Ruthless

Dr. Sheila Fabiana, PHD., surveyed the water with her binoculars, looking for signs of predation. Sharks patrolled these waters. Her current task was to record their feeding behavior and keep track of various data related to hunter and prey.

She did not have to wait long.

People think of sharks as ruthless killers, incapable of pity or empathy. Dr. Fabiana believed this was an unfair characterization. People are generally able to feel pity for the unfortunate and empathize with others, including both humans and animals.

Sharks are literally incapable of pity or empathy. Ruthless by definition, but are they really?

Orange Sky

The sky has turned a hazy orange from wildfires capable of creating their own weather. Pages are torn out of books to further feed the fires. Birds wildly flap their wings to escape, only to go round and round in circles. Everything that isn’t predator is prey. Sisters of Mercy are forced to strip naked on the edge of a burial pit, folding their arms over their breasts in misplaced concern for modesty. Today is without a tomorrow. The roof burns, and we let it. My eyes fill with tears from the smoke, but I have never seen more clearly.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's newest poetry collection, Heart-Shaped Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is available from Laughing Ronin Press.

For MM

The ground is wet with rain, and yet a book is lying there dry. I pick it up. Whoever snapped the photo used on the cover was either too excited or in too much of a rush to hold the camera steady. The faces of the naked women standing in an open field are blurred, less visible than their dark triangles of pubic hair. Soldiers gesturing with rifles have lined the women up in front of a burial trench. The women, still concerned for decency, keep their arms folded modestly over their breasts. Everything that isn’t a predator is prey.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's latest poetry book is Swimming in Oblivion: New and Selected Poems from Redhawk Publications. He co-edits the journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.

The Lion

The bold lion hunts searching for prey. In the distance it spots a striped zebra, and slowly makes its move. The zebra is unaware of the lion’s approach and continues chewing grass. Now the lion hauls its front legs forward and jumps midair landing on top of the zebra. The zebra howls in fear too frightened and not strong enough to fend off the fearless lion. The struggle is short lived as the lion bites the zebra’s neck, killing it instantly. As the deceased animal lays limp the lion devours it, content.

The courageous animal forages the fields once again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Prey

The birds of appetite circled the spot below them on the desert floor. Inkblots against a sky cloudless and blue. They wheeled in decreasing concentric circles. Always, the spot the center of a bull’s-eye.

One bird landed feet from his target. Drawing nearer, he became agitated. There was nothing there. With a screech he took off in search of better prey.

Slowly, the spot resolved itself against the haze and became the figure of a man. He had stopped to rest after walking for hours. He stood now, indifferent to temperature and to thirst. Indifferent as well to his destination.

From Guest Contributor James C. Clar

Searching

Robyn rolls down the car window and breaths in the fresh air. It is warm, but not enough to sit on the beach and take in the sun, or swim in the water.

Robyn notices a lone woman standing on the dock. Her back is turned, and head erect. The wind blows her black hair above the shoulders and seagulls soar in search of prey, while the waves ripple.

After Robyn finishes her coffee, she puts the car in gear and slowly backs up. She hears deafening screams and jams on the brake.

The woman on the dock is gone.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Sea

The gentle ripple of the waves soothes me, as I listen to the seagulls flying above searching for prey. A mother is helping her young son build a sandcastle while keeping an eye out for her daughter. “Don’t go too far out,” she bellows.

The ocean splashes against my legs and seaweed gets caught in-between my toes. I chortle and kick my feet, releasing it back into the water. I love the sea, its openness and the people who come to get away from everyday life.

The ocean is a world of its own, and the world is the ocean.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Drowning Memories

Alex listened to the waves crashing against the shoreline while seagulls flew above, searching for prey. The sun beamed on his face and he wished he had worn a hat.

He walked the beach, the hot sand stinging his toes. Boats sailed in the distance and he wondered what it would feel like to be free of land, but that thought dissipated. His mind shifted to when he almost drowned and his father pulled him from the water shouting his name, punching his chest until he spit up.

His father was now the one drowning, of a disease called cancer.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Callous Humans

An aged tiger was on the prowl. One night it caught a sheep. As it could not carry its prey, it tried to eat it there. The cows in the shed raised an alarm. The villagers gathered, pelting stones. The tiger ran away.

The villagers staged a protest, wanting the government to exterminate it. Experts were called in. The next day they shot the tiger. How callous are humans, I thought.

A tiger took a sheep, a sheep that was to be slaughtered the next day!

If animals could strike back for their rights, we all would be behind bars!

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.