writing live

[butters]

^^ ignore that last strophe, it's redundant

 

[29wordsforsnow]

what do we have to trade
wherever we import ourselves
the memories slowly fade
what was once upon the shelves
all that went to the shade
like dwarves, giants, elves
a legend forgotten, I'm afraid.
So, aliens, huh? by the twelfth
generation a native clade.

 

[butters]

ticklish

have you ever heard a fox laugh?
pure, manic joy
high-pitched
high-energy
and everso everso ginger

 

[butters]

a theory about 'why?'

The world's eye turned
from Ukraine to Israel
in a blink

Oct. 7th
a black
red day

and despite the horror
it's easier for the mind to grasp
as a terrible thing
as a world-changing event
its terrors parceled in bloody numbers
hard to imagine but understood for what it was
wrapped within a darkened date
and so the outpourings of grief
rage
revenge
are understandable
as totally human

but when voices rise to query
where's the sorrow for the children of Palestine?
there's confusion
disjointed reactions
a lack of focus
because it's only human
easier
to grasp and respond to one enormous
terrible event
mass murder on a shocking scale
than to address the countless years
of dead children scattered
piecemeal across time
bloody debris across burned-out barren lands
labeled Palestine by foreign voices

so many dates, so many names, so many places

the blood is just as precious
innocence as true
fragility of flesh and bone
the same as Israel's own
all mourned
families torn asunder
blown to bits as final
as brutal as beheading
death is death
and there aren't enough tears to cry them back alive
whichever side of the line they lived
and the hate
the rage
the human lust for revenge
is fed and fed

 

[butters]

there are days
such as this
when poetry has buried itself
too deep, map unmarked
or taken wing to fly south
with chattier companions
and it's too much trouble
to go hunt for it
when brain's nagging me to nap
despite only having been awake 5 hours
and all i have are these pale words
tedious and humdrum
to a backscore of buzzing in my ears

mea culpa
mea culpa
oh phooey

 

[butters]

the blind potter

clay sings to him
guides his touch
a shared pleasure
as slick fingers coax
a softly swollen curve
a slender neck
a shoulder, lip or foot
sighs beneath his hands
as he feels his way
reads each ripple
deftly directs
each anomaly
to perfection

his muscled legs
ease the wheel
to still

temporarily sated
he breathes
a timeless moment
neither knowing nor caring
he's confused
his decorative glazes

-----o-----o-----o------

Phoenix Valley Times

Renowned local blind artist wows ceramic world with his new phase, ripping up the rule books to produce brave, genre-shattering, colour-clash co-ordinations and finishes to inspire and delight even the most jaded amongst us. Fabuloso!

 

[Piscator]

modified species deemed invasive, useless, and undesirable


twinned bradfords, 40-years old or so
stand quiet in the top front yard
toes dug deep in its gentle slope
the start of a sharper descent

their fellow trees naked
but for the odd tattered leaf
though evergreens boast silently
of countless verdant needles

it rained last night
not heavy, just enough
to lay the dust—temporary respite
grey skies blue to a peek-a-boo sun

greens are greener for the watering
and the bradfords sport
cherry reds and amber-fire
flimsier than their summer garb

in spring their pale fresh sprouts
prelude snowy, bridal whites
short-lived, frothy abundance
delicately brash show-stoppers

when winter's precipitation sits
on bare, generously spreading limbs
they only enhance the moonlight
and glisten frosty as stars

invasive aliens? we've still only two
undesirable? i can't agree
useless? living art can't name a price
but bring priceless joy, regardless

had to look up Bradfords

 

[goldytheGoldfish]

I think it's a pear tree or something.

 

[JodieToday]

Happy Valentine’s Day

Start 0235 – ended 0316 <-- edited or added the “pot” in at 0326 during proofread -2-14-24
actual -> 0343

Haley’s Experience

Her first real orgasm I’m just sayin’
filled a chasm now with some playin’
a void riveted in place there for years
but give it some time and you’ll sometimes (replaced “always”) find
no sex may be (replaced “is”) better than tears (because “is” is too absolute)

gone was her ex
but what came up next
was memories from yesterday’s nights
now some thinks it is
while some thinks it aint
but majorities don’t make things so right ← (replaced “all” @ 0335)

facing that girl in the mirror near daily
turns observations into some consternation
looking older but wiser is Haley now
and ain’t nothin’ wrong in masturbation

First time with ‘ol Frank I'm no liar
she sucked his crank down by the fire
‘neath Day-Glow posters lava lamps and black lights
pot cranked up her first time desire (“pot” was edited in at 0326 to further amplify the 60’s)

and no matter the scheme that you’re on
gone were all Bohemian
ways to live out her (replaced “one’s) life (since this is her experience)
everything changed
it seemed so arranged
after she was a wife

now Frank’s all long gone
and now she’s with John
or with Bella and it kinda depends
on just how the mood hits her
and nobody bullshits her
or misconstrues words she doth sends ← (replaced “mishears all the”) @ 0343

 

[Lyricalli]

Your voice has always soothed
the savage me

It doesn't reduce or excuse
the treachery
just helps mute some of the noise
so I can sort
the jangle of voices
arguing in my own head

I've spent some time flipping
through images of those
you've dressed in my clothes
though you told me they were locked
away in a closet
because it hurt so much
to see them

I can't deny it stings
to see the things you've lent out
or just given away
but the real pain that will stay
with me
the kind that twinges
and never really leaves
is knowing the parts of you
that you crumpled like paper
and threw away

 

[42Below]

Sitting on my bike
looking at the stars
wondering how
you are going;
knowing one day
I will join you

 

[42Below]

Sitting on my bike
looking at the stars
wondering how
you are going;
knowing one day
I will join you

Missed opportunity:

Sitting on my bike
looking at the stars
wondering how
you are going;
knowing one day
I will ride with you all
to the end of this road

 

[HarryHill]

had to look up Bradfords

I think it's a pear tree or something.

Small fruit
ornamental
thorns.
self seeding.

 

[Winter_Fare]

Ever since I learned that
Birdsong is bad language
I sing along

Dawn and dusk I belt out
My wordless heartfelt disgust
But it is beautiful to someone

It's a numbers game
A biological imperative
For symmetry and meaning

You have to cut out the words
They only get in the way
When you really have something to say

 

[Hotcoffee123]

You know what I want
Only you know
Your handson my ass
My hands on your shoulders
Yiur lips on my lips
Your hips on my hips
Spin me

 

[butters]

the prompt, a phrase by another writer on here:

"I won't stop being the only serious writer here.
I won't stop being the only accomplished poet here."

ego is a monstrous tower
constructed out of weakened glass
and rusting iron
corrosion of the soul

those tears that drip from heights
we others can never ascend to
are nothing more than daily rain
polluted... bitter

so sit atop your shaky monument
it cants and rattles in the wind
proclaim your fame
demand others bear witness

name-drop worn horse-shoes
upon our heads—in borrowed credence
to support your thirst for relevance
for respect, for reverence

but don't be surprised
when you finally look down
and see no crowds
only pale weeds and broken asphalt

 

[4degrees]

I wonder if
It’s today or tomorrow
The years have left me
Wondering
so much about
You