Wednesday, June 27, 2012, a writer's site, Writer's On The Loose, is having their Semi-Annual short story contest. It is open to everyone and the public are the judges. The stories are posted anonymously on the host's column. The story that accumulates the most votes wins.
I've entered it before, and even hosted it on occasion. It's a nice way to showcase your skill and allows people to improve their writing. Plus it exposes people to new ideas and stories. I encourage anyone interested to check it out.
Copyrights are retained by the original author.
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Who dun it?
Oh to commit murder,
to strangle with these hands,
to steal from man the breath of life
and flee to far off lands.
Oh to commit murder,
and suck the devil's teat.
And render from what was mortal
a worthless lump of meat.
Oh to kill, to slay, to murder,
to wash my hands in blood,
And then escape from justice,
escape the pools of mud.
Oh the thrill of the hunted
and wanton gains are mine.
For the craving is oh so sweet
to drink this bitter wine.
I would rend the man and the babe,
the gentle suckling kid.
And with their deaths increase my fame!
And not a single thing be hid.
My crime would be a thrill to tell
a driving force of diction
and my victim would be nothing more
than a shambling work of fiction.
to strangle with these hands,
to steal from man the breath of life
and flee to far off lands.
Oh to commit murder,
and suck the devil's teat.
And render from what was mortal
a worthless lump of meat.
Oh to kill, to slay, to murder,
to wash my hands in blood,
And then escape from justice,
escape the pools of mud.
Oh the thrill of the hunted
and wanton gains are mine.
For the craving is oh so sweet
to drink this bitter wine.
I would rend the man and the babe,
the gentle suckling kid.
And with their deaths increase my fame!
And not a single thing be hid.
My crime would be a thrill to tell
a driving force of diction
and my victim would be nothing more
than a shambling work of fiction.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Up in flames
Trivial trappings of worry and jade
a paper fortress so easily made
dark clouds of light blocking my view
darling it's over, through and through
Flowers of glass, shattered and frayed
drift in the air, past where they stayed
turbulent waters frothing in mist
bring back the horrors of the kissed
And falling up into the sky
floats the the truth of the lie
forgotten remembrances of living death
and of that moment you stole my breath
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Hump Day: A Seven Minute Tanka
I hear not a thing
my soul is tired and seeks sleep
creativity has died
silence reigns unthroned
Please, will the day never end?
my soul is tired and seeks sleep
creativity has died
silence reigns unthroned
Please, will the day never end?
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Rain On My Parade
"Once upon a time,"
I used this phrase to start a verse or two.
My mind was blank,
and the paper white. What more could I do?
Pithy words and snarky strokes,
left the parchment clean.
But tempting thoughts, hid
and called from the unseen.
A Dragon. A tree.
A valiant white knight.
A demon. A Queen.
A snowstorm at midnight.
Rubbish and garbage!
Tedious and droll.
Each thought a doodle;
unpainted and dull.
Still, there lies within
the dark shrouded night,
a luminous speck,
a tempting bright light.
"Once upon a time,
at the world's end,
our story was begun..."
I used this phrase to start a verse or two.
My mind was blank,
and the paper white. What more could I do?
Pithy words and snarky strokes,
left the parchment clean.
But tempting thoughts, hid
and called from the unseen.
A Dragon. A tree.
A valiant white knight.
A demon. A Queen.
A snowstorm at midnight.
Rubbish and garbage!
Tedious and droll.
Each thought a doodle;
unpainted and dull.
Still, there lies within
the dark shrouded night,
a luminous speck,
a tempting bright light.
"Once upon a time,
at the world's end,
our story was begun..."
Monday, November 28, 2011
Poems I Shan't Write
In my troubled mind tumbled words,
confused, babbled and absurd.
How my fingers itched and my mind craved
to dig for each a pale paper grave.
But the ink rebelled and jerked and screamed
and yelled that words are life and not dream.
Then I saw scrawled in my path
the adverbs and nouns of evil math.
"Ode to Jock Itch" I have penned
worse still, for I have sinned;
I have written "The Bathroom Life of Men".
And stopped not there, not even when
I wrote the stinking sonnet,
"Ants in my pants, a bee in my bonnet."
And worse to worst, evil to wrong,
I penned the dark humor "Toilet Paper Song!"
So with shaking hand and hanging head,
I burned my poems and went to bed.
confused, babbled and absurd.
How my fingers itched and my mind craved
to dig for each a pale paper grave.
But the ink rebelled and jerked and screamed
and yelled that words are life and not dream.
Then I saw scrawled in my path
the adverbs and nouns of evil math.
"Ode to Jock Itch" I have penned
worse still, for I have sinned;
I have written "The Bathroom Life of Men".
And stopped not there, not even when
I wrote the stinking sonnet,
"Ants in my pants, a bee in my bonnet."
And worse to worst, evil to wrong,
I penned the dark humor "Toilet Paper Song!"
So with shaking hand and hanging head,
I burned my poems and went to bed.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
IMP
Imprisoned Muse
tortured,
battered,
bloodied,
lost with nothing to give.
You denied me, Muse.
recanted,
abandoned,
retracted,
all I have to give.
I died in your arms.
just another victim
of your broken charms...
tortured,
battered,
bloodied,
lost with nothing to give.
You denied me, Muse.
recanted,
abandoned,
retracted,
all I have to give.
I died in your arms.
just another victim
of your broken charms...
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