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SholankiBiswas
A reader and a dreamer in this modern day fairytale
27 Posts • 79 Followers • 131 Following
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Challenge
The greatest words don't just create the greatest poetry... They can also inspire the greatest poetry! Choose one of the following words and create a poem with it, around it, about it… Whatever you choose... Somnambulist: a sleepwalker; Petrichor: the pleasant smell that follows rain; Halcyon: denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful; Vespertine: relating to, occurring, or active in the evening; Offing: the more distant part of the sea in view....Have fun! (P.S. If you feel inspired by more than one word, feel free to enter as many poems as you'd like.)
Cover image for post Scent of Rain, by sandflea68
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sandflea68 in Poetry & Free Verse

Scent of Rain

I breathe her scent

deep earthy smell

of sprinkling rain

ozone of her essence

the scent of

freshly washed laundry

exotic fibers of lust

erotic murmur of nature

a silent opaque mist

steaming on naked skin

scent of blue condensation

liquid sunshine of her soul

aphrodisiac aroma

of gentle rain

ozone of the gods

showers stirring

my aroused senses

dancing with me

in simplicity of time

wafting perfume

of last night’s ardor

incense of her soul.

Challenge
Write a poem using the words "remember" and "forget" at least once, with one at the beginning and one near the end.
Cover image for post Dark Streets Left Empty, by sandflea68
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sandflea68 in Poetry & Free Verse

Dark Streets Left Empty

Remember somber overtones

of dissipated life

as the blackened skies fill

with obsidian throngs

of swallows chasing infinity.

Ashen colors

of dissolute truth

perish in unbending light.

Never forget

the death of daylight

in the flickering loss

of dark streets

left empty.

Cover image for post Will Roses Turn Red, by DaveK
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DaveK in Poetry & Free Verse

Will Roses Turn Red

how long will children carve the names

of colors in stanzas,

how long,

before the earth becomes a mirror and

all flowers turn black,

before they sip the soil

at teatime,

toasting to the heaven

above everyone they've ever lost,

and they'll be angels on that day,

standing on the dust

of paradise,

and, if we're lucky,

they'll play pretend,

and write rhymes

about roses,

like the petals

could one day last forever,

like their little polygraph heartbeats

don't give them away,

if only we could help them

disconnect,

this innocence would look less like a lie,

would look more like life,

and we'd teach them

to play hopscotch on our graves,

we'd teach them to see that angels

never fall before they leave the ground

and darkness sometimes creeps from above,

so I smoke to learn how

to say goodbye,

let's watch together,

as every cloud becomes lost,

and we'll finally see ourselves painted

by nature,

with petals black

and faces held in the memory

of the fallen.

Challenge
Another 10 word micropoem challenge: write a poem that begins with the word TAIL and ends with the word TALE. Or the other way around! Tag me, if you wish! #ATailTale
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Amardeeps in Micropoetry

Everyday

Tail of lies

Spun 

In a rat race of tales 

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Anita

Lost Meaning

 Hate

Repetition made words like hate lose significance.

When freshly painted, you gape at the pallid walls anxious to taint them but as you stroll past the same wall day by day, they become just like the other walls.

Similar, ordinary, standard.

So now you can say cheesecake and hate in the same sentence.

And use the word like at the beginning of a sentence.

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fallingundone in Romance & Erotica

Every Vampire Romance Ever

sweet sweet wine

poison on my tongue

give me more of you

i promise i won't bite too hard

                                                  -the vampire

does my blood 

taste as good 

as your lips and fangs

you are the best way to die

                                          -the human

Cover image for post Unhand Her, by WisdomMusicArt
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WisdomMusicArt

Unhand Her

Romantic kisses and stage performances

A dream of greatness and talent as thick as the Forrest

They danced and they sung and the world froze in time

A single moments rhyme to describe the history behind

Who they were and who they no longer are now

One deceased although the dancing stopped long ago

For he blamed her for his problems and everyone else

So when he came to his grave

his own His own blood never felt

A need to arrive or a need to go

too busy making sure he wouldn't be the same man

Unhand her

He said as a boy

Wondering why what was going on

Wasn't like last nights bed time story

Cover image for post 300, by EWJ
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EWJ

300

300 Prosers follow me!

I can't believe that others read my poetry!

Thanks to each one!

Your comments and likes encourage me to write!

Challenge
Prose Challenge of the Month #2: Write a story where you wake up as the most intelligent person on Earth. Fifteen entries will be featured in a 500-coin Prose Original Book, whereby each winner will take 5% lifetime royalties. You must purchase the book to discover its authors, who will be determined by objective data (reads, likes, reposts, comments) and by team vote to ensure reader satisfaction. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtags “itslit,” “getlit,” and “ProseChallenge.”
Wordslinger
Chapter 95 of 448
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DavidMark
Cover image for post Progress, by DavidMark
Wordslinger
Chapter 95 of 448
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DavidMark

Progress

My name is Djarrtjuntjun and I am the last of the people. That makes me the most intelligent person on earth by my reckoning, and indeed there is no-one to dispute it.

I do not count the voices of the spirits of the dead, those ghosts who returned to torment us, bringing strange ways and disease. They have expelled the rest of us into the land of the dead and are wandering in the place of living things. Where can the wisdom be in that?

I challenged one of the spirits and asked him why he acted so. In the end he spoke only stupidities about my white father. 

All the people know that the father of Djarrtjunjun is Eucalyptus, deep rooted in the spirit land, where he waits to shade me with his leaves.

The returned spirit wore a black skin, even in the heat of the day. Seeing that he was controlled by a familiar that lived in a log that he placed on his head, I knocked the spirit-keeper off with my club to let him speak freely.

The log was hollow, like the home of snake, but this familiar was adept at hiding and I saw nothing inside.

The story that the returned spirit related was very strange. He took me to a high place to look down up on the land of the people. He asked me to dream it as a rutted field surrounded by stinging metal in which strange plants would grow. In this dream the land was tended by beings who toiled to bring the spirit of the river onto the land.

I answered that this could not be a true dream, for all things were part of the people. If the land were cut by stinging metal the people would feel its pain and suffer and die.

I asked him why the spirits did these things and threatened him with my club. He tried to bind me with a word suggested by his familiar and I became frightened and fled.

Later in their anger the returned spirits imprisoned the river in white stone and struck a great wound in the land, making the blood run metal red until the fish died.

The people were driven from the land by cruel lashes and some were struck down by invisible spears thrown with a voice like thunder. Most simply starved or died from a wasting disease that turned the skin and nose into red blisters, on which the flies feasted greedily.

I would grieve for the land and for the river and the fish but I have no grief left since the fire left the eyes of my beautiful Alinta. 

Perhaps it is best that she is no longer here to see the end of this dream.

Now I have returned to the high place and I see the tangled remains of the stinging metal drawing patterns on the red earth in which no thing lives.

For many days I dreamed as hard as I could but I am only one, and even the most intelligent man on earth cannot return things to how they were.

As I lie exhausted, I understand that I have been followed by the snake’s whispered word and it has bound me after all. 

A great weariness lies upon my spirit until now I dream only of joining Alinta round the fire in the shade of father Eucalyptus.

Challenge
It's both a blessing and a curse...
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Vibha

Blessing or Curse

Blessing of immortality or curse in disguise. 

Till eternity 'O' foolish man 

You will carry the burden of life.

#Ashwathama #SonofDrona #Mahabharata

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