“Jenkins Band/Orphan Band (Harlem)” The New York Public Library Digital Collections.
The evening quiet as a mouse praying in a church I slip into the night The wings of the bat its latest meal in search Whisper to me dark tidings My heart will jump and give a lurch As we hunt sinners this evening
This is a poem from a prompt from dVerse: “Today we are finding different ways of being quiet at the Poets Pub, so make sure your 44-word poem contains some form of the word quiet.“
I’m not a horror movie person so I’ve not seen the movie Sinners but I’ve heard plenty about it. I thought quiet worked well with it. Hope you enjoy.
So we have arrived A estas alturas And have come of age A estas alturas At this place and time A estas alturas To this single space
Was it by His hand? ¿Divina providencia? Or perhaps fate? No. Divina providencia. That guided us to this land; God’s country. Divina providencia.
How was I to know? Un inocente She shouldn’t have been there Un inocente It’s not my fault I swear Un inocente She’ll get better Un inocente
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury We have come to this place To hand down judgement Innocent or guilty
Divina providencia, un inocente A estas altura o Para siempre
This was from a dVerse prompt: Use one (or more) of the italicized Spanish words from the Cisneros poem above and incorporate it into your own original poem. I chose to use the words/phrases a estas altura, divina providencia and un inocente. I hope you enjoyed!
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Pope Goes the Weasel is another story in the Trumped Up View series that takes a look at an alternate reality that closely mirrors our own. This mini fiction is about a pair of men who discuss if the President would make a good pope.
Adult language. Safe For Work (SFW).
Read all the Trumped Up Views story on my stories page.
Orgasms Hot, fiery explosions of pent up Energy Let loose in one single moment Maybe drawn out Maybe no But that single spark That instant When everything is Released That! I want that. But not just a physical orgasm No I want to a release of the mind
An intellectual orgasm Blow my mind, let it leak Dripping off my tongue with articulated interpretation Precipitous sentiments of cerebral provocation My mind goes blank, a mental release This orgasm of the mind Milk my thoughts through scintillating conversation Let my thoughts explode Until I reach nirvana
Give me an orgasm of the soul Let our spirits speak, soul to soul The universe that beats in your chest Synchronous with mine Our ancestors speak, our angels cry, our demons devise Spiritual semen drips into our third eye Impregnating our conscious with passionate visions On a plane beyond
I want to come with you Wherever you go I want to be there too I want to be your flow I want to come together To create a one from two Birds of a feather Me and you
Come Let us Share an orgasm
A Taste of Stew A collection of poems from seductive and spicy to thoughtful and observant. 30 poems from the AuthorStew blog and scattered across the Internet gathered together in this chapbook collection. Something for everyone and every mood. We’re sure there is something within this collection to delight you.
Two threats, open love letter Wet my whistle the story’s steamy Clear cut quaint question asked “Who will be my last love?” you ask. I answer in art As is my way with meaning It is I you yearn to love
Don’t dream about me at night In wondrous fits of flight Don’t you undress me in dreams Ripping apart satin seams Looking to loose my buttons I know how this story ends I will not be led into such a nightmare
Shall I be spurned, belittled Written off without one touch of skin How the hell did love die Before care could even begin I cry ice cold tears My heart hurts, no medicine Can save my crushed seduction
For today’s MTB prompt our poetry follows the style of The Alliterisen, created by Udit Bhatia. It is a 7-line poem (septet) containing a set number of alliterations per line and adhering to a specific syllable structure.
Alliterisen poems can be either complex or rhyming. Choose either one.
Poetry formulae for Complex Alliterisen:-
a 7 line poem 2 alliterations on every line choose a syllabic count of 7 or more thus: 1st line- x syllables [e.g. 7] 2nd line- x+2 syllables [e.g. 9] 3rd line- x-1 syllables [e.g. 6] 4th line- (x+2)-1 syllables [e.g. 8] 5th line- x-2 syllables [e.g. 5] 6th line- (x+2)-2 syllables [e.g. 7] 7th line- x syllables [e.g. 7]
Poetry formulae for Rhyming Alliterisen;
a 7 line poem 1 alliteration in every line 7 syllables per line rhyme scheme as follows: aabbccd
I chose both the 1st and 3rd follow the Complex Alliterisen while the 2nd stanza is a Rhyming Alliterisen. I hope you enjoy!
We give our love to the fates Our lives we give over to destiny I choose not in this flight of fantasy Let the wind choose the dates In which our eyes lock rusted upon some iron gate Logic looks down upon us frowning jealously We dance to the hidden strings of time if only temporarily Who are we if not puppets to stars that choose our mate I lay in the arms of she who chose me She who took a hold of her own actions Defiant of stars and Greek sisters three Determined to fight destiny’s factions Stand until the end or with my heart flee Fate will have to wait for our love’s attraction.
This was from a prompt on dVerse. The prompt: I want you to write a poem about fate. How you interpret it, is up to you. I hope you enjoy!
Singapore Nudels, another story in the Trumped Up View series that takes a look at an alternate reality that closely mirrors our own. This mini fiction is about a pair of presidential followers and their reaction to the news that Singapore is preparing for war.
One is highly anti-Semitic, the other is a transphobe and homophobe. They have a disagreement. Take a look at Singapore Nudels. CW at the beginning. A sfw story.
Find this and more stories SFW and NSFW on my Stories Page.
Who am I Who am I On what level When I look in the mirror What do I see Who looks back at me Can I see with closed eyes Do I scream When I look in the mirror Is it me that I see Or just a figment My imagination When I see me When I see me
This is from a dVerse prompt. The prompt: Create a sculpture (or bust) of yourself. Use any materials – real or imagined – using the guidelines within Victoria’s 2012 prompt. As part of Victoria’s 2012 prompt there was this option: Create a poem that is multi-dimensional, that is, one that can be read on more than one level.
I chose to use form as a way to create my sculpture and to also add the multi-dimensional and multi-layer aspect in the different ways to read the poem. I hope you enjoy! :^)
I realized after posting it that the shape not be the same depending on what screen you’re looking at the poem so it can change completely depending if you’re looking at a phone or desktop or a smaller or bigger screen. So I made it an image. That is what the original was meant to be. However the bottom is sort of fun changing poem that is rather interesting so I’m keeping it to. I’ll just add something artsy like “the top is how I see the sculpture whereas the bottom represents the art in the audience’s eye and how our vision of ourselves differs from how the world sees our art.” (It’s all just a happy accident. lol)
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In the back of a Garvlacken waste disposal craft was not where Bobby had pictured himself when he had his morning cup of coffee. Being recruited by the Bogē for what was essentially a suicide mission also was not on his morning mood board but at least it made some semblance of sense. Unlike his companion in the back of the disposal craft.
“So how did you end up here?” Bobby asked.
“As a seed, I was shot out the back end of a blue jay when, heedless, she flew over the meadow.”
“Uh huh,” nodded Bobby, “That would explain the *ahem* purple guano.”
His companion smiled, rather woodenly.
“You’re gonna need this,” said Bobby, handing him a helmet.
The back hatch opened and expelled its contents, which included Bobby and his flowery companion, towards the sun.
Bobby checked his watch. “Our ride’s here.”
This was a Prosery prompt from dVerse. The prompt – Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose up of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line from the poem.
The poetry line: “As a seed, I was shot out the back end of a blue jay when, heedless, she flew over the meadow.” From the poem, “Wild Pansy.”
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A delusion of emptiness Sitting alone By myself in a crowd Listening to each single drop of rain In a storm Beating against the window searching to get in I say hello Only to have the echoes ghost me I sit alone In a crowded café As the storm Rages outside Waiting for you.
After All is Said … What’s left after you’ve been intimate? 30 poems that answer that question. Good, bad, worse & perfect. the responses to what happens after intimacy. Know what happens After All is Said …
The Author Stew webpage - Stories & Poems 