Write here, write now!

Not a poet, but a fic writer, and here we go off the top of my head:

I looked at him, my hazel brown eyes fixing on his green eyes. There was a slight blush that spread across my face as his fingers touched my skin. Everything happened so fast and before I could realize it, I was dancing with him. Of course we were at a party, so there had to be dancing.

Out of everyone I danced with he was the best. The way he moved to flawlessly, and the way he seemed to know what he was doing. I was enchanted by him. His name... That's the only thing I forgot... Hopefully I bump into him again. 

I miss his green eyes, his soft skin, his flawless smile. He was perfect in every way possible, even down to the natural yellow streaks in his black hair. I miss him already.

(Yeah cool, it was off the top of my head, whatever. Don't be too harsh, I'm not used to writing like this lol)

Too harsh? I loved it! I am no poet either and tend towards prose as well.

Again, NOT being a writer, I can't 'analyze', but neither do I care for 'analyzation' of art, but for a top of your head piece, it was good!

I liked how it reads like a recollection, and the first bits you are recalling YOUR eyes, and YOUR skin, and by the end, the longing and hope has grown where you are now recalling HIS eyes and HIS skin. Such a short piece but weaves a sort of two-part perspective in the first and third bits.

What's more, the natural structure is that the first and third bits are more physically descriptive, bookending the middle bit that is more descriptive of action (the dancing).

Thank you for sharing! 

Let me see, I remember this one from a song written by a metal band years ago:

Stitch in time
For a dime
Passion crime
A penny saved is a penny earned
Get rich quick
Turn your trick
Make it quick
Another bail bond court's adjourned
The rat race
Sets the pace
Leaves a trace
To teach you what you've never learned.

I can hear that as a metal song! 

In the realm of chaos, where shadows let felines stray,

A cat-shaped enigma contemplates the cosmic array.

Gone is the warmth of summer's tender kiss,

Autumn's chill whispers secrets, alone in bliss.

Whispers of chaos, a surreal refrain,

In the alleyways of wonder, I shall remain.

Eyes closed in acceptance, in the moon's soft glow,

A feline philosopher, in shadows I stow.

Oh, with art! Lovely poem that captures the feline nature! You've joined some great writers who adore cat including Mark Twain and this anonymous monk from around the year 1200, who wrote about his cat in the margins of a sacred text he was copying.

Here translated to English from medieval Irish: 

Grey dawn. Grey mind.

Come to me, oh Goddess Caffeinna!

My morning ablutions shall not be complete without your blessing!

As I strive e'er forward to wash the grit of night

From my body.

From eye-corners.

From crusted cervices.

So, too, guide me to clear the grey-crust from my mind.

Grey dawn. Clear mind.

Mason, in a world where heavy word lightly thrown is the norm, there is an eternal need for light words most often thrown.

KEEP POSTING the 'non-sensical' for you join the likes of Lewis Caroll, John Lennon, and perhaps Douglas Adams! 

Baby back ribs!

Green onion

Garlic~! 

Ginger root~!

Oyster sauce~!

Miso paste

Soy sauce

Salt/pepper

Marinate overnight

Mix cornstarch and coat ribs

Use microwave 4 minutes

Batch of 7-8

Air fryer: 8 minutes on one side then turn another 8-9 minutes total 16-17

Something tells me it's a recipe  

Edit to include amounts and I might try it. If it turns out good, I'll declare your writing a great wprk of literature

Elusive.

Formless, run aimless.

Effluent.

Spewing, drain directionless. 

Lately I've been motivated to finally start working on some (stand-up) comedy material for the first time ever. I've got some seeds planted in a rough outline, but the jokes needs to be fleshed out some more for sure. Not into posting WIP, especially if it's something I hope to professioanly publish someday, but it's nice to be sinpisred!

I have a running list of (maybe hundreds?) of haikus I have written. Here is one:

(Shanty)
Foul hymns from the sea
Sent their swells to bury me
Submerged, now debris.

I like a good haiku  

Most folks treat haikus kind of 'light'. Yours has gravity!

The stretch of the morn soothes the damp-soaked joints.

O're night the ache settles in like a gnawing.

Like dogs worrying blackened bones by the fireside.

Begone, foul curs! If not the stretch, then the coffee.

If not the stretch, nor the coffee then the heat of the shower.

If not the stretch, the coffee, nor the steamy warmth, 

Then the determination of perseverance. 

The joints creak. Signaling their disdain for the cold stiffness more loudly than the bowl of rice krispies. 

Snap. Crackle. Pop. (uh-oh).

Enough movement to carry on. 

The roads of dark and the roads of light.

How can I go on through the dark bits with only the promise
of light bits ahead?

It is you. I don’t believe we can truly travel the paths
together.

Both the light and the dark, heavily filtered, only reach me
alone.

And reach you alone.

But let us travel parallel for as long as we may!

If the road is mired, and your ankles stuck fast in the stagnant
sucking mud beyond your ankles,

I’ll tug until you are free, or else stand staid in the mud
next to yours for as long as it takes

For the sun to shine again and we chip away the dried earth.

If the road be steep, and the lose talus of life’s debris
keep your feet from finding steady purchase,

I’ll crawl upwards with you over skidding razor sharp rocks

Until time levels the path again and we walk freely without
care.

As you do for me. As you’ve done for me. My trust in you is
more solid than the fleeting promise of lighter roads.

A thousand times over.

The thousand-thousand times.

I would much rather crawl the dark roads near you

Than spend a single step on the roads of light without you. 

Just here to finish up my story to see if she can find him again lol.

I woke up with a fright the next morning. it had all been a dream... But it seemed so real. And there was a major party happening tonight for everyone in the kingdom to attend. For the prince. He had to find a bride or groom before the night ended.

Hours had passed and I got everything ready to make it to the party. The only thing left to do was to show up. And that's exactly what I did. 

I thought the moment would never happen. The prince finally arrived! But... he was identical to the man in my dream. And he just... He did glance my way!

He bypassed everyone that tried to approach him, and walked up to me. Me, of all people! He took my hand and began to dance with me. The way he moved... so flawless... And his eyes, so handsome. His smile was golden.

By the end of the night the prince made his choice.  Me. I was to be his bride. Me, a princess. It was a dream come true, and a magical choice. And I was ready to do anything he asked of me.

(Cool, done, yadda yadda yadda. Hands down this would be a good full-length fic-)

Ricky! Glad you're back! Another installment, maybe?

Sol, nice 'in and out' on the concept of 'ego destruction' and combining with the universe!

Thank you, green glass bottle, for keeping my Coca-Cola safe!

Handy, cold, clean.

Sound your gentle "pshtt" as I open the cap.

Wisp of 'gas' collected at the top on the breaking of the seal?

Nay says I!

Wisp of spirit charged with guarding my soda!

My relief. My simple pleasure.

I thank thee, oh spirit of the soda's freshness, as I gently exhale through pursed lips.

I release thee in gratitude for a task well committed! 

If ye be a latter-day genie, I wish only for the brief salvation of a tasty beverage.

Wish granted.

And you are free!

The silence of the morning. The awakening of the little death of sleep.

Where we stand communing with the world of dream.

The shock of it. The disbelief. The slow realization.

The anticipation of chaos to ensue.

The people about, directionless in confusion,

Or else focused on the tasks.

The silence of the mourning. The awakening of the bigger sleep of death.

Where we stand communing with the world of dream.

The shock of it. The disbelief. The slow realization.

The anticipation of chaos to ensue.

The people about, directionless in confusion,

Or else focused on the tasks.

The rolling of time that brings both to each of us in its own good measure.

The void can swallow all. Hopes, dreams, fears, anguish, and all of the parts that make it all worth living for.

Sounding my voice into the void? Nay, says I. As I shout into the endless nothing, I am shouting at it. Cursing it with my very life essence while shaking my fist like an elderly pensioner would at the neighborhood rapscallions to get off my lawn. 

Stay, ye, oh dark nothingness. Stay in your lane! 

One day, if the gods be good, let it be many years from now,

I'll go to meet you. Perhaps even willingly. Longingly returning to the womb of the tomb in hopes that I'll have another around. That the endless infinite void spits me back out again.

Even if greatly transformed. Even if devoid of the knowing of things once again.

In the meantime, I shout! I shake my fist! I stand staid against you! 

Here's a line from a song I'm working on:

There's always something going on

Always something around

Maybe that's why God don't see me when I'm down

Provocative thoughts for just three lines  

Good! 

Oh, the anticipation!

Much of the world waits in anticipation through the sleeplessness of their newborn son, and the gift giving of that day and children and oldsters alike delve into wrapped gifts given in love.

My restlessness is in awaiting the newborn sun.

Return to me, glorious light! Though the trees sleep, the seeds rest below the earth, safe below the bonds of ice and snow, the promise of a new spring will once again be renewed. 

Charming! More please

Winter legs.

As the menfolk had cast about the virtues of "No-Shave" in November, so too did I participate. While they proudly wore their vow upon their faces, so too did I upon my legs.

Or ... lazy.

I told myself it was a statement for the cause of feminism! I would NOT shave a statement of defiance against the expectational conventions of beauty!

Then I remembered that I'm already not beautiful, and that my legs were safely tucked away under long pants, skirts, or leggings necessitated by the cold of the season.

Or ... lazy.

November ends and some of those menfolk dashed off their beards whilst the hair of my legs continued their quest towards dominance! I told myself I was too busy taking care of work, spouse, son, and hearth to bother. Maybe there's truth to that.

Or ... lazy.

Today I had had it! Ere before the growth becomes thick enough to attract tiny wayward pixies and gnomes mistakenly wishing to settle in the quiet forest of my legs, it must go! It must go before the texture becomes 'puffy' to the touch.

I grabbed my Intuition razor, and upon seeing the formidable task, she shrieked, jumped from my wet hand, and scampered about the bathtub hoping for escape. She ended up sobbing softly to herself in the corner out of the shower stream as I took the time waiting for her to calm herself to exfoliate just a bit.

Slash! Swipe! Be gone foul stubble! Flee, o ye spirits of winter laziness! 

Until K grow lazy again and allow the fuzz to creep ever more dense again until it annoys me into action.

I didn't take my stim 

So I can shop with him

and we can drink the gin. 

Best I could do...Skipping my metadate for our outlet mall excursion/celebration of my last day of Cmas break. Hoping it all goes well! :p 

That's brilliant though! Hope you had a great day

Ooo, I know that experience well. Different highway, different car, different time, but the same!

'Tis but a handful of days by the counting.

Less than a score. Less than a dozen. 

Steadfast remains my resolve.

But shall that ever be so, as the days pass?

As they transform to weeks?

As the weeks become months?

I look to the rewards of self-imposed sacrifice.

The gifts of denying the temporary will 'gainst the desire of the gifts upon mine countenance.

Oh, if I can but stick to the diet! 

Very descriptive!

And post your comedy writing when you're inclined, please! "Comedy" is NOT "less than"! 

Not my original writing, but with the turn of the year, I thought I'd share the top winner of the 2023 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction contest.

This is a contest for the WORST fiction writing. Held each year since the early 1980s.

The overall 2023 winner Maya Pasic writes:

"She was a beautiful woman; more specifically she was the kind of beautiful woman who had an hourlong skincare routine that made her look either ethereal or like a glazed donut, depending on how attracted to her you were."

There are several categories in addition to the worst overall.

Here's the winner for the most vile pun:

While she had no regrets about throwing the lever to douse her husband’s mistress in molten gold, Blanche did feel a pang of conscience for the innocent bystanders whose proximity had caused them to suffer gilt by association.

Adam Chmelka, Olathe, KS

This a random scribble I did this morning.

Frankenstein of the Forest

The Legend. No myth nor folklore

Wow, there's layers here! Love! 

From what depths have you sprouted from, o random nipple hair, now grown longer than should be possible had I paid careful vigil lo these past many days!

I spy you waving at me through the shower stream with your mocking gesture! 

'tis but in moments past my daily ablutions that I'll follow Lady MacBeth's advice and 'screw my courage to the sticking place", for the sake of but a moment's shock and pain I shall have at you while brandishing mine tweezers!

Back! Banished! O, foul growth, ye shall seek the depths of the drain. 

At least until one of your kin cometh anon and replace you. 

Y'all,

LOL

Y'know?

LMAO

ROFLMMFAO!

'cause?

YOLO.

Umm .,.

YMMV.

Some people used to have blue eyes.  Blue like the sky.  Weird, I know. 

Before the world changed.

Now eyes are only brown like dirt or black like night or yellow, like dying leaves.

I remember her eyes.

Jon! Short and moving!

Nice!

Can a slate be clean once written upon?

Can the block ever return to uncarved?

The chalk dust remains as the slate is wiped clean.

The images may be gone, but the residue is there.

Pull out the cleaners and scrub down. 

Stuff that microfiber wiper into the cracks and get every last bit.

Yet wee bits of chalk do remain.

The ghosts of words written, of facts and figures no longer applicable.

The time is spent, the deeds done, heavy words lightly thrown.

Clean enough.

No magic eraser can yield up every spec of the chalk dust torture.

But clean enough. 

Make space.

New ideas, thrown boldly over the last faded ghosts of the old dust.

Until comes the day when they too are but dust to dust

And the slate imperfectly cleaned anew. 

Ode to an old wreath

Thank you, old wreath.

Thank you for warding the house 'gainst those dispossessed of any measure of holiday cheer.

Thank you for your reminder of life's renewal through the white season of death.

Thank you for your pleasant aroma of evergreen 'gainst the smells of a house in confinement, newly shut up for the season of ice.

Thank you for bolstering nature through the longest night.

But long past now is the night of Yule.

So, too, has passed Christmas, and St. Stephen's Day.

Passed is the latest counting of Pope Gregory's new year.

Passed is the defeat of the Holly King.

Passed is coming of the baby new year.

Passed is the feast of the wise men.

Passed is the time 'ere the days grow longer once more.

And so, I must graciously banish thee to the confines of the wilder places on my holdfast where stands my humble dwelling.

May your drying branches return to dust amongst whither you hath come.

May you serve as a surrogate fairy ring 'til the wee folk return to dance in the less settled places. 

I enjoyed reading these Macey! 

Jon, dad. Brown like dirt.  :/ dang lol 

Kidding. Nice writing

Thank you, Becks! If ever you're inclined, write a bit for us! No one judges here, we just enjoy  

I might try.  English might be my first language but I still don't have a firm grip on  it lol 

I did write a couple things about a year ago.  I might see if I still have.  Complete sappy stuff though

So?

The world needs 'sappy' too! Maybe even more so these days! 

And please, write something new too! Even if YOU think it's gibberish. Even if YOU think it's just stream-of-conscious type stuff. Your words have VALUE! 

A poignant reminder! But with it, let us have patience. 

LaMon, having seen your art, I never doubted that you'd have a poetic soul to match

LaMon! Love it! 

The big guy has talent.  I am not surprised 

I put in wrong place.  Trying again 🤦‍♀️

Ok. I worked really hard on this Macey. For like a whole. Under 5 minutes. Comes straight from my heart though .

Roses are red, the sky is blue.
I don't miss you, I hope you get the flu.

If you ever want to call me, call her instead. Maybe she gives a damn. Or will cook you a ham.

Don't choke on it.