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A Dream
The kangaroos are jumping over hill and over dale
The leprechauns are leaping through fields forever pale
The spectrum of the mermaids is growing by the day
And happy ever after is one more day away
The unicorns are dancing to gigues of their own devise
The ancient mariner speaking in rhymes that once surprise
Pegasus parading ’round clouds of soft ice cream
And never ending stories are more than just a dream
http://www.leaves-of-ink.com/2019/09/a-dream.html
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07485W4Q1
www.brucelevine.com
Touched by Juliet
A couple of years ago my wife and I were standing amongst the throngs of tourists beneath Juliet’s balcony in Verona. While the others were clamoring to get their pictures made touching the breast of Juliet’s statue for luck, I found myself wondering, “If I was to try to write a story, my own Romeo and Juliet, how could I supply the tension Shakespeare supplied to his young lovers vis-a-vis their feuding families?”
Knowing that someone starting out to write should write about what that person knows, and being from the American South, the obvious occurred to me while standing there in Juliet’s courtyard. What better to provide tension between young lovers than southern racial mores? Idea’s immediately flooded through my mind, so when we arrived home I wrote my first story since grade school, an inter-racial lover’s tragedy in the spirit of Shakespeare’s. I have written many stories since, but it remains my longest, and my wife says my best. I was inspired when I wrote it as I have been for few others, almost as though Juliet was pushing me to tell the story she had inspired.
My wife would lie in bed at night reading what I had written during the day. I had mentioned to her years previously that I enjoyed writing, and had been told many years ago that I had some skill, but I could see in her excitement that what I was writing was pretty good, which only encouraged me to continue, and to try to write better.
Since then writing has become a fun hobby for me. I can say that I would not bother if there was no one to read what I write, so I appreciate this site. I can usually turn out a short story for my wife and my Prose friends to read before breakfast, and I enjoy reading the stories they share as well. I cannot say that writing has “helped me“ per se, but I think Prose has helped me in that it gives me insight into what others like to read... what “works well”, and what doesn’t.
It is great that those inspired to write, particularly young writer’s, have sites like Prose today where they can find encouragement and feedback for their feelings and ideals. There is no need for you to wait, like I did, until you are fifty years old to “find your Juliet”. I would have given anything to have had a place like this to bare my soul thirty-five years ago.
So, to those who believe that social media is a bad thing, “perhaps you have just not found the “write” site for you”. Write on! (And read a little, too ;)
Exactly in the place I should be
Exactly in the place I should be
I'm exactly in the place I should be
with exactly the one I should be
for reasons we know not exactly...
As the birds zip on by
and the steam engines cry
from ancient memories of old
where all stories are told
we hang out like a string
that slips through everything
and ties the knot sure enough
through shoes that have yet to walk
We're exactly in the space we sought
aside exactly the selves once sought
taking chances we know exactly not...
..Yet we conjure-up equations,
stealing in like home invasions ..
Made to walk on trapeze swings...
...Here we are, all smiles and wings.
...Cherubim and funeral hymns
have moments of gathering us in
from what drops that do cascade
across the floats of our parade
Lines signal exactly what steps we'll take
on exactly which road we're meant to snake
upon the endless mystery we know not exactly of...
Exactly in the place I should be
I'm exactly in the place I should be
with exactly the one I should be
for reasons we know not exactly...
©
8/15/19
Bunny &
Mavia Villaire
Terrible
I’m a terrible human being
...
My biggest goal is to defile you
To the point that no matter how hard you scrub your skin, the parts I’ve laid my hands on sting the most
Smoldering fever pitch to make you shiver in your bathtub
To the point that when you go to bed at night, you’ll be rolling around at 3AM aching for my presence
Go ahead, bite your pillow in frustration— I’ll turn you into an insomniac
To the point that when something reminds you of the slightest bit of me, you won’t be able to handle it
You’ll have me on speed dial begging for me to sprint over, crawl if I have to
Don’t make me laugh
Just your hands won’t be enough
Nothing else will be
Will you be able to eat properly? Think properly? Live properly?
I’m a terrible human being
...
But you, you’re worse than me
Because you think what I’m doing isn’t disgusting
Because you keep showing up after pushing me away
Because you left your spare key on my bed
Because you’re a professional liar
Because you want to do the same
Because when I pretend to be asleep, I hear your little whispers
Because when you think I’m not looking, I see your little grin
Because you let me
Because
You want me to do these things to you
And more
...
You left the rules blank on purpose
I’m only playing along in your perverse game
You thought you had the upper hand
But it’s obvious there’s no winner
Since neither of us are going anywhere
...
After all, we’re terrible human beings
Trapped
Better not stare for long at that mirror. I hear she’s looking for a way out. O, who you wonder. Well, she wandered about in an empty place one day. Not even checking to see if there was anybody home. This person went searching around an abandoned place, for anything valuable I guess. But then what she found caught her eye: a brand new, golden mirror.
She tried to pull it off the wall, but it wouldn’t budge. The most bizarre thing happened right there, the glass whirled about and two hands fell right on the other side of the mirror. The woman screamed- just as the thing pulled her right into the mirror. She now kicked from the other side of the glass— over & over again. It was too late, the glass had gelatin in a snap and soon solidified.
#Trapped
Pain
It hurts
It hurts so bad
My legs are trembling
My heart is pounding
I can’t stop
I can’t stop now
I can’t stop later
I can’t stop tomorrow
I have to keep going
I have to keep running
I have too
Otherwise it will hurt more And
I can’t stand the pain any longer.
I have to run;
I have to keep running
I can’t stop
I can’t stop to eat
I can’t stop for the washroom
I can’t make excuses
What am I running from?
Pain
Vanity
How much longer will I continue to stand in front of the mirror
With such deeply rooted vanity pulling my face to the silver glass
Insecurities manifesting the more I stare
Reassurance,
I need so much reassurance
At least I don’t look like...
Is comparing yourself to someone else the only way you’ll feel better?
Pathetic
Why do you need to bring someone else down? To use them as a stepping stool? Can’t you show some compassion?
To anyone other than me? Impossible. I love myself the most. More than anyone ever can!
But didn’t you hear? Those who love themselves too much are just trying to make up for the love they aren’t receiving from anybody else
Didn’t you hear? The vain are the most insecure.
Fall On Grace
Ballpoint tears, my fountain pens
Quill dipped ’neath Horizon’s rim
Clouds of thought sail sunlight, dim
Crimson, east to west, I swim
Full moon flush with Sun’s embrace
Evening, scattered stars enlace
Heaven writ in double space
Endless waters fall from grace
Papyrus creased; pressed flowers age
Bound within worn leather’s cage
Silence sheered, each gilded page
Echoes; wisdom’s ancient sage
Worries drowned in well of ink
Weightless; sorrow’s anvil sinks
Heart of grey now blush with pink
To fall on grace with everything
Perpetual First Kiss
Sunlight’s first kiss
Dawn awakens daydreams
Silk threaded stitch
Mends the edge of Eve’s seam
Sun spills resplendence
Ten thousand soft lips
Champagne effervescence
Gold chalice we sip
Soirée of ages
Moon flush with Sun’s kiss
Dwelt in mansions, each phase
Milk-white streams of Sun’s bliss
Sunlight we miss
Every day, though, anew
Granting starlight’s first wish
Kissing morning’s fresh dew