Tag: scribblesnbits

  • Solstice

    Over the shoulder
    into dawn - 
    a bruised and battered sky. 
    Past the fallen
    violet honey
    or so goes the cry. 
    
    Through cedar boughs;
    over ice - 
    a freshly minted leave.
    A turned corner,
    the smokehouse finds reprieve. 
    
    A cliche for all ages,
    "what's done is done,"
    and again
    never comes.
    A brow's glistening white beads.  
  • Echo Chamber

    Low roads pierce heavy clouds,
    down the barrel - face -
    selling thoughts a penny.
    Parlor tricks without gloat
    heads nod - embrace -
    betting men a plenty.

    Facing facts wrinkles skin;
    firmly falls grace,
    failing sharper than any.
    Meaning life falls in love,
    pays slim straights -
    the house tax a century.
  • A Wandering: The Nuance of Idle Thought

    From a person imprisoned or sheltered within their mind arise pathologies not explored by those who take benevolent residence instead.

  • Memorandum of Overture

    My advice, 
    fallen deaf 
    on the ears made by 
    adjoining symphony -
    or cacophony - indifference. 
    Splice.
    Sew broken 
    chord through and thorough.
    Fodder for the cannon; 
    bows at the ready. 
    My advice?
    Hold your head high,
    an octave above the rest.
    And fade.
    
    
  • MetaData

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    “linkFromIdPerspective”: “fromSelf”,
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    {“category”:”Comment”, “loc”:”360 -10″, “text”:”Algorithm”, “key”:-13},
    {“key”:-1, “category”:”Start”, “loc”:”175 0″, “text”:”Start”},
    {“key”:0, “loc”:”-5 75″, “text”:”Preheat oven to 375 F”},
    {“key”:1, “loc”:”175 100″, “text”:”blend: metaphor, soul, abstraction”},
    {“key”:2, “loc”:”175 200″, “text”:”add: adjective, clever; premise”},
    {“key”:3, “loc”:”175 290″, “text”:”cue us; be honest – opaque (K{v})”},
    {“key”:4, “loc”:”175 380″, “text”:”obfuscate”},
    {“key”:5, “loc”:”355 85″, “text”:”chop choice of nuts – no peanuts”},
    {“key”:6, “loc”:”175 450″, “text”:”dash hope”},
    {“key”:7, “loc”:”175 515″, “text”:”delta(h) – set aside”},
    {“key”:8, “loc”:”175 585″, “text”:”let cool”},
    {“key”:-2, “category”:”End”, “loc”:”175 660″, “text”:”Share”}
    ],
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  • Literary Labyrinth: The Six Word Story

    It may be legend, or perhaps fact, Ernest Hemingway is said to have been challenged to write a story in six words. Now, a popular practice in academia and in casual on a so-titled subreddit.

    The end of the year is festive, whether you actively participate or, like me, soak in the air of optimism and exuberance – either way, good for reflection. I challenge my readers, if you’d like, to write your own six words about your year. Here’s something thoughtful about mine:

    In media res, late or lucky?  

    All the best,

    Josh

  • The Stylist’s Curse

    Foreword: Though the elements of horror fiction commonly make their way into my writing, it is oddly one of my least common reading choices. The bulk of which, when I do partake, is centered on a psychological component. In appreciation, few other subjects offer a laboratory as free for exploration. I felt, in holiday spirit, what’s the harm? Hope you enjoy.

    Pages: 1 2

  • S.D.B.Q!

    Fixing
    instruments of death. 
    A wrench
    turning man. 
    the author of apocalypse - 
    swift rivers’ final breath. 
    A demon, 
    fears 
    of every depth. 
    Purged 
    of amnesty.
    Hedge rows 
    trimmed to hypocrisy. 
    A lesson, some say, 
    learned -
    apple rotting on the desk. 
    A monster
    lamenting only failure. 
  • Bar Setting

    Message from the awful truths 
    nothing stronger than full proof. 
    Bits and pieces of presumption. 
    
    Little takeaways for view - 
    pleasure emptier than the room. 
    Rise to the occasion or rise to nothing. 
    
    Gracious notes from old to new: 
    scrambled eggs and beatnik floof. 
    Flowers on collars and shelves of buttons. 
    
    Let the setting scene
    fade to view. 
    
  • Low Hanging Fruit

    Far,
    far away.
    Sittin’ where the apple seeds
    grow all day. 
    Whistle up a smile
    and the branches sway.
    Dump out the bath
    and keep the baby face. 
    Nothing left of leaving - 
    only born yesterday.