|DDs that I have had the pleasure of featuring as a Community Volunteer.|
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.The Beard of intrigue by Beccalicious
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bagsShopping and Wizards. by Beccalicious
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
Napo 8- SusanWhy did you lock her out of heavenNapo 8- Susan by Beccalicious
and throw the key
into the lions land?
A beautiful girl enjoying
a new fantasy to live.
She'd stopped believing, but
faith stays in a heart longer
than a head.
"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now,
and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age"
Napo 7- Teen of the 90'sI wanted to be Posh Spice because myNapo 7- Teen of the 90's by Beccalicious
hair was brown bobbed and she dated David
Beckham; I wanted to marry him. I
had no internet and recorded songs
on the radio to tape, daring to
pause and knock out the DJ’s droll. I sang
to S Club and thought I was the coolest
in my smiley faced top and my yingyang
friendship necklaces. You had to know the
Macarena not just for weddings but
school discos too and then every steps routine
to fit in. Slow dances with boys made me
wish again that they were David Beckham
and not greasy teens with bad curtains for
hair. They pressed themselves against you before
travelling to the next girl in leopard
print skirt. Viva forever was merely
a fantasy ; one I’d dream the whole of
the nineties, hoping my teenage self could
find her inner strength, her true girl power.
WordCount is Looking for You!It's that time of year again! WordCount is looking for staff.WordCount is Looking for You! by WordCount
After four months of slaving over deviations and choosing features, it's time for a few new faces on the WordCount team. In other words, we're looking for you!
Well, maybe not you.
As a part of the WordCount staff, you will be required to submit at least three (3) prose deviations, per month, that you would like to see featured. Yes, that's right: only three (3) per month. It gets even better, though! To avoid burn-out and keep our suggestions fresh, you only have to agree to be on staff for the next three (3) months or 90 days. That means you only have to suggest 9 texts, total, over the next three months! After three months you can choose to step down, no hard feelings or grudges or drama or guilt trips; we'll thank you kindly for your time, in fact.
Haikuwrimo 2007 - Week 2Haikuwrimo 2007 - Week 2 by RetroZombie
a fearsome trial
for a sheltered lad
sew the skin
with sympathy for reptiles
beams bent by glass
but not enough
to spare weary eyes
laser guided kitties
stalking the dot
so lithe and agile...
and so astonished
at falling off the cat perch
ink imbues brush
brush caresses page-
Bucketsi.Buckets by schriftsteller
before I'm 30
I want to die
to be buried
even with the decorations
& bodily equations
laid out over my skin
like tapestries of
to have "Edge" read
by a woman who leapt
over the edge of sanity
but held out her hand
to help me across the
to leave my body
to the science of
& all the crows that
followed me from
home to home,
never asking why.
before I'm 30
I want to not die
to lick the condensation
from the window
of my life
& see the world clearly
for the first time,
to be reborn
to hear a song
that tastes better than
& all the time I've spent
milling around inside
from winter to winter,
checking for ghosts
to taste the sugar
of the promised
& feel every inch
of my past slipping
into a darker hole
than I've ever
to truly live.
I am not summer personifiedDo not compare me to a summers day,I am not summer personified by blood-red-ribbons
I'm an autumn baby, with fallen leaves,
Printed in gold and amber across my skin,
With the deepest red sunset lips,
Offset by snowy skin.
I am the crisp breath of wind,
On oxygen starved lungs.
Forget the call of the heat,
And fall into my mist embrace.
moonhe reads to her, tells her what it was like to be a sailor of the seas on the moon. "don't stop talking," she tells him, dozing off, imagining the seas of zephyr.moon by KaitForest
spyglass on the moon a million miles away, the ether shatters by a little girl on her toes, standing on her mattress, clinging to her window above. stain glass eyes in the wake of moon and she breathes as the sea slamming onto the pane, receding and reaching; clouding and clearing. her breaths reach the moon and the moon reaches back with her hands pressed to the girl's eyes.
"one day," she tells the moon, the boy still at her bedside, "you and i will be together."
TattooHear me read itTattoo by BloodshotInk
I splashed black ink onto your spine;
unintentional as I frenzied and fawned
to try and catch the elusive thought.
You patiently waited for me to return,
out of breath and triumphant, with my trophy.
We hung it on wood next to the elk.
In my haste to write of the love of you,
I'd written in you. I'd marked you as mine,
as my words intoxicated your weak heart.
The ink had permeated your flesh, your blood,
until it silted, deep inside you,
a permanent, unedited, tattoo of our love.
Sword SwallowerSix seasons.Sword Swallower by KissTheSunrise
Seventeen and one half months.
Nineteen and one quarter lunar cycles.
Five hundred thirty four days and nights.
Seven hundred sixty-eight thousand nine hundred and 60 seconds.
We spent every one of these units of time together.
In the shadow of the oncoming storm, a tree shudders within, dropping its' fruit.
Tides rush before the storm carrying generations to a land with wounded soil where they perish.
Numbers are not real. I count them 3..5..23..88, 89, 90, 91..98, 99..115..Habit. See it. Sum it. Submit.
Pulling, pounding, pushing, breathing, the song of the new cicadas.
In harmony a steady nightly rhythm. (701)
Soaked in an ocean of soiled linen, daring desires, pheromones, swollen lips and coliseum kisses.
Your spasmodic shell satiated, separates, splinters, shatters, sails straight South.
Through the long nights I've been cinched t
A Poet's RomanceShe was the quiet sort,A Poet's Romance by Nullibicity
within her eyes,
to pottery skin;
she would mold herself
into moonlight butterflies
and glist'ning calla lilies,
pure and white and
and when night cast
itself upon her in
heated, hard'ning flames,
she’d smash herself
upon the rocks
and in morning start
|DDs that I have had the pleasure of featuring as a Community Volunteer.|
Early April, Northern IllinoisThe snow is gone, winter's ugliness
Thunderflash, rains coming
A fat robin perches on a wire, not singing
just hanging on
A fat man sits on a wall
and talks loudly to himself
This purgatory between winter and spring
this unsettled soupy day
when the lights flicker
This is the way the sky dances its
This is the way the homeless man
calls to be taken home
Shitty coffee at the City Cafe
People with newspaper heads rushing by
as big drops fall
I close my eyes and see a world
of green to come
I don't know what or who
the fat man sees
awaken from this
you’ve become a servant to the ocean,
obeying its every command –
succumbing to its demanding beauty,
hypnotised by the tranquillity.
(rising and falling.)
(falling and rising.)
you fragile, broken thing,
a beautiful golden fool –
your frame filling with
bones stiffening, skin wrinkling
blood turning blue.
you’re visiting the ocean’s depths,
welcoming the cruel world below;
but those lungs of yours are burning,
and those soft eyes are questioning –
you ocean captive,
open your eyes
swim to the top –
and breathe the air,
| I am running 5k for Cancer Research UK on the 14th July 2013. |
This is my 5th year participating and this year I am teamed up with CurvyLemon!
Cancer sadly still affects for too many people, and the work Cancer Research does not only funds the science, it also supports more treatment centres, nurses and support for families.
Every Pound counts, even if you can just sponsor me just £2 I would appreciate it!
Click on the button to be taken to my page!
Together, we CAN beat cancer!
| Or just confused?|
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