Rain Bird

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story mixed with thesaurus crazed poetry. It's an old piece I wrote some time ago.
It may be a bit difficult, but if your witty, you'll get it.

Submitted: November 10, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 10, 2011




Rain Bird



Thick, thorny, thickets, in some way thriving in such arid desert soil. All This One could see were hip high thatches of tipped torment. A mile behind and a mile before they stretched to the nearing horizon. The horizon, an upcoming hill, covered in crass ensemble; constructed with cruel conniving.

Probably pulled from the planet by some already vexatious god. Feeling, fundamentally, vindictive.

 These immeasurable inflictions were once but boot high and now the one I speak of was near naked and torn with near nothing in a land of beautiful blood red blossoms. Such handsome blood red blossoms like that of a warrior covered the gross groves of needle that projected to the cotton in This One’s passing pants. They were barbs that enjoyed biting the boot buckles like fish to line. Sinuous those spines that glee in their grip on the haggard hangings of This One’s harnessed hatchet. Spikes stabbing with not a thought of shame. Tearing through the thin travel textile donned, leaving deviously deep lacerations to the legs. Vexatious vertebrae were they to verify This One’s very woe.

Tired but thorough trudging on to that hilltop. This One never faltered.

Oh how This One longed for liberating, life allowing liquid: water. Happy thought henceforth that such horizon could find healing. Perhaps a place of rest, free from a infinity of such sprites sticking as This One would a swine. To remove one’s boots and permit the bare bases breath.

Day’s as this directed day not deserved such a desolate land as This One did drudge. But happy, laughing, healing lands perhaps lay ahead. 

  A gleaming golden globe did glide above and faultless in all its features. Glittering and glowing against the gross, barrens. This terrain was not to terminate This One. Not with such will would This One subject to surrender; still, This One begins to stagger.

Hatchet hanging to the hip This One is utterly unconquerable. Many man and monster murdered to This One’s crucible cut.

This one is not one to lay but to hold hatchet and heave on.

Looking high east to ease such exhausted eyes of the demoralizing desert. Oh such a perfect day deserved a perfect place but desert.

Surely on such a day such as this would one be welcome to a wondrous wilderness. A send of serene sanctuary should be to This One and hatchet on other side that horizon.

Soon standing on the summit, This one surrendered to stop still.

There climbed a configuration of black metal before This One. Prominent is was and presented as a pillar. At the head of its height a capped disk connected, constructed of the same black creation. In wiry white words was written:



The intent was ill in its implication as it composed to compare to rain and bird. Forsooth there flew a bird painted to prove the prose. Staring to the sapphire skies and saw but cerulean sky not birds, nor rain.

Peculiar Pillar.

Slowly This One slipped sideways away the abrupt land of the perfidious plants. As longed, lunged into luscious leg long lawn. So soaring soft slices of pasture This One sat, felt snug and supple beneath.

Blowing bored was the breeze and in it was made aware little black flowers. So delicate and dreamy did they seem that This One found himself formally frightened. Seemed should they be stared at long, they could crumble under the strain of his ever sour scrutiny. So delicate.

His eyes followed up the frightening metal formation. It was unremarkably, unknowable unto This One with an uncanny. An escapade to the environment with an edge of esoteric serenity.

The sort not in search of. Far from.

This break of bliss was also dark, devilish, and definitely damned.

Frightened, finding legs not moving with mutiny to march. As the thought thickened one thrust a leg toward heaven.


This area had in some way altered a state, and was seemingly stuck. Toward heaven toward earth as this leg any leg would with such a thrust.

Beaming as a boy, bent back on bowed arms in this locality of some divine. Diminutive desires now for drink.

A little look revealed the ravine running bottomless into what became a land of beauty. Surely it showered on this side of the sphere scaled.

But beautiful black bulbs.

Courageous as a crusader, contact came with a finger down on the curtail and carefully was one unearthed.

The sorrowed snap sounded to the tender tug.

Like a sad women with her child he held it close in remorse. How was he so able to kill something so defenseless? He felt his heart throb a few times in fear a god should strike him dead for the abomination.

Now that it had deceased and was by all means his, he couldn’t help but admire his now greatest treasure. To want to hold and protect it as if doing so were penitence for such carnage.

Such a dear flower.

Soft strokes, flower and face. Breath in, breath out the single bouquet conferring its private cologne.

Quite the beauty in fact.

This One laughed aloud. Stretched stiffly in the green straw, for the hatchet. Removing from the rough rawhide latch. With toothed tip, a tear in the necklace of the tunic. With passive placing the stem was set.

Queer feelings now, as though sinking into the earth below. Though waterless a sensation of weightlessness consumed.

With a soft squirt then a discharged detonation from the offset black metal frame, water shot into the distance across the land.

Beautiful water sparkling like diamonds in the sky and with each individual’s duty to gravity, they struck the prosperous terra firma off in the distance. The water gushed long powerful shots west, then northwest, then north, then northeast with thunderous thriving sprays. Then with a frightening rapid succession of short shots it sprayed water from northeast all the way back to west again.

Here though lay This One South of the Peculiar Pillar. Such desire to travel to the North East for the tower water. But the flowers seized so stalwart were they. Legs no longer lifted, only flowers, so small and delicate.

Bliss bounding within did there come weak laughter to link their lullaby for a long lay to nevermore.

© Copyright 2018 Cody S. D. Crum. All rights reserved.

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