Wordgrove Post & Review

Quoted in the Grove:
The more I see, the less I know for sure.
~John Lennon

During my life I have seen, known, and lost too much to be the prey of vain dread; and, as for the hope of immortality, I am as weary of that as I am of gods and kings. For my own sake only I write this; and herein I differ from all other writers, past and to come.
~Mika Waltari

Wisdom is meaningless until your own experience has given it meaning and there is wisdom in the selection of wisdom.
~Bergen Evans

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Posted from the Grove:
The band’s name and song title almost give the plot away, but then the music kicks in. Suggested by Whitefeather @Message in a Bottle.

~The Burned: Hard Lesson

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Prewritten for Thurs (08/20) @6pm PT/9 ET is: Physical traits to kill for

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@Writers Platform:

Prewritten: The mood was grim and only the town drunk was dancing

~MissMerry: untitled

“Fuck the air raids, fuck Hitler, and FUCK yer gawdamn bombers!” A very drunk Daryl was toasting his luck and thumbing his nose at his own suicidal refusal to go to shelter. He had found the back door open to the Green Dragon Pub and was helping himself to the best in the house while the sirens wailed and everyone else was scrambling to underground safety.

“I believe I will have another!” He laughed sarcastically and put another nickel in the juke box. He had finally found that really righteous buzz he had been seeking for the past year, ever since he got labeled “4F”. Liquor, like most other pleasures, were all rationed, but nobody was around to enforce that rule at the moment.

Daryl soft-shoed to the bar and selected a full bottle, tucked it under his arm and waltzed out into the smokey chaos of the street. As he turned to look to see if the door closed behind him, an incendiary bomb hit a bulls-eye on the Green Dragon building, reducing it to rubble and flames.

“I saved one soldier tonight!” He mumbled as he held the bottle up, shaking it toward the sky. “But not for long…” he opened the bottle and took a long swig as he swayed down the ruined street.

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~BarTalk: 2:47 AM

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Impromptu: Tell the story behind a nickname

~Greymane: untitled

There upon the edge of time where aether turns to stone
The Reaper harvests tired souls and sends them home alone

He pulls the plug and nothing more, judgment not his scene
He rides the waves of destiny that lie somewhere in between

A fleeting glance of ragged robes that wail in the wind
No time to stop and ponder if the dear departed sinned

He stands beside a thousand nights hid in shadows deep
Tattered misty tendrils wrapping lovingly to sleep

Just a black hole apparition with a simple job to do
This phantasmic ageless spectre has a date to visit you

He’ll visit each and every one, an angel some may say
His name forgotten long ago when people used to pray

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~ReenRen:

wat the fuck zen!?!

i told her of his awesomeness.
she listened with due awe.
but then i found she wished me ill
thot she could swipe my prize.

i told her he was not as great
as i had hoped he’d be
she looked at me all innocent
she saw opportunity!

trusting my naivety,
she put on a full on press
the fuck zen!?!

wat the fuck zen!?!
i told her of his awesomeness.
she listened with due awe.
but then i found she wished me ill
thot she could swipe my prize.

i told her he was not as great
as i had hoped he’d be
she looked at me all innocent
she saw opportunity!

trusting my naivety,
she put on a full on press

~

~Jessalee:

nickname 0917

‘quarter’ they called me, and that’s what stuck
for the regulars at the local hee-haw bar
a freshman in college, in a town that cared less
about learning or teeth or your type of car

from boston to arkansas seems like a joke
but it hosted the best degree for my field
nightlife near campus made culture shock jarring
so i sought the side streets for nightlife more real

it was then i saw the fluorescent display
for a club they called ‘butter balls’
as soon as i entered, the ma’s and the pa’s
welcomed me by slinging shit and cat calls

from the south of boston, i finally felt home
in this redneck dark lit crappy booze hole
and so i’d sling back, until the buzz was warm
and wander home to study, or pray to the bowl

every night, they’d laugh and yell “quarter go home!”
and say “piss off” never getting the jokes
at thirty i met an arkansan with older ears
and now this quitter misses those backward folks

~

~MissMerry:

Yonnis

Everyone knows him as “Yonnis”. He rides an old shovel head Harley, wears leathers that are all patched and covered with scuffs and stitched up places. His long thin hair looked as if it never saw a comb. He chain smokes Pall-Mall reds with no filters, and is known to dabble in a few illegal substances for his enjoyment.

I like to ride and my husband used to work in the local Harley dealership shop, so I had met him and got to know him through mutual friends and by riding with him on poker runs and going to some of the same parties. I found he looked a fright, but was pretty nice in fact.

After knowing him for several years, I asked about his unusual name. Was it from Scandinavia or Holland perhaps? The story he told me touched my heart and changed the way I would look at him forever.

He told me that he had once had a nephew, JJ, who loved and idolized his 10 year older uncle. When JJ first started walking, they noticed he seemed a bit slow, but did not at first think anything of it. As time went on it became apparent that something was wrong. He learned to speak baby-talk at age two and a half, but then did not seem to get any better at it. He dubbed his uncle Thomas “Yonnis” and, as a joke, Thomas’ brothers teased and called him that too. And then, though JJ had walked as a toddler, by age three he no longer attempted to get up on two feet.

After many trips to specialists, they found that JJ had a rare type of brain cancer… and it was inoperable. JJ would never walk again, and gradually lost the ability to make sentences. However, he would always light up when Thomas would walk into the room and JJ would always call out “YONNIS!” with happiness just to see him.

JJ lived to the great old age of five. At the end the only words he would say were “Mama” and … Yonnis.
Thomas’ brothers, friends, and family then lovingly called him “Yonnis” from then on in memory of little JJ.

The nickname stuck through high school and on into his adult life, with many (including myself) not even knowing his “real” name at all. All in honor of little JJ who loved him so many years ago.

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~BarTalk: Bio: Para 3

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Writers in Residence

~Whitefeather @Message in a Bottle
Whitefeather is stretching, spreading wings, is online now DJing her own music program twice a week.

Whitefeather’s DJing music stream. Email me your requests, and I will get them on at my next gig! I play Blues, Southern Rock, Rock, Country and everything in between. (cRap and Opera excluded)

On air schedule:
Thursday nights from 9 to 11PM Eastern Time Zone
Saturday nights from 8 to 10PM Eastern Time Zone

Just copy and paste the stream info below, into your radio player inworld under “Tune To URL” then update.

http://cp3.digistream.info:2199/tunein/admin8180.pls

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