapproving, their faith diminished. DEAD MAN In this moment, when the stars confuse themselves for trees, stream and bank amuse the boards of the boat, my tired fingers float around your halo; I’m yours to use. THE MYSTERY Beauty is the constant reminder that in some strange way, when you find her, you won’t know what she is, and she won’t show you until you first walk beside her. JUSTICE: BE BLIND I thought we had reached an age wherein the wolves shed sheep’s clothing; they had been judged by their words and deeds, actions and creeds and not by the color of their skin. MISTRESS, CHAMONIX MONT BLANC The open windows, the smell of blac...

MASQUERADE BALL I’ve been to lavish parties galore, with people I thought I had adored. If there’s one thing I’ve gleaned, surely it’s that knives should be kept clean in the drawer. FACEBOOK Some days I surrender to this screen, let it take from me my hours till green seeps through my skin, spreads to my ‘lectric grin, and covers my spaces in between. ON THE SHOULDERS OF DADDIES She reached her hands out to me, wanting to see the Pleiades’ swift haunting of the beach-sweat night closer. I would bet that up there, falling seems less daunting. MAMA KNOWS BEST It was a casual vacancy, born from casual intimacy. I should have listened to my mother’s words, “don’t fall towards casual fancy.” BAILE CON ELLA Most nights and days, she dances alone, black hair, alabaster skin, slate stone crow’s voice. Soy simpatico, un nino ; my body yearns for her perfect bones. - JR Simmang

In his rocking chair, the pipe embers burning more slowly. He remembers his first kiss and how it now tastes like this slow, hot drag. It’s a cold December. -JR Simmang This one made it to the top 6 in the Writer's Digest Poetic Form Challenge for last month, which is pretty awesome.

I haven't posted these because they were entered into a poetic form challenge. No dual publishing. So, here are the entries: WISH FOR A SAFE RETURN The Kingfisher was back today. He always finds something here, maybe some string, twine. But, I’ve only heard him sing when she comes over the meadow lea. PROMISE GLUE You dropped your promise on the tiled floor, and I swept the pieces out the door. Here’s my jar of promise glue. Use only a little; I don’t have any more. PULLING IN TO CONOCO I shouldn’t have fallen for Lizbeth. When we met, I was a tired labrynth, endless. I thought I found salvation, ‘but ev’ry state has a town named Naz’reth. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’LL FIND The garage was a fine, cluttered mess, which I enjoyed cleaning, I confess. I found a missing sock, a wishing star, and under it all, your wedding dress. -JR Simmang

I've sit next to a chain- smoking Jesus, in the white-washed, plain café. "No one will believe us," he reminds me, and smothers blueberry pancakes in Smuckers grape jam and an ounce of sherry. "No one believes us anymore," smoke rings curling around fussed coffee steam, half and half, which brings me to think that Jesus has a problem. "There are at least three types of people in this broken world," he tells me. "Those who do, those who don't, and those of who chose to disappear in the crowded won't. Okay, it ain't perfect, but it's a start, and I'm beyond sure that you may be my only friend, part man, part God." I told him he must have me confused for some old someone else, but he smiled broadly, lit another cigarette from the burnt char of the last big drag. "Thanks for coming. I hope you learnt something today. Maybe next week we'll see you again. I'm way too old to start writing in free ti...

The lightning bugs were out; that meant the weather was about to change. It's funny how these little things do that, turn on and off like candle. I was out with my brother, Samuel, while father was with Uncle Abraham and the other men of the town. Mom was probably with Aunt Ruth in the house. Samuel and I built this tree house with father a couple of years back. It was seated in the old elm in the back 40. I had my first kiss here with Suzanna Ray during the sunset three months ago, in April, when the flowers just started flowering and the tree was green. "Thinking about Suzanna?" Samuel could sometimes read my thoughts. "Maybe." I smirked. "How could you tell?" He focused on a point somewhere in the distance, dreaming at the clouds, and sighed heavily. "You get this look, this one, when you think about her." He refocused on me. "You should just walk up to her and ask her." "Oh, I don't know." He cleared hi...

They didn't tell me how hot the lights were going to be. I was schwitzing like a stuck pig. Real attractive, Len, real attractive. "You're on in five... four..." And the cameraman stopped talking, started signaling, and pointed to me. That little red light flashed on and off, on and off. For a few seconds, there was air silence, something feared on TV. But, no one was watching anyway, so I probably could have stared at the camera all night without a single tick on the ratings board. You see, Ol' Lenny here had to come up with something juicy to save the station. There's a problem with that, though. I couldn't very well create a story without an ending, could I? If it turned out that my story, the one I fabricated on live-feed, didn't jibe, the station would only be labeled as unreliable and fluffy. So, I had to do it right. A good lie will take between four and eight weeks. Four weeks ago, I contacted July Ennis, Warden July Ennis. She's a ...