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Post Doctoral Research & Writer • It is all about #perspective and the human #narrative
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Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Who knows what the evening may bring?

Ridged patterns press firmly against my weight.

Rhythmic waves wander ghastly across the wind.

Lustful cataphonic cries of restless birds over-sky.

The sun will lay it all to rest.

Death-ray radiation gently warms my cooling skin.

Meandering cool convection drops drowsy avians, to

proceed to close conducted borrowed heat in their nests.

The sun will lay it all to rest.

A galafantering grey heron waits for me to move on,

Blocking my most straight path towards my door.

My covered cottage on the shore dipping in the shade.

The sun will lay it all to rest.

Whatever the tumultuous evening will bring, what

the ravenous Ra leaves Horus’ lesser eye to see,

What skulls silently in scrubs outside my locked door,

This is not for our eyes.

The sun laid it all to rest.

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2017.

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Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Who knows what the evening may bring?
Ridged patterns press firmly against my weight.
Rhythmic waves wander ghastly across the wind.
Lustful cataphonic cries of restless birds over-sky.
The sun will lay it all to rest.

Death-ray radiation gently warms my cooling skin.
Meandering cool convection drops drowsy avians, to
proceed to close conducted borrowed heat in their nests.
The sun will lay it all to rest.

A galafantering grey heron waits for me to move on,
Blocking my most straight path towards my door.
My covered cottage on the shore dipping in the shade.
The sun will lay it all to rest.

Whatever the tumultuous evening will bring, what
the ravenous Ra leaves Horus’ lesser eye to see,
What skulls silently in scrubs outside my locked door,
This is not for our eyes.

The sun laid it all to rest.

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2017.
1
0
0
Juice
37 reads
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to casteleijn.
Juice
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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by casteleijn

Waiting

“Watch out, the bus is coming soon. So do not stand so close to the curb”. The woman leans back in the battered bus stop. Silence is her answer. It is a chilly morning, the dew collected last night now drips slowly of the aluminum siding. The hazy pinks between the apartment blocks promises a hot day.

A bus passes while her contorted face stares across the street as if the bus is invisible, and due to her apathetic attitude to the bus’ approach, the driver responds in perfect synergy by just driving by. He has seen her there before, and heard some of the story why she just sits there. A sadness touches his heart for a second, before his attention is drawn to the next busy intersection. Her blank stare is all that remains.

Behind the red fence inhabitants of the nursing home rake left-overs leaves from last summer, to give the new grass sun and air. For the blanket of leaves: it was too cold last fall to do the cleanup then, but only after the leaves and twigs are removed can life explode all over the garden. The cycle of life. A lady closest to the fence, closest to the road, looks over to the bus stop. She stops raking to look more closely, her arms frail and bony. Her parchment skin is cracked by blue veins, human marble. Some big blue-yellow bruises decorate her arms as a defiance to the county’s anti-tattoo laws of late. The early morning sun casts a long shadow as if to reach out to the sad lady across the street.

She remembers stories all too well, since there is not much more to do than keep busy with trivial tasks, while in-between think about all that what was her life. Less to look forward to every year, but more memories to cherish. Some holes in the story to the sad-bus-stop-lady, like the woman’s name remain, but some details crisp and clear such as the date when she first laid eyes on her: it was the middle of the harvest month, warm yet with a bearable breeze. It was the year of the Rabbit of 341, according to the new calendar of course, since the beginning of the new empire. It was already more than 20 years ago, the year the empire shook. Feiyan leans on her rake and sighs while memories flee like a monsoon into her brain. Such is the faith of the elder brain, focused, but when distracted hard to bend back. Others just assume she is taking a break.

It was warm that year, and already early on. Climate control still had its problems, and farmers of the Wǔ Gǔ corporation demonstrated against the conglomerate of the Creator Group in the center, an ordeal that disrupted local traffic for weeks on end. It was for this reason that Feiyan was late at the ‘House of the Three Stars’, a retirement home for those who could not stay with their family. Of course Feiyan did not want to stay with her daughter’s family. She felt then and even more so now, that she would be a burden on them. With a disabled husband and little income from the food-stand she helped her daugher best she could. Taking care of the grandchildren when possible before the forced retirement age of 70. She wished she could help prepare food for her daughter’s business, but county laws prohibited the elderly to take jobs from the large group of young people graduating these coming years. Feiyan shook her head while she went over the arguments again she had with her daughter and son-in-law. This was better, by grace of donations of the community she could reside here the rest of her days. She sighted, ‘the rest of her days’ sounded like she was set-aside into the margins. Ready to die, ready to be released from society. Some whom continued to be big influencers after retirements, founders of companies, writers and philosophers, some academics worked until they fell over. The honorable death. Those close to the Empire. People who knew people, or were born into families who do. Feiyan was neither. Daughter of a farmer, who had to sell his lands, later a factory-workers-daugher, then student, teacher, wife and widow. Now her life according to others was over. She felt like her life had not fully started yet, always she lived through others, for others, now she was retired and cast aside.

She sighed once more and with some reluctant force tapped three times on the door for good luck. No answer. She knew she was late but even so, the house was staffed most of the time, and she could not be the only one who was not bedridden. She did not dare to knock again, bad luck may strike at any given time, and she needed all the luck she could get. It felt like the first year of high-school all over again, but she was 70. “Darn it”, she muttered to herself, “you are a grown woman” and with that she pushed the door. Unlocked it swung open. Silence greeted her on the wave of hot air mixed with the smell of urine. It was eerie. Only the birds reflected this hot day in perpetual singing, humanity held its breath for a moment. Then muttering, a yell, more voices chiming in, some screams from behind her on the street. With that surreal introduction to retirement she stepped over the threshold.

Feiyan enter the hallway as a stayer, but felt like an intruder. She found the common room filled with the elderly by following the sounds of a disruptive excitement. Not the kind of excitement you want to walk into. Her own perception of her inner self betrayed Feiyan while she passed a mirror in the hallway. One of the elderly. Now she stared at the faces of her future, however, all eyes but her’s were on the standard big screen. Faces white, a nurse with her hand over her mouth in shock, some openly weeping. Feiyan remembered the moment she turned slowly to the screen to see the Emperor slumped down on the Empirical Wagon, covered in blood. A shriek left her mouth to reverse the roles, all eyes on her, while she stared at the horrid events on the screen. Almost too vivid to her taste.

Feiyan switches her attention from past events to the present. The woman across the street is ready to leave through blinking eyes. She would never forget the day she came to the retirement home because of the tragic events that day, but more vivid than the images of the dead Emperor burning on her retina, are the memories of the day Feiyan crossed the street and sat down next to the sad-bus-lady. “If I could only remember her name”, Feiyan thought.

Sad-lady smiles a watery smile as she recognizes Feiyan even though it must have almost 2 decades since they last talked. Even though Feiyan sees her regularly, even though sad-bus-lady never said anything since. The poor grass has to wait longer for sustenance, as memories come immediate and without warning. Feiyan can almost feel the chill of that day, the field covered in a forgiving blanket of snow, hiding the impurities with newness.

“I am sorry may I sit next to you?” Feiyan’s careful approach in the crispy snow went unnoticed. A young lady, maybe thirty or so looks up. Her eyes are red, clear signs of recent weeping. She nods with little strength. Feiyan seen pain before, and knows when to be silent. Just a presence can be comforting, just being there may invoke the need to share. Some need to reflect to see if greater pain in the world will ease theirs, while others need to release the pressure or burst. The young lady next to Feiyan has the ability to suffer through it, but needs to justify her presence to Feiyan, as if without a valid explanation she would get arrested for treason.

The lady spoke softly as if she did not want to disturb the natural process of the falling snowflakes. A stare in the distance; she reviewed past events in her mind's-eye, and validated her presence. “Here... on this very spot I lost all companionship, then... when... it happened, I lost all of society. All of my being, all of me is all that I am right here. Only here. I need to feel that connection otherwise I lost him for nothing. Otherwise there is no meaning to anything.” Feiyan listened, she felt the emotion, and that she talked about a loved one. Understanding it all together was something different. Yet the sad-lady had an ominous stare and even a glint of compassion towards Feiyan when she turn her head look at the old lady next to her.

“You must know such loss, you are in the old-folks home across the street, right?”

Feiyan then got it, she lost a child, and she assumed Feiyan had lost her children for otherwise she would live with them. So Feiyan shook her head, while she put her fragile wrinkled hand on the woman’s knee. “I am still blessed to visit my children occasionally, you see I have chosen...” The lady’s eyes lost the connection to the world and she slowly pushed aside the hand on her knee. Like useless ashes of a burning cigarette before they would damage her pants. She turned her head to explore her inner horizons. Feiyan sat besides her for a while, but with every moment and every car that drove by, with every snowflake that fell, Feiyan felt that she outstayed her welcome. Eventually she got up and went back to the home. Soft chirping footsteps echoed through the silence like hammer blows on metal in a dark quiet night.

A hand on her shoulder, “are you alright my dear?” Feiyan awakes from her thoughts, her memories. The kind face of a nurse, whose name she can not recall, looks at her. Fellow leave scrapers huddle around the catch of the day: a pile of leaves. The grass is free to receive the sun’s blessing. Feiyan looks at the bus stop. It is empty. “That is right”, Feiyan mumbles, “she never did give me her name”.

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2017

#ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit 

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Challenge of the Week #55: Write a story of 200 words or more about a stranger. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $200. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by casteleijn
Waiting
“Watch out, the bus is coming soon. So do not stand so close to the curb”. The woman leans back in the battered bus stop. Silence is her answer. It is a chilly morning, the dew collected last night now drips slowly of the aluminum siding. The hazy pinks between the apartment blocks promises a hot day.

A bus passes while her contorted face stares across the street as if the bus is invisible, and due to her apathetic attitude to the bus’ approach, the driver responds in perfect synergy by just driving by. He has seen her there before, and heard some of the story why she just sits there. A sadness touches his heart for a second, before his attention is drawn to the next busy intersection. Her blank stare is all that remains.

Behind the red fence inhabitants of the nursing home rake left-overs leaves from last summer, to give the new grass sun and air. For the blanket of leaves: it was too cold last fall to do the cleanup then, but only after the leaves and twigs are removed can life explode all over the garden. The cycle of life. A lady closest to the fence, closest to the road, looks over to the bus stop. She stops raking to look more closely, her arms frail and bony. Her parchment skin is cracked by blue veins, human marble. Some big blue-yellow bruises decorate her arms as a defiance to the county’s anti-tattoo laws of late. The early morning sun casts a long shadow as if to reach out to the sad lady across the street.

She remembers stories all too well, since there is not much more to do than keep busy with trivial tasks, while in-between think about all that what was her life. Less to look forward to every year, but more memories to cherish. Some holes in the story to the sad-bus-stop-lady, like the woman’s name remain, but some details crisp and clear such as the date when she first laid eyes on her: it was the middle of the harvest month, warm yet with a bearable breeze. It was the year of the Rabbit of 341, according to the new calendar of course, since the beginning of the new empire. It was already more than 20 years ago, the year the empire shook. Feiyan leans on her rake and sighs while memories flee like a monsoon into her brain. Such is the faith of the elder brain, focused, but when distracted hard to bend back. Others just assume she is taking a break.

It was warm that year, and already early on. Climate control still had its problems, and farmers of the Wǔ Gǔ corporation demonstrated against the conglomerate of the Creator Group in the center, an ordeal that disrupted local traffic for weeks on end. It was for this reason that Feiyan was late at the ‘House of the Three Stars’, a retirement home for those who could not stay with their family. Of course Feiyan did not want to stay with her daughter’s family. She felt then and even more so now, that she would be a burden on them. With a disabled husband and little income from the food-stand she helped her daugher best she could. Taking care of the grandchildren when possible before the forced retirement age of 70. She wished she could help prepare food for her daughter’s business, but county laws prohibited the elderly to take jobs from the large group of young people graduating these coming years. Feiyan shook her head while she went over the arguments again she had with her daughter and son-in-law. This was better, by grace of donations of the community she could reside here the rest of her days. She sighted, ‘the rest of her days’ sounded like she was set-aside into the margins. Ready to die, ready to be released from society. Some whom continued to be big influencers after retirements, founders of companies, writers and philosophers, some academics worked until they fell over. The honorable death. Those close to the Empire. People who knew people, or were born into families who do. Feiyan was neither. Daughter of a farmer, who had to sell his lands, later a factory-workers-daugher, then student, teacher, wife and widow. Now her life according to others was over. She felt like her life had not fully started yet, always she lived through others, for others, now she was retired and cast aside.

She sighed once more and with some reluctant force tapped three times on the door for good luck. No answer. She knew she was late but even so, the house was staffed most of the time, and she could not be the only one who was not bedridden. She did not dare to knock again, bad luck may strike at any given time, and she needed all the luck she could get. It felt like the first year of high-school all over again, but she was 70. “Darn it”, she muttered to herself, “you are a grown woman” and with that she pushed the door. Unlocked it swung open. Silence greeted her on the wave of hot air mixed with the smell of urine. It was eerie. Only the birds reflected this hot day in perpetual singing, humanity held its breath for a moment. Then muttering, a yell, more voices chiming in, some screams from behind her on the street. With that surreal introduction to retirement she stepped over the threshold.

Feiyan enter the hallway as a stayer, but felt like an intruder. She found the common room filled with the elderly by following the sounds of a disruptive excitement. Not the kind of excitement you want to walk into. Her own perception of her inner self betrayed Feiyan while she passed a mirror in the hallway. One of the elderly. Now she stared at the faces of her future, however, all eyes but her’s were on the standard big screen. Faces white, a nurse with her hand over her mouth in shock, some openly weeping. Feiyan remembered the moment she turned slowly to the screen to see the Emperor slumped down on the Empirical Wagon, covered in blood. A shriek left her mouth to reverse the roles, all eyes on her, while she stared at the horrid events on the screen. Almost too vivid to her taste.

Feiyan switches her attention from past events to the present. The woman across the street is ready to leave through blinking eyes. She would never forget the day she came to the retirement home because of the tragic events that day, but more vivid than the images of the dead Emperor burning on her retina, are the memories of the day Feiyan crossed the street and sat down next to the sad-bus-lady. “If I could only remember her name”, Feiyan thought.

Sad-lady smiles a watery smile as she recognizes Feiyan even though it must have almost 2 decades since they last talked. Even though Feiyan sees her regularly, even though sad-bus-lady never said anything since. The poor grass has to wait longer for sustenance, as memories come immediate and without warning. Feiyan can almost feel the chill of that day, the field covered in a forgiving blanket of snow, hiding the impurities with newness.

“I am sorry may I sit next to you?” Feiyan’s careful approach in the crispy snow went unnoticed. A young lady, maybe thirty or so looks up. Her eyes are red, clear signs of recent weeping. She nods with little strength. Feiyan seen pain before, and knows when to be silent. Just a presence can be comforting, just being there may invoke the need to share. Some need to reflect to see if greater pain in the world will ease theirs, while others need to release the pressure or burst. The young lady next to Feiyan has the ability to suffer through it, but needs to justify her presence to Feiyan, as if without a valid explanation she would get arrested for treason.

The lady spoke softly as if she did not want to disturb the natural process of the falling snowflakes. A stare in the distance; she reviewed past events in her mind's-eye, and validated her presence. “Here... on this very spot I lost all companionship, then... when... it happened, I lost all of society. All of my being, all of me is all that I am right here. Only here. I need to feel that connection otherwise I lost him for nothing. Otherwise there is no meaning to anything.” Feiyan listened, she felt the emotion, and that she talked about a loved one. Understanding it all together was something different. Yet the sad-lady had an ominous stare and even a glint of compassion towards Feiyan when she turn her head look at the old lady next to her.

“You must know such loss, you are in the old-folks home across the street, right?”

Feiyan then got it, she lost a child, and she assumed Feiyan had lost her children for otherwise she would live with them. So Feiyan shook her head, while she put her fragile wrinkled hand on the woman’s knee. “I am still blessed to visit my children occasionally, you see I have chosen...” The lady’s eyes lost the connection to the world and she slowly pushed aside the hand on her knee. Like useless ashes of a burning cigarette before they would damage her pants. She turned her head to explore her inner horizons. Feiyan sat besides her for a while, but with every moment and every car that drove by, with every snowflake that fell, Feiyan felt that she outstayed her welcome. Eventually she got up and went back to the home. Soft chirping footsteps echoed through the silence like hammer blows on metal in a dark quiet night.

A hand on her shoulder, “are you alright my dear?” Feiyan awakes from her thoughts, her memories. The kind face of a nurse, whose name she can not recall, looks at her. Fellow leave scrapers huddle around the catch of the day: a pile of leaves. The grass is free to receive the sun’s blessing. Feiyan looks at the bus stop. It is empty. “That is right”, Feiyan mumbles, “she never did give me her name”.

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2017
#ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit 
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Visual inspiration! Poetry/Prose: Pick an image, any image, and write a poem about it! It can be distinctly about the image itself, or whatever the image makes you feel/think. Just go with the flow! I'll do one too. Make sure to upload your chosen image as a header and tag me!
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Crumbled Polaroids

It is cold in here, yet

so much colder,

out there the hard

crunch of the soft snow

surprised us all.

A rare snowflake

falls, moves by.

It is easier to make

a new imprint then

to tread on the old.

When folded into

our new shell of

immortal metal.

Armour to last the

centuries.

The frills of boredom

seep and degenerate

our spark, poetry,

mastermindery,

If not, if not...

If we not forget

that our blue line

is sharply curved.

My memories

I see in old photo's

and faded colours.

© M.G. Casteleijn. 2017 (image and poem)

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Visual inspiration! Poetry/Prose: Pick an image, any image, and write a poem about it! It can be distinctly about the image itself, or whatever the image makes you feel/think. Just go with the flow! I'll do one too. Make sure to upload your chosen image as a header and tag me!
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Crumbled Polaroids
It is cold in here, yet
so much colder,
out there the hard
crunch of the soft snow
surprised us all.
A rare snowflake
falls, moves by.

It is easier to make
a new imprint then
to tread on the old.
When folded into
our new shell of
immortal metal.
Armour to last the
centuries.

The frills of boredom
seep and degenerate
our spark, poetry,
mastermindery,
If not, if not...
If we not forget
that our blue line
is sharply curved.

My memories
I see in old photo's
and faded colours.


© M.G. Casteleijn. 2017 (image and poem)
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Write the first several paragraphs of a sci-fi novel.
Written by casteleijn in portal Sci-Fi

Death of an Emperor

CHAPTER: The pool of tears

If he had known on the most cursed morning, that most eventful morning, it would be the last morning he would see his daughter he would have held her until the day was over. So those interesting times would never happen. But it did happen.

Qiáng sits on the bed, the room of their only daughter unchanged, frozen in time for a decade. “She would have children of her own now”. Pointless thoughts to fill the void. In his hand a small book, a diary. He read it many times, but now on this day, this morning, this cursed morning he always reads it. Qiáng’s anger ties him to living. The Who. The Why. The Want. The want for revenge. His wife was broken on impact. She slowly faded out of the light into the foreboding shadows of death. Visiting the gravesites more and more frequent until he found her one cold morning on an unmarked grave. It was fitting. She died close to where she choose to rest, not to burden anyone. It fanned his inner embers of rage once more.

Qiáng sighs with a frown while opening the first page. Each character, each word, the meaning between them, he knows them. Yet little comfort comes from them, questions on the other hand remain. He reads an hour while silent tears run down his face. Then he finds those passages, her deeper thoughts on her glorious task, and the puzzle that lies within.

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2014-2016

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Write the first several paragraphs of a sci-fi novel.
Written by casteleijn in portal Sci-Fi
Death of an Emperor
CHAPTER: The pool of tears

If he had known on the most cursed morning, that most eventful morning, it would be the last morning he would see his daughter he would have held her until the day was over. So those interesting times would never happen. But it did happen.

Qiáng sits on the bed, the room of their only daughter unchanged, frozen in time for a decade. “She would have children of her own now”. Pointless thoughts to fill the void. In his hand a small book, a diary. He read it many times, but now on this day, this morning, this cursed morning he always reads it. Qiáng’s anger ties him to living. The Who. The Why. The Want. The want for revenge. His wife was broken on impact. She slowly faded out of the light into the foreboding shadows of death. Visiting the gravesites more and more frequent until he found her one cold morning on an unmarked grave. It was fitting. She died close to where she choose to rest, not to burden anyone. It fanned his inner embers of rage once more.

Qiáng sighs with a frown while opening the first page. Each character, each word, the meaning between them, he knows them. Yet little comfort comes from them, questions on the other hand remain. He reads an hour while silent tears run down his face. Then he finds those passages, her deeper thoughts on her glorious task, and the puzzle that lies within.
(c) Casteleijn MG. 2014-2016



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Resolutions. Let's have it. Capture your action, give it a punch, make it poetic! #newyear Tag me if you want @casteleijn
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Resolution

I hold my breath and I dream more. Past the clouds, past the stars, and into the dark-betweens. Gently a stroke, a breeze, a puff, a wink, holding hands, clement days with orange streaks. Deep warm rays that hold our gaze. 

Oh, how to long for purple skies, everlasting discussions about meaningless things while the universe leans in and listens. To let the little bells ring and dangle. Fresh green vibrant covered in dew, kissed by morning light, yet forgotten in the most nicest of shades. 

Oh, how to breath in your scent, the swirl of your hair, while laughter plays in the background bound by happy things of silly string. An aroma of fluff filled ambiguity and intent laid out in front of it all.

Oh, how the day dreams of newer things, and forgets the old stocks. Warehouses full of all that laid behind it all, yet carried, yet resolved but not absolved. A hum trembling though the wires brings obligations, gifts wrapped in beauty nor silver glass. 

Re-sol-u-tion. I made it up, a made up word. I poke the soap bubble of absurd thinness, then we dance and laugh and make another round around the sun. A journey I never begun...

#2017 #makeitso

 

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Resolutions. Let's have it. Capture your action, give it a punch, make it poetic! #newyear Tag me if you want @casteleijn
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Resolution
I hold my breath and I dream more. Past the clouds, past the stars, and into the dark-betweens. Gently a stroke, a breeze, a puff, a wink, holding hands, clement days with orange streaks. Deep warm rays that hold our gaze. 

Oh, how to long for purple skies, everlasting discussions about meaningless things while the universe leans in and listens. To let the little bells ring and dangle. Fresh green vibrant covered in dew, kissed by morning light, yet forgotten in the most nicest of shades. 

Oh, how to breath in your scent, the swirl of your hair, while laughter plays in the background bound by happy things of silly string. An aroma of fluff filled ambiguity and intent laid out in front of it all.

Oh, how the day dreams of newer things, and forgets the old stocks. Warehouses full of all that laid behind it all, yet carried, yet resolved but not absolved. A hum trembling though the wires brings obligations, gifts wrapped in beauty nor silver glass. 

Re-sol-u-tion. I made it up, a made up word. I poke the soap bubble of absurd thinness, then we dance and laugh and make another round around the sun. A journey I never begun...

#2017 #makeitso

 
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Resolutions. Let's be done with it. Capture in a haiku an indecision, make me hold my breath a few seconds #newyear Tag me if you want @casteleijn
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Still broken

Tumbling in midair

Light reflecting, refracting.

A Gasp. Not this time.

#newyear

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Resolutions. Let's be done with it. Capture in a haiku an indecision, make me hold my breath a few seconds #newyear Tag me if you want @casteleijn
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Still broken
Tumbling in midair
Light reflecting, refracting.
A Gasp. Not this time.

#newyear
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What's the scariest story you can come up with in only 15 words
Written by casteleijn in portal Horror & Thriller

Forever stuck

Closer, and closer still. Blood-shed veins pressed on white eyes, but the truck never clashes.

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What's the scariest story you can come up with in only 15 words
Written by casteleijn in portal Horror & Thriller
Forever stuck
Closer, and closer still. Blood-shed veins pressed on white eyes, but the truck never clashes.


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Written by casteleijn

The First Kiss

“Truth is my friend, we are the burden born from that unholy union…”

“Ssssht, it’s starting.”

She gestures to the stage where a young woman half clad in red and half clad in blue starts to sing at haunting altitudes.

“Oh Marduk, player of the four winds,

let the winds whirl, let the eleven falter,

relief Anshar’s despair, yet even alter

all of that was and filled with sins.

All the winds whirl. Let the eleven, falter

and die. Split Tiamat like dried fish, alter

all that ever was, fill it with sins.

Oh Marduk player of the four winds”

=============================================

#wordexpanding #hyperlinknovel 

Lovely image by (c) RAFAL OLBINSK

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Written by casteleijn
The First Kiss
“Truth is my friend, we are the burden born from that unholy union…”

“Ssssht, it’s starting.”

She gestures to the stage where a young woman half clad in red and half clad in blue starts to sing at haunting altitudes.


“Oh Marduk, player of the four winds,

let the winds whirl, let the eleven falter,

relief Anshar’s despair, yet even alter

all of that was and filled with sins.



All the winds whirl. Let the eleven, falter

and die. Split Tiamat like dried fish, alter

all that ever was, fill it with sins.

Oh Marduk player of the four winds”



=============================================

#wordexpanding #hyperlinknovel 
Lovely image by (c) RAFAL OLBINSK


#fiction  #poetry  #wordexpanding  #drable 
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Give me, please: a micropoem consisting of 10 words, starting with the word "one," and ending with the word "ten." TAG me as well, if you wish! #onetoten
Written by casteleijn in portal Micropoetry

Devil's water

One sip can lead to

so much more

then ten

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Give me, please: a micropoem consisting of 10 words, starting with the word "one," and ending with the word "ten." TAG me as well, if you wish! #onetoten
Written by casteleijn in portal Micropoetry
Devil's water
One sip can lead to
so much more
then ten

12
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2
Juice
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Impressions of your daily commute. Free form poetry please. Tag me @casteleijn in the comments. #freeverse #commute
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Such daily things

A peculiar style of blue is now all the sky

Halo-me exposed on the immobile window

Blue glow-double glazing, always changing

My echo has a lankness, a sticker-likeness

With no smell, sound or a single thought

Offbeat front-lit faces staring at shoelaces

One more glance after the ding and murmurs

Slush glazes the pavements under fading blues

Under a grey sky, in a grey seat, in my grey coat

I nap until I am home

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2016

#commute #freeverse

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Impressions of your daily commute. Free form poetry please. Tag me @casteleijn in the comments. #freeverse #commute
Written by casteleijn in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Such daily things
A peculiar style of blue is now all the sky
Halo-me exposed on the immobile window
Blue glow-double glazing, always changing
My echo has a lankness, a sticker-likeness
With no smell, sound or a single thought
Offbeat front-lit faces staring at shoelaces

One more glance after the ding and murmurs
Slush glazes the pavements under fading blues
Under a grey sky, in a grey seat, in my grey coat
I nap until I am home

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2016
#commute #freeverse

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Juice
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