Big submission due today...
So I had a little fun with it.
cooking for one
corn husks slowly pile in heaps on the floor,
giving way to silk and sweet yellow,
and i surrender myself to this, shells surrounding me,
awakening with lazy eyes and a gentle warmth in my limbs,
my belly.
teased to reveal perfectly smooth tight skin, poured in hot water,
the warmth spreads, my brown orbs stretching wide and surprised.
every nerve ending plays connect the dots, creating a hungry misshapen
self portrait, straining at delicate edges, fighting to draw tighter.
stirred gently, buttered, the yellow begins to darken, the richness creates water ripples, and the portrait shrivels down to a single firm circle,
i am a bent spoon, unmoving, arched for undetermined amounts of time,
silently screaming as steam escapes from the stove pot. the whistle.
sweet, hot, yellow.
i can’t capture all the things i’ve just seen:
allen’s smile (in between kisses so many years ago),
the meteor shower in summer of 2001,
dali’s mae west installment (best viewed from the tower at the forefront of the room), the first leaves of crinkly autumn,
assaid spilling glitter across the kitchen floor,
the sea-dark that surrounds a boat at night.
i collect the silk and the piles of skin, tenderly, raw, and sweet.
cooking for one
corn husks slowly pile in heaps on the floor,
giving way to silk and sweet yellow,
and i surrender myself to this, shells surrounding me,
awakening with lazy eyes and a gentle warmth in my limbs,
my belly.
teased to reveal perfectly smooth tight skin, poured in hot water,
the warmth spreads, my brown orbs stretching wide and surprised.
every nerve ending plays connect the dots, creating a hungry misshapen
self portrait, straining at delicate edges, fighting to draw tighter.
stirred gently, buttered, the yellow begins to darken, the richness creates water ripples, and the portrait shrivels down to a single firm circle,
i am a bent spoon, unmoving, arched for undetermined amounts of time,
silently screaming as steam escapes from the stove pot. the whistle.
sweet, hot, yellow.
i can’t capture all the things i’ve just seen:
allen’s smile (in between kisses so many years ago),
the meteor shower in summer of 2001,
dali’s mae west installment (best viewed from the tower at the forefront of the room), the first leaves of crinkly autumn,
assaid spilling glitter across the kitchen floor,
the sea-dark that surrounds a boat at night.
i collect the silk and the piles of skin, tenderly, raw, and sweet.
Pleaaaaase
Hey!
naked_city_fan. . .
After responding to your post on the most recent community entry, I perused your journal and I read an entry entitled "My AIM is True". I was interested in that, but my computer isn't really cooperating with me so I couldn't click your lj cut to what I can only imagine is the rest of your story. Would you mind posting it in here, sans cut?
naked_city_fan. . .
After responding to your post on the most recent community entry, I perused your journal and I read an entry entitled "My AIM is True". I was interested in that, but my computer isn't really cooperating with me so I couldn't click your lj cut to what I can only imagine is the rest of your story. Would you mind posting it in here, sans cut?
(no subject)
Hey I saw that you guys love Klosterman, I wanted to know if you guys have read Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs and if you have whats your fav essay?
And so it is
Thought I would see if you pick up what I put down with my first submission:
( Read more...Collapse )
( Read more...Collapse )
Some Introductions....
Hi. I'm Rob, essentially, a bum teenager out of Rhode Island who thought this sight was the coolest thing since disco the moment I stumbled upon it yesterday.
That said, I'd thought I'd throw in something for your approval.
( Read more...Collapse )
That said, I'd thought I'd throw in something for your approval.
( Read more...Collapse )
The Mangnet Poetry Challange
Here are the results of Matt hading me a box of magnet poetry words and letting me have at his fridge. I chalange other to try the same and share your results or if you don't have magnet poetry (which would be a shame), just pick words from the following sentinces since I used almost every word in the entire box and post your own poetic lines and rhymes. Mine fall into three categories...
1. EROTIC - garunteed to put a rise in your levis.
manipulate his tiney friend
I want you moaning, frantic and luscious with a woman's urge aching through your skin
drunk lust from bare skin
panting fast benieth my wet pink rose petal (that's one of my favorites)
heave my enormous sausage in a girl's butt
lick those feet as if he asked about a blow
shake it to the beat boy and say you want some easy play (almost rhymes)
hot wax over him would produce a cry so sordid it could leave shadows in bed (I read somewhere that after the Hiroshema attacks, the force from the bomb inprinted people's shadows to the wall)
2. PRETTY/FUNNY/GOOD - to put a spring in your step
milk chocolate is the sweet language
a gorgeous purple head trip vision
lie not my love, this delicate moment is true
a stil moon may white a sleepy void (I like this one too)
a lazy summer together will flood our winter
rock music pounding above a cool day
think like mist from a fluffy dream (i know, I know...)
mother's saggy breasts have taken to the wind (say it with a british accent, even funnier)
One shot of blue up and away, will hit like a car on a pole
thousands of diamonds spring with life as I trudge through the goddess garden (inspired by lucy in the sky)
the smell after an essential rain of the forest pleases like a gift
he who reads are none to ask (sounds like an old saying)
3. EVIL - not your diet coke version
mad timing has stopped her delirious chant (kinda Edgar Allen Poeish)
rusty knife rips the weak apart to sing screams full of death in the sky
the sum of your beauty is only a ship on a sea, you are repulsive to me (yay, I made it rhyme!)
cook my love bitter and raw like red meat
he uses power by some apparatus of robbing me until I fall (I was trying to use the word apparatus)
why place sad chains between us when we had the languid crush
watch as she drives a mean stare to get them gone, yet never lives like black iron
sit and drool to TV shine (what I'm about to go do...peace!)
1. EROTIC - garunteed to put a rise in your levis.
manipulate his tiney friend
I want you moaning, frantic and luscious with a woman's urge aching through your skin
drunk lust from bare skin
panting fast benieth my wet pink rose petal (that's one of my favorites)
heave my enormous sausage in a girl's butt
lick those feet as if he asked about a blow
shake it to the beat boy and say you want some easy play (almost rhymes)
hot wax over him would produce a cry so sordid it could leave shadows in bed (I read somewhere that after the Hiroshema attacks, the force from the bomb inprinted people's shadows to the wall)
2. PRETTY/FUNNY/GOOD - to put a spring in your step
milk chocolate is the sweet language
a gorgeous purple head trip vision
lie not my love, this delicate moment is true
a stil moon may white a sleepy void (I like this one too)
a lazy summer together will flood our winter
rock music pounding above a cool day
think like mist from a fluffy dream (i know, I know...)
mother's saggy breasts have taken to the wind (say it with a british accent, even funnier)
One shot of blue up and away, will hit like a car on a pole
thousands of diamonds spring with life as I trudge through the goddess garden (inspired by lucy in the sky)
the smell after an essential rain of the forest pleases like a gift
he who reads are none to ask (sounds like an old saying)
3. EVIL - not your diet coke version
mad timing has stopped her delirious chant (kinda Edgar Allen Poeish)
rusty knife rips the weak apart to sing screams full of death in the sky
the sum of your beauty is only a ship on a sea, you are repulsive to me (yay, I made it rhyme!)
cook my love bitter and raw like red meat
he uses power by some apparatus of robbing me until I fall (I was trying to use the word apparatus)
why place sad chains between us when we had the languid crush
watch as she drives a mean stare to get them gone, yet never lives like black iron
sit and drool to TV shine (what I'm about to go do...peace!)
-
-
stoned
-
If there are Romance Writers n this Group:
I’ve been writing since I was a child, but recently I have been following up a dream of mine to becoming a published author. To achieve this goal, however, I realize there are a lot of little things that make up the big picture. Creating a tangible plot, forming believable characters, and having the stamina to finish what has been started.
Although I belong to a number of critique groups for various genres (
_blueberrybagel is one I formed for original fiction of any genre), I noticed there really isn’t any for romance writers of any type…thus the reason for joining forces with (
astutebunny to form one using bodice_ripper as a place for writers and even nonwriters who want to discuss gender issues. If romance is something you like to write, hope you may one day publish, and would like to be part of a critique circle while discussing the aspects of writing, please join. bodice_ripper~*~*~*~*~*crossposted
So I tried to write a ghazal...
google "ghazal" and try to write one. it's fun, even though mine leaves something to be desired.
the night before last
resounding, rhythmic, glistening drops
plink down heavily, fat water drops.
the tension in his face melts, drops
he falls down, weeping, smiling, drops.
salt and acid mix, forming sky drops
chemical cloudbursts matching eye drops.
i watch from the window, big heavy drops
pouring from my eyes; puddles make splash drops.
stomping in puddles, he smiles, tiny lake drops
he falls to his knees, eyes heavenward, the earth stops.
a chocolate haired girl has just witnessed soul drops
a humbling cloudburst, faceburst; wet drops.
the night before last
resounding, rhythmic, glistening drops
plink down heavily, fat water drops.
the tension in his face melts, drops
he falls down, weeping, smiling, drops.
salt and acid mix, forming sky drops
chemical cloudbursts matching eye drops.
i watch from the window, big heavy drops
pouring from my eyes; puddles make splash drops.
stomping in puddles, he smiles, tiny lake drops
he falls to his knees, eyes heavenward, the earth stops.
a chocolate haired girl has just witnessed soul drops
a humbling cloudburst, faceburst; wet drops.
i dont know how long its been since ive written...
a short story with a valentine's theme.
He jangled the change in his pocket with one hand while fingering the cellophane of the twin saltine package with two fingers of the other. Free crackers with soup was some kind of unwritten culinary law, and he wondered how many people actually ever ate them. They tasted like sawdust to him. But then, so did most things lately.
She was twisting a curl as she eyed his belt, brown and dearly worn. He was a small man and quiet, dark lock of hair falling over the one eye almost as if on purpose. Soft features, pale, a kewpie in an olive jacket.
It was not until he heard her repeating Could you pass the salt? that he noticed her. He turned his head and his large eyes took in her mass of red hair, the paisley scarf that half restrained it, a nose both pert and freckled, the little lines at the corner of her pink questioning smile. He passed the salt with a nod and half smile. I do like salt, she said, on 'most anything. Pepper too. And salsa? You get me near a bowl, its half gone before the chips are scarcely touched. Yeah, I’m a girl who loves her condiments. He sensed her pratter was from nervousness and a desire to somehow breach the silence between, however awkward the attempt. So where are you from? she finally found the point she had been circling.
Not here, he replied. Back east aways. I’m just passing through. End it there, he thought, but surged instead forward- You?
Oh I’m a local. I just like to haunt this particular joint. Food is good and sometimes you meet an interesting traveler or two.
He wondered if she was a prostitute. She didn’t look it but you never knew. Born and raised here? he asked.
Yeah, she laughed a little, (embarrassed?) well I always meant to get out of here, college and all, you know, but life as a way of making those decisions for you (yes, definitely embarrassed. She feels smalltown and plain and desires to come across as otherwise).
He agreed that it did.
She cleared her throat and commented, you’ve barely touched your soup.
He set the spoon back down, just now aware he had been absently toying with it. Oh, its fine, I just haven’t much of an appetite.
If you’d like some fries, help yourself she gestured to her plate.
Offering food from her plate. God she was precious. So how old are you… hey, come to think of it, I don’t believe I caught your name
Oh, I’m sorry! So sorry, I’m Shelley, and I’m 22 well, you know.
Married?
Was. Not no more. I don’t stand for a man whos' get rowdy and don’t respect his woman. And I don’t stand for a man who loves his drink so.
That’s good. You shouldn’t. No woman should.
They were quiet.
Any children?
Two beautiful boys, one five and the other’n just barely one, they’re my pride and joy. Niece is watching them for the night, thought I would take an evening to just come and get some coffee and relax myself, I spent all day painting the outside of the house touching up the trim and whatnot and I’m darn near tuckered out, it was fiercesome hot out today.
Yes, still is, he said, noticing the bit of sweat collecting at his own brow.
More silence passed between them. The woman, a girl yet, really, was examining her fingernails with a sharp intensity.
Fancy a walk? She ventured. I imagine you haven’t seen much yet of the town. Not that there’s much to see, heh.
He thought for a moment, his throat growing tight. That I would, he said, and took her arm Like a real gentleman she thought.
She took him around the few main streets and indicated the places to eat and not to eat, which shops had the best wares and which were tawdry trinkets with inflated prices meant for tourists. She filled his ears with simple tales of country happenings and made his grave countenance twist into a smile more than once.
The sun was setting as they meandered along a trail through a field of wild grass and queen anne’s lace. …and back here's about where I live. Silence. I suppose I should be getting home, now, its getting late and...her head was turned away but as she trailed off she turned it back, looked up at him with clear blue eyes and reached upwards with her slender neck to place her lips to his.
The soup spoon pierced her temple just where he intended. He gave it a good twist before he let her fall.
He walked away calmly, jangling the change in his pocket with one hand. Tossed, carelessly, the packet of saltines into the weeds.
He jangled the change in his pocket with one hand while fingering the cellophane of the twin saltine package with two fingers of the other. Free crackers with soup was some kind of unwritten culinary law, and he wondered how many people actually ever ate them. They tasted like sawdust to him. But then, so did most things lately.
She was twisting a curl as she eyed his belt, brown and dearly worn. He was a small man and quiet, dark lock of hair falling over the one eye almost as if on purpose. Soft features, pale, a kewpie in an olive jacket.
It was not until he heard her repeating Could you pass the salt? that he noticed her. He turned his head and his large eyes took in her mass of red hair, the paisley scarf that half restrained it, a nose both pert and freckled, the little lines at the corner of her pink questioning smile. He passed the salt with a nod and half smile. I do like salt, she said, on 'most anything. Pepper too. And salsa? You get me near a bowl, its half gone before the chips are scarcely touched. Yeah, I’m a girl who loves her condiments. He sensed her pratter was from nervousness and a desire to somehow breach the silence between, however awkward the attempt. So where are you from? she finally found the point she had been circling.
Not here, he replied. Back east aways. I’m just passing through. End it there, he thought, but surged instead forward- You?
Oh I’m a local. I just like to haunt this particular joint. Food is good and sometimes you meet an interesting traveler or two.
He wondered if she was a prostitute. She didn’t look it but you never knew. Born and raised here? he asked.
Yeah, she laughed a little, (embarrassed?) well I always meant to get out of here, college and all, you know, but life as a way of making those decisions for you (yes, definitely embarrassed. She feels smalltown and plain and desires to come across as otherwise).
He agreed that it did.
She cleared her throat and commented, you’ve barely touched your soup.
He set the spoon back down, just now aware he had been absently toying with it. Oh, its fine, I just haven’t much of an appetite.
If you’d like some fries, help yourself she gestured to her plate.
Offering food from her plate. God she was precious. So how old are you… hey, come to think of it, I don’t believe I caught your name
Oh, I’m sorry! So sorry, I’m Shelley, and I’m 22 well, you know.
Married?
Was. Not no more. I don’t stand for a man whos' get rowdy and don’t respect his woman. And I don’t stand for a man who loves his drink so.
That’s good. You shouldn’t. No woman should.
They were quiet.
Any children?
Two beautiful boys, one five and the other’n just barely one, they’re my pride and joy. Niece is watching them for the night, thought I would take an evening to just come and get some coffee and relax myself, I spent all day painting the outside of the house touching up the trim and whatnot and I’m darn near tuckered out, it was fiercesome hot out today.
Yes, still is, he said, noticing the bit of sweat collecting at his own brow.
More silence passed between them. The woman, a girl yet, really, was examining her fingernails with a sharp intensity.
Fancy a walk? She ventured. I imagine you haven’t seen much yet of the town. Not that there’s much to see, heh.
He thought for a moment, his throat growing tight. That I would, he said, and took her arm Like a real gentleman she thought.
She took him around the few main streets and indicated the places to eat and not to eat, which shops had the best wares and which were tawdry trinkets with inflated prices meant for tourists. She filled his ears with simple tales of country happenings and made his grave countenance twist into a smile more than once.
The sun was setting as they meandered along a trail through a field of wild grass and queen anne’s lace. …and back here's about where I live. Silence. I suppose I should be getting home, now, its getting late and...her head was turned away but as she trailed off she turned it back, looked up at him with clear blue eyes and reached upwards with her slender neck to place her lips to his.
The soup spoon pierced her temple just where he intended. He gave it a good twist before he let her fall.
He walked away calmly, jangling the change in his pocket with one hand. Tossed, carelessly, the packet of saltines into the weeds.