A Writer is a ....

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bard_of_life
Wordtripper
Posts: 71
Joined: Sun Apr 24, 2005 8:34 am
Location: under a tree doing what I do best.

A Writer is a ....

Postby bard_of_life » Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:52 am

Well, I made a new blog 'cause my old one was lost in the abyss of the wordtrip archives:(. In this one I'm gonna try to define a writer through my and other's writings, so feel free to post your own on here.

Anyhow, I have good news... I just saved a buch of money on car ensurance by switching to Geico... just kidding! (By the way has anyone seen there new one with the salmon? I cracked up when I saw it!)

The good news is that I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING! YAYS! I'll post it on here even though it's in the Poetry Tuesday section.

The Fall of Heaven
Clinton Hodnett

Plumes of fire
Fitted into place like stained glass.
The tranquil bits of heaven
Falling to the flames
With a sharp sincerity
Redundant of those times long gone
Where all hell rose.
The splendid arches of hellfire
Sweeping over the land
Claiming those not claimed by heaven.
The spell of time
Taking its toll
On everything including
The old withered bones.

Bittersweet Lover
Clinton Hodnett
Her lips are streched out cherries
Begging to be tasted,
Like the apples in her eyes
Or are those priceless rubies?
Hope Diamond blush
From the core of earth itself.
Overall a beautiful picture
In any man's eyes.

Underneath, though, hides a secret
A lie long concealed.
It tears at her esscence
Like those angry rats in a bucket.
She seems the perfect woman,
But is truly the greatest lie.
For terror beyond measure
Is hidden within her eyes.

It takes a wit to see it,
One that few posess:
But one that all the while
Sits upon her kiss.
True love is her undoing,
As loving her is mine.
So to save us all I must banish us,
To an endless, falling circle of broken hearts and lies.
Life is a parchment that no matter how many times you blot ink on it, you can't bring yourself to crumple it.
User avatar
bard_of_life
Wordtripper
Posts: 71
Joined: Sun Apr 24, 2005 8:34 am
Location: under a tree doing what I do best.

Postby bard_of_life » Mon Oct 10, 2005 9:29 am

This is my latest. THANK YOU WRITESPARKS LITE!

I didn't refuse her offer. After all, I couldn't refuse it. Who was I? A low life crack addicted used car salesman, that's who I was. I didn't have a chance against the most powerful mobster in downtown Chicago. Not a chance. I was crazy to think I ever could have gotten my way with Carla Dizzatelli, just plain crazy.

So I bought the drugs. One hundred fifty bucks for a pound. A rip-off, I knew it, but I bought 'em. I was addicted, I couldn't NOT buy them. The car sales were slowing up too with all those hovercraft out on the market, so I needed 'em to pay for the food for my family as well. I just needed the drugs.

So I bought 'em and ran. Ran like the hounds of hell that were on my tail. Faster. Faster than those damned dogs of Satan's. I ran like this for five blocks, and kept running. Straight into a cop.

"What's in the bag?" he asked.

"Flour," I said.

He looked at me funny, but then he just walked away. I drew in a deep breath. That was close. Real close.

I was running again. Running faster, faster than ever before. I got home, and closed the door behind me. I flicked on the light, and there was my wife and kids, tied up to a chair in the middle of the room. Slumped over. Dead. Classic mobster style. I turned around, ready to plead for my life. Ready to lose my life to, but not if I could get the first option.

As I turned, I was looking down the barrel of a .45 Magnum. Dead. I was Dead.

"Boom," said Carla Dizzatelli.

"Boom," said the magnum.

I fell to the floor. Dead. Carla grabbed the bag in my hand. "Boom," she said, leaving the front door open in her wake.
Life is a parchment that no matter how many times you blot ink on it, you can't bring yourself to crumple it.

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