Literature's Next Frontier


Flamingo

POETRY:

Best time to kill me.

by vishal Quill-red

The lung is bursting,
And the smoke is out there,
And also this is giving a pain,
I hope which I can always bear.

The wind blowing is taking it,
Away from my lung,
To give me the best feeling of
"A mind without fear".

Kill me if you can,
This is the best time you can have.
Not in the future,
Coz i'll never be so unplanned.

The wind passed away,
is having the toxin of time worth dying for.
Don't know in future,
If my thoughts would be so clear.

The silent wind shouting,
Which used to be cool clear calm,
Give me one another chance.
Well I'll see in future, if i can take your wish as grant.


Posted on: October 02 2011

4 Comments

3.0 / 5

POETRY:

L.O.V.E

by 7845300224 Quill-red

I felt the cold wind on my back,

As i sat there looking at the sky.

How could my colorful world turn black?

And the love in my heart just die?

Love was suppose to be like Spring,

Now why does it feel like winter?

You claimed I was your everything!

I accepted you with your every flaw.

We were suppose to be like the stars,

And shine together side by side.

Why do I feel like I'm behind bars?

I need somewhere to run and hide!

Tears? I never knew them until today,

No reason did I have to cry.

You promised You would keep them away

So love where is my smile?

The warmness in my heart turned cold;

Excuse me, I'm new to this feeling 

It's like I just suddenly grew old,

Why did this happen without warning?

Love you trained me to be selfless,

Was it hard to return the favour?

I guess this was the ultimate test, 

And I must accept my failure.

Everything to me, is new

May I please go back in time?

LOVE! How could you not stay true?

I want everything you said would be mine!

The night is almost over;

Love would you be in my dreams?

Would you be back tomorrow?

Or are things just as they seem?

I cant believe you, this is not right!

But love I hope to see you again.

Until then Goodnight and

Love, you'd always be my friend .


Posted on: November 27 2012

2 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

Words

by Charlotte Storm Quill-blue

They've become nothing,

Meaningless.

Those squiggly, curved, straight lines

That are the way we can tell without our voices.

Some people,

Some children,

Are fed with love and truth.

But I am fed with words and lies.

Life, Love, Live

Some of the 4-lettered words that are

Lost value,

A sinking ship,

That once sailed fearlessly, worthily,

Flag whipping high.

But words are to me an empty present,

A blank sheet,

A confederate dollar,

A truthful lie,

A ghost and a broken heart.

Worth less than the ink written with

And the paper written on.

Speak the truth,

If you care for me not at all

Write me a note,

With 3 simple words

"I love you."

 


Posted on: August 11 2012

7 Comments

2.0 / 5

FICTION:

Death Chart 19: Gold Dove Trip

by StormCatch02 Quill-yellow

The blast of light and amazing screech came from something nobody expected. A pheonix made purely of raging fire that curled when the creature flapped its wings wooshed above their machine in a second.

But it wasn’t alone, a stone eagle that seemed heavier than an elephant soared through the wind in the same direction as the pheonix.

Last, a flock of little golden doves cooed as they danced in the air. But they didn’t follow the others, they seemed to be hovering right over Jesse, Melissa, and Malcome. It was amazing, how they shone magnificently. It was almost like they didn’t even know!

“Wow,” Muttered Malcome. “that is SO cool.”

Melissa laughed. “That is!”

Their necks were strained from bending up and marveling at the birds. Jesse asked, “Do you think they’re waiting for something?”

It was werid, but Jesse had a point. When the biggest one come down, touch it, Melissa suddenly thought out of the blue.

Another message, Melissa thought, this time actually thinking for herself. She couldn’t stop herself, it just seemed like the correct thing to do. So do it.

When the largest dove swooped down, almost commanded to Melissa’s thought, Melissa sprang up and merely touched one of its feathers. A burst of yellow light and Melissa was upon its back.

She opened her previously closed eyes to see the dove had grown what felt like times twenty!! Jesse and Malcome gasped as Melissa laughed. “Touch one!” She yelled at them between grabbing her stomach and hugging the dove.

Malcome did it without hesitation and was soon mimicing Melissa in joy. Jesse followed suit. As they all looked back, the vending machine swirled uncontrollably through the sky in every direction leving a smoke stack in its trail. Soon it was headed straight for the three of them!

“GO!” They all shouted in unison, and the doves took off. Like a rollwercoaster, same speed and thrill, the whole flock was majestically swinging to and fro. It was amazing!

As scary as it could have been, being up high and being chased by a vending machine, it couldn’t have been more exciting! The doves’ wings made a woosh sound every flap. It was one big sound they all made at once.

Looking around, Melissa was surprised all the doves grew. She also saw that they all left a stream of sparkles behind them. The doves acted almost completely normal, with what seemed like a slight little grin on their faces, happy to see the three of them happy.

As Melissa was playing detective and looking around, Jesse gestured her to look forward by pointing with very believable persistence. Melissa looked over and saw something shocking.

“What. . . IS that!?” She exclaimed.

A golden dome glittered like the doves, but less glamorous, more like a shield would shine, but isn’t really meant to. But the dome looked like it was four stories tall and the diameter (length from one side to the other) was about two miles.

Around it in what looked like an organized line of cottages and scattered people walking around. It was a buzz of a little community.

They flew for a few more minutes until the doves landed them right in the middle of the first line of cottages. People swarmed them.

The doves cooed and left toward the golden dome, but before they could see what happened to the birds, a soothing voice asked, “Excuse me, but what are you doing here?”

Dang, if they had a dime for each time they heard that.


Posted on: July 04 2012

0 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

Haunted House

by Charlotte Storm Quill-blue

That heart-shaped core inside me

Is nothing short of haunted house

With smashed windows and broken dreams

A door swinging crazily, crookedly in the midst of a storm

On its rusted hinges

If the outside has not frightened thee,

Some have dared to enter

And fall only through the weak floor boards

Or pale at the shadows

The ghosts

Who haunt, wisp, and glide the lonely rooms

Hunting, haunted, for something

That they'll never find,

Innocence, in their haunted minds

In my haunted house.

 

This doesn't feel too great of a poem and if any of you have a great idea or are in the perfect mood to perfect this poem or expand on it, you are certainly welcome to re-write it yourself and post it, and I hope you'll show it to me!


Posted on: July 01 2012

3 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

Thanksgiving

by Frederick Bridger Quill-yellow

In a stark room they crawl to each other,

Collapse in early morning from passions

That are ready to begin anew, Dress

Each other in demanding imagination,

He in desire’s sway, she

In lipstick and high heels; in spent

Flesh a suggestion of a dance in cool

Dawn.  They collide in sweet agonizing

Tempos, violate damp air

Like hot Latin music. They

Forget nothing about it:  a champagne

Chalice, the sound of leather hot

Across spent and satisfied skin,

Sweet chained pressure across

Breasts fresh and available,

Imploring sobs, wails whose voices

They did not recognize

 

Sometimes they may be stalling: coffee,

Dinner, Amsterdam; he measures

Her but will never know her.  She

Has earned the right to know things

About him.  They collide in a film

That makes crazy lives seem sedate.


Posted on: November 29 2011

2 Comments

2.0 / 5

POETRY:

A 'One More Chance' Text

by Joshua Design Quill-yellow

I wish I could have just one more memory:  To dance with you to my radio in the middle of a backroad with the trees stretching across trying to meet each other;  under the moon and the stars and the dim light of my headlights.  May our hearts beat as one.  And may our song be love.  Forever and ever babe.  Just one last memory together...


Posted on: October 17 2011

4 Comments

2.0 / 5

FICTION:

Masters 14: The Other Girl

by StormCatch02 Quill-yellow

She was right. The sounds HAD stopped. But that’s what scared me.

Now I knew that this thing outside knew that we knew it was there so it stopped. So it wasn’t expecting us to be there. So since it stopped because it knew we were there, but wasn’t expecting us to be there, he probably had this giant chainsaw and wanted to rip us apart!

Or she! Or it! Or all three! Or just two, but that still has a variety different outcomes and I wasn’t in any mood to try and firgure them out.

At that minute I wished I was upstairs when I remembered Jaliet was still there. That colled me off a bit. ONLY one bit!

A long silence grew, telling me we all knew the two things that were going to happen:

A.) We were going to run upstairs and hide or they were going to run and hide.

B.) Somebody would have too much idiot-level-brave brain cells to open the back door and find the other one there.

For some reason I honestly will never find out, Jaliet decided she was going to go with choice ‘B’ and open the door.

Goosebumps trapped me in my skin and spot as she slowly crept with caution towards the door. I was still shocked as she dared to turn the doorknop creating, if possible, even more terror throughout everybody. Inside and outside the door.

I saw her knuckles turn white as she swung open the door to see the bitter darkness tha was outback in the middle of the night. But of course, things aren’t just what you see when there’s a noise outside of a dojo where teenagers, a man, and an old man train to fight with water and rocks.

Never. Ever.

Now that everybody knew a fight was about to occur, the phantom reavealed himself. Well. . .HER self.

Out from the bushes twirled a teenage girl, Jaliet’s age, in all black except for a few accessories. Her black denim jeans were tucked into her calf-high bright red socks. Her dark shirt was the same. At the wrists it was tucked in to wierd red fabric wrapped tightly around her wrists. Her waist had anothers tightly wrapped piece of fabric impeding view of the separation of her pants and shirt. Her brown hair was set in a ponytail using a red scrunchie.

She was one of the red ninja guys, I thought. Except. . .she was a girl!

She snapped her head up, scaring Jaliet, and let us see her beautiful face. Her hazel eyes weren’t like a single pair I’ve seen. Almost orange. Her face was smooth, sharp, and stunning.

Her voice wrapped it all up like a bow. “I thought I was the only hirl who could fight with the Earth.”

For some reason I spoke up, without quivering. “You’re darn right! She. . .she’s awesome!”

And I didn’t need Jaliet to spell out her next move. She stabbed me with her dagger eyes, telling me never to say something like that again.

When Jaliet faced the other girl, the other girl smirked. I kinda got mad that she was so arrogant. I stood up, sending her into a little surprise.

She tried to hide it with her confident voice, but we began to see through it. “You’re insolent. But I’m out numbered.” she looked straight into me, and I began to sink in. “I’m still going to win.”

I clenched my fist and whipped my hair around for a second to get out of the funk. “You shut it.”

I swear, looking back at that, I really should’ve taken that back and not let myself get back-fisted into the gut. By Jaliet.

I chocked a bit and held my stomach. But Jaliet was finished with me, but still wanted to steam off a little. So, as we all knew, she eyed the other girl and slapped her with all her cat-fight power. That send the other girl into a frenzy.

I recovered slowly as the other girl levitated a rocked and threw it at Jaliet with a full surprise to her. Jaliet took the shot in her shoulder and held it, holding back tears.

Seeing Jaliet mad made me want to smack this girl, so I decide to. While she was busy laughing at Jaliet, I took the stone from the ground at threw it at her knee.

She seemed a little confused, and mad, so I took off while she was looking down. I took off outside, speffically to the calender. Out of rage she followed me into the black light.

I knew I couldn’t make it to the calender before the took a swing at me with another rock, so I froze in my place. She ran past me for a second, then she realized I had stopped. But all too late. I already had a ten-pound stone infront of my in the air. And she saw it.

I took a step forward, and she fumbled a bit backwards. Forward, backwards, forward, backwards. She got the hint soon. Her wide eyes told me so.

Suddenly, she got an idea. I could tell because her eyes changed, and were pointed down evilly. She lifted her hands and acted like she was gripping a rock.

I thought she had a big rock behind me, so I looked quickly only to see nothing. She laughed and snatched the rock from me.

“What!?” I yelled. She just tricked me! Is that what they learn from the red guy?

So she ran, and I mean FAST RAN, to the calender. I tried to make roots randomly appear in front of her feet, maybe tripping her, but she always saw them coming.

I thought she would get away when out of nowhere, a vine of water engulfed her ankle, and down she went. Right into the hard ground.


Posted on: July 04 2012

2 Comments

1.0 / 5

POETRY:

Names

by RoseKarma Quill-red

You can`t remember when you first started to hear it. It could have been the night of the rain storm or the morning after. But the way it flowed off his tonge was different. The E was filled with music and the R was scented with lavender. He greeted you the same, same nod, same firm lips to your forehead. Yet the greeting was different. Same tone different voice. You didn`t need to even ask. You had realized he had started to say your name the way you sang his.                                                                                                                      You can`t remember when you first started to hear it. It could have been that awuful blizard ar the night after. But the way it flowed off his tounge was different. There was no more music in each vowel and your slyables were left with only the dying scent of flowers. He greeted you the same, same nod, same firm lips to yur forehead. Yet the greeting was different. Same tone yet different voice. You didn`t even need to ask. You had realized he had stopped saying your name like you sang his.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Empty Or Full

by RoseKarma Quill-red

I`m not sure what is worse. Being empty or full. To be so full that your sides are bursting, that at any second your seams will split and all your saddness and hatred will spill out for the world to see. To be full to the point of pain. Wanting to let all your inner fullness out, but not knowing how to. Feeling as if everyone who walks by can see it spilling from your soul. Or to have nothing in you, your stomach and things arch inward trying to compensate for the emptyness in side. To not know how to react when you finally hear what you have been craving, bacuse you have closed your lid long ago.                                                                                                                                   I`m not sure what is worse. Being empty or full.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

The Time He Would Never Leave

by RoseKarma Quill-red

"You can close your eyes to the things you don't want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you don't want o feel"

~Johnny Depp

You can close your eyes at his retreating form. You can close your eyes when you see him in the hallways. You can close your eyes and block out the image of him and that woman. However no matter how hard you try, you can't close your heart. Each word he whispered in your ear, each gentil brush of his fingers against your cheek. Each and every time he told you he would never leave. It eats at your heart. The condridictions of his words and his actions will kill you slowly. Your weak heart will always bring up the way his eyes looked right passed you as he told you "we're over." with no emotion. As if he didn't care. The way he holds his new girl, as if she is the only thing that matters. The way he never held you. Your heart will take this new images and fight them against the old ones. But you already know what will happen. Those old happy memories are tainted and weak, filled with lies and missgivings. The new ones will kill them and your heart will be filled with saddness, yet no matter how hard you try to close your heart you can't. The heart dosn't want to close, it still hopes against all odds that he will come back. Come back and hold you like he holds that other woman. But you know he won`t. And it`s all your hearts fault for stealing your hope. You know he won`t come back because your heart won`t let you forget each and every lie, of the time he would never leave.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Yet

by RoseKarma Quill-red

Yet, people never appreciate the power of the word. I personally think is one of the most powerful words in the english language. It can evoke such saddness while at the same time brightens someones day.

"We haven't broken up, yet."

"We haven't got toghther, yet."

                                      See the difference,

"We haven't broken up."

We haven't got together."

                                      it's pretty big.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Secret Scars

by RoseKarma Quill-red

"The difference between,

being a child, 

and now,

is that your mum would tend to your cuts.

Now you do,

but only after,

you create them."

~unkown

It's sick, but it's true. When we were little we would scrap our knees and cry. We would get in a fight with little Suzy and cry. But our mommys would come kiss it better, make us cookies and tell us it's going to be alright. And it would be. Our knees would heal, and little Suzy would share her cookies with us at lunch tomorrow. Now we cut our wrists and smile. We find out little Suzy slept with our boyfriend and smile. But our moms aren't coming to make it better, because they don't know about it. Nobody is going to kiss it better and cookies you make yourself just don't taste as good. But we clean up ourselves up, wash away the blood and kiss it better ourselves. Our wrists won't heal as we keep cutting them, and little Suzy isn't about to share the boyfriend she took.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Remember To Forget

by RoseKarma Quill-red

How fuckin backhanded. While telling me to remember, you want me to forget. You can't have one with the other. That's what I think that saying is about. The irony. The irony of trying to remember to forget. It's one of those things. Like the day you fell in love with that boy. The boy with the messy dark hair and pretty light eyes. You could never tell what colour they were, just as you could never tell if they were really looking into your soul like you felt they could. No matter how hard you try you can't forget the way he spoke your name the day after you started dating. The way he said your name during your first time, or the way he said it the morning after over coffee. You can't forget the way he would grab your hand during a thunderstorm, because no matter how much he denies it, he's terrified of them. The way he would stroke your hair to help you fall asleep, after he would sneek into your room at night. Then kiss the top of your head before he left. Just like the way you can't foget the bags under his pretty eyes the day he told you "we need to talk". You can't forget the way he wouldn't meet your eyes when he told you, you were beautiful one last time. You can't forget the crack in his voice when he said he can't do this anymore. No matter how many times you tell yourself to remember to forget, you still can't forget those eyes. You still aren't sure what colour they are, but you are sure now they were looking into your soul.


Posted on: April 16 2014

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POETRY:

Charcoal Heart

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

What have we done to this
Twists and turns
Memories that concave
People there smiling vanish

What in the hell did I do to deserve
You freezing just staying in a camouflage face

Why did you adjust your misplaced out if it attitude
Why do you hide behind mirrors

Turns in the road
People smiling appear
They Don camouflage faces

Why did you adjust your smile
Why did I deserve
The gaping memory

The scenes unfold
Puzzle-pieces that won't ever fit

Memories fold
Your face in a
1000 mirrors

Your eyes elongated
Stretching into the
infinity of its own Iris

Why didn't we go along with the ride
Something warned us it was time to stop
But against all better judgment
We flew in a Learjet to the sun

They greeted us on the landing strip
We've been waiting all this time
Now you're finally standing there
Please remove your oxygen

Why didn't we go along with the ride
's too late to know that something died
With leftover camouflage
Surveillance of the sky
Drones in an army of drone

Cloud busting the regular season
Laying pipelines across the sky
Take a picture with a negative
See what kind of things they do

Watch them in infrared
Watch how they watch you
Did you think they'd know all of this?

Watch how they watch you
Shopping and dining
Reclined on the couch
Remote in both hands

Stop shop and roll
Through
prefabricated faces

Shiny on the outside
But charcoal hearts inside

See what kind of things they do
You can roll set up as they go
You'll never fit in their system
To scoop up scenes and dreams and Blender them
Ice tea liberation
Some kind of weird drink that you have on a summer evening

You think you're talking to a silver surfer
But it's just the charcoal heart
Glowing in the dark

You think you found a lot of light
But it all just leads to the dark mess

He thought he found something good
But it really retracted quickly

like
Aliens with an animal sense
Tendrils eating out
their charcoal
Heart

Tendrils reaching out
their charcoal
Heart

 


Posted on: March 29 2014

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POETRY:

Whistling lollipop sounds of the transmigration

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

To watch some shows
To take it all in
Surrender to the depths of
Lollipop Stirring pots

Whistling sound
Wings cutting through the air
Here's one but solution
Lollipop
Imitation
Trans regurgitation

To take it all in
Have some fun with Doubt
Stirring lolli pot surrendering
the air

Watch some shows regurgitate
One solution
Lollipop Wings cutting the air

You get in
There Is a hole 
that is irritated with them

Whistling lollipop sounds of the transmigration

Signatory
Object
Holy entrance

The ritual of existence

Deliberating truth
Cut free from all bonds
The misery of prepackaged
Delusions
Insanity parted with the lollipop truth

Scores of innocence
Lost behind Cloyster shows

I'm Charterhouse Lollipop

Prepackaged celebrity status
Chowderheads
Deliberately correct
Signatory lollipop objects reveal

Doors of the innocent
Left open by the sequel
They're indented line by line
Write it down

For you won't forget it
Lasts but a little while

And before you know it
Filling the blank lollipop

Having a tradition of innocence
Surrender the sequel
Choose your own lollipop
Sequels are traditions

Savor that long
last lolly gagging cigarette
Lollipop of the smoker
Smoking a burning lollipop

 


Posted on: March 26 2014

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POETRY:

Gisselle

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

Flattering selfie's 
on her profile

The camera angles
designed to show
The best angles
at all times

She's on a mission
Selfie's for the masses
But time will reveal.
The trick photography
she uses

Flattering camera angles
Lord of the lip rings
She's brandishing trick photography

She shoots selfie's with a digital shotgun
She's on a mission for tricks

Designing camera angles
Cloning scenes
Recorded recordings

Traced by the centuries
Unmoved by time
Soaring through the firmament
Slaves to their own rocket
She designed the whole scene

You think you're an actor
But she's not having it
Most definitely your director
And you dance about like a puppet

What do you see
Turn out the night
Is the weather bad
For all the memories you had
Try to forget them
Try not to remember

And it will plague you though

It will play Gisselle

 


Posted on: March 26 2014

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POETRY:

Underneath the deck

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

Underneath the deck
By the bench
There's an old toolshed
Filled with tools
And the toiling of a fool

He writes about this
He's writing it now

About how
He takes his
time in Africa

Underneath the deck
in the wind
It Blows harder
by the minute

There's
Not a lot to say
anymore about it

My
Lazy flair

Freezing
Disdain

It Blows harder
by the minute

Alerted by
the ignorant
Just yesterday

With Moonlight
Comes
Ease of thought

Disease-free living
no need for
Hypodermic soul injections

Love chemicals applied liberally
Topical antidotes for
Tropical cesspools

no need for
Slaphappy Opera

Hypodermic songs
Feeding the sheep
so in come funky
Wrestling matches

With their passengers
Calculating thresholds
Readjusting for deflation
It Blows harder
by the minute

 


Posted on: March 22 2014

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POETRY:

As the walls came down, all was revealed to be inverted backwards

by William Wakefield Quill-purple

(Sounds of looseness)
Loose sounds 
reverberate across the nation
sonic nuclear attack
Hydrants that point out of speakers

I'm taking care of loose sounds
As the walls came down
Truth was revealed

There's little left 
of the electricity
That coursed through
the veins in the wall

Loose sounds
reverberate across the nation
sonic nuclear attack
Hydrants that point out of speakers

As the walls came down 
all was revealed 
to be inverted backwards

Little left of the electricity
In the veins that cannot
Connect to the brain
Lou sounds roll across the plane

You and your minion
Rathwell

Ride in the sky with the light
tumbling down
Stars unconnected
from the heavens

Drop down and bring your feet



 


Posted on: March 22 2014

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NON-FICTION:

Ciroc Love

by L.W. Soul Quill-red

 

12:55 at night the clock communicates the time to drift away,

It was a year three months ago that the bird left it's cage,

Since then this page has been stuck on repeat forever and a day,

The same song will play time and time again,

Like a rerun I can't escape each one more painful than the last,

The past hold plenty of tears for me to grasp,

So to recapture the lost years in these brown sugar eyes,

The ties that are missed are replicated with each sip,

At the tip of losing it all once more,

I'll drink you up then pour more until I see you,

I'll drink you up until I feel your touch,

I'll drink you up until I hear your voice in my ear,

I'll drown until you are around for me to cradle for life,

The hype of being without you is all lies,

The ties you and I left are still around,

Unfortunately they are bound to die unless I sip out of this cup,

With each shot I feel your presence growing near,

The weakening grip of heartache disappears when you are around,

I know this isn't real but this is better than being completely sober,

Even though this is drunken love,

The dove cries for his mate even though she is long gone,

One thing is for sure the illusion of your love is an elixir that I can't go without,

I know I can't afford to grow a dependence on the your luscious vibes,

Like a plant without water I'll die,

So while I miss you so this Ciroc Love is good enough to keep me going.....or so I think.

 


Posted on: March 22 2014

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POETRY:

Falling Venus

by L.W. Soul Quill-red

 

The skyfall of her unyielding fragrance leaves fragmented shards,

Shards of her broken will the will of her enchanting love,

The dove sits outside her window waiting for her,

But the daily commute of the love birds are to no avail,

The moon is her reflection of her undying beauty,

Though her new moon shows nothing to see,

Her song of romance is no longer sung to all,

Like the deaf ones we hear nothing,

Oh Venus how far you have fallen?

Her window seal remains shut nothing to enter or depart,

The tart cries of her soul keeps her in the dark,

Oh Venus how long will stay down?

The bellows of her aching heart resists the arrival of light,

Her pillow soaked in the oceans of tears,

She is complacent on the heyday of the past,

Her harp of emotions are silent covered in dust,

Oh Venus how long will you stay sheltered?

Does the traveling vibes of the heart grant no entry into your world,

Hurled into the hurricane of deceit,

The cold stare in her wholesome eyes keeps her mansion iced over,

Oh Venus hope still rings louder than Liberty bell,

Longing for a warm touch to sooth her dim soul,

The fire she desires cannot be found,

Oh Venus hold steadfast to your enchanting beauty,

For breakthrough is only but a touch away.


Posted on: March 22 2014

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NON-FICTION:

A tribute to my german friend

by B-ELLA Books Quill-purple

Ich bin eine Ratte, die in einem Baum lebt . Nur ein Scherz Ich liebe Iglus und Adler. Klar bin ich eine Ratte Dichter , uh huh uh huh. Ich bin hier, um Sie über alle Probleme meines Lebens sagen , ich brauche Beratung. Die Nummer eins , meine Ratte Kinder verformt. Sie sind langsam ein Absterben mein ein . Vielleicht meine Frau isst sie , während sie schlafen Spaziergänge. Wer weiß ! Wir sind Nagetiere sowieso. Wir haben nicht den Verbrecher das Leben zu wählen , entschied sich die Thug Life uns . Nummer zwei , hat meine Frau nicht meine Liebe zu schimmeln Graben Fuß zu schätzen wissen. Aber ich verstehe nicht , es ist so ansprechend. Mein Herz rast , wenn ich es sehe! Gott segne Weltkrieg zu bringen mich Graben Fuß . Problem Nummer 3, meine Zahnspange . Die Zweige immer abbrechen , habe ich drei Sätze von Klammern bislang Verschlucken. Meine Zähne sind so lang, ich benutze sie als Zuckerrohr und sie helfen mir Löcher zu graben . Eigentlich ist das Problem gelöst ist , meine Zähne sind ziemlich helpfu alles in allem . Letztes Problem , meine Frau ist nicht reich . Ich sollte heiraten jemand reich , der sich interessiert, wenn sie hässlich habe ! Meiner Frau immer hässlich wie auch immer, ist ihr Fell fallen aus wegen jungen Alter. Um es am Ende aus, ist meine Lieblingsbeschäftigung Yoga in den Schützengräben . Ich fühle mich sehr zen unter den Soldaten einander zu töten. Bin ich seltsam? Glaubst du, ich bin seltsam? Bin ich besessen ? Bitte helfen Sie . Ich brauche psychische Stabilität . Alle Antworten sind erwünscht. Übrigens , ich bin nicht wirklich eine Ratte. Es ist eine seltene multiple Persönlichkeitsstörung , wo ich wirklich glaube, ich bin ein kleines Nagetier . Danke.Die Ratte Leben hat mich gewählt .

 

Translatey

I am a rat who lives in a tree. Just kidding I love igloos and eagles. Sure, I 'm a rat poet , uh huh uh huh. I'm here to tell you about all the problems of my life , I need advice. Number one, my rat deformed children. They are slowly dying off my one . Maybe my wife eats them while they sleep walks. Who knows ! We are rodents anyway. We did not choose the thug life , the thug life chose us . Number two, has to know my wife does not get moldy my love digging to estimate distance. But I do not think it's so appealing. My heart races when I see it! God bless to bring World War I trench foot. Problem number 3, my braces . Always abort the branches , I have three sets of parentheses so far swallowed. My teeth are so long , I use them as sugar cane and they help me to dig holes. Actually, the problem is solved is , my teeth are pretty helpfu all in all. Last problem , my wife is not rich . I should marry someone rich who cares if she had ugly! My wife always ugly as ever , her fur fall out due to young age. To put it at the end, is my favorite thing Yoga in the trenches. I feel very zen to kill each other among the soldiers . Am I weird? Do you think I 'm weird? Am I obsessed ? Please help . I need mental stability. All answers are appreciated. By the way , I 'm not really a rat. It is a rare multiple personality disorder , where I really think I 'm a small rodent . Thank you.The rat life chose me .


Posted on: March 21 2014

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POETRY:

Rap" The Sly Life"

by B-ELLA Books Quill-purple

We're back

In black

Rappin up in the shack!

We're sly

goodbye

multiply two by pi

what do you get?

6. something

We don care

Cause we sly

Thug lyfe

Keep it real

Yolo swag

2 chainz!!

make that 3..

Aww we got the velcro

Did yo mama ever tell you not to talk to strangers that way?

Cause my mama told me that!

Werd

 

#winning

#gangsta

#2kewl

#weout

#jk

#wereback

 

- A

 


Posted on: March 21 2014

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POETRY:

A New Scene

by Ryan Carter Quill-orange

I think it's time for a new scene
Same movie, different screen 
If you know what I mean

New characters, same attitude 
People that understand lifes magnitude
And knows the meaning of gratitude

Or can I fast forward now 
To the end and I take my bow

To the time where all I hear is cheers
And my thoughts have never been more clear

I'm ready for a new scene
I'm ready for a new me


Posted on: March 20 2014

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POETRY:

Monophobia

by Ryan Carter Quill-orange

What makes you so afraid of the night

You're in the same place simply with no light

Are you afraid when you close your eyes

When you're telling the world brief goodbyes

Either way at the end of the day you're on your own

Or do you have a phobia of being alone

Maybe that's why you have to keep your phone

In a world with billions of people like you

You choose a lonely hell to go through

One that leads to only the one end

The one that your thoughts push you further than you can bend

It's time to give it up

Grab the glass of life and take a sup

So get out of your zone

And grow a backbone

Because nobody should make themselves live alone


Posted on: March 20 2014

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