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Archive for March, 2013

Quoted in the Grove:

God runs electromagnetics by wave theory on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and the Devil runs them by quantum theory on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.
~Sir William Bragg

We live in a Newtonian world of Einsteinian physics ruled by Frankenstein logic.
~David Russell

In mathematics you don’t understand things. You just get used to them.
~Johann von Neumann

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End Quote:
We are here and it is now. Further than that all human knowledge is moonshine.
~H L Mencken

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Posted from the Grove:

Since the passing of Disky (Francis 7’s wife), the retirement of WG’s memorial paz, In Transit, has undergone rethinking.  Bettina has her place with us in Bedd Meadow, but she was our own WG Nutter, and our loss needed expression. That seemed enough

But the recent passing of Disky and LauraQT596 (Thumdar’s sister), provides vivid reminder of our own appointment at the Door, and maybe a place for sharing loss and memories would be a place worth having again, might be a place with palpable meaning. Follow the spine of landscape above Bedd Meadow to find In Transit on Memory Hill

Links to three memorial videos are currently in place. One features our own Bettina in cameo shots. Poems, songs, anecdotal memories, videos, or any effort to share the memory of a loved one is welcome here. Send this editor the information you wish recorded for dropping. No renewed drops are required

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Prewritten for Thurs (04/04) 5 pm PT/8 ET is: timber, elves

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@Writers Platform

Glass Table:

~Piffin: .Alleyway Anthems. (Vol I, II, III)
The lyrics alone, read as poems, have harder edges and bite deeper when not married up and softened by music; ah, but the crimson richness, the luxuries of aural beauty, the layered textures, the sacred soul of life that music imparts to words … then hit it with a thunderbolt of sex and rock ’n roll

.Up In Back, Beneath A Tree.
Because of life there’s a death to go thru, but the question of immediacy looms more certain for some; the intensity of time escaping sharpens awareness, the loss of wasted minutes, even squandered seconds feel like wounds, a crime against life; despite the overgrown gravestone, the certainty of anonymity within a century, years hence when the last memory dies

~

Prewritten: spring break, closed doors

~Stejovis: For Matthew from his Lady  (3/21/13: ledge, moor)
Oh, to be Lord of the manor with the power of death in hand and to be jealous of a tree; another’s initials cut deep where his should be and the more wrenching her plea, the more insistent his resolve

~Piffin: .Duke.
Name is destiny when tagged with the moniker, Duke; splendid adventures are a given, superior qualities number like stars, the stride is of a Titan to a man with the handle of Duke

~

Impromptu: flight, paw

~Piffin: .The Woman You Need.
You can’t always get what you want, you don’t even get what you need; the issue is of ownership, and the sizzle you see is out of reach, would only burn you anyway

~BarTalk: Icarus and Daedalus

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Writers in Residence: Scouting rounds of Wordgrove turned up no new work

 

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Quoted in the Grove:

Remember, that if thou marry for beauty, thou bindest thyself all thy life for that which perchance will neither last nor please thee one year; and when thou hast it, it will be to thee of no price at all; for the desire dieth when it is attained, and the affection perisheth when it is satisfied.
~Sir Walter Raleigh

We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.
~William Somerset Maugham

I love you, period.
Do you love me, question mark?
Please, please, exclamation point!
(I wanna hold you) in parentheses …
~Dan Baird

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Posted from the Grove:
This week, a brief Post & Review. Stejovis creates a significant vacancy when duty keeps him away, and rounds for Writers in Residence have been postponed for another week

Nobody showed up just for chat this week, which was sad, but those who did shared a commitment to writing, and the Impromptu is back. Mind you, chat carried on long after the exercise ended, but a balance was restored

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Prewritten for Thurs (03/28) 5 pm PT/8 ET is: spring break, closed doors

~~

@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Piffin: .Alleyway Anthems. (Vol I, II, III)
An intriguing new way of utilizing the Glass Table for introducing original work in There; lyrics for 11 songs with links to their recordings (both studio and demo) can be found in 3 volumes, listening time approximately 40 minutes; intrepid lyricist also composes some of the music, provides backup keyboard and vocals on some cuts   

~

Prewritten: ledge, moor

~Piffin: Cinderella’s Tracking Arm
Once the needle marks are introduced, not even adoring fans and fine spun poetry gets between talent, a girl and her fate; a terrific loss, but the rags and mags need their stories to sell, and the next one is cued to burst onstage

~BarTalk: Last Harvest

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Impromptu: stevedore, alchemy

~Piffin: .Eddie.
He’s the local listen-dispenser and pours a sympathetic drink; a master of medicine in two disciplines, he’s shocked to learn he’s loved

~Jessalee: pour mon oncle Roland
The place: a maritime province, by the sea; the man: forsaking verdant green, he chose the bountiful restless blue; the work: the hard toil and life-long task of transforming a mortal soul into gold; the end:  a metamorphosis accomplished with his parting words, ‘see you soon’

~BarTalk: Blackest Magic

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Writers in Residence:
The editor will be making rounds of the grove this week looking for new work to review

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Quoted in the Grove:

In the middle of life it happens that death comes and measures man. The visit is forgotten and life continues. But the suit is made, quietly.
~Tomas Transtromer

To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.
~Mary Oliver

This is true happiness: …To have the stars above, the land to your left and the sea to your right and to realize of a sudden that in your heart, life has accomplished its final miracle: it has become a fairy tale.
~Nikos Kazantzakis

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Posted from the Grove:
Another week has come and gone with no time left for the Impromptu exercise at our club’s Thurs Word Games. One begins to appreciate choosing the apple in Eden, when the options here are the work of writing and the seductions of Chat; but the purpose of writing is the purpose of this club and these Thurs meetings. To bring practice more in line with this goal, a set time is being established to start Impromptu each week

The usual meeting time still applies (5 pm PT / 8 ET), but the work of Impromptu starts an hour later at 6 and 9 pm, respectively. To speed the prompt decision along, everyone attending should be vigilant week-long for the one word or theme they’d like to suggest. The usual mashup can proceed from there (an ugly process similar to the making of sausage and laws: see Prewritten below )

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Prewritten for Thurs (03/21) 5 pm Pacific/8 Eastern is: ledge, moors

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@Writers Platform
Glass Table: (previously reviewed: pr)

~Greenie: Silent Song (pr) To Catch a Spill, Within This Day, Glimpses, Were I  (pr 3/7)

~AidenScott: ~A Broken Map ~
The fun years, brutal years of discovery and disappointment, brilliant hopes and wild abandon, feeling abandoned, the first agonies of learning goodbye, the hard truths of arriving at Self with nothing reliable to use as a map; all the joys of life under the rubric of youth looking for a reason to carry on

~HOME~
Pecan trees, five in number, launching pads for a lad to stellar heights of imagination; dream havens, each a fortress of unquestioning love with views to last memory for life; even now they stand, veterans of the seasons and years, full-proud with the dignity of survivors still giving in return for the privilege of life

~

Prewritten: pillow talk

~Stejovis: no title
Last of the day late-night talks, muttered answers, cozied grunts and chuckles, soft laughter in the dark … but that was then

Also a tanka poem, and the following ‘bastardized haiku’

long langorous love
like lolling liquid labor
leaves little lacking

~Greenie: Feel Me Love, A Spilling of A Dream
Legends speak of spirits of seduction who are evil in their dealings with humankind, yet incubus and succubus meet tenderly in their own world of dreams and love

~Piffin: Saint Rita
Patron saint of lost causes and abused women is called in as God’s mechanic to fix things spiraling out of control … too late

~BarTalk: pillow talk

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Impromptu: none

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Writers in Residence: No new reports, no rounds this week

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Quoted in the Grove:

If I wanted to understand a culture, my own for instance, and if I thought such an understanding were the basis for a lifelong inquiry, I would turn to poetry first. For it is my confirmed bias that the poets remain the most ‘stunned by existence,’ the most determined to redeem the world in words.
~Carolyn D Wright

For every poet it is always morning in the world. History a forgotten, insomniac night; History and elemental awe are always our early beginning, because the fate of poetry is to fall in love with the world, in spite of History.
~Derek Walcott

For a true writer each book should be a new beginning where he tries again for something that is beyond attainment. … It is because we have had such great writers in the past that a writer is driven far out past where he can go, out to where no one can help him.
~Ernest Hemingway

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Posted from the Grove:
Welcome back, Piffin. Otherwise, a quiet week in the grove

Prewritten for Thurs (03/14) 5pm PT/8 ET is: pillow talk

There was a story written in There1 about a pillow on the attack, disturbing and delightful enough to stick in memory. If a previous work answers the loose conditions for prewritten (only), this would be an acceptable drop. Altho missing the benefits of written exercise, still it adds to our library and the enjoyment of readers passing thru

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@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Greenie:
Were I
Bet the farm, lose the dream; nothing ventured, nothing gained; if I dared, would you respond

To Catch a Spill
A freshet of emotions, of dreams and observations rise behind the rocks, build inexorably until they overflow their barrier; a spill of words, and who’s to drink of its purity and freshness 

Glimpses
A southern night with fireflies, the moon and scudding clouds, what better could paradise offer

Within This Day
A day otherwise lost to memory has its picture painted … with words; most people work their days, eyes focused to achieve, some few are limited to being witness, given eyes whose only work is to see and be stunned 

~Stejovis: Word Sonnets  (14 word sonnets, variations)
Lines cut short to words, become poems, vertical linear poetry; sufficiently populated, qualification’s emancipation

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Prewritten: jello, wax

~Stejovis: Form Without Substance 
Wax as jello as art in a loop of self-parody

~BarTalk: dessert

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Impromptu: none
Evening long discussion of There, its future, news of friends, writing generally and various other detours all led to an evening eaten up with chat, no time left for Impromptu. That’s both the good news and the bad news

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Writers in Residence: No new drops (ahem)
Please notify this editor of any new drops in the grove. Focus of the Post & Review has gotten to be works left on the Platform, but found old favorites and new writings independent of Thurs’ Word Games are encouraged for your pazs. Rounds get made, but not often

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Quoted in the Grove:

I hit him to get his attention. I shot him to calm him down. I killed him to reason with him. ~Henry Rollins

I hate with a murderous hatred those men who, having lived their youth, would send into war other youth, not lived, unfulfilled, to fight and die for them; the pride and cowardice of those old men, making their wars that boys must die. ~Mary Roberts Rinehart

The enemy is anybody who’s going to get you killed, no matter which side he’s on. ~Joseph Heller

End Quote:
People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. ~George Orwell

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Posted from the Grove:

Prewritten for Thurs (03/07) 5pm PT/8pm ET is: jello, wax

The final performance at last week’s Wordgrove Prize Awards was a duet by OdileC and Namron singing Leonard Cohen’s anthem, Hallelujah. Long a favorite of this editor, a page was set aside on Wordgrove’s website with links to a few varied interpretations of Cohen’s classic. Sometimes comes the need for a stirring anthem, and it’s good having this page to go to: http://wordgrove.com/cohen.htm

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@Writers Platform

Prewritten: write about the worst lie that somebody told you 

~Piffin: .Soft, Whispered.
A litany of lies from every being alive, every belief and every fantasy, every committee and organization, but only one can be the worst, and God have mercy, it was ‘I love you’

~BarTalk: the evidence

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Impromptu: hat, wing

~Stejovis: Fiesta  (02.21 footprint, pinata)
In the day-to-day fiesta of life there are those who sniff and pass judgment on those afflicted with a sense of celebration; culture on the lawn or dance in the dust; pass the beer, share the cheer, and toast to those whose banter is only barely just

~Stejovis: Heart Messages  (02.28)
Decades of marriage build up an invisible language spoken entirely with the eyes; paragraphs pass in an instant, humor and brittle anger at the lies in a crowded room

~Piffin: Basilisk
Lethal gaze, toxic breath, it is a flying serpent and not Icarus rising to kiss the sky; below, the spirit and rule of royalty is merely a carved fixture lit with a holy light; hopeless desperation encased in gargoyle, but weathered stone that sheds a tear

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Writers in Residence:

~whitefeather @Dreaming Tree: Night Walk (quoted)

Moonlit night
I find myself walking
My shadow

~Stejovis @Meditatio: Orchestra Hall
Images of horror, massive destruction, loss of life, it could have been headlines out of a nightmare; engineers quietly save the day and pocket their secret, an engineer’s #2 pencil forfends the scythe of Death

~Greenie @I like the rain: A Storm Brewing
Her golden barometer of hair, the molten glory of their prediction say that a storm is a comin’ when his fingers spread their curls

~Aradriel @One Tree: Negative
If the wealth of life is embodied by owning materiel and amassing molecules of hard stuff, then spirit abides in the space between

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