Writing Forums

Writing Forums is a privately-owned, community managed writing environment. We provide an unlimited opportunity for writers and poets of all abilities, to share their work and communicate with other writers and creative artists. We offer an experience that is safe, welcoming and friendly, regardless of your level of participation, knowledge or skill. There are several opportunities for writers to exchange tips, engage in discussions about techniques, and grow in your craft. You can also participate in forum competitions that are exciting and helpful in building your skill level. There's so much more for you to explore!

Anonymous November Challenge: “What is Right, Not Easy...” (1 Viewer)

Not open for further replies.

Chesters Daughter

WF Veterans
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.


Chesters Daughter

WF Veterans
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.

Chesters Daughter

WF Veterans
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.

Chesters Daughter

WF Veterans
The Narrow Path

No, that is not right! was her favourite refrain
with a look that spoke of disappointment[/FONT][FONT=&Verdana] 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.[FONT=&Verdana]

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.

Chesters Daughter

WF Veterans
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
Not open for further replies.