House on my HeadI grew a house on my head.House on my Head4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I populated it with animals:
a mouse for a housekeeper,
a lizard in the kitchen cooking eggs,
a butler wolf whistling and saying 'sir',
a chinchilla to sweep rooms' corners,
a giraffe wiping windows,
a black Labrador pup to clear the chimneys.
The house is old fashioned but it runs to time.
A sloth winds the clocks;
a badger delves the vegetable patch.
Everyone gets on fabulously
and will eat eggs together at breakfast,
gossiping about the awful state of my head:
how the tubes in my brain need scrubbing out,
you can tell because the plumbing gurgles
and the lights in the attic flicker at unexpected hours.
The landlord, a snub-nosed monkey, is convinced
that nuggets of knowledge are lodged
in the mulch of my swampy mind.
He sends search parties of ants scurrying
down my ear holes, dredging the depths.
He thinks I'm a goldmine to be gutted.
I'm with the mouse. She says my taste isn't bad,
though for the carpets she wouldn't have gone with green;
and the journey
FrUK: Can You Hear Me?Can You Hear Me?FrUK: Can You Hear Me?4 years ago in Romance More Like This
Pairing: FrUK (very slight USUK)
Arthur opened his eyes to a bright scenery, raising a hand slowly to shield his eyes from the
glare of the sun overhead. He lowered his hand after a moment, noticing that he and Francis were
sitting in his garden. Francis and him were sitting at the glass table that he had put in the garden,
two cups of tea in front of them.
"My, aren't you getting distracted easily today, hm?", the Frenchman spoke up with a smile on his
lips once he noticed he caught Arthur's unamused attention. Arthur averted his eyes from the flowers
around them to Francis' light blue eyes, a small twitch of a smile sliding across Arthur's lips.
For some reason, he felt choked up. Like he was going to cry. Except he didn't know why he felt like
that. He doesn't remember appearing out here with Francis before him. And yes, Francis. Francis, the
one who bothe
3am Hallows Eve3am on Hallows Eve3am Hallows Eve4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Time for sins and wicked deeds
Witches, werewolves, goblins too
All the better to frighten you
3am, time to rise
Put on your mask, wear your disguise
Dance in the shadows of the pale moon light
Welcome the sting of a vampires bite
3am, it's time for fun
The witching hour has just begun
Jack-o-lanterns light the night
Catching mischief in their sight
3am, the witches fly
You can run but you can't hide
Demons walk the street tonight
Snatching your soul away from sight
3am, Halloween has come
The wicked fun has finally begun
Tell the children the warnings they must heed
Or else they will surely bleed
3am on Hallows Eve
Time for sins and wicked deeds
Lock your doors and hide within
Tonight, everywhere, evil will win
Don't Tell"You WHAT!?" exclaimed the furious Englishman.Don't Tell4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I- I said... I'm dating France..." muttered the shy Canadian looking down at his twiddling thumbs.
The Englishman just stood there in shock, his hands plastered on the table as he stared at Canada, wide eyed. He still couldn't quite process the information in his mind. It was something that just didn't register. Why would anyone want to date that... that... Frog!?
He finally closed his eyes, realizing he was making Canada more nervous than he already was. He sat back down on the couch and crossed his arms. "So?"
"So what?" Canada asked looking up without moving his head.
"So? How did this happen?"
Canada's eyes went wide and his cheeks went a deep shade of red. "Uh well, you see..."
A FEW NIGHTS AGO
Canada was just sitting at home enjoying a nice freshly made meal of pancakes and maple syrup. He was tuned into the T.V. watching some American channel with some strange show called "The Real Housewives of something or other".
Being a WriterOn Why Being a Writer is Neither Glamorous nor ExcitingBeing a Writer4 years ago in Editorial More Like This
If you watch the blogs and various sites around the internet about writing, you've probably seen at least one list that details a few universal truths about writers, but they all pretty much boil down to several actual truths.
All writers write.
All writers procrastinate.
Writers don't actually write, because we spend all our time doing something else.
This probably explains why, in the dark hours of one of the very last days of NaNoWriMo, I'm sitting here writing this, when my NaNo is sitting in another window with a pathetic 31.8k words.
Will I finish by 11:59pm tomorrow? Probably not. Do I care? Not particularly, although I'm sure that there's probably some part of my brain, which has been hardwired in a certain way that will start seriously freaking out sometime around 5:00pm tomorrow night.
Why am I so far behind, you ask? Simple. I told myself that I was not going to do NaNo this year. I haven't written anything since Februa
Actinium DreamsY'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium and yet have no special talent of your own?Actinium Dreams4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the worst possible mix of autism, Alpha rays and ADHD.
And I do at least have my own nemesis, of sorts: the cadre of good ol' boys who call themselves DOTA, whose main ability seems to be workin' together to nullify and trap super-powered elementals. But t'be honest, they don't seem to have anything against me personally; I think they just have a ge
Retrograde Scents from inside the suit intertwined their intentions with the sights of tangled and tessellated hair illumed by firefly LED's, spiking my circulation with memories and murmurs of dopamine.Retrograde4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I took her by the gaze; she steered her sight away from mine. I led her through a glance that involved no scuffling of hands.
She was one of two wayward strangers passing in the cosmos; two separate glances met as objects in motion tending to motion. People aren't the same however.
Drifter was the term we were known as, people cast off of vessels and ships, mostly by accident, condemned to trudge about the universe until starvation kicked in or their oxygen-starved filters were finally incapable of operating. My unplanned departure from the mysteriously flaming
Obediant RageObediant RageObediant Rage7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The storm inside
Creeps out at night
From the depths of my fake smile
To the yearning of my torn heart
Where Im struggling to make a beat
That doesnt skip or want or need
What Ive gained and all Ive lost
How can I go on
Knowing Im alone,
That acceptance lies
Over 4,000 kilometers away?
I try so hard to keep inside
The rain that falls from my eyes
Each time I think back to the warm summer sun
And breeze blowing in my face as I open the window
And the birds chirp
So faintly because they know
Its rude to awaken those who still might be flying through dreams
And I remember the fresh scent of morning breakfast
Juicy ham sandwiches with the warm bread and butter,
The tea stirred to perfection
How the food tasted heavenly, but the smiles all around me
As I strode into the kitchen, hair tangled, eyes drooping,
Were loving and caring, welcomed the day to come with
A liveliness only seen in those whose simplicity I could feed upon.
One ChanceElliot is four. He watches his grandfather breathe out cigarette smoke in his creaking armchair. The living room is small enough to be heated by the portable radiator near his grandfather's slippers. When the old man realises his grandson waits for him, he begins.One Chance4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"This is a ruined world, son. Diseased with hatred and war before you were born." He takes a drag on his cigarette and Elliot breathes in the coming smoke. "This world is dead, but I know there's another. We could go to it if we only knew the way." Elliot's grandfather smiles at his thoughts. "There's another place put aside for us. I'll find the door one day."
The radiator splutters to its death and the old man curses his misfortune.
Elliot is ten. His hair is in a ponytail because that's how his brother wears it and his big brother's the best. Nick Ward and his friends from the year above don't think so.
They grab Elliot as soon as he leaves the cubicle in the little boy's room and pushes him face first into a wall, holding
UMvC3 Fan Moveset: Ghost Rider RevampedUMvC3 Fan Moveset: Ghost Rider Revamped3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
Origin: Ghost Rider series
First Appearance: Marvel Spotlight #5 (Aug. 1972)
Voiced by: Richard Grieco
Theme song: ???
Alternate costume: ???
Stage: Runaway Subway Train
Standing light punch, Crouching light punch, Jumping light punch
Standing middle punch, Crouching middle punch, Jumping middle punch
Standing fierce punch, Crouching fierce punch, Jumping fierce punch
Rage Whip: H, H
Heartless Spire: L + H
Chain Flechette: QCF + P
Damnation: QCF + S
Fiendish Chains: QCB + S
Chains of Retribution: DP + L
Chain of Judgement: DP + M
Judgement Strike: DP + H
Chaos Bringer: QCB + L or H
Hell's Embrace: QCB + M
Ravaging Flame: QCF + M
Hellfire: QCF + H
Fear: RDP + PP
Hellfire Maelstorm: QCF + PP
Spirit of Vengeance: DP + PP
__Alternate Sprit of Vengeance Ending: P or S during Spirit of Vengeance
Penance Stare: HCB + PP
Alpha: Chains of Retribution
Beta: Heartless Spire
Gamma: Ravaging Flame
vs. all villains except Wesker
Inhuman Resources: Chapter 1Cloud ComputingInhuman Resources: Chapter 13 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"Yeah, Dobe," I replied. "Start it up."
The portable generator chugged hollowly for a moment before finally rumbling into life, a brief green flicker from the computer bank announcing its success. A curl of exhaust issued forth, and to my nose seemed to fill the whole office block with its petroleum stench. Even this, however, was nothing compared to the sensation that accompanied it; subtle, but far more potent.
The computer had not been switched on for some time, and a number of scheduled tasks had accumulated. In my mind's eye, I perceived them, though the screen lay cracked and broken on the floor: toppled, no doubt, during the evacuation all those years ago. Nevertheless, though mute, though silent, the computer spoke, and I listened. Almost imperceptible beneath the heady drone of data streaming through the air, I could feel a faint whirr from within my ribcage and a dull warmth from the cable running up through my neck. The machine had begun its work
CELEBRATION of GAY PRIDECELEBRATION of GAY PRIDE5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
CELEBRATION of GAY PRIDE - An Older Gay Man's Perspective
Straight people keep asking, "Why do 'you' people need GAY PRIDE when there is no need for STRAIGHT PRIDE?" This is my answer:
Straight people do not need to be proud of being straight, because they do not need to overcome and survive vilification, hatred, bigotry, discrimination and suppression, for being straight. Sexual Minorities deserve great pride and respect for overcoming all of that, and more.I call this a "Celebration of Gay Pride" because it is a celebration of my journey to self-acceptance and pride-of-self. I was 13, an Altar Boy wanting to be a Priest, when our priest told us boys, "Boys who are physically attracted to other boys are an abomination in the eyes of God, doomed to burn for an eternity in the everlasting fires of Gahanna." I could not understand it. I was simple, autistic, and I lived to be a good boy. I had not done anything to make these feelings for boys happen. God must
petrichorNiobe weeps.petrichor4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gold scattered rough across
cracked earth and the last
remains of summer - they fell
like leaves in the arms of the wind.
some scents cannot be captured.
the gods bleed onto rock,
and the stone sends her prayers
in return: petrichor.
listen - the heavy thud of
rain on parched ground;
the monsoon sealing life back in;
the sky bows and kisses earth.
Five More MinutesFive more minutesFive More Minutes4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I wish I could have had just five more minutes with you.
Just to caress you and tell you
Just how much I love and appreciate you.
To tell you about my dreams and point of view.
Just five more minutes.
Just four more minutes.
I wish I could have had just four more minutes with you.
Just to hold you in my arms
Just to kiss you all over, like I should have before.
And to whisper one more poem in your ear.
Just four more minutes.
Just three more minutes.
I wish I could have had just three more minutes with you.
Just to listen to what you had to say.
Just to compliment you one last time.
And to tell you how sorry I am; how much I regret what I've done.
Just three more minutes.
Just two more minutes.
I wish I could have had just two more minutes with you.
Just to listen to you, just once
Just to treat you like you deserved all this time.
And to let you cry on my shoulder and tell me how you feel.
Just two more minutes.
Just one more minute.
I wish I could have h
End of the World?"End of the world?" Richard looked up from his newspaper. "Bollocks! The world will always be here. What you really mean is it's the end of humanity!"End of the World?5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Dumping the paper down on the curb next to him he got to his feet. "If the crazies with shotguns or the blasted zombies don't get us all, this waiting will! I say lets go out with a little style! What d'ya think, Mertle? Shotgun or chainsaw?"
Unfortunately for Richard, the voice he heard answer him was nothing beyond his own mind because Mertle was in fact, an old microwave sitting on the street, with a smile drawn on her glass face in bright red lipstick.
"You're right! Let's take both!"
6Either way64 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is past seven and there is a rumor that you are coming home.
When I saw you last, I found
that word in your mouth. It was
foreign, a small success for your vocabulary.
I stalked it all the way back to the house,
sucked it clean and dry and no longer holy,
hanging by a horrifying thread.
What will be the first thing you speak of tomorrow;
what wills your growth, what wills you to change?
If we are wanted,
if the earth swirls right, almost cloudlessly,
if you should find my hand and whittle out
a new word
If you hiss
like a turntable
as you try to spin me round and round
It is only seven; I trust you with the time.
HOT N' SOUL - Home New Home IHOT N' SOUL - Home New Home I4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
HOT & SOUL
Soul Eater & Heart of Wildfire mix fanfiction
Logo & Story by G. Michel
Picture by Annria2002.deviantart.com
Disclaimer: SOUL EATER and their respective characters are the property of Atsushi Ohkubo and SQUARE ENIX. HEART OF WILDFIRE's characters are the property of Gregory Michel and Bessy Romero. This story is written for the sole and non-commercial purpose of fanbase entertaining.
HOME NEW HOME, part I
The black 1969 Cadillac Deville convertible was rolling throughout the desert with no difficulties caused by the sandy and dry road. It climbed sand dunes as if it was a child's game, nothing to it. The radio was tuned up to some good old rock n' roll. As the music went to Bob Seger's Old Time Rock n' Roll hit, the young driver pressed on the pedal driven by the song's rhythm. The day was hot, blazing hot, but that didn't seem to bother him, neither his passenger.
"How do you think Death City is?" asked the passenger, her long orange hair blew by the wind.
FFM21: The Dragon ThingFor the third time in a week, Joey woke up crying in the middle of the night. It was a behavior that, like most children, he had left behind years prior, along with diapers and pacifiers and Elmo. It was only in the recent months that it had started again, infrequently at first but worse with every passing week. What made this night particularly notable was that, unlike the previous dozen occurrences, he could actually remember what he had been dreaming about.FFM21: The Dragon Thing4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I was flying," he groaned into his mother's collarbone, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. "I was flying over the mountains. I had these big wings, and everything looked really tiny."
"Aha," she murmured softly, smoothing his hair. "So you were afraid of the heights? It's just a dream, sweetheart, you don't have to worry about falling. That happens to me sometimes, too: a scary dream will wake me up, and sometimes it makes me want
Creepin'.003 - Creepin'Creepin'3 years ago in Romance More Like This
"You creep, shoo, shoo!" Touko growled at the greenette, waving her hand helplessly in the air.
N blinked at the pony-tailed brunette, clearly confused. Creep ?
"Stalker, weirdo, creeper!," She yelled, beginning to point at him angrily.
He looked around, wondering if she was pointing at someone else.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you, you green haired space alien!" Touko screamed at him.
N blinked dumbly at her again.
I only asked how she was
Swan LakeSwan Lake4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
shimmers and sparkles
all the stars come out to play
wishes without end
El arte de la autopromocionEl arte de la autopromocion5 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Hace poco compré un libro llamado " I had be rather in the studio" (Prefiero quedarme en el estudio) de la autora Alyson Stanfield. Lo compré porque me llamó la atención su slogan "la guía para artistas: no más excusas para la autopromoción" .
Todos los artistas tenemos excusas para no "auto promocionarnos" , algunas de las más frecuentes excusas son : "no tengo tiempo" , "no sé por dónde empezar" , "soy muy introvertido/tímido" , "no tengo dinero" , pero la excusa más frecuente para no salir al mundo es "prefiero quedarme en el estudio / prefiero quedarme en mi casa".
Para que nuestro arte sea conocido tenemos que auto-promocionarnos. Es vital , es fundamental. Y más si quieres sacar dinero de tu arte.
¿Sabe tu vecino que dibujas? Si no , necesitas autopromoción de urgencia. Las primeras personas que necesitas enseñarle que dibujas es tu fam
Sweet Tea in the SouthIn the summer I'll hear them chatter and babble and chuckle and cluck like two frivolous chickens in pink polka dot dresses. I'll be peering down aisle nine and see neat rows of tea and crunchy, sugary biscuits they can shove into their mouths, indulge in their spoken virtues as little crumbs sprinkle onto their laps. They're heaving tomatoes drenching under summer sun, the crows feet under their baby blue eyes lapping up experience in the years they've lived down here, where sweet tea is a delicacy swimming around fat ice cubes. They'll haul their modern wagonwheel through the maze of eye twinkling treats, chirping for their tomato faced young while waddling away.Sweet Tea in the South4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I'll see them breezing past me in a feeding frenzy, two, three, four little chicks hustling over to their rather plump parents. They'll lug their crusted heels down the path, pecking for some chocolate chip cookies or those spicy pork skins with really mind boggling logo designs.