IBBoiling pot brains,
how you toil yourselves!
Watchword, between thinking I count the fingers grow on my days,
and delight in grass children, do watch them flourish
as they tilt their heads to the sun;
yet you, hardly ceasing to breathe,
are engaged solely in the catching of thoughts,
tangled in your grey meat traps -
I doff my scalp to thee, and hope the exposure not indecent.
Jealous stealing tinkerers, all moonshine thoughts pour from your heads,
but burn brightest when others see;
for you, they lack lustre, and their afterbirth is sorrow.
Wherefore this morass, of such inferior superiors?
Mired in a fen, penned in a bog, lost widely across this wide and subtle expanse
of timed living and free-hand writing,
you are so very fig.
Loligag, I wonder - art thou wiser
than I, poor sprout of gibber wishes,
drinker of tea and lemons beneath a tree's spread,
whiles you bury in pulp and chew on words,
Exotic PartnersIt was during the second year of our marriage that I realised my wife was a large monitor lizard.Exotic Partners9 years ago in Humor More Like This
It was one of those funny little revelations that creeps up on one over time. I think the first clue came when she decided to hibernate for the three winter months. At first it did not arouse my suspicions. After all I myself enjoyed a lie-in, and had once slept in three whole hours past the alarm - on a weekday! - so I did not think it particularly note-worthy when she tucked herself in at the start of December and remained there until late February. Still, it aroused in me some small seed of doubt - for I had never before known her to go even three days without tending to the garden, let alone three months.
Her taste in gardening was minimalist, and this I applauded; it may have been one of the reasons I married her, I forget now. Instead of the silly sentimentality of a lawn or a flower patch, she insisted that the entire garden was covered in soft fl
The Bird"Found a bird in delta." I say.The Bird7 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
John doesn't stir, so I repeat.
"Said a bird flew in. Little scrawny thing, but it got in."
"What I thought. But it did."
I can hear John stretch out in the bunk above me, the ancient springs groaning as his body and muscles shift across them.
"Where's the leak?"
"Sally's looking. Be in delta though - can't of got through a bulkhead."
"Better not be delta two."
I nod, because neither of us want it in delta two.
"What sort of bird?"
"Little scrawny bastard, don't know. Could look him up."
John swings himself off the top bunk, and sits down on the end of my bed to do his boots up.
"Nah. Still loose?"
"Hope he gets out."
And then we laugh, because it's just such a normal thing to think, because birds should be out, shouldn't they?
Anne Frank The girl was a bone,Anne Frank9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a stick held
by the fierce, unyielding passion
of her mind
and she was beautiful,
I could cry
and shout to the hills;
but when I closed her book,
she was dead.
no titleand so we climbed to the darker recesses of the building,no title8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for to find the darker recesses of each others mind,
encouraged by the other's ragged torn, half-breaths
and illicit thrills of imagined forbidden ventures.
each other - in our gloomy sanctuary, our half-dark haven.
and stared - conversation spilling unchecked from our expectant mouths, until
my cheek with careful fingers (on the false pretext of my hair being in the way?)
a surprised smile upon my lips, at so unreservedly tender a gesture, but, then
and in the half-dark edged meagre inches away, to some half-supposed safety, and so
i didn't mean to lead you on, or lead you up those stairs in such a way,
became as ragged as those breaths and both continue unsure because i pulled away.
For youToo shy to say it then,For you8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I thought I'd try it here.
I know it's short
and awkward; but then
you're the poet.
If I am a little quiet
and seem withdrawn,
it's just because my poetry's
inside, and I don't know yet
how your metre goes.
But all I should have said,
and wanted to, is
will you be my poet?
The Thing About ClichesI.The Thing About Cliches5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If this were a cliché,
A poem, or both
It would be about sparkling midnight skies and heartbeats and flowers and sex.
There would be oceanic eyes and rain that tastes like tears. Well throw in anxiety-riddled murmurs and metaphorical bullets and allusions to sharp objects for pity.
This is not a cliché anymore.
So instead I wrote about the flavor of emerald and the fragrance of April hope. I painted pictures of a perfect pencil, poised over a blank page.
If this were a romance,
A message in a bottle, or both
It would still be cliché, to capture electric fingers and longings locked away with skeleton keys, and drugs.
Wed find footprints in the sand and read angels into them. Wed collect rejected roses, tarnished rings, and hopeful held breaths where the tides washed them up, tie them up with ribbon, and cork it all away for someone else to worry about.
This is not a romance either.
So instead I baked coffee cake while it rained, and picked the wee
A gift The greatest gift in this life comes wrapped up in the skins of lovers untouched, or unaddressed – or even unknown. Within it are the friends we never met, the ones we let slip, the parties we missed – the people unkissed – the help we never gave and the risks we never took. By this gift, we will know the shape of our life. A good life will not be known until it ends – and when we say "I should have done more", we will know that we did enough, or all that we could. By our regrets we will know the shape of our life – and before we die we shall be handed a parcel of them. A life lived without regret is not one that has been lived at all – or if it was lived, we cannot say that we even noticed.A gift7 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Massacre of the InnocenceGeorgie Porgie threw an orgyMassacre of the Innocence5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
just outside L.A.,
where Jack Be Nimble grabbed his thimble,
outing him as gay...
Little Jack Horner bought Time Warner
before the bubble burst,
though Jumping Jack Flash saw the crash
and liquidated first...
Jack said Jill was taking the Pill
to ward off impregnation;
the Three Blind Mice have lobbied twice
for victim's compensation...
Little Miss Muffet had her tuffet
and Little Bo Peep married a creep;
lamb chops gave him gout...
Jack Sprat's wife went under the knife
for Lap-Band surgery,
then Third Little Pig struck it big
on reality TV...
Old King Cole's gone on the dole,
exposed as a pretender;
while Wee Wil
PROSE What Spies DoMy dad is a rock. He is solid, he is powerful. He can still pick me up and toss me over his shoulder. He is never seen to cry, he can never be swayed or damaged by opinion. He is a real estate agent, and he pushes those deals and sways those clients with confidence and experience. He flexes his arms at the dinner table when I ask him and points exactly which way it is to the beach or the gun show. He is a tree, a mountain, a thick and formidable presence in any room, in any place, against any person.PROSE What Spies Do6 years ago in Literature Submissions More Like This
Hes late, my mom said, and pursed her lips through the steam of her hot dinner plate.
My brother pushed a floret of broccoli with his fork. Cant we just start without him?
Absolutely not. She frowned. God help us if we become one of those families that never eats together. Its an important part of your childhood, and so ma
Undead"The end", she said, and then was dead,Undead9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and summed it up; one life, one breath
(it's all we ever get, I guess).
Her train at dawn pulled in quite slow,
a morning sweat upon its brow,
the girl got off, and -
made her way, away, to town.
The sun was cruel; across the streets
and rivers where the people meet
and split, and separate from heat;
she slid into a sleep, quite deep,
beneath the dreams, and waves, and feet,
on pavement where the people sleep
and live their lives to remember.
Brusque hands grabbing, taking, carrying
straying roughly first and tarrying
She surfaced in a surgeon's bed,
legs spread, a mask wrapped round her head,
"It's oxygen" the nurse had said.
A midlife midwife tried to free,
the baby from it's foetal jail
and doctors failed to keep alive,
the mother who was still a child;
"you've got to hang on 'til" -
The baby's dead.
One life. One breath.
It's all we ever get,
honestly officerA bit of honesty never hurt anyonehonestly officer5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
said the liar,
cracked lips smiling
a crooked smile,
face like dried fruit.
Personal adfree to good home,;Personal ad8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
body, hardly used,
all original limbs and pulse -
one careful owner
Ocean lungs and Cherry lipswith ocean lungsOcean lungs and Cherry lips4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and plastic gills
i dive beneath the surface
with cherry lips
and earth-toned skin
i watch the moon rise
with wings among elbows
and stars instead of eyes
i make my way across the twilight
and you can't catch me
and you can't contain me
with webbed toes
and blue hearts
i am the fish in the ocean's water
with heart-shaped ears
and flower petals for hair
i am the trees against the night-time
with skinny bird-bones
and charcoal colored feathers
i am the birds upon the cloud trails
and you can't beat me
and you can't hold me down
i am ocean
i am forest
i am sky
and where you
destroy me in one place
in the other i come alive
once upon a hippoI once had a pet hippoonce upon a hippo5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who lived in the pool--
he was my favorite pet hippo
back when having a hippo was cool.
All the kids knew me
All the kids wanted to come over
Because all the kids wanted to see
My pet hippo named Rover.
He could do tricks--
He could balance a ball.
He didn't get ticks
And would never let me fall.
He would follow me to school
until the teacher finally yelled
No Hippos in School!
No Hippos allowed!
So one day when Rover wanted to come
I had to say No boy, stay!
Swim and have fun!
But when I came home...
No Rover could be found!
He had looked so sad,
didn't even make a sound
And no he was gone! And I was mad.
Oh where, Oh where
Could my Rover be?
I've look almost everywhere
Looked up and down and in the sea!
I blame my teacher.
It's all her fault!
This is why I hate her
and have made a Hippo-loving cult.
One day I will find Rover
And we will get our revenge
But until then I must suffer--
Cry so much, I cringe.
So come home, Rover
Come back to
eleven unspoken things1.eleven unspoken things5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
If my shoes were yours, if only for a day,
Perhaps you'd understand the reflection
which glares at me in the mirror,
maybe you'd give a damn in the silences
instead of searching for a blame.
Able and ready to point the gun at anyone
But your own head,
Afraid of accidentally hitting the trigger
Because you'd rather stand alive
bring the distancebring the distance closerbring the distance5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a perfect moment i endeavor
you and i
as snug as air gets with the wind
thin as vegetable fibers
O, heart lovely
my one true cluster
earth and the sky
tangled in God's attributes
might as well stir the clouds
The Celestial GirlThe Celestial Girl8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I search for the lonely sparkles
So uniquely recumbent and undercover.
Ambivalent towards popularity's pupils
but perilously potent to mine.
Merging towards a merger
she migrates from malignance.
I now spy the girl with stars in her eyes.
Engulfed with eternal enchantment
I sit still as she
meekly models magnetism
on the lunar lit catwalk
Shall we bequeath this blanketed beauty?
Unwrapped for all our pleasures
The masses refuse to respect
her austere allurement.
Gibbous gasps with great gusto
as she peels away the hidden agendas
So picturesque unlimited…
...With gravity breeding synchronicity
Unification is no more a dream.
and seduction subscribes to its senses
The 'Northern Lights' still seem so far away.
Lesson 1 - Basics of MeterQUOTE OF THE DAYLesson 1 - Basics of Meter7 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
"Life is tons of discipline. Your first discipline is your vocabulary; then your grammar and your punctuation. Then, in your exuberance and bounding energy you say you're going to add to that. Then you add rhyme and meter. And your delight is in that power."
- Robert Frost
As Robert Frost is saying, meter and rhyme are not the most important parts of writing. They are the most intricate when creating poetry, but poems can be written without them. I began my poetry with free verse, and gradually became more and more fixed as I went on to learn more about how meter affects the poem, and how rhyme, alliteration, assonance, and the like also affect the reader's experience with a piece of poetry. And my free verse is all the better for it. Even if you never write another fixed poem after finishing this course, an intricate understanding of the rules of conventional poe
Last One ChosenThe last star wished upon;Last One Chosen6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the cloud that never took form;
the last leaf that fell and blew away
in that breeze which finished the day.
Who watches the sunset with a sigh,
looks upon a day which dies,
and cherishes each second
like each second was one that would last?
The girl who never smiled;
the boy who couldn't strive;
a melted heart starved by loneliness;
Poison Apple Book PreviewPoison Apple Book Preview7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Liam T. Dredd and Diaphanous Haze
Were married in not unusual ways.
They booked a cathedral, they made their vows,
Bought as much insurance as the state allows.
He called her Daffi, She called him Lee,
He wrote out their wills, she made them some tea.
"I'll sign the papers if you will," she said.
"A million if either of us drops dead."
"I have a confession, my dear," said he.
"Counting the others, you're Wife Number Three.
"My dear exes were strangled, drowned and shot,
They left me quite lonely, but left me a lot."
"How sad!" said Daffi with a secret smile,
"But at least your marriages were worthwhile.
"Now, my late husbands, of which there were four,
Never gave me a penny. That's why they're no more."
"It seems I'll be careful from now on," Lee sighed,
"For I've finally found my match in a bride.
"And speaking of matches, look under your chair,
I've hidden a clever bomb under there."
"Oh, I found it," said Daffi, "I'm afraid it's destroyed
"That charming young housemaid w
telling a sad story backwards-17.telling a sad story backwards-5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
it smells like grief and sterilized metal.
i climb into andrews bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he cant see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.
he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping.
"stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.
for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of red arrows. i don't notice his eyes rolling back in his head or the graceful way his body collapses to the floor.
the only thing i notice is the distinct thudding sound as his head hits the metal shelf and the screaming that may or may not be mine.
later in the hospital he calls for me and says he wants to apologize for keeping secrets, and the doctors launch into a medical explanation of his cancer.
their eyes are sad.
Abandoned HousesGlimpsed before they were salted with dusk,Abandoned Houses5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
each like a deserted scene from Chernobyl
or Three-Mile Island: breakfast tables
abandoned, family photos left behind,
jackets still hanging on the backs of chairs.
Cutlery slowly fossilising, turning the colour
of anchovies. Their undissovable memories
chirp like Geiger counters when the street
is silent, unspooling household wiring.
Sometimes you might see patches
of dandelions in the front gardens bend,
as if in the presence of breath.
Where to Play?Where to Play?8 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The nuclear blast ripped through Wembley Stadium, shattering steel girders like toothpicks and melting human flesh like butter. Ringo's head smashed into the concrete as the scorching air roared over him. It had been a pretty good day until this had happened.
Earlier, the make up artists and costumers had descended on the four of them like a flock of gnats. A touch-up here, a snip there. Mr. Wesely, clothed in a pin-stripe suit, was calmly standing by the door of the dressing room, watching the talent coordinator of PeaceAid 3 hop around like an insane monkey.
"We've only got 10 minutes!" she howled. "Get the hair right. No! Not the bowl cuts. More shaggy. This is in the Pepper era, not the damn Ed Sullivan stuff!" She turned to Mr. Wesley with an icy look of horror on her face. "They do know the program, don't they?"
Mr. Wesley nodded. "Of course. It was downloaded two weeks ago."
The coordinator howled in agony. "No! It's changed since then! It's changed!" she waved her data p
Ms Mary SueMy name's Ms Mary Sue,Ms Mary Sue7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You could say I'm somewhat better than you.
My hair is just like flowing gold,
But of course, I'd rather have mould.
My eyes are of the brightest blue,
Because I'm Ms. Mary Sue.
I'm generous, kind, and sickly sweet,
I know all my txt tlk, slang and 1337,
But I speak perfectly, don't you know,
I'd rather die than utter 'Yo'.
All the bishounen bill and coo,
Because I'm Ms. Mary Sue.
Wait wait wait! Don't yell and flame!
It really would be such a shame,
To annoy someone with über powers,
Who could turn you all into a vase of flowers!
But of course I can't hate, not even you!
Because I'm Ms Mary Sue.
Uh-oh, oh dear, what's this!
The Mary Sue hater's bliss!
The ugly, hateful Anti-Sue,
Why don't the crowd all yell and boo?
I think they re-wrote me! This CANNOT BE TRUE!
It is the death of a Mary-