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Victoria Cayton's Writings

Short Story
Nov.12.2010
  It was late afternoon, with the sky a bruised purple and vermillion, all spilling into layers. It was going to be a cool, windy evening, as it was that time of the year again. A little distance from where I sat was father, resting on the garden bench. His tired, languid body surrendered to the awkward shape of the wooden seat. One would have thought he was...
Article
Sep.03.2009
Epilogue Robert Lowell Those blessèd structures, plot and rhyme-- why are they no help to me now I want to make something imagined, not recalled? I hear the noise of my own voice: The painter's vision is not a lens, it trembles to caress the light. But sometimes everything I write with the threadbare art of my eye seems a snapshot, lurid, rapid, garish,...
Short Story
Feb.01.2009
The Wishing Well by Victoria Cayton   It was a beautiful, cloudless evening. The full moon shone in all its artificial glory, floating on an ocean of stars. The silence of all that slept or tried to sleep filled the air—the air that I did not seem to breathe. I was the watch guard of evenings, the detached observer who was at the mercy of the Sandman who...
Poem
Oct.03.2008
The moth was warned to admire the flame from a distance where it could not harm   helplessly drawn in-- light and heat, enchanting-- the moth paid no heed, willingly declared itself captive   dazed by the light while scorched by heat, the moth fell awkwardly, expectedly, dead   I've heard this repeated but now it makes more sense Willingly, I will...
Poem
Oct.03.2008
Who
Who I used to know me who used to know them who used to know what I used to be   eyes barely open stare into silver light throws itself into my eyes   there is no answer not like before the person before me knows not his name   pale, lifeless flesh with half-living eyes gaze into a mirror and see the answer   there is nothing more
Poem
Oct.03.2008
Tapping the notebook with a pencil still sharp at the tip, I waited for the words to come. Ideas stormed my head, one after the other. Like a machine gun firing endlessly, the bullets came, detached and completely disconnected ideas flying past at lightning speed. I needed to catch one bullet, and work from there. Bleeding words into this empty notebook. A...
Poem
Oct.03.2008
Lavender and tangerinestain the skyand I gaze at youat a distance that grows shorter My dreams used to beof tangerine and lavenderand myself, myselfwith the sky to gaze at Found the trodden path?I thought t'was coveredby the peach-colored rainand yellow-blue flowers Your hazy features,observed my dream with a look of disgustof perfect contentment You invade my...
Column
blah-ging
Oct.03.2008
Blogging, I would say, is a double-edged sword. As you may have heard once or a number of times, the pen is mightier than the sword. Words have a special way of changing someone's life-- for better and for worse. As much as it can inspire someone to change into someone much better, it is also capable crippling the human being, leaving him scarred forever or...
Poem
Oct.03.2008
Detachmentv.cayton Drops of rubies of brilliant scarletfall from gaping wounds we inflictedAs if covered in gold dust, you shimmer in sweatwhile hanging lifeless; they had all wept Hands that reach towards Heaven in an embraceare, by sharp and thick iron nails, kept in placean elegant crown, unique from all of nobilitydraws blood from sunken veins with cruelty...
Short Story
Oct.03.2008
He sat a few tables away from her, noticing her proximity and the gaping distance between them. He guised himself as one of the people who seemed more interested in their food than in the people around them. Though every now and then, he would glance in her direction-- never at her. No, he mustn't stare. He noted her companions briefly, studied how she would sit...