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 Rainyfirebreather reflectionsinwater RestlessSands riparii RiseandBe rlkirkland RosaryOfSighsx 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
Stalk.Can you fall in loveStalk. by Kurt-Jarram
with someone who you don't know?
Too much time, touching from a distance.
Feeling like a creep.
I have observed you for over a year,
it started as an admiration of your work.
But became something else.
In my head I feel like I know you.
That I understand you.
Make believe scenarios, in-which we are together.
In-which you cradle my head as I cry,
and say softly to me;
"I know, I know, I know."
In-which we talk for hours
about arts and poetry and music.
Drink wine until our heads are fuzzy,
then try and fail to have sex.
I went to a pub in Manchester
to see you read.
Your words went over everyone's heads,
and we shared a silent cigarette on a windswept terrace.
Me too nervous to speak.
I read your blog
as if it were written for me alone.
A diary of confession
and digital love letters.
Too many times
has my hand hovered over the 'send' button,
after I have written a two page diatribe, revealing my feelings for you.
Telling you how I believe we are mean
The Fall of a TitanOnce upon a time, in a large and gracious land in the continent of Asia, there lived a king. His name was Kim Jong Un and he was the supreme leader of North Korea. Following his late father, Kim Jong Il, to the throne, he has attained his mighty role at a rather young age. Being the son of royalty, the young man was pampered from birth and unlike the Buddha, never stepped outside the palace. And so he lived his sheltered and rich existence within the walls of gold his family had kept for generations, eating, sleeping and ordering around servants.The Fall of a Titan by dude-im-alive
One of the things Kim Jong Un had found a love for during his time in the palace, was food. Not cooking it of course, just eating it, for he was a lazy king who knew no bounds of relaxing. He had tried everything! All of the world’s finest cuisines had passed through his chunky gullet countless times, and surely would countless more. The most dangerous job in the kingdom was in fact the post of “The Palace Chef”. Since the st
Just Desserts#100408Just Desserts by SilverInkblot
Meal: Six (6) Maine red lobster tails
One (1) bowl of black caviar
One (1) glass of Chardonnay
One (1) scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, topped with dark chocolate ganache and a Maraschino cherry.
Comments: Garbage. I always knew rich people were full of shit.
Meal: One (1) pepperoni pizza from Little Caesar’s.
One (1) waffle cone, chocolate
Meal: One (1) bottle of Clear American, Fuji Apple flavor
Two (2) Payday candy bars.
Meal: Two (2) fried chicken legs
One (1) bowl of mashed potatoes, brown gravy
One (1) bowl of creamed corn
One (1) glass of milk
One (1) slice of peach pie
Comments: Just like Mom used to make.
Meal: One (1) bowl of tomato soup
One (1) grilled cheese
One (1) serving of spaghetti squash
One (1) Jello vanilla pudding
Meal: One (1) bowl of spaghetti
Two (2) Olive Garden breadsticks
One (1) bag of buttered popcorn, dusted with
Stay With Me (Dancing In The Moonlight) ‘Tonight you’re saving my life’Stay With Me (Dancing In The Moonlight) by CupofCharlie
-The Gaslight Anthem.
I open my curtains and look at the world outside my window. White cloud dominates the sky leaving no suggestion of the blue behind it, no hint of the sun struggling to break through. As I stare at the beginning of a new day, my thoughts inevitably turn to him, as they always do. I wonder if he’s awake. I wonder if he’s thinking about me too. My heart beats just a little bit faster at the simple thought of him.
It’s strange to think how one person has grown to mean so much to me. Someone who, a year ago, I didn’t even know. But just as the white cloud has overwhelmed the sky above me, his love has encased my heart. So perfectly. So completely. A love that is so strong, that whenever we are apart, a veil of melancholy inescapably rests upon me. The hardest moments of my life are when we have to say goodbye to each other. The happiest are when we say hello.
In the last few months,
SmallMy father was there, and then he wasn't.Small by saartha
I still dream about it, sometimes, when the nights grow warm in the late spring. My mother's hand is white, clenched hard around my own. She went later, in a different way. Not better, but different. Who knows, maybe she thought it was worse.
I don't remember his face. I was too small. I remember his legs, the texture of his pants, the crook of his neck when he would lift me in his arms. He was a quiet man, and strong. It's hard to speak of the time before. When you tell a true story well, you become your old self for awhile. Bad enough to be that person once. I prefer happier stories, most days. Stories where vanished things may yet be found, and mud is made only by rain.
But it's not the truth. He would have raised me into an honest woman. That's what my mother said, once, deep in drink. She rarely spoke of him. She felt the same way about stories; too much pain, don't look back. But also, that things change with the telling. Anything s
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.
eugenics in bulkBy the time she was twelve they had already decided she would marry a man who could run a five minute mile and speak seven languages. They chose her a husband the same way they had chosen her eyes and her legs and the pale freckles that interrupted her nose - the same way their parents had designed their children and arranged their marriages, strategic.eugenics in bulk by straygod
Her father called her petite reine. He owned an antique chess board carved from ebony wood and maple. Some days she'd sneak into the library, pry open the old chequered box and pick out one of the queens, and she'd turn it round and round, searching for imperfections. It was a plain, ugly thing, huge and fat in her tiny grasp. She had wondered if he thought of her this way.
She wondered the same now.
Her hands were not her own. A businessman in a white coat had grown them slender and strong, built her carbon fiber bones and nails like arrowheads. Her mother reminded her of this when the
five.Five is the number of times you worry he’s stopped breathing, as the surgeons carve around his heart, twisting away the plaque ridden arteries, and pulling a vein out of his leg. Five is the number of heart wrenching hours you and your family were waiting in the hospital room, worried that your lives would crumble, that there would be five members of the family instead of six, that five days out of the week he would not come home for dinner, that five kisses from him would no longer be given to his wife and four children. Five was the amount of fingernails you bit off while watching people enter and exit the waiting room, and the amount of minutes your mother spent on the phone, explaining that something was wrong. Five is the critical difference between holding a father’s hand as your mother cries into his heart shaped pillow. The difference between rejoicing and smiling weakly because he’s okay or carrying your father’s American-flag-covered-casket and watchinfive. by saevuswinds
Heat AdvisoryWe are an air-mass thunderstorm at the heightHeat Advisory by DrippingWords
of an Indian summer -- a cloudburst colliding
into a cyclone, raising the temperature of any
who wander through our sweaty inversion.
I soar above the earth buoyed on your thermals,
straight into a clap of thunder conceived by
lightning fever. A roiling heatwave travels
across our connection, evaporating the atmosphere
surrounding the eye of our storm. Your humid
breath wisps over the thermodynamics of my skin,
pushing cumulonimbus up the drought in my spine.
Muggy kisses trail down my body like volcanic ash,
a haze blurring the lines between our hurricanes.
And as the barometer spikes, my heartbeat quickens;
I am sucked into the vortex of your tropical storm.
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ResidenzI stood in awe
At the prince bishop's
Gold and silver
From all angles,
Bidding me to stay
I lay on
His consort's side
And let myself
Into the past
LuckyMicah brought The Dog home a month ago, leading it by a jumprope he'd tied around its ragged collar. He knelt beside it, begging to keep it, promising he'd take care of it, holding onto Nehemiah's pant leg when he stepped closer to inspect the mongrel for fleas. "Miah, look, he needs me."
It was an ugly terrier with bulging eyes and missing teeth, a bloated belly and thick scars around its eyes. Nehemiah suspected it was blind, and he knew it had worms. The Dog puked on the carpet, and they were writhing in its bile. Nehemiah gathered paper towels and bleach from the kitchen while Micah pet The Dog. "We can't keep it," he told Micah, counting the dying parasites, wondering if vomit was supposed to be yellow. "Dad isn't going to let you keep it."
He was wrong. Dad came home and fell in love, stumbling to greet The Dog, kissing its face and rubbing its ears. He was drunk and said it looked like Macy, a fluffy mutt Nehemiah kept before Mom left and took her with.
The Dog looked not
GreenI think I was one of the green children. Buried in me is a garden.
I think I’m growing from the outside in.
Visitors reach out to touch me, and
my blossoms are wilting
branches drooping from the weight of all the things that I can’t take
I close the gate against their onslaughts, but they still come in.
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