Archive for November, 2016

Quoted in the Grove:
Submitted by MissMerry

Politics is the art of controlling your environment. That is one of the key things I learned in these years, and I learned it the hard way. Anybody who thinks that ‘it doesn’t matter who’s President’ has never been Drafted and sent off to fight and die in a vicious, stupid War on the other side of the World — or been beaten and gassed by Police for trespassing on public property — or been hounded by the IRS for purely political reasons — or locked up in the Cook County Jail with a broken nose and no phone access and twelve perverts wanting to stomp your ass in the shower. That is when it matters who is President or Governor or Police Chief. That is when you will wish you had voted.
~Hunter S. Thompson


Posted from the Grove:

If there is interest for this week’s Thurs Word Games, an abbreviated meeting can be cobbled together for a short chat and catching up on member news. An Impromptu exercise may be added. Otherwise, Wordgrove will surrender its usual place on the calendar for this Thanksgiving. Until next: safe travels, happy gatherings, and peace around the table on this our purest and most grateful of holidays.

Prewritten for Thurs (12/01) @6pm PT/9 ET is: tiptoe, bounce, flush
Choose 2 0f 3


30 Sticky Notes That Are Brutally Honest About Adult Life


Calligraphy: Writing beautifully for the ages, or the next commercial break. Strangely satisfying watching words emerge


@Writers Platform:
Pewritten: frowzy, bamboo

~MissMerry: Prewritten by MM

She took another drag on her cigarette, then blew the smoke up into the air as if she were a whale with a grey smoke spout. She flicked the butt over into the water, picked a stray bit of tobacco off her tongue, then scratched up into a thatch of frowzy grey hair crammed up under a Gilligan hat. Her gnarly hands clutched at the handle of an ancient bamboo pole, which she dangled out over the water.

“No fishing, NO FISHING!! Who the hell does he think he is?” she cackled. “He can come down here and tell me himself – if he has the balls!”

“He just asked me to be telling you the rules, Ms. Julia. I don’t think he was tryin’ to stir you up or nothin’.”

The orderly shook his head and turned to walk back toward the assisted living home, wondering where she had got the old piece of bamboo from. Besides, she knows there weren’t no fish in that fountain, anyway.


~Greymane: Waffles and Brandy

Waffles and Brandy had painted the sand
with tails they dipped in the sea
A tapestral masterpiece carefully planned
by chimps who could never agree

They painted a mural across the lagoon
reflecting the silent night sky
The mystical monkeys would mourn for the moon
with a chimpanzee tear in their eye

They gathered from jungley places unknown
and forests that nobody knew
From cavernous canopies long overgrown
and castles they built from bamboo

They formed an alliance concerning them all
from marmoset clear to baboon
They were in this together until the stars fall
and the sky had turned loose of the moon

They built up a kingdom of nonsense and stink
A paradise primates request
But every last monkey was missing a link
Cos monkeys are frowzy at best

The monkeys were crazy, as monkeys can be
and went just a little too far
and as mentioned before monkeys seldom agree
except when they stare at the stars

So Waffles and Brandy repainted the sky
to look a bit more like the land
and all of the monkeys said tearful goodbyes
to all of the mayhem they’d planned

Of monkeys and kingdoms in painted lagoons
not fit for gorilla or beast
To sit in the sand and gaze at the moon
is fancy for monkeys at least


~BarTalk: Sir Panda’s Plaint

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Quoted in the Grove: Quotes from those born: 10/15
Happy people are ignoramuses and glory is nothing else but success, and to achieve it one only has to be cunning.
~Mikhail Lermontov (1814)

A lawyer with a briefcase can steal more than a thousand men with guns.
~Mario Puzo (1921)

I just sit at a typewriter and curse a bit.
~PG Wodehouse (1881)


Posted from the Grove:
He’s gone. The troubadour who could paint dark mysteries and light, sex and salvation with equal heart, is gone. The link below is to a page developed years ago when a personal love for this song demanded it. Here, then, Leonard Cohen’s, Hallelujah, as performed by six different artists in six different styles … plus one added

Leonard Cohen ~ 9/21/34 – 11/10/16


Bird Porn Alert: Mating dances, Birds of Paradise
The longer version following this one is more vivid in display and variety, but this clocks in at a short, 1:35


Prewritten for Thurs (11/17) @6pm PT/9 ET is: bamboo, frowzy (with a ‘z’,  by request)


@Writers Platform:

Prewritten: a picture

~BarTalk: Witchcraft

Also: Do It Duet


~Piffin: “Sinfinity”

Pictures in my head
Sits, naked, on pianos
Lies, truthful, in my bed
Arrives on drizzled midnight
Whispering all my greys to blues
Does my autumn muse

Leaves across my lawn
Her lipstick on my hourglass
The wolf receives the fawn
Entranced, I step the tango
Wearing belladonna shoes
For my autumn muse

Absinth minded professor
Affirmed across my knee
Priestess cum confessor
Her love flows from my pen
Tears on pages none will see
Her breathness in my ear
An eternal symphony


Impromptu: predator, God, black

~Piffin: “Monday”

My father
My shepherd
My friend
My yardstick

This place
Tree laden
And tranquil
This autumn

Me in black
Mother in tears
Siblings quiet

The priest
Speaks of God
A creator
A predator

My father
A name on a stone
Me in black
This autumn


~Jhynx: Untitled

Morality is relative to each individual’s circumstance.

Her bottomless hunger made her a predator.

When she’d face the god of black souls, he’d absolve her of the things she did to get what she needed.

As she stabbed the older, weaker woman to death, not quite neatly enough, she openly bawled over having to take life. It was shameful to have attacked someone who could not fight back, but it had been efficient. She had done her best to be merciful.


~Greymane: Faded

She laughed again at colored wind and faded cold to black
she spent the autumn going home but never made it back
She prayed for God to comfort her from somewhere in her dreams
where time becomes a predator that’s warmer than it seems


MissMerry: MM Impromptu

“Oh God”
Her breathness caressed his brain.
“Why must we go?”
She snuggled back down into the covers.
Her eyes closed, she saw only black with a tinge of red
where the light peeked through her eyelids.
“I could stay here all day” but as hard as she tried to pretend, the daylight would not be denied.
He lay back on the pillows, hands behind his head, admiring the curve of her cheek, the touseled shock of platinum blonde hair and the small smudges of mascara that had smeared a little, just a sweet mess.
“Come with me this time… I know we can make it work if we try.” I have to get back… come with me now.” he whispered as he leaned over to kiss her cheek.
He sat up then on his side of the bed and began to pull on his trousers and t shirt that he retrieved from the floor.
“I don’t really have clothes for outside…” she looked wistful, her full lips drawn up in a pout.
“I could let you wear my clothes until you get some. I could take you shopping…” His voice trailed off as he watched her slide into her feather and sequined armor plated leather strapped confection of a costume.
“wow” was all he could articulate for a few seconds. As sexy as she was, he had to think about how it would be too easy to forget that she was all predator in action.
“Darlin'” she coo’d at him, sliding her lips across his shoulder, then lying her head on his chest. “It could never work, can never be.” she sighed.
“I know, but I can wish”
He sighed and hit the eject button on his computer.
Staring at the now blank screen, he stood up and grabbed his backpack and ran downstairs to catch the school bus.


~BarTalk: Bank Statement

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Quoted in the Grove:
All the contact I have had with politics has left me feeling as though I had been drinking out of spittoons.
~Ernest Hemingway

Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.
~Ronald Reagan

The hardest thing about any political campaign is how to win without proving that you are unworthy of winning.
~Adlai Stevenson


Posted from the Grove:
By request, the following music by:
Lykke Li – Get Some


The Wordgrove Post & Review periodically features websites of interest to writers:

The definitive website for word lovers is Wordsmith.org’s, A-Word-A-Day, includes a daily quote:

Quotes are a fascinating source of pithy, prepaid wisdom. If a reader appreciates these particolored liqueurs of distilled thinking (esp. thoughts from those sharing a birthday), consider, ThinkExist:

Garrison Keillor’s, The Writer’s Almanac, offers the option of reading about literary stars, but also to listen as Mr Keillor reads aloud his take on their history and their work. The poem beginning each day’s post is a highlight:

An interesting site for writers with word-infatuation:
World Wide Words features a short explanatory history of common and uncommon words/phrases, primarily British. Fun:


Prewritten for Thurs (11/10) @6pm PT/9 ET is a picture:


@Writers Platform:
Glass Table

~samsyn Making Shoutcast Work in There
The title belongs to his editor, but the all-important instructions for getting Shoutcast to broadcast properly in There come from Makena’s technical guru, samsyn. The good news … it works.


Prewritten: clown, navigate

~MissMerry: Prewritten by MM

through the day
my sanity just
spun away

A break is needed
what can I do?
the office snake
just slithered through

her makeup garish
– a fashion clown
her teeth all smiles
her eyes all frowns

I need to hide
so I end a call,
break for the lav
and lock my stall

My chest feels tight
I strike a match
a flash of light
a spark and scratch

Pungent smoke,
the ciggie glows
Not allowed
a rule that blows

Match stub flames,
my fingers burnt
blow it, drop it
a lesson learnt

But, the smell cuts the shit stink
for a minute at least…
(takes a deep drag)


Now I might make it through the afternoon.


~BarTalk: The Grate Navi-Gator


Impromptu:  breathless, constant

~MissMerry: Bubbles

Bubbles,… bubbles
floats around the room
constantly bobbing,
in each eddy and swirl of air
opalescent colors glitter
and reflect
the light of the party
rising to circle each person
drawn to their heat
and motion
slowly circling around
until the room grows still…
and quiet,
breathless, she lands gently
resting on the edge of a table
until a sudden gust
lifts her up, sparkling
rushing forward
to see who just came in
as she begins her trip
around the room again.


~Greymane: weary

He sat around the corner waiting patient in the rain
Breathless in the wisdom of his song
He reached into the constant and he taunted it with pain
while he called his lonely soul to play along
A screaming weary mystery
that labors on his soul
wretched as it tears away his pain
Washed alone from hopeful things confusion can’t contain
and memories that time cannot console


~Greenie: Constant Breathless

In a constant state of realization
Amazement never ceasing
In a breathless state, anticipation
Her heartbeat ever increasing

Dreamer wakens


~Odin: Impromptu words

The Thunderer was in Jotunheim, sprinting up a hill.
The rage within him bellowed, as he came upon his kill.

Breathless he stood before the house wherein his victim lay,
his hammer smashing the door apart as he began to say,

“Your death is here. Did you think I would not find you?!”
The young Etin rolled over in his bed, and replied “I left you clue”.

Up to the bed he went, hammer held high overhead.
Prepared to deliver the ghastly blow that would make the Thurse quite dead.

Eye contact was made, and the Jotun uttered a phrase,
“Sorry I am for what I did”, with quite the contrite gaze.

No try to move, or to defend did the giant make.
Thor could not bring his hammer down, which would have made the ground surely quake.

The Etin rose, and offered Thor an ox to eat.
With strong ale as well, he offered Thor a seat.

Constant was their banter, as Thor ate his fill.
He drank deeply of the ale, and things continued still.

Forgiven was the giant, for the mistake that he made.
Friends they became that night, and his debt was paid.


~BarTalk: Vital Signs

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