“A true poet does not bother to be poetical.
Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses.”
To celebrate the month of October in all the trim, your hostess has decided to dub this session of
Writers’ Row, “Magnificent Macabre!”
Join us for a decadent night of ghastly groans and ghoulish grunts that form sounds;
these sounds are called words! This is The Written Art Showcase, after all!
This is a particular call for darker work to showcase.
Share stories, poetry, non fiction, all forms of the written art.
- L.K. Thayer, Poet and Editor of The Juice Bar!
– Raw Bits by Jessica Wilson
– Works of Poe & more!
RSVP for Open Mic: email@example.com
My lemon tree has grown
Six are now oval
Perfect shades of green
I open my front door
A glorious smell
Allow my lemons to grow
It is bearing fruit
I can’t wait
To wrap my hands
Around their thick skin
Smell the fragrant oils
Squeeze out juices
From my light yellow
And, reload my fuckin’ life
Everybody’s an expert.
Go to a surgeon,
he’ll tell you to have surgery.
Go to a hairdresser,
she’ll tell you you’re in need of a haircut.
Go to a bankruptcy attorney,
he’ll tell you to file.
Go to a priest,
he’ll tell you to confess.
If you ask me,
to announce your arrival.
Then have a pint of beer
and get over yourself.
“A vegetable garden in the beginning looks so promising
and then after all little by little it grows
nothing but vegetables,
nothing but vegetables.”
“There exist only three respectable beings:
the priest, the warrior, the poet.
To know, to kill, and to create.”
(Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet, critic.)