letters (goodbye)

The song without words,
the frames without pictures.
My eyes without tears.
My time trapped in the past.
…forgiven and not forgotten…

The night falls down
to the ground… my friends…
I see them passing by.
Sometimes I wave goodbye
and sometimes I remain silent,
just watch them disappearing
into the fog of the past.
Sometimes I miss them,
and my heart dips in my memory,
dances with the shadows,
talks with the echoes bounced
from the wall of forgetfulness.
And sometimes
I just want to be alone and silent
in the land of the dead.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

letters (Things in the woods’ and a bed-time story.)

Things in the woods’ and a bed-time story.

(inspired by my two fellow writers attempts on (The Cult)and (The Occult).

Ones upon a time the phone rang.
“Hello. Is this a mister Forrest?”
“It would be me. And what’s your problem now, Big Bad?
Don’t tell me that I have to bail you out of Granny’s basement
ones again. Stop messing with Red-Riding.”
“Can you permit me to talk…?”
“Fell free.”
“I strolled your woods this morning, just to check on rabbits
and see if squirrels are comfy in their presence…”
“ Hey, Bad, get to the chase, and cut the crap.”
“As I did say, I run the woods; I saw two boys…”
“You didn’t try to munch on them, did you?”
“No, no! They counted your trees! One drifted to the left
and the other one in opposite direction….”
“So what? Not in your list of things to do.”
“Yes, but... they marked the trees: one with white stripes
and other with yellow circles. They did more and,
each time they marked a tree,
they walked around and chanted ‘THEY’”
“Who’s ‘THEY’?”
“ Dunno”
“Hmmm, that’s strange indeed and way above your pay grade, Wolf.
Let me talk to Red-Riding-Hood.”
“M, m,m,m,…”
“Can’t fool me, Wolf. I know she’s standing next to you.”
“Hi, Sir.”
“Do the usual: capture, restrain and chain in basement. At least one of them.
Don’t let him talk. And wait for me”
“Yes, Sir.”
Click.
Silence.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

The market place.

A piece of bread clenched in the jaw of a homeless dog.
He bravely navigates between boots, shoes, heels and bare feet.
The fish stares at me through the glass
of vacant eyes.
Rotting fruits attended by angry wasps.
A fat fly nests on the bleeding stake,
warmed up by the mid-day sun.
I suppress the urge to vomit
with a thought that her unhatched progeny
would be served ‘well done’.

Shoulders and hands, scarves and hats,
green and yellow, blue and red,
mixes and moves…

I swallow my soundless scream
as my lungs fill with the liquid
of the crowd.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

fragments (life isn't a choice) Alex, chapter II

High school graduation seemed like ages ago to Alex, currently bored to tears as he drove his eighteen-wheeler down a lonely stretch of highway in the middle of a California nowhere. He had three months to kill before he started college, so he agreed to help his uncle out by taking runs from Bakersfield, California to Detroit, Michigan and back. He stretched out his lanky legs, twisted his wiry body, and ran an absent hand through his brown, shoulder length hair. As he fought off the boredom from his lonely ride, he repeated the advice his doting mother had given him about the uncertain future that lay ahead.
“Life is a series of choices, Alex. A maze of thoughts, decisions, ramifications, and consequences. Whichever path you take, whatever junction you chose, will depend on what you surround yourself with. Be it, good or bad women, honest or deceitful friends or,” he remembered she had stopped to laugh, “whatever traffic and road conditions you come across. Never forget, your well being is the primary objective.”

Alex recalled what it was like when he first received his driver's license. He was rarely at home afterward: partying when he wasn't working, taking girls to make-out at Chauncer's Lake, and later on spending his time with them at cheap motels. He loved his freedom; the way he could fishtail in a deserted parking lot after a snowfall, or gun the car into the hundreds as he blew down a highway at three in the morning. When the trucking job came his way, Alex jumped on it. For him, the road had always been a hobby; a lover that made him feel alive as the white lines on the streets blurred before his eyes. In the cab of his truck, overlooking the highway like a denim and plaid covered God, he was home. He quickly shifted gear and, while taking a glance at the speedometer and the darkened oil light, a thought not unlike his mother's traced through his mind.
This road represents your freaking life, Dude. Like decisions, they run their course, cross each other, merge into a single plan, and split off from what you thought would happen to you. The changing scenery is like women. Some beautiful, some ugly as hell, and some dangerous to be messing with.

He laughed to himself as he changed the radio station that was getting weaker, turning the dial to one that played the alternative rock he favored. He reached out and dug into the white bag filled with snacks, changing his mind to pull the brown bag closer to him so he could fish his last cheeseburger out before it got too cold. He purchased it at the Burger King in Fresno, conveniently located beside the gas station that charged a dollar and twenty cents for diesel; thirty cents more than the one in his hometown of Detroit did. His uncle had given him a sort of allowance in addition to taking the load to Michigan. Twenty dollars a day for drinks, munchies, and food. The three burgers had cost him three bucks, the bag of munchies five, and the six pack of cokes chilling in a small ice chest had set him back four.
“That leaves you with a whole eight bucks for your dinner. Sounds like a greasy diner and a case of indigestion is in your immediate future tonight.”
He passed a vulture on the side of the road, waddling back and forth as he waited for traffic to clear. Alex assumed roadkill was on the mottled bird's mind, causing to to smile as he mentally compared it to his next meal. He made quick work of the burger while he listened to a song by Ozzy Osbourne and Metallica, both songs giving him a reason to slap the steering wheel like a strangely shaped drum kit.
His mind flashed back to the buzzard. If he had been outside his truck, watching it from the side of the road, it would have given him the creeps. He remembered as a child seeing an illustration of a Griffin, a mythological beast with parts of several different animals. For years, the detailed picture had given him nightmares of one swooping down on him like an avenging angel, taking him up into the sky with its sharp talons digging into his side, only to drop him to his death. He always woke up before it happened.
He looked in his side mirror before he swerved to miss a recliner sitting in the middle of the two lane highway, thankful the other lane was free of oncoming cars. He gazed at the console again, checking the oil and antifreeze lights before making sure his speed was in the realm of the limits posted. They were all dark and seventy miles an hour tweaked the maximum as far as he was concerned. His next stop would be Barstow, on the California-Arizona line but that was still an hour or so away. For the next twenty minutes he zoned out and immersed himself in the changing patina of rock songs and the solitude of the road. When he felt himself getting drowsy Alex grabbed a coke from the cooler, downed a few sips, and rubbed the cold can over his face. The icy coldness served to wake him up – big time.
Staring at the red and white on the can, Alex was reminded of how soft drinks used to be a delicacy to him and his family. He was five when his parents emigrated from the Ukraine and settled in the familiar chilliness of Michigan, but those first few years were now a blur in his memory. While he was used to frigid living conditions he always wondered how people could live in the heated extremes of the desert lands of Arizona and Nevada.
“I can deal with the cold. The ladies like to snuggle and I love sitting in front of a nice toasty fire. Sweating my ass off is totally bogus, though.” He paused to watch a dust devil tear its way over a desolate stretch of dry land, whirling around like a harmless tornado; as if God himself stuck his finger on the plains and swirled it around to amuse himself.
“Now that's something a northern boy doesn't see very often.”
He recalled an old wives tale about dust storms being a harbinger of bad things, but he wasn't sure if his memories were legit. He automatically checked his oil gauge and coolant light again. He had no desires to be stranded in the middle of a desolate area with no air conditioning and four cokes to tide him over.
“Don't even think about it, God. Your boy Alex doesn't want to be vulture food anytime soon.”

At this moment Alex thought he saw a human figure standing by the road about half a mile from him. His eyesight was usually very good, but the sand being kicked up by the vicious winds played havoc with his vision. As he neared the solitary figure he could tell it was a woman.
“Alex... it's strange to see a person, especially a chick, hitching in the middle of a desert. I don't see a car broken down anywhere either.” He began to apply his air brakes and take his foot off the gas.
“Whoever you are, cutie... it's your lucky day.”
His uncle told him not to let anyone in the truck, even going as far to tell him to turn down a nun or a priest if he happened across a stranded one. In the past he had given people help: fixing a flat, checking out their car to see why it wouldn't crank, and even gave them food and water until help arrived. As he came to a slow stop near the woman, he saw she looked to be in her twenties, definitely needed a bath, and had a stare that burrowed its way into his soul. It looked to be a cross between happiness and hate.
“Shit! I hope she ain't trouble. Anyway, Unk never said anything about turning down hot hitcher babes, now did he?”
He watched her head appear at the passenger window, using the foot stool to hoist herself up. Her eyes were set deep in their sockets from exhaustion. One was swollen and filled with blood. She also had a split lip that marred her attempt to give him a bright smile. He rolled down the window for her.
“Are you okay? You look like someone pushed you out of a damn car.”
“I'll manage,” she said, adjusting the straps on the large backpack behind her. “Can you give me a ride to the next town? I promise that's as far as you need to take me.”
“I'll take you to the hospital if you want me to? Did someone kick your ass or what?
“Something like that,” she replied, shrugging as she winced. “Can I get in?”
“Sure thing. Watch your head. You can put your pack behind the seat.”
He noticed her evident pain when she hopped into the truck, holding her ribs as she chose to leave the bag in her lap. He pulled a coke from the cooler and handed it to her, watching intently as she drained the can in two gulps. He offered her another one, boldly introducing himself to the dusty angel.
“I'm Alexander. Just call me Alex though.”
“Amy,” she muttered. “Just Amy.”
He reached into the brown bag and pulled out his last cheeseburger.
“If you're hungry, have at. There's chips and peanuts in the white sack if you're not a burger fan.”
She stared at the food for a moment before she shook her head.
“I can wait until the next town. Barstow... right?”
“Yep. About forty miles though. That's a good forty-five minutes.” He waved the sandwich at her. “Are you sure you don't want this delicious, but kinda cold cheeseburger while we're driving there?”
She rolled her eyes as a small smile broke the grimness of her face. She took it and began to unwrap it while he put the truck in gear. As soon as he pulled out onto the highway, he grabbed another drink for himself. Taking a few glances at her, Alex looked past her slender figure and concentrated on her eyes and mannerisms. She'd been in some sort of trouble, he guessed. Probably dished out by a crazy husband or a boyfriend. While he had been raised never to hit or slap a woman in anger, he knew some girls seemed to put themselves in situations that demanded it, but she didn't seem to be like that. She had a hard face, but it was also soft; like she was strong when she had to be and clingy if she didn't.
“So, where you headed after Barstow, Amy?”
“I don't know. Maybe Vegas.” Her tone was almost robotic.
“You got family there?”
“No.”
Alex chuckled, trying his best to lighten her mood. “You have family anywhere?”
“No,” she replied, now starting to sound irritated to him.
“Any friends you can crash with in Vegas?”
“Listen Alex.” She turned to lock eyes with him. “Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it. But I'm not in the mood to freaking talk.” She flashed him something close to an apologetic smile. “Okay?”
Sitting back in his seat. Alex nodded, took a sip of his drink and began to stare at the onrushing road.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

fragments (A friend.)

I often think of getting
an African-gray parrot for a friend.
A voice to bring the day into focus
with “Good morning” , from the corner
of his cage.

Before the first sip of coffee
In a cup, labeled
“Happy 50th”, in red.

I can take red, it’s always a choice.
I can take 50th, zeroes lose significance
in geometric progression.
I wonder about “Happy”.

A white wall responds
with pale ghosts, splattering my face.
“Good morning” casually-happy Day.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

fragments (Birthday)

Low sky of the late afternoon
repeats the permanence of yesterday.
You draw the line, next to the sunset,
to keep your days safe, while
the silver horses ride over the edge
into the angry waters of the ocean.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

fragments( The Grim Reaper’s tail.)

For all of you to know, I was here before you.
And I will be gone with the last one of you.
No one is destined to outlive his ancient bones.

He gave you a name and left me nameless.
On my request “what if they’ll call me
by your name?” he roared with laughter
“they will prefer you over me on a few occasions.”

A pair of simple rules he hung for me
by the exit door. He said that all is governed
by the Fate and subject to the Time.

But when you, bastards, came to age
the game has changed. Your creativity
is my worst nightmare!

He gave you a mate,
you gave yourself a war.
He gave you a son,
you vomited all over
your dinner plate.

Your cruelty and your aggression
put the fallen one to shame.

I have to say more times
than the most liberal of you can tolerate.
“What the fuck! Please, not again!”
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

letters (within time)

I try to reason my desire for running endless marathons with finish lines at the edge of the cliff and dive down with hope for safe landing, each time…
…time, like a tombstone
weights heavily on my mind

I saw a butterfly, dead
on the pavement,
one wing ripped by violence.
I saw a mother-bird
pushed a baby from the nest
and let it die
on her watch.

The clock stopped...
and time trembled,
when a man pulled the trigger
and sent a bullet
into a child’s head.

The wall of time crushed me
and I wept on my knees,
as I watched the moon fall
through the eyes of the last human alive.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

letters (hand in hand)

Your nights without end.
His days without beginning.

…waiting for daybreak.

Your night was ripped apart
by the ghosts of your memory.
…dreams trembled outside
the locked door: cold, abandoned.

Sliver of the light fires
the edge of the horizon.
East of the sky caught in a fire.

You wash the fragments
of the broken night from your face
with a handful of water.


Your dreams hand in hand with his
walk at the edge of rising sun.
© 2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

fragments (short poem)

The light of long-gone star
still shimmering and echoing
from the mouth of darkness.

Water on its way to a river.

We flow… ©
2011 by Nina K Orlovskaya

fragments (I am gone)

I am a snowflake,
lost in the blizzard,
expanding my horizon
into the cold oblivion.
…wind blows…

I am a frozen thought,
a broken icicle, a fragment
of the map. I drink the water
from the hands of Sun..
I am all gone!