Those were the days.

I'm disapearing.
Into a clearing.
Running on the rocks.
bare footed, no socks ;)
Claws diging in.
To bloody flesh.
Howl for the kill.
Howl for the thrill.
Alert my brothers.
and all the others.
I have won.
I'm the one.
The alpha.
It's amazing.
So I sit gazing out a window.
In a school I go to.
Remembering the days before.
when I had sharp teath 'n' claws.
And fur. Black as night.
Yellow eyes and muscular might.
Those were the days.
-H

Not I

Oh, I don't believe in being in love.

Not I

A special tolerance for another's lies.

another's trip ups

another's accidents, fears, mishaps

Foolishness.

Oh I don't believe in being in love.

Not I

I could believe in 'Love'

but all 'Love' is,

is enjoying companionship.

which is altogether

diferent

from being 'In Love'

'In Love' is a Fools game.

I may be a fool.

but i do not play Fools Games.

I will not play Fools Games.

and there is no incentive for

anyone

to play Fools Games

with me.

Being In Love

is a marketing tool.

a source to say:

Something Is Wrong With You!

We Can Fix It!

but oh, there is nothing to FIX

there is only room for hallucinogens

there is only room for mist

and smoke

and tricks of the mind.

But with eyes as sharp as mine,

I cannot play Fools Games.

Dead Beat.

I would get angry.
But who would it help.
No one.
Not me.
Not you.
Have you noticed yet the lack of ryme?
I don't feel like it any more.
It went to the beat of my heart.
But that's broken.
So hence no ryme or rythem.
I had fixed it.
But again, it's bean broke.
So I ripped it out.
Like the animal I am.
And now I'm watching it.
Withering and dying.
The pain is bliss.
As soon as it stops.
I'll slam it back in.
And the rythem will return.
Then the fuel off inspiration will burn.
See, it's in again.

a 2-min job. I'm not so keen on this one, so it's another work in progress

anything
tell me anything, implorable thing
i want to hear it all.
big or small, I'd stay up all night to hear it, absorb it
every part of your existence.
i want to be the one you can tell anything,
no matter how personal
the trivial, the beautiful
and bizarre
the delicate and deformed
i want to hear it all...

- tor

Falling Down (song)

Falling Down

I don’t want to be stranded here, hurt again,

And people say “You’re gone, move on, say Amen.”

My love for you that was so true,

All of that we have been through,

All the times we argue and fight,

Deep inside I know it isn’t right.

I’ve fallen from the sky like the rain

And there will be no rainbow at the end

Cause all that’s left for me to do

Is to pick up the pieces and move on from you

This isn’t the first time that I’ve walked this road,

I walk past you and you shake your head “No...”

And all I ever wanted was to see you again,

And maybe even make up, hug and be just friends,

But you turn away, turn away from me,

And someday, someday I know, we’ll be together, together you and me.

This is the third time this week,

That I find myself wandering down the street.

People often told me to choose a different road,

‘Cause this one can get ugly, but I never listened, no.

And I still chose you,

I still chose you over life..

I’ve fallen from the sky like the rain

And there will be no rainbow at the end

Cause all that’s left for me to do

Is to pick up the pieces and move on from you

And I ignored the signs of the truth

Opened every door trying to start over new

But this time, it's different, and I don't know

If I can ever try, to mend this broken truth.

I’ve fallen from the sky like the rain

And there will be no rainbow at the end

Cause all that’s left for me to do

Is to pick up the pieces and move on from you

I’ve fallen from the sky like the rain

And there will be no rainbow at the end

Cause all that’s left for me to do

Is to pick up the pieces and move on from you

View falling-down

There's No One Quite Like You (poem/song)

View there-s-no-one-quite-like-you

I don’t know what to do with my life,

Since you were gone, all I could see was that knife

Stabbing me stabbing me, pain all over me

Not knowing where to go

It’s only now I find there’s no one quite like you

And it’s only now I find I’m a fool for leaving you

There’s no one quite like you

As I’m floating, drifting away,

Love is lost and hurt is found, all I hear is scrambled sound

And there’s nothing left to say,

Not knowing what to do

It’s only now I find there’s no one quite like you

And it’s only now I find I’m a fool for leaving you

There’s no one quite like you

Screaming, hurting,

Trying to be healed,

Is there a God out there,

I ask myself, but there was no reply

There’s no one quite like you

- marco

to a T / I love...

a semi-work in progress.
the best people, the ones who mean something to me are so hard to describe & do justice, write about to a t, let alone actually tell them without feeling like a cheese/turning 5 shades of crimson
this is my go, as far as I've got.

my friend, you are
the most interesting,
tone deaf, exciting
like a made-up person
spontaneous
crazy loving and hilarious
so predictable but then you go and surprise
even yourself. put me in my place
when I'm wrong (usually).
bad judgement
and I love that.
I love

seeing from another perspective. being taken aback
when you show me another side for the first time.
your attention, your interest.
I love being your friend.

I love
spending my time with you,
or as much as I get.
spending time, and wasting it
because you are the most worthwhile.

I love
every moment
the good, the bad, the very
very
confusing.
the just plain strange.
I love valuing
and being valued
I love being crazy then serious
and telling you everything
about everything, and me.

I love
making plans that won't happen.
seeing bits of your life, putting them together.
being together.
your support when it matters.
your company,
just being with me
when I need it
or at least knowing when I do.
I love you being there and accepting everything I am
when you don't have to.

I love you,
my best friend.
the end.


-- tor.

Natural Attraction.

Just lie with me.
Beneath the canopy.
Of these many trees.
And then we.
Will talk about you and me.
And how we'd be.
Forever together.
No matter the weather.
Our love is like the forest around us.
Strong. Ancient.
We'll feel complacent.
Smug.
For what we've withstood.
Even with the mud.
Being pressed into our hair.
Our fur.
The animal like lure.
Of nature.
It's natural.
This mutual feeling.
It's reeling us in.
And we don't fight back.
Love has taken us back to the world.
Back.
To the pack.
With which we used to run.
That's my love. Animal like.
And the bite.
Of love
Has tainted my blood.
It's intoxicating.
And frustrating.
That's my love.
-H

a letter to xx.

it's strange, what snow can do. precipitation, it can bring this world to a halt, tear it in half, bring despair or childlike glee, screaming, throwing, games and fights. love in the ice. with a few flakes you feel warmth or your heart freezing over. blizzards bring nostalgia or heartbreak.
those few flakes can be the start or end of everything. memories, new beginnings.

it snowed today. I thought of you, of us, of everyone at rc. minds and bodies closed in on themselves, as pale and fragile as snow. snow that would melt away. it was strange.
as I stepped into the snow I felt myself pushing the fear beneath my feet. I remembered the tears, trials and tribulations. the day we, the afflicted, realised that perhaps we were just human after all. nothing less.

i'm still searching for that sense of self worth. this year has put me into perspective. through actions, and words. fencing myself off from the world, an incommunicable onlooker.
the ice is melting.

the difference a friend can make. knowing that you are never alone. knowing love for the first time. I no longer want to die at 22. my time in rc has inspired me to change others' lives for the better.

but that's enough about me. I'm writing to you, about you. we've not spoken in a while, and frankly it scares me. seeing someone as deserving as you in pain makes my heart break.

you are so beautiful, you deserve so much more love than you've been shown. appreciation. someone who will support you, give you the attention you need and more.

I'm so proud of you. you're such an inspiration, eternal calm in chaos. a catatonic a-bomb, yoga in the rush hour. the solitary snowflake, frail but perfect, so influential but so easily overlooked.
you are the kind of person that shows others life is worth living. free for all, feeding the people, but asking nothing in return. the rose in the empty castle.

when will you realise? you're not the problem. you're so perfect, kind, hard working, determined, distressable, gifted, motivational.

but you knew that, didn't you? it was always at the back of your mind.

you are so intelligent and so wise. your eyes have seen so much more than anybody twice your age. you have seen suffering, disaster, pain and torment. you give everyone else strength while you constantly tear yourself down. why should it be you?

you are your only obstacle. the only minotaur here is you. when will you realise that we all adore you? when will you allow yourself to be?
is it home? is it school? or is it just you?
how could you concievably think that you are unworthy?

we're not worthy! we're not worthy!

don't let anyone get you down. don't let them get in your way. and don't hurt yourself.
whatever it is, I will be there. you will never be alone.

and everyone is worthy. life or alice cooper.
don't be so hard on yourself.

stay strong,
tor. xx

Nathan.

There he goes.
Still fighting him with a busted nose.
Split lip, black eye, but he don't show.
Any sign of backing down. NO!
He'll keep going.
Keep on flowing.
Keep on thorwing.
Punch after punch.
On his late lunch.
When his cheek bones CRUNCH
Blood on his top.
But he still wont stop.
Showing A block.
What not.
To mess with.
That's Nathan.



He lost by the way.
and the lad who caused him A.B.H got to stay at school, and got good grades too!
-H

Hey Writers, just to let you know, I've made some changes to the blog, as you can see, but I will be experimenting with its look over Christmas, when I have a bit more time. But do let me know if the different font or the stretchyness of it is annoying you, and I will change it.

Love and rhyme,
Tallie xx

240/265 - meteor shower

240/265 - meteor shower, originally uploaded by jill willcott.

I love this - I found it on flickr. As you can see, I am in love with snow.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ettubrute/3054055908/

Snow in Amsterdam, sort of gorgeous

Love Lost part 2

I'm committed.
fitted.
Into place.
In a race.
That can never be won.
No matter how fast I run.
When I listen to songs that are sung.
About love.
But I can't find it.
So I try to hide it.
My own feelings.
Like apple peelings.
They are discarded.
And leave behind, easily wounded flesh.
And my heart,is in a mess.
Cut,bruised. Battered and abused.
Stitched roughly together.
and never, will, never beat properly again.
-H

Snow and Running

Snow, unlike anything else I’ve ever come across before, has a huge significance no matter what quantity or volume it is found in. The significance of snow cannot be rationalised or differentiated, for it has shaken me up into thinking, every time I come across it, like finding an unexpected treasure on the ground or feeling your nostrils flare up when someone words a phrase you have heard many times before differently, in such a way that you understand it. It snowed today.
I must admit, it snowed for about two minutes, I didn’t even have time to change my clothes into running gear and exit the house, but that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I went outside anyway and ran, which I hadn’t done for a couple of weeks, thanks to my persistent sense of obligation to do well in studying. Running saves me. Running relates to snow, to a certain feeling of tightness in my chest and a person, who, for the sake of the argument, we shall call Will. All these correlate together in a couple of seconds of understanding, in the same way as you never notice the moments where you are completely happy, for you are overcome with the fact that a strange many thing have come together to form that moment.
I was walking back from the bus, which, for once, came on time. The air was crispy and cold, and I could make out my breath in the setting shadows of the evening. I passed a window of one of the council houses and saw a boy, who I recognised as a stepbrother of a friend I once knew. I looked away, but when I looked back he was still stood at the window staring at me. Did he recognise me? I would like to think he did, I like it when strangers do. There was a song in my headphones and it was brilliant, because this wasn’t the hundredth time I heard it, I was still falling in love with it. Just as I started to cross the road to my house, I felt a prickle on my cheek. I looked around and saw flakes, though anorexic and weak, shy at first, making their trial visit slowly to the ground. They sort of tried to hide it, to make this trial as unnoticeable as possible. It makes me wonder if they do it every year, so they can practise their extravagant, grand entrance. The smell of them made me stop and realise that the muscle around my mouth were tight in a grin. I rushed home to change my clothes.
The air was still again as I left the house. It was as if it was telling me ‘Nothing happened, you saw nothing!’ But I knew better – I saw the snowflakes with my own eyes, I have witnessed this winter’s first snow. I started running, the cold gripping my nose until I couldn’t feel it anymore and the familiar sensation of sudden awareness of my own body spread. The rhythmic pounding on my feet against the ground was soothing, but my thoughts went straight back to the science I’ve been studying hard for the exams coming up. I saw my lungs expand and collapse, their elastic recoil pushing the carbon dioxide out of my mouth as a cloud of waste product. I could see before my eyes the respiration reaction in the cells of my heart, and the systole and diastole making it contract and relax. ‘Lub’ went the antrioventricular valves. ‘Dub’ answered the semilunar valves. The oxygen was circling all around my body and my muscles drinking it like liquid honey. So I pushed those thoughts away. They were replaced by images of me in a test, having a complete mind blank and I recognised the terrified feeling, once again, of knowing what you do not know. My chest tightened again. Then, as always, my thoughts went to Will, the day I wrote the poem, the snow. Months later, I lost Will. I can see us sitting on the bench, standing near the lake, walking along the path every time I run, it’s like those memories have dissociated into the air, but my presence there brings them to be visible again. I remember losing Will and losing my will to feel, every time I run. But as I’ve said, running saves me. Because when I’m running, I remember to breathe. I remember that I need the oxygen and the glucose for my body to work and it is thanking me, with gentle whispering of endorphins into my very being. With the hypnotic beating of my feet against the ground I remember that I am living and by this time, my chest is tight and I remember, I remember to breathe and I collapse my lungs harder, the waste product of my studying, the disappointment, the pain of losing someone that is, after all, an aftertaste now, it is all being released. Thank God it’s winter, because I can see it. In the white cloud of smoke that leaves my mouth every time I breathe out I can see what I let go of and it is real, I can see it in front of me, it has been condensed and filtered out . Thanks to running, the waste product that exits my lungs leaves room for fresh, crispy air. It creates room for new understanding and acceptance and feeling. It leaves room for maybe cold, but clear air that reduces the fog around my tired thoughts. It is the shock of a defibrillator and it is a soothing softness of stepping onto a soft sheepskin rug first thing in the morning. Running makes me feel infinite.

-N

(in need of a title lol)

I'm slipping into old habbits again.
Its you. You make me feel like more than 'just friends',
But reality shows that its a 'one way street',
Like a circle drawn but never completes.

A roundabout is what I'm looking for.
But I'm running down this hall looking for an open door.
Behind that door is love and that love is true,
The truth is always enough but never enough without you.

I'm slipping into old habbits again.
Same old story, same old pain.
I hate that I'm falling for you,
And you know. I hate that too.

So whats your masterplan this time?
To talk me out of this crime.
It's never a crime to love, it's not a crime to care,
It's never a crime to help a broken heart in repair.

- ^.^ Teeks

Still Working.

This is a slightly random slam I did round my mates while he was mixing some stuff on his decks. Enjoy.

Emotional strain.
Physical pain.
Hit me, knock me down, watch me rise again.
You wont stop me. You never could.
Even when my face was pushed in the mud.
I just got back up.
Because I've had enough.
You can't hurt me anymore.
Than I already am.
It takes a man, to go through what I have.
You're an excuse you just make me laugh.
That's why I keep pushing.
Even when my heads gushing.
Blood,and sweat.
And though your set.
On destroying me.
Can't you see I'm already broken?
I haven't spoken.
To you in weeks.
And now my tears leak.
And my cries fall on deaf ears.
Of my peers.
Teachers.
Parents and preachers.
And the seekers.
That whish to do me harm.
Could never do any more.
Im done. Broken. A token. A monument.
I am me. I am here. Broken as I am. I am still working.
-H

Flumox

Flumox was a little man so proud with puff and glee
until he stumbled upon a hill, and dropped his steaming tea
his moustach cried:
I could have died!
and fainted soon forthwith
Flumox sighed, it could not be denied, his moustach was of course, a div.

-HNR

The Gold Bullion

Wrote this in year 7

Although the sliver of light that shone in was grey, it was a magnificent sight. Gold bullions were stacked rows upon rows gleaming in the dark. In the cavern, Aztec symbols, appearing to be a warning, were inscribed against the wall.
An opening threw wide open, allowing snow and wind to cover the ground with a thin layer of ice. An amorphous figure obscured the light from the door. It was colossal. As the light slowly dimmed, the silhouette morphed into a recognizable form…it was a polar bear.
Lumbering nearby, three explorers walked in the cavernous den, seeking protection from the bitter cold of the polar island of Ragnarok. Decoding the symbols, they concluded that the place was a divine sanctuary. They lit the area with candles, oblivious to the gold hoard and the polar bear nearby, and ate a bland survival pack in the frigid, Stygian, underground chamber. It was not an ordinary sanctuary, however, for it was a place of torture; it was a sacrificial chamber.
Every 100 years, Ragnar would return, reborn from the ice, to guard the sacred gold bullion. Ragnar would tear to pieces all who enter the holy lair. Times have changed. A new adversary marked a new era in world domination – Ingavar the dragon, born from the ashes of a volcano, was to battle Ragnar. Ingavar was to use the power, locked within the gold, for the use of Gwillana the evil sorceress.
Ragnar growled, alerting the men. Cautiously moving back against the wall, the explorers readied weapons. Suddenly, the candles blew out, extinguishing the light. The door opened, a gush of air surging in, and weak sunlight streamed into the cave. The light was partially eclipsed by the dragon Ingavar.
Ingavar streaked across the den, lunging straight towards Ragnar, and the duel began. Ragnar grabbed Ingavar’s wings and threw him towards the door. Flapping his dragon wings vigorously, Ingavar kicked against the door, toppling over boulders and blocking the only way out. The men were trapped. Only a few beams of light shone through. Ingavar threw one of the men at Ragnar which ripped the man to pieces. Disgruntled and confused, Ragnar found himself on the ground, struggling to get upright. Seeing that one of the men tried to help Ragnar, Ingavar pounced on the man and incinerated him; all that was left of him was a pile of ash! Ingavar lunged at Ragnar; caught off guard, Ragnar struggled. Ingavar started inhaling, about to incinerate the polar bear. Suddenly, the last of the men sprang towards the melee and severed the dragon’s head, killing Ingavar instantly. Blood spewed everywhere. The man saved Ragnar.
Ragnar stood up shakily, having nearly lost the battle to an ancient beast of terror. Ragnar gave one of the gold bullions to the man. The man sighed, dug his way out of the cave and lumbered away from the cave. He knelt down, placing the gold brick in front of him, and closed his eyes. A dense fog enveloped and enshrouded him; after the haze cleared, he was no longer there… Walking away, Ragnar vanished, leaving a pile of snow behind, ready for another battle a hundred years in the future.

-M(P)

Downtown - Everything's Waiting For You

Downtown - Everything's Waiting For You

Nancy wiped away the mist from the bathroom mirror and gave herself the evil eye. Her blue eyes kept that icy stare for a few moments until a raised eyebrow ended the standoff and back came her usual wide, dazzle-the-world smile.

“Hey you, why so serious?” she spoke to her reflection. “Don’t you know you’re going downtown?
She grabbed her hairbrush and sang into it ‘Petula Clark’s Downtown’:
“When you're alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go, downtown,
When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know, downtown
Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?”
Soon, she was out of the bathroom and changing into street clothes. Then she walked to the window, pulled aside the curtains, leaned forward, and gave a little gasp. New York City was certainly a sight. She had arrived in the city that morning. Nancy, who had spent all her life in rural rocky mountain Montana, was now in the Big Apple. The neon lights spread out before her and each one twinkled and beckoned to her…
It was 13 July 1977. The date held significance to Nancy – for it was also her birthday. And this day, this year, held all the more significance for her, for it was the day to a brand new start. She had moved from her native Montana – the majestic mountains, green pastures, and azure lakes – to the hustle and bustle, the energy, the pulsating heartbeat that is New York City. She had always yearned for the vibrant high life and the world of fashion. New York was the answer.
As Nancy bounded downstairs from the apartment building, she continued her song –
“The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares
So go downtown, where all the lights are bright
Downtown, waiting for you tonight
Downtown, you're gonna be all right now”
Nancy took in everything she saw as she walked along the street. She looked forward to a great night. Overhead were the bright lights of lamps, buildings, and shop signs. Cars honked all around her. A red-faced man poked his head out of his car and waved his fists angrily at a yellow taxi.
“Watch where you’re going, you lousy bum!” he yelled.
Red-Face’s spittle hit Nancy in the face.
Along the sidewalk, people shoved and jostled each other. Nancy was manoeuvring her way through the people, a little flustered. By this time, she had stopped her singing. She stopped in front of a corner store and breathed in the stale steamy air.
All of a sudden, everything around Nancy was plunged in darkness. Gone were the bright New York lights, and for a few brief moments Nancy was back in Montana again. Montana at night was quiet and peaceful, and only stars dotted the night sky.
Nancy waited, and waited. Soon, distressed voices and pleading cries rose from the streets. In the distance, Nancy made out the silhouette of a mob. They swept through the streets, shattered car headlights, and plunged New York deep into pitch-black darkness…
Nancy’s heart was beating wildly, fear gripped her – she had never experienced such panic and violence before. She looked for a place to hide…any place so she could hide! All around her, pandemonium pounded and hounded the city streets. Fires started. Once again, New York was lit, only this time with fiery bonfires. The arsonists whooped and danced about like wild flames of an inferno that licked against the dark shadow of the city.
Nancy looked on as a group of men with baseball bats broke the glass of a shop window and they started to loot the store, as they carried off televisions, stereos and all sorts of appliances. Nancy stood in astonishment, a witness to mobs going berserk, police officers chasing looters, and so many looters carrying away their prized booty.
In every street corner, sirens wailed. Fire engines tried desperately to subdue the raging blaze caused by arson. Nancy met havoc at every turn. People were running wildly around her, pushing and shoving. It had been many hours since the blackout started yet Nancy still scampered about, aimlessly. Earlier that evening, she was looking forward to a sumptuous dinner in one of New York’s fine restaurants. But now, she felt extremely hungry and thirsty. For the first time in her life, she had realized that she could die in the midst of a great city, not only out of being mugged but also out of hunger. She felt that this metropolis turned out to be a jungle as well as a desert, a place where she could die of thirst, while the mob stampeded like a horde of wild animals in the city streets. She saw a group of men helping themselves to some boxes. She could only hope that the boxes were drinks. Nancy picked up one of the boxes when someone grabbed her from behind!
“All right, that’s enough, you’re coming with me,” a firm voice spoke to her.
She screeched, squirmed, and tried to get out of the grasp… Hours later, giddy and dazed, she found herself holding bars – she was in a cell. Bewildered and confused, Nancy soon realized that she had been arrested as a looter.
“Let me out of here!” she yelled.
There was no answer.
“Please, let me go!” she cried, “I didn’t do anything!”
“Yeah right, you and every other looter out there tonight! Now shut up!” a voice answered her through the dim corridor.
Nancy sighed and leaned her head against the bars. In the distance, Nancy could hear music playing. She strained her ears and felt a sickly sensation of recognition. The song was ‘Downtown’.
“We can forget all our troubles, forget all our cares,
So go downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, everything's waiting for you…”

-M(P)

Be Careful What You Wish For

A story of exactly 366 words - commemorating the leap year in 2008.

The events leading to her death were curious, and it began with a wish. Sam was never athletic so there had been no surprises when she was playing volleyball at school and a ball hit her head, making her, yet again, the centre of ridicule. Laughter reverberated around the gym. Ashamed, she brushed her hair to cover her face.
“Wish I was good at volleyball,” she inwardly groaned. For the rest of the day, she was mocked by her classmates.
The next day, Sam had volleyball again. The ball flew in the air, aimed at Sam. A renewed strength came over her; she struck the ball perfectly and astounded everyone as she scored. She smiled as she realised her whim came true. A thunderous silence pervaded the tense atmosphere. Sam declared that she was better than everyone else was, angry with her classmates for treating her so badly. Rather than gaining respect, she lost it. Then the laughing started again.
She sobbed, “I wish everyone’d disappear!” She closed her eyes, tensed for a moment and opened them.
The gym was empty.
Sam realised that her wishes were coming true; after a few pensive moments, she declared, “I wish I could go back in time and change everything.” She closed her eyes; a moment later, she opened them.
She was in the middle of a battle. Never has she seen so much bloodshed before. Seeing a signpost, she ran up to it, tears streaming down her face. In bold letters, it said one word: Waterloo. Fear grew within her as she realised what had happened: she went back in time to the Battle of Waterloo.
It was clear that one of the armies was losing. Sam shouted, “I wish you’d stop fighting!” The losing army didn’t stop, didn’t understand. The winning army stared vacuously, kneeled down and surrendered. The French army quickly dispatched the English army. She had gone back to the past and changed everything.
She yielded and went with the French army; the French honoured her for helping with their battle. It was then when she was offered frog’s legs in a victory banquet that she replied, “I’m vegetarian – I’d rather die,” that she died.

-M(P)

Random Poem "Ideal Pastime"

The Ideal Pastime

Flowing writing, a different world:
Vicarious travel, imagery whirl.
Characters sneeze, characters snooze,
Enjoying the buzz, away with the blues,
A classicc a comedy, a horror or two,
A war story…spy! Non-fiction ones too!
Let’s go with the flow and relish the glow –
Catching the hue with just words to show.
Animals here, animals there,
Like the full Noah’s ark – they’re all everywhere!
The ideal pastime – reading a story,
Indulging yourself, savouring the glory.
So go and get one now – have a real good look:
And put your feet up and read a good book!

-M(P)

Taking a walk on the WILD SIDE!

This is from the headline + photograph task, if you want real writing please scrolllll away!


ONE FINE SUNDAY during the safari season of January 2018, I decided to TAKE A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE! and visit my local church to see the famous Jesus Christ of that tropical area of the world Bethlehem (possibly in Wales), as preached by Rvd Penelope Artimis of Jerusalem.

Imagine my shock (and possibly delight and/or mortification) when I discovered a church of the heat and atmosphere of a large sauna, palm trees in the aisles, a zebra playing the organ to an almagamation of ABC and the Star Wars Theme YES!
No wonder 70% of Britons consider themselves Christian. They come for the religion and stay for the piña coladas.

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Brought to you by Tor, stay tuned for the next episode of JUST A MINUTE Ashby Creative Writing Club! Yes!

Seasons’ Greetings

Seasons’ Greetings

Spring silently creeps
Between buds and branches,
And gilds the newborn leaves.
All colours are bright and spirits are high–
Blossoms against an azure sky.

Then the summer sun glows,
Like melted butter over the hills
And soon bleeds over the horizon.
Unspeakable light and beauty
In hushed and heated undertones.

Soon, autumn winds come rushing in
While brown red and amber leaves swirl along.
Through the autumn mists the winds persist–
Whispering through scarves their mournful song.

In a moment, the last leaf will fall,
And soon the snow will cover all.
The fickle snow that flies so fast,
Like winged white stars come falling past.

Here is the mystery of mysteries,
One that never ceases to amaze:
Is that wondrous sight the fickle touch,
Of the ever-changing beauty of Nature’s face.

-M(P)

OCEAN acrostic

Open, vast, round,
Creatures abound,
Eroding the hills,
Angry in storm,
Nature in its most exquisite form.

-M(P)

LEAF acrostic

Lush, flowing, embossing the spring with a glint,
Emanating from each wondrous bud and branch,
Astral in nature, ferocious in the wind,
Finding its way, through the foliage, to the azure sky.

-M(P)

Pink Wrapping Paper

Stimulus: Pink Wrapping Paper

Part One
Small, insignificant and crinkly.
What would life care for me?
Thin, papery and rough,
Just like life's evil and wicked machinations,
The bleak, cold wing forces its strength
On my weak edges,
Never quite in,
Always seems out,
The flush of my pink cheeks showing.
What is my purpose?
I'm barren - and insignificant.

Part Two
A warm gentle hand picks me up,
Ruffles and soothes my frozen, broken skin.
Against a colourful wall I now stand,
Besides a Christmas tree,
Some tinsel and bells,
Around a pleased and happy family...
And softly I fondle the gifts of the season.

-M(P)

tit less

I've had too many defining moments,
Too many for my liking;
more terrifying is the thought that there must,
of course, be many more.

They do occupy a certain space,
where without them,
i would not have these wrinkles, about my face.
More worry than for laughter,
though those 'defining' moments have nothing
on the small details of everyday.
Have nothing on the words that form,
our feelings of each people
loving or lethal.

Why you remember those moments you do,
they may not bring joy,
but they may bring part of you.

HNR :)

Love Lost.

Just a thought.
That fought.
To be heard.
In a mind, that is blurred.
I grind at the gears.
Of my fears.
When the tears.
Roll down my face.
Space.
And time are lost.
In a frost.
That freezes my heart.
Being void, of emotion is an art.
That starts.
With the pain of loss.
The pain of love.
That never ceases.
Or eases.
And creases.
You in two, as you cry!
As you scream!
And the gleam.
In your eyes.
Dies.
-H

Boxed

Boxed in an ocean cocoon
Safe
Imprisoned in a cold exterior
Familiar
Familiar to the brave
Betrayed, five soldiers
Gone
Boxed

- Nataliya