Fragile and fair Like the tiny shiny mirrors
Servant quarters floorboards are never the one to get cleaned easily, But he wasn't going to give up. He wiped harder and harder as legs tumbled across him. A crate and makeshift nightstands slid down and hit his shoulder hard sending him sliding out into the open deck.
Withering binded hither while the time wear
Through the age, the climb World weed the wisest minds, eyes Of doubts and darkness
*Trying to sneak back into the blog awkwardly* Oh, hey! It's not what it looks like.... Uh, I guess I'll atleast be honest with you, now that you have found me! Yes, I wasn't in my own blog for a long time. I forgot my passion for, what it feels, like a lifetime. I guess … Continue reading Come back No.Can’t countable!
*Reading first page of fahrenheit 451 for the first time* What the f**k?
Frank spun a beautiful and bitter-sweet tale on the wings phenomenon!
A fairy, Christine, lost her wings on top of a hill overlooking the glen while watching the orange sky accept the setting sun. She did not think she was so old. She picked up her wings sighing “Oh!” and stumbled down to the glen on foot aided by moonlight. The other fairies greeted her with relieved laughter since she was gone so long and then tears when they saw her wings. Her transformation had begun.
Sylvia came to wish her farewell. She told Christine about the completed transformation of her fairy-child that morning. She cried and Christine comforted her.
Samuel came to wish her farewell. He told Christine about the completed transformation of his fairy-wife that morning. He cried and Christine comforted him.
Rose, another fairy, a teenage one, came to wish her aunt farewell. Her father told her she had to. She looked into Christine’s eyes. “Look deeper,” Christine…
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Today is apparently a day of reblogging amazing post. Here’s the completed version of my half poem, beautifully completed by Jilly.
Open Link Night at dVerse!
Collaborative poetry has turned into a favorite for me as we move into the Casting Bricks August Challenge. I take up Jeren Nazuto’s Challenge to write an Interlocking Rubáiyát. The first half of the poem, in bold, is Jeren’s excellent groundwork which he entitled The End. Thank you to Jeren for introducing this terrific form! All are welcome to join us in the August Challenge where we write a half poem and our fellow poets complete it. Just click on the Casting Bricks side bar to the right→
The world, burning around me
All the lands and the sea
I weep in streams and rivers
Over the fallen world tree
From the sins, the fire delivers
The earth’s misguided caregivers
And all the pain and suffering
Fueling my body shivers
The sacrifice for my soul’s buffering
awakens, dries my tears unsuffering
the world may ash…
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Another beautiful and whimsical version of wings phenomenon!
The heavy-breasted mammatus clouds drifted over suburbia, sagging low in their nurturing way, all grey and worrisome, but the people were so glad the hateful storm had passed that no one noticed the seeds dropping; Dandelion Yellows, Pinkist Clover, Purple-Spike Thistle, cast over the carefully manicured lawns. No one noticed, at least until the next morning when the weeds began to spring forth with all the joy and vigor infused in their happy little petals by the sensuousness of the sky the night before. Squinting in the first glaring light of morning, Mandevilla backed out of her garage and a mask of sour-milk face leapt instinctively from the center of her brunette head. They must go, those invasive weeds! Just one more thing on her Eradicate-This! list for the…
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A beautiful folktale around the wings phenomenon which we are excited about these days!
This tale is inspired by Jeren’s poem which in turn inspired the challenge to write a folk talk from his original idea. If you’d like to try your hand at inventing a real folk tale, the details are here.
Imma’s eyelids fluttered, her lips moved slightly as if she was about to whisper a secret. In her sleep, her eyes were open, mere slits, but through the mists of her dream she was aware, or thought she was aware, of movement, of other flutterings filling the room. Caught by moonbeams, the flutterings became silver wings, and her lips fluttered too, trying to speak, to call out to the owners of the wings to stay. But the night wore on, she remained trapped in sleep, and in the morning, the painted tiles of the floor were scattered with tiny wings, and her eyes were filled with tears.
Imma was to…
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