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 ivorysinkshore 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
Home GroundSpring’s ceaseless breeze; a petal bath. Prize-Home Ground by 520romeo
winning weeds that tickle your calves. Old
Sisyphus getting God's helping hand.
This field of poppies in bloom for seasons;
even the sun's favorite daughter
will start searching for the tunnel.
How did your mind of many trenches fall here?
Here, a single charcoal leaf.
There, the pregnant moon shines a minute too long.
And a dark mirror floods your eyes.
Which road in these fields do you walk?
Who is it you have left behind?
The smell of exhaustion is close – an old friend, a past grave.
Will you ever return to sink
into one certainty among
cellar moss, reluctant aged grain in breath,
stench of prohibited elixir? Will you ever return
to caves of surrender, know that thirst for origin again?
How soft shadows are.
Simple to choose the darkest hole.
Not so to pick the prettiest flower.
Dance on, dance on
in the endless day.
Time will take his rein;
let him see you stumble,
fall back into the arms
of warm darkness
in cold wanted b
AnomalyTo the dusty winds that swept in from Scarborough FaireAnomaly by Blacksand459
Collecting the souls of roses hung beneath cloistered tapestries
Each word and line an artifact in India ink
Beautiful, dark and lovely...
I am an anomaly.
To green drawbridges crossing in East Coast fishing towns
Where nets and gumrubber boots trudge the salt-cured decks
I am an anomaly.
To schoolchildren in daguerrotypes and pressed-tin memories
Whose shoelaces I am unable to tie for them
Since they are out at play and singing Ring-Around-The-Rosy
Whose fathers are hard smiling men with handlebar mustaches and piercing eyes
Whose mothers fold the linen and lay the silverware carefully on the table
Whose Aunts and Uncles live in Manhattan between the Ellis Island menagerie
And the Bowery
Whose fathers speak in faded words on player piano rolls
Suited for Sunday rose garden afternoons
In a Victorian maple-lined, black-iron fenced dream...
I am an anomaly.
To faultless British gentleman stepping out of cabs in Tashke
XanaduYour smile is warm enough to energize chlorophyll,Xanadu by saevuswinds
the organelles swimming in ecstasy as plants grow strong,
and the sunlight hits through the leaves,
leaving patches on the ground like nature’s cellophane.
Don’t you realize the forest is more vibrant with you,
nursing it to health the same way you mended
the cracks in my heart with cytoplasm
and acted like a cell wall for my soft body.
But when you ripped away from me,
taking the soil under my roots,
the plants shriveled,
falling to the cold
My Present LongingI longed for summerMy Present Longing by LaBruyere
Back in dusty rooms of woodsmoke
Reveling in cocoa, briefly,
But aching for days I remembered
And full of joys in cut grass
And watermelon rinds.
Summer evenings cooled to sultry theatres
For fireflies on a clothesline-curtain stage.
And my age
Was two and a hundred sixty
For all the breeze knew.
Skinned knees at ten
Sunburnt knees at twenty
And now, knowing that the summer evenings
From the clothesline into winter
I wish I'd had more snow cones
And sticky hands at midnight
Ere the crisp leaf pumpkin autumn sends it home.
Reasons Never to WriteYou’ll want someone exotic and marry a Romanian. He’ll tell you to dye your hair and you’ll do it, then make chewing on its multicolored strands a habit. You’ll kiss him once and say he tastes like wine. Wine, no? he’ll say with a grin. Only gentlemen drink wine. Leave him because you won’t like cliches.Reasons Never to Write by LeftUnfinished
You’ll find a shadow behind a counter (because that’s the only way to describe him). You’ll watch him clashing silverware around in drawers like cold piles of bones, and he’ll give you a free slice of key-lime pie and say it’s the best in the state. You’ll lick up its tanginess on the prongs of your fork and decide that it’s definitely not, but you won't pull away from his eyes that remind you of your favorite crayon. Then he’ll look you up and down and say, another? You’ll decide to love him because anyone worth loving is worth a free slice of key-lime pie. You’ll make him kiss you even whe
Her Living Corpse “Here to see Alley again?” the old woman perched behind the reception desk asks me. I nod, and watch as she types something on her keyboard. “Someone will be here to take you to her room in a moment,” she tells me.” My heart erupts in my chest at the memory of our past meetings. ‘Do I really want to see her like this?’ I can’t help but wonder. The truthful answer is no, I don’t, even if I can’t keep myself away.Her Living Corpse by SelahDeNoctiluca
“Jason?” I look up to see one of the clinic nurses gesturing towards me. “Jason, she’s ready to see you now.”
As we walk down the hall I hear the panicked scream of another patient. I can’t help but wonder if this one has lost herself to the same degree as my Alley, or if she’s only half way there. I debate what I would prefer if I could
The Omniverse (Infinity), Finity, Time and Life...“What is Time?” It is a temporary mathematical number whose dividedThe Omniverse (Infinity), Finity, Time and Life... by VicariouSoul
1 is distributed between the living that goes and slows in and out of sync,
and our dearest times that have their days increase less, decrease more
until no more. Time… Its existence is unknown to every newborn’s shut
mind’s eye that has not yet learnt understanding: time’s distinct numbers
get assigned to every embryonic beast and bug, to every nascent cosmic
entity (supposed and identified), and to every womb-begotten individual
by God /¯ yours to decide is or is not a being or thing of energy (label
you will like religions have and science continues to do [all relates to the
same entity, that which is God, except under uglier names in science]) _/
that or who formed the alpha-omega particle in all of us and all things
with strains of aggregating energies until solidifie
AspirationsI want to live in a sprawling house at the top of a mountain, where I can watch the sun sink below and then float to the surface of the sky, the air dusky and hazy but still somehow so clear.Aspirations by BlakeCurran
I want to watch storms play with trees like twigs, crack lightning like whips to make the bruised clots of clouds thunder by like scared stallions. I want to hold you closer to me, let the candles be our stars tonight as the rain begins to rush down.
I want to let afternoon meander into evening while I lay with you in the hammock in our backyard, let it swing gently in the breeze, the only sound nature: no cars, no television, just you and me and life. It will be night suddenly, cold and crisp and effervescent, and as you stare at the stars, I will stare at you (because you are my star).
I want to fill our sprawling house with children and grandchildren. I want to create with you, to try to make someone else so I can hope they feel the feelings I feel with you.
I want to go on adventures with you&
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.
someone left their life on the busAnd you struggle with your conscience, but in the end you have to let it go.someone left their life on the bus by straygod
Erase your face. Scratch it off. Dig your nails right up underneath your jaw, bury them, gouge it out. This familiarity; rip it off.
We grow here too fast, kids with fifty-year old eyes who talk like old women, who smoke and drink and work and wear sandpaper hands and swear like we know what fuck means before it makes sense. Here's skin and bone and lips and teeth, all the colours of mud. We're soil and dirt and layers of grime. We're filth. We grow stupid, stuck underneath a starless sky, staring up, pretending we remember what it was to be human. Everything stinks of shit and sea salt and we starve and swallow rotten fish and spit and maybe some of us snarl our discontent and maybe some of scream it, but Jesus, all I hear are empty words and hollow fucking promises, and I'm sick of looking backwards.
When I was a kid I found a dead mous
Sad Blue EyesWhen I was little, my mom used to carry me everywhere. She would cradle my pudgy pale body and rock me back and forth, watching me as I cuddled close to her warm body. My mom's eyes were big and blue, but were always terribly sad when they saw me. On the days when her eyes would become so glossy raindrops fell off her face, my mom would roll up my dress sleeve to reveal a delicate bangle resting around my wrist. "Your number suits you sweet like berries " she would coo in my ear, "Palmer and Rodney don't have numbers as sweet as yours." Her voice would weaken and shake whenever I asked what my number was.Sad Blue Eyes by saevuswinds
I didn't understand why it bothered her so much. It was really pretty bangle, with intricate detail work that was designed to look like silver stems. Those stems led to sixteen bronze daisies, where a moonstone was in the center of each one. No one I knew had a bracelet as lovely as mine. My brothers' bracelets were plain and boring-- iron bands with a lot of small gems rand
HowlI beat the street out of my lungs. BurnedHowl by RussianTim
Those pages of salvation until the ink boiled red.
When they finally caught me I cursed every soul still on
Their knees and damned the midnight lamps that
bled through two-faced windows. When they told me
“Son, you have nothing to howl about.”, My voice
Became a whisper. In the prison they put us in
There are no bars, guards, or machine gun towers.
People come and go like moths to hellfire.
Like mass extinction and funeral pyres.
Not once did I think about escaping. Until,
The girl in the cell next to mine started screaming. Until
She clawed so deep her arms started breathing. Until
She swallowed that bullet and called it leaving. Until
I finally learned what it really meant to stop bleeding.
I started seeing through the blank pages and white walls.
Underneath it all, different prophets sing the same song.
The greatest minds of my generation weren’t driven to madness.
They were born to it. Their first breaths
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BURIED TREASUREPeople fear me I've been told, my Strangeness and Solitude,
the way the syllables of Silence soothe my tongue that
overheats from the exhaust of actually speaking, but how
can they fear me, this wisp of a girl who doesn't need
a hurricane to break so easily, if only they knew how
Solitude wraps my pieces in a diaphanous gauze so I may
glue and re-glue them together again, my sensitive skin
wears thin for I refuse to grow callouses-this is my Source
of Strength and Poetry-but how I secretly wish for someone
to love me and make lace of my scars.
My lips are fettered in barbed wire thorns,
held tightly together and sewn with the crisscross
stitches of spiderwebs-so my secrets and unsung
soliloquies won't leak out and leave a disemboweled
stain on Reality's battlefield, I've learned to
keep my secrets safely locked away, everytime
they laughed at me-my mother and others-
I retreated further inside my Dreamer's world
that sparkled just for me, lost to the Enchantment
I learned to create, I
Killing YourselfWalking back home from work was always pleasant this time of year. A gentle spring breeze caressed my face as the setting sun left lovely pink streaks cutting through the slowly darkening sky. The concrete gave a slight bounce to my step, making each stride effortless. The evening offered the world a light, warm rain that left a fresh earth smell in the air, and a shimmer on the windows of cars and buildings that I passed.
It was a phenomenal day, that Thursday. My mother made me strawberry French toast for breakfast, and at work, I was offered a promotion after my eighteenth birthday, should I still be with them. The night held more greatness as well, as there were plans for my going away party, before I would be off for my birthday.
As I was walking back, I cut through the alley between the convenience mart and Vince’s, which probably has the best subs you’ll find in Austin A. There were two shadows halfway down the dim space, ma
as obvious as neon signsLast night I picked you up from a glass-littered street corner
and helped you wipe bile from your strands of flaxen hair.
You sang under your breath as you stumbled into the car.
I turned corners while streetlights shimmered in the drops on the windscreen
and you fell asleep trying to tell me that you used to know better than this.
It’s not that I mind
(I’d spend every night combing seedy cities if it meant keeping you safe)
your eyes haven’t smiled in a year now
and I wish that I knew what it would take to make you happy
because between cheap liquor, cold nights and bad lovers
I haven’t got a clue.
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