one before bed time?.
Alone she stands and silent mourns
Snow whipped about her feet
Dreams buried in a grave of lies
Air foul where once was sweet
And tears streaming down her cheeks
Fists clenched, jaw resolute
A rage inside pushed deep down low
Her screams once wild now mute
The trust now lost the joy departed
Cold earth on loves corpse piled
No rose she lays no prayers she speaks
Wipes her face, then turns, and smiles
Just a thing about a thing and some other things which ends badly…
Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead. I did them all in December but was less successful in January. Let’s see how we do in February shall we.
Theres a place made for folk of a kind
Who are carefree and pleasant you’ll find
But they don’t like to bath
And are quite fond of hash
And all substance to alter the mind
But…
All is not quite as it may appear
and possessed both of rage and of fear
their minds twisted and torn
by a pathogen born
in the weed and their lovely brewed beer
So…
Late at night when they ought to be humping
through their veins a dark need is fast pumping
and their hearts turned quite black
and they frenzied attack
driven wild on their neighbours they’re jumping
then…
and they rip and they tear quite asunder
and they feast on red flesh neath the thunder
and the lightning above
for they now only love
to devour, feast and bath in death’s wonder
now…
So the moral it seems is beware
if you travel there then just take care
Hippie harbour you’ll see
here the love isn’t free
there’s a cost you might pay, should you dare
Today a haiku. True story.
Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead. I did them all in December but was less successful in January. Let’s see how we do in February shall we.
The flush of teen love
Holding hands for the first time
trouser explosion
So bad I bet you cannot even read it . You’ll see…
Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead. I did them all in December but was less successful in January. Let’s see how we do in February shall we.
He does not want what he wants to not want
though he cannot agree more or less
but he did not not know what it was that was said
Though sometimes he was wont to forget
Now he did not not never know or think not at all
And he’d never ever never do what was said
and he knew not what he did not ever not ask
that’s as much as he knew now she’s dead
A bit like another I did to be honest…
Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead. I did them all in December but was less successful in January. Let’s see how we do in February shall we.
Ravenous appetite
Sweaty brow and trousers tight
No control, stalks the night
In search of victims new
Throbbing urge rancid needs
Red raw mouth darkness leads
On shimmer bright his hunger feeds
His bile and hate and spew
Neath the stars, cold inky black
He surrenders, can’t turn back
Hear flesh tear and feel bones crack
And he’s refreshed anew
Just words thrown together willy nilly
Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead. I did them all in December but was less successful in January. Let’s see how we do in February shall we.
Chocolates, sweet and silky on her lips
Reclined and pampered her every whim his wish
Tempted, dark and intense he feeds her desires
Lusting and hungry, deadly and delicious each and every dish
And time after time, her palette he teases
Skilled and cunning he caters, her appetites he knows
so with fake smiles and malice each mouthful he ensnares
Curves and comely come here hips slowly grow
Slowly time passes, senses dulled and sugar seeped she lies
Gorged and pink and perfectly sickly sweet
He draws the blinds, unsheathes cold steel
And dines, his long prepared and gorgeous bridal pickled treat
Just words thrown together willy nilly
Another month of M’s writing prompts lies ahead. I did them all in December but was less successful in January. Let’s see how we do in February shall we. This was an odd piece for me, a kind of stream on consciousness. I was sat on a really boring conference call about BIG DATA and just started typing words and this is what came out. It is not really anything to me and has little meaning and is really just a series of ideas and images thrown together like a big bowl of wordy vomit.
She rages, face twisted screaming into the wind
Her words drowned out by the crashing shore
Soaked through with the spray of the ocean’s wrath
Fists clenched her heart black like the swirling skies above
She curses his name and dies once more at the memories
Eyes wide, nostrils flared bloody teeth flashed in defiance to the raging storm
As winds rip and tear, hands raised to the heavens she bellows, gut spilling over
Her tears mixed with the dark waters swirling around her feet
Her mouth filled with vile truths and swallowed words long unspoken
And with her last utterance, winds drop and bow to her rage
Tides calm and retreat, subdued and obedient
She dies a final time and in golden robes rests in light
Thoughts on things which I am completely unqualified to comment upon.
Let’s do another month of M’s prompts shall we…this one is in response to the Weaving Words prompt.
I was never a political creature you know and, whilst this may surprise you, I am still not. Yes I will admit to being somewhat obsessed with writing about the Donald but that is simply because I find him a quite repulsive creature and worthy of derision and mockery because of who he is and the quite terrible things I believe him to have done.
Ever since the ascendancy of his star I have found myself more and more interested in the politics of America and if I am not careful I shall soon find that I make a liar of myself when it comes to whether I am, in fact, politically inclined.
The thing is though, I am English, so it matters very little where my persuasions lie. Curiously I find to myself far less inclined to care one jot about our very own Brexit shit storm and instead find myself compelled to understand more about just what the devil is going on across the pond.
Anyway, I have researched the basis of the political parties, delved into their history and attempted to understand as much as I can about them whilst reading as much as I could about just what is going on. I am not an over complex sort though, and find myself already making some very basic assumptions about American politics, politicians and sometimes it’s people based on very little information and the behaviour of the people who represent the parties.
It remains a work in progress, and whilst I am quite certain that I would be blue and not red where it a choice I needed to make there is something else of which I am more and more certain the more I learn. The GOP are such vicious beastly and quite ferocious creatures by all accounts that even they would make the vermicious knid seem tame by comparison. I am not sure about all of it’s members obviously, but those in positions of power that I have been looking at have left me rather shocked.
I will keep working on it, and happy to have my mind changed but I think it will be quite some stretch given what I have seen. This is not to say the other lot are a whole lot better, I am sure they are equally abhorrent if you look closely enough.
Anyway, I know I am not at all qualified to comment on such things and it is rather ignorant of me to do so but I will nonetheless. Now I will shut up.
Goodnight x and get back to writing that limerick about the chap who likes his bottom fiddling with.
Michael
P.S. It’s funny you know, when I sat down I honesty intended to write a poem about a boy who fought the knids. Oh well…
You’d think we could be nice to each other wouldn’t you…
“Where are we going uncle?” Eleanor asked as she was swept slowly along with the crowd.
“To the memorial service” uncle answered not looking up.
“Why?” She asked holding up her sign just like the other excited children.
“Because you’re a good girl”
“Am I?” She asked.
“Yes you are” Uncle replied. “That’s why I bought you the backpack” he continued, his hand on her shoulder steering her through the crowd. “That is a very pretty sign Eleanor, did you do it all by yourself?” he asked.
“Mummy helped me make it” she said quite proud. She didn’t see Uncle very often since he moved away but he always bought her gifts when he visited.
He took her hand and lead her through the masses. There were so many people, more than she had ever seen before.
“I can’t see” she said jumping up and down, her view blocked by a tall man carrying a candle.
Uncle reached down, his hand snaked into her back pack. Leaning forward he whispered in her ear.
“Goodbye Eleanor.”
photo courtesy of Elaine Farrington Johnson
I feel rather tired of people being complete arse holes to other lately…
In a world where diversity across society is ever increasingly celebrated there remain places where prejudice and hatred still run free.
This is a bit of a stream of conscious Saturday effort, which requires me to simply (with minimal editing) write. This one went much better than last week and is pretty much unedited. I would have liked to redo it as I like the idea but it is what it is.
Details can be found here if you fancy having a go:
https://lindaghill.com/2017/07/07/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-july-817/
Dear world
In a world where diversity across society is ever increasingly celebrated there remain places where prejudice and hatred still run free. For every minority welcomed into inclusive arms there are those who day to day must face the very real darkness that lies in the hearts of men. It is on behalf of one of those most marginalised segments of modern society that I write.
While the LGBTQ population blaze a glittering trail and celebrate their diversity and individuality we are forced to remain hidden under your beds, our history and heritage now long forgotten and all that remains of the joy we once brought is fear.
You have forgotten us, and more than that you have allowed our memory to be twisted until all that remains are your own inner fears and inhibitions which you project onto us.
In sports and entertainment those that are differently able are now held aloft as a symbol of our more progressive ways yet we must hide our difference and we are forced to lurk in the dark recesses of your closets for fear of discovery.
We deserve better for once we were the better part of you, we ewre your joy and your escape and your light in the darkness. Now, I fear we have become your darkness and we must now arm ourselves to protect all that remains of our once proud people.
My heart’s desire is that once again you will embrace us and allow us to help you regain your innocence. We are tired of living in the sewers and the garden sheds. We wish to be released from the shackles of your childhood nightmares and to again bring joy to the faces of small children.
We ask of you to no longer exclude us but to open your arms and embrace our kind, free us from our solitary existence be ask for we are born of you and and deserve better.
Yours Sincerely
Killer Clowns
Fancy More?
Pesky butterflies – Weekly Weather Challenge: Hurricane
Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/solitary/
Photo courtesy of RyanMcGuire @ pixabay
Afterwards 