Archive for March, 2015

Quoted in the Grove:
Many women, who do not dress modestly, lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which increases earthquakes.
~Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi

Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians.
~Pat Roberston

Grown men should not be having sex with prostitutes unless they are married to them.
~Jerry Falwell


Posted from the Grove:
Wordgrove’s Thurs Word Games are almost always productive of good new work. Writing remains the reason for getting together, but it is the private and poignant extras, the emotional highs that come out of the evening’s conversations that make junkies of those attending. Tax time seems a good opportunity for WG’s Word Games to account for time spent on Thurs evenings, of personal costs and value received.

By the numbers, the evening starts at 6:00 Pacific Time/9:00 Eastern. There is an easy laxness about this, as people arrive when they can or want to. Nutters (members of club Wordgrove), who have completed the week’s Prewritten assignment drop their work at this time. The Impromptu writing exercise usually starts on time an hour later. Usually. Sometimes tho that first hour passes anonymously, invisibly; time gets lost in conversation and the real chat starts early. Wordgrove is a club for readers and writers, but it also about words spoken in conversation and about the ideas explored in chat.

Apparently benefiting from the time alone that’s needed for writing, the best of these conversations usually take place after this exercise. Subject matter ranges from sweet to caustic to saucy to woo woo speculation and blind plunges into the wild unknown. No two weeks are ever the same, and the same night’s chat will veer precipitously and cross borders with impunity. It’s often funny, and often about sex.

The liveliness of these exchanges often depends on which open, unwalled-up personalities are in attendance that evening. While the evening’s sponsor is friendly and makes an agreeable and attentive audience, someone with a theatrical spark is needed to open the windows and doors of dialog for others. The evening usually ends on a high note 2-3 hours later after something particularly splendid has been said, when nothing more can be said to top it.

Visitors and new writers are always welcome. Bring a pen.


Prewritten for Thurs (04/17) @6pm PT/9 ET is: a pic


@Writers Platform
Glass Table: no new drops


Prewritten: elation, dubious

~whitefeather: untitled (qif)

In my lost memories,
pictures decay

White walls slowly,
fade into grey

A passage through life,
minutes drift

Time’s passing heartbreak,
youths beauty does forsake

Mirror’s reflection,
now wrinkled, and bent

Time overtakes like a flood,
pitch black

Death’s silent emptiness,
“tick tock, tick tock”

Does eternity greet with elation,
or dubious devastation

My soul,
like a bird caged in the sky

Whispers of passing time,
a mocking cry

…waiting for me


~Piffin: haiku  (qif)

Independence Day
With dubious elation
Our forefathers weep


~BarTalk: the exit


Impromptu: carouse, ostrich

~Piffin: “Stallion”

Pink cotton, candied apples,
Honeyed peanuts, sans shell
A meal fit for a sugar rush king
‘Round we go
Carousing on this carousel
Laughing, stretching for the brass ring
Cricket rides a unicorn
PJ rides a polar bear
Father and mother in swan sled most grand
I’ve wrangled an ostrich
Wind in my hair
Reins in my hand, head out of the sand
A Sunday adventure
In Asbury Park
A champion on my giant bird
Surrounded by loved ones
And when it gets dark
I’ll ride back home without a word
Lost in dreams of my stallion absurd


~Greymane: untitled (qif)

There was a drunken ostrich who did nothing but carouse
He danced for the ladies hoping interests would arouse
He told them twisted tales he constructed on the spot
Sometimes he would get lucky, more than often he would not
But come that fateful Friday when she waddled in the bar
He played for her affections with reactions bizarre
She slapped a collar on his neck and whispered a command
he stuck his tail in the air, his head beneath the sand
She climbed upon his feathered back and slapped him on his butt
He took her where she told him to and kept his fat beak shut
He carried her from that day forth but always wore a smile
They say an ostrich never flies but runs a crooked mile


~Jessalee: untitled (based on a true story – qif)

vacation carousing
on the costa del sol
scenes arousing
booze takes it toll

fade bright lights
enter boardwalk, sand
wide starry nights
bonfires and…

moving closer, locals now
‘ayeee venaca!’
we run, and how!
smiling drunkenly… whaaa?

a creature roasting
on a bonfire spit
large body toasting
but that’s not it

on our first meetings
now we all spy
as we give greetings
the wings and the eye

opposite ends, how absurd
of the long spit rod
body and head of a bird
how terribly odd

and though these spaniards
were still more smoking
we fought our innards
and hoped they were joking

long neck on the pole
cooking hotly
with the whole
ostrich body

pointing with new fear
‘que bueno’ i say
and grab a cold beer
and let come what may.


~BarTalk: not-a-haiku

 ~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:
Manners are the hypocrisy of a nation. ~ Honore de Balzac

The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity. ~ Andre Gide

The only vice that cannot be forgiven id hypocrisy. The repentance of a hypocrite is itself hypocrisy. ~ William Hazlitt



The words for this week’s Prewritten are: dubious; elation.


Prewritten (Mar 19): sordid; sacred.

BarTalk: “the opposite sex” (qif)

she praised it as sacred
his preference was sordid
her beauty none bested
he was dirty and low-bred
but jointly they sure did


Greymane: Haiku (qif)

Alone with her thoughts
Victim of her own desires
Sordid and Sacred


Piffin: “Something Good” (qif)

As I walk on the beach
The sun sparkles the waves
Just like dreams out of reach
And the watery graves
Of the plans that I had
And the things I don’t do that I should
After goodnight was said
It turned into good morning
We lay in my bed
As rain fell like a warning
I lied in my head
And I told myself
We were something good
But empty collisions
Like the tracks on my arms
And half-hearted incisions
‘Neath bracelets of charms
Are meaningless notches
Under sweaty hands
On headboards of wood
As I moan the refrain
Of a life unrewarded
And ply prayers in vain
Simple, sacred and sordid
And perfectly profane
As they tumble to Heaven
Silent and misunderstood
Like the years I have wasted
Waiting for something good


Impromptu (Mar 19): trauma; ludicrous.

Bartalk: “BBQ” (qif)

the episode was hilarious
the trauma was ludicrous
the boss was hungry
not even angry
added salt chewed his ass


Jessalee: Haiku (qif)

bang! questions galore.
ludicrous. black lives matter.
trauma, meet justice.


Greymane: “Battle Scars” (qif)

Tortured by traces of who she has been
She’s hiding the battle scars carved in her skin
A weather worn warrior distant but sane
With ludicrous badges for unanswered pain
Running from trauma she prays she’ll survive
She hurts herself hoping to feel alive
Her mind holds an enemy weary with shame
A light in the shadows that whispers her name
The voices pursuing won’t leave her alone
She steps into darkness to brave the unknown


Whitefeather: Untitled (qif)

I’d rather feel pain
acknowledging I’m human,
than nothing at all

I stood the fool with
ludicrous intensity
blinded by your charm

altered by trauma
my life took a different path
now I feel clearly

the gift you give me
as you make your presence known
memories return


Piffin: “Slide” (qif)

I’m gonna slide
I’m gonna take the low ride
Gonna break for the outside
Leave the rest of these fools beached at high tide
I’m gonna burn
Go straight when they tell me to turn
Strike a match with unconcern
You can keep what’s left in a mantel urn
This game is unforgiving
This dubious honor of living
They gold plate the rule
Then bounce you from school
Like a fish on the yard for the shivving
Life lessons are ludicrous
From the moment you drop from the uterus
You fight for your breath
As you move toward your death
Through a drama of trauma most humorous
I’m gonna glide
Sing songs salacious and snide
Gonna skip with my laces untied
Take this wreck of a rag doll worldwide
I’m gonna slide
I’m gonna slide



Key ~

qif: quoted in full


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Quoted in the Grove:
Bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew.
~Charles Dickens

It came like magic in a pint bottle; it was not ecstasy but it was comfort.
~Charles Dickens

Sometimes too much to drink is barely enough.
~Mark Twain


Posted from the Grove:

Cinderella takes on Belle from Beauty and the Beast in this Princess Rap Battle. Words cut like saber slashes, leave no blood


Prewritten for Thurs (03/19) @6pm PT/9 ET is: sordid, sacred


@Writers Platform

Glass Table:

~Piffin: “Moon-Sized Moon”

There was a moon-sized moon gold balloon sparkle winter love
A train on the L, metal meteor cast
Me below in my boots, payday loot in my driving glove
With spectral white breath pulling me sidewalk fast
As I searched for a way to say, “Hey, I belong to you.”
A way to express all my best behavior
Through Chinatown snow, chopsticks, origami zoo
Chapstick lips
There was a blue-green plaid shirted guy in the jewelry store
The evening I captured heaven on a chain
Gold-plated curved heart cathedral door
It’s all in a name
I’m all in your name
I’m all in
Your name on a chain on my skin


Prewritten: volcanic, suffocate, tiptoe, calibrate

~Greymane: Sacrifice

There once was a chief near the Barrier Reef
in charge of the natives at hand
He found some relief they all shared his belief
that their spirits were part of the land
They got down on their knees and they tried to appease
the god of the mountain of fire
He ignited the breeze with a volcanic sneeze
extinguishing all they desire
The chief sat alone on his coconut throne
as he offered his fearful advice
He said he was shown that the way to atone
was to offer a dark sacrifice
With virgins in rows where the lava light glows
they picked the one showing less fright
Nobody knows why the girl that they chose
tiptoed away in the night
They thought it a sign when the next girl in line
slept with the chief’s only son
A third would decline to inhabit the shrine
and so it went ’til there were none
The village afraid with no virgins to trade,
their destiny finally arrived
The god now betrayed let his wrath be displayed
assuring that no one survived
The volcano burst, inflicting its worst,
seasoned with sulfur and ash
Quenching its thirst as the island submersed
without a discernible splash


~Piffin:  “Dosage”

The exultation
The pheromones
This elation
This vibration in my bones
Dark souls parade and quiver
Black boots keep time beneath
While vodka flows, a river
Past the pills between my teeth
I calibrate the dosage
To suffocate my mind
To open up my third eye
While I drink my body blind
You trip through my periphery
You tiptoe into view
You’re everything I want to be
I leave with you
I leave with you
Kiss me
In the taxi
Touch me
In the rain
Take me
To your feathered world
Of peace and perfect pain
Wake me
Take me
I’m yours
Make me
On the frantic moth dance
Shadow of your shores
Lead me to your darkness
With smile and leather glove
I’ll pretend I trust you
But I won’t pretend it’s love
I’ll calibrate the dosage
So my heart won’t trail me in
I calibrate the dosage
When I sin


~BarTalk: Flounder Milquetoast


Impromptu: twilight, chariot

~Piffin:  haiku

Horseless chariot
Crows squabble on tattered cloth
Twilight on empire


~Odin: untitled

Seeking a destination I know not where
carried always by an eight-legged chariot without a care.

Always traveling from here to there
discovering wonder that can lay men bare.

Truth will always maintain status quo
but lies can be the liberator’s blow.

Fury is the secret that will always show
what lies beneath encouraged to grow.

Twilight will be upon us one day
but refusing to live is never the way.

Live each moment well, and stay
with those you love, avoid the fray.

In the infant’s bellowing cry we hear
that which is our greatest fear.

Rejoice, and be of good cheer
lest I take you with my spear!

Always hidden is the good plunder,
that can bless you or tear you asunder.


~Greymane: Confessions

She climbed on her chariot gilded with tears
and tried to escape from the weight of her years
While riding temptation from twilight ’til dawn
it shook her so hard she could barely hold on
Through a thundering tempest that rose from her soul
and confessions of weakness that swallowed her whole
She journeyed through darkness that left her alone
Searching for comfort that chills to the bone
Her storm calling lonely but dancing with grace
silently wrapped her in winter’s embrace


~whitefeather: haiku

Chariot of stars
Glowing moon carves a crescent
Twilight paints the night


~Jessalee: haiku

his death met softly
a chariot back to dark
at home in twilight


~BarTalk:  ride the sun

~ . ~

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