skeletons in my closet
calcified companions
locked in
locked in
no one else makes it here
with flesh still on their bones
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Get the winners of the first 12 Clarity of Night contests in one place! Extras too!!
Listening for the words in a quiet corner of the night. The fiction, poetry, and photography of Jason Evans.
About Me
- Aine
- Collaborator and night owl.
Past Contests
- "Elemental" Short Fiction Contest
- "Uncovered" Short Fiction Contest
- "Silhouette" Short Fiction Contest
- "In Vino Veritas" Short Fiction Contest
- "Ascension" Short Fiction Contest
- "Running Wind" Short Fiction Contest
- "Whispers" Short Fiction Contest
- "Restless Dawn" Short Fiction Contest
- "Halo" Short Fiction Contest
- "Endless Hour" Short Fiction Contest
- "Silent Grey" Short Fiction Contest
- "Lonely Moon" Short Fiction Contest (with Anne Frasier)
- "Midnight Road" Short Fiction Contest
- "Two Lights" Short Fiction Contest
The Official Compilation!
Get the winners of the first 12 Clarity of Night contests in one place! Extras too!!
Categories
- poetry (193)
- fiction (180)
- vignette (106)
- serial (59)
- lyrics (56)
- personal (52)
- insights (33)
- thoughts (31)
- cemetery (26)
- forest (17)
- nature (16)
- remembrance (16)
- writing (16)
- humor (15)
- beer philosophers (13)
- boating (10)
- experimental (8)
- movie (7)
- music (7)
- INTP (6)
- beatitudes (6)
- Ulrich (5)
- photography (5)
- Nami (4)
- night conversations (4)
- cemetery reflections (3)
- stream of consciousness (3)
- Clarity Notice (1)
- emotion study (1)
Visitors
~clausum~
22 comments:
that is one of the essential 'rules' to be in there!
Great writing!
Very strong poem, Jason. The language "calcified companions" and the repetition "locked in/locked in" is chilling.
Tell about the picture.
...it's the rattling in our conscious
Not even yourself? If you went in, you could maybe bury the skeletons properly, once and for all...
Very internal, like seeing inside someone's mind. Love that...
Makes me want to turn around and run the other way...
I find this very creepy, on many levels. Not sure if I should be worried or not-- my senses are tingling on this one...
And, I'm still trying to figure out the photo. Is that from our personal/family photos?
All of us have them...
Everyone of us...
Companions?
Nah...just stuck onto our hair like chewing gum...
wow.
Pre-Halloween heebie-jeebies!
Chanced by randomly, loved the blog
HOpe to be back soon
GK
The image of skeletons and being "locked in" definitely lends a sinister air but I found this sort of...perversely romantic?
You are stripped to bare bones, down to the essence that shapes you, to make it into the closet with the others who don't hide behind flesh.
Purified by fire.
But then, I always was a bit strange.
I adore this. One of the most wonderful, amazing things for me is photography paired with poetry. They seem such a natural pair to me but very few others seem to get it.
This is beautiful. Not sure why so many find it creepy... I thought it was a gorgeous way to symbolize and visualize our secrets.
Thanks for sharing!
~Tara
Remind me about this 50 years down the line. I might make it to the closet then. That is if we do not destroy the world and kill each other before then. :D
Flay the skin
from my bones
and sunder the tendons.
I will join you in
that closet dark
knowing it is the place
where the truth
hangs hidden exposed.
Mona, true. I guess closets and skeletons were made for each other.
Karen, I liked the force of the repetition too. The picture is based on a portrait in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I put effects on it to twist what was otherwise a little boy with his lead soldiers.
Shadow, I could definitely see it that way.
Jinksy, oh I'm in there. Burying those skeletons is a great idea. I have this bad habit of exhuming them, however.
Nevine, I like poetry the most for taking something raw and intensely human and putting it on the page. You trim away the traditions and the formalities that distance prose and offer that precious glimpse. Thanks and welcome!!
Aine, not creepy and no reason to run. :) The photo is one of those early portraits from the Philadelphia Museum of Art. This boy has way curlier hair than I did. :p
Rohan, I like that image. :) We get it all over ourselves.
Jean, it is the season. I'm a little eager for it.
GK, welcome! I hope to see you around.
Laurel, I like your vision. In a way, skeletal does evoke truth or essense. I guess those are the things we can never shake. Our sense of the essense of things. The animation and living, breathing life in flesh would be nice though, if less austere.
TLH, welcome! And thank you for the very warm words. :) I feel the same way. Pairing images with words and thoughts lift both far beyond what they would be alone. If nothing else, The Clarity of Night has been the embracing of that spirit. And yes, this is a glimpse into shadowed, shrinking places.
Aniket, I'll put in a reminder. ;) Of course, I'll be just shy of 90. And I sure hope we can restrain ourselves from wrecking the world.
Walking Man, I very much appreciate that. (And not least of which because you joined me in verse.) We're both truth seekers.
The truth, laid bare but hidden in the darkness of the closet... that is a little creepy, when written like this. Secrets like that can't possibly be good ones.
Terri, I don't know if remnants are ever a good thing. They are frozen. No longer growing.
Brilliant... I can still feel the chill...
love,
me
OKkkkkkaaayyyy...you are in a weird and Octoberish place just a shade early. I'm enjoying it. Gonna go and draw the shades now.
and no one makes it OUT unscathed either -
I like the repetition, "locked in" giving a sense of frustration or definition; a hammer driving in a nail so to speak. The last two lines is metaphorically thought provoking. We all have secrets some are never revealed which become calcified parts of our souls, stripping the self.
PixieDust, it's definitely warmer out in the sun.
Erin, sometimes the touch of toxicity seems to worm into the skin. Like a radioactivity. The bones are the poor victims.
Kaye, definitely. Safer not to go in the first place.
She Poet, frustration. Imprisonment in flesh-eating patterns.
You have to be this and more to enter..come down here with us!..great blog
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