Archive for July, 2015

The Slave to Love Issue July 27



Quoted in the Grove:



I love your lips when they’re wet with wine and red with wicked desire.


~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox



Be no longer tender.

Cover me with frenzied kisses—even as I would drench my body in the cruel torrents of the rain.

Envelop me from throat to ankle in delirium intolerable…


~ Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff



I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;

Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:

Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,

Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.


~ William Shakespeare



Look, if you want to torture me, spank me, lick me, do it. But if this poetry shit continues just shoot me now please.

~ Tank Girl






The prompt for this week’s Prewritten Exercise is:


I had the sensation of bobbing on waves, though I’ve never been on open water.




Prewritten (July 23):


Prompt One ~ translucent; libation.





“The Gelding Shed”


The ploy was translucent
Ply with drink to seduce
And libation of rum juice
And in the carriage house
Baby trap a tipsy spouse






“Distant Shores”

Seven sottish sailors with a barrel full of booze
tried to ride the stardust tide aboard a midnight cruise
They sailed a trail of comet tails painted in the sky
They prayed for breeze to calm the seas no angel dared to fly
They set their sail beyond the veil that shelters weary eyes
Translucent phosphorescent hues of oceanic lies
They sang a dirge of dreams submerged in shadows of the stars
and shared a famed libation named The Lemonade of Mars
They journeyed seas past galaxies exploring silent moons
As each one sinned they lost their wind adrift in dark typhoons
They ran aground and nearly drowned beneath the wicked waves
Where sirens call a laughing squall to lead them to their graves
The mystic misty mariners prepared their last goodbyes
The distant shores forevermore illusion in disguise






“Running from the Start”

I have to wonder
At my God and His creation
This child of thunder,
Ludic laughter and libation
I have no guilt
About my journey into darkness
I was not built
For herald angels and their harkness
Life isn’t living if your will isn’t free
They say love is forgiving, baby, give yours to me
And look my way
Or look astray
But, looking like you do,
I fill my hand
In ardent stand
So you believe it’s true
That I wasn’t running from the start

The night is pitch
But all her shadows are translucent
She scratch my itch
And I am drawn by the inducement
My boots made bolder
By the potions I have swallowed
Over my shoulder
I see, once more, you have followed
I’d rather leave you, babe, than lead you to harm
But this rainy day girl could use a shot in the arm
So tie me down
Or tie me off
Just tie me up again
Then tie me at the finish line
And we can both pretend
That I wasn’t running from the start
I wasn’t running from the start
I wasn’t running
From the start




And now, a brief word from our sponsor (courtesy of TommyO):








Prompt Two ~ man cave (courtesy of Jukie):





Workday done, and boy am I beat
Long day, weary my feet
Family happy, chores complete
I hightail to my retreat

Just a shed, but still my home
Where I can be totally alone
Sanity kept, no need to roam
Complete with cable, wifi and phone

And though my life has been kind
I still need my own space to unwind
That old feeling in my man cave I find
And hope like hell it don’t make me blind







A warm escape from worldly weight
A place to misbehave
A place that we can contemplate
The comfort that we crave
We dial down as we sedate
What sanity we save
All obligations dissipate
Bearied in our cave











Impromptu (July 23): bathtub; indelible.





“The Glimpse Encounter”


Chance glance, incredible
Inked in color, indelible
Bathroom, she in her skin
Fetchingly edible holding
Two pints of bathtub gin







Death took a holiday sometime in June
to sow his dead oats and to howl at the moon
His doctor prescribing a summer of sin
of hot tub bikinis and bathtubs of gin
He flew to the islands in search of cheap fun
His pallid grey skin needing time in the sun
He packed up his scythe and he summoned his staff
In his absence he promised them time and a half
Mai Tais and luaus and dancing ’til dawn
but the balance of nature stops cold when he’s gone
He had no idea the chaos he’d cause
by defying the progress of natural laws
His absence had thrown the whole world out of synch
with each destiny carved in indelible ink
When the universe noticed that no one had died
The powers that be had his passport denied
Death stumbled home to his deathly domain
with a thundering pounding parade in his brain
The balance of life for both living and dead
dangles by dangerous delicate thread






on my honor, i will try
there’s a duty to be done
so i say aye
to remove these rings from this tub.
my honor is to try and my duty is to scrub.

people don’t need to know my name
if i’ve not scrubbed well then i’m to blame.
if there are no residual marks for you to see
then i’ve done my job well enough to me.

i’ve tucked away a memory or two
and when i’m feeling low, i say this to you:
indeliable mark, and i will come
to scrub away that filthy scum.

on my honor, i will try
for the american dream,
and i say “aye.”
there’s a reason here that i still scrub
my dream is to live well and to rise above.





The parking garage was part of the old shopping mall that stood at the edge of town. The mall was demolished a few years back. Seems the upper-crusters of the town didn’t take kindly when the squatters took up residence in the old Foot Locker or Cinnabon. So the called in the bulldozers one day, tossed in a few tear gas canisters then began to push the building into a huge rubble pile. Me, I could understand squatting in the Foot Locker. Maybe find some old Air Jordan’s to impress the other squatters, but living in the Cinnabon with the indelible aroma of cinnamon or that iced glaze that could clog an artery at a thousand yards – that was just cruel. You had to be the lowest squatter on the squatter totem pole to pull the Cinnabon.

Anyway the mall was gone and the only scar left of 1980’s greed was the 7 story parking garage and no reason to park there unless you were dealing drugs or having one of those classy affairs with your secretary in the back seat of an Oldsmobile. David had said that I needed to go up to the top and see what was there. You couldn’t drive the ramps cause the chamber of commerce had insisted that some of the rubble be used to barricade the parking structure. You could make it to the top in one of those gas guzzling Humvee tank cars, or a 1987 Oldsmobile cutlass with a secretary in the back seat. All I had was my two feet, too much time on my hands, and not enough good sense to tell David to kiss off. He joined me on this litter adventure.

On level three he turned to me and started to push me toward the edge of the garage. He was playing around so I grabbed him by his backpack, kicked out his knee and began to drag him toward the edge. Man can Dave fight like a cat in a burlap back when he needs to. All I was able to do was toss his ball cap over the edge and the two of us watched it flutter down to the broken pavement below. When it hit, he just turned to me and mouthed ‘asshole.’ We both laughed. That’s what friends do.

We broke into the glaring sunlight of the top floor of the garage. When our eyes adjusted we didn’t find any Humvees or Oldsmobile’s. Just broken chunks of concrete from the mall and a few parking lot light poles that had been rammed by drunk high schoolers until the place looked like it was littered with gigantic alien antenna pointing homeward in all weird directions.

“See it?” he said.

“No. You idiot. I don’t see anything.” I stopped, ‘cause I did see it, or at least I thought I saw it. “You mean that thing?” David nodded. In the middle of the floor sat one of those old claw bath tubs. Painted in horrendous florescent paint, all sunflowers and daises. The only thing more out of place would be David at a graduation ceremony.

We walked over to it and saw that there was ‘stuff’ in the tub. “It gets better,” David said as we got near. “it’s full of books.’ He said. Not just books mind you, text books. Old, heavy, 400 pagers. I picked one up and looked at the title. “An der Entstehung der Arten.” Gibberish as far as I was concerned. It wasn’t English, and it wasn’t porn. I wasn’t interested. Flipping through the first few pages I did recognize a name: Charles Darwin. I showed the cover page to David.

“Didn’t they name an award after him, you know for being stupid and dying?” That rang a bell, so I snapped the cover shut and threw the book at him. David had cat like reflexes and he ducked the tome as it whizzed passed his forehead. My guess is it landed somewhere near his ball cap.

Looking through that weird bathtub on top of an abandoned parking garage was a mystery – no doubt about it. By the time we walked outa there and picked up David’s ball cap we forgot all about it.






“Cain’s Bathtub”

I lose heart
I lose hope
As I work with the soap
And I fight this indelible smudge
I scrape and I scrub
But, with God as my judge,
This damnable mark just won’t budge





Faerie Web

“Faerie Web”





Glass Table





Nexus ~ A Collection (Previously Reviewed)








You cast brown eyes upon me

Like a line into my ocean

And caught a frail piranha

That you should have thrown back in

I wooed you with pornography

Vanilla body lotion

And soul Americana

Picking fights I’ll never win

I want to beat John Boehner up

And fuck Ani Difranco

I want to steal a Sherman tank

And drive it through the mall

Or hitchhike to Bolivia

And rob myself a banco

And die, more butch than Sundance,

With my back against the wall

Still, you back every silly scheme

Each pharma-fueled ambition

And help me to the garden

Where we watch the setting sun

While night begins to fall

A response call to my condition

I find the strength to stand

And hold the moonlight in my hand

Just like a gun


I take myself on trips sometimes

That fairytale beginning

When I only looked forward

To the memories we’d share

I never thought I’d be the type

To wonder who was winning

Or feel the ice in Spanish eyes

That cut me with a stare

Most days I walk a tightrope

It’s an act I have a flair for

While you run far below me

Stretching nets from end to end

Some mornings I feel all you need

Is something broke to care for

It’s on those somber mornings

I curse wings that never mend

Though afternoons are golden

Laughter teeming like a shower

That lights the brilliant colors

Of this tapestry we’ve spun

Some evenings there is only dusk

That holds a weary hour

Where words escape

That blow holes in the things we cherish most

Just like a gun


I love that you don’t pity me

My past or weak illusions

You love that I take comfort

In the honesty you crave

You hate it when I hate myself

And all life’s grim conclusions

And lie here on this bed of ours

As if it were my grave

My hand around my throat

A useless noose, a faithless daughter

I cry inside for darkness

You undress and close the door

You walk across my moat

A barefoot saint upon the water

While I lie here in candlelight

Caparisoned for war

You penetrate my armor

With Latina ammunition

Warm lips that grace the nylons

On my legs, each careless run

‘Til I give up my foxhole

In this fray of soft attrition

And finally lay my heart down in surrender

At your feet

Just like a gun






“Big As The Sky”


Reaching for rainbows and tripping on stars

I followed the future she told with her scars.

I called for an answer, she leapt at the sun

and ran from a feeling she could not outrun.


Her eyes told a story, her passion a song

In all of her glory how could I belong?

She took my hand softly, I started to fly,

My heart opened up to her big as the sky.


She opened her arms and I quickly fell in

My lost soul returning from where it had been.

Drifting forgotten and lost in the black

I took hold of her magic and found my way back.


Her radiance blinding me, nothing unsaid,

She lovingly pulled me back into my head.

Her heavenly body could make anyone cry.

My feelings had grown for her big as the sky.


From the Sea of Tranquility to way beyond Mars

It’s hard to hold on to the spirit of stars.

If someone would find me alone on the moon

They’d say that I left Earth a little too soon.


But call me an angel to strap to my sleigh

And you’ll find I will meet you a bit past halfway.

From this moment on ’til our final goodbye

There’s a home in my heart for her big as the sky.






“Slave to Love”


Written and Performed by: Bryan Ferry

Guitar: David Gilmour

Tell her I’ll be waiting
In the usual place
With the tired and weary
And there’s no escape

To need a woman
You’ve got to know
How the strong get weak
And the rich get poor

Slave to love

Slave to love

You’re running with me
But don’t touch the ground
We’re the restless hearted
Not the chained and bound

The sky is burning
A sea of flame
Though your world is changing
I will be the same

Slave to love

Slave to love

Slave to love

Slave to love

And I can’t escape
I’m a slave to love

Can you help me…

Can you help me…

The storm is breaking
Or so it seems
We’re too young to reason
Too grown up to dream

And the spring is turning
Your face to mine
I can hear your laughter
I can see your smile

Slave to love

Slave to love

And I can’t escape
I’m a slave to love

Slave to love

Slave to love

And I can’t escape
I’m a slave to love

Slave to love

And I can’t escape
I’m a slave to love

Slave to love

And I can’t escape
I’m a slave to love

Slave to love…




(Photography by Piffin)





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Quoted in the Grove:
As long as it’s trash talk, anything goes.
~Connie Wallace

All is fair in love and trash talk.
~Hans Stroo

He’s got a little fight in him, got a little bit of an attitude. He talks a little trash. But that’s part of what makes him great. All the great ones do that.
~Kerry Collins

Trash talk always inspires me.
~Vince Young


Posted from the Grove:
The pull of the season is primal and the call to be outdoors instead of online for a summer evening … well, that’s not really a contest, is it. The low turnout has its compensations however. It’s not that we’ve traded quantity for quality during our summer scatter, but the conversation has turned from light informal chat to something more personal. And we have more time for visitors. Those unable to make it due to the weight of their summer bliss know they are missed. We wait your return so we can grow that conversation.


An interesting take on finding the right word, suggested by Greymane:


Prewritten for Thurs (07/23) @6pm PT/9 ET is: aural, spider


@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Greymane: Dem Eyes

Enticing his ardour by flaunting her bloom
Her glistening petals would lead to his doom
Her fine sculpted stems and voluptuous pods
Her sweet flowing nectar too tasty for gods
She offered fulfillment of all that he craved
With poisonous passions that left him enslaved
She beckons him softly with scented embrace
her dew leaving traces of love on his face
He entered her slowly with virile finesse
She took his life silent with gentle caress
Each garden is lovely, at least at first glance
but the dangers of nature may lead to romance
By flowers and fragrance and love in disguise
Another poor bumblebee meets his demise


Prewritten: invigorate, rejuvenate

~Greymane: Silk Slinger

There rode a six-gun spider with a gun in every hand
Feared throughout the wicked west, the fastest in the land
The most alluring cowboy that the world had ever seen
He left a trail of broken hearts from Dodge to Abilene
Every week or two or three there’d come a hired gun
He buried them in shallow graves beneath the desert sun
The mantis tried to gun him down, the scorpion the same
The ants would hunt him one by one to try to steal his fame
He heard their beating hearts and felt each movement in the breeze
With heightened spidey senses and his aural expertise
And so it went for forty years, they’d hunt him down and die
It always ended much the same but each one had to try
Many times he tried to change and mend his evil ways
But fate demanded vengeance the remainder of his days
The deep lament that tortured him could not be brushed aside
A piece of him would die when he’d commit insecticide
A spider’s grown too old when his regrets replace his dreams
The judgment day that waits for us is closer than it seems
His gun beside his pillow he laid down for one last time
He tried to sleep by counting sheep, a critter for each crime
In soft repose he kept his last appointment with the Lord
Trapped within his tangled web he’d come to his reward


~Piffin:  “Step”

I step to the ocean
I step to the sea
I step to the water
When she calls to me
I step from the pile
Of my daytime skin
Silk, hope, worry
Abercrombie and sin
I stand barefooted
In the midnight ebb
A butterfly flirting
With a spider web
I could swim straight out
I could swim straight down
I could swim forever
Never wash off this town
All the people that need me
All the people that don’t
All the mouths that I’ve kissed
All the asses I won’t
Dervishes spinning
For heavenly sport
Through lives full of meaning
Grim, pointless and short
Eyes closed, I petition
Cold gods to appease
My skin kissed by moonlight
My ears by the breeze
Pop porn priestess
Aural sex
Spilling through the air
From the audio decks
Of the cars purring heavy
At the boulevard lights
Hunters in the tall grass
Of Saturday night
Where sidewalk and bistro
Sport leather and chrome
And still, mother ocean
Is calling me home
Where whitecap and brine
Serve to flower the tomb
Of loving embrace
Of black, peaceful womb
Then I think of a heart
Needs my help now and then
And I step from the ocean again


~BarTalk:  Two Times Nonsense


Impromptu: harmony, ruination

~Greymane: Ruination

The rampant ruination of the remedy at hand
Corrupted the conspiracy that shadowed what they planned
They cowered in the crevices they carved within their hate
They stood against the harmony forgiveness can’t create
They traveled through the reverie to distant muddy shores
They shattered pains of broken glass to barricade locked doors
The dove in pits of darkness hanging desperate from a thread
They dreamed a dream of empty light believing they were dead
An open wound that never heals that wrapped around their throat
They begged a ride upon a prayer in hopes that they would float


~Piffin:  haiku

Red lips moon straight sips
In furious harmony
My ruination


~BarTalk: song of love

~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:
On the whole human beings want to be good, but not too good, and not quite all the time.
~George Orwell

O Lord, help me to be pure, but not yet.
~Saint Augustine

Lead us not into temptation. Just tell us where it is; we’ll find it.
~Sam Levenson


Posted from the Grove:
It isn’t often that visitors to our Thurs Word Games hijack the evening and turn it from good times into something magical. You mustn’t throw stones for calling it so, because any visit that overrides the Impromptu exercise with sparkling ping-pong conversation that carries late into the evening deserves a mention. A special welcome and thank you to Mary_Helen and pose4me for bringing something more to the evening than expected. We like surprises.


Writers draw their maps of the world with words. Musical notations provide for the mapping of sound thru time. Then there are the usual maps. Useful maps. Boring maps. Cartographers may find them fascinating, but they are static by nature … except for the eye-snapping exception. Below, the link to 32 maps that teach something new about the world.



For the word-lover this little gem, a lexical zoo for the different and the exotic word. This link brought to you by Piffin via Greymane.

Prewritten for Thurs (07/16) @6pm PT/9 ET is: spider, aural


@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Piffin: All That There Is Tonight

Sirens rode the heat through the open window
Debbie held a lighter under a spoon
3 AM and the kids were still screaming
In the street like it was midafternoon
Chino watched them play through the fire escape
Like he was watching from inside a cage
Debbie sat naked on the edge of the bed
Butane shadows made her look twice her age
The cellphone sat lifeless in bureau debris
A rabbit’s foot keychain, a handful of dimes
Three pills, a matchbook, a telephone number
That Chino had called one too many times
Debbie said, “Nothing” as she glared at the spoon
And Chino said nothing in return
Instead, he watched the kids through the fire escape
Thought, It comes around quick, boys,
So don’t miss your turn
Like I did
And Debbie got up from the bed
Like I did
She walked over to Chino and said,
“Babe, is this all there is?”
Her body in yellow street light
“Babe is this all there is?”
He said, “It’s all that there is tonight”
Like I did


Prewritten:  fox, dubious

~Greymane: Cloister

He was strong like the bull but was crazy like fox
The lunatic danced in the rain in his socks
He wrapped his lost reason with martyred despair
The smothering vestige of dubious prayer
Somewhere within the dark folds of his mind
he venerates vacive malefic mankind
Alone in the cloister he built in his head
His demons consume him but seldom are fed
He laughs at the voices he begs to obey
No shadow of reason remains to this day
He found himself weary and desperate for rest
so he bartered his breath for the pain he confessed


~Piffin:  “Sex With Sober Girls”

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind
Pretending you care

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind
All the little things

Good God
It’s all those little things
That break it from the start
So many meaningful quotes
So much history to share
So many amends to make
So many people to meet
So much heartache
A history of heartbreak
And I’m the fox
In the henhouse
With your foolish heart
Bleeding at my feet

I’ll hold you close
As the night falls outside
And lie to you gently
Tell you life won’t hurt anymore

I’ll hold you close
As the rain falls outside
And lie to you gently
While my eyes look for the door

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind
Taking a shaky heart
On a rough ride

It’s easy
If you don’t mind
Making strangers weep

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind
Drinking yourself to sleep

They navigate steps
While sharing their feelings
And cling to a faith
Of dubious authenticity
It’s meant to be
It’s all part of the plan
If there’s no such thing
As coincidence
Then I was meant to be

I was meant to be here
Looking for the door

I was meant to be here
Dropping your heart
On the floor

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind
Not being one of them

Sex with sober girls is easy
If you don’t mind
Hating yourself
Now and then

Sex with sober girls

Sex with sober girls

Is easy


~BarTalk: Miss Connection

~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:
Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.
~Ludwig van Beethoven

Music, of all the arts, stands in a special region, unlit by any star but its own, and utterly without meaning … except its own.
~Leonard Bernstein

Music is only love looking for words.
~Lawrence Durrell


Posted from the Grove:
If a book were to be made up of this summer’s Word Games, the chapter title for last week’s game would have to be, The Brief Welcome Return of AidenScott. The story would include a cameo appearance by Jessalee, as herself, in the role of Announcing Angel … before vanishing again.

The slow hot days, the quest for shade and moving air, the torpid nights, all of summer’s influences seem to be working in tandem to bring sanity to a boil. As streams of sweat merge to form rivers deep enough for drowning, the question emerges: how were the pyramids possible without air conditioning? Also: were they nutz? And: does anyone have a refrigerated meat locker to rent out? Is it furnished?


Prewritten for Thurs (07.09) @6pm PT/9 ET is: dubious, fox


@Writers Platform

Prewritten: beseech, profane

~Greymane:  Purity Never Profaned

The princess would finally be coming of age
when next the sun rose in the sky
The king kept her locked in an opulent cage
while her childhood years passed her by
He hoped by confinement within his dark halls
her innocent soul would remain
With no understanding beyond her four walls
Her purity never profaned

A creature resided nearby in the moor
A wretched and monstrous freak
All of the kingdom was forced to endure
as he wickedly tortured the weak
The king sent a legion to slay the dark brute
and bring back his head on a pole
Instead what returned was the ripped bloody boot
of the knight who had led the patrol

The savage grew weary of carnage and war
and swore he would leave them alone
For worship and wine and for women galore
and reverence bestowed by the throne
The king did beseech him to settle for less
He laughed and he killed a few more
The king had a plan and with royal finesse
He opened the princess’s door

The sight of the princess did steal his breath
as all but her form he ignored
He fell with a thud when the king dealt his death
as he silently buried his sword
The ogre lay dying and begged for a kiss,
He mumbled and then was deceased
The princess’s innocence hard to dismiss
’twas her beauty that slayed the dark beast


~Piffin:  “Cake”

A Saturday birthday
And they made me a cake
Made me a cake
Made me
Wearing pointed hats and mirth, they,
As they made me a cake
It was almost more than I could take
They dressed me down to birthday suit
With flowers for my mane
Anti-religion, each priestess,
But pro-fane
They carried with them candles
Softly chanting my name
And I’m sure I will never be the same
My love was there amongst them
Smiling, laughing, out of reach
Hands bound, as they led me,
With my eyes did I beseech
That they show a birthday kindness
I implored them, one and each
But knew there was no mercy on their plate
They led me to the kitchen
And they made me a cake
A dozen sainted witches
Two dozen hands, for goodness sake
They laid me on the table
And they made me a cake
They covered me with icing
And they ate


~BarTalk: cop-out


Impromptu – a theme: sibling rivalry

~Greymane: Brothers

From the moment of conception
both the brothers were at odds
They had shared a misconception
based on ego laced facades
Instead of being brothers
who would have each others backs
They were more concerned that others
were discretely talking smack
If ever one would have a breakthrough
Altercation wouldn’t stop
No matter what the one would do
the other had to top
And so it went for eighty years
until their common death
neither ever won the war
They shared their final breath


~Piffin:  “Lineage”

The idiot son
Of an idiot’s son
Fathered an idiot daughter
She couldn’t tie shoes
And she couldn’t count ten
And she could not hold her water
Each night she would wait
At the factory gate
And she’d sell her teenage favors
The boys liked her hair
And her faraway stare
And all of her idiot flavors
When asked if she knew
How to spell her own name
The best she could do was, “Maybe”
But the idiot lass
Liked to roll in the grass
Ended up with an idiot baby
She never really learned
How a baby got birned
So I trust you’ll give her pardon
She thought it was the stork
Who blew his feathered cork
All over her cabbage garden
But she carried him proud
And she sang songs aloud
To her belly at night by the fire
She carried him nine
Hatched in the nick of time
‘Cause she could not count much higher
The baby soon grew
Into a son or two
With a personality disorder
Sometimes he was Roy
Sometimes he was Stu
Sometimes he was an idiot daughter
When left on his own
He’d cuss and he’d moan
And fight with the siblings inside him
Their rivalry
Was too much, you see,
And revenge would not be denied him
So he pointed a gun
At his mother’s only son
And said, “You’re a goner for certain”
But he missed by a mile
Chipped a kitchen floor tile
Put a hole in the living room curtain
Soon mother came home
Found her baby all alone
Saw the gun and she wet the floor some
But the boy was alright
So they settled for the night
And the two played cards as a foursome


~Dharma_Darla: haiku

sibling rivalry
multiple wivalry
several wives cause offspring wildry!


~BarTalk: brothers


Writers in Residence:

~whitefeather @Where Many Realities Collide:
“Confession / Victory”

Starting tomorrow
professing my confession
starting tomorrow
giving up my profession
starting tomorrow
embracing my transgression
starting tomorrow
victory from obsession


“Park bench”
There is something beautiful about the early mornings in the park. The quiet stillness of life waking up. It is here on this bench, I would sit and watch you play. Feeding the ducks small pieces of bread, chasing them and laughing.

If I sit here quietly, I can still hear your giggles… and see the sun shining down on your beautiful cherub face. A golden halo glowing around your hair. Hard to believe you would have been 25 today.

In my darkest times, this place is my sanctuary. With memories of you…

~ . ~

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