₦airaland Forum

Sveen:
Imaginations running wild.







AyamSveen

LMAO....... Ayamlaykorn

darkenedrebel:
yeah i did- this is good stuff, keep it up
& i think the title should be- 'the drunk with the blonde hair -not hair blond'

Yeah, I agree. I intentionally had the title arranged that way initially but looking at it again, I feel it sounds better the normal way. 'Blond' can be spelt in more than one way though.

darkenedrebel:
deep

You got the message, right?

He stumbles out of the door and throws up in the gutter. He walks down the street making his way home and the memories of the old days spring to his mind. He’s a small chap with a flat cap, brown jacket, a blue shirt and a pair of brown trousers. He seems lost now; all these memories of the old times just make him feel alone. He’s a drunk, and even on his way home, he feels lost.

He stumbles to the crossing, getting more tired, feeling more lonely and he sees her running: a small girl in a pink dress, running across the road, her tied up blonde hair blowing in the wind. Her mother, a short lady with a blue handbag running behind her, her arm reaching out to save her but finding no luck.

The drunk sees the girl and without a second, a burst of energy rushes through his body and he runs out into the road. All the memories are now forgotten and the drunken state disappears into the wind. He grabs the girl under his arm and brings her to the walk path and the little girl's mother thanks the man.

But then, she looks at him in disgust.

“Stay away from of us, you drunk!” The woman says and before the drunk could say a word she picks up her daughter and walks away. The drunk just carries on walking, and all memories from the old days come back to his head and the drunken state returns and he staggers off home. He knows he’ll forget he just possibly saved a child’s life, and he knows the woman will just remember a drunk picking up her daughter. But he doesn’t care; he feels lost and forgotten and he knows he’ll die in his bed and not some soul would there be in the outside world caring.

THE END

MzNelly:
I agree with ANB.
There's this poetic rhythm to it.

My mind's not that deep.
I don't understand the story

LOL. You don't really need a deep mind; you only need the skill of being able to give life to pieces as ambiguous as this. There's nothing to understand in the piece; it's naturally meaningless. The reader is supposed to give it the breath of meaning.

You were never a fancier of those poetry verses, were you?

JigsawKillah:
Haha!

I like this. . .

Especially the cigarette part.

I knew you'd say something about the cigarette part.

Was the account about cigarettes accurate enough? You're very experienced in matters like those.

timpaker:
Very funny.

Nice one llaykorn

Heheh. I'm glad you found it funny; you could give life to it in your own witty way. That was exactly what I wanted the readers to do. Kudos, sir!

EverestdeBliu:
Hello ms Firestar,can I have 5mins of your time please,we need to talk. Thanks.

Everest....

Alexpissu:
Well, you have a very vivid script and it had a spirited interest so calm as a dream.

If I have to give it a subject that fits my mind....The story has a concept of memories, punishment and a bit of worrisome predicament

Anyway nice one ...I never knew you write .

Thanks!

Oh! These are links to some of my former works:

www.nairaland.com/2316463/inner-mind-short-poem-brief

www.nairaland.com/2340382/world-gone-poem-brief-commentary

www.nairaland.com/2326935/hades-fantasy-fiction-poem

www.nairaland.com/2333412/colours-truth-book-versed-thoughts

Please check them out and point out my flaws, sir.

oracle009:
The head of a python
Surugede!
The fang of a cobra
Surugede!
The mane of a lion
Surugede!
The claw of a leopard
Surugede!
The egg of an ostrich
Surugede!
A child that dances to the sweet melody of surugede
Surely forgets that surugede is a song of the spirits

************************************************

Surugede!
Men came in armour
In metals and amulets they clamour
Sights ugly and devoid of glamour
On this battle field
Men will drink of blood till filled
Cowardice lost and nothing to feel
'coz we have come but to fulfil
The will and call of Surugede
Indeed, the dance of the spirits

****************************************
Women breaking the kernel
Suddenly they broke loose as dogs from kernel
Their shouts ring as in tunnels
All had fallen apart and nothing left to funnel
Cries rent the air
Shouts deafen the ears
Crowds pull at hairs
Hypocrisy had taken the year
The hen had finally come to roast
And relationships have gone to frost
'coz we have come to host
The will and call of Surugede
Indeed, the dance of the spirits

***************************************

Children blowing the horns
Very soon they stopped the funs
Now to each other, they are nothing but thorns
And following this are scorns
Tears fill the eyes
Pull downs and falls from highs
Someone must pay the price
Hates and curses are on the rise
Fists and blows flying around
Such a twist of event surely astound (s)
Surely, all had (have) fallen to ground
'coz here we have come to sound
The will and call of surugede
Indeed, the dance of the spirits.

***********************************************

Pls, I will appreciate a criticism and appreciation of this piece. It will encourage me to write more and improve where notified.

NB: d arrangements got distorted via nairaland, but i have managed to use asterisks to seperate them into stanzas

Oracle, I know for a fact that you didn't write this for humor, but I found the poem - the first stanza especially - terribly hilarious. It probably was caused by the funny way that 'surugede' sounds. Well, the hilarity faded as I read on, though, but I really should tell you that this is one of the most enjoyable poems I've read in some while.

I put in brackets some words I thought were supposed to be substituted for the ones employed. And, Oracle, have you ever given it a thought to punctuate poetry?

What'd'ya say vets?

Oahray
Larrysun
Ishilove
Alexpissu
JigsawKillah
classyalabolas
MzNelly
firestar
sinizia

AllNaijaBlogger:
I see, you're one of those poetic writers that can't stop being poetic!

Well, your descriptions are very vivid. I could imagine myself walking down the same environment. Good stuff.


But then, you godammned poets are so disingenuous that I can't even tell if this whole story was a hallucination from smoking substances or a suicide note or just a bloody walk in the park.

But still, good stuff!

Hahhahaha. You are free to give life to it in any of it's forms that best suits you.

Thanks.

This piece was originally meant to be a long piece of prose poetry: an epic, but I had to, for some reasons - along the line - change it to a short story. This is supposed to explain it's story-line deviation from the regular setting that is featured in short stories. Enjoy:



We had agreed to meet at 7:06.

It was afternoon and the sun hid behind grey clouds. It peaked around corners occasionally to warm the city centre wanderers. Mainly I saw dimly lit faces walking briskly to avoid the early autumn chill. Summer was fading. I sat slouched on a hard bench, no longer concerned with posture correction. There was nothing to do but kill time. Staring ahead, I leaned back against the wooden bench and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. I lit one, inhaled then exhaled, and watched the silver smoke cloud introduce itself to the atmosphere before it drifted into non-existence.

An unhappy child and his overweight mother were walking towards me. They were far too close so I pre-emptively moved my feet to avoid any contact. I stared at her ass as she walked another twenty metres or so down the street before turning a corner. I thought that they were probably going to buy frozen food somewhere. I had nearly finished my cigarette so I took a couple of final drags of the hotter smoke. I felt the heat of the glowing ember on my nose as the thought of on the spot fines for littering crossed my mind. I flicked the butt as hard as I could with finger and thumb into passing traffic, staring blankly into the distance to avoid any glare from onlookers.

I stood up and the clouds dispersed as I began walking aimlessly through the city. I looked for streets with taller buildings to block the sun. On the sunless streets the buildings of bank and recruitment offices towered like snow-capped mountains. A man was sat on a collapsed cardboard box in a doorway, offering an empty coffee cup with the top half torn off. He asked for change. I wanted to give him some but I didn’t. For a moment I thought about turning back. I decided too long had passed so I kept walking.

As I walked, I thought about who I was meeting at 7:06. In the past we had been reasonably well acquainted. Since then a year or two had passed with the smoothness a ‘good’ life entails. Now the freshness and excitement of that life had washed away. I lit another cigarette. I respected the freedom of his ideas. I had tried control but I didn’t have it in me anymore. Hypocrisy is too pervasive. I thought about on the spot fines for littering and dropped my cigarette into the drain. It missed and rolled into the road.

It was nearly 6. I turned around and headed towards the bus station. The streets were busier now and I had to dodge the grey and blue plague of suited men. Sometimes I wear a suit but I’m never one of them. Maybe they feel the same.

I boarded the bus which brought back memories of school commutes as a nervous teenager. The bus driver wasn’t wearing a uniform. I’m sure they used to wear uniforms. I sat down towards the back and leant my head against the dirty window. I watched all the people with admiration as the bus negotiated its way out of the city. There is something too beautiful about the way people go about their days. Everyone has a past of intricate paths winding in infinite directions. I almost smiled at the thought before catching the soft glare of my own reflection in the dirty window.

My stop was approaching. I looked around for the nearest button to press and found it on the rail in front, slightly to the left. I glanced out the window, then towards the button three or four times so that I could press it at the right moment. Finally I pressed the button and moved down the bus as it slowed to a stop.

I walked along the deserted street towards the fields and footpaths. The houses here were forgotten about years ago, although you could still feel the life of years passed. The footpath was narrow and bushes brushed my arms. I pulled a leaf from one of the darker branches and ran it between my fingers before dropping it to the ground. It was reassuringly waxy. I couldn’t see the river yet but I heard its rumbles through the trees up ahead. Yesterday’s rain made it bulge fat with orange tones.

There was a small clearing of flattened yellow grass on the riverbank. I knelt down and felt the grounds moisture soaking through to my knees. I pulled my cigarettes out of my pocket, put the last one in my mouth and lit it. I thought about on the spot fines for littering, threw the empty packet into the river, watching it come alive and race away. I inhaled deeply. I emptied my lungs of smoke and air. I looked at my watch which read 7:06. Branches rustled behind me as the river reflected redder tones. I closed my eyes as the silver smoke cloud drifted into non-existence.
      
THE END...