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What is PoetryIs poetry writing out a sentence and
separating it into different lines with
some vague thoughts to
stanzas and some consideration to rhyme?
Is having some emotional advocative message what
we consider to be the key in
what determines if it's garbage
or whether it's true poetry?
Arabesque Cold earth, dripping grass, illuminates the breath. White against black...white against black and
is gone. The blackened sky, ravenous, engulfs everything. No wind to distract, no winged calls
made and answered, no feelings to penetrate the skin. Stillness in peace that only the stars violate
with feverish dances. Amidst it all, they sit, fingers entangled, lips frozen to the words that stir within.
The warmth of romance
PavaneFog tiptoes across the water's face
Trees bow solemn, holding their breath
While the lake shivers, lonely
Waking, I see her form
Waltzing, twirling down
The banks where she
Once and still
The End-December 20, 2012-
Death travels lightly through the spaces between galaxies. He stops off briefly at a few stars and leaves bursts of misty lingering light in his wake. Normally he would stay a bit and watch the halo of the supernova expand before moving on, but tonight he has somewhere to be.
Tonight, Death dodges the planets and the meteors and weaves in and out of the space debris until he comes to a small blue planet. He takes it in his hand and cradles the little thing, letting the white wisps swirl around the sphere, gathering and thickening.
Such a young thing; younger by eons and eons than so many others. As always, Death feels sorry for the young ones who will never come to know understand what they could have been. He stands still feeling the planet pulse in his hands. He feels the hum of the earth, the undulations of the waters and most of all, he hears the ceaseless buzz of the inhabitants. Within the din of chirps, bleats, honks, roars and snorts, he can pick out
I would make you immortalI would make you immortal, my dear
I’d lace your morning tea
With crystallized droplets of
My life’s breath, and make it sweet
I would have you drink the cup,
Our only wedding vow
For us to be forever,
Nothing left to part us now
I would, for you, my dear
Break the oldest most sacred command
I would have you for myself,
Never to fear jealousy by Death’s hand
I would, my love, I would
But you would lose so much, I fear
Much more than I have to gain
And I’d never take away your smile, my dear
Even if it means I must one day share it with Death
Numbers7 was no ordinary number. He was born with a purpose. He, and not any one else had been chosen. As he lay on the clean white floor just moments after his birth, he knew that he would one day amount to something great.
7 looked around and saw that he was alone. "I wish there was someone else to share this great wide whiteness with.." As if on cue, another number appeared before him, fresh and new. "Who are you?" 7 asked.
The new number looked up at him and answered with a giggle, "Silly 7, can't you see? I'm 9!"
"Oh! 9! Right " said 7, feeling a warm and fuzzy, "We're awfully close, aren't we?"
9 giggled some more. "Yes, we are," she snuggled up closer to him. "We're meant to be, don't you think? You and me? 7 and 9 together?"
"Yeah!" said 7, "You and me. We'd be 79!"
"No, silly!" 9 laughed, "I don't mean together like that! I mean...you and me, I was thinking we could .multiply "
7 smiled giddily, "That would be nice "
"Well, you can count me in!" said another voice
Situations"Then tell me, hon. What is normal?" She said softly, letting her fingertips slide gently along the curve of his thumb.
He swallow hard, enough to feel a catch in his throat. His right hand was frozen stiff under hers and his eyes were caught by the lustrous coral red of the lipstick on her lips. He thought he knew the answer but for the life of him, he could not remember what it was.
He caught her hand as she was about to run and pulled her back to him.
She turned around to face him and looked at him inquisitively.
"I believe in you." he told her firmly, sincerity in his expression.
She gave him a quick smile, her trademark mocking leer. "Your belief ain't enough to get us out of this mess." she answered before turning again and rushing into the gunfire.
"Big puppy!" the toddler babbled in his mother's arms as they strolled by the fenced in pastures.
"No, honey. Those are sheep." the mother told him.
"Big puppy! Look!" the boy insisted gesturing in the
Do you even knowLuke yanked the blow dryer away from the girl. She had been holding it muzzle pointed straight at her face, both hands on the handle, looking quite dangerous.
"Do you even know how to use this thing?" he scowled and said partly with mild irritation, part tauntingly.
She stared up at him with huge unearthly eyes just as when he had found her in the middle of the light beam surrounded by headlight orbs in the sky.
He no longer found her threatening and felt like a good Samaritan for caring for her like a lost kitten. She didn't speak his tongue and he hoped to teach her how.
"Here, I'll help you," he said as he searched for the on switch. He flicked on the knobbed black switch and a jet of piercing blue-white light shot from the end of the muzzle. A hole that extended into the adjacent bedroom now graced the spot where his diploma had hung in his living room.
She took the machine gingerly from his shaking hands and switched it off. She looked at him with a look of pity and almost sadisti
A Fairytale AgainA Fairy Tale of a Gold Basin
Once upon a time, a long long time ago, there lived a witch locked in a tower. For the longest time, she waited. She waited until her long black hair became dusty until her clothes became moth-eaten. For a long long time, she waited.
You see, the witch did not always live in the tower. Once she lived in the town amongst the civilians. People paid her for her cures and charms and she was quite content.
The mayor of the town did not like her at all. He hated witches, he hated their magic and their potions, claiming that doctors and scientists could do far better. Most of all, he hated the fact that she was prettier than his own daughter and that his daughter's betrothed was completely taken by her.
The witch loved the young man and though they courted in secret, she came to trust him.
One day the mayor went to the young man and asked him with a heavy sigh, "Do you really prefer that witch to my lovely daughter?"
The young man was a bit vain by nature and he d
breakups. | romano vargas
"Hey.. I think we should just.. call it quits." he said, and his voice was dull and monotonous. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. Your boyfriend, your third boyfriend this month was dumping you. He grunts and takes his glass of wine and sips on it. "It's not you, it's me."
'Yeah, right.' you thought out, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.
"No. It's okay," you then responded, getting out of your seat. "I totally understand. In fact, I was actually thinking the same thing. We weren't really having a healthy relationship, and yeah. It's just not working for me," you then take take out your wallet and placed a few dollars on the table. "It was nice meeting you, though."
He nods his head curtly, "You too."
You give him one last smile — this was probably going to be the last time you see him. You might not see him again, unless some kind of coincidence happens and you might bump into him with his next new girlfriend. You highly doubt that w
back then. | antonio fernandez carriedo
The Spaniard let out heavy sigh of distress. Two hours. He's been waiting for his date for two hours. Maybe more, but he doesn't really know — he lost track of time. What he was confident, however, was that he has waited for a long time. Otherwise his ass wouldn't be so sore right now. Antonio picked up his glass of water and sipped it, and then leaning back to his chair.
Maybe he wasn't ready for a relationship yet.
Maybe commitments.. aren't his thing.
A light buzz came off from his phone and sighing once more, he dug into his pocket and unlocked the screen to see a message from his date. The person who he hoped to share his future with — unfortunately not. Then again, was he even ready to be in a serious relationship? Was he even ready to share his story with someone else? He doesn't know anymore.
[Text] 11:39 PM: Hello! I'm so sorry that I couldn't come. I had work to do.
He frowned at the text. Antonio was conflicted whether he should beli
Valley's End RoadDo you ever wish you could un-see something?
It lay in pieces on the indigo pavement. Rain had washed away most of the blood, but what was left was brown and purple, and the exposed flesh, that rich interior muscle and ligature, was all pink and silver striation and shining through the varied grays of fur and fabric. A smell like dead fish wafted beneath everything.
My mind tried to reassemble it, like a grotesque jigsaw puzzle. That part of me was not working very well, being over-ridden by surging adrenaline, my thoughts drowned out by the hormonal roar in my ears. What I was looking at, what I wished I could un-see, made no sense. And it made me feel as though there were others, its brethren, its masters, some thing or things lurking behind the curtain of forest lining this isolated road.
I ran it often. Rarely after dark though. But I’d been certain my flashlight and my reflective armbands would see me home safely. I looked around and tried to get my beari
Days As PeopleDescribe each day of the week as if it were a person. Give each one a name, age, job and address.
Name: Ace Phellon
Address: In a high rise apartment, furnished in a modern way
Short dabble: Ace read the weather report and looked at his bosses. "You know the people are never going to believe that? This is Michigan and all but even this is insane." He shakes his head as he goes over to the green screen that will have the weather map he needs. "In todays weather we will have light snow, yes folks it is gonna snow in July! Welcome to Michigan!"
Name: Frost Smith
Address: Bedroom at her parents home
Short dabble: Frost looked at her painting and sighed. She was unsure if it looked backward or she was just not understanding her own artist work that day. She sighed and flipped the canvas around seeing it from a different way. She giggled her painting looked completely better flipped this way then it did the other.
Why?"Why do you hang out with children so much? Doesn't it get annoying?"
"No, not really"
"Why? Why do you like them so much?"
"What's the reason most people tell you?"
"What's the answer you usually hear when you ask other people that question?"
"That they're small and adorable."
"That's a funny answer... puppies are small and adorable, kittens are small and adorable, even hedgehogs are small and adorable. So why hang out with loud kids when you can hang out with a small and adorable animal?"
"You're not answering my question."
"What do you think innocence is?"
"Innocent people don't know about the bad things in the world."
"Innocent people don't -act- on the bad things of the world. Whether they know about them or not. Children have a sort of forced innocence."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Have you ever seen a young child double-cross someone? Or lie and then not feel a single
The Pyramid [17/100]A young girl trudges through the dust worn sand and clambers over the bricks of white stone, with pieces of its history flaking off. Higher she tries to climb the Great Pyramid but after a while, she can no longer go further and that is when she realizes that she is too high to make the climb back down.
Maybe it’s fear or maybe it’s just reluctance, but that girl sits down and decides instead to admire the view, hoping someone would save her.
Wooden stick clacks on stone and the girl turns to find an old man standing next to her, smiling softly.
“Do you mind if I join you?” the old man asks, tender and gruff.
The girl nods and the old man sits, his bones creaking into eternity.
“Sometimes,” the old man starts, “you just think you can achieve anything but half-way there, you run into problems. Ah, like you, I seem to not be able to continue any higher.”
“It’s too high,” the girl complains.
“Yes. Sometimes its
Maybe it isn'tFriends grew sick of me talking about the twins, how they had snub noses and liked bands with strange names, how they sat whispering all lesson in a language I couldn’t understand.
I watched them, mirror images against identical lockers. They spoke with one mouth, saw with one pair of eyes but I knew they had two hearts and two minds, that one hated me for calling him insecure, liked me for the way I spoke, that the other hardly noticed me leave the room.
We sat near each other often; I heard their secret language, the awkward syllables of bands with strange names scratched amongst hushed heavy words. From the corner of my eye I saw their snub noses scrunch up when the teacher spoke, watched one pair of eyes flit to mine. But their heads remained facing forward, almost perfect mirror images.
I told him he was insecure, he told me he was arrogant.
But he said that he liked poetry, that he liked the way I spoke and that seemed like enough.
Friends grew sick of me talking about the
The Game Player Challenges...Magic shows are not as popular on the television now as they used to be – not unless your name is David Blaine or Dynamo – but at one time they were the stalwarts of midweek television, and escape acts were a firm favourite. Nowadays, you find them on shows like Britain’s Got Talent, or in holiday parks, but on a recent show I saw a husband and wife act called The Carlisles – very good they were too.
And I should know – a few weeks previously I had visited them. Mister Carlisle is a successful writer, and my researches had suggested they were worth calling on. Those same researches had shown me, through the power of YouTube, just how good they were as well, so I made sure I went fully equipped.
It was a Sunday afternoon when I let myself into their house, and heard Mum and daughter talking. As I listened, it was clear that the ten year old was trying to persuade her mother she could be part of the act, if she learned her tricks, and
Jolly Old Saint NIckAfter he had slashed open the millionth letter from some present grubbing child demanding a certain media fuelled toy, he snapped. The gears inside him must have given way because he seemed no different. He hoisted himself into the sled, and waded down every chimney just as always.
But then he saw the child gazing up at him, and he asked "Have you been good?"
"Lies," he drew out the huge inexhaustible bag of coals and let it drop on the child's head.
Suddenly he felt lighter. Nearly free. A smile stretched across his face.
Ho ho ho.
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