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Writing of the Fortnight

General discussion about Avlis

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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Sat Mar 04, 2017 2:53 am

Prompt: let me know the benefits of black ice. I can't find any.

Black Ice

Life lesson number twenty-two:
Not all that our eyes perceive is true.

Us Northerners (and I mean us that-
do not live in warmer flats),
often learn this from our twos.

Stepping out unaware and landing fully on our head.

Later on we learn to drive and often to our surprise
The world wrong-way-round is going by.

Nature’s ways are often cruel,
In-humane and old school.

It’s survival of the fittest then
(by that I mean, those that learn- win).
Our senses do not always rule.

It is possible to deceive ourselves.

A good thing to learn that what we believe
is not always a truth upon which to cleave.


Prompt: Might be fun to do little poems for avlis characters (without names of course) and see if people can guess who they're about?

Who's got a loin cloth that's short and stout?
_ _ _ _ _ _’s got a lion cloth that's short and stout.

Who comes around almost every night?
_ _ _ _ _ _ comes around almost every night.

Every night, no beard in sight

Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _

Who wears boots and a splattered red?
_ _ _ _ _ _ wears boots and splattered red.

Who wears a bear cap on his head?
_ _ _ _ _ _ wears a bear cap on his head.

Bear on head, boots are red
Every night, no beard in sight

Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _

Who's got a big red scary axe?
_ _ _ _ _ _'s got a big red scary axe.

Who talks this way, “hmmm, I see.”
_ _ _ _ _ _ talks this way, “hmmm, I see.”

“hmm, I see”, scary axe
Bear on head, boots are red
Every night, no beard in sight

Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _

Who very soon will come our way?
_ _ _ _ _ _ very soon will come our way

Eight little huskies pull his sleigh
_ _ _ _ _ _'s little huskies pull his sleigh

Husky sleigh, come our way
“hmm, I see”, scary axe
Bear on head, boots are red
Every night, no beard in sight

Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _

Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen

Husky sleigh, come our way
“hmm, I see”, scary axe
Bear on head, boots are red
Every night, no beard in sight

Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _
Must be _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _ _ _ _, _ _ _
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: shae » Sat Mar 04, 2017 7:42 am

The Blackguard Laughed

A party of greedy adventurers
Went once to a Justicar's castle
To relieve him of his riches
Because he was such an asshole
The rogue looked low and high
Yet found no levers or plates
And called his adventurer buddies
Because obviously it was safe
The pit beside their smooth stone path
looked harmless even with those spikes
The Blackguard laughed, but then fell in
Because the real trap was black ice
Verossa wrote:[Tell] Shae : Confusing adventurers with morals since 2017 !
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: Plethora » Mon Mar 06, 2017 9:17 am

The night was lost, the sky was black
Not a star shone down.. the world, a dark shadow, waiting for the dawn.
No last loving glance of moonlight, graces the land

..Yet Deep below the Black Ice, get colder.. and
.....darker..
There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark....
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Sat Apr 01, 2017 3:13 am

Robin in March snow
Don’t think about tomorrow
Living for today

Here’s your pretty girl
Love birds in the spring snow
Living for today

Why do I worry
Thinking about tomorrow
When I’ve got today

Grateful heart be glad
May is to be for flowers
April is for rain

Robins in March snow
Singing out their songs of love
Singing for today


Prompt: Might be fun to do little poems for avlis characters (without names of course) and see if people can guess who they're about?

Bards Just Want To Have Fun

I come home in the morning light
My mother says when you gonna live your life right
Oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones
And bards they want to have fun
Oh bards just want to have fun

Here comes the top
The best of the crop
They call him Red Feather
and there’s no better
Put him on the spot
He’s hot, hot, hot

There’s a knock at the door in the middle of the night
My father yells what you gonna do with your life
Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one
But bards they want to have fun
Oh bards just want to have

She’s lean and mean
The naughty fay queen
She’ll turn your head
By buttering bread
Don’t need to explain it
You just need to ‘retain’ it!

That's all they really want
Some fun
When the working day is done
Bards - they want to have fun
Oh bards just want to have fun

This one is no plain Jane
She’s been singing in the rain
Give it up, Give it up one and all
She ain’t no mouse and she ain’t no doll.
Pretty and kind and with a good heart
Basket of sweets and even a tart

Some boys take a beautiful bard
And hide her away from the rest of the world
I want to be the one to walk in the sun
Oh bards they want to have fun
Oh bards just want to have

You have your dank you have your dark
This traveling bard will leave her mark
This woman rocks and this woman rolls
She’ll sing to sleep all our souls
Everyone put your hands together
The lady of the black love letter.

That's all they really want
Some fun
When the working day is done
Bards - they want to have fun
Oh bards just want to have fun,
They want to have fun,
They want to have fun...
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Wed May 03, 2017 2:51 am

I lost my mind in the April flowers
Trees still winter bare
Only blossoms and unborn buds
The first early butterflies looking there
The bees begin their summer work
The rains coming down in torrents
Spring floods for the amphibians
The Red-Winged Blackbirds and Robins
Stole my mind
And the Killdeer took my thoughts
Sweeping them away on the tempest of their singing
I ride along through the April sunshine
Horse hair shedding in my mouth
My pony’s steps the sound of sucking mud
Not the later-in-the-year hollow ringing
If I could think I would say
This is spring
But I have nothing but empty where
My thoughts should be
Nothing but empty in my red heart
Nothing but empty in my spring green belly
Only the white air in my lungs
Only blossoms and unborn buds
Only the motion of the pony
Only the song
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Sun Jun 04, 2017 11:04 pm

The Great Blue Heron
Practices Tai Chi hunting
At the water’s edge

~~||\\//~~

Pulling garden weeds
I decide what goes - what stays
A little goddess
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Thu Jul 06, 2017 1:09 am

One tractor parade
Cheered on by nodding daisies
And red-winged blackbirds
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Fri Aug 04, 2017 12:10 am

Purple sky and shaking Weeping willow
limbs. Oak trees bending in the winds. All of
my relationships built on fragile sticks.

Our connections in our shared breaths. Smelling
green and fresh with a hint of spearmints.

Pinned together by refrigerator
magnets, our caravans have soccer balls.

There are greasy handprints on our walls. While
we were keeping our dreams close to our hearts,
we were living our true lives in our true
bodies with our true hearts. It is really
alright that we were making it up all
along. We discovered and uncovered
so much. It is a real shame the young will
miss it all too busy living their true
lives in their true bodies with their true hearts.

~~||\\//~~

Time still haunts my every step. I cannot
escape the past nor present. Every sto-
ry is a rosemary memory scent-
ed with wintermint. Flowers gathered flow-
ers laid. The stones of graves cave in. The ghosts rise
again. I hunted for the end of time.

I hunted for the beginning. The sons
of gods beget daughters. Snow fell in the
winter. Rain fell on the river. Lakes
are just big pools of magic. We cannot
discern their depths.

Some people want to fly. Some people want
to dig. It is not my place to teach them
either even if I do both but I
still have my opinion. The rock is me
being me, the hard place is letting you
be you and still manage to make us both
better.

~~||\\//~~

Prompt: Write about how we have changed, and not changed since college...things that grow or shift and things that stay the same.

It was a deep dark purple lie to tell-
we could be anything and do well.

What was real what was really real
was we could never be nothing but ourselves
But being who we were could be grand.

We haven’t got the smarts, we haven’t got the looks
but damn we have the determination.

It was a bright cherry red lie to tell-
we could be anything and do well.

What was real what was really real
Was we could be the best of ourselves.

We can't be more but we can be less
And being less is meaningless.

It was a white hot lie to tell-
We could be anything and do well.

What was real what was really real
Everyday is our job, every fucking day is our job
and we have to keep showing up to be us
And it can be fun and we can go to bed tired.
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Mon Sep 25, 2017 1:34 am

Prompt: A rusty piece of metal

A long time ago, in a kingdom far
away, I held up my rusty piece of
metal to the king that never came.

Rising from my swamp, I went to slay the
fiend, unwilling to play Ophelia,
I was MacBeth instead.

Sancho spoke of dragons and Ladies in
the Lake, but when Disney bought this princess
they found a ghost in the machine.

My windmills were really giants and my
ceilings really glass and breathing under
water nearly broke my ass.

Barbie had her Venus and Athena
had her war and when Zeus came calling for
me, he sweet talked me out the door, but the
prize really went to Thor.

I will wear my spangles and I will wear
ribbons in my hair but I will be damned
if you will ever catch me bare.


Barn Buddies
Little cat you look so annoyed you tried
to share one of your toys. It wiggled and
ran and your disdain is plain, “You stupid
kitten what is your plan!” If you can’t hunt, must
I always bring you things to eat? See this
is the way it’s done! I’ll show you again!

The dream horses come floating across the
morning pasture the sun in my eyes and
they nuzzle the palms of my hands and lip
up little dream horse treats and the dream cats
twine themselves around my calves in pleasure
at my existence and there is one more
nose then I was expecting and it
nuzzles the palm of my hand with laughing
eyes and there is no more illusion as
I see Coyote laughing and leaping
and dancing in the bright morning sun and
nuzzling my palm for horse treats and he
winks because he knows that I know that he
knows that he is the trickster and he is
celebrating creation magic
which only a woman can truly understand
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Wed Dec 27, 2017 9:52 pm

I am still writing in the corner ....

My perception is my own deception.
Clouds in my eyes.

The almost last days of September
All the world has turned gold.

It is the August heat that makes it cold.
It is too dry.

We can cry so hard about things that’d gone astray,
But somehow we still get up everyday;
And then there are the days we laugh
Until we can no longer breath;
This is the way life was meant to be.
May our hands close slowly and open quickly.
May our hearts close slowly and open quickly.
May our souls float above the ground forever
In shiny weather balloons .
May we never have to jump
Without silver parachutes we packed ourselves.
And may the stars always hold the heavens up,
Even when the sun flares come.
Rain can be good.
Fire can forge us stronger,
But it can also cause us to be kinder.
I was born white female and middle class.
I did not grow up with broken glass,
Or a broken home.
And still, you’ve already judged me as your enemy.
I don’t even know you.
You might be the best person in the world.
But you’ve already decided how we have to be.
I was born white female and Catholic,
And I still am.
I’m tired of feeling guilty.
It gets old;
And tiring;
And I’d rather just be happy.
I’d like you to join me.
Let’s just love each other and not fight about it.
-2017 October

Lois Rumans (November 5, 1949 - November 28, 2017)
The true mother of dragons;
Guardian of a fierce brood;
Nothing was ever easy.
Still your fierce soul
Now wings free from this
Hard earth and burns across that
Universal dark that awaits us all.
Blaze us a trail, mother.
We have learned many things from your passing.
-2017 November

Snow folding into
the muddy footprints across
the well ravaged room.
-2017 December
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Thu Jul 05, 2018 3:13 am

A Spark of Joy Number One
Oh Christmas tree where is your sting?
Holiday bells your death toll rings.
Each ornament I’ve carefully laid,
in random patterns on your plastic shade.

Each piece of paper, glass and string,
each wooden, plastic and rubber thing,
a memory of a year that’s past,
hung upon this green plastic mast.

I would not, for all the world,
give up this manufactured pearl,
until it dies and goes to recycler’s heaven.

- January 2018



MJ’s Journal: This is the leaf that eats the sun and drinks the rain
and in the moonlight exists in pain.
This is the leaf that withered in fire,
fell to the floor and expired.
This is the leaf that nourished the tree
that built the house that abandoned me.
This is the leaf that grew again
and cast a shade on the the halls of men.
This is the hand that wove the leaf
into the weaving of belief.
This is the hand that held the sword;
that shot the arrow;
that dripped the blood;
that nourished the tree;
that grew the leaves;
that filled the holes;
that found the souls;
in the walls the Spider built.

- January 2018

Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Thu Jul 05, 2018 3:15 am

Stir the sleepy embers of a morning new
The potential fire of a dawn
Bird song bird song bird song
Disjointed conversations between thumbs and fingers
Disjointed conversations
What did I say to you
What did you read between the lines
Why are these just today’s embers
Ashes smoke and ashes smoke and ashes
It’s my problem I can try if I want to
But why did I need to reply
It’s hard to describe
Thin reeds poking up to the winter sky
They’ve stood there since last autumn
All together and alone
Even in the snow
But spring will take them down
Heavy spring heavy dew
Sometimes the words I say to you
Are not the ones I meant at all

- 2018 February



A Plethora of Borrowing
(my mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun)
(she’s gathering rosebuds while she may)
(i clasp the crag with crooked hands
peering into a yellow wood
where Rumpleteaser goes in a fog
on little cat feet
over the fence by the good neighbor
where something doesn’t love a wall)
(the tramps are tramping through the mud
near the river in kubla kahn
over the bridge)
(the leaves of grass wave)
(i sound my barbaric yelp)
(the jabberwocky comes)
(the walrus runs away with the man in the moon)
(pussy cat and owl sing a tune
creeping through the congo)
(cancer lurks deep in the sweetest bud)
(the woods fill up with snow)
(the lord of the quiet stars
sets down his sun of suffering
leaving us easy in our harness)

-2018 February

Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Thu Jul 05, 2018 3:19 am

Humphrey (2007 - 2018)
On the last page of March our bodies are
so heavy together. I take the weight
of you in my arms and try to float you
in my heart for that is all I have for
you. I have been witness to the grand
passing of all nine of your lives. I have
nursed you and you have done the same for me.

It is your time to pass beyond that veil
which closes all our eyes eventually.

There is the space in my head reserved for
the ticks of heartbeats and the firing
of neurons and there is the space in my soul
that connects us ephemeral and grey
and undefinable. The one connection
which I have never achieved with a human
being but only with those that have alien
thoughts and alien minds. Feel and timing
are hard to teach. Facts are so much easier
to remember and I remember very few of them.

-2018 March



In the recent infinity of Cold,
the fire still burns in the Earth,
While the phantom queen of Ice,
Faithfully harvests the Rain,
where the reflection of the Rock,
Exists only in the Snow
and the refugees are only a reflection of Time,
while the eternal flame burns Water
and in the glass jar, I hold the Wind.

-2018 April



Flying and flocking between Venus and Mars
Warmed by the drift
Daybreak
Dawn
Sea
Deep in the hole
No sunrise, no sunset
The sky is all dissolving clouds
The sun doesn’t shine forever
When things dream
They stare into the abyss of the twilight brigade
And the solar pilgrim is an essential occurrence

-1018 April



MJ’s Journal: Look at these old cold hands that have held the
blade sharp-edged and waiting to taste blood. Look
at these old cold hands that have withheld that
sharp metallic tang from the edge of the
blade. Look at these old cold hands that have soothed
and bandaged and resurrected; cradled
and coddled. Look at these old cold hands that
have made and created, shaped and fashioned;
and destroyed, decimated and ended.

Look at how these old cold hands wait for you -
waiting
waiting
waiting.

-2018 May



MJ’s Journal: Water heavier then air lighter then earth
Sucked into the middle of the whirlpool
Cat paws in flower blossoms
Fallen petals
Perfumed air
Sometimes the claws come out
If you hear your bow string sing, you are doing it wrong
You should only hear the thwack at the end
There are three voices
One is my deity
One is me
One is my enemy
If I only hear one it is the devils and the demons
And then I know I am doing it wrong
Hummingbird in the bleeding heart bush
Locked in a predatory stare
Locked in a downpour
Locked in a habit
Locked in a thought
The wolves howl
The spider waits
You will come to me

-2018 May



MJ’s Journal: The electric fairies rise under the
crescent moon competing with the stars and
the birds have all gone silent with sleep in
their bodies and sleep in their minds.

Deserts
are not always a dry place.

Sometimes it
is a place of cannot connect; cannot
plug into; cannot touch; cannot worry
about.

Sometimes it is a good thing to
not be present but other days when the
storm threatens and the clouds are roiling in
the great banner above - light and then dark -
it is necessary to be.

It is so
necessary to be; to be aware;
to be ready; ready to respond but
not react when the tree crashes down;
be present to hear it; be present to
hear one hand clapping; be present for the
ceremony of tea in the tea house.

Walking the balance beam, the electric
fairies rise under the crescent moon.

I am
here and not here.

I can hold two thoughts in
one mind.

I can walk the balance beam and when
I fall I fly and I am waiting for
you like the viper under the leaves.

I
want you but I will slide away and leave
you wondering.

- June 2018



Top half of horses
Sailing through the summer grass
Equine flotilla

-June 2018

Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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Re: Writing of the Fortnight

PostAuthor: silverfields2 » Fri Aug 10, 2018 1:50 am

Not a very MJ thing to write but a bit of an Avlis thing to write:

Striding through the forest, striding through the weald.
Striding through the rolling plains, walking on the wold.
Trackless ranger wandering, trackless ranger unconcealed.
Trackless ranger meandering, trackless ranger bold.

Shadows in the forest, shadows in the hold.
Shadows in the castle, shadows in the keep.
Shadows under gravestones, shadows in the cold.
Shadows in the storeroom, shadows in the deep.

Fangs within the shadows, magic in their reach.
Lessons for the ranger, the shadows want to teach.
When the Harper sings for thee, your life force we will leach.
You have no power against us, all your shielding we will breach.

Softly through the forest, Softly through the weald.
Softly through the rolling, plains walking on the wold.
Wary ranger wandering, wary ranger lives concealed.
Wary ranger meandering, wary ranger more controlled.
Someone told me I was delusional. I nearly fell off my unicorn.
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