Tag Archives: David Bowie

Prose Poetry

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Fairy tale skin depicting scenes from a life not well lived. Agony assaults all altruistic attempts. Nothing is an infinity stretch of trying, wanting, desiring, keening, knowing the life holds little to no meaning. It never was meant to be.

Elbow skin slides, forming a tattooed landscape on elephant hide. Among the folds, the hills and valleys terraforming the landscape, are glimpses of the wrongs done. To you. By you. Instilled within. The held hands drop away, the fluttering blood pulses quell their rush to stillness. It feels like death every time a new scene appears. It is an eternal mourning of being left. With yourself. Only. Yourself.

This is the middle. The beginning is brighter, but still holds its shadows. The pain tries to darken the light, gaining some ground until a retreat is sounded. The true essence of smiles, laughter, playing around, being astounded, learning; they are all there. Hold to them.

The end is different. The middle’s grasp is cavernous. It eats away, eats away, eats and eats until a void claims its place. It doesn’t have to be this way. That is known. It is not accepted, but it is.


I created and host A Prompting of Writers group on Poets and Writers Groups. The sessions take place on Saturdays, 10:00 am to Noon, EST/EDT. The group will remain remote: today there were members from Germany, Thailand, and coast to coast across the US. If interested, visit pw.org/groups. It is a Host platform, a Virtual Remote platform, and has an extensive amount of resources available.

The above is from a prompt challenge that I generated. I write day of, after I’ve presented the prompt and challenge to the attendees.

The prompt was Fairy tale skin depicting scenes from...” Lyric from Bad Karma by David Bowie.

The challenge: Prose Poetry

Photo Credit: https://www.realfairies.net/common-types-of-fairies.html


Yeah, it’s been awhile.

In full transparency, I detest WordPress’s “new” Block format. I do know that there is/was a function for Classic Editor. It has never stayed IN Classic Editor for me, reverting far too easily to this horrid block editing style. This is my opinion. If you like/love it: enjoy. I don’t. Please accept that.

I am looking for a new home for Tale Spinning. Just haven’t had the time to do the research to my satisfaction. Unless the Powers That Be of WordPress can wave a wand and fix this, I doubt Tale Spinning will remain hosted here after the New Year.

Under the GoblinTree

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(c) Kasey Sorsby  Tanglewood Thicket Creations

Laundry swirling, almost  done, now the Goblins shall have their  fun!

The piles of mismatched socks were strewn about the Goblin abode, stolen by the nightmares O’ so bold.  Dancing and cavorting, each Goblin took a sock,  had a bite, then threw that sock behind in pure delight. What follows, then, is quite a mess, for chewed up socks can cause distress, and Goblins-tall and large and tiny and small-are not beyond to have a brawl; when the Goblin lair is all astir with bitten socks at the roots of their Fir.

Jareth came down off his throne and said “Enough! Desist with this feast, you shiny ugly little beasts. Can’t you once, come washing day, leave the stockings in pairs, you horrid Fae?”

Like struck with lightning, or a strong stiff boot, the Goblins ceased and looked at their ill gotten loot. They sniffed, they snarled, their eyes darted around, but eerily, without much sound (well, no sound a Human would hear; for that they would pay quite dear), but the Goblin King, he heard quite well, and around him the noise did swirl.

“Sock!” they shouted. “Sock galore! Pairs you know we all abhor! One by one, one by one, the gathering of sock must be done!” They chanted, they howled, they threw a fit, and on the pile of sock they did sit, and fume and fuss and sang quite sadly (and Jareth thought, “yes, and quite badly”).

Palm to palm, not in a kiss, but The Goblin King did ask but this: “I will not begrudge you this delicate treat, but press upon you: You Must Be Neat! This kingdom mine in which you dwell, the roots reach down but the socks do swell, and cuts the essence of the earth, so keep it neat, Goblins dear, be of good mirth.”

Nodding “ayes” and neatly stacking, the Goblins to a one went cracking. When done was done, and no more a mess, a small Goblin changeling with one curling tress, approached the Goblin King on his lofty throne.

“Hmmm?” he murmured to his drone, “Look what comes near. What shall we hear?”

Silence.

“Well?”

“Your majesty, come what may, ’tis soon for us a special day…the mortals up high do talk like days of yore, on September 19th, their calendar marking, for sure. May we not partake of the sock that Pirates favor, so that flavor we may savor?”

Jareth smiled, for the joke he knew, but allowed his Goblin to continue through. Straight man to Goblin, he nodded his noggin’, and asked “What sock be this, my fine young Goblin miss?”

The Goblin grinned with a toothsome mien: “Arrrrgyles, my lord, one and the same!”

All the Goblins laughed uproariously in glee as Jareth put the little one on his knee.

“Dance, Goblins, Dance!” he commanded quite profoundly, and all through the night they danced true and soundly.