007 Challenge
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HarryHill
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5. Chum for Piscator
A little fishy cried dry tears,
all that seaweed n nothing to eat,
I can sympathize, surfing the local waves
is not an easy ride.
Nor is finding tasty bait to hook that sucker,
but there's a surprise coming,
blood in the water.
A little fishy cried dry tears,
all that seaweed n nothing to eat,
I can sympathize, surfing the local waves
is not an easy ride.
Nor is finding tasty bait to hook that sucker,
but there's a surprise coming,
blood in the water.
HarryHill
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6. On Writing
Here in the sixth that seems thirty,
bun in the oven and possibly more;
I wonder how life got so suddenly plausible,
as to allow writing again.
Oh sure, The studio's dusty,
Withy Man hangs neglected; still ink over canvas,
waiting to come alive in the iridescent wilderness created
just for him, fish the teaming silver stream, cast his withy,
stab a fishy, eat it raw on golden sands of a beach,
under sheltering shade of emerald fronds reaching over all,
but, there's challenges here and he'll just have to wait
So, I'll take my thirty a week at a time. A seven step program,
with or without rhyme. A little internal humor, probably not mine.
Here in the sixth that seems thirty,
bun in the oven and possibly more;
I wonder how life got so suddenly plausible,
as to allow writing again.
Oh sure, The studio's dusty,
Withy Man hangs neglected; still ink over canvas,
waiting to come alive in the iridescent wilderness created
just for him, fish the teaming silver stream, cast his withy,
stab a fishy, eat it raw on golden sands of a beach,
under sheltering shade of emerald fronds reaching over all,
but, there's challenges here and he'll just have to wait
So, I'll take my thirty a week at a time. A seven step program,
with or without rhyme. A little internal humor, probably not mine.
Last edited:
HarryHill
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7. Work Day
The Missus teases Hubby awake,
"Coffee and a burrito waiting, get up, can't be late."
Coffee? Eyes creak open, see her face,
bright and shining, looks like it's been in the mirror
for hours, pretty.
He stumbles naked to his chair, sips, nibbles,
turns a dour visage to the tube, news,
all bad or boring.
Dressed, improper bowler on head, out the door,
down the drive, vacant road to town, dark,
a bubble of light in the night.
Turn at the highway, see all idiots scurry,
hurry to get somewhere before dawn.
Follow the bloody red river flowing south to the city.
Drop her off at the place that's always busy,
hard work, tips few but hefty, then home to return later,
pick her up, face faded from the day, but smiling.
The Missus teases Hubby awake,
"Coffee and a burrito waiting, get up, can't be late."
Coffee? Eyes creak open, see her face,
bright and shining, looks like it's been in the mirror
for hours, pretty.
He stumbles naked to his chair, sips, nibbles,
turns a dour visage to the tube, news,
all bad or boring.
Dressed, improper bowler on head, out the door,
down the drive, vacant road to town, dark,
a bubble of light in the night.
Turn at the highway, see all idiots scurry,
hurry to get somewhere before dawn.
Follow the bloody red river flowing south to the city.
Drop her off at the place that's always busy,
hard work, tips few but hefty, then home to return later,
pick her up, face faded from the day, but smiling.
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HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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2./1.
I remember when there were many,
all hale and frisky, empty PM box,
save for besties and mods,
and poetry,
yes.
I remember those clever poets,
their waves of imagery, prolific,
addictions to Nano Clams and a little bar,
around the corner and down the alley.
I remember these things and feel shame that I seldom spoke of,
appreciation, awe, wonder, and the need to do the same as they.
I remember when there were many,
all hale and frisky, empty PM box,
save for besties and mods,
and poetry,
yes.
I remember those clever poets,
their waves of imagery, prolific,
addictions to Nano Clams and a little bar,
around the corner and down the alley.
I remember these things and feel shame that I seldom spoke of,
appreciation, awe, wonder, and the need to do the same as they.
Last edited:
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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2./2. C
Red curry for breakfast,
chores for lunch, not very filling or cheap,
side of crackers changing tires and oil.
Chili for supper I think, an original recipe,
cans of beans, ground beef, tomatoes,
simmered in a crock pot for hours,
consumed with gusto
Red curry for breakfast,
chores for lunch, not very filling or cheap,
side of crackers changing tires and oil.
Chili for supper I think, an original recipe,
cans of beans, ground beef, tomatoes,
simmered in a crock pot for hours,
consumed with gusto
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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2./3. Driven
See now, it's getting serious,
my only advantage is that she works,
every fucking day, seems like,
leaving me to play online,
until closing time, then,
saddle up, hit a lick for the state line,
sleep drive home, her hand in mine.
But, It's not all bad, she enjoys the work,
feels likes her part in family finances helps,
even though told it's not necessary, we're fine
So I'll carry on, race up and down the road,
rain or shine, day or night, off days too,
driven.
See now, it's getting serious,
my only advantage is that she works,
every fucking day, seems like,
leaving me to play online,
until closing time, then,
saddle up, hit a lick for the state line,
sleep drive home, her hand in mine.
But, It's not all bad, she enjoys the work,
feels likes her part in family finances helps,
even though told it's not necessary, we're fine
So I'll carry on, race up and down the road,
rain or shine, day or night, off days too,
driven.
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HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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2./4. Bloom
Man is a flower, so many rare breeds,
weeds to orchids each seeking relief,
needing to spread their seed indiscriminately,
selectively or no thanks, I'll keep it.
Ah but, seeds are funny things, each to its own shape,
and the ones in our minds occupy the largest place,
forcing a rhyme but making the point,
seeds are funny things.
I carry your seed, gifted so many times,
returned, bartered, given away, willingly.
How sweet her seed coaxed free last night,
lays upon my tongue.
Man is a flower, so many rare breeds,
weeds to orchids each seeking relief,
needing to spread their seed indiscriminately,
selectively or no thanks, I'll keep it.
Ah but, seeds are funny things, each to its own shape,
and the ones in our minds occupy the largest place,
forcing a rhyme but making the point,
seeds are funny things.
I carry your seed, gifted so many times,
returned, bartered, given away, willingly.
How sweet her seed coaxed free last night,
lays upon my tongue.
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YCLEPT
Really Experienced
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Last edited:
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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2./5. Moi?
It's Sunday, a day of rest,
yeah, right, not going to happen.
My schedule is full, my dance card,
not so much. Pity, I fancy a tango,
two step or waltz with you my love,
if you're not too exhausted;
if I'm still awake on Monday,
after just one more charge up the interstate,
back down to home,
savor those brief moments preceding Tuesday,
hope for a little music in the night,
your question. Are you still up?
It's Sunday, a day of rest,
yeah, right, not going to happen.
My schedule is full, my dance card,
not so much. Pity, I fancy a tango,
two step or waltz with you my love,
if you're not too exhausted;
if I'm still awake on Monday,
after just one more charge up the interstate,
back down to home,
savor those brief moments preceding Tuesday,
hope for a little music in the night,
your question. Are you still up?
JCSTREET
Literotica Guru
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That's very nice of you to say, cherries. You have taught me much!
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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2./6. twelveo
The patina my cup holds on white porcelain,
stop my thoughts of pastoral poetry in the sixth,
of driving with no discernible haste for a place,
beyond the now and then.
I should wash it a little, spit and a promise,
but later, and cruising the hills pre-fall in the sixth,
which no longer feels like thirty, maybe twenty,
not so far beyond the now and here.
The patina my cup holds on white porcelain,
stop my thoughts of pastoral poetry in the sixth,
of driving with no discernible haste for a place,
beyond the now and then.
I should wash it a little, spit and a promise,
but later, and cruising the hills pre-fall in the sixth,
which no longer feels like thirty, maybe twenty,
not so far beyond the now and here.
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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2./7. Battle fatigue
Rosie has the cattle trained,
she stood from a nest in the grass,
they raised from graze to watch,
wary lest she spot them oh so close,
she met cow eyes, they broke,
stampede to the cedars.
..
I'm tired today,
too much work.
not enough play,
fourteen feels like too many
fifteen sounds like labor,
Rosie has the cattle trained,
she stood from a nest in the grass,
they raised from graze to watch,
wary lest she spot them oh so close,
she met cow eyes, they broke,
stampede to the cedars.
..
I'm tired today,
too much work.
not enough play,
fourteen feels like too many
fifteen sounds like labor,
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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3./1. Stacked Deck
Hello again, time to ante up for another week,
I'll see seven and raise my bar higher,
never a poet, just a frustrated writer,
lost in rhyme n reason n jests.
Ku wandered in Wally World,
looking for a ticket dropped,
Waterchild stopped, waited,
for eons he guessed,
'til her twisty tail came scooting out,
and Waterchild set sail.
Supper's in the oven, the short deck is set,
time to get cooking. Deal.
Hello again, time to ante up for another week,
I'll see seven and raise my bar higher,
never a poet, just a frustrated writer,
lost in rhyme n reason n jests.
Ku wandered in Wally World,
looking for a ticket dropped,
Waterchild stopped, waited,
for eons he guessed,
'til her twisty tail came scooting out,
and Waterchild set sail.
Supper's in the oven, the short deck is set,
time to get cooking. Deal.
UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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1 A start
It was slow as if the sunset didn't want
to leave it's rays patterned across the sky,
sacrificing itself to mysterious, maybe evil
dark shadows creeping through the branches,
that creaked and reached for the unwary racing
homeward before the night claimed it's own.
The trees swayed in the rising wind
scuttling through the dying leaf litter below.
Rain beginning a patter, swiftly thrashed into a deluge
that poured down upthrust collars, soaking shoes.
In the distance a single light beckoned, a beacon,
calling him home, and as he turned the key with his dog
leaping joyfully at his knee, something dark skittered away,
back to the forest.
It was slow as if the sunset didn't want
to leave it's rays patterned across the sky,
sacrificing itself to mysterious, maybe evil
dark shadows creeping through the branches,
that creaked and reached for the unwary racing
homeward before the night claimed it's own.
The trees swayed in the rising wind
scuttling through the dying leaf litter below.
Rain beginning a patter, swiftly thrashed into a deluge
that poured down upthrust collars, soaking shoes.
In the distance a single light beckoned, a beacon,
calling him home, and as he turned the key with his dog
leaping joyfully at his knee, something dark skittered away,
back to the forest.
UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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Take 2
The leaves swept so diligently from the front step
are back again looking exactly like the ones before.
Is this nature's autumnal joke, that hues so delightful
upon the trees, look so trashy lying dead upon the floor?
The leaves swept so diligently from the front step
are back again looking exactly like the ones before.
Is this nature's autumnal joke, that hues so delightful
upon the trees, look so trashy lying dead upon the floor?
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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3./2. Home Security
A buzzard lands in a tree,
then two among the sallow leaves,
eyeing the dead rabbit Rosie's been carrying around for days,
and her asleep on the porch after a late night security gig.
One ventures the short trip down,
then the other when the first's not rent by territorial teeth,
number three does a fly by, dives on the next pass,
takes a bite of rabbit ass being dragged away by the first.
In a short time there's nine; the bunny's in pieces,
the dog's still asleep, I'm laughing at the zoo out the window.
dummies started arguing about the short shifts,
a bark and she's down in the yard, and they long gone.
A buzzard lands in a tree,
then two among the sallow leaves,
eyeing the dead rabbit Rosie's been carrying around for days,
and her asleep on the porch after a late night security gig.
One ventures the short trip down,
then the other when the first's not rent by territorial teeth,
number three does a fly by, dives on the next pass,
takes a bite of rabbit ass being dragged away by the first.
In a short time there's nine; the bunny's in pieces,
the dog's still asleep, I'm laughing at the zoo out the window.
dummies started arguing about the short shifts,
a bark and she's down in the yard, and they long gone.
UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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3
The squirrel visiting the bird table
sends the dogs into paroxysms of rage,
Hurling themselves against the patio door
and giving tongue until I'm driven crazy
from opening and shutting the door.
To give him his due though, the old boy is still
hurdling the fence for all his eleven years
driving these interlopers from his garden
and means every word of retribution!
The squirrel visiting the bird table
sends the dogs into paroxysms of rage,
Hurling themselves against the patio door
and giving tongue until I'm driven crazy
from opening and shutting the door.
To give him his due though, the old boy is still
hurdling the fence for all his eleven years
driving these interlopers from his garden
and means every word of retribution!
Last edited:
HarryHill
Hairy fucker
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3./3. Anomaly
Summer's gone, melted with chill rain.
blown away by the winds of October,
naught but a memory save for the larder,
still-room and freezer.
Ready, but not for another winter,
plenty to eat and wood for heat,
cash in the bank, gas in the tank,
these old bones whining... cold!
Now boots, not canvas shoes,
t-shirts stored and flannel's out,
duvets on the bed, pajamas de rigeur,
but Ku and the dog are happy,
now that Summer's gone.
Summer's gone, melted with chill rain.
blown away by the winds of October,
naught but a memory save for the larder,
still-room and freezer.
Ready, but not for another winter,
plenty to eat and wood for heat,
cash in the bank, gas in the tank,
these old bones whining... cold!
Now boots, not canvas shoes,
t-shirts stored and flannel's out,
duvets on the bed, pajamas de rigeur,
but Ku and the dog are happy,
now that Summer's gone.
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HarryHill
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..Ah yes the Nano clam that lives forever in the memories of the faithful
It was fun. for those of you wondering I did some digging.
Comments and poems thread
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HarryHill
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3./4. No Theme
Where did that wisp of thought go,
lost between now and then,
scrambling for a pen and opening a window,
find my number, preparing to write.
I shan't be stingy with words now however,
there's a few more left to be said.
All gone at this moment, the theme line a torment,
its passing a terrible thing. Run free nice idea, go,
perhaps there's no reason, Ku's scratchy toes,
might serve a replacement instead, but no,
time to give up I guess. Take a break.
Stop writing live and open a file,
peruse a pm box of old love letters,
sand them fucking toes.
Where did that wisp of thought go,
lost between now and then,
scrambling for a pen and opening a window,
find my number, preparing to write.
I shan't be stingy with words now however,
there's a few more left to be said.
All gone at this moment, the theme line a torment,
its passing a terrible thing. Run free nice idea, go,
perhaps there's no reason, Ku's scratchy toes,
might serve a replacement instead, but no,
time to give up I guess. Take a break.
Stop writing live and open a file,
peruse a pm box of old love letters,
sand them fucking toes.
Last edited:
UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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4
A fuchsia still runs riot by the back door
and masses of trailing strawberry flowers
cry out "Choose me, choose me" to passing bees.
Does nature know something I don't, will Summer
return for one more burst before Winter closes in,
or will their profuseness be in vain?
A fuchsia still runs riot by the back door
and masses of trailing strawberry flowers
cry out "Choose me, choose me" to passing bees.
Does nature know something I don't, will Summer
return for one more burst before Winter closes in,
or will their profuseness be in vain?
UnderYourSpell
Gerund Whore
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5 Posted a tad early in case I fall asleep again
When we were children Bonfire night was a time to be
savoured, looked forward to for weeks, from the gathering
of firewood to the counting of rockets and roman candles.
The boys only gathered bangers and jumping jacks
for scaring girls into running away squealing.
Wrapped up warm and in scarves and woolly hats
we oohed and ahhed at each sparkling cascade
Dad letting them off as bonfires blazed in every garden.
Nowadays although the cascades still sparkle and bang
It goes on far too long, weeks before and weeks after, and
I hold on tight to a trembling dog who refuses his dinner.
When we were children Bonfire night was a time to be
savoured, looked forward to for weeks, from the gathering
of firewood to the counting of rockets and roman candles.
The boys only gathered bangers and jumping jacks
for scaring girls into running away squealing.
Wrapped up warm and in scarves and woolly hats
we oohed and ahhed at each sparkling cascade
Dad letting them off as bonfires blazed in every garden.
Nowadays although the cascades still sparkle and bang
It goes on far too long, weeks before and weeks after, and
I hold on tight to a trembling dog who refuses his dinner.
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