Rose Garden SanctuaryThere’s a place that I knew, long, long ago,
Where scarlet red roses were meant to grow.
The petals dancing, the buds held so high,
With a sense of passion that covered the sky.
This place is a garden, lively and dear,
And thorns that trickle and tickle out fear.
The sun shines, the day is lit, no heart is held fast,
The scarlet red roses are not meant to last.
The winter comes with a breath of cold chill,
With roses wilting so fragile and still.
A new world is made, a land full of frost,
The blooming red blossoms have now all been lost.
Yet, however, I hold open a flower, strong and upbeat,
Who has lived through this storm, who has conquered this feat.
With warm hands, the rose is held high,
With watery tears that make the rose cry.
The flower is here, the flower will pardon,
The dream I once had, of the scarlet rose garden.
A Rose by Any Other NameMore Like This
In a white hospital bed, pale as the lifeless bones of a decaying skeleton, with my flesh exposed through the backless dress of my hospital gown, I listen to nurses discuss my mental health. I can taste the quiet tap of a pen on paper and their tiny smiles of contempt.
Shame comes in waves. Its not like a scalpel or the cold touch of a surgeons hand. They never tell you that it can eat away at your insides like a virus. (That it eats you alive). Shame is not a symptom of the mentally ill. Its just a side effect.
In my creased hospital dress, I wish for death. The sweetest sleep away from detached, gloved hands and dissociative expressions. The never-ending hostile questions and the silent blame and accusations lying unspoken on dry lips.
You did this. Youre not sick. Youre just a twisted, manipulative lunatic.
Under medication and the slow Novocain drip of sedation, I wish for another disease. I want a tumor in my head something t
Suicides Learning To SpeakIt’s 6 a.m. A girl is beginning the journey back from Oz, anchored to life by the whirr and beep of machines and tubes. Above her emaciated body, nurses pace, write on clipboards, click their heels and purse their lips. She is oblivious. Her mind drifts in freefall, stuck in an eggshell skull wrapped in nasal gastric tubing and an oxygen pipe forced down her throat like a synthetic umbilical cord. Somewhere, neurotransmitters are sewing themselves back into conscious awareness. There is a person lost somewhere in that body. There is a mind overboard in a black sea, sending up a flare. The nurses are afraid that she will stay in there forever. A family jostles at the side of the bed in the cramped, generic hospital room. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men… I don’t need ruby shoes to find my way home. My name is Ruby, the nurses click their heels and my family makes the wish.More Like This
I’m finding my way back to consciousness through the sound
Naming Your NovelMore Like This
*This is also helpful for other types of fiction and possibly even non-fiction.*
Note: How careful you have to be naming your novel depends heavily on if you are planning to sell it, and how you are planning to sell it. If you are an unknown who is self-publishing and you want a lot of people to read and buy your novel, you need to do extensive research on the market. This article only covers a few tips, and I am in no way a publishing expert. But, even if you don't plan on going mass-commercial, that doesn't mean you shouldn't spend some time deciding on a name for your labor of love and I hope this article provides some useful ideas.
Consider important items--does your story revolve around a magical staff, sword or pendant? For example: "The Staff of Alema," "The Sapphire Sword," or "The Destiny Pendant." (I know these are cheesy but you get the idea).
Consider who your protagonist IS--is it an assassin, a magician, an apprentice
You Were Not An Aquarium BoySea-glass became your bones,More Like This
brine your blood, and seashells
melded into your skin.
You were not quite an ocean
when you said "This is your sign to love me."
My body was like a building;
tall, cold, almost unbreakable.
I was metallic and sharp,
towering over your waters.
I remember taking your hand in mine,
conch and coral shells scrubbing
my skyscraper wrists, and laughing
about how one day you would
submerge every last bit of me.
Your lips, riddled with argonauts,
found my cheek and I cringed
at the coarseness.
You asked if they bothered me
and I finally told you "I
think I love you."
This is my phone....More Like This
This is my phone,
there's many like it, but this one is mine,
my phone is my best friend, it is my life,
I must master it as I master my life.
Without me it is useless, without my phone I am useless
I will dial my phone true
I must text faster than my brethren
who is trying to contact me, I must text them before they text me....I will.
My phone and myself know what counts in society is not the data we receive
Not the tweets we get,
The reblogs on tumblr, nor the likes on facebook.
Knowing the message is sent that counts.
We will send
My phone is human, even as I, because it is my life
Thus I learn it as a brother, learn its glitches, the specs,
its cameras, the download and upload speeds.
I will ever guard it against weather and damage
I will keep my screen clean and fingerprint free
As I am clean and fingerprint free
We will become part of each other. We will...
Before my family I make this promise
My phone and myself are free to do as w
AftertasteHe woke up with his face next to three bottles of beer. He blinked blearily, his cheek glued to the wooden surface of the bar as he watched the sunlight filter through the murky brown glass. The smell of salt and alcohol was coming off his breath and a fly was buzzing by his ear.More Like This
He pulled himself into an upright position and found that he was sitting on a stool. He straightened the painful crick in his neck.
“Today is...Saturday?” he thought to himself. “Sunday? I can’t remember.” Saturday most likely; Saturday was the day for hangovers. He looked around and saw that he was in a tavern of some sorts, an old-fashioned one with white-washed walls and wooden trestles. There weren’t too many patrons – was it morning? He didn’t know. Murmurs and clinking cutlery hummed through the air while a barmaid wove between the tables and a pig man ate waffles in a corner.
He suddenly sat up and rubbed his eyes. A pig man? He looked closer, twisting and
When people learn that I listen to rap“What?”More Like This
A mix of skeptical, bewildered, mildly impressed
And sometimes a little disgusted.
“You listen to rap?”
Behold, a specimen of middle-class suburbia
Spectacled, pimpled, messy-haired
Painfully awkward, unquestionably nerdy
Oh, and female, let’s not forget about that.
“Haydn and Beethoven; yup, that’s definitely your jam
During your late-night chemistry revision sessions
On your wild nights, maybe some Katy Perr – wait, what?
You listen to rap?”
Yes, I listen to rap
(Although I do still listen to Haydn
Toting Bach and Biggie together
Gets you strange looks from HMV cashiers, let me tell you)
And yes, I do actually enjoy it;
I’m not that kind of ironic listener.
After the initial double-take,
The curious follow up with “Why do you listen to rap?”
Like Victorians questioning a returning anthropologist
Who’s been in among the natives
(For the record, I find this more funny than annoying
So please don
Raindance MaggieMore Like This
Twenty-three years before the crippling of Crown Prince James III
He was fourteen and she was probably aged about the same, give or take a few years. It had been an hour since he'd met her.
He hated her already.
She scowled behind him and likely shared the sentiment as they scampered up the hillside in a desperate attempt to escape the roaring mob that seemed to be growing perpetually larger and coming ever-closer. Gabriel would have liked to say that it was all her fault he was in this situation, though it was his careless nicking ofwhat was it? A chicken that started the first old woman running, but how was he supposed to know that she'd stumble and fall and everyone else would think he'd assaulted her?
He hadn't. He'd taken the chicken, snapped its neck and run, because he hadn't eaten meat in weeks and he was starting to feel the affects on his already weak limbs.
This is what happens, he thought. This is what happens when you live like th
a hospital bird with soot in her lungsshe slept through a car crashMore Like This
that almost killed her.
through whitewhite walls,
where her lover dies.
nobody thought she'd make it,
but she woke up a few months later
with flowers in her hair
and ash in her airway;
trying to remember how to start all over,
but forgetting to remember how to live.
fall slipped from her open eyes
and winter crawled in for a long hibernation
to her the clouds looked sick
and pale like they might
let everything inside them out,
but she opened up wide instead,
spilling blood where there was none to be spilled.
her heart slipped down the street
and with unsteady hands
she stitched in a bird and cut off its wings.
Collection: The Way Of The RomaniMore Like This
The Way Of The RomaniIndomitable, Inscrutable & Irrepressible
They are commonly known as Gypsies, but that moniker conjures up the trite stereotypes and pervasive misconceptions commonly associated with a people whose culture and history are actually profound and nuanced. A vociferously unassimilable people, they are European (and increasingly American) urban nomads in constant migration, refusing to alter their culture in any way necessary for joining the modern wor
Fan Art Friday: GargoylesMore Like This
FAN ART FRIDAY: Stone By Day, Warriors By Night
We are GARGOYLES
One thousand years ago…
Well more like 20 years ago Disney’s animated series Gargoyles hit the airwaves and captivated the hearts and minds of youngsters across the globe. Created by Greg Weismen, the show followed a clan of gargoyles lead by Goliath after they awaken in New York from a thousand-year-old spell-induced slumber. They meet and befriend NYPD detective Elisa Maza who helps them adapt to the new world th
Margaret Atwood: Queen Of Devious IdeasMore Like This
Margaret Atwood: Queen Of
George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, Ray Bradbury…
Names like these get tossed around as examples of writers whose dystopian predictions of the future have come true in one way or another. Of possible candidates from our own time whose names might be added to this list, surely none is more worthy than Margaret Atwood. Atwood starting writing when she was six years old, despite not being enrolled in school full-time un
Michelangelo: Tortured PerfectionistMore Like This
MICHELANGELO: Tortured Perfectionist
The Sistine Chapel
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was born 540 years ago on March 6, 1475.
His preeminence in the art world as being one of the two greatest artists of the Italian High Renaissance (1495-1527) assures that his lasting presence is felt as keenly today as it was five centuries ago. Every year, art lovers from around the world make special pilgrimages to Italy, drawn by a visceral need to experience in person
Cosplay Friday: Alice In WonderlandMore Like This
COSPLAY FRIDAY: Down The Rabbit Hole
Alice in Wonderland
Published in 1865, Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is celebrating its 150th Anniversary this year.
Alice has been quite busy during that time. She’s had her story adapted into several movies, TV shows, ballets, plays, operas, and theme park attractions. Her trip to Wonderland is quite well known around the world. What is less well known is Lewis Carroll’s (whose real name was Charles
Lewis Carroll: Alice In WonderlandMore Like This
Lewis Carroll: Through A Glass, Darkly
Alice Meets the Cheshire Cat by feliciacano
The more one is denied something, the more one desires it.
The more oppressive the strictures circumscribing one’s life, the more delirious become that person’s dreams. The more prohibitions and sacrifices one accepts as a life’s duty, the more ingenious must become the approved “escapes.
Dungeons And Dragons: Basement And DiceMore Like This
Basements and Dice Playing Dungeons And Dragons Is Not What It Seems
Dungeons and Dragons Antheia AnRaza II
When you think Dungeons and Dragons, you may be inclined to picture a dark basement with broody, antisocial teens whispering spells and incantations over leather-bound tomes.
Perhaps D&D owes its cultural notoriety to the religious backlash against it in the 80s, as well as the over-the-top depiction of fantasy gaming and its players
Ode On A Grecian RockMore Like This
Ode on a
Grecian Rock The Miscellaneous Inscriptions of Ancient People Paint a Familiar Portrait of Humanity
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a
JOKER...Shall we begin? It's showtimeMore Like This
The invitation is for the beautiful you
How does one game sound?
Please allow me some of your time
Do you consent to the rule book?
Compassion is a useless affection
You want a favour from me
A penalties are inevitable
You can't turn back the hands of the clock
I've already put my cards into play
Joker, a girl on the verge of tears
Joker, a sign of the shaken world
Joker, pleasant circumstances have risen
Joker, two girls disappeared
This is a new world for you
The darkness dissolves amongst a sea of trees
I'm already having critical expectations
Well, what are you feeling now?
I gave you unbreakable love, asking nothing in return
The cards have already been put
MAD HATTERWelcome to my tea party, I knew you'd come...More Like This
Dissolved into the icy air, is the perfume that captivates you the most
Sit here and relax, don't hold back... there's nothing to fear
The little sugar candies are pretty, aren't they?
A taste that will drive you mad to the core
I have these sweet secret things, the tarts I stole from the Queen
I prepared them for you, I risked my life for it
Come, don't cry and eat! We are about to drown in your tears
Eat the mushroom with skill, be the right size for me
"The grinning cat appears in the form of moonlight"
Has your crying calmed down a bit? I am the only ally you have
Let's tell riddles, let's play! You are sure to forget the passage of time
Oh my! Have you eaten too much tart? It's the completion of our sin
You can't go back now, prepare yourself
You'll be hunted down by the card soldiers
The reason why I appear to be m
Box with dreamsSometimes I don't know what is realMore Like This
Does anybody feel the way I feel?
I should stop dreaming this dream
and instead face reality
Now you know my story and my past
Do you think those tears will be my last?
I'm still looking for my place in this world
As a woman and a little girl
I'm opening this box filled with my dreams
Right now it's safe enough, or so it seems
The world it feels more real and true
Ready for the me I am with you
RainbowMany elementsMore Like This
working together as one
to create beauty.
Accept the individuality you possess
and the Oneness you share.
Lie With My CountrymenHere I lie in a time now lostMore Like This
To me and my countrymen
But we still want and wait and worry
That our prices to bear are given to wind tossed
A tale my friend like any other
O how I long for it to end
But here I stay to drudge the mud
Which circles like the arms of a mother
When I lived my life was full
My raising of half-gesture
I grew in ways more than one
And saw my life; one of a dying bull
There was time to cast my ballot in
To voice what I wanted my life to be
But the time came and past like the summer breeze
And what I did not do seemed the greatest sin
So I left the place which reared me
I went far to find a way to forget
The things that marked my treading path behind
The foreground came, and I did see
Commerce and Construction. Chaos amid Peace
I was staggered and lost
I was swept under the tide
Of human expansion that did not cease
There was barely space for breath
And the air was always scarce
I did not know that
This led to my slow death
The rooms stunk of smoke
Free FallFree FallMore Like This
Suggested by delice1941
The last thing i saw
A cluster of clouds, like cotton puffs
Then everything seemed to plunge
Everything was darkness, then
When I could see, I saw leaves
I revived in a tree
The chute would not open
I screamed and yelled as I fell
But I stopped my screams
And my adventurous daydreams
When at last I broke
[Stanza 3, 5-7-5-7-5, adapted from a comment by Gytalf2000]
ManspellMore Like This
In the age in which we live, Fairytales rarely happen.
Pumpkins no longer turn into horse-drawn coaches and gingerbread houses were eaten long ago by children who then ceased to believe in fairies, witchcraft and magic.
But if the moon is full and three powerful witches come together with single intent a spell could be cast which could be the beginning of a Fairytale, never to be forgotten.
But this was not a child’s Fairytale it was an adult one.
The cauldron would bubble, the witches would chant and a magical transformation would take place. A man born from hellebore, skin of toad and eye of newt. A man who was once a cat...
The witching hour...
An appropriate and powerful time to scry – and for this particular session, the location was just perfect in every way. Undoubtedly, those mortals with a penchant for magic and horror would find it most fulfilling. Imagine their fear and delight, if they were able to behold such