The chatter of roses. A late blooming weekend freewrite.

Sitting under the barely flowering rosebush, She listens, to the endless,

Conversations these women were having on their phones,

Spitting chunder and nearly floundering in smoosh, She misses, to be friendless,

Confabulation with gibbon wagging monotones,

Flirting wonder of deadly showering ambush, She wishes, to end this,

Contemplation a swimmin' of starting for home,

The girls smiled at him, and acted all nice,

Wind changing whim, redacting the ice,

Fickleness on air, adapted whether,

To hither to fair, weathered feather... Fella....

Tail of peacock plume, parading proudly,

Ceasing verbal fume, pervading loudly,

The lost credit card, see some decline him

The cost debits hard, to sum it defines him

A muse sort by worth of girth of wallet,
No thought of mirth, girth graphed way of it,

Returned to chatter, verbatimous clatter,
Seeing no matter engaging to flatter

But for she supine, 'neath spindled rose vine,
Line visioned reclined, deemed indeed divine,

Although she saw him, knew to adore him,

She gave him no time, nor inkling or sign,

Though different the game, life's plane pains plain same.

A rose is a rose regardless of the prose,

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This was written from the weekend freewrite prompts from @mariannewest.

I'm posting a little late.

The weekend prompt is slightly different to the daily 5 minute single prompt

There are 3 posts, so 3 usually very unrelated prompts that take you in an unexpected direction.

Keep an eye out for @mariannewest's daily prompts if you are interested. They are a great way to stay engaged in writing, particularly if you are short on time or inspiration.

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Grateful to feel your energy still here on steem @girlbeforemirror. Sending tons of love and light your way;

The dating scene out there is enough to turn all but the most determined off. You got a lot of poignancy from this write.

@prydefoltz,

Dating scene!? What are you talking about?

Pryde, this was a metaphorical freewrite about how to change the carburetor on a riding lawn mower. Go back and re-read it more carefully. Can you not smell the cut grass?

Quill

Right now, all I can smell is coffee. We don't cut the grass in Canada anymore; we smoke it ... LOL. Sans moi. I hate the stuff. I'll stick with my Joe.

@prydefoltz,

You get to an age where you can't risk yet another bad habit. :-)

Speaking of grass, have you ever tried eating it? Read this article, it includes a Verse-To-Verse translation of a poem. I don't know if you've made acquaintances with @hlezama, but if not, you should. He's a very talented linguist in both English and Spanish. Henrry (yes, two r's) and Marg (@girlbeforemirror) have become great buds as well.

https://steemit.com/venezuela/@quillfire/discurso-presidencial-la-paja-es-buena

Quill

When I was in Amsterdam, it was the one and only time. Honestly, I kinda detest the stuff. I like the odd bit of wine but not into mood-altering in any way other than with my own mind these days. Except for coffee in the morning:)

@girlbeforemirror,

Hey Marg.

Although she saw him, knew to adore him,
She gave him no time, nor inkling or sign,
Though different the game, life's plane pains plain same.
A rose is a rose regardless of the prose,

Remind me of:

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,

As usual, nice job.

Quill

Paul!
Your not going softy on me are you?
No explication?
This is the sort of post you would challenge inconsistent syllabic meter, poor rhythm, and lazy grammar / punctuation... General sloppy word play...
Perhaps it is too lazy a post to warrant extensive feedback. Hmm, that's your ploy?... You always bait me somehow. This is a new tact, no apparent tact is the tact... Is it??

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Although she saw him, knew to adore him,
She gave him no time, nor inkling or sign,
Though different the game, life's plane pains plain same.

I really loved this lines....