Text and photo by HYPATIA PICKENS 

Creative Corner is a new section of RezLibris Magazine that will showcase the many talented, but often unrecognized writers, poets, artists, and other creative individuals in Second Life. If you have a short story, poem, or other work you'd like to submit for possible publication in a future issue, please email it to This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it using "note">"Creative Corner" in the subject line. A photo and short bio of yourself should also be included. Submissions will be accepted on a space available basis at the discretion of the Publisher. No compensation will be provided for any published entries.

Hypatia Pickens writes (and publishes in real life) poetry and fiction, some of it on display in her booth (pictured) at the Autumn Writers Exhibition. In her First Life, she is a Professor of English specializing in medieval literature, creative writing, cultural and film studies and (of late) New Media. She owns a parcel in Avalon Town, Colleen Kesey's brainchild and artists' city, and holds a weekly open mic event at the Public Library there, called "Strange and Sudden Literature" (Thursday nights, 6pm SLT). Sudden, Flash, or "micro-" fiction has been a recognized genre for some time, now. Hypatia invites any writers and readers who have a taste for the taut, the succinct and the formal, in both story and poem, to share their "sudden literature"; and she courts writers or readers who have a taste for the offbeat, along with genres the Market has marginalized, to share their "strange" literature. Writers of non-strange literature are of course welcome as well, and the intimate gatherings have centered on discussions about genre, writing techniques, and market.

Hypatia's poem "Rez Day" was published recently in The Blue Angel Landing, vol. I, both an on-line and printed poetry magazine that made its debut in August 2009 (http://www.blueangellanding.com). Under her real name she has published in the on-line poetry magazine Centrifugal Eye, a venue she discovered through her SL poetry groups. She is an associate editor of a burgeoning real life journal devoted to virtual reality and education, and still maintains the Rossell Hope Robbins Library of the University of Rochester at Talis Cybrary Island. She found it a horrifying amount of work to produce her very first THiNC Book (which she also illustrated)--and for which "sudden literature" seems most fitting: Poppy's Nightmares (cover shown) Hypatia has a keen interest in the unique artistic outlets provided by Second Life and to that end has imported some of her drawings and paintings. A long-time admirer of the miniature, she is working hard on her building skills for a miniature world.

The following poems are, she feels, some of her most succinct :)

"A Broad Hat"*

By Hypatia Pickens

1
A broad hat shades her raw, green eyes. She lifts her chin, lets suddenly the red sun in, dries her wetted sight then dims the light again.

2
God Ra looks down, sees what fun there is! A raw girl whose hat won’t come undone. He thunders sun. No good; must set and look straight on.

3
What does the winking sun see in beach-combed eyes? A pale girl who waits for him to sink and then there’s no unraveling her clothes at all.

4
The broad hat spreads its cloth to the sky. “She loves another, God of the Sun. I’ll keep you from baking dry her heart and skin. Go on!”

*A quartet of “twisters”: poems or stories fitted into exactly 140 characters—essentially all you have to work with on Twitter.

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“Twenty One (Three Times)”**
By Hypatia Pickens

1
Short, lean, muscular,
Best to write on a diet,
Binding your words
While nimble feet fly.

2.
I pen longish poems
Counting my musings
on consonance and
pattern. I hate this cage.

3.
This cage is a door.
Twenty one is all you have
To beckon guests
Into your glamour.

** A “Twenty-One” poem, invented by ToryLynn Writer, is a verse form requi ring no more nor less than twenty-one syllables in four lines.

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"Floating, Lovely, Anonymous Notecards" ***

Oh, my sweet, how you set me floating
When I find in my inventory your lovely
Poem. But of course you remain anonymous.

How I am tempted by this anonymous
Art to set above it my own name floating,
But I forget that I must keep you, Lovely,

Safe from plagiarism. I wouldn't feel lovely
If I forgot that you are not anonymous,
though unwary, and so I quash this floating,

Fearful of not so floating, lovely, or anonymous reproach.

***Learned in Sunnie Beaumont’s Tuesday evening workshop, a tritina is a sestina cut in half, with three repeating words in three stanzas instead of six In six. This poem developed out of a problem unique to Second Life poetry readings: collected notecards distributed by poets who don’t put their names on them.

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Text and Photo by GILBERT SAPWOOD (RL STORYTELLER DALE GILBERT JARVIS)

Creative Corner is a new section of RezLibris Magazine that will showcase the many talented, but often unrecognized writers, poets, artists, and other creative individuals in Second Life. If you have a short story, poem, or other work you'd like to submit for possible publication in a future issue, please email it to This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it using "Creative Corner" in the subject line. A photo and short bio of yourself should also be included. Submissions will be accepted on a space available basis at the discretion of the Publisher. No compensation will be provided for any published entries.

The streets of the old walled city were dark, with ancient houses built right out onto the narrow sidewalks, but the moon peeped out from between the buildings, doing her best to light the way.

 

Two sailors were heading back to their ship, which lay at anchor in the protected harbour. They were returning from a dance, having spent the night flirting with local girls, and enjoying their first shore leave in some time. They walked along, joking with each other.

 

As they walked through the shadowy streets, they noticed a woman standing in their path. She was dressed in a beautiful, long, flowing black dress with beadwork across the front. She wore an elegant if slightly old-fashioned hat, and her face was hidden behind a veil of black lace.

The young men tipped their hats to her as they approached. As they made to pass by her, much to their suprise, she called out to them.

 

“Gentlemen,” she said, in a low, warm voice, “I have somehow found myself locked out of my own home. Would you be able to help me?”

Without a moment's hesitation, the two men offered their assistance, saying they would do whatever they could. The woman in black nodded, and beckoned them to follow her with one elegantly gloved hand. She set off through the darkened streets, the men keeping pace alongside her, her heels clicking on the coblestones.

 

The street ran down the hill towards the water, and as was typical for that part of the town, the houses were built side-by-side, adjoined in a row. Eventually the woman stopped in front of one door.

 

“Number 16,” she said, pointing to the house.

 

It was a grand old house, large and stately. It had a great wooden door, painted green, with a brass knocker that gleamed in the moonlight. Either side of the door were two great bay windows than ran from the ground up to the second storey. Heavy wooden shutters barred the windows on the main floor, so nothing could be seen inside, though looking up, the men could see lights shining in the rooms above.

 

One of the sailors reached into his pocket, and took out a folding knife which he always carried with him. He undid the latch on one of the shutters, opening them up. His friend hoisted him up, then sliding the blade of the knife up between the sashes of the window, he was able to trip the latch, and slide the window open. The sailor climbed in through the window, pushing aside the rich velvet curtains, and found himself standing in a most remarkable room.

 

The sailor's jaw dropped, as he looked about him. The lady, or her family, were obviously very well off indeed. The room was decorated with antique furniture, and the walls were covered with fine paintings. It was lit with candles which burned in ornate holders, and everywhere was the gleam of gold, silver, and crystal. He quickly made his way to the front door, finding it locked from the inside with a heavy iron key. He turned the key to the lock, and opened the door to admit the lady of the house and his shipmate.

The woman thanked the two men most graciously, and asked if they would come in for a drink. Again, they did not hesitate, more than happy for the opportunity of a both a drink and the company of a young woman.

 

Once inside, the woman stopped in the hallway where there was hat stand and large mirror. Carefully, she removed the long pins from her hat, and lifted the hat and veil from her head. Looking into the mirror, she patted back her hair, and turned to face the two men.

 

She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman either of the men had ever seen, or even dreamed of seeing. Her skin was as pale as alabaster, her lips as red as blood, and her hair as long and black as a winter's night without stars. She ushered the two men into the parlour, and bade them to be seated.

 

The raven-haired beauty told them to make themselves comfortable while she prepared their refreshment, and left them alone for a moment. The two men looked at each other, hardly daring to speak. They looked around the room, taking in the richness of the furnishings and artwork. Around them, the flickering flames of the candles danced and were reflected back.

 

Before long, the woman returned with a silver platter on which was a decanter of wine and two crystal goblets. She served the men, but did not take a drink herself. The three of them talked for some time, the woman asking many questions about their stay in the town.

 

When they had finished the wine, which was the best they had ever tasted, one of the sailors asked if she minded if they smoked. She assured them she did not. He took out a silver cigarette case, offering the lady a cigarette first. She smiled, but declined the offer. He and his companion each took a cigarette, lit them and smoked, conversing for a while longer. When they were finished, they thanked her for the drink, and she in turn thanked them once more for coming to her aid. She showed them to the door, and shook their hands, blessing each of them with a heart-breakingly beautiful smile.

The two men wished her a good night, and as they stepped out onto the street, they heard the click of the heavy iron key turning in the lock behind them. They followed the street downwards towards the harbour, and before too long they found themselves by the gangplank leading to their ship.

Before they boarded, they decided they would have another quick smoke. The sailor with the cigarettes reached down into his pocket, but found it empty.

“Blast!” he exclaimed to his mate, “I've left my cigarette case behind.”

 

His friend readily agreed to go back with him, so the two men walked back up the hill, retracing their steps, and made their way to the house of the woman in black.

When they arrived at Number 16, they looked at the house in some confusion. It was the same house, but looked dramatically different from the stately home they had visited earlier that evening. The front door was weathered, with peeling paint, and the brass door knocker was old and tarnished. The shutters were gone completely from the windows on the main floor, and the windows themselves had been boarded over. No lights could be seen through the broken panes of the glass in the windows up above. The house looked completely abandoned.

 

Mystified, the men knocked on the door, but though the sounds of their banging echoed through the street, no one answered their call. They went to the windows, and peered through the cracks in the boards, but saw nothing. Noticing that a few of the boards were loose, they pried them off. Once more, one of the sailors used his knife to jimmy open the window latch. He pushed open the sash, and climbed through.

 

This time, the sailor found himself in pitch darkness. He struck a match, and looking around, saw that the room was completely empty. The antique furniture, the fine paintings, everything was gone, and in their place were only shadows and long cobwebs. He hastened to the front entrance, found the old iron key still in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door with a rusty screech.

 

The two men found the stub of an old candle on thefloor near the doorway, and lighting it, they made their way back to the parlour where the woman had served them wine. It was empty as well. With a quaking hand, one of them pointed down. The floor was thick with dust, but the dust had clearly been disturbed recently, as there were two distinct set of footprints that lead into the room, and back. The men stepped into the room, and comparing the footprints to their own, they saw that they were exactly identical.

 

Both men could feel the hair raising on the backs of their necks. They immediately turned to leave the room and as they did so, one of them kicked something with his foot, and it skittered across the floor with a metalic clang. He reached down, and picked up the object. It was his own cigarette case.

 

The men had no desire to remain a minute longer in the house. Quickly, they fled the property, hurrying back to the safety of their bunks onboard ship. Later, they asked some of the local people if anyone lived in the old house at Number 16, and were told that it had been abandoned for as long as anyone could remember. Eventually, they were directed to a very old man who had lived on the street as a boy.

Gilber Sapwood

The old man said that he too had never known anyone to live in the house at Number 16, and that he was sorry he could not help them in their quest for answers. He told them that as children, they had been directed to stay away from the house, as it was believed to be haunted by the ghost of a young woman, who had died in the property many years before he was born.

“I ofttimes looked at that house, hoping to see the ghost,”said the old man with a slightly wistful expression, “But I never did. No one remembers her name, but she was said to be heart-breakinly beautiful, with skin as pale as alabaster, lips as red as blood, and hair as long and black as a winter's night without stars.”

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Love Landed

On the big giant “X” that was my lonely heart. Love landed, with two goliath feet. It announced itself robustly; “Hi, I’m Love”, and I stared blinking, from behind the berry bushes, face smeared with my mother’s raspberries, and wearing worn bunny slippers, that I will never ever throw out.

I pulled out a chair, and welcomed Love to sit. But the chair was too small, and Love just laughed, instead choosing to sit cross legged in front of me.

“I wasn’t expecting you” I said.

“No one ever does”, it replied.

“You are a lot larger than I thought you’d be” I said, looking around at my small life, and all the pieces that bulged at the seams of my small apartment. There was no space. Only Love, who stared down with brown soft eyes that reminded me of fresh chocolate cake and two forks.

“So now what?” I asked, pouring the coffee casual on a table with wobbly legs.

“You tell me” it responded, touching my hand reassuringly.

I sat and contemplated Love’s question.

“How long can you stay?” I asked, looking with great intensity at patterns in my dark black coffee.

“How long will you keep me?” It asked in return. Love is tricky, I thought to myself. It never answers a direct question.

“How about forever?” I asked, eyes boldly upturned, certain that this would send Love running for the hills. After all, that seemed to be the way of the world.

“That’s the plan baby” said Love.

“Okay” said I, with trembling lip, and fighting the urge to cowardly sprint in sloppy floppy cartoon slippers.

Then Love reached over and took my heart into its hands. It squeezed the midnight indigo out, and brought the belly laughs and sidewalk chalk, pillow fights and pillow talk.

And I wept.

Skylar Smythe
July 6, 2009
The Guerilla Poetess © 2009

Catching Clouds

He drinks his tea with milk.
Facing ever eastward to be nearer to my love, I stand on a crowded city balcony. The scent of moist tomato leaf dances briefly over my nose and through my wistful memory of row upon row of cheery red tomatoes. Amid distant historical reflective retrospection, a black Chihuahua cocks its head, and I realize I have sighed involuntarily once more.
He drinks his tea with milk.
I swirl a black mug gingerly, watching the foreign show of darkness and light mixing therein. The epic Yin and Yang. A tempest in a teacup.
I close my eyes and sip, catching clouds between my lips.

Skylar Smythe
The Guerilla Poetess © 2009

The purpose of www.guerillapoetess.com is to combat the artless life, and my feedback from encourages other artists to share their own stories of "Random Acts of Artfare" that we might inspire a global "ripple effect". On the website you also see a synopsis of my "mission" and unique way that I accomplish that vision in Downtown Toronto, Ontario Canada.

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Creative Corner is a new section of RezLibris Magazine that will showcase the many talented, but often unrecognized writers, poets, artists, and other creative individuals in Second Life. If you have a short story, poem, or other work you'd like to submit for possible publication in a future issue, please email it to This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it using "Creative Corner" in the subject line. A photo and short bio of yourself should also be included. Submissions will be accepted on a space available basis at the discretion of the Publisher. No compensation will be provided for any published entries.

Angel of Bitter Sweetness
Text and Photo by SOUTHERN GEORGIA

A half past a dream soaked night, I found myself groggy and in a cold sweat sitting up at my computer desk chair. I was awake but barely able to comprehend what had transpired between the sheets of my otherwise tranquil slumber. Was it a dream that was so sweet and so seductive? I felt my heart racing, almost thundering out of my chest. So I reached up quickly to check the pulse on my neck. I wanted to make sure I was awake and alive. Yes, I thought, "I’m awake and not dreaming."

I began to reflect on what had just transpired out of a night that started so nice and pleasant. The night began like most typical second life nights full of conversation and pleasantry. The chance to meet new avatars was fun. The fun lasted into the night as I met new avatars who were intelligent enough to carry on a nice conversation. Then there she was. She did not seem like the others. The others were filled with streams of endless chat that ebbed on like endless strings of slurred dribble that seem to blow away in the cool Second Life sky. She was different in a sensual, easy going, laid back sort of way.

She was easy. In fact, she was downright hot, and I was easily caught up in her capacity to draw me into whatever pleased her interests. What I mean to say is, she was easy on the eyes and was easy to chat with. She followed the chat string flowing from one interesting topic to another in a smooth transition that seemed to nourish my inner soul. She was interesting, and she titillated my curiosity with sizzling comments that penetrated my defenses. She explained how easy it was to know me and how I made her smile. We joked about how her avatar had no panties or bra and how mine had a nice package but nothing underneath! There was no holding back as we laughed and chatted the night away.

I was attracted to her world full of intrigue peppered with an abundance of laughter. Chatting in her mansion full of art deco, she enticed me in her chat history about how good our avatars looked together as a couple. Then she teased me about my hair. (Good male hair is so hard to find.) She sarcastically commented, "Looks like you're wearing your hair on backwards." I presumed she was looking at the style of nappy, uncombed freebie hair I had on at the time. So to cure her appetite, I reversed my hair. We laughed so hard our sides hurt. Her sexy female laughter echoed between the ear pieces of my headset.

Soon I was drawn to her magnetic personality. Her heat was beginning to melt me down. The next thing I knew, she was ordering me to come sit next to her. So I did without hesitation. Then she asked me to come closer, and we cuddled. By then the seduction was so strong and she was coming on strong to me. I could tell she knew what she wanted and how to get it. I did not resist. She reached over to hold my hand. I returned the gesture by squeezing her hand and then our fingers inter-twined in a clasp of pure magnetism. Then she yielded just at the right moment to display her soft feminine side. I reached over to kiss her soft moist lips. She typed how our lips met and then our mouths opened slightly inviting me to explore the nature of her sensual seductive side. She captured and trapped me and broke down the hardened walls of living long in Second Life. I crumbled almost into pieces as we started to draw closer into a haze of intimacy.

She felt soft but not to the touch but in my mind. I felt myself collapsing into her gentle folds and being wrapped up in whatever she had to offer. She touched me so tenderly yet with a firmness that could caress the softest petals of a flower. Then, she would pluck the petal cleanly off with her teasing ways. Her words were like silk that I could feel across my perfectly pixilated skin. It was like textured air. When she said, "mmmmmmmmmmmmm,"I could feel her. She had a particular way with which she could make me feel without that real life touch.

I could feel myself growing in her presence as she encouraged me to become all the man I could be. My hands trembled as I tapped away on my keyboard in a rush of misspelled words. I fumbled around, somewhat, not knowing what to say at times or how to lead in the conversation. But she helped me and nurtured me along just at the perfect time. I sometimes felt immature in my adult childlike state of mind. Then, the magic really happened.

She could sense my feelings without me even expressing them in prose. The magic was truly amazing and so real. The connection was direct and strong. The current was flowing and there was real excitement in the air. She seemed angelic with her soft subtle chat. Her words flowed like buttered sugar, and I was high on her sweetness! And then she swept one of her soft angelic wings across my pixilated skin, and I felt like an instrument being played in her hands. She gently motioned me to come over. I gave in completely and let her play me; all of me. Then my eyes rolled back in a shock wave of pure love.

She eased me down as I feverishly tried to regain my composure. I was bathing myself in a shockwave of endless ecstasy wound tight in her closely woven set of words. She eased me down more as I felt myself relaxing in the grips of her prose. Down I went into a dreamlike state of wonder and amazement. And then we dozed off in light chatter lying together in words of peace and rest. I did not really know it but, whatever it was; it felt so good and so pleasing. I had found my angel.

I woke up in a groggy cold sweat in my chair. I woke up but was barely able to comprehend what had happened. "What did happen?" I asked myself. "Was I dreaming or was it a second reality?" My heart was racing, almost thumping out of my chest. I checked myself. "Yes," I said, "I am awake." Then I checked my computer screen trying to see clearly through sleep filled eyes. I looked closer and carefully. I peered through the eyes of my avatar to look for my angel. I camera'ed around and panned in and out to search for her. I shouted out in local chat, but no response came. She was gone without a word or green dot. She had logged off in my sleep, and I had her no more.

My mouth was dry like an empty cardboard box. The remaining taste was no longer sweet, but bitter. All I had left was the dry bitter aftertaste of a Second Life encounter and the memory of my sweet angel.

"Angel of Bitter Sweetness" is Southern Georgia's first attempt at writing about a Second Life experience. He is a SL instructor and builder and a real life Educator of Mathematics and Computer Science. This work inspired him to also create a sculpture (pictured above).

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