writing live

[HarryHill]

1:56 Sober Friday
Chiming invisible timepiece
open eyes
dark, dark morning
dreary day, fog behind and before
shadows the burgeoning day
dripping from trees n leaves
like blood from an open wound.

I must venture into this hell
return home, retreat to the hills
there's eggs to gather n dogs to feed
needs to be met, worries,
about broken eggs n empty bellies
so south in the vacant hours
south with just one stop
for breakfast and a five minute smoke.

Five minutes,
a tic of time meaning nothing
and everything.

So close to home, so close
brake lights burning bright against the fog
a parking lot of four way flashers
screaming sirens and silence
and when once again we move
under a shroud of grey
past broken eggs, empty bellies,
blood dripping from open wounds,
deaths smile from mangled wreckage,
I have to wonder,
was I too late or too early.
2:55

 

[HarryHill]

old thrills, new spills
break the bottle
spin jagged teeth in a hot new smile -
malignant anticipation

a grease-slick pearl of sweat
lets go
crosses the void
hits dust

..
Indeed, hope you are well; drive safely.

 

[butters]

..
Indeed, hope you are well; drive safely.

i don't drive, just jaywalk. stay safe

 

[butters]

soft-swollen saddle of tender flesh
word-stirred
led
by imagination
rough thumb divides slick lips
nipples rouged by teeth, tongue
gentled, man-sized kisses

 

[HarryHill]

i don't drive, just jaywalk. stay safe

..
As dangerous as driving.
..
6:26 of an evening still young

Her smiles, her smiles,
a bouquet of beautiful blooms,
all crimson n ultramarine,
watered by joyful tears,
held in a vase of wonder,
that they be given to me.

Their scent drives away all reason,
all caution held in seasons long ago,
7:17

 

[butters]

..
As dangerous as driving.
..
6:26 of an evening still young

Her smiles, her smiles,
a bouquet of beautiful blooms,
all crimson n ultramarine,
watered by joyful tears,
held in a vase of wonder,
that they be given to me.

Their scent drives away all reason,
all caution held in seasons long ago,
7:17

a man for all seasons
buries his face in her fragrance
unafraid of winter
knowing the rose will still bloom
pink, red

 

[butters]

not because it's cold

flesh shivers
buds in anticipation
pulse making itself known
in hidden, pouting places

places trust in desire
to stiffen his resolve

 

[todski28]

cold water hits
my still steaming
shoulders,
as I wash your poetry
from my lips

 

[butters]

how to sum up a smile
of contentedness, of pleasure?

what words could serve to deliver that softened mien?
a pearl-pink dawning of temperate day?
the movement of bone, muscle
beneath flesh on the hoof,
fresh eggs in the nest box,
cat on the roof?
the milky wail of an infant,
splitting of logs,
the panting dog that shakes loose water from its pelt
before settling to grin in the long, waving grass?

a good, fat book, marked in place,
a new pc, repository of art --
a talent?

soft give and hug of the worn, loved sofa?
hands wrapped round a steamy mug?
the closing of the curtains at night,
last shut of the back door, cat in, chores done?
the reaching of one hand
to another,
a leading up the stairs,
an opening of the door,
an expanse of waiting bed...?






edit: been reading harry's Chosen Mate series today. made me smile to read links between stuff in this and there. water-dog/cat/hot mugs... made me smile, is all

 

[butters]

cold water hits
my still steaming
shoulders,
as I wash your poetry
from my lips

damn, that's good!

 

[HarryHill]

6:35
This is your phone call;
the one one wonders about
after a night of twist n shout
squirm n croon, sleeping spooned,
that hicky that no one will see but thee
but then that bastards gone in the morning
leaving the sheets wet, coffee cold on the stove
thighs aching, heart breaking
and after you shower n wash
clean the kitchen, the phone rings
just as you spot that note fallen behind the toaster.
6:47

 

[butters]

gone but not absent
call and note only reminders
of thoughts, voice, flesh
reminders that stir ripples in emotional fabric
small seismic jolts in bedrock
slippage
seepage
no need to turn on the heating today

appetites

 

[butters]

and all the bars and all the booze
mere props along the way
the music dances deep inside
as we improvise the play

 

[todski28]

"How old are you she asked?"
coyly

My response,
"Old enough to know exactly what I'm doing,
young enough to have stamina to keep going"

 

[butters]

how?
all show and no tell?

at a loss
where to start

capillaries sluice their load
eyes wide and heart cramped

*breathe*

okay, see this fresh, warm loaf?
this knife that's lost its blade?
lay down the handle
you have hands

tear apart the firm gold crust
inhale the ripe, rich scent
rising from the soft white flesh

and take that yellow pat of butter
two-fingered scoop
daub and smear
caress the bread

lick your fingers
bite


how to show?
i don't know how

 

[todski28]

and still after all these years it
niggles then bursts
a maelstrom of foggy clouds,
pain that wont refrain,
can't fight back against the
surprise attack

always trying to be better
prove it,
prove that I am not the
sum of things beaten
into me.

you're nothing,
piece of shit,
be better if you weren't born,
scorn and derision
each statement rung by a
ringing blow
meaty twack, physical,
mental attack

it's one of the ones you
love and revere, one
you hold dear, if they
can strike out these
angered thoughts
in angered fits,
pull you apart
yank you to bits

makes you wonder what
worth you might have
if any at all

 

[todski28]

I wonder what you are thinking?
I notice that you watch me
work,
the muscles in my broad shoulders
tensing strands of sinew, stretch,
then condense, as I heave and sweat,
the grunts I issue as I lift sheets
of board that weigh more than you,
I see you chewing you lip,
playing with your hair
as you hide just in sight
so that you can stare.

sliding your hand down your hip,
waiting for that moment to come
over and interrupt my physical
exertions, always when I have
a sheet in my thick strong hands,
so you can watch the tensing bands
of muscle in my triceps,
sometimes I think you want to lick
me to taste my salt, sawdust mingled
skin

 

[todski28]

how?
all show and no tell?

at a loss
where to start

capillaries sluice their load
eyes wide and heart cramped

*breathe*

okay, see this fresh, warm loaf?
this knife that's lost its blade?
lay down the handle
you have hands

tear apart the firm gold crust
inhale the ripe, rich scent
rising from the soft white flesh

and take that yellow pat of butter
two-fingered scoop
daub and smear
caress the bread

lick your fingers
bite


how to show?
i don't know how

I think if you dropped the "0kay, see this fresh warm loaf" and just made it

fresh warm loaf
tear apart firm gold crust

maybe?

reason: two things you give an immediate image that you don't have to say anything else about, I get the loaf straight in my brain lol, and normally
you tear things apart with your hands so does that need to be in there?

sorry put my editing undies on this morning.....

 

[HarryHill]

oh foolish hearts,
that one moment step forward boldly,
the next retreat so
uncertain how to beat.

...just marking my spot, back later... 1:21 Begin


Spit and Polish
..
There's a knock on the door
a gentle old man, stands there with hat in hand,
smiling with grace, waiting in place
as the mistress examines his face.
'Yes?'
"My favorite word Mum, and if you'll be excusing me,
I've heard your kitchen's a mess,
for a bob or two I'll do what I can
to see that all is laid straight.
Silence, a blush, chin raised high,
then shoulders sag in defeat,
a reply comes exceedingly sweet.
'Yes, it's all quite dusty; I've a pot needs a good shine,
and if you can make it glow again,
I'll surely give you a bob.'
Standing aside she let him inside,
closing the door on the dusk.
The old man went to work right away,
cleaning cobwebs out of the cracks,
rubbed a high sheen on porcelain cups,
removed dust wherever 'twas found
all night long he worked at his task
and by daylight was paid for his job.
'Come back in the evening.' mistress said,
'I've a few more spots a'needing,
more of your good spit n polish.'
"To be sure Mum," he said placing hat back on head''
"my pleasure, thanks for the bob."
2:47

 

[butters]

I think if you dropped the "0kay, see this fresh warm loaf" and just made it

fresh warm loaf
tear apart firm gold crust

maybe?

reason: two things you give an immediate image that you don't have to say anything else about, I get the loaf straight in my brain lol, and normally
you tear things apart with your hands so does that need to be in there?

sorry put my editing undies on this morning.....

that's the problem with live writes - they lack the edits needed to tidy them up.

the more conversational tone i used in this one was because it served as a reply to someone; i chose it deliberately. BUT you are right inasmuch as, to make it a cleaner piece and more open to others, losing some of the excess and honing in one just the image would be better.

editorial undercrackers? heh, it's all good. helps you get a better understanding of the workings. Angie's right, you are growing fast as a writer. your pieces are always totally visual, with a strong theme. keep doing what you're doing, tods.

 

[Tsotha]

16:52

There is dust
Over my eyes and over my skin
Like a shell
I do not walk, I do not see
I stumble

Along the coast I find a boat
New, found, precious
(Old, lost, forgotten)
And it fills me
With fear and wonder

With my eyes closed,
It could take me
Anywhere
To a different time, to a different place
(It could take me to you)

Ropes like strings
And masts that clack
And a sail that sings complete
My symphony in a storm

Cold rain washes my face
Breaks me down, clears my eyes
Builds me up
Brings me closer
To you

17:13

Hope you all don't mind my intromission (I don't really understand poetry), but I thought the idea of the thread (writing without editing) was interesting.

 

[butters]

16:52

There is dust
. . .

17:13

Hope you all don't mind my intromission (I don't really understand poetry), but I thought the idea of the thread (writing without editing) was interesting.

welcome to the thread! post, enjoy. new names make for diversity.

 

[todski28]

16:52

There is dust
Over my eyes and over my skin
Like a shell
I do not walk, I do not see
I stumble

Along the coast I find a boat
New, found, precious
(Old, lost, forgotten)
And it fills me
With fear and wonder

With my eyes closed,
It could take me
Anywhere
To a different time, to a different place
(It could take me to you)

Ropes like strings
And masts that clack
And a sail that sings complete
My symphony in a storm

Cold rain washes my face
Breaks me down, clears my eyes
Builds me up
Brings me closer
To you

17:13

Hope you all don't mind my intromission (I don't really understand poetry), but I thought the idea of the thread (writing without editing) was interesting.

I really liked this, hope you come back and throw in some more work!

 

[todski28]

that's the problem with live writes - they lack the edits needed to tidy them up.

the more conversational tone i used in this one was because it served as a reply to someone; i chose it deliberately. BUT you are right inasmuch as, to make it a cleaner piece and more open to others, losing some of the excess and honing in one just the image would be better.

editorial undercrackers? heh, it's all good. helps you get a better understanding of the workings. Angie's right, you are growing fast as a writer. your pieces are always totally visual, with a strong theme. keep doing what you're doing, tods.

Thanks for the praise, I knew you wouldn't take offence if I threw out a comment, I assumed you did it on purpose and don't need advice from me on how to write I was hoping you would confirm some thoughts I have been having re: poetry and you have

 

[HarryHill]

11:50
In the cold shadows
a heart filled with glee
tinder's caught, add wood
a fire laid by thee, illumination,
warmth, gathering heat,
darkness fled away
a face revealed from seals of night
broken by one tiny spark
12:00