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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///// Nightdwellers 'Fiend' Challenge ///// It was World Book Day at the beginning of March so for the rest of this month write about your favourite villain/s / antihero/s / criminal/s from fact or fiction. Tag it #nightdwellers #fiend #WorldBookDay. I look forward to reading all your posts… http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey

Alice Burns...

Alice sits and plays with her hair

At the edge of the world she's without a care

Alice, dressed in something other than blue

Perhaps she's happier than you

While she fumbles with ribbons of white

And paints imaginary pictures of delight

Cats inside-out and bloody things

Squashed caterpillars infected with wasps stings

The despair of rabbit, crucified on a clock

The Queen left dead on a chopping block

Yes Alice skips the day away

Insanity is only a conviction if you see the crime

The dazed, distressed, those very first signs

The delicate fall from grace that's a feather in the wind

But its final decent will crack the world with its sin

Little drops of mercury that turn to led

Found in the stomach of a hatter, poisoned and now so dead

Like the rest of Wonderland as it burns in burrows all over the world

Alice's pyromania has the news confused

Don't cross Alice or she'll bring you your death

And their will be no tea party for you before your last breath...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

27
10
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///// Nightdwellers 'Fiend' Challenge ///// It was World Book Day at the beginning of March so for the rest of this month write about your favourite villain/s / antihero/s / criminal/s from fact or fiction. Tag it #nightdwellers #fiend #WorldBookDay. I look forward to reading all your posts… http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey
Alice Burns...
Alice sits and plays with her hair
At the edge of the world she's without a care
Alice, dressed in something other than blue
Perhaps she's happier than you
While she fumbles with ribbons of white
And paints imaginary pictures of delight
Cats inside-out and bloody things
Squashed caterpillars infected with wasps stings
The despair of rabbit, crucified on a clock
The Queen left dead on a chopping block
Yes Alice skips the day away
Insanity is only a conviction if you see the crime
The dazed, distressed, those very first signs
The delicate fall from grace that's a feather in the wind
But its final decent will crack the world with its sin
Little drops of mercury that turn to led
Found in the stomach of a hatter, poisoned and now so dead
Like the rest of Wonderland as it burns in burrows all over the world
Alice's pyromania has the news confused
Don't cross Alice or she'll bring you your death
And their will be no tea party for you before your last breath...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#fantasy  #horror  #adventure  #poetry  #culture 
27
10
24
Juice
95 reads
Load 24 Comments
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by RichWithey

A Fight With Apathy

He had feared the coming of this day all his life, he was 27 and terrified for a brief moment, but then it happened, the numbness set in; one moment, distressed and tormented with the fear of what was happening and then, the void; an absence of care, an absence of feeling. He sat there for about twenty minutes staring into space like a zombie before getting to his feet and staring out into the garden, it was barely seen in the last remaining light, the bright colours had faded to grey, he stared some more before feeling something on his cheek, he lifted his hand and expected to wipe away an insect of some sort, instead his finger was wet; he was crying, he looked at his finger with indifference and then stared some more. He thought of doing something insane, taking of his clothes and running through the back gardens of his street, stealing a car and smashing it into a wall at 100mph or picking a fight with a gang of youths, those gangs who thought they were tough because they were five or six united, but were pissy little cowards on their own. He had a stirring at this but while ushering himself towards the front door, he thought it better just to go to sleep. Apathy is so tiring.

Monday came and went, he had barely moved, he didn’t get dressed, didn’t take any calls and kept the room absent of the beautiful day that was threatening the blackout curtains of his room, the curtains were not intimidated and refused to budge. He left his bedroom reluctantly at 6pm to pee and discovered on the way that he was hungry, a feeling that had not left him, the need for food, other than that he still felt numb but almost happy about it because he had felt hungry; but then he forgot about the happiness and prepared himself a cooked breakfast and a big pot of tea. He ate this while watching the mundane programs that broadcasted across his retinas from the television, if you had asked him what he had watched, he couldn’t have told you and he wouldn’t care that he couldn’t. At 10pm the insects were on his face again but they turned to water on his fingertips and he looked at them with indifference once again, and then, with heavy, deadened eyes he fell asleep and dreamt.

He dreamt of himself, but he was different somehow, he shared stories with people who seemed to have the infliction he has in his waking world, telling them with great passions of how he was going to change the world, how one man can make a difference, and how he would execute this difference in rhythm and rhyme, poem and song, how the world was unjust and if only more people would stand up for the rights and fight against the wrongs then the world we be a better place. The people he spoke to, had turned grey though, infected by an invisible disease, he wondered how they couldn’t see his plight and why they weren’t prepared to be inspired by his ideals. Instead they nodded mechanically or delivered an answer that seemed like a shortcut to thinking, “that will never happen.” Or “try if you like but it won’t get you anywhere.” This angered him but he could see that they were ‘too set in some way’, pre-occupied with the mundane, too dead to care, or even attempt to offer a valid argument to get the creative ideas rolling in one way or another, there was nothing…

He awoke Tuesday at 3am and cursed himself for messing up his body clock so badly, he remembered nothing of his dream, he felt agitated and irritated, like there was something he was meant to do but he couldn’t remember what it was or whether it was important. Instead he drank two pints of water and went to sit on the garden steps, he stared up at the overgrown bushes at the end of his garden and wondered what spectacles of nature they were hiding, in the pale moonlight he could see the grave of his dog, she had been sleeping ten years, he had seen her occasionally since then, she seemed to hang around in his shadow when times were rough, a silent clown, ready to cheer him up when things had kicked him a little too much, an ever loving companion, that touched him from beyond the grave. He felt the insects again but knew by now that they were really tears. He sat and let them run from his eyes until there nests were empty and then he lay on his back in the short grass and stared up at the vast night until the sun began to bleach its edges with purples and blues. He felt an ache where his heart should be and decided to smoke.

The rest of Tuesday went by as a blur, a simple mission was to be executed and that was to stay awake until 11pm, this was almost impossible between the hours of two and seven, however by eight o’clock he was wide awake and feeling revived, he decided to go for a walk.

The evening was serene, the air smelt sweet and the streets were quiet, he imagined a world like this, empty and quiet, he liked the idea for a moment before going against it with such ferocious rage that it burst into flames and exploded. The evening was calm enough for him to regain composure very quickly and he even chuckled at the malicious attack on such a remote thought. He had walked for about thirty minutes with his thoughts before he saw another person, a girl in a short yellow summer dress, she had long golden hair that seemed to radiate in the remaining sunlight. She was walking towards him almost whimsically, they made accidental eye contact on nearing each other, he felt a little shy but she just smiled and glided on by in slow motion, he glanced back and watched her walking for a moment before he realised she had glanced back at him, he turned away quickly and slightly embarrassed but continued his walk with the signs of a spring in his step and almost forgot the last two days of numbness. He returned home around 10.30pm and managed to sleep from 12am. He dreamt again that night of himself and a beautiful lady with golden hair sitting on a sandy beach, a beach fire, crackling as quiet as possible, almost cursing itself to be silent so it could hear the conversation between the two lovebirds, they gazed at each other and hung on each others words in between tasting the ‘dark berry fruits’ of a delicious red wine. She was an inspiration to him, a muse for a cause he had not yet known, the dream ended with a perfect embrace and a kiss that delivered the most erotic and passionate energy he had ever known.

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

17
6
7
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102 reads
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by RichWithey
A Fight With Apathy
He had feared the coming of this day all his life, he was 27 and terrified for a brief moment, but then it happened, the numbness set in; one moment, distressed and tormented with the fear of what was happening and then, the void; an absence of care, an absence of feeling. He sat there for about twenty minutes staring into space like a zombie before getting to his feet and staring out into the garden, it was barely seen in the last remaining light, the bright colours had faded to grey, he stared some more before feeling something on his cheek, he lifted his hand and expected to wipe away an insect of some sort, instead his finger was wet; he was crying, he looked at his finger with indifference and then stared some more. He thought of doing something insane, taking of his clothes and running through the back gardens of his street, stealing a car and smashing it into a wall at 100mph or picking a fight with a gang of youths, those gangs who thought they were tough because they were five or six united, but were pissy little cowards on their own. He had a stirring at this but while ushering himself towards the front door, he thought it better just to go to sleep. Apathy is so tiring.

Monday came and went, he had barely moved, he didn’t get dressed, didn’t take any calls and kept the room absent of the beautiful day that was threatening the blackout curtains of his room, the curtains were not intimidated and refused to budge. He left his bedroom reluctantly at 6pm to pee and discovered on the way that he was hungry, a feeling that had not left him, the need for food, other than that he still felt numb but almost happy about it because he had felt hungry; but then he forgot about the happiness and prepared himself a cooked breakfast and a big pot of tea. He ate this while watching the mundane programs that broadcasted across his retinas from the television, if you had asked him what he had watched, he couldn’t have told you and he wouldn’t care that he couldn’t. At 10pm the insects were on his face again but they turned to water on his fingertips and he looked at them with indifference once again, and then, with heavy, deadened eyes he fell asleep and dreamt.
He dreamt of himself, but he was different somehow, he shared stories with people who seemed to have the infliction he has in his waking world, telling them with great passions of how he was going to change the world, how one man can make a difference, and how he would execute this difference in rhythm and rhyme, poem and song, how the world was unjust and if only more people would stand up for the rights and fight against the wrongs then the world we be a better place. The people he spoke to, had turned grey though, infected by an invisible disease, he wondered how they couldn’t see his plight and why they weren’t prepared to be inspired by his ideals. Instead they nodded mechanically or delivered an answer that seemed like a shortcut to thinking, “that will never happen.” Or “try if you like but it won’t get you anywhere.” This angered him but he could see that they were ‘too set in some way’, pre-occupied with the mundane, too dead to care, or even attempt to offer a valid argument to get the creative ideas rolling in one way or another, there was nothing…

He awoke Tuesday at 3am and cursed himself for messing up his body clock so badly, he remembered nothing of his dream, he felt agitated and irritated, like there was something he was meant to do but he couldn’t remember what it was or whether it was important. Instead he drank two pints of water and went to sit on the garden steps, he stared up at the overgrown bushes at the end of his garden and wondered what spectacles of nature they were hiding, in the pale moonlight he could see the grave of his dog, she had been sleeping ten years, he had seen her occasionally since then, she seemed to hang around in his shadow when times were rough, a silent clown, ready to cheer him up when things had kicked him a little too much, an ever loving companion, that touched him from beyond the grave. He felt the insects again but knew by now that they were really tears. He sat and let them run from his eyes until there nests were empty and then he lay on his back in the short grass and stared up at the vast night until the sun began to bleach its edges with purples and blues. He felt an ache where his heart should be and decided to smoke.
The rest of Tuesday went by as a blur, a simple mission was to be executed and that was to stay awake until 11pm, this was almost impossible between the hours of two and seven, however by eight o’clock he was wide awake and feeling revived, he decided to go for a walk.
The evening was serene, the air smelt sweet and the streets were quiet, he imagined a world like this, empty and quiet, he liked the idea for a moment before going against it with such ferocious rage that it burst into flames and exploded. The evening was calm enough for him to regain composure very quickly and he even chuckled at the malicious attack on such a remote thought. He had walked for about thirty minutes with his thoughts before he saw another person, a girl in a short yellow summer dress, she had long golden hair that seemed to radiate in the remaining sunlight. She was walking towards him almost whimsically, they made accidental eye contact on nearing each other, he felt a little shy but she just smiled and glided on by in slow motion, he glanced back and watched her walking for a moment before he realised she had glanced back at him, he turned away quickly and slightly embarrassed but continued his walk with the signs of a spring in his step and almost forgot the last two days of numbness. He returned home around 10.30pm and managed to sleep from 12am. He dreamt again that night of himself and a beautiful lady with golden hair sitting on a sandy beach, a beach fire, crackling as quiet as possible, almost cursing itself to be silent so it could hear the conversation between the two lovebirds, they gazed at each other and hung on each others words in between tasting the ‘dark berry fruits’ of a delicious red wine. She was an inspiration to him, a muse for a cause he had not yet known, the dream ended with a perfect embrace and a kiss that delivered the most erotic and passionate energy he had ever known.


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#fantasy  #nonfiction  #romance  #horror  #adventure 
17
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (March) ///// Write a piece of literature with the beginning line ‘I DRINK A COCKTAIL OF MOONLIGHT…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey

Moonlust

I drink a cocktail of moonlight

Laced with a million shooting stars

The intoxicating scent of darkness

Accompanied by the candlelight of long forgotten midnight bars

Where I tussle with my demeanour

Surrounded by the righteous and the wicked

The lost and the wronged

Amongst all the dysfunction is somewhere we belong

Some sort of serenity hinted at in a thousand different songs

While we sway in time to the nights rhythm and rhyme

From nightclubs and quaint forgotten bars

To star adorned bedrooms above parked cars

Intoxicated by the floral scent of you

Infecting my thoughts with serpentine visions of lust

Discarded lace and satin under the stasis of moon dust

Bodies writhing amongst the flickering flames of candlelight

Shadows dancing in carnal tribal celebration

Fingers wet with desire and temptation

The open blinds cast moonlit lines across the room

Shadows that fall and rise with every passing car

While I trace glossy lips with hungry fingertips

Mouths caress wantonly in the electricity of the dark

The silky smooth skin that blesses my fingers

Lost in the heat of you

Your thighs tight around me

Addicted to your feminine wiles

On the invisible shore of the night

That takes us closer to ecstasy

Wave after undulating wave

The tranquility broken by urgency

Carnal greed and fire possessing our souls

Extinguished by the caress of slumber

And on my lips your number...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

20
10
18
Juice
85 reads
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Juice
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (March) ///// Write a piece of literature with the beginning line ‘I DRINK A COCKTAIL OF MOONLIGHT…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey
Moonlust
I drink a cocktail of moonlight
Laced with a million shooting stars
The intoxicating scent of darkness
Accompanied by the candlelight of long forgotten midnight bars
Where I tussle with my demeanour
Surrounded by the righteous and the wicked
The lost and the wronged
Amongst all the dysfunction is somewhere we belong
Some sort of serenity hinted at in a thousand different songs
While we sway in time to the nights rhythm and rhyme
From nightclubs and quaint forgotten bars
To star adorned bedrooms above parked cars
Intoxicated by the floral scent of you
Infecting my thoughts with serpentine visions of lust
Discarded lace and satin under the stasis of moon dust
Bodies writhing amongst the flickering flames of candlelight
Shadows dancing in carnal tribal celebration
Fingers wet with desire and temptation
The open blinds cast moonlit lines across the room
Shadows that fall and rise with every passing car
While I trace glossy lips with hungry fingertips
Mouths caress wantonly in the electricity of the dark
The silky smooth skin that blesses my fingers
Lost in the heat of you
Your thighs tight around me
Addicted to your feminine wiles
On the invisible shore of the night
That takes us closer to ecstasy
Wave after undulating wave
The tranquility broken by urgency
Carnal greed and fire possessing our souls
Extinguished by the caress of slumber
And on my lips your number...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#romance  #adventure  #poetry  #philosophy  #nightdwellers 
20
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Why so serious?
Written by RichWithey in portal Comedy

Dog Chasing Cars

I wear your fears on my skin

Keloid scars that offer a sinister grin

They tell me I am insane

But I know, I know

Genius is just being ahead of the game

That's why I welcome your shadows

The ones that cascade across this city with pointy ears

An immovable object against an unstoppable force

It had to be this way of course

Your symbol, your power

You’ve changed things my toxic flower

With your ego blazing in the night

That spotlight like an erection across this city

An infection to prevent the atrocities

To promote the fear of your justice

But fear is just a word

It can’t be delivered to the absurd

Y’see I understand fear

I promote it more than you

Mine is true, I have no code

I’m willing to go toe to toe

And dance a merry little waltz

The order of chaos can contribute a thing or two

Anarchy devours the order of any code

I cut my fame into the flesh I expose

A forced bloodthirsty grin

I like to get up close and personal with my sin

I like what I do and I do what I like

You had to tumble and then I broke your bike

A rabid dog racing cars on life's broken road

Flipping coins on faces that corrode

Introducing a little anarchy

Exploding in a thousand decks of me

Welcome to my insanity

At least I don't chase my tail

I leave that to the people of the law

I watch them fail

As I insight war

Make you break your own rules

Turn you into my demented fools

I watch you wail, I see all of your distress

So so angry at the man in a dress

Or a nurses uniform, but I digress

Can you guess what comes next?

As I put my nemesis to the test...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

- Inspired by the film The Dark Knight

20
8
3
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53 reads
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Why so serious?
Written by RichWithey in portal Comedy
Dog Chasing Cars
I wear your fears on my skin
Keloid scars that offer a sinister grin
They tell me I am insane
But I know, I know
Genius is just being ahead of the game
That's why I welcome your shadows
The ones that cascade across this city with pointy ears
An immovable object against an unstoppable force
It had to be this way of course

Your symbol, your power
You’ve changed things my toxic flower
With your ego blazing in the night
That spotlight like an erection across this city
An infection to prevent the atrocities
To promote the fear of your justice
But fear is just a word
It can’t be delivered to the absurd

Y’see I understand fear
I promote it more than you
Mine is true, I have no code
I’m willing to go toe to toe
And dance a merry little waltz
The order of chaos can contribute a thing or two
Anarchy devours the order of any code
I cut my fame into the flesh I expose
A forced bloodthirsty grin
I like to get up close and personal with my sin

I like what I do and I do what I like
You had to tumble and then I broke your bike
A rabid dog racing cars on life's broken road
Flipping coins on faces that corrode
Introducing a little anarchy
Exploding in a thousand decks of me
Welcome to my insanity
At least I don't chase my tail
I leave that to the people of the law
I watch them fail
As I insight war
Make you break your own rules
Turn you into my demented fools
I watch you wail, I see all of your distress
So so angry at the man in a dress
Or a nurses uniform, but I digress
Can you guess what comes next?
As I put my nemesis to the test...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

- Inspired by the film The Dark Knight
#fantasy  #horror  #adventure  #poetry  #culture 
20
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3
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Written by RichWithey in portal Romance & Erotica

A Siren’s Song

I sit with crimson wine and grin

The fruit of berries, the start of sin

As she slides from her chair and crawls across the floor

With a wanton expression she’s the Queen at my core

Piercing my attention with a smouldering stare

Delicate seduction is weaved into her hair

A glare, introducing me to a million desires

Igniting a hunger for the forthcoming fire

Erotically charged she turns to face me

Her evocative spirit taints me

An act so divine

Little offerings of debauchery in a perfect paradigm

So dirty, depraved and flawed

It's her game, she’s my adored

A Siren’s song for me to explore

Lost on waves of eroticism

In a forbidden ocean we swim

Dipped in gloss to the waist

While the night aches for a taste

She traces my body and squats down on her knees

Her tiny vinyl skirt pulled to the tightest extremes

Black and plum lipstick concealing raw kisses

As the darkened road outside hisses

Rain sodden serpents on broken streets

Unlike this serpent crawling through satin sheets

Sharpened black fingernails with a silver fleck

The smoothness of her enamel slides on my neck

As I pour all over her porcelain chest

In slow motion I crawl into her soul

I slide in through that painted hole

A fantasy made real and so obscene

Her distorted smile lingers for a while

And then devours me

Brandy balls take their fill

Purple lipstick traces the hardest parts of me

A different pattern with every erotic mouthful

Teasing me through silk

Addicted to the Devils milk

And now baptised by fire

Insisting on her erotic release

Numbers eased within

Erotic sighs and the cutest grin

As I spell her name

On the purest canvass

Teasing the core of her climax with my tongue

I drink her and she comes undone

Wanton explosions of passion, lust and desire

A porcelain body lost in erotic fire...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

22
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Written by RichWithey in portal Romance & Erotica
A Siren’s Song
I sit with crimson wine and grin
The fruit of berries, the start of sin
As she slides from her chair and crawls across the floor
With a wanton expression she’s the Queen at my core
Piercing my attention with a smouldering stare
Delicate seduction is weaved into her hair
A glare, introducing me to a million desires
Igniting a hunger for the forthcoming fire
Erotically charged she turns to face me
Her evocative spirit taints me
An act so divine
Little offerings of debauchery in a perfect paradigm
So dirty, depraved and flawed
It's her game, she’s my adored
A Siren’s song for me to explore
Lost on waves of eroticism
In a forbidden ocean we swim
Dipped in gloss to the waist
While the night aches for a taste
She traces my body and squats down on her knees
Her tiny vinyl skirt pulled to the tightest extremes
Black and plum lipstick concealing raw kisses
As the darkened road outside hisses
Rain sodden serpents on broken streets
Unlike this serpent crawling through satin sheets
Sharpened black fingernails with a silver fleck
The smoothness of her enamel slides on my neck
As I pour all over her porcelain chest
In slow motion I crawl into her soul
I slide in through that painted hole
A fantasy made real and so obscene
Her distorted smile lingers for a while
And then devours me
Brandy balls take their fill
Purple lipstick traces the hardest parts of me
A different pattern with every erotic mouthful
Teasing me through silk
Addicted to the Devils milk
And now baptised by fire
Insisting on her erotic release
Numbers eased within
Erotic sighs and the cutest grin
As I spell her name
On the purest canvass
Teasing the core of her climax with my tongue
I drink her and she comes undone
Wanton explosions of passion, lust and desire
A porcelain body lost in erotic fire...


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#romance  #adventure  #poetry  #lust  #erotic 
22
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (February) ///// Write a piece of literature with the beginning line ‘LEAVES FELL TO THE GROUND THAT DAY…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey

The Bones of Us

Leaves fell to the ground that day

Your tears spoke when you didn't know what to say

We died in that moment

Flatline

I turned my back on you

The silence confirmed the truth

The anger in your eyes

It couldn't hide your lies

Like the tears that spoke when you didn't know what to say

Urging me to walk away

It was as if the world had ceased

Guilt was your silent beast

Waiting to tear us apart

Each lie a scar on my heart

As the air grew still, and the world turned grey

The leaves lay on the floor in disarray

While the heavens cracked and fell to the ground

The birds remained silent, even the ravens made no sound

And then the thunder started

The horses of the dead came to collect the departed

The bones of us

Left amongst the leaves and the dust…

and the bullshit.

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

23
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///// Nightdwellers 'Beginning Line' Challenge (February) ///// Write a piece of literature with the beginning line ‘LEAVES FELL TO THE GROUND THAT DAY…’ Tag it #nightdwellers #beginningline. http://www.facebook.com/groups/NightdwellersWrites/
Written by RichWithey
The Bones of Us
Leaves fell to the ground that day
Your tears spoke when you didn't know what to say
We died in that moment
Flatline
I turned my back on you
The silence confirmed the truth
The anger in your eyes
It couldn't hide your lies
Like the tears that spoke when you didn't know what to say
Urging me to walk away
It was as if the world had ceased
Guilt was your silent beast
Waiting to tear us apart
Each lie a scar on my heart
As the air grew still, and the world turned grey
The leaves lay on the floor in disarray
While the heavens cracked and fell to the ground
The birds remained silent, even the ravens made no sound
And then the thunder started
The horses of the dead came to collect the departed
The bones of us
Left amongst the leaves and the dust…

and the bullshit.


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.
#poetry  #nightdwellers 
23
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9
Juice
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Written by RichWithey in portal Flash Fiction

Falling...

He fell.

She fell. 

Love caught them...

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

25
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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 
25
8
4
Juice
73 reads
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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…

© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

- Inspired by the series T A B O O

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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…


© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.

- Inspired by the series T A B O O
#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.

20
8
28
Juice
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Juice
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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 
20
8
28
Juice
162 reads
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