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Flash Fiction Writing Contest
Deadline: Today!

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Deadline: In 4 Days

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Deadline: Aug 23rd

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Deadline: Aug 30th


Poet: None
Author: None
Novel: None
Votes: None

This work has reached the exceptional level
Is the universe writing its autobiography via us?
Volume 3
Title-waves by Xylok
 Category:  Commentary and Philosophy Poetry
  Posted: October 8, 2010      Views: 927
 ...106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118... 

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Look to the right of the guy who votes and chases money,
wearing the hottest name brands nervously,
desperate to impress, ignoring the scenery,
wondering how he can exploit humanity,
hoping folks won't need his energy,
who isn - more...

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There's always much more stock.
We even talk of writer's block!

This poem has so many titles I cannot choose
and so I don't know what to write about.
I may as well go on about tennis shoes
or weave some tale about a troubled trout
dangling, fighting for the chance to swim
to where her will prefers her once again.

It has so many titles it could tell of anything,
the way all poems start out, blank-faced, and slowly spread their wings
one calling at a time until they've satisfied the urge
inside that says no matter what the time has come to purge
and that which makes the mind inside the one who writes say 'whoa'
becomes an 'ah' or 'ooh' or 'cool' for someone else to know.

Muse's fuse is short and burns as fast
as thought and dreams are conjured up and cast
into the ones who send back to the day
what they believe eternity means to say.

Multi-infinite reasons exist to praise
whatever it is one might be dreaming of.
One letter after the next we paraphrase
the universe that life ignites with love!

Forever always rolls in title-waves
that crash upon all shores, and waiting beings
somewhere in between first breaths and graves
have the chance to hope at what it means
and life speaks through itself as life behaves
as readers reading writers writing scenes.

Wild, bold beast made out of bones and stars
and black depths that elude the thinking hordes
and dust that settles here and there on stones
called planets, housing tickles and trombones
who we have called by names like 'universe'
and work to wrangle down in written verse,
how pleasant be the dance upon what hill
that waits to be discovered by whose quill?

Poem of the Month contest entry


The book continues with Both?. We will provide a link to it when you review this below.

Author Notes
Just thinking about thinking and how that starts syncing all things to a pen, or something similar then...friend. The temporary end...
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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