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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
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Author Topic: Songwriting Without Boundaries- Challenge 2!  (Read 13212 times)
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« on: March 04, 2012, 08:26:59 PM »

Day 1

Lonely Moonlight
The moon is a golden orb that sits alone in an endless black sky.
The yellow bulb rests alone in a vast black pool of liquorice. It holds its gaze enjoying the wafts of the passing cityscapes and holding its glare in line with the glistening edges of the sharp-street side leaves. Trees caged in tall spikes hold together in crowds, like armies of sharp edged…

Blackened Funeral
The funeral is blackened as if drowned by piles of dust, collected over centuries.
Like piles of dust that drown the people standing in lumps alongside the cemetery, hearing the drones of the priest and tasting the stench of the dead around- slowly decomposing and oozing into the soil underneath, through hard lacquered coffins, determined to seep deep into the ground below. The black of the pupils of the children as they…

Fallen Carburetor
Like the retired car itself, the fallen carburetor lies stiff and lifeless in the garage.
In a dark musky corner, inter-tangled in the sticky smooth webs of hundreds of tiny spiders, the fallen carburator sits stiff and lifeless, trapped in its dead shell- reminiscing in pools of wasted fuel of trips passed in hazes of petrol inspired memories. The bitter taste of sharp…

Smooth Autumn
The Autumn is smooth, with its creamy warmth of reds and golds.
Like a velvety silk, wrapping around me in its pools of reds and golds, glistening in deep oranges as they blend and resurrecting warm tones like cellophane painting cement as the sun shines through. I feel the smooth autumn and taste the rattle of the falling leaves. The soft anticipation of cold seasons and the haunting…

Fevered Handkerchief
The handkerchief is as fevered as its beholder.
The sickly cloth, blotched with rotting blues and purples sits humbly as the salty wafts of disease and fatigue perspire from its crocheted pores. The man is as fevered as his fevered handkerchief, his blood pumps slowly through his body and the air wheezes in and out of his lungs, protesting in the effort it has to pull to squeeze through the cluttered channels and…

Lonely Handkerchief
On the side of a desk, almost falling over the edge, the lonely handkerchief sits hunched over.
As if contemplating a jump, the lonely handkerchief is curved over the edge of the table, grazed by the splinters from its rough wooden surface. It leans like a hunched old man, weathered by age, with muted senses that taste and smell everything with undertones of old memories and deformed perceptions. The still air mortifies its coarse…

Blackened Autumn
The fallen leaves and bare trees leave her courtyard in a blackened Autumn.
The bare courtyard whispers of a blackened Autumn. She sits slightly rocking her legs side to side and leading her eyes to wander around the barren landscape around her. Tracing out the edges of trees as if running her fingers along and feeling the smooth, but empty surface of their bald surface. The heat wavers as the signposts of an impending winter…

Fallen Funeral
There’s no point anymore, everyone is too wrapped in their thoughts to hear the prayers- it’s a fallen funeral.
The attention of the attendees is as absent as the blessed soul itself. In little cones of dark robes, people bathe in their peppery tears and fly in their own small worlds, with visions of times past and drinks shared, over warm fires and wet dripping nights. The fallen funeral drags on as if running a script of its own…

Smooth Moonlight
The glows of the smooth moonlight drench the streets in an incandescent light.
The moon is an artist that has thrown his paints over the streets and drenched every inch of the gutter and the shiny, wet footpath in its smooth moonlight. The glow holds in the air like an incandescent dinner, enticing the beetles from their hiding homes to come and explore the tiny crackles along the tarmac road. Their…

Fevered Carburator
Sick, coughing and wheezing, the fevered carburator pushes through the journey.
Like a sick dog, barely trudging along the footpath falling into the gutter and wearily climbing back out again. The fevered carburator woos and squeeks in random squeaks as it pushes through each kilometre in a desperate attempt to preserve its strength and dignity. It scratches its nails into the road surface and drags the…
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« Reply #1 on: March 05, 2012, 08:03:50 PM »

Day 2

Angry Gold
The gold is angry, it rattles unsatisfied, wrapped around the neck of its shallow mistress.
The lady’s manicured hands still reek of the smell of acetone, hardened in a shiny black shell, scratching the irritated skin under her atrocious gold necklace. She sneers as she licks the bitterness off the front of her two front teeth, sliding her tongue against the plastic, smooth white. Drenched in the odours of an out of place Chanel…

Boastful Blazer
The under-aged, under-educated law student proudly bares his branded shirt below a boastful blazer.
He sniffs the air with anticipation and laps up the stares of the envious commerce students. “Yes”, he almost shouts with his loud blazer and fitted trousers- “I am a law student”. The disinterested arts students fly past like fruit flies in a droopy haze, dreaming of dances…

Careful Ink
The careful ink climbs cautiously across the page.
The blotches of blacks and faded browns make their way across the paper millimetre by millimetre as if dragging their body across the page in a desperate struggle and sinking into the fabric as they slowly get soaked up. The dampness fades to a sharp dryness, like an old piece of bread with vegemite…

Dark Smile
Beyond the preppy bright clothes and the soft caring voice, she smiles a dark smile.
Her dark smile is the only feature that gives away her spiteful thoughts. The soft subtle tones of her voice and voids of tender words that drip out like blood oozing from her lips deceive her to be honest and caring. She shifts her strong dark hair in a carefree flick from one side to the other and writes in bold Asian figures…

Enthusiastic Scrawl
The young apprentice jots down his master’s every word in an enthusiastic scrawl.
Like a meerkat, with eyes as wide as frypans, glistening at every new tiny fact that his idol lets free to him. He jumps around with a scratchy notepad jotting down loads of meaningful phrases in an enthusiastic scrawl. Grappling with the sawdust in the air and the badly fitted overalls that…
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« Reply #2 on: March 07, 2012, 03:22:06 AM »

Day 3

Famished Furnace
The famished furnace devours in crackles, the cold, wet pottery as if it were wafts of cotton candy.
Starving and rotten, the black ash that sits nestled in a heap- as if cuddled by the rash corners of the furnace- waits. The heat boils the tiny bubbles of perspiration in the corners of the dormitories of little villages as they crack and hiss amongst the flames. The walls of the houses peeling as if the wallpaper were being eaten away by acid…

Molten Midnight
The molten midnight oozes like larva from the volcanic rocks that crater the sky.
A burning heat, like an undying desire and unwavering longing grips hard onto my chest and pulls out long drones of dissatisfaction from under the wiry layers of ribs- the moon loosely bobs in…

Mother Cottage
Warm and cluttered the cottage as mother holds its occupants abreast and shields them from the winter winds.
Like a desperate parent, holding the tenants in its grip through fruitless surveillance and worries. The roof of the house hangs low and almost appears to wrap its old dusty surface across the fresh, young skin of its kids. The peachy cream paint oozes in drops that have solidified…

Severed Hope
The young graduate lies in his bed, a week has passed since his job interview and it’s severed his hope of a bright future as an auditor.
Pulling the cover over his eyes, so he can smell the warmth seep through the scent of yesterday’s deodorant, the young graduate lies unusually still for an eight AM start. He pretends his phone isn’t behind him, stale, neglected by the recruiters he so keenly wooed. He…

Stolen Ghost
Her memory of his soft wrinkled face and welcoming eyes is a stolen ghost, obscuring with the weathering of time.
She wipes her coarse, tissue-paper hands across her cheek on the wrinkle lines along which her tears would usually tunnel. They are dry, like the dry plate that lies alone on the rack- washed more than a day ago when she last bit down upon an old piece of bread. She lived with his stolen ghost, almost as a failed…
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« Reply #3 on: March 07, 2012, 08:16:44 PM »

Day 4

Moonlight Tumbles
The darling moonlight tumbles across the hard pavement.
Like a babe without any control over the harsh world that resounds around it, engulfing it in concrete swirls and grazing its soft skin with the harsh pebbles that are crushed and glued together in a sticky grey goo. The moonlight swims amongst the devilish pool and tumbles through its layers of grime, like one tumbles through stages of sleep- into even deeper and darker locks…

Funeral Exhales
The funeral exhales in sighs and wheezes, pushing through a blocked nose and torrents of tears.
The funeral exhales a sick cough mingled with a piercing wheeze. The patrons of the church can be heard off in the distance clinking glasses and wallowing on about their holy dispositions. Faith hovers like a dissatisfied member of the funeral crowd, unsure of its standing- somewhat disconnected from the disinterested participants. The…

Carburetor Sings
The carburetor sings a wild tune off the back of the red racing car.
The carburator sings like Britney Spears on steroids, almost as loud as the pump music blasting through the car’s tortured speakers. The driver wears his sunglasses like a badge and a shirt three times his size, stinking of a sweet deodorant that ‘gets all the girls’- but really doesn’t if you know what I mean… The bright splashes of colour that drain through his weakly printed…

Autumn Remembers
Autumn remembers as leaves patter, the voices of the summer before.
The hot days by the beachside, where the stinking sun burnt holes into the fabric of an already freckled skin and the world melted away in steam behind fogged up sunglasses. Everything saturated in grains of sand and that fresh salty smell that aroused memories of anchovies and batters. The volleyball…

Handkerchief Pleads
The handkerchief pleads for a clean- its blotchy cloth limp with the wounds of a thousand blows.
The handkerchief whines and whinges like a child denied their new edition doll or toy. The cloth sits dead and diseased, hanging off the man’s trousers and wiping its disgusting grime along the side of his arm as he swings it past in a genial stroll. The tormented being begs for a new coat- a new breath…
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« Reply #4 on: March 08, 2012, 08:11:15 PM »

Day 5

Crossbow Murders
The crossbow murders the dartboard with sinful precision.
The crossbow prowls through the air, silent and swift- moving like a ghost- slicing through the hanging midnight musk- still present from yesterday’s session of drinks. Clinking glasses’ together, like modern classical composition, “ting” “ting”- like a little glockenspiel, getting gently tapped by a loving percussionist. Holding the music as if it were a child…

Kettle Kills
The water squeals and screams as the kettle kills its population like a serial murderess.
The kettle grapples with its occupants and kills them- killing their cool complacency, boiling them into a flurry of jumps and leaps. The steam emanates from the water as if conjured by a priest- slowly in a hypnotic manner, reflected against the metal cave they’re in. Slowly building up…

Waitress Comets
Bulleting across the room, as if by some galactic force, the waitress comets bringing me my meal.
Almost leaving a trail behind her, a smudge of colour perfectly matching her stained red top and black overworn trousers, the waitress comets through the sharp atmosphere of the restaurant. The party sits poised in awkward conversation and blameful insecurity, nibbling at little bites of ill-prepared tapas and sipping silently and old wine. The…

Summer Trickles
Summer trickles through with golden drops of flowers growing like morning dew across the fields.
The bright green marsh that engulfs the world around made subtle by a white under-glow, sitting comfortably, filling my vision with an unmatchable mist. The warmth of the sun, mingling with the remnants of the cool along the smooth surface of the layers of grass and weed, critters…

Graduation Splutters
The graduation splutters, like an old sick man, coughing and rambling on
The rolls of useless parchment with countless names scrawled upon them. Fairy black cloaks, gliding through the pristine, hospital grass. The graduation splutters at the seams as the participants wait in lines. Lines like those they’ve read thousands of, lines like those they have waited in for years- lines like those of a Mozart chamber piece heard one too many times, such that each note is anticipated…
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« Reply #5 on: March 09, 2012, 08:17:35 PM »

Day 6

Stare Flushes
The stare of the woman flushes all feeling from his body.
The gaze strips him bare, naked, he stands hiding his face rather than anything else- dreaming that the thoughts in his mind will cover him and steal him from view. He can feel every cool chill of the summer breeze and the slowly growing goosebumps that cover his body and reflect like the bumps on the side of a ping pong bat across his rough skin. He hears her…

Fruit Indicts
The fruit sits plainly and indicts passers-by of their junk-food consuming crimes.
With an almost plastic surface, lucidly and pliantly floating in a mirage above a solid ceramic plate, the fruit indicts, like a judge, those who pass by. The slight rot that emerges from the corner of one of the dry and withering oranges, tainted by a splodge of black wear across the corner…

Homework Paddles
The homework paddles through discarded sheets of job advertisements and random sketches on the young man’s desk.
The tiny scrawls of notes collected from textbooks and whimpers of neglected teachers, ornamented with flowers and fancy sketches. The young man’s brother tosses the pages like a maniac, the ruffles concocting a rabid percussive shush. He cuts tiny paper-cuts across his palms…

Kiss Operates
The kiss is almost robotic and operates as a shielding device, to protect you from answering my questions.
A functional embrace, the kiss operates almost mechanical, on que- as if this had been planned all along and the clogs throughout your body work their way through the same weary turns that they have time and time again. I plead with you in my hold, feeling each little freckle and bump on your shoulder and beg you through every breath I take from above its sweet surface. Kneeling though…

Gasp Soars
The tiny, short gasp that I steal soars above the room full of silent strangers, the thought hit me then and there.
I’m alone in a full room, the colours fade to dark reds and grey, in a blotchy oil painting where all the faces are obscured and the fickle tales everyone bares tell crumble under the weight of a greater enlightenment. I hear the money, I taste the future- the joys are a solid peachy tingle on my tongue, working their way down my throat…
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« Reply #6 on: March 10, 2012, 08:17:37 PM »

Day 7

A wince is a cargo ship
A wince is a cargo ship that carries with it the baggage of a thousand bad experiences.
The steam erupts from its boulderous body as it slumps through the ocean, slowly dragging its legs through the dense, deep water. The cargo ship’s face is hung in a sombre bow, it smells its own sweat collected in perspiration across its chest. The awkward reality it moves through hits his limbs like attacks…

A Frisbee is a zipper
A Frisbee is a zipper between the boy and his dad, as they stand silently apart throwing it to one another, it barely holds them together.
The yellow dribble is a Frisbee, slicing across the sky, fiddling with the floating particles of air and befriending them as they float in their designated allotment, in a specified corner of the atmosphere. The boy watches its plastic shine…

A poem is an evening
A poem is an evening, saturated in pinpricks of sparkle and an undefinable mystery that hangs like hidden clouds.
She sits in her bed under the sterile glow of a dusty standing lamp that hovers behind her in a loose dangle, reading over her shoulder. She flicks through the pages slowly, holding the next page- feeling its coarse white against the back of her soft skin, eyes plastered to the running lines…

Summer is the captain
Summer is the captain of this Baseball game, not Timmy.
The players melt into the surrendered grass in heaps of wax and cloth- the ball rolls along the dirt and massages the bitter dry underneath. Summer is captain of this game, not Timmy or any other person on the field. The scorching blisters across the surface of the sky like bubbles under plastic wrap, emerging in a pattern…

A restaurant is a wineglass
The diners lace the room like glistening grains of salt, the restaurant is a wineglass- but they’re a shot of tequila.
As they ramble they eat, so as they eat tiny pieces of food spurt out amongst an uninvited ramble. The oily butters of divinely prepared status foods crumble away on porcelain plates. The party is a shot of tequila lying on its side, slightly spilling over the salty edge, into the pool of wine held in the restaurant’s wine glass. They’re…
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« Reply #7 on: March 11, 2012, 08:12:37 PM »

Day 8

A cargo ship is a wince
Sending ripples through the ocean a cargo ship is a pained wince, wrinkling the already choppy surface.
The bubbling blue thunders endlessly in all directions, little blobs of seaweed and tiny fish flung around in its salty, smooth potion. The air gulping it up like a giant vacuum cleaner, little spikes and crest disappearing into the atmosphere like the steam off a hot fresh…

A zipper is a Frisbee
The man rips off his clothes- his shoes like bullets, his shirt a wasp and his zipper a Frisbee.
In a fervent rush, flinging his clothes amuck like old toys being chucked any which way his uncontrollable flings flang! They fly through the air gliding as if in slow motion compared to his chaotic rumbles. His face remains idyllic in stone…

An evening is a poem
An evening is a poem, when I spend it wrapped up in you.
In the warmth of your embrace, the hot kettle you sit me in, wrapped in long arms that wrap around me and around me again. Your face bleeds into the top of my head and drowning it in the cool, soft patters of a thousand little kisses. I bundle up my legs and fall into your verse, each line of the…

The captain is summer
The captain of the school soccer team is summer, his blond hair floats in the breeze and his green eyes hold the fresh sparkle of young leaves.
All the girls in the team, mainly reserves because the boys snatch up the good spots like freshly baked pie, sit ogling his incredible physique. Every kick his hair jumps as if on its own accord- you can smell his sweat, his determination and get lost in his eyes as they follow…

A wineglass is a restaurant
A wineglass is a translucent cave, a restaurant where all sorts of insipid, rich, rambling folk crouch and drizzle their worries.
Looking through the murky glass out into the dusty wet street on the other side, overheated in an airless lounge with ill jazz wallowing in the backdrop, I sit amongst the fickle party. The sneers and smart cloaks, uncomfortably drenched in an inevitable sweat and reeking…
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« Reply #8 on: March 12, 2012, 08:25:11 PM »

Day 9

Maple tree is Cellophane
The maple tree is gold cellophane, it’s tempting amber reflected off the footpath below.
Autumn, leaves falling around, the maple gold oozing over the pathway. The fresh sweet smell of maple syrup, the grassy green of the morning trees settled amongst the dew. A cool chill across my skin that warms me with its static while the rustles dance in a ritual tune…

Traffic is coal
Traffic is the coal that burns slowly driving the city forward in hesitant huffs and chugs.
Smoke from all corners, erupting from gutters and drains, from somewhere no one knows- perhaps from hell itself? Coughing as he shuffles, arms unbent, pushing down on the somewhat broken inner silk of his trench coat pockets. Head down, staring at the dark grains below, the traffic beside meandering on like a sick rocky beast, pulling itself each step a little further along…

Sunrise is birth
A sunrise is the birth of a fresh start.
Unkempt and bewildered, staring out at the fresh new world drenched in rose pinks and glowing with a slight aqua-green undertone, the sunrise is the birth of a fresh start. You stretch your arms out, embracing the still white and breathing in its crisp lettuce scent…

Cathedral is jenga
The cathedral is a messy stack of planks put together like a jenga game.
The builders trumpet their large machines in constant bleeps and crashes. The swinging metal scratches sharply against the old sandstone in accidental brushes, as the cathedral can be heard sobbing in pain from these blows. Dust everywhere, the planks of forgotten pieces and shards of broken stained glass in a quiet tranquil heap, hidden by the dusty mist. The…

Policeman is law
There’s no courtroom on this decision, the policeman is the law and he doesn’t like what he sees.
The decision was visible, even if just slightly, behind the tiny pupils of his angry eyes long before the crime had been committed. The bullets of his gaze almost seduced the boy into his frenzy, nearly daring him to make a move, as if insidiously whispering ‘I know you’re going to do it’.
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« Reply #9 on: March 14, 2012, 10:20:11 AM »

Day 10

A shield and the air-force
A shield: knights, armour, metal, strong, thick, hard
The air-force: groaning, zooming, buzzing, moving
The air-force buzzing like swarm of bees collected together in a strong, metal shield.

Blue and guns
Blue: ocean, sky, depression, wet, salty, mouldy, detergent
Guns: controversial, murder, blood, weapons, injury, hurt
In a controversial blue depression, he grew mouldy under the sting of its oozy detergent.

Forensic accounting and mum
Forensic accounting: mysterious, numbers, assets, liabilities, equity, dividends, profit, rich
Mum: red-haired, gentle, warm-hearted, caring, Hungarian food, dresses
My mum, with her gentle red hair mysteriously whisked across her face, her greatest asset- her rich, tender heart.

Cardiac arrest and arm rest
Cardiac arrest: blood, muscles, heart, hypertension, salt, hungry jacks
Arm rest: lounge, sofa, comfortable, luxurious, like a boss, executive
Attached to the sofa as if his veins are weaved through its cloth, the boss sits awkwardly devouring cheap food, with drool spilling out the sides of his mouth.
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« Reply #10 on: March 14, 2012, 08:20:47 PM »

Day 11

Organ and bell
Organ: grand, metal, rust, dust, pipes, long, intimidating, smooth, shiny, ancient
In a rusty dust, the long pipes of the Cathedral’s ribcage sing in grand smooth tones.
Bell: hidden, large, hunchback, swinging, collision, resounding, echo
The cathedral towers like an ancient hunchback, resounding as its intimidating physique watches down on the world.

Double bass and a scream in a cave
Double bass: low, scratchy, large, wooden, glossy, rosin, blisters, concert
The cathedral is a concert of scratchy tones, glittered with rosin and glossy under the setting night sky.
Scream in a cave: unanswered, lonely, repetition, bounce, energy, freedom
The cathedral repeats its calls with boundless energy, screaming to the world as if screaming through wet stalactites, unanswered by the dwellers that curdle around its chambers.
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« Reply #11 on: March 15, 2012, 08:35:58 PM »

Day 12

Maple Tree
Syrup, Rustling, Waiting
Syrup: Golden, sweet, sugar, hot pancakes, wet, dripping, sticky, fat
The maple tree is candy cane sweet, standing tall and dripping sticky gold like hot pancakes on the edge of a plate.
Rustling: Shakers, maracas, full handbag, crunching, crackling, colliding, wind
There’s a tiny tribal group that rattles and rustles like an ensemble of maracas, crashing and colliding in the realms of the maple tree.
Waiting: static, patience, boredom, still, toaster, raw, clock, hourglass, timer
I stand under static sentinel, who waits bored as the grains of sand within his trunk slowly fall down, pattering on roughly dispersed leaves, through his internal hourglass.

Grime, Frustration, Wheels
Grime: Black, hard, difficult, stuck in the corners, gross, dirty, unsanitary, putrid, stench
The roadblock is stuck in the corners of the road like a putrid unsanitary rock, black and secreting a slight stench- like old gum that has eroded over decades under a schoolkid’s desk.
Frustration: pulling hair, slamming fists, grinding teeth, scratching, stomping, screaming, profanity
The traffic slams its fists and grinds its teeth, stomping and screaming profanity, chained to its chamber moving at the pace of an hour hand on a grandfather clock.
Wheels: black rubber, skid-marks, burning tar, hot plastic, rough, bouncy, inflated
The black burn of hot plastic and skid-marks engraving rough prints onto the tyres, as the traffic plods bouncily forward in the blistering flames of the midday sun.
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« Reply #12 on: March 17, 2012, 12:39:58 AM »

Day 13

Grip, commitment, business
Grip: tight, ropes, strong, rough, nails, impression marks, sweat, squeeze, abrasive
He grips my hand in an abrasive handshake, his nails leaving impression marks on the soft skin.
Commitment: relationship, love, togetherness, company, sharing, ring, engagement, babies
The handshake was commitment- it signified the sharing of a common vision and the birth of a togetherness that would bind the partners forever.
Business: work, suits, serious, settlements, money, air con, stale re-circulated air, ink, stationary
The handshake bled ink and stunk of the re-circulated stale air of the boardroom. Their suits ruffled together as if settling the matter in their own private conversation amongst themselves, clinking cufflinks as if proposing a toast.

Climbing, light, awakening
Climbing: rock climbing, abseiling, Cliffside, rocks, calluses, ropes, holding, clutching, pulling, strain
The sun climbed across the hard rocky surface of the sky as if clutching onto the clouds and pulling with an audible strain, higher and higher up.
Light: blinding, bright, burning, white, smoke, fizzle, glimmer, glint, stage-lights, incandescent, artificial
The sunrise rose like an actor from behind the curtains in a white smoke, fizzling and glimmering in incandescent glints as if burning its place centre-stage.
Awakening: tired, yawn, fatigued, morning breath, making faces, stretching, bones cracking, ribs expanding
The sun’s ribs stretched out into a loud, smelly yawn, spilling morning breath over the sea as it made faces and cracked its neck, moving it side to side.
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« Reply #13 on: March 17, 2012, 09:37:46 PM »

Day 14

Trust is like a bargain, it’s a state of balance between letting go and holding on stronger than you ever did before.
Trust is like a mountain, it’s a treacherous climb, that strains every muscle of your heart and mind, but the view at the top is spectacular.
Trust is like a lie, the only difference is the end result.

Divorce is like broken wood, it’s splinters bury deep into your skin and its fresh smell of murdered tree sap floats like a haze above it.
Divorce is like liquidation, the business is closing up, it’s time to sell of the assets, make the distributions to the owners and bury the goodwill.
Divorce is like an earthquake, it shatters the foundations of the humble family home such that the dust and tiles lie hopelessly tattered in a bedraggled pile of mess.

A waterfall is like a conveyer belt, constantly moving, cycling water and mechanically jolting in spurts during energy peaks.
A waterfall is like chunder- the earth spits out its guts after a hard night on the fizz and the cliff bends over fatigued, desperately pulling back its leafy hair.
A waterfall is like an audience at an opera, politely applauding through fairy claps and appreciative nods, transforming the salty wet of its malleable body like eyes running across the stage.

Hope is like the measles, it comes without warrant and settles all over your body- itching and reminding you that it’s not over yet.
Hope is like a fresh boiled jug of water, the steam rising to the sky, the hot condensation painting streaks across the inside surface.
Hope is like the new semester, with a fresh platter of goals and expectations, ready to bear its teeth and teach its lesson to the over-ambitious poster child.
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