Amicable Aliens landed and were disgusted by what they saw. Violence. Cruelty. Pollution. And decided to take charge. Immediately. Zap! Anyone committing a violent act had to learn 100 happy words and use them repeatedly. If they couldn’t do that they were sent to Rancor…
Category: Miscellaneous
Hour 6 Prompt 6 – writing days
writing days robins’ trilling calls me into consciousness, singing faint, slotted light – pale infusion behind the dark. warmth against my skin on sturdy sheets protect me from cold ridges of hardwood waiting for my warm, soft feet on the way to colder, harder…
6) birds & more
I put two more fat balls in the feeder, he says. Did I say you could? I laugh. Nope, he says, but I did anyway. Now we both laugh. Inspector Jacques Clouseau here in my writing room had already sussed it out. Chaffinches were on sentry duty…
A poem called Poetry.
poetry. *yells in anguish* that is all.
Prompt 6 Ideal Day
Prompt 6, Hour 6 Misty morning waking Transcending gardened dawn. Hill breezes lift to spirit mountain. Weaving words into a sail. Rafting on a perfect read. Down a river, crystal clear. Blowing me to leeward shores. Little birds tweet on a limb. Wisteria petals hang…
A year later (old poetry)
I put your hands around my neck and waited for you to squeeze and when you did, I was the scared one. I waited for you to catch on fire like i did for you but i knew you were water. you turned into steam…
Universal Wonder
Minutes…hours…days… months…. years…. since your lips brushed mine splitting open the night since your hand slid over rounded hips, eased open moist thighs since your fingers reached for the center of everything splintering starlight… splashing joy on my soul
Hour 6: Ideal Day
soft fur against my bare legs, barbed tongue cleans my calf sheets pulled back, robe slipped on quiet breathing the whistle of water, spring of a toaster, sizzle of eggs, lemon, honey, caffeine, turn of a newspaper writer’s almanac, daily poems, the scratch of a…
Poem Marathon Submission #6
Lost and Redemption of a Life Ann WJ White Awakening the morning, waiting for it to rise, I follow a small tortiseshelled cat to her breakfast, carefully apportioned puree of chicken served on a glass dish, glistening. She is the reason for rising, for dancing,…
Blackout poetry
Page from Theatre Annual, Americans in Transnational Performance roll dice for first cut, then second, then I cut every other word and fiction bodiliy to one performers such power that being women to not medium fluidity personifications, perspective adoption their for their presence was…