ONE WORD: Death

Death...it's apart of life and it keeps us on the quest of doing everything we can to live forever.

There are so many stories written about death.  Those stories reveal it many scenes, forms and fashions that as a writer we are always fascinated with it over and over again.

So; for the one word post today, take time and ponder about "death."  

Create a flash fiction story about it or create a moving poetic piece.

Once you do that, take it and share it with your many readers or gain inspiration from it to expand a scene in your next novel. Whatever you do; just write and experiment with words in ways that you have never done before.

Cherries And Strawberries

*Literary Spice that's Oh So Nice*

ONE WORD; Fire!

FIRE AND ICE BY Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

*I love this piece. Take it let it inspire you to write something that's "fire."*


Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Cherries and Strawberries would like to wish all of our readers a happy holiday and safe new year!

We appreciate you for supporting and following us.

Thank you!!




Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

Poetically Speaking: *THE MANIAC IN THE PINHOLE*

(D.H.L.C@ http://www.literarydiva09.blogspot.com/)
THOUGHT PROVOKING LIT!

*The Maniac In The Pinhole*

Why the hell is this always happening! Every time I try to get my ass out there and get shit done; I fall flat on my face!

I’m done! I’m just done!

Pushing, opening, and doing shit the right way is me. Yes, the maniac; in my god damn pinhole is me. Shit just aint right cause my pinhole ain’t getting any bigger!

I feel it. I can taste it, but can’t see it.

Life, dreams, and my whole existence seems to walk in front of my face, waving a beauty queen see ya!

I stand still only to be encased in my pinhole with the walls closing in on me more an more. The worse is here as time has moved but my pinhole hasn’t.

Trapped in the confines of evil and screams; telling me “I ain’t nothing!”

I can’t breathe as silence rears it’s ugliness only to murder me and keep me locked down only to self destruct in the crevices of my pinhole.

Maniac going psychotic, going irate, and about to burst into a million little pieces!

The feelings of why, who, what , and how have me marked for life as my pinhole closes and I fight to stay alive.

I bleed in silence, and it trickles down slowly to a nonchalant beat of “I got you bitch” and my layers peel away slowly, only to have flesh exposed to rot.

As I see the scene; it’s un-believable as I have seen this movie before! The Hollywood block buster of the maniac in the pinhole.


(By Literary Diva And The Lit Factory)



Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary That's Oh So Nice*

CHECK THIS OUT: Poetically Speaking With Passion!

Young Black And Angry By Poetika
www.twitter.com/poetikauk




Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's So Nice*

POETICALLY SPEAKING!

(DHLC-www.literarydiva09.blogspot.com)

As I flick my cigarette, I realize this is a bad habit. It seems to like me and I love it- as it calms me and take my mind to another disgusting level.

Ignoring the affects of this madness I flick my cigarette and digress.

Time is grinding on me as my thoughts exceed my will power and I fall into a jaded misfortune of a crushing dirty moment.

Ignoring the affects of this madness I flick my cigarette and digress.

Peeling the layers back of juiced up chaos is like fire on my skin burning through me one sweat gland at a time. My eyes are eroding as I cannot see but just feel the moments of opportunity ripping from my flesh.

Ignoring the affects of this madness I flick my cigarette and digress.

Fighting the fear of life and sadistic mummified entrapment has me bowing down to the queen of evil as my spirit is about to be beheaded.

Ignoring the affects of this madness I flick my cigarette and digress.

Peeping toms pry into my flesh as time has moved but I’m standing still only to be encased in life’s solitary confinement. My mind says raise the roof but my soul says shut this bitch down!

Ignoring the affects of this madness I flick my cigarette and digress.

My notorious ego has found its match as life is a bitch with a bad attitude. A feeling of embattlement is all in the flick of my cigarette as I digress and flick for the last time.

(By: Literary Diva of Blogtalk Radio and "The Lit Factory")
www.blogtalkradio.com/diva29
literarydiva29@yahoo.com



Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

WHAT IS CREATIVE WRITING TO YOU?

When you think of what creative writing is to you, what are your thoughts?  What story or poem pops in your head?  What inspires you to write creatively?

These are things for you to think about as you read on through this post of "what is creative writing to you."

As many of already know creative writing is considered to be any writing, fiction , poetry, or non-fiction, that goes outside the bounds of normal professional, journalistic, academic, and technical forms of literature. That's the definition of creative writing in  nut shell.

However, to many of us it means something totally different.  We define creative writing by the way we write, tell our own stories, and how we creative a piece of poetry.

When we take ourselves the next level creatively we are creative writing in our way.  It's a definition that only you the writer can give to yourself to be able to understand what kind of a writer you are or evenually want to be.

The bottom line is to think about what creative writing means to you through your own experiences, needs, wants, and style.  Focus on your insecurities, vulnerabilities, and strengths to creatively capture the very essence of who you are as a writer.  That alone will show you what creative writing means to you.

Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

SPICY LIT NIGHT CAP! MUSIC PLAY: "Blackberry Molasses!"

BLACKBERRY MOLASSES BY: Mista




Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

William Faulkner And Mina Loy's Love Child!

(Literary Barie@   www.literarybarbie.blogspot.com) If William Faulkner And Mina Loy gave birth to a poem what would it be like? Do you think it would be poetic or poetically dysfunctional?



















We believe it would be both as both poets were very eclectic in nature and bithed amazing poetry by themselves.

Here's what we think their love child would be read like: Here's two poems interwined by two amazing poets with two differient styles.

Get your read on with "Sappics And Gertrude Stein"; now known as "Sappics of Gertrude Stein."

So it is: sleep comes not on my eyelids.

Nor in my eyes, with shaken hair and white

Aloof pale hands, and lips and breasts of iron,

So she beholds me.

*Curie
of the laboratory
of vocabulary
she crushed
the tonnage
of consciousness
congealed to phrases
to extract
a radium of the word*

And yet though sleep comes not to me, there comes

A vision from the full smooth brow of sleep,

The white Aphrodite moving unbounded

   By her own hair.

*Curie
of the laboratory
of vocabulary
she crushed
the tonnage
of consciousness
congealed to phrases
to extract
a radium of the word*

In the purple beaks of the doves that draw her,

Beaks straight without desire, necks bent backward

Toward Lesbos and the flying feet of Loves

   Weeping behind her.

*Curie
of the laboratory
of vocabulary
she crushed
the tonnage
of consciousness
congealed to phrases
to extract
a radium of the word*

She looks not back, she looks not back to where
The nine crowned muses about Apollo

Stand like nine Corinthian columns singing

   In clear evening.

*Curie
of the laboratory
of vocabulary
she crushed
the tonnage
of consciousness
congealed to phrases
to extract
a radium of the word*

She sees not the Lesbians kissing mouth

To mouth across lute strings, drunken with singing,

Nor the white feet of the Oceanides

   Shining and unsandalled.

*Curie
of the laboratory
of vocabulary
she crushed
the tonnage
of consciousness
congealed to phrases
to extract
a radium of the word*

Before her go cryings and lamentations
Of barren women, a thunder of wings,

While ghosts of outcast Lethean women, lamenting,

   Stiffen the twilight.

*Curie
of the laboratory
of vocabulary
she crushed
the tonnage
of consciousness
congealed to phrases
to extract
a radium of the word*

SPICY LIT NIGHT CAP! POETRY PLAY: "As It Is."

AS IT IS BY: Edith Nesbit

If you and I
Had wings to fly -
Great wings like seagulls' wings -
How would we soar
Above the roar
Of loud unneeded things!

We two would rise
Through changing skies
To blue unclouded space,
And undismayed
And unafraid
Meet the sun face to face.

But wings we know not;
The feathers grow not
To carry us so high;
And low in the gloom
Of a little room
We weep and say good-bye.

Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

SPICY LIT NIGHT CAP! Poetry Play: A Precious-mouldering pleasure!

A PRECIOUS-MOULDERING PLEASURE BY: Emily Dickinson

A precious—mouldering pleasure—'tis—
To meet an Antique Book—
In just the Dress his Century wore—
A privilege—I think—

His venerable Hand to take—
And warming in our own—
A passage back—or two—to make—
To Times when he—was young—

His quaint opinions—to inspect—
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind—
The Literature of Man—

What interested Scholars—most—
What Competitions ran—
When Plato—was a Certainty—
And Sophocles—a Man—

When Sappho—was a living Girl—
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante—deified—
Facts Centuries before

He traverses—familiar—
As One should come to Town—
And tell you all your Dreams—were true—
He lived—where Dreams were born—

His presence is Enchantment—
You beg him not to go—
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize—just so—

Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

SPICY LIT NIGHT CAP! Poetry Play: Phenomenal Woman!

PHENOMENAL WOMAN BY: Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

 Cherries And Strawberries

*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

SPICY LIT NIGHT CAP! PoetryPlay: Laughter!

LAUGHTER BY: Pablo Neruda

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
 

*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

SPICY LIT NIGHT CAP! Poetry Play: A Garden!

A GARDEN BY: H.P. Lovecraft

There’s an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.
There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there’s moss about the pool,
And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:
In the silent sunken pathways springs an herbage sparse and spare,
Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.
There is not a living creature in the lonely space around,
And the hedge-encompass’d quiet never echoes to a sound.
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.
Then a sadness settles o’er me, and a tremor seems to start:
For I know the flow’rs are shrivell’d hopes—the garden is my heart!

By: Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*

SPICY LIT NIGHT CAP! Poetry Play: *PAPER DOLLS VIBRATING ON JUICY LAUGHS*

(Diva's House Of Literary Coffee) Hop skipping and jumping girls play with juiced up attitudes of wicked thoughts of foreplay.

Long ponytails flopping up and down falling in sync as sweet toes tip toe back and forth in a dance of delicious envy only to seem soft and fresh. Arrogant babbles echo through the sweet summer air as girls fall in line to see, touch, and smell the sweet nectar of the joyous day.

Hypnotic, exotic and innocent is girls play as vibrant years are captured in time as play time is happy time in the moment.

Intimate whispers of soft sensual word play are shared in gentle ears as innocence interlocks and digest sweet liquid to confirm juicy laughs.

Authenticity is rendered as paper dolls become vibrant and loose. Lost in emotion is the essence of laughs, and intimate seduction of friendships that encounter prickly barbs of solid manipulation and instant hot to the touch Lolita’s.

Sweet bubbles of low key hysteria rocks the world of paper dolls only to leave innocent flavor dripping off sweet arrogant high pitch juicy laughs of rambunctious girls eager to take it to the next level with word play and foreplay.

Instantaneous hiccups of young wicked freshness falls lightly into the dusk as girls play hard, with juiced up foreplay and cool to the touch abilities of brilliance.

Riding high and tasting babbles of sweet tender laughs of paper dolls is climatic and endearing, only to encase innocence of sweet smells, luscious taps, and amped up chaos.

As juicy thoughts of vibrations echo through hopping, skipping, and jumping, girls play become slow drips of soft ambition of juicy laughs.

By: Cherries And Strawberries
*Literary Spice That's Oh So Nice*