Love

Love...what is it? How do you describe it? Is it two people intertwined forever by passions? Or lust? Is it a feeling about someone or something> Passion or passions? How do you tell a blind person about it? Do you let it unfold?
Romance novels...what are they? How you feel yet can't say? Are they love stories or smut? Are they one persons dream and another's escape, or are they a way, a feeling, or something about feelings and emotions? How...? Why...? What...? Those are the questions. Questions we ask ourselves each and everyday. Do we...or don't we...? Ask your self. Does love, true love really exist? is is another fairy tale?
Fate and Destiny... Are they intertwined with love and our very beings? Where does Love fit into our chaotic lives? How do you answer a child's questions? With Truth...or lies? Or just push it aside? What if they persist? Do you dissuade them or tell them? How can you deny love to someone, or deny them truth? Truth about what though? What is love? Better yet what does love have to do with life? Is love apart of us all? how do you know? How to tell? All life is questions, questions that need answers, but who has these answers? Most questions are reflecting answers, most to all leading to love, death, life, hate...emotions. But what does each emotion mean? Life is like a puzzle or a story, do you try to solve it, finish it, or leave it blank and mysterious for others to fill in and fix?

Sam Nyberg

Rain...

The feel of rain caressing my skin is one of my most insatiable feelings. The caress that feels like a lover, soft and gentle, yet full of wonder. Is it greedy to want it to drizzle all day and night, to want your body to feel the ecstasy or the pleasure that such caresses would give? No, it is the want or wish for love, the need for a paramour grows, not diminish with life. The more that we learn and grow the more our need to feel pleasure intensifies. All that is needed now is a bit of fire, to help heat up intense atmosphere, the ecstasy of moment is pushed to another level...

Arts Round-Up 3

Craintes feu de camp
(Campfire fears)


A Single flame no matter how small
And weak it seems, can have the
Fiercest life. The flame starts small and
Seemingly inconsequential
Yet grows rapidly, consuming all in its path
Those weaker and stronger. Finally
It is destroyed by greed.

How can something so small create
So much trouble, yet have such
A life?

Everyone is like this flame in their own way.
Starting off small and growing,
Consuming things we see,
People we meet,
Driven by greed.

Life is a giant fire,
Each new obstacle, person,
Emotion, event is kindling.
Feeding the fires insatiable hunger

Sam Nyberg

Arts Round-Up 2

A New Siren’s Call

As morning dawns steam rises
From the river. The suns early rays
Reflect off the waters surface. Drawing;
Enticing; Capturing the beholder
With wonder, just as a
Siren tempts sailors the
Water tempts all.

On its
Surface is beauty, a calmness that
Says “I’m harmless”
Yet, beneath its murky depth’s
Are razor sharp rocks,
Beckoning the beholder to a
Sudden death.

Roots protrude from the banks
Waiting to ensnare.

Tiny creatures await the
Moment when the soul
Leaves to finish
The body off, to
Eat away until nothing is left.

Inadequate objects sit on
The bank saying that
Someone was here, yet never
Signifying if they fell for
The waters murky trap.

Sam Nyberg

Arts Round-Up

An Unfortunate Memoir

It was a starless October night when my friend Shandi, our brothers, and I were playing Hide ’N’ Go Seek at their new house. Their father came up to us and asked if we wanted a real game of it, at Hawkins Park.
He drove us there at half-past ten. We parked next to a giant boulder. A single street light luminated the area, casting a ghostly shadow on the dark blue truck. The unpaved pathway was hidden in the dark void, consuming any hint of light. Shandi shone her flashlight toward the trees. We clung together, frightened of the path into the void. Slowly we start down the path, ready to face whatever might be silently lurking ahead.
A house door creaks open slowly, almost soundless as it slams. Floor boards cry against the pressure of booted feet as someone saunters towards the porch screen door. The old screen door is pried open, hinges crying from the grinding pressure, and is trust aside in his haste to clear the old porch.
Their father looks to his son.
“Brandon”
“Um…. Ya dad…” Brandon’s lips quiver as words barely audible escape
“Go lock the truck” John barks.
“Uh…Um… dad I don’t want to” Brandon argues, quaking with fear.
“I’ll do it Uncle John” Jake pips up as he bounds for the door.
We stand shivering on the pathway waiting, listening. A metal gate creaks ever slightly.
Shivers quiver up my spine.
“BANG!” the gate is slammed shut with a forceful hand.
An older man appears in the light near the truck. His hair is gray and thinning. His glasses are bulky and think. He is clad in a bathrobe clinging loosely to is aged form. He walks without balance, tripping over nothing yet everything. Reeking of day old mead and cheap whiskey. He clumsily approaches Jake. In is arms is what appears to be a bundle, the streetlight causes a small metallic glint.
Shandi gasps.
“Shotgun.” is all that she says, yet it is breathless.
“Stay here” thunders John as he races toward Jake.
As the young kids we are we don’t listen. We quickly pursue John.
John quickly plants himself in front of Jake, in the shotguns path, attempting to divert the unwanted attentions. The man’s thumb cocks the shot gun as it wavers between us all…

Sam Nyberg