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…
~ . ~
Wordgrove Post & Review 