Quoted in the Grove:
If it’s true, it’s not beautiful, and if it’s beautiful, it’s not true.
~Richard Bach
Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless; peacocks and lilies for instance.
~John Steinbeck
People only see what they are prepared to see.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
~~
Posted from the Grove:
Interested in how someone from The City sees your part of the world? From this cover of The New Yorker, notice that you don’t appear on the map.
~
Prewritten for Thurs (06/18) @6pm PT/9 ET is: tablet, maverick
~~
@Writers Platform
Prewritten: a campfire story
~Greymane: Shadowman
https://greymanex.wordpress.com/the-shadowman/
~
~Piffin: “Campfire Tale”
Gather, children,
’Round this fire
Listen to my tale
Of body lice
Self-sacrifice
And unplanned nights in jail
Parking tickets
Union pickets
Fragile broken bone
Cheating spouses
Body louses
Birthdays spent alone
Huddle, children,
In this darkness
Listen to my yarn
Of unseen forces
Panicked horses
Trapped in flaming barn
Harsh reprimands
Cold one night stands
Head-on collision beer
Red picnic ants
The midnight dance
With your companions, Fear
And Loneliness
Mad Loneliness
The husband of Despair
Your childhood friends
Won’t last a lifetime
Those who do won’t care
For all the hopes
That slip your grasp
The blood and tears you spill
For all the songs
Choked to a gasp
For all the dreams born still
Hunker, children,
In dark forest
Heed ye well my words
Of starving babies
Raccoon rabies
Kittens slaying birds
You enter life
To mother’s scream
A bloody, bestial tune
Yet die in silence
Goals unreached
Alone and all too soon
You’ll die in silence
Breathless
Beached
Alone
And all too soon
~
~BarTalk: The Jumper
~
Impromptu: glove compartment, bedridden
~Greymane: Stolen Moments
A minute at midnight she steals for a smoke
Delight in the moonlight she sold for some coke
Asleep on the floor of an empty apartment
The mask that she wore in a locked glove compartment
The past she kept hidden pretending she’s clean
A mother bedridden from living obscene
Huddled in doorways escaping the rain
The arms of a stranger that comfort her pain
A victim of sanity bought with despair
She sold her last breath for a soft whispered prayer
~
~Piffin: “Saturday Sunlight”
Tangled in damp cotton
Angled to your touch
Shining sweat
Sleepy pet
Gentle stroke and I clutch
I don’t need a lot
But I need it so much
Sprinkled with Saturday sunlight
Hand puppet
Glove compartment
Chinese finger trap
Spoken wordless symphony
Woken from my nap
By your hands
Exploration
Sailing darkly off the map
Floating in Saturday sunlight
Lip locked
Bedridden
Ride, cowgirl, ride
I breathe and I arch
As I slip and I slide
Over pretty French manicure
Diamonds
My bride
Glistening with Saturday sunlight
~
~BarTalk: a coy misunderstanding
~ . ~
Wordgrove Post & Review 
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