the handiwork of the devil
the condition which designed
textspeak
emojis
put off essays
and eternally drafted plots
and what of the characters
who appear just to die
like the big-boobed blond
in a horror show
without even the benefit
of the scream-and-jiggle eye-candy moment
the writer’s game
is housecleaning heaven
and plodding trips to the cupbaord
when all he needs
is a shower to bring them all to life
a clean start to throw away
beelzebub with the bath water
from musty halls with creak-loud benches
we kneel and pray
and watch through stained-
glass windows
the rain patter
as the voices rise
and weep and mourn
for days of rejoicing
not long past
but apparent is not so true…
the glass once stained with
steady hand and careful grace
no longer holds its colour
for the stain consists
of war-torn souls
and the rain
is the tears
of children orphaned
and the benches creak
under the weight
of ghosts
Stream of Consciousness Saturday: https://lindaghill.com/2016/05/06/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-716/
the page is snowy white
a surface of purity
of blankness
but what if the page was green?
lush and fertile
would it be easier to write?
or would I take off my shoes
and run through it
passing off future possibilities
for the moment?
the page on which I write
is marked
with satisfaction
bearing in mind
the bare facts
fuzzy-wuzzy
may have been
a threadbare
bear
may your clouds be always fluffy
may your fruits be ever fresh
may your tests not all be toughies
may mozzies* be stopped by mesh
may your holidays be jolly
may your sleeps be peaceful too
may your dreams not end up folly
may you never get the flu
happy may!
*mosquitoes
you wind me up
and hold me
you let me go
i fall
and spin
and hit bottom
and wonder
if you’ll jerk me back up
or leave me dangling
while i wait to find out
i’ll just walk the dog
Oh woe is me
as I sit here
in a puddle of spilled tea.
My hot ass
is by far hotter
than it was but five minutes past.
And just as I
was about to walk
out the door on a date with a guy.
His ass was hotter
than mine yesterday
but now, alas, my hotpants are no better than a blotter.
Oh woe is me
I must get changed
into beige-ly boring cloth, and sadly covered knees.
Author’s Notes:
1. Some characters fall easily into poetry. The sadder they are, the faster they fall, in my experience.
2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.
eyes closed
the music falls in patterned beats
from my fingertips
to the page
and when i feel you near
the breath of your aura
melting together with mine
in a rainbow of swirling energy
i smile
knowing that no matter what,
through life and through death,
you are with me,
the music that sustains me.
The quixotic man quotes
from ye olde text
of a quivering maiden
about to execute a virginal leap of faith
into the arms of her lover
but the quibbler quickly points out
her lover is not yet
her lover if she is still
a quivering virgin.
The quixotic man
quells his urge
to quarrel, knowing
the quibbler can quite annoyingly
never be quieted.
Author’s Notes:
1. There are times when poetry seems easier than prose. I suppose it flows better, depending on the subject.
2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.
all this cloak and dagger stuff
you love to play with your friends
around a raucous game board
with your milk and cookies;
you don’t fool me
i know when I leave the room, the beer comes out
and the music with the naughty lyrics
all that teenager stuff
perfected by a bunch of grown men.
none of you fool me
‘coz I set up the cameras
and rigged the board with a mic
because you see, i’m worse than you:
i’ve got nothing better to do.
Linda G. Hill 