Wordgrove Post & Review

Quoted in the Grove:

Do stuff, be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.
~Susan Sontag

A good listener is not only popular everywhere, but after a while he gets to know something.
~Wilson Mizner

Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop. Die knowing something. You are not here long. ~Walker Evans

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Posted from the Grove:
Prewritten for Thurs (12/20), 5pm PT/8 ET is: ballerina, heartbreak

Tho whitefeather already has a poem crafted on themes of ballerina and heartbreak (see her wordgame poem: acrobat/oven), it promises such good material that we thank her for being first

~thx @Merry Christmas at Wordgrove: Found, a new paz by thx on WG’s west end that cheerfully celebrates the season. Sweet, happy, fun; includes recognition of the Christmas backstory

GaryBob suggested this week’s music video:
Miss Atomic Bomb, by: The Killers

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Note to anyone hosting flagged events in Wordgrove: We suggest not placing the flag on the Platform, as rubberbanding for 30 seconds on arrival is not the experience most visitors favor

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The last piece of business for this week is to announce that there will be a Wordgrove Prize writing contest this coming January. The theme will be announced in the last Post & Review for this year, Sun, 12/30/12.

Those entering may submit one piece in each of the three categories: Poetry, Prose, Journal (diary or blog entry, or dated essay). Length limit is 1 book, altho linking to an illustrated piece is allowed

Entrants can begin dropping their submissions on Sun, 1/13/13, voting begins a week later on 1/20, and ends Thurs midnight, 1/31. A Silver Quill is awarded in each of the categories, the Gold Torch winner is chosen by the sponsor. The award ceremony will be mid-Feb

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@Writers Platform
Library Table:
~Piffin: Trust, Word Games ~ Oct/Nov, Carousels of Glass

~Greenie: Broken Doll, Disappearing into You,

Stejovis: Pre-Written Sketches, and:
Home for the Holidays (prewritten for 12/6/12)
Delayed by storm, cold and ravenous, arriving at childhood’s home long after bedtime darkness; hand reaches for the hidden key without thinking, sneaking quietly-so-quietly not to wake her, bypassing the adhesive pull of spice and feast slow-cooking on the stove only to be busted by her … by Mom with grins and kisses and hugs better even than memory

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Prewritten: inkblot (make up your own story)
http://wordgrove.com/inkblot.html

~Stejovis: Ahnonay Portal
The keyhole, ever the keyhole, the keyhole and the beckoning mystery; the Alice of wonders on the other side waving ‘come’; first strangeness and blackness, then the stars

~Piffin: .The Monkey in My Mind.
Death by suddenness, or decision; thinking about it being a waste of time when the real question is: after, what then?

~BarTalk: The Inkblot

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~Impromptu: shackled in a Korean jail

~Piffin: .Seoul Searching.
Apart from the unforgivable pun scribed in the title, begin the story in chains, commingle memories with back road borders, twisting mountain roads, monsoon rains, danger, with destination Quonset huts a mile below in sight

~Stejovis: The Night They Raided Min Ho’s
Local thugs versus Bible smugglers in the North; into this fever pitch, add kidnapping and a chase by the national police who are easier to outrun than the communist party bullets that follow later; ends with an illegal high-speed border crossing, the crash and escape that could only be bested by the vehicle in flames; ah, the joy of shackles in a protected Korean jail

~BarTalk: Sold

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Writers in Residence:
~Stejovis @Meditatio: Tally Pieces
Once and present tally poems, with instructions and assembly kit for inquiring poets to try on their own

~Greymane @Greyed Expectations 2: Not Today
The fool, with the stale breath and clacking bones of death, taunts of the end to come; the poet concedes the point, but defies him, not today

~Jessalee @Creative Intentions (new hill site)
Looking into the new dawn sky, with the snow slow-falling looking like meteors in the sky, climbing to enter Jessa’s new watchtower paz, finding one book and the Gold Torch it earned:
Watching Winter and Notes on writing it
Tragedy and miracle, surviving alive from the waist up, and how half a life concentrates the rest; told in the poetic form with the enchanting name of envelope quintet: (abbba)

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