FishFishFish4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Oh, my lovely fish
It gives me great joy to see you swimming
When I go on holidays I miss you and hope you are well
At night it gives me happiness to feed you and watch you
Every day you swim with your friend Silvie
Sometimes at night I like to listen to the sound of your pump
No other fish of mine has lived so long so that must be a sign that you love me
Even if you die tomorrow I will always remember you
Persephone Thesis: EssayPersephone Thesis: Essay ComponentPersephone Thesis: Essay4 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
"Happy is he among men upon earth who has seen these mysteries!
It is generally accepted among historical scholars that the cult of Demeter and Persephone, or Kore, existed in Greece and the surrounding Mediterranean islands long before the traditional Olympian gods became entrenched. Her origins are Cretan . Like Aphrodite, the mother and daughter goddess represent a matriarchal form of fertility worship in the forms of crops and nature, and through this the cycle of birth, growth and death. This myth, however, has taken hold of imaginations from its evolutions into the Eleusinian mysteries of Ancient Greece, to the paintings of Victorian Europe, to today, each with their own distinctive takes and emphases on the story. Perhaps it is the fact that we know so little about the original tale of Persephone the daughter of Demeter, goddess of fertility, snatched
16. Love16. Love5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"...let's grow old together," he said, nuzzling her neck. She laughed and curled her orange-tipped fingers into his palm. "Only if we still have ice cream."
Mama?Mama?Mama?5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
It was going to be a bad winter. Marquis could feel it in his hands, theyd never quite recovered, and tell by the way the blood was struggling to pump through them as the days got darker and shorter. He wasnt old by a long-shot Thirty next year, still good! but he completely sympathised when the old stable hands began their groaning. Powder white snow turned grey as he sludged through it, soot from his boots leaving a trail behind him as he fought his way to the main hall. All around him horses were being saddled and loaded up and men in uniform milled restlessly, blowing into gloved hands to warm them up, and Marquis refused to look at any of them. They were all in on it. If they werent someone would have mentioned it to him already and hed just known something was up when guards had been avoiding him for the last week. His pack, only half completed, was being dragged behind him a
Gingerbread HouseThey were sitting silently on the counter, awaiting duty; 3/4 teaspoon of baking soda, 3 1/4 cups of flour, and 2 teaspoons of ground ginger.Gingerbread House6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
She mixed them delicately, grinning to herself. The kitchen was her kingdom; where she resided and did whatever the hell she wanted. And, most of the time, she just wanted to cook. Her flour powdered hands rubbed quickly over her stark white apron as she hummed a nice little tune. Winter sunlight streamed in from the small window above the sink, but she could barely remember that it was February. The rip-off calendar next to the spice cabinet was five years old.
Her smile curled higher as she whipped with the manual mixer. She never used the electric one. It just took out all of the fun of doing it yourself! Her paint-neglected lips parted in a happy sigh as her left hand secured the bowl; she lifted it up and spun in place. It was like a private little slow dance at her senior prom! Oh, how ni-
"Moooommy," echoed a long, drawn-out whine of a sic
EvieEvieEvie6 years ago in Mystery & Suspense More Like This
Around you the log cabin is cosy. Its one of those picturesque little places in the mountains and, as always happens here in winter, its snowing hard. Youre sitting in front of a roaring fireplace with your back against the sofa (Though isnt it an odd through; a fireplace in a log cabin?). The rug beneath you is thick and your bare toes could grip at it were you inclined to try. A mug sits beside you on the floor, still steaming from the pot. The light is dim, your mates have crashed for the night and get real anal if you leave the lights on while theyre sleeping. Damned if you know why, the fussy bastards. At any rate, youre not tired. Youve brought a book and some writing to do in moments like this, and with little company other then the crackling hearth, now seems the opportune moment to get down some thoughts from earlier.
As your pen hits the paper, t
Mind VomitI pixelate IcarusMind Vomit6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to forfeit my counterproductivity.
Who needs rose tinted glasses
when you have
glazed eyes enamelled sighs
and sugarcoated insomnia.
I long for movie tomorrows
instead of these
xylophonic beclazone dreams.
I want to saturate the grey matter
without a hint of remorse.
I want to play the undersleeper,
pinning back my eyelids with
the idiolect of those I'd like to know better.
Do you want to hear my mind vomit or should I
just turn the page and start again...?
AnniversaryAnniversaryAnniversary4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Their meetings were always hurried, full of touches that were just a little too hard and kisses that involved too much tooth. Neither complained, there was no time for them to argue now. No time for prolonged, wordless struggles as to who was on top, no time to tease. It just happened.
It was only in the afterglow, the bittersweet sweat and laboured breaths, that they talked. Quiet murmurs accompanied by lips on skin, a squeeze of the hand on a hip.
"I haven't got long." Jaye would say, his once perfectly straightened and styled blond hair now a mess, stuck to the pillow with sweat.
His partner knew, and would only nod, close his one working eye, and press his lips somewhere else on Jaye's chest. "Did you get it on disc?"
The blond always did he knew how it worked and sat up to pull it from his jacket. He could feel the other man tightening the arm around his waist, as if re
SolsticeSolsticeSolstice4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Medici castle was on a scale that was rarely built on these days. Three hours ride out of Argonia at a gallop, it sat atop a cliff set just in from the sea, proudly overlooking the de'Medici's traditional holdings to Argonia's west. The land had been in the family for generations, and their line could be traced back even further than that. They were a force in politics, a well-worn family name that would come to Argonia's aid when asked and their constant grip on land so close to the city proved that.
However, it hardly made the place more welcoming in the winter. While heavy tapestries were hung up over the windows and fires were stoked at all hours of the day, there was a distinct chill to the air that crept through the walls itself. Torches lined the corridors, their shadows spooking the servant's children as their shirked their duties. The entire affair, outside of the noble's wing, felt much like a
Hot Hotter Hot Hottest IntroMy balls were sticking to my inner thigh like a baby seal clinging to an Antarctic shore. Unfortunately, the camera was pointed right at me, so I couldn't do the leg-shake maneuver to get them loose. I saw the set of Hello, Good Morning! with Buster through two pea-sized holes drilled into my velvet helmet. Crayola had puked on the walls, the floor, the blocks, the rug, and even Buster. That was me, the rainbow-colored dog that came up on TV from dawn til noon. Outside of Busters Play Pen was the black, soulless collection of cameras and producers and directors sitting in fold-up chairs who occasionally yelled me through a microphone like I wasnt right in front of them. The sweat permeated in the depths of my fur suit because the air was recycled every time I exhaled. I re-realized how much I hated doing kid shows. Being on a childrens program was just like being in a porno; as soon you were recorded, no one could take your acting seriousHot Hotter Hot Hottest Intro4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Midnight SnacksI hope that my leaving is just a minor hurtMidnight Snacks5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Yet knowing that worse leads to worse
And how fretting multiplies, but starts inert
I will remind you of what we have with verse
Our love is like an ice box that sits bold
In the corner of a kitchen, dormant and hushed
A warm lifeline feeding and keeping the insides cold
Even as it works at its own pace, never rushed
The best goodbye would be in the boxs back
Taken only when loneliness paints the dark skies
Then, it would be drawn from the very last rack
Like a pint of rocky road in Comfort Me size
So I say, with love entwined in lines and feet
Despite the curving paths that fate has drawn
Despite the yards and miles, we are complete.
Remember me whenever the little bulb turns on.
SelfishSelfishSelfish5 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
It was a hurried, messy meeting. Over a month had passed and while neither of them particularly liked the risk involved, what was meant to be a quick report had rapidly turned into a fully blown make out session. Mattie, tall, dark and still clad in his three-day-worn military colours had made short work of shoving all of Marquis neatly stacked paperwork onto the floor, pressing the smaller man down onto the varnished wood instead. Marquis would have protested were he not so occupied by the tongue down his throat and Matties heavy hands tugging at his hair. Hed worked hard to catch up his kings deskwork while banned from military campaigns and now hed have to sort it all again but it was so hard to be angry when the other man acted like this, like hed honestly missed him and for just now wanted to focus on the here, now and not what kept them apart. Mattie wasnt the talking t
Four over Five - KiribanFour over FiveFour over Five - Kiriban5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Whoevers idea it was to host a bar in the beached hull of a long-forgotten mariner should be labelled a genius. The black sea sloshed sleepily outside, blanketed by a sky loose-knit enough for the stars to peek through. Im romanticising it all; grungy high-rises pushed the beach back day by day, sand was doped up on forgotten syringes and Heaven lay like some beached whale against the moon.
Heaven. Stupid name for a bar, really. Id lost track of how many drunkards had shambled in hollering for entertainment, having mistaken the buzzing neon sign outside to be advertising a brothel. I felt the name a last resort, so out of place. The décor protested it. Countless shelves and crannies inside the bull boasted a maritime theme that was difficult to ignore. A brass teapot sat proudly in the porthole beside me, one of four Id counted through my visits, and bearded maps peeled free of th
Re: sound of raintiptap on tin roofsRe: sound of rain5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
as the world cries a message
that we fail to hear
To be a Guitar+istLike from afar, the guitar mumblesTo be a Guitar+ist5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The buzzing crowd then heaves and fumbles
The leering ceiling shudders--
My sight blurs with sweat as I make the strings purr
Love is such a lazy note
Nevermind if alluring fingers always find--
They strut and dumbly dote along
The wanton path paved down my spine
The melody's beat swirls 'round my fingertips
The mellow bass suddenly invades my veins and I'm speechless
Metal cords smile into my skin-- make my back stiff
She smiles and sways while she's falling off her feet
Love goads me to play
Crackling lightning inside of me is all I can take--
The old hollow in me is missing today
My filtered voice wails my tale
The show is over and my feet guide one another offstage
My head twirls and my eyes are stained green
The light shines and snickers--
And then I'm just a fading breath on the microphone
My legacy may die in the air
SleepSleepSleep6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Oh gods above, what had he done? The memories were fuzzy and vague, although there was no reason for them to be. Hed walked for hours, he remembered that part, though it had felt as though he had hovered above his own tired, charred body. Charred? A fire, he guessed, that hed somehow been caught up in. The sand was surprisingly cool beneath his cheek as he lay there, mind and body numb with confusion and the clench of guilt. Guilt, he realised now, sat where hed always thought love would, just below the ribs; a solid pressure pushing to meet his spine and go all the way through him. As depressing as it sounded, that was all he felt right now aside from the sand, and sand hardly felt solid. What was worse was that he couldnt for the life of him remember why.
Is he dead? Ryker felt something press against his ribs, a toe he guessed, but didnt move. He couldnt
Senryu 6: Mufasa, from LKOh father, dearestSenryu 6: Mufasa, from LK5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
You no longer have the pride
Only Scar is left
Senryu 8: Jack in the Box A+BA:Senryu 8: Jack in the Box A+B5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Start: Grasp the handle
Pull and tug and push and heave
Confined to a box
Human care not included
Cheap, flimsy plastic
Moving OnYou're sitting in your bedroomMoving On5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the day of the big move
You can feel the saturation of memories
but your eyes see bare walls and floors.
Cardboard boxes are loaded on a truck,
the sum of all the years lived here.
For the first time, you see it as it is
finally separated from the possessions
that gave it value.
It's just an empty room.
No Final DestinationWandering alongNo Final Destination6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
this winding path
with no sense of direction;
no final destination.
where I started,
where I end.
No map or
to tell me
I'm so wrong.
a soul to ask
if I'm on the right track.
I hack through the trees.
but I go
I have no map,
no sense of direction,
no help at my side,
no final destination.
But even without
all of those things,
I persevere and keep going;
I do not stop.
For I have
one thing above all
that will lead me
the right way.
Not a map,
not bright arrows,
faith in myself
The DayDream-Ink PenThe pen says hello to the dotted line,The DayDream-Ink Pen6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
But the dotted line replies,
"You are sword,
swift by the blade,
elgant by the handle.
I am the enemy,
raded and rough,
and hard to get through to.
And you have lost yet again."
The daydream ink spills onto the cold floor,
black with defeat,
with nowhere else to go.
The dreams leak through the floor,
soaking in all the memories,
this house holds within.
It leaks through the floor,
makes the most beautiful sound.
I'm inspired now.
So I take my pen
'til the brake of dawn.
Rememberance Do you remeber the park? I remember the swings. We looked down and could see so much from the chain-linked perches, not that we paid any attention to the scenery; our eyes were only for each other. I sat in your lap and you laughed when I sat on your belt buckle. You smelled of the air.Rememberance5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
The carpet of pine needles, remember that? The camera lay discarded to one side, film full of your smiles and my shyness. The carpet was brown, autumn pine; the few still-green needles were as out of place as us. It was dark before we left, back when it was still light in our hearts.
You won't remember my sleepless nights. So many times I'd lay there in the dark, clinging onto you, feeling so weak and so desperately lost; I never woke you, could never disturb you when you slept, you were so wonderously beautiful. Watching your chest rise and fall slowly, your dark eyelashes flickering lightly as you dreamed, your soft hair tickling my cheek; those th
Senryu 15: Prompt insideLook! It's so pretty!Senryu 15: Prompt inside5 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
The world looks great from up here!
I can't wait t-... zzz....
August 12, 2008August 12, 2008August 12, 20085 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is always the old who stay
behind, shambling unsteadily
down uneven stairs, drifts
of wreckage and memory
rising up around them as they
head out onto the streets of Gori
after rocket attacks have made
a quiet of the world. Worrying
their tongues as they calculate
laari against lamb and walnuts,
they fidget with memories fit to untwist
the rebar and shattered concrete
they find strewn across the plaza
and cross themselves as the air
quakes. I hear them, how they give
witness to the sorrow they stand
with on the front steps of a nameless
building. I hear their petitions.
Where would they go, these mothers
of the fathers of the smallest lives,
these brothers of the women who have
sold sour cherries in this very square
every Tuesday but this one?
Where is there to go but down
the uneven stairs and into the square,
looking for a childs blanket or a friend
among the faces of the dead?