Whose words these are, I think I know.

I’m out of rhymes; my mind’s too slow.

Thought comes first. It’s so absurd.

Then form arises as preferred.

If you’ve heard a sacred word

(in deed or dream), what has occurred

is deeper than you’ll ever know

until you finally learn to grow.

In each moment, we go and go.

Down the stream, we row and row

finding all the things we’ve stirred

staring back at us transferred.

Still, we progress undeterred

spreading like a flowing herd.

The light inside our shifty show

continues to just glow and glow.

Budweiser dripping,

Producing my puddle of regret,

Discarded bottles strewn around,

A ball of fuzz expanding my skull.

Memory of darkened eyes,

Deafened ears,

Stale breath,

Slurred speech.

Twelve hours of labour,

Pockets now barren,

Jelly limbs try to rise,

Like dominoes, they fall.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

In today's vid, we browse the talent of last week's CotW, and introduce this week's Challenge, number 233. Had a good time with this one. When I processed this audio, I realized after that I hot-keyed an extra de-esser, which normally just tames the sharp SSSSS-sounds known as sibilance, so it resulted in many ssssss sounds coming out as ttthhhh sounds. Haha. -And I had a choice, soldier through with the upload, or spend hours restoring the audio, or start over. Good chance no one will even pay attention to it like I do. But I did notice it.

What I also noticed was the level of writing here. I am so glad I didn't have to pick the top piece on this one. But I'm also glad I was able to narrate it, muted esses aside.

The writing on Prose. is unmatched by anywhere else.

Here's the new CotW.

https://www.theprose.com/challenge/14165

And here's the video for the talents within The Reaper. And the winning narration.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kj9RetBaITg

And.

As always...

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

Creamy, sweet,

thick curling smoke that drifted

from between my parted lips

and left aftertastes of charred vanilla

nestling coyly on my pointed tongue

Could I go back,

that's how

I would have recounted

my affair with the cigar

for the look you gave

when I could not describe the flavor

burns a hole in me

even on this cold and distant day

lugged across the windowsills of change

same spot, sweeping seasons, slipping me strange

gripping grass tufts till my fingers become dirt and hinge

i'll watch yellow weeds turn violet in rainy mid july

i'll watch the sky swim from navy to goldfish orange

i'll watch the ripples run and die

yet you'll watch me olden and whoop and weep

finding my ever-flitting keep

let me breathe here eternal, to try

and watch time laugh loud, as it strides by

You've got devilishly awesome taste in music. In fact, it's really crossing a border; hell's border. Satan is supposed to take you into his humble abode and warm embrace, but the waiting room down there is a little full so he decides to offer you a too-good deal with the prize being a ticket straight to heaven. What horrible nail-scratchingly devious song would play in Hell's waiting room to really set the mood? You've got to really deserve the ticket- everyone has got to be writhing in agony.

cattails gossip 'round the lusty pond

red-winged blackbirds grasp

their curving claws into the tall grasses

the greens bow their tips into the dank soil

sinking and warping

struggling for summer sky

wings flutter blade to blade

searching

all i do is watch

and breathe it in

that stinking desperation

and an echo in their eyes

earth, do you hold me?

or am i sinking obliviously

on writhing lifelines

hounding flies and

seeking footing in these towering eaves

the weight of me is murderous

the size of me is piddling

wings flutter blade to blade

breathe it in.

they say that hair holds memories

well, you cut all yours away

our friends crowded in your green tile bathroom,

taking turns snipping the strands,

letting them fall

letting me go

i was over the atlantic somewhere

when i stopped fitting in your hands,

and your heart, and your hair

we made eye contact at the carnival

you are so tan, and your eyes are so blue

the connection lasts a breath, yet i ache --

i hardly recognize you

Wandering the breezes

Lost in the cerulean

Blonde hair bed head sleaze

Sunbeam's spit spattered on green

I spill secrets with the wind

And swim with the tall grasses

Sleeping where life is skinned

Through the cracks and the brasses

Yellow tainted hands

Hand me to mother

Tooth-gap smiles and

a bouquet- make another

Blow me

Braid me

Brew me

Kill me

Now you grow to call me "weed"

A salute of the slums

Wild thug of the treed

A white picket criminal glum

I am the garden's villain

The sunny overkill

Living is my sin

Trespasser on the hill

Am I not enough

When did I become but a seed

You mow me out like scruff

I pray ask, do I not bleed

My white tears spill up to the blue

A forgotten flower by you

I'm an absolute music addict so there's no way I can have a singular favourite. Instead, I decided to choose a song from my fav album + singer!!

Brooklyn Baby - Lana Del Rey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5xcnjAG8pE

Lyrics:

[Intro]

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da

[Verse 1]

They say I'm too young to love you

I don't know what I need

They think I don't understand

The freedom land of the seventies

I think I'm too cool to know ya

You say I'm like the ice, I freeze

I'm churning out novels like

Beat poetry on amphetamines

[Pre-Chorus]

I say

I say

[Chorus]

Well, my boyfriend's in a band

He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed

I've got feathers in my hair

I get down to Beat poetry

And my jazz collection's rare

I can play most anything

I'm a Brooklyn baby

I'm a Brooklyn baby

[Post-Chorus]

Da-da-da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-da-da-ya-da

Pa-da-da-da-da-da-da

[Verse 2]

They say I'm too young to love you

They say I'm too dumb to sing

They judge me like a picture book

By the colors, like they forgot to read

I think we're like fire and water

I think we're like the wind and sea

You're burning up, I'm cooling down

You're up, I'm down

You're blind, I see

[Pre-Chorus]

But I'm free, ooh

I'm free

[Chorus]

Well, my boyfriend's in a band

He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed

I've got feathers in my hair

I get down to Beat poetry

And my jazz collection's rare

I can play most anything

I'm a Brooklyn baby

I'm a Brooklyn baby

[Bridge]

I'm talking 'bout my generation

I'm talking 'bout my newer nation

And if you don't like it, you can beat it

Beat it, baby

You never liked the way I said it

If you don't get it, then forget

'Cause I don't have to fucking explain it

[Chorus]

And my boyfriend's in a band

He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed

I've got feathers in my hair

I get high on hydroponic weed

And my jazz collection's rare

I get down to Beat poetry

I'm a Brooklyn baby

I'm a Brooklyn baby

[Post-Chorus]

Pa-da-pa-pa, pa-de-da

Te-de-de, da-da-ah

Ooh, oh, woah-ah

[Chorus]

Yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool

But he's not as cool as me

'Cause I'm a Brooklyn baby

I'm a Brooklyn baby

[Outro]

Pa-da-da-da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-da-da, baby

Ah-ta-da-da-da-da

Da-da-da-da, baby

Pa-da-da-da-da-da

Pa-pa-da-pa-da, yeah

Yeah, yeah

My spotify account:

https://open.spotify.com/user/xu99nvqhuzyh5dfd2ztrdvrei?si=41d44ae4a35f4001