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Archive for January, 2016

Quoted in the Grove:
If triangles had a God, he would have three sides.
~Charles de Montesquieu

The gods of the valley are not the gods of the hills.
~Ethan Allen

Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
~Edgar Allan Poe

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Posted in the Grove:
Before the magic ends, Wordgrove Nutters and other readers are encouraged to visit the Wordgrove Collective as established by GaryBob @There Fairgrounds. Check out Greenie’s Wordgrove Grotto to immerse in a distillation of beauty normally reserved for real life. The link below will deposit inquiring minds at the base of Library Outpost. Altho short pieces are available at different levels here, the best reading is to be found @Wordgrove at the Fair, GaryBob’s corner of the triangle:

~GaryBob: Camping Song \Sung to Col. Bogey’s March

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~noxy:  :
As quietly devastating as the title is terse

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~RollerDave: Three in the Seats
Hopeful Longings (Pts 1 & 2) ~ Poetry
Vignette 42B ~ A love story built around the feel and smell of moving parts. Bring bandages and a wrench set. A good story that feels real in the experience … and in good time for Valentine’s Day

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~BarTalk: comes a knock

Wordgrove @There’s Fairgrounds
Copy/paste in There browser to visit
https://webapps.prod.there.com/goto/goto?obj=11027372

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The Phobia Workshop: A little over 2 minutes of unmatched silliness … gets funnier with repeated viewings. Enjoy

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Prewritten for Word Games 02/04 6pm PT/9 ET:  tuckered, gumbo

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@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Stejovis: haiku

coal mission –
beneath the surface
daffodils

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~whitefeather: The six word story

HOPE; Reducing life into one word…

For me, my life just is

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~Stejovis: Six Word Story

Winning lottery ticket; for sale cheap.

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Prewritten: coal, mission or corridor

~MissMerry: untitled

Three drops of sacred oil fall into the scrying bowl.
Obsidian glass, coal black and full of light, full to the brim with purified water.
(blessing this with whispered prayers)
Concentric rings ripple after each drop falls, crossing one other, yet each keeps its own shape and purpose.
Oiled rainbow explosions spread as the sweet aroma of roses rises to fill the room.
Circles
Swirls
(whispered prayers)
Faces
Rooms
Storms
(am I worthy?)
Corridors
Dark
Memories
(will she speak?)
Light
Colors
(I know her!)
Dark fields of mist
(ask! Ask!)
The Giants Walk Again On The Earth
(my question is moot…)
These things we all know
and will not admit
Our time was waste
and all were merely born to die,
as the Gods return to reclaim energy
and the Earth.

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~Piffin: Eloquence

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~BarTalk: Game Show

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Impromptu: onerous, thistle

~Piffin: God Speed The Poor Rabbit

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~Greenie: untitled

Prickly head and dubious charms
an onerous chore to soothe wounded arms

Bristles a’plenty and colorful hues
painful results from paying your dues

Rainbow bright purples and leaves of green
such a pretty cost from thorns so mean

Rooted so deep and stubbornly thick
with blood bright red adding to ick

Patience brings delight and tasty treat
when gleaning the stalk gives something to eat

Thistles fill fields of meadows with cows
as summer storm rains bend to pretty bows

A spill of a song like a little ditty
of spring born calves suckling a titty

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~BarTalk: Ditty #8

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Quoted in the Grove:
Dalai Llama, when asked what surprised him most about humanity, said: “ Man. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.

Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.
~William Saroyan

It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life.
~Terry Pratchett

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Posted in the Grove:

The Six Word Story   (Glass Table)

“Baby shoes for sale, never used.”

Of all his writings, these six words were supposedly the ones that Ernest Hemingway was proudest of writing. Six words to tell a story. This exercise is your invitation to excite the imagination of Wordgrove readers with a six word story. It can take the form of a want ad, a headline, a punchline, a facebook post or whatever source provides the dramatic kick wanted here. Please forward your Six Word Story to BarTalk to be included in this Blue Script collection, or drop on the Glass Table.

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This editor is delighted to announce the return of Daisy (Daisy253 officially), from the wilderness of all-consuming motherhood. From wilderness to hinterlands, look for her Daisy Field at the far southwest corner of Wordgrove. 

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Prewritten for Word Games 01/28 6pm PT/9 ET: coal, mission

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@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Stejovis: haiku riffs on this week’s Prewritten

bright sun rises
to control the day
moon lingers

——————————–

bright full moon
fills the winter sky –
I lose control

——————————–

control –
one bright cloud
in a grey sky

——————————–

bright sun on the water –
captain controls the ship
with eyes closed

——————————–

changing the guard –
a bright young man
takes control

——————————–

bright snow –
the dogs on the track
lose control

——————————–

each stone sparkles
on a tray of bright rubies –
breath control

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Prewritten: bright, control

~Piffin: “Control”

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~BarTalk: Colgate Smiles

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Impromptu: starch, bashful

~MissMerry: untitled

Death lingers, hovers close
A wallflower at the dance
bashful as a smitten teen
staring, blushing, brushing close
then retreating to the punch
without the starch to ask
for the next waltz

But, You’re the MAN…
“D” letter jacket proud
and everyone knows your crush
so she stands alone
corsage wilting
wishing she’d stayed at home

~

BarTalk: old pro speaks

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Quoted in the Grove:
I never saw an ugly thing in my life: for let the form of an object be what it may, — light, shade, and perspective will always make it beautiful.
~John Constable

To the artist there is never anything ugly in nature.
~Auguste Rodin

All profoundly original art looks ugly at first.
~Clement Greenberg

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Posted in the Grove:
With an increase in attendance and new drops on the Glass Table, there was deemed enough material for a full issue of the Post & Review. Also, a section has been added that may reappear from time to time. Please check out A Previous Post of Note for work of notable quality dropped during newsletter weeks of hiatus. Such gems are not to be missed, and are restored here for the reader’s pleasure.

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Prewritten for Word Games 01/21 @6pm PT/9 ET: bright, control

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There is a vast, largely unmined field of video treasures available on Netflix. This includes a great deal more variety and specificity on tap than their opening scroll page would indicate. Check it out. Their fine and guilty pleasures go unused and unappreciated otherwise. Many will already have taken advantage of a similar listing and homed in on their favorite categories. This compilation is passed on to those who have not and might enjoy vagabonding thru the list. Safe travels, friend, but bring a sword.

Complete listing of categories available on Netflix:
http://ogres-crypt.com/public/NetFlix-Streaming-Genres.html

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@Writers Platform
Glass Table:

~Stejovis: from a previous week’s prompt

dinner delay –
a squirrel scolds
the snow covered grass

in the grass a mongoose scolds a snake in the grass

taps on a window
grass in the wind
scolding the glass

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~Piffin: For David Bowie

“Empty Shoes”

The queen is dead
Cried the river rats
Near the factory
Near the factory
The sequined webs
That carried us ’til dawn
Have blown away
That distant star
Sleek, razor-white
Like an autograph
Like an autograph
Over Bethlehem
42nd Street
Fell from the clouds today
So tonight we’ll keep the grease paint on
While the street boys sing the blues
Traipsing puddles laced with neon
As we dance in empty shoes

Silk morphine charm
Thigh-high allure
Fedora hat
Aristocrat
He led us through the dark
He spread before us on the ground
Soft vaudeville trash
With lightning slash
A ventriloquist
On a picture disk
He touched us
’Til we touched ourselves
Sliding wet through rainbow sound
So tonight we’ll keep the leather on
While the fae boys sing the blues
Traipsing puddles laced with neon
As we dance in empty shoes
Let the saxophone echoes
Lead me on
As I dance in empty shoes

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A Previous Post of Note:

~Piffin: From 10.29.15 Thurs Word Games

“The Enbeckoning”

Evening wind in desert land
Jackal song o’er shifting sand
Lid raised up by withered hand
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

Purple cloud and restless sea
Scales break surf, from ocean free
Human eyes where none should be
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

Weathered barn in field of brown
Bats take flight; cold stars look down
Scarecrow lifts his head toward town
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

Naked flesh to sinking sun
Pentagram; hair, hemlock-spun
Call them to me, one by one
‘Neath crimson crescent moon

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Prewritten: a picture

 

~Stejovis: a picture prompt (on Glass Table)

old war horses
in battle array
out to pasture

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~MissMerry: untitled

Aged and rusting
sitting in decadent splendor
monuments to memories
of miles gone by

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~Piffin: “Workers Once Were We”

Assembly line
Blue collar grammar
Blow torch lightning
Detroit hammer
Turning over
Rolling free
When workers once were we
Bale to barge and row to hoe
Folsom Prison radio
Hayride Sunday family tree
When workers once were we
Restless rural roadbed rustle
Hot we ran
A nation’s muscle
Blacktop rubber symphony
When workers once were we
Gifted down
Father to son
A Snap-On wrench
A hunting gun
Tailgate wisdom bird and bee
When workers once were we
Sunrise on a changing nation
Modern mood its motivation
Finds tradition absentee
For workers once as we
New is now is fine is fast
Is built to shine if not to last
Gone all pride all guarantee
For workers once and we
Out behind the barn forgotten
Candy apple orchard rotten
Rusted hulks on ragweed sea
Though workers once were we

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~BarTalk: senility

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No Impromptu this week

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Quoted in the Grove:
It is so tempting to try the most difficult thing possible.
~Jennie Jerome Churchill

A man’s life is interesting primarily when he has failed — I well know. For it’s a sign that he tried to surpass himself.
~Georges Clemenceau

Perhaps nobody ever accomplishes all that he feels lies in him to do; but nearly everyone who tries his power touches the walls of his being.
~Charles Dudley Warner

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@Writers Platform
Prewritten for 01/14: a picture by MissMerry
https://c2.staticflickr.com/2/1506/23928625970_ae31afb57d.jpg

If interested in further challenge, the Impromptu prompt for this week was: scold, grass
30 minutes

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