Chato wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d heard the legends almost every weekend. His fists curled into themselves, not quite tight, not ripe to make a punch. Through the sheet that separated him from the rest of the living room guests, he heard the women speaking. Some weeping, some whispering like the noise of ninja stars in mid air. Chato thought about Ernesto and his eyes watered a little. Glancing down to find a tee shirt to wipe his face, Ernesto’s acceptance letter to UCLA reproached him. Chato comforted his pain by scrolling through his phone to call Chino and the crew. No answer. Chato looked up the wall and smiled at Ernesto’s awards. The rage flooded him. In between blurred thoughts, he could not understand how he and Ernesto had survived so much and suddenly cancer took down the person who meant the world to him.
Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge April 9, 2019
Devereaux Frazier and Beth Amanda are currently hosting the Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge which was started by our star writer Christine Ray. We hope to offer all of you something that will spark your creativity and willingness to participate.
The prompts are designed to be quick challenges that can be written in 10 to 15minutes, inspire you creatively, are fun, and get everyone interacting. Please post your response to the prompt in the comments below and show your fellow posters some love and support. All members of the Go Dog Go community, including Baristas, are welcome to participate. Feel free to share this post on your own blogs and/or Facebook.
Today’s prompt:
Use the phrase “blurred thoughts” in a poem or piece of prose.
Happy writing!
What do you See? April/09/2019
siete
aquí quedo dormida
este cuarto es azul
tus caricias se borran
con los amaneceres
tus labios huyen de mi
crueles clavos duros
las aves son sin alas
las flores ya no brillan
los ojos de ángeles
sus sangres son de plata
mentiras quedan muchas
soy de carne y hueso
tus soles de cenizas
sete
estou dormindo aqui
esta sala é azul
suas carícias são apagadas
com os amanheceres
seus labios fogem de mim
unhas duras e cruéis
os pássaros são sem asas
as flores já não brilham
os olhos dos anjos
o sangue deles é prata
mentiras existem muitos
eu sou carne e sangue
seus sóis de cinzas
seven
i’m asleep here
this room is blue
your caresses are erased
with the sunrises
your lips run away from me
cruel hard nails
the birds are wingless
the flowers no longer shine
the eyes of angels
their blood is silver
lies there are many
i am flesh and blood
your suns of ashes
Sunday morning chores
slim cigarettes crystal ashtray on each table champagne flutes and martinis silk cocktail dresses t.v. sets Doris Day silky red bob fiery temper purse emptied pill bottles prescriptions on their way Monk and Gainsbourg converse like angels laughter is refined ladies don’t drink beer ladies sip on wine day in and night out four in the morning the child translates orders tiny soldier scrape the fields looking for a mother giving birth to self carpet facials the caresses turn blue and black little mommy takes good care pumpernickel toast French butter pats left on the bedside melting in the afternoon sun
Promote Yourself Monday April 8, 2019
Welcome to Promote Yourself Monday. All Go Dog Go Cafe readers, guest writers, and baristas are invited to post one link to one specific post (600 words or less please!) from your blog into the comments section below.
If you post a link, be sure to read some of the other great writing people have linked to.
alternative ending
a wishing well
the red door smokey
music of any generation blares
curtains coil in the caress of night
the sunken eyes cheeks moist with the dew
truth you are a liar gospel im lying to myelf
regrets im sure the devil had some scorn ive had my share
smoke puff he loves me ash flick he loves me not
clinking glasses last call some hearts stutter
can i bum a cigarette another asks halo moon
bamboo jade blackflag germs window mirror
fleeting time biting nails taxi drive
the way of good intention blocked
to the tunnel one more time
flick flick flick shoot
i guess i love me not
tiny dust bowl doll
supernova
the sun and the moon
shine simultaneously beyond the pale
rotating wildly then dreadful silence
Burlington Ave. Retirement Home
you’ve earned the right to sleep
after the end of battle
the mountains and the breeze
of change that do not fluctuate
all was traded some left to the side
the city of angels
is where you now reside
the dream of any freedom
that never was fulfilled
stolen from you your soul and your kʼuhul ajaw. past
Guajoyo in blood, Mozote in fire, Junquillo the same
sidewalk pillows and bottles as slaves
your problems have grown up
the leaving of stains in memories of women
of lies in the jungles with snippets of Monroe
the linens wasted pulp
shared by the poets and the popes
of a world so far away from you
wasting away in the alley of industrialized Golgotha
burlington avenue retirement home
Violet’s sisters
as the cars go by
we sit on the corners
of the public walkways
under tattered canopies
that used to be hanging gardens
and fields of golden straw
our chiffon gowns encrusted with rubies
are dwindled to greasy rags
crystal chandeliers and exquisite ballrooms
transformed to milk crates and cardboard boxes
dignity and the strength of spirit stand tall while
we grow accustomed to darkness
words less spoken 