Alysse Aallyn

Blog

  • Haiku by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku;

    Taming Hateful Mind 

    Can’t hate

    Your way to

    Happiness,

    Poison path finds no Peace;

    Rage clouds

    Choice.

  • Haiku by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Reincarnation

    Are souls

    Transferable? Is

    Flesh loaned –

    Hungry spirits

    Questing for home?

  • Haiku by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Self-defined

    Blind smack of spore

    From roots and core

    Germ flies high;

    Poets cry

    I, I, I!

  • Haiku: Subterfuge Inc. by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Subterfuge Inc.

    Ruse patrol:

    Dissimulating –

    Saboteuse –

    Guerilla guest –

    C’est moi.

  • Haiku by Alysse Aallyn – “Mastering Meditation”

    #Haiku:  Mastering Meditation

    Experience

    Intimidates.

    Silence sees –

    Compassion

    Understands

  • Haiku; Pupa Pluperfect by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Pupa Pluperfect

    Somnolescent

    Caterpillars

    Dream deep – the

    Language of Butterflies

  • The Emotional Archive – a haiku by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: The Emotional Archive

    Sun withdraws;

    Cry. Heat swells –

    Sing. Intent

    Blooms. Journaling honors

    Life pulse.

  • Haiku: Overthinking

    by Alysse Aallyn

    #Haiku: Overthinking

    Brain heats up

    Smoke blurs eyes

    Complications threaten –

    Solutions

    Vanish

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 20 – The End

    We flew to a hotel at LaGuardia,

    Called Derek, whose father suggested

    Vince Tromwell.  He got 

    Mirabel immunity as long as she told

    “the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”

    and after they tested the shirt and the knife

    Verne even confessed –

    If you call taking an Alford plea –

    (Which legally means “You got me”) –

    Confession. Verne got forty years

    On each count with deportation

    Instead of parole. 

    Mom and Dad didn’t mind

    Having a yoga teacher in the family –

    They both started yoga –

    I admit I did too –

    That’s what big sisters are for;

    They go through everything first

    So you don’t have to.

    We get to be writers, we

    The little sisters

    Poets and thinkers of all the peaceful

    Afternoons; assessing, not

    Regressing, savoring even

    The upside down moments

    Right side up and 

    Passing them to history.

    It worked on everyone but Mr.

    Mowgley, English teacher,

    Who said;

    “Shouldn’t you write this

    In the third person voice

    To gain some distance?”

    I said, “Never.

    I’m Richenda Marshott, only me and

    I’ll never pretend to be

    Anyone else.”

  • The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

     “Mirabel, you must let me 

    Tell Mom and Dad. They don’t

    Deserve this silence.”

    She turned mulish. Resistant.

    More stubborn than I’d ever be.

    “Mirabel is dead. It’s better for everyone.”

    “Mom & Dad won’t miss me. I was

    Nothing but trouble.”

    I spoke truth when I said;

    “I guarantee you that’s not true.

    They will never get over you.

    And in the meantime, Lord Verne gets away

    With murder. He’ll just kill

    Someone else, Mirabel;

    Don’t you get it? Violence is

    His foolproof way

    To get what he wants.”

    Mirabel moved her shoulders restlessly.

    She’d almost escaped that life and saw me

    Pulling her back.

    “I can’t go to jail. I’d rather die.”

    “People who make immunity

    Deals don’t go to jail. Derek’s family

    Must know a lawyer who’d negotiate

    For you. You stay anonymous

    Because deals never go to court.”

    She eyed me suspiciously.

    “What do YOU know about 

    Bargaining with prosecutors?”

    “I have a Netflix subscription!

    I watch the ID channel! If you tell them

    What you know it might be enough

    To convict him.

    Get him out of all our lives

    Forever.” Fingers crossed.

    She struggled to believe me.

    She had so little trust.

    Yet I was the one

    She’d invited inside.

    “I have the murder weapon,” she admitted.

    “I told him I got rid of it. And

    The shirt he wore – it’s bloody.

    In a safety deposit box.”

    A thrill ran through me.

    I hadn’t expected

    Such cagey planning, but

    I should have; from

    The Girl Who Got Away.

    “That’s probably enough,” I promised.

    But still my sister hesitated,

    Torn between embracing her 

    Imaginary life with its

    Brand new identity and

    Facing her destroyer.

    I played my final card.

     “You owe me,” I whispered.

    “You owe the dead girls.

    And so Mirabel – not Franny but

    The grown up girl who’d always been

    My sister; made up her mind.

    She accepted herself; the way

    I had always accepted her.