Wordgrove Post & Review

Quoted in the Grove:
When Life does not find a singer to sing her heart, she produces a philosopher to speak her mind.
~Kahlil Gibran

There was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only think you could do – determined to save the only life you could save.
~Mary Oliver

Becoming a writer is not a ‘career decision’ like becoming a doctor or a policeman. You don’t choose it so much as get chosen, and once you accept the fact that you’re not fit for anything else, you have to be prepared to walk a long, hard road for the rest of your days.
~Paul Auster

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Posted from the Grove:

Winners of the 2015 Wordgrove Prize
Gold Torch Award
(3 way tie – in alphabetical order)

~Jessalee: Provisions
~noxy: shadow
~Piffin: The Resurrection Machine

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Silver Quill

Poetry ~ Greymane: Asylum in A Minor
Prose ~ Greymane: Silent Shadows
Multimedia ~ Piffin: The Resurrection Machine

Winning entries will be featured on black display stairs near Writers Platform until the Sunday Ides of March, two days before St Patrick’s.

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Prewritten for Thurs (03/05) @6pm PT/9 ET is: chivalry, newfangled

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@Writers Platform
Glass Table: No new drops

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Prewritten: visceral, satiated

~Greymane: Somewhere In Sanity  (qif)

Persnickety pacifists praying for peace
If they remain silent will violence increase?
Impingement of shadows that do as they please
Infernal combustion that screams on it’s knees

Calling for freedom from all that enslaves
Escaping from hell with one foot in their graves
A battle with blasphemy spoken in rhyme
A journey to passions that scattered with time

Somewhere in sanity, dark and arcane,
A promise defeated the lies that remain
Chained by iniquity, hanging by threads,
In prisons of solace at home in their heads

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~Piffin: “Wake”  (qif)

I fear a serene passing
Distinction unbegot
A tranquil everlasting
Calming sunrise on my plot
A clear and crystal azure dawn
From which clouds are exempt
A perfect patch of summer lawn
Persnickety and kempt
When death serves as impingement
On my day-to-day routine
As stark, still-life infringement
On the workings of this soft machine
I dread a weak implosion
As my soul lets go its flame
Instead of an explosion
Across time, spelling my name
When I give up the podium
No breath with which to speak
I’ll even accept odium
As flag on vaunted peak
For, once I’ve swum the mystery
Of life’s dark, chilly lake
Reviewing my brief history
I fear I’ll leave no wake

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~BarTalk:  gourmand’s lament

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Impromptu: visceral, satiate

~Piffin:  “Boob Tube Canoodling”

Your body in the doorway
In cool blue electric light
Reminds me why I long to stay
At home with you at night
Petite and yet curvaceous
Formidable yet safe
Flexible, audacious
A daemon pixie waif
Your touch, my solitary need
Your flesh, the thing I crave
I live to have you, I concede,
To rut and rant and rave
Your love is something visceral
A midnight prairie fire
A sweaty nitroglyceral
Explosion of desire
Your lust I yearn to satiate
To roll you in the clover
I only ask, Could you please wait?
My show is almost over

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~Greymane: Dumbfounded  (qif)

The visceral actions of women toward men
Will keep them dumbfounded again and again
They leap before looking and speak out of pride
Attempting to keep all their feelings inside
Chasing desires they cannot satiate
Creatures of passions their egos create
Following virtues they dare to admire
Out of the frying pan into the fire
beset by the mercy of women at large
The fairer sex seems to be fully in charge

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~Greenie: It Was (ei)

Exhibiting frailties and nobility, lust and virility, from Pan to Icarus, the dreamed-of one and the honey spot

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~Jessalee:  untitled  (qif)

day of thanks has come around
family eating traditional fare
gluttony and merriment abound
visceral turkey gnaw and tear

then the bone of wish is found
and i pull as hard as i dare
losing again, my eyes go round
no longer satiated as i glare

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