Wordgrove Post & Review

Quoted in the Grove:
I never saw an ugly thing in my life: for let the form of an object be what it may, — light, shade, and perspective will always make it beautiful.
~John Constable

To the artist there is never anything ugly in nature.
~Auguste Rodin

All profoundly original art looks ugly at first.
~Clement Greenberg

~~

Posted in the Grove:
With an increase in attendance and new drops on the Glass Table, there was deemed enough material for a full issue of the Post & Review. Also, a section has been added that may reappear from time to time. Please check out A Previous Post of Note for work of notable quality dropped during newsletter weeks of hiatus. Such gems are not to be missed, and are restored here for the reader’s pleasure.

~

Prewritten for Word Games 01/21 @6pm PT/9 ET: bright, control

~

There is a vast, largely unmined field of video treasures available on Netflix. This includes a great deal more variety and specificity on tap than their opening scroll page would indicate. Check it out. Their fine and guilty pleasures go unused and unappreciated otherwise. Many will already have taken advantage of a similar listing and homed in on their favorite categories. This compilation is passed on to those who have not and might enjoy vagabonding thru the list. Safe travels, friend, but bring a sword.

Complete listing of categories available on Netflix:
http://ogres-crypt.com/public/NetFlix-Streaming-Genres.html

~~

@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Stejovis: from a previous week’s prompt

dinner delay –
a squirrel scolds
the snow covered grass

in the grass a mongoose scolds a snake in the grass

taps on a window
grass in the wind
scolding the glass

~

~Piffin: For David Bowie

“Empty Shoes”

The queen is dead
Cried the river rats
Near the factory
Near the factory
The sequined webs
That carried us ’til dawn
Have blown away
That distant star
Sleek, razor-white
Like an autograph
Like an autograph
Over Bethlehem
42nd Street
Fell from the clouds today
So tonight we’ll keep the grease paint on
While the street boys sing the blues
Traipsing puddles laced with neon
As we dance in empty shoes

Silk morphine charm
Thigh-high allure
Fedora hat
Aristocrat
He led us through the dark
He spread before us on the ground
Soft vaudeville trash
With lightning slash
A ventriloquist
On a picture disk
He touched us
’Til we touched ourselves
Sliding wet through rainbow sound
So tonight we’ll keep the leather on
While the fae boys sing the blues
Traipsing puddles laced with neon
As we dance in empty shoes
Let the saxophone echoes
Lead me on
As I dance in empty shoes

~

A Previous Post of Note:

~Piffin: From 10.29.15 Thurs Word Games

“The Enbeckoning”

Evening wind in desert land
Jackal song o’er shifting sand
Lid raised up by withered hand
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

Purple cloud and restless sea
Scales break surf, from ocean free
Human eyes where none should be
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

Weathered barn in field of brown
Bats take flight; cold stars look down
Scarecrow lifts his head toward town
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

Naked flesh to sinking sun
Pentagram; hair, hemlock-spun
Call them to me, one by one
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

~~

Prewritten: a picture

 

…

~Stejovis: a picture prompt (on Glass Table)

old war horses
in battle array
out to pasture

~

~MissMerry: untitled

Aged and rusting
sitting in decadent splendor
monuments to memories
of miles gone by

~

~Piffin: “Workers Once Were We”

Assembly line
Blue collar grammar
Blow torch lightning
Detroit hammer
Turning over
Rolling free
When workers once were we
Bale to barge and row to hoe
Folsom Prison radio
Hayride Sunday family tree
When workers once were we
Restless rural roadbed rustle
Hot we ran
A nation’s muscle
Blacktop rubber symphony
When workers once were we
Gifted down
Father to son
A Snap-On wrench
A hunting gun
Tailgate wisdom bird and bee
When workers once were we
Sunrise on a changing nation
Modern mood its motivation
Finds tradition absentee
For workers once as we
New is now is fine is fast
Is built to shine if not to last
Gone all pride all guarantee
For workers once and we
Out behind the barn forgotten
Candy apple orchard rotten
Rusted hulks on ragweed sea
Though workers once were we

~

~BarTalk: senility

~~

No Impromptu this week

~.~