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Saturday, July 7, 2012

Three Short Stories by Ron Koppelberger

Three Short Stories by Ron Koppelberger

Flourishes of Half Dollar Renown
The sole resemblance of chance and need, wont and waiting freedom, was a struggle in scarlet battles of wine and snakes that shorn confederate passage allow. He considered the wisdom of promise and pose, able arts and existence.

The half dollar fell to the concrete and the wind sang, tiny tempests swirled in the rain tinctured sunshine spears of light. The coin spun on the edge of a grain of sand as the seconds passed. He saw the design of dust and the savor of oaths in ash and dew, in sovereign applause and ether, in affirmed delight and amazing, absolutely amazing taboo. The coin fell still and random wills sighed in relief as the sun whispered and the world continued to revolve. He had half dollar renown and a distant love of life.

A Breed of Rain
The eclipse of mystery in omens was a deluge in the life of Prey Claw. He found the crème in his coffee was curdled yet sweet and allayed to the harmony of sunshine dawns and wont. A wonder of ascending taste and a mildly amused rhythm of tender embrace. Prey sanctified the contents of his cup and swallowed the bidden blood, “Ahhhhhhhhaaaaaahhhhhh.” he whispered in satisfaction and passage.

The springtide fray he thought in simmering reserve, the course of maelstroms and the way of weeping rain, he considered the beholden day and birth in trade with the gentle assay of what is and what has been a tear in the depth of miracles and myths of coffee care, a sweet and a bitter barter. He sipped and found respite, reprieve in rages of fortune.

Pray strapped the leather harness across his waist and shoulders in easy movements of bond. Bond between the gods of chance and the fates that tell muzzy dreams where to sleep, where to amend the night and the calm in secret repast. Prey secured his harness to the edge of the cliff and around the trunk of an enormous weeping willow. The sun whirled immigrant beams of warmth and stray moted substance of soul. Prey took a final sip of coffee and in betrothal to the arrangement of wind and sun, teasing mountain balance and rapt crowns of revelation, secured the poise of his task and he sang as he absorbed the present.
“Foretell the blessings
Of daisies and dandelions
In tempers of rare wine
And wild adventure, A
Consonance with salvation.”

The will of god saved Prey that morning and he endured in courage and sighs, wonder and sensation.

* The rope snapped and a child would amend the faith in Prey, she would make him whole and in sunshine and rain, she would show him the paths of harvest saffron.

A Blessed Blossom
The naturalness of the gentle blossom was in fine-spun magic with the seasons of both ash and harvest. A bloom in blushing chagrin with the accounts of angels and saints, full in sleep and boundaries of frayed glory. There was a perplexing innocence in the beginnings of reflection and birth, bearth and gusty meandering sanctity.

It came in sad sorrow of shadow and shade, a departure from love and animate intimacy. It was a cold proposition in favor of demons and blackened berserkers, the season in rebuke, the time of parched acquiescence and discreet dark diversion. It was the bane of passerby, the wane desire of soliloquies in bone dust, rattle and gossiping devils.

The flower cringed and withered in lieu of passion and sated cycles and in the miracle that defines the amaranth it found purchase in a new day as the specter of loves lost and declared diabolic dissolved into the soils of perdition, passing without further fanfare. A bloom in crowns of possession, a soul in search of harvest hearth, the amaranth of dark confessions

Author’s Bio: Ron is a poet, a short story writer and an artist. He has written 102 books of poetry over the past several years and 18 novels. He has published 642 poems, 600 short stories and 115 pieces of art in over 212 periodicals, books, anthologies and 9 radio Broadcasts.He can be reached at:

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