A masterful medieval soundtrack to write with and be inspired by.
Here is the link in case you can't see the video.
The only place where you can dream
Living here is not what it seems
--Iron Maiden, Strange World I just want to walk right out of this world 'cause everybody has a poison heart. --The Ramones
A masterful medieval soundtrack to write with and be inspired by.
Here is the link in case you can't see the video.
running out of time as the money drips in and the reserves
dry up
there is still no triumph as I trot through pelting dust to
my grave
my brain has too many tabs open in place of morning papers
and still I wonder why
my engine is running down, my wings have been clipped, but I
can never be free
the truth is, the price for striving to own the newest shiny object is too
high
you are my witness as I split myself down the middle,
leaving one half of me to slow down and make ankle soup from the pork hock in
my freezer
~ornery owl~
prompts
Here's the link in case you can't see the video.
There are those who proclaim that I should be grateful
For my opportunity to star in the theatre of pain
But I can’t help being cynical about praising a situation
That has left me wishing I could succumb to the inevitable
More than once I wanted to retreat to home sweet home, but
I had nowhere to go
You better hasten your hustle, unwanted ugly girl with no
rhythm in her shoes
Keep your eye on the money, spread your velvet wings, and
make your heartbeat rustle
You’ve gotta be louder than hell if you hope to make anyone
listen
Use it or lose it before the creases in your face increase
Raise your hands to rock and fight for your rights
Before the sun rises on the day when a burst blood vessel in
your brain paralyzes your body
I used to try so hard to show that I could become one of the
Beautiful People
Begging the ones who rejected me to love me now that I can dance
Memorize these quotes to consider and maybe we’ll take a
second look
I felt like my identity was stolen by those who never had
time
To do anything but look down their noses at me
It never occurred to any of you that those of us who were
smoking in the boys’ room
Were trying in our own outcast way to save our souls
Your way didn’t work to ease our pain
I took too many ill-advised lovers in a vain attempt to
quell the ache of loneliness
In the end, I ran out of money, and my city girl blues got
the best of me
Now I try to ease the pain under vast prairie skies
Where I still am not accepted as I am
Where I have people praying for my broken body to
miraculously heal
So I can become the right kind of pretty to please their
gaze
So I can become a devout Stepford wife, happy to serve
So I can be anything but the wretched thing that is me
Why don’t you just let me be?
I wish that I could truly say
You ain’t got a hold on me
369 Words
A funny fictional Haibun in 100 words for your post-Thanksgiving pleasure.
It was Thanksgiving morning and famously temperamental chef
Octavian O’Hara lay dead on the floor of his restaurant; a meat cleaver buried
in the top of his head. Medical Examiner Devraj Byron, a short, stout,
middle-aged Indian man, shrugged as he explained his outrageous theory to Sergeant
Bulan Eini, a hard-boiled lady detective for whom M.E. Byron carried a blazing
torch.
“I know it makes me sound crazy, Sarge, but with the angle of
the blow, the only one who coulda done it is the turkey!”
the bird escaped clean
who knew turkeys could fight back?
I'll just have stuffing.
~ornery owl~
prompts