RichWithey
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A fine purveyor of words and... spiced rum preferably with a sea view and a beach fire... http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites
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Written by RichWithey in portal Flash Fiction

Falling...

He fell.

She fell. 

Love caught them...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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Written by RichWithey in portal Flash Fiction
Falling...
He fell.
She fell. 

Love caught them...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#romance  #adventure  #poetry  #culture  #valentines 
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (January 1st) ///// Okay, let’s start the new year with a potential affectionate line, with all the cold weather in the UK and other parts of the globe it’s always nice to cuddle up to someone innit so… Here’s the line ‘I KISSED YOUR LIPS AND WHISPERED TO YOUR SOUL…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. Aaaah lovebug! ;) Happy New Year peeps. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey

TABOO

I kissed your lips and whispered to your soul

Many moons ago that is all we needed to make us whole

But I no longer seek the luxuries of the corporal world

I am a raven that has the pleasure of choosing my bones

Crosses on a corrupt land and elevated by a jaded society

I watch through shrouded veils as they succumb to thievery

Malice and injustice will be their undoing

They say the dead can dance

How they delight at the burden of the living

They say dead men tell no tales

And these rumours serve me well

Because I am dead yet I live to tell

If I should so choose to speak

What truths would you seek?

Silver, and the offerings of peace?

Another kiss from the lips of a forbidden dream?

Steam?…

Perhaps…

But let’s speak of trust...

If I could trust

While I mix with vagabonds and pirates

And devour spirits that sing of fear

I could warm your bones on the breath of the deceased

And tell you tales spoke from the cackle and caw of ravens

As incoherent as fog in shadows

Where mutineers gain strength through fear

And talk of forbidden things with a mind so clear

Purest crystal glimmering in unclean ribcages of the lawless

Where threats bode more terror against the powerful

And they will bow to me

As their lies spill from the unclean loins of harlots

In the houses of ill repute removed from supernatural legacy

To the gutter where dogs of the flesh tear at the dead

But they will bow to me

Under the screams of ghosts

That scatter the seven seas and beyond

To crypts of ancient London

Where I quibble with the dead

The letters of justice ignored that I read

Transformed to ancient mutterings under my breath

As I burn devils until an empty hell is all that's left

For you and I…

- Inspired by the series T A B O O

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (January 1st) ///// Okay, let’s start the new year with a potential affectionate line, with all the cold weather in the UK and other parts of the globe it’s always nice to cuddle up to someone innit so… Here’s the line ‘I KISSED YOUR LIPS AND WHISPERED TO YOUR SOUL…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. Aaaah lovebug! ;) Happy New Year peeps. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey
TABOO
I kissed your lips and whispered to your soul
Many moons ago that is all we needed to make us whole
But I no longer seek the luxuries of the corporal world
I am a raven that has the pleasure of choosing my bones
Crosses on a corrupt land and elevated by a jaded society
I watch through shrouded veils as they succumb to thievery
Malice and injustice will be their undoing

They say the dead can dance
How they delight at the burden of the living
They say dead men tell no tales
And these rumours serve me well
Because I am dead yet I live to tell
If I should so choose to speak
What truths would you seek?
Silver, and the offerings of peace?
Another kiss from the lips of a forbidden dream?
Steam?…

Perhaps…

But let’s speak of trust...
If I could trust
While I mix with vagabonds and pirates
And devour spirits that sing of fear
I could warm your bones on the breath of the deceased
And tell you tales spoke from the cackle and caw of ravens
As incoherent as fog in shadows
Where mutineers gain strength through fear
And talk of forbidden things with a mind so clear
Purest crystal glimmering in unclean ribcages of the lawless
Where threats bode more terror against the powerful
And they will bow to me

As their lies spill from the unclean loins of harlots
In the houses of ill repute removed from supernatural legacy
To the gutter where dogs of the flesh tear at the dead
But they will bow to me
Under the screams of ghosts
That scatter the seven seas and beyond
To crypts of ancient London
Where I quibble with the dead
The letters of justice ignored that I read
Transformed to ancient mutterings under my breath
As I burn devils until an empty hell is all that's left
For you and I…


- Inspired by the series T A B O O

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#romance  #poetry  #film  #spirituality  #nightdwellers 
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Written by RichWithey in portal Stream of Consciousness

Thirteen

Darkened gritted streets of Christmas cheer

That I've wondered many times with a mind so clear

Decorated by suggestive amber taxi lights

In the distance those lights take flight

They dance with the moon

As I walk the charcoal streets

That fold around the people who dream

The ones partied out or in the throws of something obscene

As we usher in the thirteenth day

Christmas has been boxed up and put away

But I like to come undone

And rebuild my thoughts on darkened weaves

Leaves and branches of trees

Natures cobwebs above me

The thrum of cars as they drive by

Scurried destinations that I deny

As I continue on my trail

I allow my mind to set sail

Thoughts of the day so weary

Unlike me

Who is hungry for adventure

Exploring life's dementia

It's broken clock that seems so complete

But different on every street

An urban world with a different beat

That I can tune to

The rhythm of the night

Still coloured by festive lights

Of the ones absent of superstition

I sing on a breeze of loitered aluminium

Empty cans lost for a purpose

But all the lights and midnight noise

Tell tales like disused toys

That lead me home

To you...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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Written by RichWithey in portal Stream of Consciousness
Thirteen
Darkened gritted streets of Christmas cheer
That I've wondered many times with a mind so clear
Decorated by suggestive amber taxi lights
In the distance those lights take flight
They dance with the moon
As I walk the charcoal streets
That fold around the people who dream
The ones partied out or in the throws of something obscene

As we usher in the thirteenth day
Christmas has been boxed up and put away
But I like to come undone
And rebuild my thoughts on darkened weaves
Leaves and branches of trees
Natures cobwebs above me
The thrum of cars as they drive by
Scurried destinations that I deny
As I continue on my trail
I allow my mind to set sail

Thoughts of the day so weary
Unlike me
Who is hungry for adventure
Exploring life's dementia
It's broken clock that seems so complete
But different on every street
An urban world with a different beat
That I can tune to
The rhythm of the night
Still coloured by festive lights
Of the ones absent of superstition

I sing on a breeze of loitered aluminium
Empty cans lost for a purpose
But all the lights and midnight noise
Tell tales like disused toys
That lead me home
To you...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#nonfiction  #poetry  #philosophy  #culture  #nightdwellers 
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Written by RichWithey in portal Romance & Erotica

Little Black Destruction

Candles flicker under the pressure of darkness

As we dance a farewell to the brighter hours

Prisms of amber and brown reflect in my hand

And we sway in celebration to the dark of this land

The insistence of mischief and eyes all over me

Traces of lipstick stain my skin with delicate profanity

Molecular attraction creates the purest sin

As milky legs elegantly step into silk and lace

Feline lashes frame a stare of sensual grace

Above a grin that oozes with seduction

As she steps slowly into her little black destruction

The threat of stocking tops as she walks towards me

And motions me to drink my fill

As we move in rhythm

And leave on a rhyme

Ready for the alternative of this town

Through the sweet and sour of vintage streets

Delicate interactions on hold for who we may meet

Time flies in bars that provide me with liquid distractions

And the neon burns brighter as eyes widen with satisfaction

The creamy moon is full with bliss

As I trip on a stare and fall into a kiss

Smokey serpents expel from my lips and pour into her soul

Dilated pupils in brandy bowls that swallow me whole

Hands snake my hips on roads that lead us home

Passion stops us short and two hearts quicken as we roam

The mess we make when we fall into debauchery

Wandering in and out of our bodies poetry

The chemistry of alcohol and lust

To tear away inhibitions where doubt turns to dust

Is this how we evolve?

Erotic puzzles waiting to be solved

In fire and desire as the flames get higher

Licking the skin of our sin

As I snake within on muffled passion

Teeth in me for satisfaction

Red and white lights stretch out across the carriageway

Laser-beams that highlight our silhouettes at play

As we writhe and grind and tease and grin

Urgent moans that peak from deep within

Wanton eyes demand me into release

And I yield on ring roads of ecstasy

Circles that lead us home drunk on bliss

Step after step, kiss after kiss...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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Written by RichWithey in portal Romance & Erotica
Little Black Destruction
Candles flicker under the pressure of darkness
As we dance a farewell to the brighter hours
Prisms of amber and brown reflect in my hand
And we sway in celebration to the dark of this land
The insistence of mischief and eyes all over me
Traces of lipstick stain my skin with delicate profanity
Molecular attraction creates the purest sin
As milky legs elegantly step into silk and lace
Feline lashes frame a stare of sensual grace
Above a grin that oozes with seduction
As she steps slowly into her little black destruction
The threat of stocking tops as she walks towards me
And motions me to drink my fill
As we move in rhythm
And leave on a rhyme
Ready for the alternative of this town

Through the sweet and sour of vintage streets
Delicate interactions on hold for who we may meet
Time flies in bars that provide me with liquid distractions
And the neon burns brighter as eyes widen with satisfaction
The creamy moon is full with bliss
As I trip on a stare and fall into a kiss
Smokey serpents expel from my lips and pour into her soul
Dilated pupils in brandy bowls that swallow me whole
Hands snake my hips on roads that lead us home
Passion stops us short and two hearts quicken as we roam
The mess we make when we fall into debauchery
Wandering in and out of our bodies poetry
The chemistry of alcohol and lust
To tear away inhibitions where doubt turns to dust

Is this how we evolve?
Erotic puzzles waiting to be solved
In fire and desire as the flames get higher
Licking the skin of our sin
As I snake within on muffled passion
Teeth in me for satisfaction
Red and white lights stretch out across the carriageway
Laser-beams that highlight our silhouettes at play
As we writhe and grind and tease and grin
Urgent moans that peak from deep within
Wanton eyes demand me into release
And I yield on ring roads of ecstasy
Circles that lead us home drunk on bliss
Step after step, kiss after kiss...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#nonfiction  #romance  #adventure  #poetry  #nightdwellers 
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (December 1st) ///// Well, it’s nearly Christmas so lets write something jolly, festive and jovial! Fuck that! Here’s your beginning line for the silly season… ‘MIDNIGHT, AND THE WHISPERS BEGIN’…Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. Bah humbug! ;) http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey

Renditions of the Night

Midnight, and the whispers begin

Where a familiar darkness settles in

Pavements breathe steam conflicting with the icy air

Metaphors of original sin

Where lovers sing tactile songs of lust and desire

Human embers hotter than any fire

Burning brightly under the stars

In the royal blue and orange wash of the night

Staining the structures of the city

Under a crescent moon

It seems the night has a vanilla grin

That holds the secrets of dusk

Known only to the pious ones that worship the moon

Anointed in midnight oil

Awash with neon and smoke from outdoor bars

or lost in the subconscious of other streets

The subtlety of the trees as they sway to nocturnal beats

The pulse

The rhythmic flicker that is beyond control

And always calling, beckoning to those that know

The excitement carried in mysterious depths

Ingested into thoughts that weave pixels onto digital screens

That stain the sheets of paper reams

Renditions of the night that escape your dreams...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (December 1st) ///// Well, it’s nearly Christmas so lets write something jolly, festive and jovial! Fuck that! Here’s your beginning line for the silly season… ‘MIDNIGHT, AND THE WHISPERS BEGIN’…Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. Bah humbug! ;) http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey
Renditions of the Night
Midnight, and the whispers begin
Where a familiar darkness settles in
Pavements breathe steam conflicting with the icy air
Metaphors of original sin
Where lovers sing tactile songs of lust and desire
Human embers hotter than any fire
Burning brightly under the stars
In the royal blue and orange wash of the night
Staining the structures of the city
Under a crescent moon
It seems the night has a vanilla grin
That holds the secrets of dusk
Known only to the pious ones that worship the moon
Anointed in midnight oil
Awash with neon and smoke from outdoor bars
or lost in the subconscious of other streets
The subtlety of the trees as they sway to nocturnal beats
The pulse
The rhythmic flicker that is beyond control
And always calling, beckoning to those that know
The excitement carried in mysterious depths
Ingested into thoughts that weave pixels onto digital screens
That stain the sheets of paper reams
Renditions of the night that escape your dreams...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#romance  #adventure  #poetry  #philosophy  #nightdwellers 
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Written by RichWithey

Remember…

Poppies in fields

Bullet holes ripped through the world

Each one a screaming mouth

A protest to atrocities

A medal of the brave

The ranks of good people who fought to save

Who stood up to adversity

Bullet cases jettisoned in the heat of war

Now cool and buried under a civilian law

How easy it is to forget

To disrespect

That's why it's important to take a moment

A little time

To remember

Remember the fear

The hurt and the pain

The loss

The ones who gave with nothing to gain

The brave that endured

So that we could thrive and be free

A minutes silence for you and me

Echoes of explosions and gunfire for the ones that served

The quiet that can never be preserved

The silence never quenched when you witness people die

Your friends and colleagues

The good times and the highs

Shot down by treachery and lies

Conflict and denies

Trodden underfoot in demented trenches

Ripped overhead by barbed wire fences

How do you quiet the spoils of war?

For the ones that served

One minute silence is the least that they deserve...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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Written by RichWithey
Remember…
Poppies in fields
Bullet holes ripped through the world
Each one a screaming mouth
A protest to atrocities
A medal of the brave
The ranks of good people who fought to save
Who stood up to adversity
Bullet cases jettisoned in the heat of war
Now cool and buried under a civilian law
How easy it is to forget
To disrespect
That's why it's important to take a moment
A little time
To remember
Remember the fear
The hurt and the pain
The loss
The ones who gave with nothing to gain
The brave that endured
So that we could thrive and be free
A minutes silence for you and me
Echoes of explosions and gunfire for the ones that served
The quiet that can never be preserved
The silence never quenched when you witness people die
Your friends and colleagues
The good times and the highs
Shot down by treachery and lies
Conflict and denies
Trodden underfoot in demented trenches
Ripped overhead by barbed wire fences
How do you quiet the spoils of war?
For the ones that served
One minute silence is the least that they deserve...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#nonfiction  #horror  #poetry  #news  #opinion 
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Prose countdown coin challenge. Write the first chapter of your bestseller in 50 to 500 words. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and how many shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive 1000 coins! When sharing to all your social media channels, please use the hashtags #LitUp #GetLit #ItsLit #Hybrid #WeAre
Written by RichWithey

∞ Chapter 1 - Yesterday Had 48 Hours (Extract)

Some would say these streets were empty, forgotten, but that isn’t so; amongst the dark, burnt brickwork of a forsaken, microwaved metropolis there was a different war raging. The majority had been evacuated on the promise of a better life; the paving stones for a peaceful tomorrow in a brighter future, it was false; the war didn’t end, it escalated; every day delivered more casualties, more bombs, more chemical weapons, more destruction and it was unending. Still, some believed in the future, they had the power of hope, the ever optimistic, these people were the only ones that Whoopee had ever enjoyed being in company with, there was always the exceptions of the miserable ones, that could be swayed with a smile, a romantic gesture or a friendly ear to bend, ending in that all important smile, the only currency that Whoopee cared about. He lived off the optimism; it was his drive; his clarity, an anchor to some sort of sanity. This was important when you have the ability to time travel between realms, slowly driven to the edge of extroversion and then over that edge and into the dark realms of psychosis; yes then maybe you would be one with Whoopee, who recently decided that he is the original clown, the inventor of comic timing and humour. He was, at present discussing this theory with a fellow colleague…

“…obvious before me, everyone was dull, serious and cautious, what…”

“How would you know what was before you? You weren’t there,” Whoopee was cut short by Mary’s stolid interruption. A classic poker face expression shaped the skin around the front of his skull. This expression rarely changed from day to day. Mary Slinger had very little need for expression; he feared no one and cared very little for anything. However, he was a slave to good values and strong morals, the two principles instilled in him from birth by his dear departed parents. These two principles he would refuse to let go of at ANY time.

“I know, I’ve been back there, it’s very grey, everyone was an accountant, bread for breakfast, dinner, tea, water for a good time; I invented Whiskey to stir it up a bit, don’t be fooled by the monks either, they know how to…” Mary switched off and set his gaze on the armoured security van they had acquired earlier that day.

“Why’d you show up? Why now?”

“…party. You were having far too much fun and I got a proposition for all this hardware.”

“You were at a loose end then?” Mary lit a cigarette. “Thought you’d bother me.” He turned and grinned at Whoopee. It was a rare and momentous occasion.

“Well? It’s been awhile.”

“For you maybe, but I saw you yesterday.”

“Yesterday’s a long time for me Maria darling; my yesterday wasn’t quite the yesterday you had.”

“Thought you were gonna cut that shit for a while?...

...

Mary and Whoopee will return... With friends.

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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Prose countdown coin challenge. Write the first chapter of your bestseller in 50 to 500 words. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and how many shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive 1000 coins! When sharing to all your social media channels, please use the hashtags #LitUp #GetLit #ItsLit #Hybrid #WeAre
Written by RichWithey
∞ Chapter 1 - Yesterday Had 48 Hours (Extract)
Some would say these streets were empty, forgotten, but that isn’t so; amongst the dark, burnt brickwork of a forsaken, microwaved metropolis there was a different war raging. The majority had been evacuated on the promise of a better life; the paving stones for a peaceful tomorrow in a brighter future, it was false; the war didn’t end, it escalated; every day delivered more casualties, more bombs, more chemical weapons, more destruction and it was unending. Still, some believed in the future, they had the power of hope, the ever optimistic, these people were the only ones that Whoopee had ever enjoyed being in company with, there was always the exceptions of the miserable ones, that could be swayed with a smile, a romantic gesture or a friendly ear to bend, ending in that all important smile, the only currency that Whoopee cared about. He lived off the optimism; it was his drive; his clarity, an anchor to some sort of sanity. This was important when you have the ability to time travel between realms, slowly driven to the edge of extroversion and then over that edge and into the dark realms of psychosis; yes then maybe you would be one with Whoopee, who recently decided that he is the original clown, the inventor of comic timing and humour. He was, at present discussing this theory with a fellow colleague…

“…obvious before me, everyone was dull, serious and cautious, what…”
“How would you know what was before you? You weren’t there,” Whoopee was cut short by Mary’s stolid interruption. A classic poker face expression shaped the skin around the front of his skull. This expression rarely changed from day to day. Mary Slinger had very little need for expression; he feared no one and cared very little for anything. However, he was a slave to good values and strong morals, the two principles instilled in him from birth by his dear departed parents. These two principles he would refuse to let go of at ANY time.
“I know, I’ve been back there, it’s very grey, everyone was an accountant, bread for breakfast, dinner, tea, water for a good time; I invented Whiskey to stir it up a bit, don’t be fooled by the monks either, they know how to…” Mary switched off and set his gaze on the armoured security van they had acquired earlier that day.
“Why’d you show up? Why now?”
“…party. You were having far too much fun and I got a proposition for all this hardware.”
“You were at a loose end then?” Mary lit a cigarette. “Thought you’d bother me.” He turned and grinned at Whoopee. It was a rare and momentous occasion.
“Well? It’s been awhile.”
“For you maybe, but I saw you yesterday.”
“Yesterday’s a long time for me Maria darling; my yesterday wasn’t quite the yesterday you had.”
“Thought you were gonna cut that shit for a while?...

...

Mary and Whoopee will return... With friends.


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#scifi  #romance  #horror  #adventure  #politics 
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (November 1st) ///// Someone once said ‘A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy.’ and I think it might have something to do with this month, so to celebrate all your parliamentary revolutions and the fifth’s festivities, here’s a line… ‘I ROLL ASH BETWEEN FINGER AND THUMB’…Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline, oh the quote was from Guy Fawkes if you was wondering… Get scribbling peeps ;) http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey

A Fire on the Fifth

I roll ash between finger and thumb

I thrive on the merriment of what’s to come

Flames whisper from their wooden cage

Exploding free and on to their stage

Spitting embers deep into the night

Microscopic phoenix's weave and take flight

Making liars of the stars in the nighttime sky

Fiery lanterns on blackened dye

The warmth of chaos in amber flames

Transfixed, I stand and forget my name

Meditation for the insane

I spit petrol into angered air

Laugh at the chaos and step back from the flare

What is a fire without anarchy and wonder?

Rainy weather is more interesting with thunder

And alcohol

Alcohol makes poets of us all

Fireworks in the sky

Become sulphur pathways to neon new worlds

Gunpowder trails in midnight ink

The amber spheres that elevate in my drink

As I clamber over roof tiles to get a better view

And settle down with you

My coat on your shoulders

Flames in my eyes reflecting yours

Souls conveyed like open doors

Fairy dust sprinkled across the atmosphere

As you accompany me

Snuggled in

Let the night begin...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (November 1st) ///// Someone once said ‘A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy.’ and I think it might have something to do with this month, so to celebrate all your parliamentary revolutions and the fifth’s festivities, here’s a line… ‘I ROLL ASH BETWEEN FINGER AND THUMB’…Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline, oh the quote was from Guy Fawkes if you was wondering… Get scribbling peeps ;) http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey
A Fire on the Fifth
I roll ash between finger and thumb
I thrive on the merriment of what’s to come
Flames whisper from their wooden cage
Exploding free and on to their stage
Spitting embers deep into the night
Microscopic phoenix's weave and take flight
Making liars of the stars in the nighttime sky
Fiery lanterns on blackened dye
The warmth of chaos in amber flames
Transfixed, I stand and forget my name
Meditation for the insane
I spit petrol into angered air
Laugh at the chaos and step back from the flare
What is a fire without anarchy and wonder?
Rainy weather is more interesting with thunder
And alcohol
Alcohol makes poets of us all
Fireworks in the sky
Become sulphur pathways to neon new worlds
Gunpowder trails in midnight ink
The amber spheres that elevate in my drink
As I clamber over roof tiles to get a better view
And settle down with you
My coat on your shoulders
Flames in my eyes reflecting yours
Souls conveyed like open doors
Fairy dust sprinkled across the atmosphere
As you accompany me
Snuggled in
Let the night begin...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#nonfiction  #romance  #adventure  #poetry  #culture 
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Written by RichWithey

Spin

Conspiracies of war and mass destruction

Discredited unions and robotic malfunctions

Hit man contract or a natural disease?

Whatever you need or have to believe

Speculate and calculate but what is the truth?

Well you’re never going to know even with the proof

Because it washes ashore with the flotsam and jetsam

Diluted the facts with too many scams

How could anyone expect to understand

Isn’t this the news and the papers?

No integrity only paid off fakers

Freedom of speech lost in the fight

Sentenced to death on the books that we write

Crushed into regurgitated pulp and film flam

The old trick of the spin on a new sham

And we still wonder what or who?

Argue amongst ourselves about the inconceivable truth

While the shadows on the cogs of the world smile

Satisfied at the world in all it’s denial

They know they can do anything

So they can spin!

Revolt!

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

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Written by RichWithey
Spin
Conspiracies of war and mass destruction
Discredited unions and robotic malfunctions
Hit man contract or a natural disease?
Whatever you need or have to believe
Speculate and calculate but what is the truth?
Well you’re never going to know even with the proof
Because it washes ashore with the flotsam and jetsam
Diluted the facts with too many scams
How could anyone expect to understand
Isn’t this the news and the papers?
No integrity only paid off fakers
Freedom of speech lost in the fight
Sentenced to death on the books that we write
Crushed into regurgitated pulp and film flam
The old trick of the spin on a new sham
And we still wonder what or who?
Argue amongst ourselves about the inconceivable truth
While the shadows on the cogs of the world smile
Satisfied at the world in all it’s denial
They know they can do anything
So they can spin!

Revolt!


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#poetry  #politics  #culture  #opinion  #revolt 
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///// Revolt 'Treeson' Challenge ///// With 4 days to go until the American election is decided, lets have a bit of fun before the world ends. Donald and Hillary sitting in a tree... #revolt
Written by RichWithey

Treeson

Donald and Hillary sitting in a tree

Which psychopath will achieve presidency?

Revolt

26
6
24
Juice
188 reads
Donate coins to RichWithey.
Juice
Cancel
///// Revolt 'Treeson' Challenge ///// With 4 days to go until the American election is decided, lets have a bit of fun before the world ends. Donald and Hillary sitting in a tree... #revolt
Written by RichWithey
Treeson
Donald and Hillary sitting in a tree
Which psychopath will achieve presidency?

Revolt

#horror  #politics  #culture  #opinion  #revolt 
26
6
24
Juice
188 reads
Load 24 Comments
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