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  1. #71
    Twerking & Lurking ayoitsStepho's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    4w3 so/sx


    This is my first attempt at any type of poetry/something that sounds pretty and touches my heart. Hope it's not too horrible.

    Enticed by the youth, the beauty, the strong
    Ignoring the shadows, enthralled by the song
    Beating hearts, forever will race
    never knowing what they're bound to face.

    Lullabies whispered softly in one's ear
    Look, deep into their soul comes darkness of fear
    Right before them things will change
    The face of their obsession will rearrange.

    The cries of the fight will forever die out
    Young breath never knowing what it's all about
    Sparks of love will show itself true
    Maybe, just maybe, will bring someone new
    Quote Originally Posted by MacGuffin View Post
    ayoitsStepho is becoming someone else. Actually her true self, a rite of passage.

  2. #72


    unrequited, and undeterred

    We were never meant to be, me and you-
    I was just a little too honest, and passionate too.
    A little too excited, too much like a child,
    Borderline insanity? (that’s so out of style!)

    I had lots of faith in reason, yet no reasons to have faith,
    I knew not what had hit me, until it was too late.
    I’d renounced all known methods and denied the game-
    only to be blinded, deluded and outplayed.

    I thought I’d moved on when a year or two had passed
    I’d been told quite often that such feelings don’t last
    But from time to time something inside me brews
    and I try my hardest to ignore it, I really, really do.

    I’m not at all bitter, at least, not anymore
    In fact there’s quite a bit I’ve got to be grateful for!
    You taught me more than I could’ve ever learnt on my own
    and the best part… is that you don’t even know.

    I think I’m alright now, (I’m quite awesome that way :p)
    and as always, I’ve still got something to say:
    I hope you live strong and always stay true,
    We were never meant to be, me and you.
    Call me Visa, please!

  3. #73


    on tilt

    Her love did bypass all reason, her passion, her cardinal sin.
    She misread her hand and missed the flop, and brazenly went all-in.


    cognitive dissonance

    She fell for what she thought he represented-
    Platonic perfection, personified.

    He was pleasant but human, and not all that different-
    so why can’t she fix things inside?
    Call me Visa, please!

  4. #74


    my name is Visa, and I want...

    to be absolutely honest,
    heart-wrenching, torn and true
    to burn with fiery passion,
    to glow an unearthly hue
    like Lennon and McCartney,
    Springsteen, Dylan and Cash
    but it doesn’t come quite freely,
    it seems the hardest thing to do.

    I barely know myself at all,
    so surely I don’t know you
    assumptions, estimations, trends-
    how much of it’s really true?
    I know that I exist of course,
    that I yearn to be loved, and free-
    to be accepted for who I really am,
    if I can find that elusive Me.

    I want to be inspired,
    and to inspire others in turn,
    I want to believe in humanity
    and from falsehoods truth discern.
    I want to be respected,
    I want to earn it too,
    to purge myself of all my ills,
    and through the flames be born anew.

    To transcend impulses, to not always be right
    to learn when its best to walk away from the fight
    to search my soul, and to know my mind
    to conquer the universe that within me resides
    to love, to live, to breathe, and sing
    to learn, to grow, to be one with all things
    to give, to share, to play, to dance
    to always dare to take a chance

    I want to fail, to fall, to hurt, to cry
    to lose it all, and then to be denied
    to get up when everyone else is down
    to raise the sails when we’ve run aground
    to be the voice of reason, and yet
    to lift my spirits, and broken bones re-set
    to navigate through space and endless time
    on the backs of men gone long before
    whose spirits still yearn to rise

    I want to fight, I want to try,
    I want to be smiling the day I die.
    Call me Visa, please!

  5. #75


    speak your mind

    "Honesty is the paragon of virtue!
    Surely there are none more honest
    than those assembled here!"
    declared the king.

    "I cannot agree with you, sire," offered the jester.

    "Iconoclast! Miscreant!" thundered the court.

    The dissident hung from the gallows the next day.
    (At least he was honest.)

    please, sir

    She dispensed her affections like pamphlets at the MRT;
    he gave it a glance (and her heart did a dance)
    but he crushed it and kept on walking.

    (the MRT is Singapore's train/subway system, it starts for Mass Rapid Transport)

    my shamelessness, my ego, my arrogance is:

    the warmth that rescinds their icy stares,
    the badge that glisters with pride-
    the solace that conquers the chaos and
    the dagger plunged deep in my side.
    Call me Visa, please!

  6. #76


    siily boy

    do you move on with a broken past
    bleed patterns dancing on shattered glass
    warm your skin with meaningless lust
    bask in the confusion and distrust

    if you somehow run fast enough
    and you want it badly, badly enough
    do the walls of the jail that hole up your heart
    fall apart

    do the memories dance
    like moths to a flame
    does your mind rattle and hum
    with nicotine in your veins

    fuck you for speaking your mind
    fuck you for leaving the left behind
    fuck you for making mistakes
    and fuck you for the fairytales

    when you have nothing to hold on to
    but the words with no weight
    and your very conscience leaves you
    for the bridges burnt in your wake

    hate me- i'm honest
    love me- i'm a liar
    don't look for revelations there aren't any
    don't look for reconcillations there aren't any

    silly boy
    Call me Visa, please!

  7. #77


    Phew, I think that is more than enough! If you like my stuff, please do follow me! (for my intellectual discourses) (for my poetry and attempts at artistic self-expression)
    Call me Visa, please!

  8. #78
    Senior Member Accept's Avatar
    Join Date
    Dec 2008


    The second and third mini-tales from the challenge story. Two of the other writer's characters I was given to work with, so I kept all six tales in chronological order:

    A Sorceress from another world, Meredith of the Bitter East had, for the sake of love, came to live on Earth of the late twentieth century; a strange, new reality she is determined to understand.


    Meredith sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair while she listened to Sven downstairs playing his piano. She was considering how strange life was on his planet. "Odd how I've learned the language as if it were second nature," she thought, congratulating before criticizing, "So why can't I recognize what he's playing?" Correctly guessing that it might be a Mozart piano concerto, a further guess as to which one was beyond her.
    Although such music was unknown on her world, she was finding that this world's music had many of the same special qualities of emotion. Closing her eyes, she tried to feel the mood of the music and a minute later opened them, startled by what she found. It spoke to her of the power of the first time Sven had taken her. In a far off world he had come to possess her with a gentle strength that overwhelmed her.
    Closing her eyes again, she thought of his embrace, holding the feeling until he finished playing. Only when she heard him yell up, "I'm going out to tinker with the car," did she stop the dream and respond with, "Tinker?"
    "Sorry. Work on it. Have to keep it running for the big day."
    "I Love you."
    "And I you."
    "Don't work on it too late."
    "I won't."
    "How strange his world is at times," she thought again as she heard the door open and close, "Transportation you have to tinker with." Meredith was determined that slang words would only confuse her once. Tinker, common or not, was now a part of her language. She would ask him later if it was an acceptable word to use around others.
    With that settled and set aside, she continued with her reflections, wondering still Sven still occasionally apologized for the sad state of his bachelor pad. Meredith could imagine making a few changes to his home, but nothing that would significantly change the appearance.
    A few changes she wasn't yet sure about. The microwave was certainly a bizarre machine. "Heating food without a source of heat. He says there's no magic to it, but there is. If only he realized how much of his world is enveloped by magic."
    She knew Sven would never agree, but naming and even explaining magic didn't make it go away. Even the television in the corner; a device he showed no interest in, owning it for no apparent reason. He never watched, so she did one day. Soon after, understood his aversion. It had no appeal other than the magic it represented.
    "Maybe that's it," she thought, "His world is filled with magic put to meaningless purpose. They don't recognize it because it isn't part of their conscious existence.
    "Is that why I'm here? Is that why the man I love came from this place?"
    Meredith thought back to the academy of magic she owned on her home world. It was entirely possible her ability to teach could tie in with well with a world that, through daily use, no longer admitted the magic hidden within. "If it's true, it still won't be easy to convince ..."
    Her thought was cut short when she realized she had stood up and began packing, even as she was still sitting on the edge of the bed watching herself do so. In watching herself she knew the meaning of her vision, becoming anxious at the implication that this was the beginning of a new and involuntary adventure. "No. Not now. I can't ..."
    The Meredith that was packing turned to face her original and smiled with a look of reassurance.
    "How can I live two realities?" Meredith asked, not entirely expecting an answer. The other Meredith only shook her head no, her hand curving inward to point to herself as a separate identity requiring nothing from the Meredith determined to remain with the man. Then, having given what reassurance could pass between them in silence, the Meredith planning to leave closed the bag as she began to fade.
    "Are you a part of me?" Meredith asked.
    The fading woman only shook her head no again, giving the negative reply Meredith needed to regain her composure so she could go to the garage to learn what it was to tinker with a machine.

    * * *

    Twenty second century Seaman (no class) Eric D'Fisk, a member of Naval Might Inc, living on Luna II knew he could have the laundry room all to himself late Saturday night, allowing him to wash his entire wardrobe at the same time. While he waited, he would also have time to wander through the maintenance passageways.


    Perplexed. Eric disliked applying the word to his situation, however appropriate it had become as he glanced between the row of washing machines and his duffel bag filled with laundry; a bag whose lock glared back at him with a smug challenge, "Okay. You've locked the key inside. Now what are you going to do?"
    Eric had already tried to imagine his problem away. Recalling the series of events, his hope was that he'd simply left the key in his room. He might have gone back to confirm the hope if he hadn't already undressed to his skivvies and started the fill cycle: Nothing was worth putting wet, soiled clothing on again and sneaking through the hallways in a state of undress was unthinkable.
    His first hope dashed, he cursed his Guardian Knight Triple Protection Security Lock as he tried to avoid his next option; the one in which he could close his eyes and imagine the lock opening. When the thought developed, Eric thought back, "Naw. That's really weird. I'll just have to ..."
    When nothing came to replace the thought he felt the beginnings of a headache which demanded the solution he so often used, yet could never voice: Ignore the problem.
    Eric decided to continue with the rest of his previous plan for the evening, just as if his clothes were already sloshing clean. He would explore the access tunnels. Miles of underground passages, many of the lower levels long forgotten, no longer used. It was the one place his fantasies came to life. He'd been a town sherriff the previous week, a pirate the week before that. This was the night to become a Dragon slayer.
    Grasping his flashlight torch firmly in his left hand he reached with his right into his secret hideaway behind the machines. Feeling around he felt around until he was able to pull forth his metal tube sword.
    Slashing the air before him he thought, "I, Sir Eric the Magnificent, bravest knight of King Arthur's court, will defeat the evil Sorceress Meredith ..." Eric hesitated, wondering what had made him use the name, then, rather than hold up the adventure, he decided, "It's probably the kind of name a Sorceress should have."
    Removing the access plate from the entrance, he entered. "I'll defeat the evil Meredith and her Dragon. How dare her kidnap the Lady . . ." Already puzzled by the name of his opponent, Eric wondered why his thoughts insisted the captive maiden's name should be Tasseah. "There's no such name," he reasoned, "Maybe I can shorten it to Tasy." Not entirely satisfied, but lacking another name, Eric decided to continue his quest, moving cautiously down the metallic tunnel, ever ready for any surprises the Sorceress Meredith would have planned for him.
    Reaching a T branch in the tunnel, Eric turned right only to be confronted by three evil knights in Meredith's service. Imagining them as tall, demonic creatures in knightly armor, Eric knew it would take his best fighting skills to defeat three at once. Slashing out, he let his imaginary foes know he was not the easy prey they might have imagined.
    Unexpectedly, but within the code of honor, their leader spoke. "Who might you be, Sir?"
    "Why do you ask?" Eric responded as he held back his attack.
    "So that we might remember who it is we kill this night."
    "I am Sir Eric D'Fisk. I've come from King Arthur's Court to save the fair Lady Tasy. I have no . . ."
    Before Eric could finish his speech, the three knights dropped to their knees, bowing their heads to him. "Your fame is known to us, good knight. We have not the skill to challenge such an able warrior."
    "No, no, no," Eric answered their claim, "This isn't right at all. Anyone I meet tonight has to oppose me to the death."
    Removing their helmets all three knights looked up sheepishly as they faded from sight, the voice of their leader lingering, "Maybe we can destroy you a bit farther along."
    Eric let out a sigh of frustration before deciding it was too early to quit. Continuing on he wondered what other prizes he might win from the evil Meredith. "Jewels perhaps," he thought, turning his mind to, "Wow. Why not Jennifer Jewels. Now that's a prize worth having."
    Eric had seen Senator Jewels on the screen enough times to remember the dark, alluring features, yet her appearance wasn't quite in keeping with the dark ages, so deciding not to change the evening's fantasy, he decided to keep her in mind for the next week's Eric D'Fisk, Secret Agent.
    Having reached another T in the tunnel, Eric imagined that when he turned the corner, three knights would stand ready to challenge him. Deciding to catch them unaware, he jumped into the middle of the cross tunnel. "So my worthy ooopppaaaaaaggggg ..."
    Standing there waiting was a genuine, honest to goodness, real life, fire spurting Dragon and it didn't look happy to see a knight in underwear, however magnificent.
    Eric had to step back. While he knew there was an outside chance the Dragon was only an out of sequence figment of his adventure, the field of grass with the towering mountain range in the distance was all too real. Only when he began falling backward did he remember that there was no longer a tunnel wall behind him for support.
    Eric woke several minutes later, feeling the cold metal tunnel floor beneath him. He was reassured by the view down the length of the tunnel; proof that his imagination had played a trick on his consciousness.
    He stood and decided, "I think it's probably time to put my clothes in the dryer."
    Another Eric lay unconscious, far beyond any tunnel, on a world where dryers had never existed.
    Naked to unknown forces, fortune evades mere understanding. The trial of effort.
    The dream of change. Such a place might Hell be to thought and action.

  9. #79


    Emma's Hungry, scenes 4 and 5.

    SCENE 4

    SFX – Sound of a bustling restaurant.

    You know, dear, you really didn’t have to bring me out for dinner.

    Oh, come on, Mom…you deserve a treat every now and then.

    SFX – Fork striking a plate.

    Well, I have to say, this etouffee is very good.

    It’d be a shame to come to New Orleans and get a hamburger. [pause] Unless of course you were Chloe.

    SFX – Glass set down on table.

    [with her mouth full] This hamburger is yummy!

    Slow down! We’re not in a race, you know.

    SFX – Fork striking a plate.

    I’m just way hungry.

    That you are. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat so much, pumpkin.

    Are you feeling all right, Chloe?

    SFX – Glass set down on table.

    Mmm-Hmmm. Just hungry. Grandma, are you gonna eat the rest of that stew?

    Why no, sweetheart. Do you want it?

    I don’t want it, but Emma might.

    Oh…right. Emma might get hungry in the middle of the night and want a snack.

    [seriously] Yes, Mommy. She told me she gets hungry.

    Does she like etouffee?

    She likes everything I like.

    Chloe, don’t bug Grandma about her dinner, okay?

    That’s all right, dear. I was going to have the waiter wrap it in a to-go box anyhow. No sense in having it go to waste.

    SFX – Fork striking a plate.
    SFX – Restaurant sounds fade.

    SCENE 5

    SFX – Television in background.

    Chloe’s sweet, but I confess…it’s nice to have her in bed so I can relax.

    Oh, I remember those days. You were quite a handful yourself, you know.

    How did you get through it, Mom?

    I just kept on doing. You love your family, and you take each day a minute at a time. After a while it gets easier.

    Yeah, but you had Dad to help.

    [laughs] I loved your father, Laura, but he didn’t make my life much easier. He cluttered up the house, doubled the dirty dishes, tripled the laundry, and never lifted a finger to help. Then just when I was ready to fall into bed, he would want to get frisky.

    [incredulous] Frisky? Dad?

    Believe it or not, young lady. Your father was practically insatiable.

    [laughing] I don’t think I want to hear any more!

    Well…I do miss him. And not just that way.

    I miss him too, mom. [sigh]

    [long pause]

    [briskly] Say…do you think Chloe’s asleep by now?

    She should be…the little thing was worn out.

    Do you think it might be possible to get a closer look at that manikin?

    Chloe’s got Emma in the bed with her, but I think I could probably extricate her. Why?

    Oh, I’m just curious. The antique collector in me wants to find out exactly what you’ve got there.

    Well, all right. Hold on a minute.

    SFX – Footsteps recede
    SFX – Door opens (distant)
    SFX – Footsteps return
    SFX – Rustling silk

    Here she is, the legendary Emma.

    Hmmm. Very nice piece here. I wish I could take her on the Antique Traveling Show…I bet she’s worth a mint.

    Why do you say that?

    SFX – Rustling silk

    Look here: “Fabriqué pour M. Bucher, Paris, 1857.” Underneath, is says “Emilie.“ Her name really is Emma!

    Bucher, Bucher…oh! Mrs. Bucher! That’s the name of the lady who owned the shop!

    Oh, and look here, inside the hem…That’s a Huret craft mark.

    Is that good?

    [chuckles] Honey, it doesn’t get much better.

    Wow. So…uh…what’s it worth?

    [sighs] It’s hard to say. This is the first I’ve heard of Huret making anything full-sized…every other Huret piece I’ve seen has been a pouppee, a fashion doll.

    Do you think it’s a fake?

    Well, if it is, it’s a 19th-century French fake. You haven’t squandered your hundred dollars, at least. I’ll have to get to the library tomorrow and do some research.

    SFX – Door opens (distant)
    SFX – Footsteps approach

    [sleepy] Mommy…what are you doing with Emma?

    Honey, why are you out of bed? Oh, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to wake you up. Grandma and I just wanted to get a closer look at Emma.

    Can I have her back, please?

    All right. Here you go.

    SFX – Silk rustles

    She doesn’t like being poked at!

    Don’t be a grump. Goodnight, Chloe.

    G’night, Mommy. G’night, Grandma. [coughs lightly]

    SFX – Footsteps recede

  10. #80
    & Badger, Ratty and Toad Mole's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2008

    Thumbs down The Meretricious

    I post things I have written, every day. It's just that I post them on other threads.

    Yet somehow what is posted on this thread is privileged.

    But when you look at it, it is most odd.

    This thread is simply nostalgia for the old forms of literacy, where literacy has been subsumed into the electronic media. Look! I am not writing in print, I am writing in electronic text (etext).

    This thread is like Peguy's re-enactment of old military battles.

    This thread is like driving forward looking in the rear vision mirror of old, defunct, literary forms when the electronic media are rushing towards us through the windshield.

    This thread is for the meretricious.

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