Wordgrove Post & Review

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Quoted in the Grove:

Green was the silence, wet was the light; the month of June trembled like a butterfly.  ~ Pablo Neruda

Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair… ~ Susan Polis Schutz

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it. ~ Russell Baker

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Announcements:

The words for this week’s Prewritten Exercise are: winsome; affliction.

The Wordgrove Wordgames Group will next meet on Thursday, June 25 at 9:00 PM Eastern/6:00 PM Pacific at the Wordgrove Writers’ Platform for writing, chat, and general debauchery. We hope to see you there.

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Prewritten (June 18): tablet; maverick.



BarTalk:

“Found Fragment”

Found and translated, the following engraved stone from a burial crypt: … swallow the tablet of public opinion or be maverick, the creator in rebellion …

The rest was lost, but it gave resonance to my dilemma first, then to my decision. I put a bullet in the back of my dating life and admitted that sex … meh, not so much



Greymane:

“Hero”

Just another hero on the way to save the day

He wears a faded cape of pain beneath his loose toupee

He faces foes invincible against oppressive odds

The outcome carved illegibly on tablets of the gods

He holds the fate of all the world tight in shaking hands

While bravely facing villainy he never understands

Alone yet fighting fearless like a maverick running free

He’d rather do his nine to five without a referee

A heavy, desperate, thankless job that never seems to end

A slave to all the clueless souls he suffers to defend

With wicked beaten back again the world fades to grey

He slips into his pale disguise and goes about his day



Piffin:

haiku ~

Maverick scribe

Writing tablet subway ride

Souls pressed to paper

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Impromptu (June 18): windswept; preacher.



Bartalk:

haiku ~

‘lo the tropic isle

innocent windswept and free

a preacher intones



Greymane:

“Their Own God”

There was a poor preacher who fumbled his words

He lost his whole flock to the migrating herds

He pleaded in whispers that echoed with fear

And buried his faith in forsaken frontier

They found their own God on the plains of despair

And begged for redemption in each feeble prayer

Windswept and scorched by the hot desert sun

They wrangled religion by way of the gun

Their empty devotion lies cold in the ground

Somewhere south of Hell where the chapel bells sound



Piffin:

“Go” (For Anne and Cassidy)

Anne

Daughter of a preacher’s son

Disarrayed hair golden spun

Shining in the morning sunshine

Like dew on a rose

Cass

Windswept topless tapster wench

Demon with a monkey wrench

Laughing as she wipes the powder

Off of her nose

Match made up of maybes

Reckless rolling dice

Hot as backseat babies

Cool as lemon ice

The world looked on

And frowned

And told them no

So they gave it a go

Cass

Tattoo after two months time

Gothic hearts and Latin rhyme

Setting out the wine and candles

Paint on her smock

Anne

Apple from the teacher’s pet

Chalk dust from the alphabet

Juggles in the door with flowers

At seven o’clock

Boots off by the bookcase

Sweater left unhung

Silhouettes in embrace

Talking tongue to tongue

Bright eyes

Whisper softly

In television glow

What they both know

Barefoot rug

To couch

To settle in for a show

With no place better to go

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Glass Table:

Poems About Tinfoil Hats and Bubble Bath Tiaras



Greymane:

“Summer”

Remembering summers of sun beaten days

Of barefoot adventures and cheap matinees

Of journeys forbidden and forts in the trees

Of treasures still hidden and scabby scraped knees

We stole countless bases and broke all our bats

And ventured to places in tinfoil hats

We could navigate space in an old cardboard box

And tame the dark jungles in nothing but socks

Imagined fantastical daydreaming fun

Long days of escapades under the sun

We’d all straggle home when our parents would yell

But never escaped our own dream woven spell

We’d scrub off the grimy while braving the floods

In bubble bath crowns and tiaras of suds



Piffin:

“When I Fall”

Though this kingdom of mine

May seem low from outside

In my tinfoil hat I can fly

These wings on my heels

May seem tattered and torn

But they flex and they flap when I cry

My Jiffy Pop crown

When it catches the moon

Bursts with rainbows to light up my way

I soar over this city

The train tracks, the grave yards

My effort to outrun the day

But it comes

As it will

And the sunrise moves in for the kill

And I fall

Without sound

But I land in your arms

Translucent, transcendent

In wick fire resplendent

The queen of our bathtub, you reign

Champagne, our main course

As we ride our seahorse

And your hands on my back spell my name

In soap bubble tiara

And running mascara

This sponge painting light weaves your gown

On whispers we rise

Into shadow dance skies

Until sure that we’ll never come down

But the bath

Water cools

Leaves us sated and soaking like fools

Then you splash

And I laugh

And fall back in your arms

When I fall

At long last

I land back in your arms





Also ~

Bartalk:

Nexus ~ A Collection (Previously Reviewed)



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Walk tall

Or, baby, don’t walk at all…

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(Photography by Piffin)

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