The Panda and the Grasshopper: The Grasshopper's Works

I'm more into literature than art (I can't draw to save my life) so, enjoy

Tribute to the Person I Love Most in the World

Birdsong. The tranquil sound carries through to me through the window and I'm drawn from the few moments of sleep I've managed to capture. My chest heaves and as it does I realise that the weight from before is gone. The panicked thought that he might be gone with it tears my tired eyes open, but I don't move. I listen. I hear the clock ticking in the corner, ticking away seconds of my life that I know I'll never be able to get back, but I don't care. I hear the cat, grooming her own grey fur, her curved, polished claws clicking softly against the oak chest of drawers pressed up against the wall by the door. And finally, blessedly, I hear the sound I've been listening for since I awoke; breathing that isn't my own, steady and gentle in sleep's soft arms. I can feel his rhythmic breaths against the top of my head, ruffling my long dark hair as my eyes adjust to the large dark room. I roll over, allowing the bed sheets to brush against my bare torso with the movement, so that I can look into his sleeping face, cradled in a hazy embrace far more deep and peaceful than anything my ever-active mind can ever conjure. I raise my hand in order to stroke his tanned cheek and as I do so I feel the love and joy rise in my heart so much that it aches. Love and joy that he should find it in his delicate heart to love me for all my flaws, to remain by my side for all my antics and childish outbursts. To stand by me through the storms and to hold me through the pain. As I lower my head to kiss his warm cheek I think how lucky I am to call him mine. My lover, my beacon of hope, my fragile flower, my salvation.

My Panda.

Hunter

An eerie silence crept over the blackened hills. That silence, the darkness, the cold, all so thick they seeped into the black skeleton trees, casting a haunting aura through the broken forest in its entirety. The place cast fear into the hearts of most who looked upon the sight, but for others it was a haven, a sanctuary. Through this sanctuary the ample, weighty paws padded along the leaf-strewn ground. Each movement was silent and steady. At each sound the colossal beast froze, swinging its hefty head around with quick, sudden movements, glinting amber eyes searching for the source of each sonance as it occurred. Only when came the absolute certainty that the world around it was empty did the creature dare move on again. A snapping twig up ahead and it halted once more. A soft, gentle breeze blew towards it from up ahead, ruffling its black fur and carrying towards it the scent it had so longed for. Shoulders hunched as it lowered its mighty head, its body pressed low to the ground. Each step forward was slow and cautious and calculating, each movement graceful and silent. It could feel the vibrations of the forest beneath its paws, feel every movement the small doe up ahead made as she grazed, unaware of the danger that was approaching, so painstakingly slowly. It knew that in a few moments its hard work would finally be paid off, soon the worry for itself and its young would be held off, at least for a little while, but for now it had to be patient. It crept through the undergrowth of the skeletal forest, and then it could see her. It stalled, waiting for the opportune moment, and then it struck. It broke out from the cover of the small bushes and sprang at the young doe, she saw it and bolted but it was already too late, its momentum dragged it onto her before she could do anything about it, its superior size and strength quickly overcame her, sharp, glinting teeth stuck at her slender neck, she was dead with a single twist of its powerful jaws, her warm blood spilling into its mouth and over its pink tongue. Panting from the adrenaline and the exhilaration of the hunt it dropped her, looking around once more for any threat. It lowered its heavy head and got a good grip around her neck once more, dragging her limp form away into the darkness.

Grief

A twig snapped and the creature froze, ears perking up to listen for the source of the sound. It was crouched down, its lean, muscular body low to the ground. The taste of blood filled its mouth from the doe it gripped in its jaws, the scent of the fresh meat spreading around like an aura, attracting all manner of predators. There was no further sound and it raised its great head a fraction to sniff the still air. Nothing. Satisfied that it was completely alone it continued its journey, dragging the small deer along with it as it walked slowly backwards, twisting its body around to face where it was going, the body tangling in its massive paws and almost tripping it up. Almost there. It made a small eager sound around the meat in its gaping mouth, but there was no answer. Surprised, it dropped its catch, standing and looking around, smelling the air once more. Panic tore through its beating heart and it tore forwards, abandoning its catch where it lay, hastening to the den where its beloved young should have been waiting. Instead it found that the dying leaves and branches that should have hidden the place were gone, revealing a cavernous black hole in the ground. It whimpered loudly, worry and distress building up in its body as it looked around the place for its babies. There was nothing, splatters of blood on the thick muddy ground. Grief tore through the creature as a hurricane, they were gone. And she threw back her head to the star-strewn skies to let out a ghostly, echoing howl of pain and grief, heartbreak her only company as its echo was her only response.

Insanity

What is insanity?

Am I insane, and everybody else normal?

Or is it as my lover always says, that everyone thinking you're crazy is the sign of your being sane?

People say that imagination is the key to knowledge

Yet those whose minds are overflowing with creativity and imagined worlds are said to be insane.

If imagination and creativity are insanity

Then that creature haunts all the greatest minds of our world.

What is normal?

The people who spend their lives wishing for something more?

If insanity is striving to make those impossible things real,

Then I've got it bad.

Am I insane?

Kids from the Father's Point of View

When you marry you may think and even talk about having kids in the future.

But the key words there are really 'in the future',

Then comes the shock; the surprise announcement: "I'm pregnant",

At first there's the surprise, the 'WTF did she just say?', maybe a little bit of excitement,

For a while there's a panic; a flurry of baby clothes and cots and prams, an avalanche of distant family members you've hardly heard of, and well-wishers,

Then come the hormones, the mood swings, the screamed "You don't have a clue what I'm going through here"s,

There's doubt: 'Will I really be a good dad?' and to be honest your wife's too busy with her own problems to worry about yours,

You try books and pamphlets, but while they go into extensive detail as to what mum's supposed to do, there's a paragraph at most for you,

And then the announcement that sees you out of it for the rest of the day: "It's twins!",

And again there's the flurry of baby clothes and cots and prams, that avalanche of distant family members you've hardly heard of, and well-wishers,

And again there's the doubt, the wish for advisers,

But then come the scans, of course you're late again, your first sight of those fragile little lives,

There's love and there's confidence, 'I can do this', she's no need of the playfully threatened knives,

You grow used to the mood swings and the cravings, you start looking forward to what's coming as she sings and she twirls,

Endless lists of baby names; you want boys or girls?

Nappies, wipes, food, are you sure there's enough, do you need to go out?

You're broke, you're tired, you're close to collapsing, then comes her shout,

"TAKE ME TO THE F***ING HOSPITAL!", you have to be off,

The next few hours are agony for you as well as her, she screams, she swears, she squeezes your hand so tight you think it's going to drop off,

At last comes the sign that it's finally over; the shrieking cries of your delicate little flowers, a boy and a girl,

You take them in, the love's there again, things couldn't be better.

But then you start to realise just what you've signed on for,

You think you'll finally get a decent night's sleep without her constant complaints,

But then there's the screaming, the crying, the midnight feeds and changes,

You try to get a moment of peace but every second they're pining - you just can't say no,

You come home from a long exhausting day at work, collapse on the sofa, but only for a second, you know.

Then again, there are good times, too,

Falling asleep with your angels beside you,

Feeling good about yourself as you watch them grow,

Perfect little beings with personalities all their own,

Nursery comes and they're screaming, they don't want you to leave,

Endless school runs and not a moment to breathe,

Sickness and health,

Poverty and wealth,

The tantrums and fights,

Can't sleep without the lights,

You think you can manage but then,

"I'm pregnant again."

The Best Of You

On a daily basis you ask me

What the thing I love most about you would be

I say "everything", but you want specifics

But it's not so hard, nothing scientific

I made a list of my favourite things

The things that would earn the envy of kings

I love the way you hold your hand in front of your face when you blush,

It makes my heart flutter like the wings of a thrush

You're ever a surprise,

You hate your eyes;

One bottle green the other blue as the sea,

But I love them, they're yours, they can't be beat

I love the way you can always smile,

Though you're going through hell and have been for a while

I love the way you don't even notice

That you're so much more beautiful than that Egyptian Lotus

The way you look at me, it drives me crazy,

The way you smile makes my mind go hazy

But the thing I love most about you is

That you love me, I'm yours, no matter what anyone says

I love you more than anything, and I wouldn't trade you,

Not for anything else in the world.

Dancing

I hate dancing. I've never been good at it, or enjoyed it. Watching it only makes me feel like I have two left feet. I've never really seen the point of it.

Pandora loves dancing. A broken leg that never healed has kept him from ever participating in the ... sport ... but I know how much he longs to do so.

The summer night is warm and still, the settling dusk cooling the earth after the heat of the day. I pull the dried laundry down from the line in the garden, folding it and dropping it down in the basket. When I'm done I take it inside, locking the door against the downside of summer - the gnats and other insects. I come into the hallway and slip out of my shoes before treading on the soft, thick carpet. As I take the first few steps in the direction of the kitchen, where I intend to sort the laundry into piles to put it away, I'm frozen to the spot as a soft, hesitant voice carries through to me from the kitchen.

♫"-ople say, happiness takes, so very long to find..."♫ Frowning slightly at the unexpected sound of my lover singing Barry Manilow, I put the basket down on the stairs and make my way to the open kitchen door. Pandora has his back to me, standing at the kitchen table, writing or doodling on a scrap of paper as he sings quietly to himself, probably not even aware he's doing it. As he continues the song I come up behind him, and raise my own voice to sing with him.

♫"Well I'm finding it hard, leaving your love behind, me..."♫ I feel him jerk in surprise, tailing off in the middle of the line as I wrap my arms around him tightly, burying my face in his soft, sweet-smelling blonde hair. He twists around to look at me uncertainly, and I rub his arm encouragingly, prompting him to carry on singing with me. ♫"And I can't smile without you..."♫

We dance then. We dance together as we sing. Everything else forgotten while we do, we smile, we laugh, we hold each other close.

Like I was saying, I love dancing.