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writing live

we are survivors
of life
every one of us
despite fate's intentions
in spite of, for some, our own

and sometimes i think the zombie apocalypse is here, already upon us: us - the shuffling wrecks of flesh, lost limbs, burst hearts, blindly hulking our way towards uncertain goals on feet, hips, knees that no longer work in sync, hands out groping, dumb lips no longer able to articulate (eyes roil in sockets) what decaying minds conceive . . .

and then the warm warm breath of life
vital, finite
fills me with wonder
and perspective changes
for the better

like a gap in the mists
life's beautiful cacophony breaks through
flesh remembers electricity on a molecular level
the tidal nature of our inner seas
and i remember
we're all survivors
 
having read champers' last page on carrie'd away, i was left with the first (and last) line of the above live write. first i've written in awhile, so champers? ty for being a muse this morning :rose: to write is better than not to after an extended period.
 
butters said:
we are survivors

like a gap in the mists
life's beautiful cacophony breaks through
flesh remembers electricity on a molecular level
the tidal nature of our inner seas
and i remember
we're all survivors
Click to expand...

Yesterday morning while walking the dogs,
grey clouds stacked on the eastern horizon
with a salmon tinged open sky above
one of those moments.
 
Piscator said:
Yesterday morning while walking the dogs,
grey clouds stacked on the eastern horizon
with a salmon tinged open sky above
one of those moments.
Click to expand...

:rose:

it is meet
that salmon links with open
skies are seas
above as below
and humanity's linked
in leaps of salmon-hued faith
 
butters said:
having read champers' last page on carrie'd away, i was left with the first (and last) line of the above live write. first i've written in awhile, so champers? ty for being a muse this morning :rose: to write is better than not to after an extended period.
Click to expand...
I go through these horrible droughty periods of next to no poetry escaping the web of my thoughts. I'm so glad my words can inspire such wonderful work as you shared here.

To write is ever better than to cease
having poetry in your heart
a bad poem is infinitely more intricate
in pattern and rhyme and style
than any blank page ever said.
 
Skynyrd always leaves me thirsty
taking a manic ride on music
fueled by ninety proof
dreams of just free falling
into the sound that's stirred my soul
'bout the time that rock went gold,
burned like fire, exploded
then went classic, left the kids to scatter,
create a smorgasbord,
skip the bean casserole

drift, sip, breathe,
change the channel,
I've got the blues
but the news is, it ain't all bad
there's a nod at the end as watermelon slim
drives the devils Cadillac
and the good news, preached,
by a manuscript thumping convert who proclaims,
I've found my Mary and she her Joseph
amen
 
HarryHill said:
Skynyrd always leaves me thirsty
taking a manic ride on music
fueled by ninety proof
dreams of just free falling
into the sound that's stirred my soul
'bout the time that rock went gold,
burned like fire, exploded
then went classic, left the kids to scatter,
create a smorgasbord,
skip the bean casserole

drift, sip, breathe,
change the channel,
I've got the blues
but the news is, it ain't all bad
there's a nod at the end as watermelon slim
drives the devils Cadillac
and the good news, preached,
by a manuscript thumping convert who proclaims,
I've found my Mary and she her Joseph
amen
Click to expand...
wow, the fire and the fuel in this :cool:

the sound links throughout, the mellowing from stanza 1 to 2, the fact you got me to look up watermelon slim... very nice :cool::kiss:
 
there's a rain-storm a'comin'
gonna last a week or more
but torn skies an' the wind's wild howl
don't scare me none
as the lightnin' dances
so will i
'cos there's a wild girl laughin'
an' gettin' wet to the bone










actually, we've light rain and rain showers forecast, so a wet week ahead and i'd never play outside in the lightning, but i still like to get wet to the bone - metaphor that just as much as y'all like :cool::D
 
butters said:
there's a rain-storm a'comin'
gonna last a week or more
but torn skies an' the wind's wild howl
don't scare me none
as the lightnin' dances
so will i
'cos there's a wild girl laughin'
an' gettin' wet to the bone
..
:cool::D
Click to expand...
Now as metaphors go,
those in the know could further a notion or two
it all depend on the weather
rain or a gentle red mist
 
BBC Worship

I need to get fucked by a big strong Nigger Man.

I worship BBC, can't you see?

Its the true religion,

and my Wife has been impregnated...

by the superior Black Alpha.
 
Dental fixation

I coulda made
my fortune with that
electric toothbrush
dildo attachment.
Perfect for a lady
travelin' or perhaps
merely in need
of a discreet cum
before retiring
to a sexless bed.

But then
I was distracted
trying to formulate
a toothpaste
with the flavour
of your cunt.
 
lone raven
in stark branches
above an oiled-slate lake
pale disc hangs
in monochrome sky
as under flat waters
darker shapes wait
patient as night
 
Downtime in Oz


He sprawled about the floor,
most of him at any rate,
what he liked to really think of
as himself was actually
sitting on the mantle,
surveying the scene through
his mismatched deep blue eyes,

By the door, small night yips
punctuated the dreams of a
small, curly-haired, stumbling
block in the path of any would-be
robbers, evil witches, or
those damn flying monkeys.

She was on the couch, gingham dress
neatly folded along the back, spooned
together with the walking throw rug,
keeping the crybaby safe through
the night and softly moaning at the
subtle attentions of nickel-plated fingers
rubbing themselves in slow circles
over all the places that made her
so glad she'd gone home long enough
to grow up.

As he watched, he considered what
was next, and tried his best to ignore
the fluttering of feathers outside
the shuttered windows, but it would have
to be dealt with eventually. Murder just
seemed to follow him about.

He always was such a horrible
scarecrow.


:cool:
 
Remec said:
Downtime in Oz


He sprawled about the floor,
most of him at any rate,
what he liked to really think of
as himself was actually
sitting on the mantle,
surveying the scene through
his mismatched deep blue eyes,

By the door, small night yips
punctuated the dreams of a
small, curly-haired, stumbling
block in the path of any would-be
robbers, evil witches, or
those damn flying monkeys.

She was on the couch, gingham dress
neatly folded along the back, spooned
together with the walking throw rug,
keeping the crybaby safe through
the night and softly moaning at the
subtle attentions of nickel-plated fingers
rubbing themselves in slow circles
over all the places that made her
so glad she'd gone home long enough
to grow up.

As he watched, he considered what
was next, and tried his best to ignore
the fluttering of feathers outside
the shuttered windows, but it would have
to be dealt with eventually. Murder just
seemed to follow him about.

He always was such a horrible
scarecrow.


:cool:
Click to expand...
..
lmao is there an October challenge? this looks like a winner
 
HarryHill said:
..
lmao is there an October challenge? this looks like a winner
Click to expand...

d'ya mean a halloween one? and it's proper creepy! :D
edit: just to say i wasn't being a smartarz, lol, just thought the historical challenge was intended as the october one, but i'd love to see a halloween one :cool:
 
Last edited:
butters said:
d'ya mean a halloween one? and it's proper creepy! :D
edit: just to say i wasn't being a smartarz, lol, just thought the historical challenge was intended as the october one, but i'd love to see a halloween one :cool:
Click to expand...

call you a smart azz one time and you get paranoid :rolleyes:
yes Halloween is what I meant :eek:
 
Are you there, smithpeter? I whispered in my dim room last night. Did you fear the long slide toward senility, the precipice beyond, waiting, or simply become an observer, watching events unfold in slow motion, a poorly made horror film, inevitable, predictable, non threatening from your black leather seat of consciousness.

Just speculating, smithpeter, no need for concern, I'm not ready to join my alter self walking the ghostly confines of our room, oh, by the way, thank you for the peace writing brings, even if the man with one hand worries that he cant do it again, rambling, sorry

She saw the cracks tree limbs left in the sky, the holes following the crows. I saw the glasses perched on her nose, Oh what silly souls are we, shadow sighting each other

That non light/non dark, smithpeter, oh how it entrances me, tortures me in my inability to describe the phenomenon while I bask in the feel of it upon my skin, the sight akin to echolocation, am I a bat or a dolphin to see the shapes earthly weight and know, even if I look like a ghost, it's going to hurt if a toe goes faster than my equilibrium challenge body feels safe, shit happens... eventually

Well that's all, just wanted to ask that one question and even with no reply, you've helped immensely and the thing that comforts in this trek toward eternity is to know, you'll forget all your problems, live in this half light
 
HarryHill said:
Are you there, smithpeter? I whispered in my dim room last night. Did you fear the long slide toward senility, the precipice beyond, waiting, or simply become an observer, watching events unfold in slow motion, a poorly made horror film, inevitable, predictable, non threatening from your black leather seat of consciousness.

Just speculating, smithpeter, no need for concern, I'm not ready to join my alter self walking the ghostly confines of our room, oh, by the way, thank you for the peace writing brings, even if the man with one hand worries that he cant do it again, rambling, sorry

She saw the cracks tree limbs left in the sky, the holes following the crows. I saw the glasses perched on her nose, Oh what silly souls are we, shadow sighting each other

That non light/non dark, smithpeter, oh how it entrances me, tortures me in my inability to describe the phenomenon while I bask in the feel of it upon my skin, the sight akin to echolocation, am I a bat or a dolphin to see the shapes earthly weight and know, even if I look like a ghost, it's going to hurt if a toe goes faster than my equilibrium challenge body feels safe, shit happens... eventually

Well that's all, just wanted to ask that one question and even with no reply, you've helped immensely and the thing that comforts in this trek toward eternity is to know, you'll forget all your problems, live in this half light
Click to expand...

Day-um Harry! I really enjoyed this bit of prose poetry. This is one for my keeper file. Sweet, a touch haunting. A damn near perfect piece of contented melancholy. So many luscious lines and concepts.
 
Last edited:
Trixareforkids said:
Day-um Harry! I really enjoyed this bit of prose poetry. This is one for my keeper file. Sweet, a touch haunting. A damn near perfect piece of contented melancholy. So many luscious lines and concepts.
Click to expand...
his mind is an amazing place; when his skills as an artist combine with his ability to weave a story, he's flying....

:rose:

HarryHill said:
Are you there, smithpeter? I whispered in my dim room last night. Did you fear the long slide toward senility, the precipice beyond, waiting, or simply become an observer, watching events unfold in slow motion, a poorly made horror film, inevitable, predictable, non threatening from your black leather seat of consciousness.

Just speculating, smithpeter, no need for concern, I'm not ready to join my alter self walking the ghostly confines of our room, oh, by the way, thank you for the peace writing brings, even if the man with one hand worries that he cant do it again, rambling, sorry

She saw the cracks tree limbs left in the sky, the holes following the crows. I saw the glasses perched on her nose, Oh what silly souls are we, shadow sighting each other

That non light/non dark, smithpeter, oh how it entrances me, tortures me in my inability to describe the phenomenon while I bask in the feel of it upon my skin, the sight akin to echolocation, am I a bat or a dolphin to see the shapes earthly weight and know, even if I look like a ghost, it's going to hurt if a toe goes faster than my equilibrium challenge body feels safe, shit happens... eventually

Well that's all, just wanted to ask that one question and even with no reply, you've helped immensely and the thing that comforts in this trek toward eternity is to know, you'll forget all your problems, live in this half light
Click to expand...
Click to expand...
these pieces, these connections with smithpeter, fascinate the hell out of me and manage to make me feel like some voyeur as they are so intimate a creation.

so so much to relish in this one, so filled with imagery, concepts... but, i think the most striking thing in its simplicity comes from these two phrases:
Are you there, smithpeter?

just wanted to ask that one question and even with no reply, you've helped immensely
Click to expand...
 
although i ache for him
i am content
knowing there is movement
slow but true
towards our yes and ahh and oohh

when all about me are the lonely
more than passing blues
who walk their days half-dazed with loss
wait out the even longer empty nights
nothing fills their need
they're shadows passing through
the brighter lives of others
sparking with connection
trailing laughter on the air the
lonely cannot touch

no matter how much they gasp for living

life side-stepped them
and they don't know how
to feel whole again

so i count the days
and count my blessings
count on you and count on me
wish love for the hollow
that they may once more come to see
themselves as more than shadows at noon
 
butters said:
although i ache for him
i am content
knowing there is movement
slow but true
towards our yes and ahh and oohh

when all about me are the lonely
more than passing blues
who walk their days half-dazed with loss
wait out the even longer empty nights
nothing fills their need
they're shadows passing through
the brighter lives of others
sparking with connection
trailing laughter on the air the
lonely cannot touch

no matter how much they gasp for living

life side-stepped them
and they don't know how
to feel whole again

so i count the days
and count my blessings
count on you and count on me
wish love for the hollow
that they may once more come to see
themselves as more than shadows at noon
Click to expand...
.. :kiss::kiss: this is beautiful and heart breaking at the same time :rose:

Help me, smithpeter. I was popping in to beg inspiration and found her poem, set like a trap to break an unsuspecting heart; how wonderful to be loved by one such as she, who would wish her happiness on others she sees, sends them a wish to be happy as we

Chicken soup and holiday cheese ball for supper. I would have opened the wine if she'd have been here

so I'm run out of words, best to bed and leave this alone, finish my whiskey and read what e mails there are of a non commercial nature, dream the sun returns tomorrow, slipping 'cross the covers
 
Ode to a bent Dick

There's a certain twinkle as I sit and think,
correcting typos, relying on a moggy waterchild
to rescue soggy apostrophes floating in the drink
and apologize dear friend to the hell I've put you through

but still,
most of it was your fault,
upright and persistent that your will's
a priority...

does no good
to beat a little sense into you,
maybe that the problem
and you like hot metal sent
into a forge is easily bent
needs quenching oil to temper
all those years, no oil, constant heat
you're warped old fucker,
no model prick on tumbler
displayed in Technicolor as red lips descend on it
down boy, you're bent enough,
I'll change the channel, I've found,
that football's a tonic and commercial's sure kill
besides a bend's a conversation piece when
compared to a piece of feng shui
bedroom furniture, pointing upish
 
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