Lit of the Week Winners:
Aconitum-Napellus adalaine almcdermid andrewpom angeljunkie Avallynh AzizrianDaoXrak backbones vellusz beeinthebottle BeyondJen Blacksand459 bowie-loon123 brassteeth colbalt-rain CrumpetsHarvey CupofCharlie DearPoetry disrhythmic doughboycafe Drunken-Splice emilyericson EternalSunday Fleeting-Epiphany FuzzyHoser glossolalias gogocherryrose GothKoala439 gummyrabbit ingle-nook intricately-ordinary iPawed IyraEMM jade-pandora jswebb Judah-Leonardo QuiEstInLiteris KaitForest KeanuWantRoomService LaBruyere LiliWrites lizilicious lluviosa MattVoscinar momo-madness mystichuntress nawkaman neuroticmnemonic Nichrysalis Obsidian-Nightfall ohmistermagazine oracle-of-nonsense orphicfiddler Nichrysalis Phu-Phu-Hugs-Me pomohippie7 pseudometry Psyghostis QuiEstInLiteris Raaawrli RainyhawaiiV2 reflectionsinwater RestlessSands riparii RiseandBe rlkirkland Rosary0fSighs RussianTim ryante devsaartha: saevuswinds Sammur-amat Scarlettletters SilverInkblot ssensory starell That-Writer-Kid TheGlassIris TheGreatSpyExperim LeftUnfinished tonepainter toxic-nebulae travelgirlxx trembling-knees TristanCody Venry VicariouSoul Vigilo WetKakashi whatpumpkins winterkate witwitch your-methamphetamine ingle-nook zebrazebrazebra
Let's Never Meet Featured Writers:
never mindI guess it’s kind of funny, if you think about it. You always see in the movies – in the TV shows – people running and screaming and praying and stuff. That’s what Hollywood always thought it would be like. Some sort of ‘death cloud’ or something – or like an asteroid or something like that – that just happened: that just totally hit everybody by surprise.never mind by andrewpom
People have known about it for months. It’s not like in the movies. The word ‘inevitability’ comes to mind: and hey, guess what? Nobody cares to run from the inevitable. It’s pretty stupid – isn’t it, if you think about it – how people, in the movies, try to run from inevitable death. Everybody has decided what they were gonna do today weeks ago, maybe even months ago. Say goodbye to family, spend time with girlfriend, et cetera et cetera. As with the Kubler-Ross effect – or whatever it's called – p
Creepy-Crawl.When it rains, the snail comes.Creepy-Crawl. by Kurt-Jarram
And he tells unto me
all his gastropedal tales
from moss and rotted leaves.
He speaks of insect friendships
and also enemies.
“Beware,” he says “the centipede
and other vicious bugs
Beware” he says “Our cousins
Beware the shell-less slugs.”
“Be kind.” he says “And please leave
no salt on the kitchen floor
and, oh, would you please remove
those pellets from near the door.”
“My helix friend,” I say to him “Your words are truly wise.
A way for us to live in peace
I'm sure we can devise.
You, the noblest of bugs, who can neither bite nor sting.
I do declare your shell to be
the palace of a crawling king.”
When it's dark, the spider comes
and whispers in my ear.
How she, the arachnid garden queen
is hardly a thing to fear.
“Let me live,” she says “within your house's darkened halls
and silver tapestries I'll spin
to hang on every wall.”
She says “
Hey, Jealousyeyes cloud overHey, Jealousy by Cionie
and alcohol makes
what isn't "fair"
and a location shift
all is forgotten
the next morning
for fear of embarrassment
just a loosely titled "friendship"
swept under the rug
consequence/inspiredwake up slowconsequence/inspired by nawkaman
in sheets stretched thin tinder,
race against a monologue of no
hours before you win; crawl out cocoon
drink brazen, young afterthought
and write the stars on rooftop jaunts
with the devil- no one has to know
whose echo you are chasing
Her Smiling, Eagle-Wing EyesHer cheeks bend the corners of her eyesHer Smiling, Eagle-Wing Eyes by VicariouSoul
Into eagle wings when she would smile,
Thinking twice of me, then flies my way,
Warmly perched on my desires awhile,
Yet her footsteps have now been lifted:
She had been headshot, the man bolted,
And her mortal form, just then, exalted.
devotionI adore each thingdevotion by toxic-nebulae
to every object
its due reverence.
you left your fingerprints
on a glass yesterday
and I touched each
impression in oil,
one after the other,
an offering in miniature,
a phantom kiss.
over a smear of lipstick
you’ve left on a spoon
I ghost my lips.
Relapse.I have been in Manchester for just under an hour and I can't get lost.Relapse. by Kurt-Jarram
No matter which random corner I turn or side-street I cut down I still seem to have a pretty good idea of which direction will lead back to Piccadilly station and a safe journey back to the Midlands. This city is too well mapped out.
I stopped at a Wetherspoons called 'The moon under water' and got a pint of Japanese beer. My phone had died so I no longer knew what time it was.
I saw a man on a street corner selling poems. I gave him two quid and he rattled off an improvised piece. It wasn't very good.
I feel very sad right now. I no longer know who I am.
Why have I come here? I only needed to change at Manchester, why didn't I go straight home? What am I trying to do? Why am I writing all of this down?
I think I may need to buy a charger and find somewhere to use a socket. What if something terrible happens and I can't make a call?
Read a poem given to me by my friend Geoff Moriarty. I total
The Kid in the Suit (A Cyber-Fairy-tale)Despite what we may have been told, we do not actually know all that there is to be known about the surface of our planet, or the ways in which it truly functions. Our orbital satellites with their 'Advanced' global mapping systems may fool us into the belief that there is nowhere on this Earth that our eyes cannot reach.The Kid in the Suit (A Cyber-Fairy-tale) by Kurt-Jarram
But this is untrue. There are places in the world, deep places, dark places, places, long erased from the minds of men and some that men have never known at all. Whole continents have arisen from and then sunk back down into the blackest depths of the ocean, a place where our understanding is far surpassed by our understanding of the surface of the moon. The lost city of Atlantis and the continent of Lemuria, the icy wastes of North-most Ultima Thule remain now only as mythological whispers upon the lips of history. But it is unwise to think in such a way. In years past, when it was common knowledge that the earth was flat and was orbited by the sun, who could have pr
Changing of the Guard I sat pouting and alone in the first meadow when I saw a deer run out of the woods on my right, cross the meadow at top speed, then go into the woods on my left. A moment later, I heard the dogs bark. It made me angry, but there wasn't a thing I could do to get those dogs away from the deer. So I was pouting, alone and mad when the first dog ran across the meadow.Changing of the Guard by xlntwtch
It was the Afghan, head up and silent. Afghans hunt by sight, I knew that much. The other dogs hunted by scent, and they appeared soon after, noses to the ground when they weren't barking. What a racket they made! And I thought I felt low before! I couldn't even sit quietly and feel sorry for myself. Now I had to worry about the deer.
I walked back to the dome and asked Diane if she'd seen her dog lately. She hadn't. Hers was the Afghan. She had a toy poodle as well, but it didn't count. That little bundle of neuroses rarely left her side. Neither the Afghan nor the poodle were well-t
Storm Music They say when I was first laid in my mother's arms, she gave me back to the nurse and said, "No. This is not a child of mine."Storm Music by xlntwtch
My father is the "they" I mean, the only one I heard tell that story. I guess he figured she meant it, because right away he took me as far from the Zuni reservation and my mother as we could get.
I don't remember being a little baby. I mean, who does? But I know my father drove his old car, with him and me and supplies, for miles and miles and miles. I hated that car. And he talked a lot, my Dad. He'd say, "Hey, freak. We're gonna cross a state line again. Mark it on the map." Or, "Hey, ghost boy. I gotta stop here for a few days. I'll set you up in a motel."
When my father said "set you up in a motel," he meant he'd get some half-drunk Indian to watch me, or more likely, to watch TV. He always went somewhere else. Some of those Indians fed me and some didn't, just like my father. I mean, it's like when I
Afterlife Astronaut“There is no God.”Afterlife Astronaut by AyeAye12
“Well, you don’t know that for sure-“
“Bernard, as an AI connected to every philo-science document, every parabyte of knowledge in the Human Empire, every logic string going back to the days of the Past Colonists... I can assure you, there is no God. It has been proven.”
Bernard sighed. His helmet visor fogged up then disappeared.
“I’m not going to bother arguing with you. Soon that golden gate is going to open, and I will walk into the Kingdom of Heaven. That should be enough proof.”
The gate in question was a smooth sphere of gold, slowly rotating on an equally dull pedestal. Crystal red spires pointed at specific points on the globe.
“You just don’t want to argue with me because you are in fear of how wrong you are. And how right a computer can be.”
Jude deserved to be muted, but sass like that always kept her voice a ubiquitous presence in Bernard’s helmet. A blue flash in the top
The TimesI was printed on the evening of November 27th, 2008, just as the weather was turning from chilly to cold. I was tomorrow's news. At the moment I came off the press, I told the future. I knew things before the rest of the world; it was wonderful. I knew what my purpose was: to inform as many people as possible about the world's happenings.The Times by CDing93
As I was put to bed, bound against my brothers and sisters, I dreamt of being passed around a construction site, making sure all the workers were aware of which sports team triumphed, and which celebrity was getting a divorce. I dreamt that corporate peons debated over politics, and the state of the economy and which policies would be most effective in fixing the existing problems. I slept contently, snuggled warm in the middle of a stack, ready to be shipped out the next day and sold to whoever wanted me.
The next morning was cold and blustery. I was so excited about being sold that I allowed the wind to ruffle my pages, since I couldn't move on my o
ViolinI remember the dayViolin by Scarlettletters
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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The Exception, Not The RuleJust let you go. Cornucopia, meadowlark.
just let me die.
I'd like to explain,
and we are excess,
my dear Greyson;
He stutters through
Blurred butterscotch eyes,
And to ignore the capacity,
the pull of
I love(d) you.
The Electronic ZionismOPEN. Empty, black stage; the void.
Enter TUMBLR. Introduced with a plume of ocean-blue smoke. She is a woman, middle aged, dressed in a long and flowing navy dress.
She speaks to the audience, joyous;
TUMBLR: The feed has broken! Ferguson has grown in appetite and consumed the world in a righteous rage. Streets are aflame in the reds of freedom and all souls lay bare for Goddess Morality. The cosmic dialectic nears its conclusion. The samsaric GIF has stopped, rejoice!
A sickly hiss of emerald green smoke. Enter: CHAN, Manifestation Of Freedom’s Prosperities; Anarchy, Liberty, Decadence, Depravity. He is a crooked, dwarfish old man, holding a cane of volcanic bone.
CHAN: And yet, the politicians sip their Mountain Dew in a steel-grey White House. The bankers relax behind cardboard avatars of themselves. Hong Kong burns. Westminster burns. The Eye of Edgehill has been gouged out, left a gaping hole in the side of Elizabeth Tower, yes- but still the eaters find refug
Quintilla StanzasWith the passing of midnight grim
I hear that sound of mighty vim
The bellow of distant thunder
And as it resounds, I wonder
Why must the lightning strike with whim?
As I stand, with my waking eyes
Maintained upon the darkened skies
I contemplate whether my form
Can weather the coming storm
How strong it can make me, how wise
With the embrace of night so black
So begins the fall of cold rain
A lightning step with thunder crack
Shares with me its flashing refrain
Over its verse my soul does rack
Deep within my heart do I hear
Crashing songs of this storm so wild
These booming lyrics in my ear
What is that the thunder fears?
Does it ever feel like a child?
Another bolt of lightning strikes
Speaking without the slightest heed
To any of man's laws or creeds
Ignoring king and wretch alike
It simply goes about its deed
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