Archive for May, 2015

Quoted in the Grove:

Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan “press on” has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.
~Calvin Coolidge

Some are destined to succeed, some are determined to succeed.
~H H Swami Tejomayananda

Perseverance is the hard work you do after you get tired of doing the hard work you already did.
~Newt Gingrich


Posted from the Grove:
Prewritten for Thurs (05/14) @6pm PT/9 ET is a pic by: ~John Pitre


@Writers Platform
Prewritten: tooth, consequences

~Greymane: Vacant

I met an old codger so long in the tooth
he barely remembered his name
He told me there once was a time in his youth
when they thought him too wild to tame
An expert at wicked and lecherous ways
Progressively losing his grip
From long drunken parties that lasted for days
to hootchiecoo clubs on the strip
He sold all his morals for pleasures and sin
Heavenly consequence damned
The devil sat laughing behind his dark grin
while the doors of depravity slammed
From somewhere in hell he observed a faint light
and he crawled his way out of the dark
So now he sits vacant alone in the night
on his bench in this desolate park


~Piffin: “Mermaid Sushi”

Kissing Cancun ocean
Tongue ring diving pearl
Down on my knees wet with tropical breeze
And the sweat of a vacation girl
Cat claw confidences
In hammocks wearing the moon
But conch shell consequences
Brought us surface side and soon
Vodka northbound air bus
New York City sprawl
The thing I miss most about us
Is nothing about you at all

Lime and salt and body shots
Slid my defenses down
I grabbed my brush with romance
Painted up that tourist town
Postcard to my sister:
“I’m never coming home”
She met me at the airport
She picked me up alone
Reflection in the auto glass
Tan tinted to a pall
The thing I miss most about us
Is nothing about you at all

I almost felt for a moment
I almost felt in charge
I almost felt
I almost felt
But life it looms and large
Casual commuter cancan
At the subway token booth
I rip the memories from me
Like a kite string doorknob tooth
I’ll drop them from the ferry
I won’t even watch them fall
The thing I miss most about us
Is nothing about you at all
The thing I miss most about us
Is nothing about you at all


~BarTalk:  Truth or Consequence


Impromptu:  aflutter, cider

~Greymane:  Aflutter

Jack and Jill were at the still making apple-jack
but all that Jack could focus on was Jill’s enormous rack
Whenever she would look at him he found himself aflutter
and how she glistened in the sun just melted him like butter
He lavished her with all his charm in hopes he’d get a smooch
but couldn’t pry her lips away from all the backwoods hootch
A drunken girl in flimsy clothes, no apple for her cheese
“you’re wish is my command.” he said and headed for the trees
He wobbled and he almost fell but knew what he must do
He plucked the reddest ripest one but he’d been drinking too…
From up above his woozy head there dropped a giant spider
He teetered on the flimsy branch until he fell in cider


~Piffin: “Little Miss Nutter”

Little Miss Nutter
Heart all aflutter
Sat down for Thanksgiving grace
Along came a spider
Knocked over her cider
So she shot him in the face


~BarTalk: Taste of Honey

~ . ~

Read Full Post »

Quoted in the Grove:
Being an author is having angels whisper in your ear – and devils, too.
~Graycie Harmon

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.
~E L Doctorow

Being an author is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum.
~Graycie Harmon


Posted from the Grove:
Mention has been made of the recent graphic nature of themes and prompts to come out of the grove’s Word Games. It was a good question, and serves as a chance to restate Wordgrove’s policy on censorship. We don’t. That being said, it would be fair to point out that the Platform’s Rule Book of Random Words sometimes offers up choices that are simply too juicy to pass up in the name of good taste.


~The Weepies: Living in Twilight
Compliments: Piffin


Prewritten for Thurs (05/31) @6pm PT/9 ET is: tooth, consequences 


@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~BriarRoseEve: “A Favorite Book”

I ripped a favorite book in two.

It felt like murder. Laughs gagged midway,
severed, a child’s stifled scream.
One hit, swung, breaked just before
swirls and stars.
A man’s last breath, stopped! Perpetual
life. Death. On hold.
A kiss,
paused, lips one slip away from
An itch.
An itch.
An itch. No scratch.
A warm swig of coffee,
swallowed, sip wedged
A heartbeat, bookmarked.
A long sigh,
The tick. The to-

We love, we read books
We dream, we read books
You are a book
I loved
And would have
Loved more

But someone had ripped
in half.


Prewritten: invigorate, rejuvenate

~Piffin: “White Boy”

The moon I thought you hung
This reprobate
With your satanic tongue
You deal me in
You reel me in
With some old Lou Reed song
My fingers in your belt loops
Prove your kung fu is still strong
Reject, rejoin
Perfect, purloin
Parade me in the rain
With bated groin
A copper coin
Waiting on a train
I’d walk this walk with dignity
But all my nylons run
While stepping to the gallows
With the moon I thought you hung


~BarTalk: Happy Dirt


Impromptu: voice, schlock

~Piffin:  “Andy”

Andy was a patriot
Who’d never fought a war
He was a true believer
In the flag upon his door
Andy was a union man
He was a pamphleteer
He loved his Sunday football
And his Jesus and his beer

Andy was a motor-mouth
In love with his own voice
He hated blacks and reds and dykes
And pizza and free choice
Andy loved his firearms,
Tattoos, and boobs, no doubt
Lock, schlock and barrel
Andy had it figured out

Andy was a ‘merican
Andy was a mess
When home alone at night
He’d weep and wear his favorite dress
Deep down inside, he’d dream
A world unfurled with rainbow flags
While polishing his truck
Its bumper sticker: God Hates Fags


~Greymane: untitled

He took a slow boat to Bangkok,
and found Asian love on the dock
The sailor rejoiced
at the sound of her voice
when the size of him put her in schlock


~BarTalk: limerick


Writers in Residence:

~whitefeather @Silent Love ~ Incongruent Truths

Three new pics line the gallery walls @Silent Love. Statues: Stones coarse and fine, where everything that isn’t love has been carved away: Eros descends to a ravishing; Love, grief’s only comfort; years later, still Love.

Silent communion
the play of light and shadow
Incongruent truths

~Jason Mraz: Silent love song

~ . ~

Read Full Post »

Quoted in the Grove:
Things are not what they appear to be; nor are they otherwise.
~Lankavatara Sutra

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
~William Shakespeare

What you doin’ on your back? What you doin’ on your back? You should be dancin’, yeah…
~Bee Gees



The words for this week’s Prewritten are: invigorate, rejuvenate


Prewritten (May 14): fellatio; sidearm

BarTalk: Sidearm Blues (qif)

His name was Horatio
Died alone on the patio
Balls to bone a 2:1 ratio
News came over the radio
Shot inflagrante fellatio


Greymane: Flaccid Finance (qif)

He took a long ride to the dark side of town looking for curbside romance
She flaunted her fishnets while flagging him down but she wanted the cash in advance
He said she could have any money she found in the folds of his cavernous pants
She got a bit mad when she saw that the clown was a victim of flaccid finance

He swore he would pay with funds hidden away in the bottom of one of his shoes
So she went all the way with a wanton display that his urgency could not refuse
Fellating her way through a wicked buffet with a feast of enticing taboos
His sidearm went off and the girl and the cop were featured on national news


Whitefeather: Untitled (qif)

With tense fists gripping
sidearms to steady his stance
her silky warm lips
two silhouettes in the dark
He cums for fellatio


Piffin:  “Head Full Of Bees” (qif)

Got a head full of bees
Got a heart like a drum
Got myself on my knees
Got a bottle of rum
Got a list of the things
That I shouldn’t have done
Got a load for my lingo
Got my lips on a gun
Might be going out a coward
But I’m doing it right
Sidearm fellatio
Saturday Night


Impromptu (May 14): teem, fecund

Bartalk: not-a-haiku (qif)

the world turns and teems
violent colors and green
spring fecundity


Greymane: Vacant (qif)

He’s filled with fecund visions growing distant with each breath
His seasons dry from lack of truth all teemed with dusty death
The winds that blew thru dreams he knew could never come to pass
Would carry him through horrors built on seas of broken glass
The darkness of his empty soul lay vacant in his eyes
While laughing judges execute predictable demise


Piffin: “The Writer” (qif)

Fecund in its inception
Moribund in its receipt
My one true dream
With rot did teem
And shuddered at my feet
What glories would I garner
Such stories would I craft
Yet, tales untold,
This island cold,
I’ve had to burn my raft
And feed the flames
With each unfinished draft


Glass Table

Bartalk: Nexus ~ A Collection (Previously Reviewed)


Briar Rose Eve: A Favorite Book ~ A Collection (qip)

can i stumble
break free
find somehow
a silly tune
and sing in spite
of flaming notes
dancing on
these shying cheeks

should i not turn
when music plays
a song i love

i found a candy
how sweet

and forgot

where i will not
find again


~My Morning Jacket: The Bear



Read Full Post »

Quoted in the Grove:
Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.
~Muhammed Ali

Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me… Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.
~ Shel Silverstein

Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dream.
~Paul Coelho


Posted from the Grove:

Prewritten for Thurs (05/14) @6pm PT/9 ET is: sidearm, fellatio


@Writers Platform:

Prewritten: separate, inseminate

~Piffin: “11:12”

Disseminate the ancient law
Inseminate young mind
Eye for eye
Tooth for tooth
Faith furious and blind
Were schooling infidel
Netting those not of our kind
Separate the surf from turf
Revile the lemon rind
Intimidate discriminate invalidate
Armed guard tower
Barbed wire
Locked gate
We know what God would want
Because we know what God hates
We’re loading up the railway cars
Based on what you ate
Satan prawn
Imp cocktail
Breaded crustacean


~BarTalk: modern romance #2


Impromptu: cadaver dogs

~Piffin: “Lovelock”

It was love, first sight my dear
A moist and heated spark
You, princess to my fairytale
Me, just another mark
A romance dressed in summer sweat
Mimosas, ceiling fans
I pledged forever with my kiss
But you had other plans
A dreamed us through eternity
Angelic, lovestruck fools
Your feathers, though, were black as crow
Your eyes fixed on my jewels
But you’ll not fly so far, my love
When cuffed, ankle and wrist
Cadaver dogs uncovering me
Your hair clenched in my fist


~Greymane: Ill Intent

The winds blew foul that mournful night when madness called his name
The howling hounds of hell were writing lullabies in flame
They filled his soul with terrors dark that reason can’t explain
And beckoned him to venture home and hide inside his pain

From somewhere in the shadows where the wicked wisdom lies
Cadaver dogs with ill intent all laughed at his demise
The misted winds that wail with the wisdom of defeat
Will dry each tear with sultry songs, malodorous and sweet


~whitefeather: “Cadaver dogs”

The whispers in town
his third wife had not been found
no one suspected
her mutilated body
was nourishing garden green

A new blushing bride
his fourth wife pushing flowers,
pungent smell of rot
cadaver dogs solved cold case
his unfaithful lovers graves


~BarTalk: The Illness


 Writers in Residence

~whitefeather @Love’s Silence:
Three new pics from whitefeather’s SL camera: Callipygian echo, double-arch windows; a veiled RR line enters a covered bridge; feet begin the journey on a curved line headed home

My Skin (Natalie Merchant, with lyrics)


 ~ . ~

Read Full Post »

Quoted in the Grove:
Men are like the earth and we are the moon; we turn always one side to them, and they think there is no other, because they don’t see it / but there is.
~Olive Shreiner

I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life’s a bitch. You’ve got to go out and kick ass.
~Maya Angelou

I’m tough. I’m ambitious. I know exactly what I want. If that makes me a bitch, I’m OK with that.

Know what? Bitches get stuff done.
~Tina Fey


Posted from the Grove:

Piffin is recovering nicely and has returned to share with us. Especially see, Birch and Briar, below. Otherwise, it’s been a quiet week in the grove. Enjoy the respite.


Prewritten for Thurs (05/10) @6pm PT/9 ET is: separate, insemination


@Writers Platform:
Prewritten: Prewritten:  victory, confession

~Greymane: Silent Caress

When winter’s misty breath caresses silent on the lake
The snow falls soft like moments passed that make your spirit ache
Escaping distant echoes that the stillness can’t control
where winter’s icy touch can take possession of your soul
The water whispers promises of places not so grey
and journeys planned to warmer shores where shadows fade away


~whitefeather: “Winter Lake”

A cool winter breeze
sky and lake a pale blue
ushers in the freeze
My memories drift
wavelets on crystal clear lake
warmth from your embrace


~Piffin: “Beyond Birch and Briar”

West of the village, beyond birch and briar, where fen gave way to open water, Grandfather taught me to catch tadpoles.

Barefoot I was, and young, clambering about in the old wooden rowboat, hungry for adventure, the fullness of a life.

Grandfather taught me patience. He taught me inner peace. He taught me to catch them without net, barehanded and gentle. One with the water; one with the prey.

Sometimes, Grandfather would leave the village to do his work in the cities of men. Sometimes for weeks; sometimes months. In his absence, I would practice. Fish and frog. Bird and rabbit. Patient. Gentle.

Upon his return, he would marvel proudly at how much I had grown. I would wonder, in secret, at how much he had aged. A line to his face, a bend to his back. Thick, black hair going to white, going to wisp.

He would tell me stories of the people he had met, the things he had seen. I would show him what I had learned. On wood of boat or moss of bog, I would call the prey to my hand.

Always, Grandfather would smile.

Always, Grandfather would leave again, to do his work in the cities of men.

One night, on a full moon of my seventeenth year, Grandfather returned, waking me from slumber with an aged hand on my arm, a whisper in my ear.

We took the rowboat out on the water. I helped him in. I rowed.

He talked of his work, of how he had grown too old to do it any longer. He talked of how it was my time, my turn to take up the family craft.

Removing the tool of his trade from a coat pocket with veined hand, he pressed it into mine.

Grandfather sat with his back to me, face to the sky. He talked, distantly, of Cassiopeia and Venus and the Dog Star.

I moved without rocking the boat. Nary a creak. Nary a ripple.

He talked of the Seven Sisters as I placed the garrote around his neck.


West of the village, beyond birch and briar, where fen gave way to open water, Grandfather taught me to kill.


~BarTalk: seasons


Impromptu: commemorate, gesture

~Piffin: “A Capella Mute”

Woad-blue spirals, naked flesh
Mustard seed on a rock
Teen drunk trashing front lawn crèche
Mustard seed on a rock
Poring over catechism
Mustard seed on a rock
Serves to widen eyes and schism
Mustard seed on a rock
On my knees in concupiscence
Mustard seed on a rock
The gesture a coincidence
Mustard seed on a rock
My trembling tongue, your sacred flower
Mustard seed on a rock
Commemorate my finest hour
Mustard seed on a rock
Mustard seed on a rock


~Greymane: Windows

I sang an empty silence to commemorate the night
I followed dark illusions that refused to see the light
I hungered for the passions I had buried in my sin
I danced within the shadows of the choices I had been
I marveled at the gesture that my weakness tried to make
and I laughed to keep from crying with my sanity at stake
The windows I had shattered and the doors I nailed shut
were just wounds that never healed ’til I made the final cut


~Zune: Some thoughts

Summer seems to be here and I am supposedly off the hook from my studies. Commemorations, hopefully, for well done achievements throughout this semester should be prepared, but knowing how pestiferous and bashful my perception of gatherings are, these celebrations may have to wait. I understand that the gesture of those who may have an idea of what’s going on with my attitude intent to alleviate me of my self producing miseries, but I’ve become that way because of the many days observing today’s pretense of being.


~Whitefeather:  untitled

A small gathering
to commemorate his life
Contempt in silence
an Anonymous gesture
plot and headstone paid in full.


~BarTalk: hand talk

~ . ~

Read Full Post »