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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by AlSalehi

Visiting Hours are Over

So muscular and handsome, my boy is.

His hair is so soft and smooth. His legs are

so white and beautiful. The shape of his

feet are identical to my father’s.

My son’s feet were always cold, for his warmth

was always concentrated in his soul.

But I cannot leave…not now, not ever…

The moment I leave I will no longer

have a son. Right here, right now, I have come

to claim his body…I am visiting

my son…I -am his mother. As long as

I hold his flesh beneath my hands, he is

still here, with me, in the room, spending time

together. I love you, son…And even

though I, was your mother, You, were my best

friend. It almost killed me to bring you to

life, and now it is killing me to let

you go. I didn’t leave you then, and I

can’t leave you now. Son, even though you are

lying here motionless and weak to the

eye, give me the strength to Live! I want to

crawl up this refrigerated metal

slab and lie with you. I’ll sing you songs, and

read you bedtime stories like I did when

you were just a boy. Even though you’d sleep,

they were unforgettable times between

both of our souls. But I refuse to leave…

I just won’t do it…not now, not ever.

Copyright © 1986-2017

Al Salehi

All Rights Reserved

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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by AlSalehi
Visiting Hours are Over
So muscular and handsome, my boy is.
His hair is so soft and smooth. His legs are
so white and beautiful. The shape of his
feet are identical to my father’s.
My son’s feet were always cold, for his warmth
was always concentrated in his soul.
But I cannot leave…not now, not ever…
The moment I leave I will no longer
have a son. Right here, right now, I have come
to claim his body…I am visiting
my son…I -am his mother. As long as
I hold his flesh beneath my hands, he is
still here, with me, in the room, spending time
together. I love you, son…And even
though I, was your mother, You, were my best
friend. It almost killed me to bring you to
life, and now it is killing me to let
you go. I didn’t leave you then, and I
can’t leave you now. Son, even though you are
lying here motionless and weak to the
eye, give me the strength to Live! I want to
crawl up this refrigerated metal
slab and lie with you. I’ll sing you songs, and
read you bedtime stories like I did when
you were just a boy. Even though you’d sleep,
they were unforgettable times between
both of our souls. But I refuse to leave…

I just won’t do it…not now, not ever.



Copyright © 1986-2017
Al Salehi
All Rights Reserved
#nonfiction  #romance  #horror  #poetry  #philosophy  #prose  #challenge  #prosechallenge  #love  #heartbreak  #spirituality  #culture  #grief  #loss  #opinion  #mom  #dedication  #melancholy  #forever  #MothersDay  #CotW  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Simon & Schuster is one of the world’s leading publishers and we are always looking for fresh new voices. Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by our editorial staff for consideration.
Written by AlSalehi in portal Simon & Schuster

By and Bye

she showers me from above with falling Spades,

having then gift-wrapped the stems with little Hearts,

a great public service delivered in shades

of now Red and Black poison injected darts.

she’s masked as a Queen Holding multiple Aces,

Bluffing her bosses under multiple Faces.

Diamonds of wisdom she pretends to display,

when Diamonds to Cut is the truth of her Play.

but if all she believes is no feign then no Gain,

my question is this… at what Cost and whose pain?

Club members pleased as she slanders, applaud -

the Clubbing of a young man's Heart, oh God - -

please guide my Hand to Action flight, not fight,

not Gambling my virtue, out of spite,

against a sinister soul's wretched plight.

help me not Poke her with your Spades of great light,

Win or Lose...Flip my dream Turned nightmare tonight.

I’m now struggling with this motion to let live or expire

as a resolution that is urgent and morbidly dire-

it was just on the floor, now on the pan, and soon to The Friar,

as His second is needed, to go All-in this, trial by fire.

Father, let it be in my Cards, to do what is just...

and help me to cremate, this invoice, for poison lust.

Lord, make me not Risk laying to waste,

this old bully from a schoolyard fight,

give me purpose and heavenly might,

for a cause you deem worthy and chaste.

consider the nights I’ve spent digging her ditch,

please honor the time that I've lost to this witch,

whose rage’s Raised from an emotional glitch,

of jealousy Folded in a Single stitch.

I’m hereby Knocking to Check on slaying this snitch,

calling Azrael to Push the dumbwaiter switch.

though a 50/50 Chance is Blindly Set by your Crown,

I pray that today, both of the Arrows, for her, Show Down!

nay, help make me the hero and this order delay…

just protect me from evil as I kneel and I pray:

“our horsemen, who art in Heaven, now summoned and nigh--

pass, by,

pass, by.”

and now Four Suited stallions, Flush with Black Hearts

neigh loudly but voiceless, in front of their Carts.

Marking her Players who all vote as One,

to majority Counts of 4 to 1.

alas I’m human at the end of day

so I ask you, Yahweh, to end this decay.

I wish not to Cash-out on her Last sigh,

no reins or noose, to soon knot-up and Tie.

I’ve good left in me and I wish to try

asking your horsemen for a pass to Buy - -

a way,

away,

from this old passerby.

I'll pay her Ante across the River Styx,

Chips sprung from her eye sockets with reaper sticks

and then stuffed in her Pockets with fire picks.

trotting the Odds at all Even they cry:

‘All Bets are Final to live or let die’!

Swords at the ready and ready to fly,

riders are Shuffling to Deal upon High,

sickles now Flopping like hail from the sky,

Turning her tombstone with acid & lye,

the River’s mouth’s Showing halva and rye –

good night fine horsemen, hello and goodbye.

just pardon one Last thing,

as a postscript, my King…

come Hell or High purpose in this fog of clear sight,

I present to your horsemen, this kicker tonight - -

pass her by /

pass her, bye.

Copyright © 1986-2017

Al Salehi

All Rights Reserved

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Simon & Schuster is one of the world’s leading publishers and we are always looking for fresh new voices. Write a story, chapter, or essay about whatever you like. The 50 best entries will be announced by Prose and read by our editorial staff for consideration.
Written by AlSalehi in portal Simon & Schuster
By and Bye
she showers me from above with falling Spades,
having then gift-wrapped the stems with little Hearts,
a great public service delivered in shades
of now Red and Black poison injected darts.

she’s masked as a Queen Holding multiple Aces,
Bluffing her bosses under multiple Faces.

Diamonds of wisdom she pretends to display,
when Diamonds to Cut is the truth of her Play.

but if all she believes is no feign then no Gain,
my question is this… at what Cost and whose pain?

Club members pleased as she slanders, applaud -
the Clubbing of a young man's Heart, oh God - -

please guide my Hand to Action flight, not fight,
not Gambling my virtue, out of spite,
against a sinister soul's wretched plight.

help me not Poke her with your Spades of great light,
Win or Lose...Flip my dream Turned nightmare tonight.

I’m now struggling with this motion to let live or expire
as a resolution that is urgent and morbidly dire-
it was just on the floor, now on the pan, and soon to The Friar,
as His second is needed, to go All-in this, trial by fire.

Father, let it be in my Cards, to do what is just...
and help me to cremate, this invoice, for poison lust.

Lord, make me not Risk laying to waste,
this old bully from a schoolyard fight,
give me purpose and heavenly might,
for a cause you deem worthy and chaste.

consider the nights I’ve spent digging her ditch,
please honor the time that I've lost to this witch,
whose rage’s Raised from an emotional glitch,
of jealousy Folded in a Single stitch.

I’m hereby Knocking to Check on slaying this snitch,
calling Azrael to Push the dumbwaiter switch.

though a 50/50 Chance is Blindly Set by your Crown,
I pray that today, both of the Arrows, for her, Show Down!

nay, help make me the hero and this order delay…
just protect me from evil as I kneel and I pray:
“our horsemen, who art in Heaven, now summoned and nigh--
pass, by,
pass, by.”

and now Four Suited stallions, Flush with Black Hearts
neigh loudly but voiceless, in front of their Carts.

Marking her Players who all vote as One,
to majority Counts of 4 to 1.

alas I’m human at the end of day
so I ask you, Yahweh, to end this decay.

I wish not to Cash-out on her Last sigh,
no reins or noose, to soon knot-up and Tie.
I’ve good left in me and I wish to try
asking your horsemen for a pass to Buy - -
a way,
away,
from this old passerby.

I'll pay her Ante across the River Styx,
Chips sprung from her eye sockets with reaper sticks
and then stuffed in her Pockets with fire picks.

trotting the Odds at all Even they cry:
‘All Bets are Final to live or let die’!
Swords at the ready and ready to fly,
riders are Shuffling to Deal upon High,
sickles now Flopping like hail from the sky,
Turning her tombstone with acid & lye,
the River’s mouth’s Showing halva and rye –

good night fine horsemen, hello and goodbye.

just pardon one Last thing,
as a postscript, my King…

come Hell or High purpose in this fog of clear sight,
I present to your horsemen, this kicker tonight - -

pass her by /
pass her, bye.


Copyright © 1986-2017
Al Salehi
All Rights Reserved
#fantasy  #scifi  #fiction  #nonfiction  #romance  #horror  #adventure  #education  #poetry  #science  #philosophy  #mystery  #film  #prose  #challenge  #prosechallenge  #politics  #spirituality  #news  #culture  #war  #lyrics  #opinion  #sorrynotsorry  #Itslit  #getlit  #SimonSchuster  #simonandschuster  #poker  #artofwar  #SimonSchusterChallenge  #internalstruggle 
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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by MsH

Belief

—Are we not the open wound?

Sharing in an endless celestial vein

Sensation that cannot be feigned.

Ache! do you not feel the same?

In this streaming empty solitude of day

A single collective conversation-dream,

In abstentia partaken, ever to convene,

Towards mutual silence of self-esteem:

I hold you where you’ve always been

In the center of my imagination,

Where I mentalize your name.

I feel your loss, yet know how

Much we gain.

Wrapped in continuous monologue,

Diverting obstacles with dialogue.

Till we are indeed quite at home

Having already spent this Alone,

Together.

It is how I will expend now forever,

Within thoughts outside my stealth.

Love is what we’ll find for Our Self

In the presence of some one else,

Near death.

I am taking you away with me.

It’s Us, neither big nor small;

We divide, and multiply, and

Always Earth carries us over

Safe inside.

I’ve no illusions of seeing a face,

In some other time or place;

When we come together,

There will simply be

Unempty Space.

Same, as we really are; Synapses in the Mind’s Eye,

Which recreates and re-creates a seamless base for all.

With infinite generosity can any of us this Life decry?

Be comforted in thus Being…We mustn’t grieve…

Truly, seeing how it is that we only Receive!

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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by MsH
Belief
—Are we not the open wound?
Sharing in an endless celestial vein
Sensation that cannot be feigned.
Ache! do you not feel the same?

In this streaming empty solitude of day
A single collective conversation-dream,
In abstentia partaken, ever to convene,
Towards mutual silence of self-esteem:

I hold you where you’ve always been
In the center of my imagination,
Where I mentalize your name.
I feel your loss, yet know how
Much we gain.

Wrapped in continuous monologue,
Diverting obstacles with dialogue.
Till we are indeed quite at home
Having already spent this Alone,
Together.

It is how I will expend now forever,
Within thoughts outside my stealth.
Love is what we’ll find for Our Self
In the presence of some one else,
Near death.

I am taking you away with me.
It’s Us, neither big nor small;
We divide, and multiply, and
Always Earth carries us over
Safe inside.

I’ve no illusions of seeing a face,
In some other time or place;
When we come together,
There will simply be
Unempty Space.

Same, as we really are; Synapses in the Mind’s Eye,
Which recreates and re-creates a seamless base for all.
With infinite generosity can any of us this Life decry?
Be comforted in thus Being…We mustn’t grieve…

Truly, seeing how it is that we only Receive!

#philosophy  #prosechallenge  #freeverse  #grief  #solace 
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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by starryEyes

Learning to the song of the beeps

Leaning against the padded gym wall, I gasped for breath. My lungs burned. My legs felt wobbly. And I was going into shock.

Out on the floor, some of the other kids were still running in synchrony with the beeps emanating from the portable stereo. It was assessment week in gym class. Today’s test? Run the marked lane and cross the line before the beep. Then turn around and run back before the next beep. And again. And again. If you failed to keep up with the quickening beeps, you had to leave the course and your time was marked.

Gym class was one of those things that could only be endured. Why it should be part of my curriculum, I couldn’t fathom, although I’ve oft suspected that some parts of school were implemented purely to torture the students. As far as I was concerned, ping-pong and written tests were the only pleasant aspects of the class.

Yet at the announcement of this upcoming test, I took an unusual interest in the event. It was something that was scored. Therefore I wanted to do well. Obviously, I would do well. No half-measures for me, no apathetic dragging of my feet. Determination would win the day. I’d run until the cassette tape quit.

Still panting, I slid down the wall to the gymnasium floor. Something had gone horribly wrong. I struggled to work it out as my heart worked double time to supply my brain with oxygen. Then I had it:

I failed.

I gave it my all, but it wasn’t good enough.

At sixteen years old, I was slapped with the realization that the adage I’d lived by all my life, “you can do anything you set your mind to,” wasn’t actually true. My world had been turned upside down.

Naturally good at all things school, I was used to success. I loved learning. I relished every academic challenge and persevered through the toughest of them to “win.” I was also artistic, musical, and creative. What couldn’t I do?

Run to the cadence of gym class beeps, apparently.

A day later, the shock was wearing off and I was laughing with my friend. “You thought you could just decide to ace the test?” I was embarrassed to admit that I had. I hadn’t considered that there was a physical dimension that might eclipse my will.

And truly, I hadn’t considered that there could be something I wasn’t good at. Oh, but it felt good to laugh at my folly!

As funny as it sounds, that day in gym class changed my life. It opened my eyes to the fact that I’m not good at everything. I began to notice and accept my shortcomings, and even admit them out loud.

But do you know what else is funny? I didn’t realize until after college that I could actually learn to do better at things I’m not naturally good at. Not easily or quickly, and maybe not to the point of greatness, but it's possible to improve.

I now see what was obvious to the rest of the world: I probably would have done better in the gym assessment if I had trained for it!

I wonder what I’ll learn next?

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by starryEyes
Learning to the song of the beeps
Leaning against the padded gym wall, I gasped for breath. My lungs burned. My legs felt wobbly. And I was going into shock.

Out on the floor, some of the other kids were still running in synchrony with the beeps emanating from the portable stereo. It was assessment week in gym class. Today’s test? Run the marked lane and cross the line before the beep. Then turn around and run back before the next beep. And again. And again. If you failed to keep up with the quickening beeps, you had to leave the course and your time was marked.

Gym class was one of those things that could only be endured. Why it should be part of my curriculum, I couldn’t fathom, although I’ve oft suspected that some parts of school were implemented purely to torture the students. As far as I was concerned, ping-pong and written tests were the only pleasant aspects of the class.

Yet at the announcement of this upcoming test, I took an unusual interest in the event. It was something that was scored. Therefore I wanted to do well. Obviously, I would do well. No half-measures for me, no apathetic dragging of my feet. Determination would win the day. I’d run until the cassette tape quit.

Still panting, I slid down the wall to the gymnasium floor. Something had gone horribly wrong. I struggled to work it out as my heart worked double time to supply my brain with oxygen. Then I had it:

I failed.

I gave it my all, but it wasn’t good enough.

At sixteen years old, I was slapped with the realization that the adage I’d lived by all my life, “you can do anything you set your mind to,” wasn’t actually true. My world had been turned upside down.

Naturally good at all things school, I was used to success. I loved learning. I relished every academic challenge and persevered through the toughest of them to “win.” I was also artistic, musical, and creative. What couldn’t I do?

Run to the cadence of gym class beeps, apparently.

A day later, the shock was wearing off and I was laughing with my friend. “You thought you could just decide to ace the test?” I was embarrassed to admit that I had. I hadn’t considered that there was a physical dimension that might eclipse my will.
And truly, I hadn’t considered that there could be something I wasn’t good at. Oh, but it felt good to laugh at my folly!

As funny as it sounds, that day in gym class changed my life. It opened my eyes to the fact that I’m not good at everything. I began to notice and accept my shortcomings, and even admit them out loud.

But do you know what else is funny? I didn’t realize until after college that I could actually learn to do better at things I’m not naturally good at. Not easily or quickly, and maybe not to the point of greatness, but it's possible to improve.

I now see what was obvious to the rest of the world: I probably would have done better in the gym assessment if I had trained for it!

I wonder what I’ll learn next?
#nonfiction  #prosechallenge  #lifelessons  #Itslit 
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Written by Prose in portal Prose

Prose Challenge #67

Afternoon, Prosers,

It’s week sixty-seven of the Prose Challenge of the Week, and given the changes we have made to the challenge stream, this week will be the last post we make to announce them in post form. We have the functionality to choose the winners digitally, notify them immediately, and transfer the coins into their Prose Wallets automatically.

As mentioned in our post, “Let’s talk about Prose,” these challenges will now be pay-to-enter for the time being. It’s because of this that we are renaming them simply, “Prose Challenge.” They will run until the maximum number of entries have been reached so we can use the entry fees to pay each winner.

Let’s have a look at this week’s prompt:

ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for 24 consecutive hours. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.

Back to week sixty-six. The winner of the “life lessons” challenge is, @starryEYES with their piece, Learning to the song of the beeps.

Congratulations! You have just won $100, and your post will remain at the top of our Spotlight feed for the next day. We will be in touch with you shortly to execute payment.

From this point forward, the winners of the Prose Challenge will get a notification and the coins will automatically transfer to your Prose Wallet within 24 hours of winning the challenge. If you don’t get the coins within that period, give us a shout.

To keep tabs on the challenge winners of all challenges, check out the challenge archives. https://theprose.com/challenges/archive-month

As you may recall, last week, we announced a sponsored challenge in collaboration with publishing giant, Simon & Schuster. Here is the link, just in case you haven’t stumbled across it yet! https://theprose.com/challenge/5367

If you haven’t entered any of our awesome challenges yet, why not? Check out some of them here: https://theprose.com/challenges

And as always, remember to spread the word(s).

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.

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Written by Prose in portal Prose
Prose Challenge #67
Afternoon, Prosers,

It’s week sixty-seven of the Prose Challenge of the Week, and given the changes we have made to the challenge stream, this week will be the last post we make to announce them in post form. We have the functionality to choose the winners digitally, notify them immediately, and transfer the coins into their Prose Wallets automatically.

As mentioned in our post, “Let’s talk about Prose,” these challenges will now be pay-to-enter for the time being. It’s because of this that we are renaming them simply, “Prose Challenge.” They will run until the maximum number of entries have been reached so we can use the entry fees to pay each winner.

Let’s have a look at this week’s prompt:

ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for 24 consecutive hours. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.

Back to week sixty-six. The winner of the “life lessons” challenge is, @starryEYES with their piece, Learning to the song of the beeps.

Congratulations! You have just won $100, and your post will remain at the top of our Spotlight feed for the next day. We will be in touch with you shortly to execute payment.

From this point forward, the winners of the Prose Challenge will get a notification and the coins will automatically transfer to your Prose Wallet within 24 hours of winning the challenge. If you don’t get the coins within that period, give us a shout.

To keep tabs on the challenge winners of all challenges, check out the challenge archives. https://theprose.com/challenges/archive-month

As you may recall, last week, we announced a sponsored challenge in collaboration with publishing giant, Simon & Schuster. Here is the link, just in case you haven’t stumbled across it yet! https://theprose.com/challenge/5367

If you haven’t entered any of our awesome challenges yet, why not? Check out some of them here: https://theprose.com/challenges

And as always, remember to spread the word(s).

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose.
#nonfiction  #prosechallenge  #PC  #Itslit  #getlit 
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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by AlSalehi

Chasing the Dream

I gave it a go, a moment ago, as it was almost so, within my reach…

But it ran in a way, as if to sway, from near to away, with lessons to teach.

As we rolled down the mountain and climbed towards the beach,

I shouted out my promise: “My pact I won’t breach…”

I chased her through alleys, past some trash bins,

Then came to a T, on needles and pins…

I looked both ways, then straight out to the sea,

Fearing that she’d drowned - - drowned ‘cause of me…

Then suddenly she jumped out from our childhood tree,

Looking tired and breathless while taking a knee…

She spread open her arms and welcomed me in,

She asked for a hug with an upside-down grin.

As I wiped off a tear she said, “lend me your ear,”

Breathlessly whispering, “you have nothing to fear.”

She said, “some things in life are simply not meant to be…”

As she let me down gently with this ultimate plea…

“You fought for me with gusto and unparalleled fire,

But all partnerships, love, must eventually expire…”

“You tried and succeeded in never dropping the ball,

But in the end it is I, who will cause us to fall…”

“You protected me throughout this turbulent stream,

Now let me take this one - - this one, for our team.”

And then she made love to me in an absence of time,

In a position of free verse unhindered by rhyme.

Within all my predictions, I never did see…

That at the end of the night, my dream, could leave, me.

Copyright © 1986-2017

Al Salehi

All Rights Reserved

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by AlSalehi
Chasing the Dream
I gave it a go, a moment ago, as it was almost so, within my reach…
But it ran in a way, as if to sway, from near to away, with lessons to teach.
As we rolled down the mountain and climbed towards the beach,
I shouted out my promise: “My pact I won’t breach…”
I chased her through alleys, past some trash bins,
Then came to a T, on needles and pins…
I looked both ways, then straight out to the sea,
Fearing that she’d drowned - - drowned ‘cause of me…
Then suddenly she jumped out from our childhood tree,
Looking tired and breathless while taking a knee…
She spread open her arms and welcomed me in,
She asked for a hug with an upside-down grin.
As I wiped off a tear she said, “lend me your ear,”
Breathlessly whispering, “you have nothing to fear.”
She said, “some things in life are simply not meant to be…”
As she let me down gently with this ultimate plea…
“You fought for me with gusto and unparalleled fire,
But all partnerships, love, must eventually expire…”
“You tried and succeeded in never dropping the ball,
But in the end it is I, who will cause us to fall…”
“You protected me throughout this turbulent stream,
Now let me take this one - - this one, for our team.”
And then she made love to me in an absence of time,
In a position of free verse unhindered by rhyme.

Within all my predictions, I never did see…
That at the end of the night, my dream, could leave, me.


Copyright © 1986-2017
Al Salehi
All Rights Reserved
#fantasy  #scifi  #fiction  #romance  #horror  #adventure  #education  #poetry  #philosophy  #mystery  #prose  #challenge  #prosechallenge  #dream  #spirituality  #culture  #lyrics  #opinion  #dedication  #CotW  #Itslit  #getlit 
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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by dustygrein

A Mist Shrouded Path

In solitude I roamed a mist shrouded path

where thick icy fog swallowed every faint sound,

a victim of loss, and it seems, heaven’s wrath.

In my heart a sharp pain I had carefully bound;

numb feet took me deeper into the damp gray

as if some enlightenment, there could be found.

I stopped near a spectral tree, kneeling to pray.

in answer there came to me only deep gloom;

in anger, I’d cast my faith blindly away.

My wife and child, lost before new life could bloom.

Alone now, consumed by this unending pain,

the fog encased silence reflected my doom.

No solace would my shattered heart now obtain,

as slowly I choked on this black, evil grief.

Ah! Trapped in this lonely hell, I would remain!

The pain in my core had dissolved my belief;

now, without my family, I’d nothing to lose.

If God was in heaven, then he was a thief!

From all of mankind, why would my loves he choose?

All hope has been lost in death’s poisonous bath,

the future holds naught but bleak days and gray hues--

with no way to vent all the pain my soul hath,

in solitude, I roamed a mist shrouded path.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** This form, the terza rima, is one that was made popular by the Italian poet

Dante Alighieri, with his classic poem The Divine Comedy. I have found it a great way to tell narrative stories to the rhythmic cadence that is metered poetry.

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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by dustygrein
A Mist Shrouded Path
In solitude I roamed a mist shrouded path
where thick icy fog swallowed every faint sound,
a victim of loss, and it seems, heaven’s wrath.

In my heart a sharp pain I had carefully bound;
numb feet took me deeper into the damp gray
as if some enlightenment, there could be found.

I stopped near a spectral tree, kneeling to pray.
in answer there came to me only deep gloom;
in anger, I’d cast my faith blindly away.

My wife and child, lost before new life could bloom.
Alone now, consumed by this unending pain,
the fog encased silence reflected my doom.

No solace would my shattered heart now obtain,
as slowly I choked on this black, evil grief.
Ah! Trapped in this lonely hell, I would remain!

The pain in my core had dissolved my belief;
now, without my family, I’d nothing to lose.
If God was in heaven, then he was a thief!

From all of mankind, why would my loves he choose?
All hope has been lost in death’s poisonous bath,
the future holds naught but bleak days and gray hues--

with no way to vent all the pain my soul hath,
in solitude, I roamed a mist shrouded path.

(c) 2017 - dustygrein

** This form, the terza rima, is one that was made popular by the Italian poet
Dante Alighieri, with his classic poem The Divine Comedy. I have found it a great way to tell narrative stories to the rhythmic cadence that is metered poetry.
#poetry  #prosechallenge  #spirituality  #Itslit 
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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by apromptaday

Hypothetical Grief

when its all said and done, 

the blood starts to dry.

all that's left is the sting 

and the white of the walls

That feel like peace. 

So, for a second I let go -

I let myself imagine 

this is how it ends,

this is how I come undone.

I picture the funeral 

at that little old church

we no longer attend,

full of fake mourners:

An old English teacher

who started my love for words,

My poor therapist -

the young grad student 

feeling responsible for my failure.

Maybe some people would care.

I've lost most of my friends

but I still see a few.

 

My cat would miss me, I think. 

I was the only person 

allowed to hold him, to pet him.

Yeah, my cat would mourn.

My grandma would, too.

I had always been her favorite,

She'd already lost a daughter -

and I remember 

watching her in hysterics 

unable to say goodbye.

To lose me the same way - 

would suck.

 

And my family would grieve.

my mom. my dad. 

I can hear my mom's heartbreak

and my dad's cold anger

their unresolved questions,

fights looking for a why

and I can see my sister's eyes

as our family falls apart.

I could do that to them, 

I would put them though that.

So slowly the world pulls back;

the cold tiles of my bathroom floor,

the florescent lights. I open my eyes

the white walls stare at me,

and life is not better. 

I am not magically cured. 

But, I still have people to fight for. 

For now, that's enough. 

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ProseChallenge #67: Write a poem about grief.
Written by apromptaday
Hypothetical Grief
when its all said and done, 
the blood starts to dry.
all that's left is the sting 
and the white of the walls
That feel like peace. 
So, for a second I let go -
I let myself imagine 
this is how it ends,
this is how I come undone.

I picture the funeral 
at that little old church
we no longer attend,
full of fake mourners:
An old English teacher
who started my love for words,
My poor therapist -
the young grad student 
feeling responsible for my failure.
Maybe some people would care.
I've lost most of my friends
but I still see a few.
 
My cat would miss me, I think. 
I was the only person 
allowed to hold him, to pet him.
Yeah, my cat would mourn.
My grandma would, too.
I had always been her favorite,
She'd already lost a daughter -
and I remember 
watching her in hysterics 
unable to say goodbye.
To lose me the same way - 
would suck.
 
And my family would grieve.
my mom. my dad. 
I can hear my mom's heartbreak
and my dad's cold anger
their unresolved questions,
fights looking for a why
and I can see my sister's eyes
as our family falls apart.
I could do that to them, 
I would put them though that.

So slowly the world pulls back;
the cold tiles of my bathroom floor,
the florescent lights. I open my eyes
the white walls stare at me,
and life is not better. 
I am not magically cured. 
But, I still have people to fight for. 
For now, that's enough. 
#fiction  #poetry  #prosechallenge 
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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by Cara

Living Life Like This

His hands covered my eyes.

"No peeking, love." The grin in his voice made me smile, and I bit my lip. My stomach was in knots. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah." I swallowed my nervous butterflies. The wind was Irish, strong and unpredictable. I'd waited for this. I'd read about this. I'd seen…more photos than I could count.

Then I got to experience it with my own eyes as his hands fell away, and it was breathtaking and scary and exhilarating and, and, and I couldn’t find my words. We're so small. The expansive cliffs shot up from the ocean, the sight sucking the air from my lungs. Grassy hills so green that my senses needed time to adjust. My body did the talking. Tears welled up, and my grin was so wide.

Cliffs of Moher.

Far, far below, the waves were crashing soundlessly against the cliff walls. The wind whooshed back and forth, sending my hair flying in every direction. It was love at first sight. Struck mute and unable to contain my emotions, I let out a happy squeal behind my hands, and I stiffened from sheer excitement.

He was watching me with a smile and handsome eyes that'd seen so much.

"Come here." He hugged me to him, a warm and tight squeeze. "You see now?"

I nodded, remembering his words. Now I could live them.

"Living life like this…you live the words you read. Travel to learn, learn so you can understand, experience so you can share the story and do it justice. Don't spend your entire life working on one chapter."

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by Cara
Living Life Like This

His hands covered my eyes.

"No peeking, love." The grin in his voice made me smile, and I bit my lip. My stomach was in knots. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah." I swallowed my nervous butterflies. The wind was Irish, strong and unpredictable. I'd waited for this. I'd read about this. I'd seen…more photos than I could count.

Then I got to experience it with my own eyes as his hands fell away, and it was breathtaking and scary and exhilarating and, and, and I couldn’t find my words. We're so small. The expansive cliffs shot up from the ocean, the sight sucking the air from my lungs. Grassy hills so green that my senses needed time to adjust. My body did the talking. Tears welled up, and my grin was so wide.

Cliffs of Moher.

Far, far below, the waves were crashing soundlessly against the cliff walls. The wind whooshed back and forth, sending my hair flying in every direction. It was love at first sight. Struck mute and unable to contain my emotions, I let out a happy squeal behind my hands, and I stiffened from sheer excitement.

He was watching me with a smile and handsome eyes that'd seen so much.

"Come here." He hugged me to him, a warm and tight squeeze. "You see now?"

I nodded, remembering his words. Now I could live them.

"Living life like this…you live the words you read. Travel to learn, learn so you can understand, experience so you can share the story and do it justice. Don't spend your entire life working on one chapter."

#prosechallenge  #Itslit 
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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by joyceanne

Nothing At All

        On a cool, drizzly April morning, surrounded by rows and stacks of books, I pore over the shelves lined up in a dank warehouse. So many stories occupy this space- cast-offs from people moving, downsizing, charitably giving, cleansing, or some other unknown reason.

        Fact or fiction? Does it matter whether each and every word in these books is historically or scientifically accurate? There's something other than a lie or the truth, something in between. Time after time, I realize that the meaning between the lines is more than the words on the page. There is more. I intuit it in the absence of knowledge; I feel it in the emptiness the void. A friend calls it “everything I do not know.”

        When I think I've got it, that I'm “onto something here,” it announces itself, sometimes quite rudely. It pinches me, squeezes me, slaps me awake, trips me up and shouts “You have got nothing at all!” My brain cannot wrap itself around a lie or the truth. (Is there even such a thing as “the truth”?) Clues bleed into reality and authenticity merges into experience . I follow them on the path of imagination, stopping now and then for a bite of the apple and a sip of nectar. Throughout the years, my love-hate experience with libraries, school, learning has been one of pleasure and torture. I venerate and kneel at the altar of education, knowing, deep in my heart, that what I need to understand most is myself.

        Here, now, in this musty warehouse of used books, a literary orphanage, I endure the old dust of people’s lives in their abandoned books. My job is to select titles that fill in a series, replace a ruined book, enrich a genre or fill in an author’s oeuvre. Occasionally, my choices are whimsical - I like the cover, I like the title, I’ve always wanted to read that. I’m looking for literature, mysteries, romance, alternative realities, tomes that may be out-of-stock, out-of-print, unavailable. The Friends of the Library will have a successful sale next month, I’m sure. They always do well, and they spread the money out in gifts to local libraries to support our collections even more.

        To make a long story short, the expedition to the NOW at the Booksale surprised me, consisting of alternative routes, wrong turns, missteps, bicycle spills, car accidents, censored materials, in other words, my life. Throw away the guidebooks and maps. GPS could not get me here. Toss the lists, the catalogs, the syllabii.

        It's a circuitous path to discover that my profound life lesson is simply to trust that I shall continually find my way if I persistently seek my truth. The process never ends, and spirit guides assist me on this journey across the realm of possibilities. It’s the real story between the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years of my life.

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CotW #66: Write about the biggest lesson life has taught you.
Written by joyceanne
Nothing At All
        On a cool, drizzly April morning, surrounded by rows and stacks of books, I pore over the shelves lined up in a dank warehouse. So many stories occupy this space- cast-offs from people moving, downsizing, charitably giving, cleansing, or some other unknown reason.
        Fact or fiction? Does it matter whether each and every word in these books is historically or scientifically accurate? There's something other than a lie or the truth, something in between. Time after time, I realize that the meaning between the lines is more than the words on the page. There is more. I intuit it in the absence of knowledge; I feel it in the emptiness the void. A friend calls it “everything I do not know.”
        When I think I've got it, that I'm “onto something here,” it announces itself, sometimes quite rudely. It pinches me, squeezes me, slaps me awake, trips me up and shouts “You have got nothing at all!” My brain cannot wrap itself around a lie or the truth. (Is there even such a thing as “the truth”?) Clues bleed into reality and authenticity merges into experience . I follow them on the path of imagination, stopping now and then for a bite of the apple and a sip of nectar. Throughout the years, my love-hate experience with libraries, school, learning has been one of pleasure and torture. I venerate and kneel at the altar of education, knowing, deep in my heart, that what I need to understand most is myself.
        Here, now, in this musty warehouse of used books, a literary orphanage, I endure the old dust of people’s lives in their abandoned books. My job is to select titles that fill in a series, replace a ruined book, enrich a genre or fill in an author’s oeuvre. Occasionally, my choices are whimsical - I like the cover, I like the title, I’ve always wanted to read that. I’m looking for literature, mysteries, romance, alternative realities, tomes that may be out-of-stock, out-of-print, unavailable. The Friends of the Library will have a successful sale next month, I’m sure. They always do well, and they spread the money out in gifts to local libraries to support our collections even more.
        To make a long story short, the expedition to the NOW at the Booksale surprised me, consisting of alternative routes, wrong turns, missteps, bicycle spills, car accidents, censored materials, in other words, my life. Throw away the guidebooks and maps. GPS could not get me here. Toss the lists, the catalogs, the syllabii.
        It's a circuitous path to discover that my profound life lesson is simply to trust that I shall continually find my way if I persistently seek my truth. The process never ends, and spirit guides assist me on this journey across the realm of possibilities. It’s the real story between the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years of my life.
#nonfiction  #philosophy  #prosechallenge  #spirituality  #Itslit 
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