Historical FuturesRivulets flow slowly downHistorical Futures1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Upon the kingdom and its crown
Tidings brought on hasty lips
Now too fast; the gossip slips
Thoughts and words are blankly rushing
The messenger is always killed
When the hero's thoughts are thrilled
Judgement passed cruelly
When thoughts are voiced truly
Hanged and broken
The man too outspoken
War as an art and not as a game
For only the brave; not the hearts lame
Something GentleGiven something trueSomething Gentle1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your tears will turn it blue
A gift for you to keep
Instead you choose to weep
Promises with wings
You turn away
Not a word to say
How you could spurn
I cannot discern
You are blessed every day
And yet you carry this way
Love is filtered in
You toss it to the bin
See the simple perfections
Of life, in all directions
Embrace the beautiful life
The blessings rampant and rife
Love the songs of joy
Of people thankful, not coy
Hope, and you won't destroy
The heart of every girl and boy
You would not slaughter
The hopes of your future daughter
So why would you crush
Dreams of every girl to blush
Lend a hand and a heart
Kindness from the very start
Karma will sweep you off your feet
For the words you speak so sweet
To every person you do meet
So darling, take a seat
You need not curse
Just makes things worse
You need not yell
At the ones whose hearts have fell
Believe in the gentleness of human-kind
And your bad luck will soon unwind
Treat with respect yo
Night Of StoriesThere was a moon in the sky when I was young, the old man told us. A Moon? What's that?, the young ones asked. A whole world right up there he said. So close you could reach out and touch her if you climbed the high mountains and if you wanted you could jump up and she'd catch you and you could spend the day. Yer fibbin', said the older ones but I couldn't help but ask, where did she go? Well, she got tired one day and fell from the sky, he said and while she rested greedy people made a slave of her and made her carry them away never to be seen again. That's sad I said. Won't she ever come back? Not in my lifetime he said with a tear in his eye he quickly wiped away but I saw it. And since that night, that night of stories I've sat here watchin' , waitin' for her to return so I could say the old man missed her while she was gone and won't she please stay in case he should return.Night Of Stories1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mad MarieShe sits alone in her room playing with her toys like a good little girl,Mad Marie2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Daddy's good little girl.
Daddy, may I,... may I please go outside?, she asks when Daddy comes to
her room to check on her. It's so hot with the candles burning, and the
window bolted. Daddy says nothing as he opens the window. He leaves her
to her toys, and goes downstairs. There's work to be done, She will have
to amuse herself while he makes her dinner.
He locks the door so she doesn't get into mischief. He can't let her run
like he did so long ago. There's too much that can happen to a good
little girl, to his good little girl.
She cries at the door as he walks away, and he tries his best to ignore
the tears he knows are running down her face. Supper's on, and he sits
wondering how his life had gone so bad. His wife dying as she gave birth
to their only daughter, and leaving him to care for her alone, the boys,
who tried to get their way with his little girl. the mischief she got into
with those boys. He'd ha
VThere once was a girl named V,V3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She was stuck up in a tree,
When up came a gust,
And out of the tree she be.
A Goddess Of WaspsA Goddess Of Wasps3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
She lays in the deepest part of the Pennsylvania forest, an area known by some as "God's country".
Her once deep, green eyes now see nothing, the rotted empty sockets given an insect facetted gaze.
"They"found her and made her their domain, refilling her slowly over the years with the life I had taken,
feeding on what she offered as her corpse lay rotting amidst the dank soil and moss. A tree has overgrown her
fleshless cage. No longer is there heart imprisoned within, lungs made convict. Maggots and worms set
them free long ago when she was lordess of corpse flies, but like so many others, they left her, taking what
they would, and leaving her nothing. She lay unmoved, unfeeling, unloved, unwanted. I cried for her then,
laying my head upon what had once been her ample breast, breathing in what had once been her sweet
perfume that still lingered in my memory if not on her soft, white skin.
She sleeps silently, saying nothing of what others have done to bring her pain, forgiving all tre
New Mexico ConflagrationNew Mexico ConflagrationNew Mexico Conflagration5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Alone, among these burning pinon trees,
I wonder how the fire came to be.
The sparks still shower down.
The scent of loss is crowned
With knowing, once again, there's less of me.
This strong incense confuses nose and heart:
Reminders of both peace and pain, in part.
Renewal from this blaze
Must wait 'til pain has aged
When meaning we must find provides its start.
To recognize the phoenix in a soul
Is to search for hope where none might seem to grow
Yet some seed within (so real!)
Waits now for us to heal
When life itself--still green--begins to glow.
Dog's Best Friend Dog's Best FriendDog's Best Friend3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Bitzer cast his gaze across the field as he poured himself another welcome mug of piping hot tea. They weren't up to much at the moment since the Farmer was wandering about the grass testing out another piece of equipment that he had bought on a whim; a toy racing car would you believe it? The sheep milled about, eating grass, trying not to pay too much attention to the locomotive; basically playing dumb really. They always did that in the Farmer's presence.
Out of the corner of his eye and keeping in check a sigh that said 'he's at it again!', Bitzer watched Shaun slink away from the group, (for he could never play dumb for long), resisting the temptation to walk on two legs as he normally did; as sheep did not normally do this in the eyes of humans anyway. He wandered int
Roommates part 1Roommates part 14 years ago in Horror More Like This
Amy rushed ahead as she made her way to class. Her brown wispy curls bouncing back across her pallid face annoyingly. She was late. She glanced at her watch.
Make that REALLY late. If she didn't turn in her paper today she would be practically failing the class and it REALLY didn't help that she was late and the teacher already hated her. Her jerk of a roommate, who had been arguing with her for the past week or so over bedroom issues. Had turned off her alarm clock and thrown her clothes in the shower. The sweat shirt she had managed to spare because it had been thrown under the bed smelled like BO but it was better than nothing. She had stolen a pair of pants from the lost and found at her dorm, they itched and seemed to be a size to small but they would have to do.
She finally opened the door to her classroom. Hustling in, ducking to make herself seem more invisible in the crowd.
It didn't work
"Miss. Parker? Nice of you to join us today. I don't suppose you have your es
SEX TreatsSEX Treats5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Soloact's EXcess Treats
(c)2008 by the real person behind Soloact-The-Bard. All Rights Reserved.
Ingredients ( note : all amounts are approximate, and can be adjusted to your taste ) :
1 cup instant rice
1 cup water (bottled spring water recommended)
1/4 cup of pure coconut oil
1 cup instant oats
cinnamon for sprinkling
3/4 cup creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
3/4 cup butterscotch chips
1 bag (approx 10 crackers) graham crackers
Note, all mixing should be done using a spoon. Wooden spoon not recommended.
1 cup instant rice
1 cup water
Cook water and rice in microwave according to instructions. When done, keep covered and let it sit for 4-5 minutes then stir in
1/4 cup of pure coconut oil (if it's thick and spreadable, that's okay)
1 cup of instant oats
Keep stirring. It may get too hard to stir, but keep going. If it doesn't stir, but clumps, then add a little bit of water to make it thick-stirable.
When oats are stirred in
Bury Me at the Top of . . .Bury Me at the Top of the MountainBury Me at the Top of . . .3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
lyrics for a blues song
(read with slight pause after each line for correct spoken meter)
I've been down
and at the bottom.
All my life
I've felt the pain.
There were days
I saw the sun shine.
I've felt the rain.
When I die
do me a favor.
I ask for this
and nothin more.
Just bury me
at the top of the mountain
where I've never
a lot of miles.
a real friend.
Won't you please
call the doctor
I've got a broken
heart to mend.
Aint got much time
been growin older.
I got nothin
I can show
The Bible tells me
What ya reap is
really based on
what ya sow.
I've been told
I'd amount to nothin.
Been so low down
So please bury me
at the top of the mountain
where I've never
Please, please bury me
at the top of the mountain
where I've never
Copyright Tom Wilcox 2011
March Madness LimericksMarch Madness Limericks3 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
There was an old biker called Shipp
Who stood with his hands on his hips
He was told this was a lady thing
But he liked it so much he started to sing
"Girls Just Wanna Have Fun"!!
Hostility Towards TerragenHostility Towards Terragen9 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Hostility towards the program terragen has always been present, and most likely, always will be. But let's get down to brass tacks. What is terragen? It's a 3d scenery generator. Right. There's no real Modelling process involved per se, and it looks and works completely different (to all means and purposes of the majority) to a 3d modelling application such as 3d studio max or Maya. It is comprised of a series of mostly numerical controls, and a few random generators based on numerical/slider inputs.
...this means, it's an easy program, and requires little or no effort to pull off good results.
Here's my favourite word of this article. WRONG.
The program is as deep as you want it to be, just as many other art orientated programs are. The quality of the results produced from it are proportional to the artists skill in using it. Just becau
Deserving of NothingDeserving of Nothing1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
My endless imperfections
shout to the very core of my soul,
Beating away at my humility,
To bare reminder
that I do not deserve you
in the slightest...
Grace is your very essence,
as you embody that which is perfection.
Whereas my rush
to find the flaws of my name,
You tell it tales true,
of the feelings you hold.
Abnormal is my persona,
and infinite apologies are due,
Many thanks, just as much,
are in order...
To God, to you....
Beauty be what has enraptured my heart
for the eternal hour at hand,
You and only you are the whom
that I most desire,But never deserve.
Iraqi Pilot Returns - StoryBy U.S. Air Force Staff Sgt. Christopher FrostIraqi Pilot Returns - Story6 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
KIRKUK, Iraq By age 15, his destiny was already set by Saddam Husseins regime he was to become a fighter pilot, a necessity in the bloody war with Iran. He took the controls of a Bravo, a single engine, propeller-driven training aircraft, and performed his first solo flight before most Americans could even drive.
Today, Iraqi Air Force Maj. Abbas, his name changed in this story for security reasons, serves once again in the Iraqi Air Force, but hes no longer asked to fly for the dictator but to fly for his country.
Abbas is an instructor pilot with the Iraqi Flying Training School in Kirkuk, Iraq, where he teaches initial pilot training to future Iraqi pilots. Like many instructor pilots who have returned to the school to teach, he was a fighter pilot under Husseins regime with a great deal of experience and training.
My education was only for flying, said Abbas, while he kept watch over a pitche
Waking UpWaking Up3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Your peaceful, pleasant sleep is cut short as your world turns from a secluded black to a blinding pink. Dazed and still half asleep, you blink open your eyes and are greeted with a ray of sunshine that has found the single hole in your blinds.
It always finds that hole
With a grunt you try to roll to the side but find your left arm pinned. Blearily, you try to move your arm, but all feeling stops past the elbow.
You turn your head, confused at the loss of feeling in your hand. The world is still out of focus, but after a few blinks you discover the cause.
His brown-blond head lay nestled in the crook of your arm. His soft but steady breathing can be felt on your shoulder. You smile to yourself as you admire the golden highlights the sun casts on his hair. His nose rubs gently against your skin with the rise and fall of his breathing.
With a stifled
How to Fix The WorldHow to Fix The World1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
an execution, while play
The howling strings
Of the cellos
Of the veins
Of the time
To the discord
Are the who and what,
the how and the why
Ever lost to that
of the cords
of the strings
of the howling
"Fix this", they cry,
the masses whose
words fester and boil,
carried words, spoken indirect
of the leaders
of the struggles
of the home
of the brave
The final breath
of humanities dying words
"in ashes, from ashes"
She speaks, so melancholy
of the future
of the present
of the past
"World!" She pleads
with a cry, so finishing
"Heed and listen!"
To them she speaks
Of the necessary
of the desired
of the curses
of their blessings...
How My Business WorksHow My Business Works1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
My business works because it's actually not a business. And by this I mean I hardly make any money with my pictures. For me photography is not a way to make money but to invest money, and I work several other jobs to be able to pay for my art. I'm a tour guide on waste to energy plants and wastewater treatment facilities, I'm a concierge at the house I'm living, I work as a Photoshop instructor and on weekends I take care of the library of the University.
Sometimes people say to me: I can hardly believe you're not making money with your photos because they are better than the work of many professional photographers.
Of course it's flattering when somebody says something like that even if I don't always agree. But here's the thing: the very reason why I'm able to work on this level is because I don't have to make money with my pictures. If you're a photographer who wants to make a living out of it you are forced to do things differently. You have to focus on what your customers like and
Slenderman.Stop.Slenderman.3 years ago in Settings More Like This
He might hear you.
I am pressed against the wall. My fingers are spread as wide as they will go as my palms press heavily on the drywall. I take a deep breath. Hold it tight. I feel the air escaping my lungs, my circulation; my blood thinning of oxygen as I hold, one, two, three .
I hear Him slither down the hallway. His movements are languid, snake like, as He comes after me. I can imagine it all in my head: the long, thin arms, coiling around every turn and corner, searching for me. Have you ever noticed His face? His eyesor lack thereof? I have a theory. He doesn't have eyes because He doesn't need them. He hears things. Feels things. Smells things.
I exhale, slowly, hoping not to catch His attention. It's a fruitless thought. He knows where I am. He's only playing with me. A game of cat-and-mouse, where He is the cat, and I am nothing more than a rubber mouse hiding underneath old and rusty furniture. He will
Getting Published the Hard WayGETTING PUBLISHED: THE TRADITIONAL WAYGetting Published the Hard Way4 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
A tutorial by M. Alice Chown
If, like me, you have stories lying around gathering virtual dust on your hard drive, why not send them out to a publisher? You have nothing to lose. A couple of years ago, I attended the launch of an annual Canadian short story anthology, called Tesseracts 10. I knew one of the authors whose speculative fiction piece had been included in the book. Matthew Johnson and I had taken the same creative writing course. Our former prof, author, Robert Sawyer, was there at the launch too, as well as the editors of the anthology. Those who had contributed a story to Tesseracts 10 took turns saying a few words about their piece. Matt talked about his joy at learning that after so many rejections his humble tale about soup of all things had made it into print. Most surprising to me, however, were the words of the pretty, brunette author. She was just 19, a University of Toronto student, and her short story had been her very first