Anonymous November Challenge: “What is Right, Not Easy...”

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Thread: Anonymous November Challenge: “What is Right, Not Easy...”

  1. #1

    Anonymous November Challenge: “What is Right, Not Easy...”

    As previously discussed, the challenge rules have been revamped.

    Henceforth, we will be alternating between “regular” challenges during which members will post their own entries, and anonymous challenges during which entries will be sent to me and I will post them.

    The “Like” function may now be utilized at any time.

    Discussion regarding any entry, or any challenge related issues, may take place at any time in either Bistro. Kindly be mindful that secure entries are only discussed in the Secure Bistro to preserve the first rights of entrants.

    Once the entry phase challenge has been officially closed, and the voting process has begun, critique for public entries may be posted in the voting thread itself, while critique for secure entries must be posted in a dedicated thread in the challenge workshop to preserve the first rights of entrants.

    This is an anonymous month, therefore, entrants must submit their entries to me.*

    Please remember that in submitting an entry you are obligated to cast at least one vote in the poll. Failure to do so will result in your entry being disqualified. The names of entrants will be revealed after our winner has been announced, if you do not desire to participate in the reveal, please inform me in your submission PM.

    The prompt for this month's anonymous challenge as chosen by Darkkin is: What is Right, Not Easy...

    *Your entry must be submitted anonymously and therefore should be PMed to me, Chester's Daughter, so that I may post it for you. Please be sure to indicate in your PM on which board you prefer your work posted, PUBLIC or SECURE. I am responsible for linking all entries posted on the secure board to public board.

    The names of entrants will be revealed after our winner has been announced, if you do not desire to participate in the reveal, please inform me in your submission PM.

    ***VERY IMPORTANT*** Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you PM it to me as you will be unable to edit your work once I have posted it. If your work requires a disclaimer, please inform me in your submission PM.


    Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussion related to the challenge can take place in the Bards’ Bistro for entries on the public board, and the Secure Bards’ Bistro for entries on the secure board.

    This challenge will close on the 15th of November at 7pm EST.

  2. #2

  3. #3

    Daddy (Violence/Strong Language)

    Daddy’s idea of “grace”
    politely recited nightly
    at his unstable dinner table:

    “If ever you succeed
    in trying to leave
    I’ll leave you be
    just to watch you grieve
    the five souls
    you managed to weave
    despite abdominal assaults
    to make you bleed.
    I have no qualms
    about killing my seed. Amen.“

    Even in his absence

    he casts a long shadow,
    as viscous as cold petroleum,
    that suffocates the innocents
    he leaves behind
    on his vile isle
    light years from the norm.

    They’re all accustomed to its weight
    forcing them ever closer to the floor -
    exactly where he wants them -
    and where they have a daily date
    once he rejoins his projection
    and flesh offers substance
    to shaded suggestion.

    It’s an anomaly,
    that shadow,
    its existence depends upon dark
    making it allergic to light,
    and pity the fool
    who attempts to shed some
    by imploring
    at any time
    to help make things right.

    It comes equipped
    with the latest, greatest GPS
    to better tail them
    to school, the market, the doctor, church,
    and at one time, the homes of family
    and friends,
    but all of those relationships
    eventually met their end
    thanks to a fistful of subtle persuasion.

    It rules a roost
    that has no phone,
    but boasts casements
    secured by coffin nails
    as well as magic doors
    that fail
    to open
    thanks to disappearing keys
    that only materialize
    when the magician has his fill
    of pleas from a chorus line
    of crying robots
    who know the drill.

    But once its master’s bulk
    darkens the front doorway,
    that shadow takes its rightful place
    behind him

    as he makes his day
    by creeping up on his prey

    but today

    the hungry hunter finds
    his personal grounds barren.

    The offspring, sheltering
    in the recesses of the cellar
    shudder at his enraged roar,
    as does Mommy, secreted
    behind the kitchen door
    and clutching freshly honed

    Last night’s run to the ER,
    the third in a year
    but a month old,
    was finally one time too many,
    waking Mother from a decade
    of compliant coma.

    Daddy grins when he sees her,
    taking off his jacket to keep it free
    from those pesky stains,
    and as he goes to grab her hair
    to keep her where
    his arm need not strain,
    she gains
    the upper-hand
    with an upper-cut
    that opens up
    both voice box and vessels.

    His eyes,
    wide with surprise
    begin to cry
    and his roar, now lame,
    can only gurgle her name.

    Her hawk-like gaze —
    who’s the hunter now, bitch—
    never wavers as his pulse
    paints the cellar door,
    each beat of his pump
    adding to the puddle on the floor

    and as she backs away
    to keep it from her slippers
    she finds her step lighter and quicker

    and realizes both he
    and that fucking phantasm of his
    were finally no more.

    Scooting ‘round a red river,
    she grabs his jacket
    and extracts from the pocket
    the last bit of magic
    needed to exact their release.
    Such a sweet serenade
    is the jingle of keys.

    She collects her kids
    and ushers them out
    the back basement door

    then up the concrete stairs
    to the waiting sun
    where their six shadows become one
    gratis of a group hug

    each relieved to their core
    at deliverance

    from the evil that kept them
    ever tethered
    to its noxious shores
    and its shadowy sentry
    that in Daddy’s absence
    enforced his lurid lore

    both now obliterated

    as Mommy last night swore.

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  5. #5

    At a Cross Roads

    as the final leaves
    of fall
    as this rock continues
    its unceasing journey
    forward, ever forward
    and a pensive mood settles
    over this worldweary wastrel
    one thing remains unspokenly true:

    what is right for this soul
    may be wrong for yours;
    what is best for this heart
    is nonsensical to the next;
    what soothes this paranoid mind
    may ever appear wasteful.
    for right and wrong
    are only true where absolutes reign;
    where the trimmed trees
    flank uniform streets,
    where the dandelions sprouting
    beneath the scattered leaves
    are forgotten for weeds

    and yet, and yet…

    just as those forgotten dandelions
    hiding among so much ash
    waiting to become ash
    it comes
    that what is right for me
    will never be easy to find,
    to explain
    to show it’s worth—
    for it is no buried treasure
    but a starving of the soul
    a longing ghost pain
    which haunts&lingers
    when forsaken for another.

    so that it may be
    easier to do what is right
    ....................................for me
    than to settle my soul to its grave
    so others might agree
    i am no different from them:
    eyes averted from the trees,
    ears stopped to the robin’s call
    to wander, to be free.

  6. #6

  7. #7

  8. #8

    The Narrow Path

    No, that is not right! was her favourite refrain
    with a look that spoke of disappointment and pain.
    Her view of the world was always unmoving
    with rulings in shadings of pure black and white
    without ambiguity of what was right.

    The whole family lived by this mother’s law
    and always honoured her obvious craving
    for saving humanity from their mistakes.
    With no allowance for preference or need
    her only reference, her deep-seated creed.

    A free-spirited child did not find it easy
    to follow the right path so clearly laid down.
    Afraid of derision she stifled the surgings
    of empathy urging her to love the weak,
    believed herself wicked for sharing their pain.

    Her laughter was stifled, her kindness derided
    when clearly at odds with the strict righteous path.
    She quietly wondered when praying alone
    why straying from righteousness always felt easy
    while getting it right brought an uneasy pain.

  9. #9

    A Glass Rabbit Moment

    from the silent volcano
    of that contrarian soul
    it wakes, a living rage,
    magma in the blood…

    it is so easy to cede—

    to let the chaos
    reign on high…

    as it becomes
    an absolute sensory high
    overwrought emotion

    no cold logic to be found

    the furious words
    sand in the blood
    as they are

    the blind
    the willful
    the ignorant

    vitriol purveyors
    who monger
    the deathly flow

    what remains



    bones of glass

    slivers that formed
    in the seething flows
    needles that stabbed
    flesh flayed raw

    but piece by piece
    the slivers collect
    coalesce in
    fragile bones

    of something more
    for those who fight
    that flood of rage

    the warrior who struggles
    to right themselves
    against that torrent

    there in the bloody fire
    it waits to be found
    and pulled free

    spared a doom
    of shattered sand

    a Glass Rabbit moment
    shining in the heat
    of that cold, rabid rage

    that damned Rabbit
    to places away

    from what is easy
    to places
    of possibility

  10. #10


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