Writing Live Challenge

[Piscator]

Piscator... i disagree. your words did.not.fail.

Thanks butters, your #11 captured the morning and cats perfectly

 

[butters]

cheers, P



Winter_Fare...your latest, its simplicity embraces such a huge ball of sensation, so immediately accessible to the reader. i'd imagine just about everyone can relate. Especially loved the following phrasing, but really enjoyed the entirety for its visuals as much as the emotional content.

'My body has no words for worry
In the moment
When it hurts
Just right
My tight fist opens
Letting go'

and

'I float
In a cut out moment
Like a lifesaving raft
Or a bubble of air
Until I'm ready to swim again.'

 

[Winter_Fare]

Thank you Butters. I love this challenge. I may never edit another poem again
Every day is like flipping therapy.

 

[Winter_Fare]

It's like the isolated blurt thread for poets.

 

[cascadiabound]

It's like the isolated blurt thread for poets.

You nailed it.

 

[Winter_Fare]

"We bleed dismay and morale
Leaching that call to serve
Until it's a mere shadow
Resiliance broken by whiplash"



It will end, but it feels endless. Two years in and it's hard to believe how many people still don't get it. Thank you for your words and your persistence

 

[Piscator]

moved to Writing live challenge

 

[cascadiabound]

This from GuiltyPleasures most recent live write:

Cut loose, I drift on tides of love
and dependency from new sources
but your presence hovers,
an aching comfort.

Well written, beautiful and resonant.
I particularly like the phrase "I drift on tides of love"

Thank you for sharing.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Thank you, cascdiabound.

 

[champagne1982]

Congratulations to everyone who aced the live writing challenge. It's really something else to read some of the poets and see the process unfold in front of you. Thanks for the poems and I'm sorry I bombed early on. You're all fabulous

 

[Winter_Fare]

Hope you're feeling better

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Butters, I love your cardinal poem!

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Rock Pools

Children wade
in shallow pools,
low tide exposed on rocks,
finding underwater gardens,
seaweed-sown with hidden mollusks.
Their waving hands withdrawn,
the hunt for food postponed
until the next high tide. Often
overlooked for speedier folk
like shrimp or crab
escaping sideways,
weapons ready just in case.

Here clustered, tiny mussel-squatters
clinging to an empty shell
that suddenly declares another lodger,
scrambling, claws first, into view
to squeals of delight.

Whelks and winkles, clammy cousins
bearing very different armour,
bustle slowly barnacle-bound.
beneath exploring feet.