19 5 24
I'll take your hand
guide it to my waist
kiss me from behind
feel your lips
feel your breath
your body on top of mine
the warmth of your fingers
the shivers I feel
my turn, and then yours
gentle with me
like a glass vase
the ocean rocking against the shore
speed fluctuating
and music to your ears
senses turned up to 10
no one in the room
but red light, and music
a rhythm repeated again
At the Bottom of the Bottle Sits A Broken Piano and a Gun
I’ve become a footstool; is there anyone who hasn’t put their feet on me at some point?
And what of the bottom of this bottle, is there anyone who hasn't cursed me?
Worn strings on this J-45.
Dismissed and tossed aside.
I've been played and left behind.
Is there anything left for my inside?
I’m a piano with broken keys, an out of tune violin, a broken flute playing its broken song into the
broken sky
Yet people look to me as if I'm whole
If only they could see my fractured soul
Fractured soul and fractured hearts.
I see the pistol, I see the bottle.
Just a distant line between here and there.
The throttle beckons and I turn away.
Purchased flowers on moldy stems, looks like my good intention will tomorrow
And like a lamp in the darkness, there’s an Angel on one shoulder, while there’s a shadow on
the other
The open window, is it an opportunity to escape or a temptation to jump?
There's a birth certificate to my left,
It tells me I'm worthless and the edge is near.
I look down and look around.
Up or down, I say.
It's down either way.
Stairs reflect off glass through flickered flame, I can taste the bottom.
I can trace the outline of the story with tongue on gritted teeth
A sensate can orient themselves in a new space by careful attention but I attune myself to this
known space by inattention.
I ignore the letters, the scattered picks. Discarded lyrics, strewn about. I want to care but it isn't
there.
But the Marlboro's are. I light, I smoke and drift away into the nothingness of your broken words.
Empty cans spill smoke with ash on the brims, counting moments between reasons, and the
piles' gettin big
How many empty bottles fill a broken heart? More than the amount on my desk. How many
hours of work will fill an empty nest? More than I have put in.
An unending void. A beating chest.
Harder, faster. Anxious thoughts
That wreck my mind.
The flame reflects against the pipe,
Chipped and broken glass,
It scars my lips and I settle into the darkness.
Someone paint me a bottle. Let my eyes drink it in, the inspiration I'm seeking is empty again,
maybe my past can consume me cause the future is grim
I look to the spirits
But not those in the sky
The ones that are brown
And help me feel high
I ask for signs
And they respond, Why?
Its a silent whisper of chaos and demise.
But, they answer. Emptied bottles and empty dreams.
Hearts like mine, I think, they don't do well with time.
They harden, like oaked barrels in my mind.
I search for answers in empty bags of despair, they empty themselves into my bloodstream.
Aloof and alone
My trauma is trouble and my questions are broke. The science in my cells slides swift in my
bones. Whether empty or full I still miss the girl. She's proof and I'm sold
The Writing Prompt: Write a collaborative Stream of conscious piece where each verse had to include an object in the room with you.
Written by @DaveK, @Shells, @MeeJong, and @ledlevee
Wandering the Edge of Dark and Light
Sunrise sings soft pink and orange Alpenglow across the Mammoth mountains
Beneath splendor, what lurks?
Is there darkness hiding behind the beauty, shadows hiding from the glowing beams
Does darkness hide? Or just exist? Is it an equal pull to become dark or to glow from a neutral place?
And can darkness feel like a glow in and of itself, is there something sacred in the shadows?
That pull, that depth, the shadow realm is more than just the opposite of light.
It’s a different sort of light, a fire, a thunderous call, that draws us towards a wildly carnal ecstasy
And we respond, in body and in mind, in spirit and in kind, and where does that lead us?
Does it lead us to sin and death, or a weirdly spiritual place in and of itself, emptiness or fulfillment?
And what is it we want? To be emptied of fulfillment? To be fulfilled with emptiness?
Or is there something more? Are we looking for a connection to something outside of us?
Does our darkness long for other darkness?
Does our light, seek out other light? Or is it balance to which we trend? What is the inner message we send?
Is there something deep inside we can search for that will answer the questions we seek
outside of us?
Or are the answers we seek outside of us reflections of our insides?
And when we find that reflection, do we look away in fear?
Or is fear the reflection of our insides?
And if our fear is reflected outside of ourselves then where can we find peace and safety?
And is the need for peace and safety just fallacious thinking? Is it on the edge where humans thrive instead of inside the safety margins?
But how can we stay on the edge indefinitely without eventually teetering off?
Is it really an edge if we stay there too long?
And if we stay there, is there a way we’ll ever be able to find our way off?
The only way off of the edge is to jump, I think.
No one knows what's over the edge, until they've gone over, right?
We search our souls for exemption, hoping for redemption.
There's nothing there. Just nothingness and air.
Jumping is the only answer I can find, between here and there.
Is there a bottom, or will I fly? Will I land on my feet or splat and die?
Is it all of us who wonder why? Or only the few who pull back the lie?
We wander and we wonder. Things we cannot understand, Aging eyes, loss of conscience Is it all we really are?
Are we constantly searching, questioning, and learning? Is it learning or is it just moving?
Are we moving forward, backward, or sideways?
We are more than our questions and less than our reactions. We are our intentions and not always our actions. We are better than our thoughts except when we're not. We are, we are, we are.
Written by @MeeJong, @Ledlevee, and @Shells.
To Spanx or Not To Spanx
My thoughts have become form-fitting
But they’ve formed into daggers and I’ve become a smittenkitten
It's as though my mind is matetrained
boybrain tragedies and domesticated dreams
Like I’m fitting sitting but never fitting, always watching more interesting lives unfold in front of
me
I extend myself just to experience the trust-sting
The poisons carpool soft beneath the shades
And here I sit, my heart extending a beautifully bittersweet sittingsong
I wish I had a raygun but I only have these spanx
A kittenclaw forcing it's outline, casting shadows on the seams
And I’m smithsmitten by this kitten’s smith, trying to look away but eyes drawn like magnets
Will I be rescued by that songbird?
Meet me in the pool house where we can roll out our secrets
Look for the birdhouse from which these sacred songs were birthed
I would defer to the braintrust but they would probably refer me to a gunsmith
The trainedform is now reborn, veil dropped, our guts express our love
And like a stingray, I swim, I glide, I float, I fly
Yet chained to this life like a houseboy
Love that grips like spanx, this empty room, the housemate I'll never lose.
Tonight's Prompt: We made a word list and each word has to be a compound word starting with the last half of the word before. The subject of the poem started as "Spanx" and then was updated to "Killer Spanx" but I'm not sure we really got to that updated version.
This is the wordlist: CARPOOL POOLHOUSE HOUSEMATE MATETRAINED TRAINEDFORM FORM-FITTING FITTINGSITTING SITTINGSONG SONGBIRD BIRDHOUSE HOUSEBOY BOYBRAIN BRAINTRUST TRUST-STING STINGRAY RAYGUN GUNSMITH SMITHSMITTEN SMITTENKITTEN KITTENCLAW
Written by @MeeJong, @Ledlevee, and @DaveK.
Let The Changes Take Me
Changing
Like the seasons
Everyone has reasons
They cry
I
Stand
Stoically
With a dry eye
Spinning wheels
Pushing
With bloody hands
And all I do
Falls flat like a doormat
And I stagnate
I
Stand
Fragile
With tear-drenched eyes
Is it society’s lies?
From where do truths derive?
In hearts
Loving
In souls
Living
In minds
Knowing
Where does the future reside?
Bleeding and
Flailing and
Sliding sideways
Rolling this way and that
Like a wet cat
Or a dog that rolls in shit
I try to pick myself up
And stand
Stoned
With bloodshot eyes
Chilling, a frigid wind
Calling out to some doubted strength within
Basic words. Balding ethics, run awry.
Fighting faith that says, it's time to die
I hang my head, something lost and gone.
Listening quietly to the last sirens song.
Waiting
Is there a savior
Wondering
Do I save myself
Whispering
Save me, save me, save me
Wilting
I’m not worth saving
Weeping
Stabbing
Myself through the heart with my mind
Piercing
my mind with my thoughts
Thinking
And thoughts breed tears
Crying
Away lonely days, weeks, years
Wiping
My eyes with clawing fingers
Scratching
My face
And screaming
Dreaming of release. Some demon bound life.
Tearing skin, ripped and bleeding.
Fleeting fears, disperse.
Ailing wills, find faith in defeat.
Fleeting mind, addled with deceit.
I look down and look away.
Running comes with ease
Bludgeoning the diseased
Wretched
Disposing of them like the vile creatures
We deem them to be
Judging
Executioning
All without recourse
This
Is self annihilating bullshit
We succumb to our own diminishing thoughts
Standing
In the light
Of the future
Bathing
In the promise
Of tomorrow
Delivering
Looking
For something beyond sadness
Searching
The unknown
Wandering
Like a shadow under the sun
Hiding
From the rays of light
Burning
From the fires of pain
Suffering
As my mind attacks itself
Turning
Away from the heartbreak
Limping
Towards the light
Wobbling
But still upright
Hoping
Something goes right
Tonight's Prompt: The subject was "change" and the format was that each verse had to use exactly one more verb ending in -ing than the last verse.
Written by @MeeJong, @Ledlevee, and @Shells.
Seeds take root-- leaves begin to sprout and flatten eagerly in the sun, taking in the warmth of its story
Leaves rest in perfect silence
being, listening
A miniscule bud peeks through the wisdom of the leaves, and with slow, patient, seductive time, opens thirsting petals
The sun strikes on knowledge innate
listening, questioning
Greenery rises and falls, sprouts and withers, swayed by the creeping seasons, by what the sun allows
Rain drenches petals but nourishes roots
questioning, yearning
Betrothed to the cycle, the garden joins itself with what has been, what is and what will be, refuses the stink-rot of stagnancy
The sun, She seeks change, too
yearning, knowing
The poet is of the Earth and Sky, interwoven, formed within the space that lies between the line; employed to enchant, enlighten, entomb
The poet: rooted vessel for perspective
knowing, being
Rat Race to Nowhere
My heart is pounding heavily
Chased by destiny I can’t catch
A mad dash for cash,
A reckless mess, running towards fate
but now it seems fate has found me.
and I won’t let it take me easily.
I won't go down without a fight.
But is fate preordained?
Or can my lifestyle be sustained
And put me in a place
Above and beyond the rat race
running, running endlessly and never we surmise
that in the end we’re all just running to the same demise
I cannot close my eye yet and surrender to the night
Destiny can persist but I won’t give up without a fight
The money flows and it's never enough
So I chase it faster, harder, stronger
Compromise my ethics, break my will.
Just to ensure another meal
I eat it up and choke it down
then buy some more for the weekend.
I wash it down with salty sweat
until my eyes burn in the deep end.
What is the cost of my soul
And how much does aging
Effect that cost
Am I like wine
Or am I a soccer player
both have their time, I suppose
but perhaps i should remain here
sinking in the depth and
feet propelling helplessly
trying to run where there is no floor
goalies float to catch goals but wine,
drowns all, joys and sorrows.
Running in sand
Slowing my pace
While standing still
The waves sink me slowly
No path to climb
Only slow decent
Darkness is above me swirling
My eyes almost blinking to close
I won’t let the night win over me
For I’ll fight to my last breath
I’m a warrior, the young and restless
A bloody hell fighter to the soul
Until the end of day come
I won’t kneel down to time
The Gods of wine entice me, incite me and unwind me.
I vomit the aftermath of a dollar gained.
Fall down at an altar of bullshit and pain.
I shake my head, reset my mind
Convince myself this is not in vain
My heart is pounding heavily
My mad dash toward fate ends here.
I feel a presence swirling above me.
I’m forced to cash in on my knees
I beg for my soul.
But my soul burns its own rebound
I was never a slave
The almighty dollar might taunt me
But I was never a slave
Dollars and slavery
What type of economy built this place
Running in chains
Even free
Ankles clink with each pace
The audience cries with anticipation
No patience
The sand is soaking me in
Pulling me down to the dark hole
But this is a beating heart that roars loudly like lion
That won’t give in until I fall
I wake up to face the day.
Another day, another dollar.
A weird balance between grace and grief.
Head down, shoulders up another soldier to the world.
Marching orders
From capitalistic masters
Running the wheel
Around and around
Soldiers to live or die
By the will of another
I will choose where to point my gun
Written by @MidnightInk, @Shells, @ChrisSadhill, @MeeJong, @Cinnamonwhistle, and the infamous @Putski.
Writer’s Tip: Every Hero Has an Achilles Heel
According to WIKI, Achilles was a hero of the Trojan War and the greatest of all Greek warriors. In addition, he’s a central character of Homer's Iliad. Famous dude. Lived in the spotlight. An MVP. Big-time. He had just one weakness.
His heel.
How could that be?
Great question. Here’s the answer: “…when his mother Thetis dipped him in the river Styx as an infant, she held him by one of his heels.”
That dip made him invulnerable—except, of course, for where his Mom held him.
Flash-forward to Monday night, Sept. 11, 2023. Another hero. Another warrior. “Grade A.” Numero Uno. MVP.
His name?
Aaron Rodgers.
After a stellar career with the Green Bay Packers, Rodgers went from Cheese-head to Apple-head, when he became a quarterback for the New York Jets, where he was touted as a savior for a franchise that hadn’t been a consistent Super Bowl caliber team since Broadway Joe Namath led the J-E-T-S to a 16-7 upset victory over the Baltimore Colts at the Orange Bowl in Miami, Florida.
By the way, that was the third AFL–NFL Championship Game in pro football and the first to bear the moniker “Super Bowl”—but let’s get back to our tale of terror and tendons.
Aaron Rogers stepped on the field Sept. 11 to kick off a new era of hope for the Jets. There was even talk of Super Bowl run … finally.
The hope didn’t last long. Minutes into his first drive, the aging quarterback (he turns 40 in December) was sacked, injured, and helped off the field, never to return. It was later announced he was out for the season. The culprit: a torn Achilles tendon.
Rogers was a five-time All-Pro and 10-time Pro Bowler. An all-around MVP. To get him, the Jets gave up a first-round draft pick, a second-round pick, a sixth-round pick and a conditional 2024 second-round.
So much for so little return.
There are many lessons in the Aaron Rogers saga … “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket comes to mind.” What about you? Have you ever done that? I have … one time, long ago, I remember planning my future around winning one of those big-money contests at McDonald’s. … Didn’t win, but at least I got a great burger and fries out of it—which is more than what the Jets may end up with.
WRITER'S TIP: If you're crafting a story about a hero, remember to give him/her a weakness. For example, Indiana Jones was afraid of snakes. His Dad feared rats. Having a vulnerability raises the stakes in a hero's journey.
Limerick(s) of the Week #24: Witch in the Woods, Bitch in the ’Hood
The witch in the woods had the final say
That bitch in the 'hood was making me pay
For walking my dog
On her lawn, in the fog
Then she stepped in it, cursing my way
I doubled over with a stitch in my side
Stabbing me, making me switch in my stride
Came from pins in a doll
That made my heart stall
All the hallmarks of that fitch outside
I bled from every hole that I had
Hematocrit falling till I was bleeding plaid
Vascular systems collapsed
And my wherewithal lapsed
Until I couldn't get out of my bed
Blood from my eyes was the way I cried
Tourniquet on my neck was the way I tried
To keep from bleeding out
And connipting about
All failed and finally up-and-died
breaking the loop
3 miles
three miles ago
ive started losing count
a dark blue Volkswagen
cant seem to be found
i'm still unsure
but my feet are getting sore
a hotel not to far away
just make it there
a few more meters
finally then I'll be safe
just across this intersection
then I'll be free
i count my steps
1, 2, 3
i make a break for it
i see my future
what i make of it
Him caught, locked behind bars
and I'll be sitting outside of one
counting the stars
everything finally good
finally feeling okay
but the i hear someone
try to slam on their breaks
hospital lights humming
chattering
then i hear a familiar
footsteps coming
i memorized them
trembling with fear
there is now way in hell he's here
no, it can't be
he tells me to come
here we go again
I'm starting to see
this loop never ends
I'm stuck with him
till the day that i die
hopefully it's better
on the other side