Quoted in the Grove:
While fame impedes and constricts, obscurity wraps about a man like a mist; obscurity is dark, ample, and free; obscurity lets the mind take its way unimpeded. Over the obscure man is poured the merciful suffusion of darkness. None knows where he goes or comes. He may seek the truth and speak it; he alone is free; he alone is truthful, he alone is at peace.
~Virginia Woolf
The artist, like the God of the Creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
~James Joyce
The artist must be in his work as God is in creation, invisible and all-powerful; one must sense him everywhere but never see him.
~Gustave Flaubert
~~
Posted from the Grove:
Below is a link to a guide sheet for all the documents available in There.com. Authors and merchants in There will find this page useful.
http://blucone.webklik.nl/page/theredocs#top
~
Prewritten for 04.30 @6pm PT/9pm ET: Winter Lake
https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8740/16952480976_4a64629c4f_b.jpg
~
A short cartoon, a brief history of Man’s rise; a grim vision made palatable by animated humor. “Man”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfGMYdalClU&feature=youtu.be
~~
@Writers Platform:
Glass Table: Three by BriarRoseEve
The Cook
He handed keys to the boss today, said they’re all yours now. Folded back against the chair easy with a smile that crept slow like chocolate melts down warm cake. Boss laughed like so many falling cards. Handed them back, didn’t know what to do with all those nameless twists.
Don’t know your name, something old fashioned and fine like oak and mead with a sugar melt, took and fixed those keys steady, soundless. Held one, rolled it like a loved coin between fingers. Master key. Second long wait, slides two more keys cross the ring. Men’s room. Ladies’. They gathered in your palm like fists pushed slow through raised dough.
Snack room, turn, careful. Glance up, bit of a grin in dark violin eyes. Remembers a door, key fits, clicks snap. Supply room. One like the others, not quite. Maintenance. A dozen more, no labels, silver gold bronze small dents scratch sharp edge spots mark. One you never found out which lock it freed, a mystery. Five more hummed by like notes discordant but sweet, just a hint of dismay. The end, the inevitable, final end.
He handed keys to the boss today. Slipped out with that slow chocolate smile.
Should have been a blues singer.
~
I Wonder
If I could see your eyes right now, would they seem like the sea?
Deep and caught in sunlight bright, a turquoise mystery?
Or maybe touched with gold and green, like forest nymphs in shade,
Or even dark as the vast night, immersive and star-scathed.
I wonder how your laughter sounds, how does your face light up,
And when you smile would my heart soar like cotton swept in gusts?
Your voice I dream would swing through me like melodies that lull,
The quaking heart and stormy days, the thunder that shakes all.
Your lips might sear my wondering soul, yet tenderly and kind,
Your hands might light a spark that burns this innocence that binds.
And through the days I wonder how our bond would face the time,
What dreams we’ll meet, what lands we’ll see, what obstacles we’ll climb.
And will we last until winter has gathered out so cold?
And will we warm each other’s soul until we’ve withered old?
I’m sure your smile will be the same, your laugh will stay so young,
As once in days we fell in love, through seasons come and gone.
I wonder now so many things, but know this with my heart,
Someday I’ll meet you, my sweet love, and no longer be apart.
~
The Garden
I cannot say just when it grew, this garden full of vibrant hues
But I will tell you why it breathed, what gave the plants their blooming wreaths.
I think the laughs, the joyful days, brought sunlight where once shadows stayed
And gave the fledgling doves their warmth, and mended wounds were once was hurt.
The steady trees, they listened well, even if wind brought storms to yell,
And wavered not, but gave a home, and strength to those who were alone.
And the lush ferns, like emerald gems, outstretched their leaves like open hands,
And gathered rain without a frown, not letting go nor letting down.
The innocence and honesty, was born from life that came to be:
The fawn that learned to skip and run, the jay that sang its first sweet song.
And wonder rose as each new day, brought stories new to share and say,
As bumbling bee and whispering wind, went through with tales that had no end.
It seemed as if it’d live always, forever going through its days,
Until the laughs stopped passing by, and leaves fell down with withered sigh.
The storms soon came without an end, and molded roots, and drowned its friends.
And weeds ensnared the life that once, had flourished with its endless trust.
The songs had ceased, the doves had gone, and shadows chilled and hid the sun.
And the large trees that once had stood, had fallen into rotten wood.
Sometimes I pass where it had been, the garden who had been my friend,
And missed its songs and shining tales, and all the ways it had prevailed.
But if I listen very close, beyond the rain of its dark ghost,
I hear a beat, a silent creep, of seeds still breathing, growing deep.
And wonder if some day may come, it’ll shine again its radiant sun.
~
Prewritten: victory, confession
Greymane: His Waste
Madman dancing darker dreams somewhere in his head
The silence of his sorrow hanging limply by a thread
Confessions wrapped in guilty laughter worn about his waist
He hides behind the voices his insanity embraced
Weak from hunger, cold and tired, naked and afraid
He searches through his frightened mind for wounds that he might trade
Imprisoned by the shadows he sheltered in his soul
He chains himself to nightmares built with memories he stole
Tormented by his wretched fear and torn by his defeat
He weaves appalling passions in his ribbons of deceit
He screams an invitation to the agony he’s found
and runs from what he’s left behind him shattered on the ground
His madness whispers victory he’s painted with his sin
He’s left a piece of who he was wherever he has been
~
~whitefeather: “Confession / Victory”
Starting tomorrow
professing my confession
starting tomorrow
giving up my profession
staring tomorrow
embracing my transgression
starting tomorrow
victory from obsession
~
~Dahrma_Darla: CONFESSION & VICTORY…
It is always a spiritual victory for me when I am able and available to give the multiverse my soul’s confession. Freedom from life and death, enlightenment is present, and it is the end of suffering… love you…
~
~BarTalk: just.us
~
Impromptu: vociferous, bellowing
~Greenie: Spent
Silently she screams
crying deep inside
sobs bellowing deep
so loud they cannot hide
Vociferous and cruel
wrenching forth with heat
leaving her so empty
spent and feeling beat
~
~Greymane: Abrasive
There was an old lady so blatant and proud
They tossed her in prison for crying out loud
Her boisterous nature, abrasive at best,
put the patience of everyone else to the test
She snored like thunder and yelled when awake
for even her whispers made the ground shake
She bellowed her pleasure while screaming in vain
the vociferous thoughts that her head can’t contain
Confusion controlling the clamorous crone
She rages when happy and riots alone
Lost in the chaos of anger and hate
she lives in a world that her passions create
~
~BarTalk: not-a-haiku times two
~ . ~
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