Archive for January, 2015

Quoted in the Grove:
Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, then you do it for money.
~Virginia Woolf

Nothing I did where the reason for doing it was only the money was ever worth doing it, except as bitter experience.
~Neil Gaiman

When nations grow old, the arts grow cold and commerce settles on every tree.
~William Blake


Posted from the Grove:
It is the 25th day of this year’s Wordgrove Prize writing contest, and the first day that entering writers can drop their work for viewing. Voting begins online next Sun, Feb 1st (known to the rest of the world as Super Bowl Sunday). Entries will be posted on each section’s voting list in the order they are dropped. There have been issues in past years with Authors dropping work in the wrong category. Please have a care in dropping to ensure you don’t lose votes.


Apologies to those hoping to read for Sat night’s Word Jam. Schedule conflict and lack of internet access prevented a good thing from happening. There remains a hope this event can be revived … or not. Stay tuned.


For Rube Goldberg fans, this just-for-fun video ~ OK Go: This Too Shall Pass


Prewritten for Thurs (01/29) @6pm PT/9 ET is: tremor, beastly


@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Greymane: Mask  (qif)

Satin Princess hid behind a pale cold disguise
Shattered alabaster mask with crimson blood stained eyes
Spent her life behind the sanguine semblance that she made
The truth would find her disinclined to break the masquerade

In all her years of scarlet tears she somehow lost her way
She thought her lies and silent cries would keep the pain away
no matter how she tried to hide the shadows always came
Then deep inside the darkness died and lit her soul aflame

The spell had then been broken and her true intent was found
She took her crumbled countenance and threw it on the ground
Tossed aside with all her pride her heart began to hurt
The veil of her visage lay in pieces in the dirt

She realized the truth had finally set her spirit free
and all that she had hidden from was what she feared to be
Even in her darkest night she would not compromise
She took possession of her light and buried her disguise


Prewritten: gourd, engorged

~Dharma_Darla: Darla’s Prewrittens  (qip)

Sallie Mae ran out of food this month so she had to resort to eating her decorative gourds. … Guess she would’ve been better off going hungry.


~Piffin: “Sea No Weevil”  (qif)

The weevils watched while Noah
Stowed his animal horde
From the shed beside the garden
Where the autumn fruit was stored
When the sky above grew dark
They quickly hollowed out a gourd
Then, engorged, the weevil leader
Called, “Everyone aboard!”
For forty days and forty nights
It gusted and it poured
The rotation of flotation
Saw the weevils never bored
They played games and sang hymns
Inside the pumpkin they had cored
When the sun broke through the clouds
They found a beach and all-ashored
The weevils made a new home
In the land that they explored
In the fertile fuzzy fabled
Cotton fields of the Lord


~BarTalk: promo


Impromptu: intimate, stirrup

~Piffin:  “Meatpacking District”

Side street
Meatpacking District
Metal door
Where we meet
You strict
High heels on the floor
Me in the stirrups
It’s time to let go
For this Inquisition
This pinned position
Reward for the way that I’ve sinned
Urban intimacy
These handcuffs are setting me free
To be your chattel
Your field of battle
Strobe lights
Beer bottles
Steel hooks for cattle
I bend and I break
But I never rattle
I’m reborn
I die
I’m yours
For the moment
I’m mine after we say goodbye


~Greymane: The Appointment  (qif)

With two in the stirrups and two on the floor
A little bit intimate, a bit more hardcore
Her sister had told her , though just a trainee
the new gynocologist’s first visit was free


 ~Greenie: Intimates and All  (qif)

Whilst riding in the woods one day
the lady let loose her hair
Threw her bonnet off, her dress in the air

Whence walking in the woods one day
the man let loose in song
Raised his bearded face, his voice loud and strong

Blows a wind in the woods one day
the leaves flew up so high
Kicked dust into his path, his eyes on the sky

Bang! they crashed in the woods one day
the man fell on the ground
Slipped her feet from their place, her sudden yelp of sound

Twin stirrups in the woods one day
they broke and caused her fall
Showed her legs under skirt, intimates and all


 ~BarTalk: not-a-haiku

 ~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:

Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.
~Stephen Vincent Benet

Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
~Steve Jobs

Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows.
~Pope Paul VI


 Posted from the Grove:

You think you know someone, an old friend, a favorite curmudgeon, then he passes. You attend his memorial service and discover facets and dimensions you never knew, never guessed at. He towered above the office of simple genius, and he did so while in pain without complaining. His name was Howard. We called him, Ho.


Attention poets and storytellers who read aloud … Dharma_Darla’s Word Jam is the happening destination this Sat (01/24) @6pm PT/9pm ET. The event will be held at The Glade, next to Quill Point, Wordgrove’s clubhouse @Hermit 005, Maidenflight. Please have a copy of your reading in a Book or Script to drop on the reader’s table, or a Scroll with a link to your work online.


There Fairgrounds is currently hosting its Club Fair week, and Piffin has her Wordgrove Writer’s Group paz out as an invitation to visiting readers and writers. Club members have contributed favorite writings to the setting making the welcome personal. WG’s Library Outpost sits nearby offering additional welcome and information. The event itself is worth a visit; Wordgrove writers give it kick.


Prewritten for Thurs (01/22) @6pm PT/9 ET is: gourd, engorged


@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Greymane: White  (qip)

On winds afloat the silent powder soft
will call for Winter’s cold and weary touch
Just spread your wings to keep the dreams aloft
Not Winter’s call to freeze a soul so much


Prewritten: shootout, French, frantic

~Greymane:  An Eyeful of Tower  (qif)

She got an eyeful of tower when he dropped his tight pants
and she followed him frantic from London to France
Such a risky adventure she based on a glance
but she hoped it would end in a wanton romance
She prayed her great beauty would charm and entrance
but he found himself fearing such odd circumstance
With the offer of love and of pleasure perchance
He reached for her hand and he asked her to dance

You may not find love if you plan in advance
but your chances are better with ants in your pants


~Dharma_Darla: Darla’s Prewrittens: a parable  (qif)

“Bonjour bonjour”, said the stocky gray French cat named Jean Claude. “BONJOUR BONJOUR” JC next shouted as he was not receiving a response from the catnip chef. Jean’s frustration was climbing fast as his withdrawal reveberated in his body and mind. His hand slowly went to rest on his hip where he kept his revolver. One more, “BON… JOUR!!!” with no acknowledgement put Jean Claude over the edge. He pulled out his gun and fired at the ceiling. The security in the corner also drew their weapons. Shots fired all around the catnip dispensary, and blood sprayed. This shootout was the first act of violence to ever take place in a medical catnip shop, and caused authorities to question the addictiveness of the medicine.


~Piffin:  “Movie Night”  (qif)

Couch, popcorn, movie night
A French film and you
I can’t think of anything
That I would rather do
Jean-Paul Belmondo
A shootout; a kiss
You in a sweater and no pants
What’s better than this?


~BarTalk:  in the news


Impromptu: dew, honey

~Piffin:  “Red Hyacinth” (qif)

Early morning
Garden stroll
Tender, leafy flock
Sun through mist
As mass bells toll
Barely six o’clock
Red hyacinth
Blue butterfly
Stretching early wings
Kiss honeysuckle
Rooftop sparrow sings
She approaches
Feet bare
On the dewy diamond lawn
Of a tigress
Timidity of fawn
On wet grass
I touch her robe
With wishes that she shed it
I take her then
Dew unto others
Yeah, that’s right, I said it


~Greymane: Tea Party (qif)

A little grey spider that lived in a shoe
made lavender tea from a droplet of dew
She brewed it in teabags she made out of silk
She sweetened with honey and thickened with milk
crisp tasty biscuits she made from a fly,
some bumble bee pudding and ladybug pie
She sent invitations to all of her friends
with intentions to eat everyone who attends


~GaryBob: Honey Dew  (qif)

Dusky, darling dew drops dust dapper dames dancing doubles downstairs during daring dalliances


Hour-hired honey-hued harlots help hopeful handsome honorable heirs have happy hellfire



~Greenie: Honey Dew

My lover likes his honey dew
slick and wet, too sweet to chew
He dips his brush and paints a path
sprinkles honey dust, licks, then gives a bath


~BarTalk: not-a-haiku

~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:
Maybe I could have loved you better. Maybe you should have loved me more. Maybe our hearts were just next in line. Maybe everything breaks sometime.

It isn’t enough for your heart to break because everybody’s heart is broken now.
~Allen Ginsberg

Well, the Goddess said, you heart didn’t heal straight the last time it broke. So we’ll break it again and reset it so it heals straight this time.
~Jane Yolen

End Quote:
It is strange how often a heart must be broken before the years can make it wise.
~Sara Teasdale


Posted from the Grove:
To emphasize: Voting for the Wordgrove Prize cannot begin before February 1st @12am, Pacific time. Authors may begin dropping one week early, and this is encouraged. This gives the sponsor a chance to keep up with events, and the reading public a chance for perspective in their choices

There will be those who hear about this contest late, and those entering whose final edit isn’t ready by start date, so it might be a benefit to voters and Authors alike to wait a few days before deciding on favorites. Authors have the full month of January to prepare and are advised to drop their entries on time. Delay may cost votes

An updated view of rules and guidelines for this year’s writing contest is available at: http://www.wordgrove.com/contest.html


Picture a harborside dive, a place for those who like their gambling raw, who know it ain’t poker without the smell of cigar smoke. Feel the thrill, those little shivers of betting danger. About the dames behind the bar: They’ve seen it all, so don’t bother. They’ll listen to you tho. You came to play so it doesn’t matter. You pick a table. @Piffin’s, Café Noir, #289 Cannery Row. Game on

Also, check out Pendora’s Friends, and Cwby4ever’s HAPPY_TRAILS_FRONTIER card clubs. If you spend time at There’s gaming tables, you know them. It’s time for a visit


Prewritten for Thurs (01/15) @6pm PT/9 ET is: shootout, French


@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Dharma_Darla: “Alone” (qif)
Diss, disser, getting dissed can be a pisser.
Common troubles like disagreements, displeasurements. Crazy uncontrollable energy insanity bent. Times of minor grief. “We’re only human, but we’re all fine tuning”, or at least trying to tune to some degree of sanity. A damaged brain can give insight. Secret thoughts, not really secret. Fear that walls your joy. Days pass… we are stuck. In the rest home there’s a different kind of luck. Stamp my forehead with permanent ink, this girl aint stable, she must be a freak. Different little problems… still a drive to overcome them. Is consistency a fantasy? Or too real that I can’t see it? Shining for… Comfort for… Solidarity, solidity, being able to see the truth. No longer a youth, more than a slacker, a tooth that hardly gets brushed. Fight for my life like I am a beat box’s wife. Still praying for a sanity whose hairline’s receding.

~Greymane: One Too Many (qif)

TThe princess skipped into the room demanding to be heard.
The king bade welcome boisterously, although a little slurred.
“My room is small, I want to move…The tower is preferred.”
“To keep me locked up in that hole is really quite absurd!”
The king jumped up and fell back down, His vision rather blurred.
“Your wish is my command my dear! Your things will be transferred.

Satisfied she glides away to oversee the task.
The king flumps down and turns around to fill his empty flask.

The tower room was bigger and it had a gorgeous view.
This goes here and that goes there she had so much to do.
The king came in to see what be, disaster did ensue…
He stumbled to the window and proceeded to fall through.

Down he fell with quite a yell and splatted on the ground.
The princess shrugged, a little smug, and took his royal crown.


Prewritten: Lanterns image http://ishtari.arcticworlds3d.com/therestuff/lanterns.jpg

~Dharma_Darla: untitled (qip)

Even in the gnarled forest I find my way by lantern’s grace.

~Greymane: Valley of Light (qif)

He followed his pain to the valley of light
searching for pleasures foretold
Sparkling treasures to feed his delight
by wrapping his sorrows in gold
A journey of promise to places unknown
far from the things that he knew
Somewhere forgiveness was hiding alone
wondering what it should do
Too close for his comfort to carry alone,
too far for confusion to crawl
Too bitter and lonely to find on his own,
too distant to find it at all
Regretting the choices he can’t resurrect,
leaving his reason to rust
His palace has crumbled from years of neglect
sleeping with dreams in the dust


Impromptu: nudity, edible

~Piffin: “Derriere”

Seeing you in candlelight
You haven’t aged a day
From the time when I first saw you
From that night you looked my way
I was broken, jaded, guarded
I was done with toys like love
Then your smiling eyes outsmarted me
And gave my heart a shove into
This thing we share
This soft affair
Your derriere
My kiss
Though our nudity holds nothing
To the way we bare our souls
This bliss
My angel
Fragile, edible
My savior
Gentle, strong
Your silk sheet sighs
Half-lidded eyes
Tell me my heart
My lips
Are where they belong

~Greenie: Cotton Candy Cutie (qif)

Peaches and cream
whipped with cherries

lips like roses
kissed by berries

Round and soft
fitted with curve

Come hither eyes
beckoned with verve

Delicious form
sizzled with heat

This young dish
he’d like to… eat

Edible breasts
bounced in hands

Nudity reveals
lust as it… stands

~Greymane: Spreadable (qip)

She walks the night like showered light,
Illuminating dreams
She dances silent circles soft
aloft on razor beams

~BarTalk: limerick

~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:
For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
~Vincent Van Gogh

Ride your dreams. They will take you far away and bring you to yourself.
~F Scott Fitzgerald

Ah, great it is to believe the dream as we stand in youth by the starry stream; but a greater thing is to fight life through and say at the end, the dream is true!
~Edwin Markham


Posted from the Grove:
Theme for the Wordgrove Prize: 2015
There are people alive who swear it, people who know they’ve met a ghost. Some believe in angels. A witch is met, a pet speaks. A three day fast on a vision quest and a warrior’s spirit animal is revealed.  Or, it could be an other you, a different you found in an heirloom mirror. Or something emerges live from pages you’re reading

How do you separate out the monster when you romance the Beast? Will aliens finally introduce themselves? Does Mother Gaia find her voice? It’s as easy as falling down a rabbit hole into startling new worlds of encounter, but how does it feel?

This year’s theme, again, is a stretching exercise. It will need your imagination with the door left open. There are untold worlds waiting to be born, waiting for their Maker, for someone with the writer’s touch, the poet’s magic … there are worlds waiting for your words to create them

This year’s contest is about connecting with something else. It’s about encountering something from another source, of another breadth and aspect.  The theme for the 2015 Wordgrove Prize: The Being from another Dimension


Welcome to Wordgrove’s eighth writing contest, and the Wordgrove Prize: 2015. For contest rules and guidelines, click below. You are welcome to forward this notice to anyone in There who has an interest in writing. This contest is open to all Authors in There.com



Heads up for writers who read aloud. Dharma_Darla has offered to expand opportunities for word games in Wordgrove by hosting, Word Jam, once a month. First event is Sat, Jan 24 @ 6pm PT/9pm ET. Mark your calendar now. Be prepared to go vocal and read a favorite of your work … or just listen

Prewritten for Thurs (01/08) @6pm PT/9 ET is: Lanterns image http://ishtari.arcticworlds3d.com/therestuff/lanterns.jpg


@Writers Platform

Glass Table:

~Greymane: Forbidden Fruit  (qip)

There once was a man and a woman who had to leave Eden behind
Was innocence really perfection or was sin the planned fate of mankind?

~Piffin: “Wayfarers of Incident” (qif)

We are each a world dreaming of local events
Of grandiose legends shared over a fence
The rulers of kingdoms, submissive and frail
Explorers of mountaintops, sliding on shale
We are each of us time travelers, bogged in the now
Wayfarers of incident, fog at our bow
We navigate waves, far less tranquil than break,
For truth only visits us drenched in mistake
We are each one a universe, small as our fear
An infinite countenance trapped in a beer
Narcissus reflected a moment, perchance
While screwing up courage to ask for this dance


Prewritten: Paranormal Encounters in There.com

 ~Dharma_Darla: untitled (qip)

I’m baffled, slightly nervous.
Feel a cold spot right in front of me as I realize
this virtual world isn’t impervious
to the paranormal activity that happens in real life

~Greymane:  Theranormal (qip)

A pixeled apparition of a paranormal place

sometimes those who cross our paths become the ghosts of There

~Piffin: haiku


Impromptu: pleasure, drowned

~Piffin: Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder (qif)

In my scarlet letterman’s sweater
An A+ over my heart
I broke every rule, every fetter
I think therefore …
Oh, fuck Descartes
These words in my head are no measure
No proof of existence profound
The sting of your hand brings me pleasure
Your breath in my mouth sings me drowned
You snag my cross on a nipple clamp
Then lick my lips like a postage stamp
And Send me to the moon
You send me to the moon
A butane flame to a Pyrex pipe
A cry for help from the silent type
You send me to the moon
Until I crawl
You send me
I think
Therefore I fall

~Greymane:  Pocket of Mercy (qif)

A pocket of mercy for tales untold
of pleasures and pain and of passions grown cold
The cry of a baby, the birth of a star
The last glowing ash of my final cigar

As Time follows closely he whispers my name
and offers forgiveness in trade for my shame
I called for a moment to gather my sin
and found I was victim to who I had been

A list of regrets and of bridges I’ve burned
The people I’ve loved and the lessons I’ve learned
The wisdom of sorrows I’ve traded for years
The love I have drowned in an ocean of tears

A future I borrowed from places unknown
My promises dusty and dying alone
Too many moments and unanswered prayers
The gates of St. Peter are closed for repairs

~Dharma_Darla: What have we here?
(ei) Pomp and blather brought up on the docket, is found wanting in sense and relevance

~GaryBob: untitled  (qip)

Speed reading pleasures
Kama Sutra guide
Apathetic measures
Bodies collide

Nothing left to give

Nothing left to live


~ . ~

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