Hello!

I'm Eddy, newest of the Anecdote crew! I won't start writing now but beware! Holidays start soon!

And I'll also try and get this blog moving, too.

I guess I'll add myself to the Authors page now...


This note as come to an abrupt because of a sudden alien invasion...

--Eddy

Only Human [Moonstar]

Moonstar here, bringing another [slightly depressing] poem!

City winds blow,
Friends and family gasp below,
But you can’t jump.
After all,
You’re only human.

A sharp knife,
Pointed at your wife,
But you can’t pull the trigger.
After all,
You’re only human.

A shotgun,
Wielded by your son,
But you can’t face him.
Instead you run.

After all, you’re

Only

human.

Thanks

It has been a pleasure being with you. I hope you'll read what I've posted so far... and you will write new posts. As always, you can see the rest of my creations here.

Poem: Diamonds

© Jadefireeyes

 

Clearer than ice,

Flash like fire.

Harder than bone.

Beautiful like you.

Diamonds are true

Poem: Green Life

© Jadefireeyes

Come, run with me under these trees.

See the green?

Feel the life?

Now, I’m not telling you to leave your kind so you can just be with me.

I know you civilized ones hate to do things like that.

But…

Sure, in the wild it’s rough.

And my kind aren’t very welcoming to outsiders.

And yes, I know you’ve got comforts livin’ civilized and all.

But you feel real proud every day when you survive to see tomorrow.

You get to feel the wind.

Hear the song of the leaves.

Hunt for your own food.

You feel more alive, somehow,

Knowing it’s not guaranteed it won’t be taken away.

And this place it quite beautiful,

Isn’t it?

Poem: The Essence of Dreams

© Jadefireeyes

Gauzy apparitions sweep their fabulous feathers

In the winter-spiked air.

They run under the moon through the snow-dappled trees.

These are the agitated nightmares that

Materialize in my sleep.

My dreams: glacier blue lakes,

Creatures that fly,

Liberated,

Beneath the sky and sway from the weight of air.

They are dizzy with thought,

Their wings as slender as the rays of dawn.

When they soar they can finally believe that

Fear thrives in shadows,

And hope is an empty promise.

When you add and subtract what’s left of you,

You can’t see yesterday.

I am afraid to take a risk.

You expect to find yourself in someone else,

But this transformation ends and begins with you.

My dreams still dance:

A figure that chases rainbows in a box of prismatic light.

The azure depth of night.

A hot candle magnified beneath the glare of wind.

Iced April with a frosty exhale.

The sun chasing shadows.

The rattle of glass.

Dust swept up by gravity to fly

Untouched

By the world.

Here dreams connect fantasy to reality.

My hair is curled by the sweat of human fear.

Foggy entrances chinked by memories.

Poem: Moon

 © Jadefireeyes

 

The moon floats

A silver orb

Glistening pearly white

Illuminating

The delicate strings of cobweb

Hanging from branches

Clinging in mist

Framing a path

Through the forest

Poem: Mystery

© Jadefireeyes

Among the rain

The stars began

To burn through

The sheets of clouds

And a figure moved

Tense

Wary

Unheeded

In pursuit of something

Unknown

And mysterious

To me

Poem: I Saw

© Jadefireeyes

I saw a reflection of the summer sky in water,

Threads of light crisscrossing

In a latticework

Of beams.

There was a haze down east

Where vapor was tinged

With violet,

Contrasting against

Strong shadows

And sun.

Midnight

© Jadefireeyes

 

In the dark and silent hours

There is only candlelight from the stars.

Evening

© Jadefireeyes

Purple skies deceive the most watchful eyes

I whisper and listen.

Poem: Alone

© Jadefireeyes

I dwelt alone

On the other side of the sky vault,

Everyday as the sky was climbing

The darkening land in the west,

Forever with an unopened eye.

Blazing.

Shaking my mind and soul

With its white-hot radiance.

For now,

The night is senescent,

And is but a fragment

Of a dream within a dream

That steals me

Drowsily and musically,

With a lullaby sound.

It cries out

And extinguishes into a whisper

Around me,

I am left alone

Trembling from afar.

But then my thoughts pour out,

The truth is exposed.

A shadow dances

In the moonlight

All around me,

Singing.

My sorrow is awaken

But my loneliness is taken.

Poem: Dream

© Jadefireeyes
Night out

And in again,

There is silent music

And stirring shadows.

Footsteps on snow,

The curving shore.

The garden thrives

On the words in my mind,

Pieces of my mind,

Memories of my mind.

There are blossoms and bones…

How can I follow

My beautiful dreams?

The waxy night air whirls

In my footsteps,

And shadows skittle forward.

They are star black.

At the threshold of my memory

Stolen arrows

Snake through the grass.

Poem: Hurt

© Jadefireeyes

It is human to feel pain.

It is not humane for someone to hurt you.

Here, does not the tear sound so loud when falling on your pillow,

Loud as a rain drop thousands of feet up?

And your throat aches, as unpleasant

As the smell of ozone.

I try to be perfect but she only criticizes.

I came to your doorstep expecting comfort,

Finding only black cobblestones you tried to bleach

And a dead cat impaled by a telephone pole,

Stiff and silent.

I try to remember that night.

There were stars above the city.

Birdsong within a thunder storm.

You want to experience my pain,

Wanting excitement.

You do not know it will only make your hollow heart emptier.

You only see the poppies blowing.

Poem: Speech

© Jadefireeyes

Her words

Are like spring again,

Not wounded hopes

Or a creed for darkness.

Her singing,

Are borrowed love poems,

Fragments from the fire.

Burnt offerings.

The shape of the journey

Is a gradual twilight.

The tempest of the stars.

Infinite days.

You consider the radiance,

The color of dust,

Drifting the ice

For harmonic balance.

She is the talking tree.

You are the one

Who enters the stories.

paradise lost

soft gray light streams through the curtains, the same color as her eyes. an image of her appears in my mind of auburn hair and olive skin, and I sigh, softly. she would still be sleeping right now.

who should i be for her? who can i be? i, who have been alive for more than a thousand years, forever damned. i, who have dreamed of her from the moment i saw her and wanted her for my own.

such eyes.

such selfishness.

no wonder paradise was lost to me.

From the New Member

I discovered Anecdote a few months ago and noticed almost no one posts anything anymore. I’ve already read most of the posts that there are on this blog. Can someone post something new? And please, Moonstar, continue your “The Other Side of the Card”. I’m really interested in it.

Also, do you think I should continue my blogger name, Jadefireeyes? It sounded really good at the beginning but now it’s starting to get a bit boring. Please comment your opinions.

As always, I would really like to hear from you. Email me at jadefireeyes@gmail.com or comment. If you’re interested in joining Blog for Joy (blogforjoy.blogspot.com), tell me, and I’ll make you one of the writers. It’s somewhat similar to Anecdote because anyone can join and post for it, but I’d like you to contribute about anything that makes you happy, like your new puppy, your new friend, etc., and not fictional works. Like the name suggests, it’s a site to make readers happy. If you have any tips for teens in order to keep their self-esteem up, I’d love that too.

 

Thanks for reading. Jadefireeyes

Welcome! My name is Jadefireyees

I am a new member of Anecdote, and I am going to continue posting a lot of stories and poems. I'm going to be writing my very best ones, so please comment! Also, if you would like to join Blog for Joy, or blogforjoy.blogspot.com, email me at jadefireeyes@gmail.com. I plan on posting happy sotries about life and tips for teens for their self-esteem.

Jadefireeyes

Poem: Nightfall

© Jadefireeyes

Heart of the breath

And the sorrows of the cold stone.

Weighing light

As you have a gleam in your eye.

Soul and stone,

Sadder then water,

The night cries

For a necessary kindling.

It is a time between ashes and roses,

And a starry sky shines

Above the land.

On a wing of the sun,

Memory is no stranger.

At first light,

In a dark summer you run,

Race from the forbidden entries

Of stars and other signs.

The gold of the tigers.

Poem: A Flower Blooming

© Jadefireeyes

luv’s a flower blooming
in the tree of life
in an eternal spring.
luv’s a bird singing
in the tree of life
in an eternal spring.
luv’s a thing of magyk
between u an  me
in the tree of life
in an eternal spring.

Short Story: Sky Serpent

Diary of an ocean dweller girl 6,000 years ago 

© Jadefireeyes

The sea is only blue if the sky is blue. If there are clouds, it takes on a gray murky quality. Should there come a storm, it becomes as dark and dangerous as the atmosphere above. At this I shudder, recalling the threatening drum rhythms and the knives the One sends out to punish the people of the World for their sins. Although I was only a girl of thirteen summers, and thus is considered mainly innocent, the terrible things the One commits frightens me even in my dreams.

Right now the sky is blessedly clear, so the ocean is azure. There comes a loud, rushing sound from it, almost as bone rattling as thunder as the enormous body of water forever stirs. They say it never ends, and its water floods as far as the roots of the Great Tree that grips this World.

The rippling surface is etched with silver grooves, and green hills arise before crashing into a force of waves, foam collecting at the bulges which is the saliva of the sea. It weakens before transforming into a thin sheet of shine that descends onto the shore, dappled only weakly by the foaming stuff. The sand briefly darkens, but is forgotten as a layer of dryness sweeps down into the water. Small bubbles of air escape and make pores. My footprints are erased.

The wet curving shore feels like mud, or so my parents say. I’ve never been in the mainland, where a forest wakens up. Instead of sand being there, there is soil. I questioned them what that is. They informed me, It’s dark and filled with grasses, similar to the ones here but not as stiff and prickly, and it has clay in it as well. Dried clay is what our ornaments are made of. The mainland people even make pottery out of it.

I don’t understand what’s so special about clay, but I know that the beach is covered in a lot of pretty things: smooth colorful pebbles, dark elegant shells, scraps of wood washed up on the shore from the ocean. Does that mean there’s a forest growing under the sea? I don’t know. Sometimes the fisher men take their boats and go far out to catch big fish and the occasional shark. I’ve asked them this, politely of course, but they replied they can’t see the bottom of it.

I paused to fix my long hair, which has been made untidy by the wind that blows constantly. It’s strung with hollow shell beads to weigh it down for this purpose. Of course, I find it unattractive on its own. By my feet water suddenly gushed around my ankles, as fast as I can run. It is crawling with little mites that resemble shell-less crabs. They tickle my toes and I giggle.

Seagulls, which are big white birds with black-tipped wings, wheel above me, releasing discordant cries that are polluted with loneliness, as though living in this forlorn place has left scars on their souls. The females are nimble and with a red spot on their beaks, and meet the previous description. Males, meanwhile, are a lot larger, and brownish-gray. I don’t like them much, because they have learned that humans mean food, and constantly fly down to the ground in a massive, screeching huddle and beg for meat when they see it. I find them lazy. They are skilled fishers, and know to drop an oyster from a tall height in order to crack the shell.

There are other less pleasant things on the beach as well sometimes: sticky, icky wads of seaweed. There is a broth of seaweed in the water as well when the tide is warm. Normally the ocean is cool even in summer. It was a very bad idea to swim in that mess. The seaweed had a clinging and scratchy pull as it worked against me. I very much dragged myself through it. It still threaded through my hair days later. It was simply horrific. It is also negative experience when there is a deposit of shells several finger lengths thick, and as sharp as hunting tools. Oh, and I neglected the jellyfish: a fury if stung, but also unpleasant when hundreds of the dead creatures wash ashore, more like shiny transparent globs without stingers. They have a strange feeling, for they have a wet sensation even when dry, and are mushy yet firm at the same time. Whenever I find any that have scarlet tendrils inside I bury it with sand, for fear it still may  contain the poison.    

The sun begins to die, because the sky is gradually blemishing pink with its blood, and all the clouds are tinged golden. The ocean reflects all this majestic color, its flanks still sighing even during the growing dusk. Its horizon is a vague blue, and to my right, the ocean is a blinding white from the sinking orb. The clouds are in an odd formation, a think rectangular swath arcing over my head like the quick shelter we would build from the rain. It is a sign. I must return to my family, or a certain danger would occur. One must listen to her wise starry ancestors.

As the sun lowers into the night, the surreal silver moon is more pronounced, and stars twinkle into existence. There is more than I can ever count. Tonight the moon is half closed. It is the single eye of the Sky Serpent, a massive blue snake that coils around the World. It takes it forever to blink, thirty or so days.It routinely sheds its skin, and those flakes are the clouds. The stars are its scales, which you can only see at night.

When it rains, that is its tears, tears is gives up for us. Once, at the Begginning, its tears were salty, for it was jealous of our freedom, and it killed all the plants. People began to starve. Repenting, the Sky Serpent asked the One to collect all the water into one big place, the sea. But as a reminder, the One made all the people's tears salty as well, to show us to never sin or there should be consequences. The One was born inside the Great Tree. It controls everything, the weather, or good hunting. We pray to it so it may gove us good fortune.

Short Story: Garden Dreams

© Jadefireeyes

It was early, and I pulled my covers over again, but Jane wouldn’t let me sleep.

    

“Come on, I need to show you something.”

 I followed my little sister, because I knew I would never hear the end of it.

We went outside to our little garden near the house. Today it was very pretty: wildflowers splashed  the lawn  like drops  of  fire,  and  butterflies  hovered lazily like autumn  leaves. Jane obviously didn’t think so; her face was a scowl, and she narrowed her eyes. “I wish we could get rid of it! Or at least make it better.”

“Why wouldn’t you want something so nice?” I asked, shocked.

“Because just think of it,” Jane answered dreamily. “Just think.

“Instead of this old, ugly stone path, we can have a road surrounded with bright azaleas.  And  bordering  that,”  she  recited,  “we can have endless miles of exotic blossoms!”

“Nice vocabulary,” I laughed, “but I think this patch is good enough. I think you’ve been reading too many books with fancy gardens.”

“Have not! Anyway, instead of this dirty fence, we can have a proper hill laced with Old England Roses. Plus, we can have elegant benches, you know, real polished wood, right under it in the shade. And there should be shrubs all around them,” she added.

“I can’t decide what type of garden it should be, Japanese, Chinese or some other. Japanese ones are really just evergreens, so you don’t know time is passing by, but Chinese ones have to be two-thirds up a hill, some other hills in the distance, a smaller pool going into a larger lake…”

“Sounds very specific. But I really think you should be happy with this one.”

“Uh, no…it also has to have a giant maze, I don’t know what kind of hedge, well maybe yew, and there has to be a fountain and statue made of marble at the middle. And I want there to be a lot of streams with bridges crossing over them, and wind chimes everywhere you look. Oh yeah, and birdhouses too. What kind of a garden doesn’t have birds?

“There should also be trees, but they can’t cover up the flowers of course. I like willows, because their branches drape, but mostly anything else would be okay. Oh, and I want pines too, because they never turn brown and they smell nice. Wait, I forgot about having cherry and apple blossoms!

“The garden should be really, really big and I would like there to be hills, but a flat one is fine. The birds need to be colorful, and so should the butterflies. You don’t want any boring ones, do you? And there need to be a lot of trails made of crunchy pebbles, and ponds with pretty fish inside.

“There need to be a ton of roses, and tulips I guess- although I like daisies too, and since it’s my garden, I’ll add them. And I’ll make open fields so horses can run around, so I can learn to ride them-”

“June, why don’t you like our own garden, instead of making up fancy ones? You know you’ll probably never have enough money to make one so extravagant.”

Her face flushed as she answered, “Because the girls down the street laugh at it, and ask why I don’t have a pool there instead. I wanted to make it so good, I would show them gardens are better than pools.”

I wanted to laugh as I answered, “But it’s because gardens are better than pools is why they don’t like it. They just don’t want to admit it and be wrong.”

“Really?” Her voice was small when she said that.

“Really,” I replied with all the truth in my heart.

“Oh, okay, I guess it’s good for now, but I need to start planning, you know; and then I want....”

Poem: Possesions

© Jadefireeyes

I scatter my little trinkets;

They are almost worthless to me.

I used to lust over the glint,

The bright shine of gold and silver.

I need them no longer.

Poem: Doomed

© Jadefireeyes

A somber twilight hung with the mist

Of the dangers I must overcome.

There’s nothing I can do.

I weep on the stairway

Poem: Candlelight

© Jadefireeyes

The wick sputtered

And struggled to ignite,

The light it held within.

And fought and fought

To keep that flame

But it could not,

For even one more day.

Then the fire went cold

And left behind a silent night.

A life had been lost today

And only more would follow.

Poem: Buried

© Jadefireeyes

I want to be buried beneath

The warm, singing pockets of the earth.

To die a lonely sailor’s death

Is not for me, nature’s walker.

My heart does not lie in the sea;

There’s anguish in the rippling tides,

All those wintry foaming waters,

Glassy green hills of screaming souls,

The harsh white lines of an abyss.

And yet peace does not need a grave,

My soul yearns for the rocky world

Where I lived is where I now died.

I sing for the face of the earth.

Poem: Links

© Jadefireeyes

There’s dew on the sand

And reeds in the grass

Stars reflect on lakes

Fish swim in the skies.

This wonderland makes

About as much sense

As you do to me.

Yet I strive to be

The one you do want

In this waking life

In our dead world.

In our lasting

Chain of harmony.

Poem: Pain

© Jadefireeyes

Pain.

It is of aching knees and a salty face,

Burning eyes, tears on your cheeks,

And that terrible silence.

Tension is in the air.

You can feel it.

It’s living electricity.

You hide your face behind the book

And refuse to look at her.

There is anger in that tired, hurting heart of yours.

She had not once looked back at you.

Perhaps she is the angrier one.

Maybe she is giving the silent treatment out of hate.

Everything you ever knew steamed into the darkness.

Everything is broken.

Everything is shattered.

Everything is messed up.

Everything is pain.

It was the worst day of my life.

Short Story: The Night of Wind and Beasts

© Jadefireeyes

The night was cold and alive with the voices of the wind. Thus, I ran from the gales for many miles, silently gliding among the shadows. A whisper issued behind me; a figure strode forward, the silhouette gleaming with its own light. I prayed for dawn, yet it was too far off.

Eventually, I reached a cave. It was dark inside, but I knew rain would soon join the gales. Upon entering, I found the remains of ruptured skeletons, their hollow sockets hungrily glaring at me. Unnerved, I paced delicately among the auburn bones, and cradled myself in a black, damp corner.

The sound of a violent storm thundered outside, forks of lightning igniting the world for miles. Over hanging vegetation soon became frayed by the winds, the howling, fearsome winds. Was that a shadow outside the cave?

Yes, there it was again! It was definitely moving, and something big. Could it be the dweller of the cave I had inhabited? Was that the gleam of a large tooth I saw in a flash of lightning? I feared for my life and searched desperately and quietly for a weapon.

I snatched an ancient arrow out of the hands of one of the dead. I armed myself... just in time for the snarl.

The beast leapt at me, the jaws closing upon my left hand with a metallic clip. The pain was horrible, and in half consciousness I plunged the arrow head into the chest of the great animal. Yet the skin was not penetrated. The wild beast stared through me with those yellow eyes, and prepared to bite open my heart.

I stumbled down in anxiety as it lunged forward, slaver dripping off its deadly fangs. Thrusting my hands forward, I clambered onto its back by grabbing its shaggy coat. It roared with rage, and attempted to overthrow me with a maddening gleam in its eyes.

I hung on with all my might as it spun in viscous circles, keeping away from the attacks of the utterly savage animal. In its eagerness to crush my skull in its heavy jaws, it sailed over the gorge, with me still griping on.

The wet humid air was alive with the down pouring of rain, and deafening din of thunder. Its dirty fur became slippery, and I lost my hold, falling into the jagged rocks below.

The wind howled in my ears with a stunning ferocity, and I could only feel the ultimate sensation of hurtling with terrible force, the feeling of burning hopelessness within a few short seconds.

Suddenly, I passed a pine branch jolting out of a crevice in the cliff, and I caught it with the sense of pleasant security. The pine needles and bark cut through my already wounded skin, and I screamed in agony. I craned my head downward a hundred feet down were the broken body of the ferocious beast lay in the valley, its gaunt eyes staring sightlessly at the stormy night sky.

I felt a horrible forbidding as I lost my grip on the flimsy branch, the lightning illuminating the world as I hurtled towards my death, and I felt the worst pain I ever experienced in the last fraction of a second of my life.

Short Story: Paris Underworld

This was inspired by a National Geographic article. ©  Jadefireeyes

Stories above, perhaps there’s an elegant café, lapping in the view of the Eiffel Tower. At night, the city will descend into a thousand gleaming lights, a thousand beautiful buildings, well-renowned monuments and opera houses. For now it’s a noon on a typical Saturday, and some shops and bakeries will be closed. A few pedestrians and traffic will be milling around the quiet streets and avenues, and the waiters in the extravagant restaurants will be serving lunch.

I am wandering in darkness, endless tunnels illuminated by my one lamp. My muddy boots splash in moist puddles covering the ground, wiping my hand in disgust on my already filthy overalls. My breath gathers in clouds, surrounding the water droplets on the ceiling, while staring at the endless chaos of skulls, femurs, tibias and other assorted bones. The cool air is tainted with the odors of mold and damp earth.

I am in the Paris underground, the chain of canals, deserted wine cellars, crypts, reservoirs and bank vaults. Remains of the dead greet me as I wind around the section of the catacomb, each hosting an individual story to tell, yet long passed into oblivion through the centuries.

It all began as quarries dug underground for its vast deposits of limestone and other bedrock, chiseled by the Romans in the 1^st century B.C. who once inhabited France. After they were exhausted they were deserted, and some were filled with rubble. Overfilled cemeteries with bones were first poured into the quarries in 1786. It was the start of the French catacombs.

The Paris dwellers didn’t pay much attention to the unstable foundation they were tottering on, until the first collapstion of 1774. Many such cave-ins were to follow, including one in which the earth swallowed an entire neighborhood. This prompted King Louis XVI to create a department to monitor them, and still exists today.

On my way to the crypts I passed many murals created by modern artists. Some wine cellars have been transformed into nightclubs and bachelor parties. They are all Catatphiles, people who love the Paris underworld. Whether they come to paint, party, sight-see, hold dates, or simply enjoy the thrill of exploring uncharted territory, they all share one thing in common: they come here to have freedom from the laws of the surface. The most daring stay underground for days on end.

Patrols of geologists venture through the labyrinth as well, to make sure the quarries are strong enough, so they do not crumble. There are also Cataflies, police who chase cataphiles. Most entrances and tunnels are illegal to access.

I take off my mud stained helmet, and survey the tomb. Just in the distance I hear the echoes of more visitors pouring in. I’d better get going.

There’s a whole world down in the twisting labyrinth of Paris. How to get there? Go to the nearest manhole.