Klingon for Bronies"My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic"Klingon for Bronies4 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
"mach loS'uSlIghHaDI'baHwIj: boq Dun"
Translated by knightswhodontsayni
(My Little Pony,)
(My Little Pony.)
(My Little Pony,)
jIHloyta' nuqboq DuH,
(I used to wonder what friendship could be,)
(My Little Pony,)
(Until you all shared its magic with me!)
(Tons of fun!)
wa' 'IH tIq,
(A beautiful heart,)
matlh je HoS!
(Faithful and strong!)
(It's an easy feat!)
'ej Dun nuraD rIn!
(And magic makes it all complete!)
bISuq mach loS'uSlIghHaDI'baHwIj,
(You have My Little Pony,)
(Do you know you're all my very best friends?)
Clumsy Acquaintance [Chekov x Reader]Fortunate enough to have a wealthy and friendly classmate in your graduating class of 2261, you were now spending your grad night on Rigel II, an M-class planet in the Kandari sector of the Alpha Quadrant and notorious for its reminiscence of 21st-century Vegas, Navada back home on Earth.Clumsy Acquaintance [Chekov x Reader]2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The Cabaret, a popular club, was currently occupied by some 130 new graduates, among which was you. Jack and Sylar had demanded you accompany them, and since they were your only friends on this outing, you had agreed.
It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the atmosphere; the loud, fried electronic music, the scantily dressed men and women performing, eager dancers rubbing up against one another on the dance floor, it was kind of fun. In fact, your eyes were currently fixed on a curvy, copper-toned woman displaying her wanton flexibility against a very lucky pole. The thing is, it was nice to look at, but it really wasn’t your scene. And neither did it appear to be that of an uncomfo
before the flood,our house was a factory.before the flood,1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
a man opens the door,
says the stuff's on the table,
and she smiles, a dark-eyed blonde,
tall, slim with cheekbones,
dents in the carpet,
wraps herself in a curtain
then says I'm famous,
flushed,aggravating the new skin
behind her earlobe,
walks into the bedroom,
sleeps through all her visuals,
scrapes a city together,
coins sewed into the eyes of faces.
skin breaks and he asks for a tape,
she agrees with her legs,
but he leaves for court dates,
so i mop the basement, bottom stairs,
identify the mold
lodged under my fingernails,
hang my hand until it glitters
like a picture of tokyo,
her lipstick on cigarette butts
while the coroner pens,
a recording device implanted
behind her forehead.
shetar-tongued;she2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
bones & star-
fever burns &
birdlike bonesit's like youbirdlike bones2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wrapped your fingers
around my throat
and then had
the nerve to ask me
Song for a Dying DogTo our dog, Geddy, mixed, Rottweiler-Cocker spaniel, 16 years oldSong for a Dying Dog1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
In a language that transcends language,
I would say the words love
pushed me to say, letting go in an instant.
Empty light of stars rained down
for me to hold against your ears, listen:
the soft click, click of dying light.
Mom whispers sutras, every one
she knows leaves the tongue: Long, rolling
coiling words that capture the nothingness
you are heading off to. A boat, a doggy house,
your old friends in the dying light.
The sun against the house, colored
like tinted sugar, a birthday cake
made of cream and condensed milk,
a thousand of the sweetest things
to fall against the bitterness of the throat.
I hold you, I hold you
like a dream in the morning
I write this in the hopes that you
will take it along (in some form
or another) as you enter the new world.
Your paws will scuff the paperwork-ed desk
and the long-faced attendants will chase
after you like grief chases
love, and song, and summer blossoms.
NocturneNocturne8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
At afterglow I walk into
cafes with momentarily golden glass
Tonight I scratch out a moon
to brighten up this blackbird sky
This evening I rummage for
unfound i am petra, i am the rose cityunfound2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
half as old as history can behold
bedouin music serenades the night
as candlelight burns the dimming
apparitions of our mortal plight
i am buena queen of the adriatic
where my po arms and piave legs
lead folk to a trance as i dance
honoring venus as she floods her
lovedrunk venice in vineyard fools
i am the khmer prasat angkor wat
relapsewhen i lose weight, irelapse1 year ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
feel ecstasy, soon followed
Starsthe universe spirals out of your hands when you wave good-bye,Stars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and when you write my name in the sky,
the stars within me die.
october poems and cigarette endsi. where are the metaphorical cigarettes when you need them, augustus?october poems and cigarette ends1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
ii. the poetry fell through the cracked riverbanks of my mind and slid off to elsewhere
iii. so still, i continued to breathe the lovely mindfulness, the unconventional endlessness of consciousness nothing’s.
let’s call them dreamers.
iv. the poetry written on my bones fading with all the sleep i drank (till the drunk of November mornings), the dreams melting off like the stars which ate away at my skin and left me bleeding—dying.
v. so, this is what writer’s block feels like
the eradication of sweeter thoughts and dreams
vi. (i think i finally understood why van houten drank so much.)
vii. “but i think the words you write are beautiful,” he says. “you’re beautiful.”
“i’m not beau—”
viii. still i write with an unsettled heart and
as blue as the eyes which fell upon them
the thoughts spilling out onto the pages it met
ONI Report 2ONI Report 24 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
ONI Report AD-100-DS-DFS-09135
Declassified by: ONI Director Huey McGovern
Report Number: Alpha Delta 1 0 0 Omega Sierra Delta Foxtrot Sierra 0 9 1 3 5
Date: December 5, 2523
Reporter: C710 Broadsword Pilot Captain Dwayne "Radar" Nash, C710 Broadsword Co-Pilot Lieutenant Justin "Roshek" McCormick.
Receiver: Launch Control Tower Alpha UNSC ONI base , Nevada
Location: ONI Area 51, Nevada
LCTA: Capt. Radar, this is LCT Alpha, is project Broadsword ready for launch?
Capt. Nash: LCT, Still running the final diagnostic check.(Computer Voice is herd on his channel). C710 Broadsword diagnostic complete (Voice shuts off)
LCTA: Sounds like your done.
Capt Nash: Alright (Switch sounds are herd over the channel) Powering up main reactor, pumping Hydrogen Fuel, turbines engaged, commencing final countdown, engines on.
10 secs of silence, then a loud screeching sound of rocket boosters are herd on 3 c
Psalm for Young PeopleThough I am still young, through my trials and suffering I feel old.Psalm for Young People3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The world heaps on my back burdens to numerous to count,
And the mocking from those who taunt me is great.
Release me from these chains O Lord!
Bind my wounds and carry me to your gardens of healing,
Seal my forehead with your holy spirit, and guide my feet
So though I walk through sinful places with snakes striking at my heels,
And evil beasts roaring on either side,
My steps will leave clear springs of pure water,
Where the deer and the sparrows shall find rest.
And on that day when I step my last step, and fall into your presence,
Your Holy Sprirt will carry me from this world
And into your perfect paradise.
Valley of the Butterfliesjesse,Valley of the Butterflies1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes you have to let go
of monsters and magic and guns
from the depths
of raven's garden,
let the music fill the night;
a river of time
for those slipping into the background,
let me fly like a bird
fetching the summer lady
in the valley of the butterflies.
train tickets are like 200 bucks.i loved her fortrain tickets are like 200 bucks.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the miles between us,
and i think i
might always do so.
she is printed in my mind,
like some halfbreed stoner dream
and i feel her colors like
sun. rain. hurricane.
leaves side vertically
in my veins,
the left side of a bicycle
wheeling around my brain
and she is a fucking drug, man.
i think i'm gay.
i'm not saying that just to
say it, either. i just
why else would i write letters to her
even though she'll never read them,
and why do i wonder how she looks
right on the verge of
sleep? i think about kissing her
a lot. it's always her.
she is my now. my then.
my way bak when.
but most of all, she is my
why, and that is
today is a new day andi am growing up out of mytoday is a new day and2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
bones and out of this skin and
this skin is growing roots down into
the core, the core of me
and myself and this skin
- oh, this skin
this skin is thicker than you will ever believe.
if you told me that you had sunflowers
sprouting from the corners of your
eyes then i'd have no choice but
to believe you. you are a child of the sun,
you have wheat growing under your
shoulder blades, you have been flecked
with a ginger paintbrush dipped in solar
rays, you are soft-lipped and you,
you are warm
i might be sunburnt but this organ is over
seventy kilometres deep and i can't feel
the touch of your uv arms underneath all
i don't want solace dripped over me like
tanning oil, not if i'm like this,
not if i'm different to how i was before
A Neon-sign for mr. Rightdear whoever-you-are-that-watches-over-us,A Neon-sign for mr. Right2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
when you put mr. right on my path, could you possibly equip him with a neon-sign shouting:
'this is the one',
for i'm afraid i'll walk right past him with my weary heart...
with love, the-girl-wishing-to-know-her-soulmate.
Canning SeasonCanning season is that wonderful time of year when you never have a moment to yourself - it's all four in the morning mason jar sterilizing, neighbors making coffee in your kitchen before you're even dressed because they have cabbage, too (or carrots or apples or string beans) and you've invited them over with a truck load because you know extra hands make all the difference.Canning Season2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
It's the time of year when the kitchen is never comfortable - if the water's not on to boil, the oven is warming and full of jars, or the space around the table is all buckets and elbows, paring knives, sweaty brows and chatter.
There is never silence - even in that ten minutes of processing time, when everything stops long enough for a hurried dinner, there's the water-bath-bubbling, jar-rattling rumble of the canner, or the joyous gunshot snapping of the lids as each jar seals.
Those days are filled with wood smoke, steam and the smell of apple butter reducing in the large copper kettle that once lived with your