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Latest Challenge Winner – Tantra Bensko

Tantra Bensko wins! . Write about the Witching Hour -by Tantra Bensko . . Midnight came and went many times today. I have never experienced this before. I knew no one was looking when I started turning my head around like an owl to see all the midnights lining up around me. One started speaking to me. Come. Come this way. Another started speaking. Come this way! It was like when my husband and I would spin our son around on a swivel chair and then both call him to run to us in different directions, and watch him fall over. Midnight was playing. And so it was time. Time for something. A little test of what different possibilities could be like in different repeating times. I gave myself a kiss. On the arm. I petted my ankle. I caressed my face. All in different midnights. I was trying to learn to remember what it was like to feel adored, touched because of being beautiful. My only option was myself. If I did something nice for my skin in many midnights at once, would there come a point at which all of them would hit me simultaneously? I liked the linearity of the repetition, but am a big fan of the non linear. And being touched sweetly all at once in many places by myself was sounding really fun. I ran my hand through my hair. I pulled my toes. I felt along the line of my hip, with my hand cupped, feeling the tautness of the shape. I traced the edges of my lips. I felt so loved, and had been so lonely for long, longing for touch, I was ecstatic when suddenly, all the midnights I had just participated in collapsed in on themselves from the weight, and I became like a Picasso painting. All directions at...

May 20th Winner!

Congratulations PhilosopherKingES, for such a well-written poem on last week’s prompt, “The day has just begun…” The day has just begun, reminding me of all the other days that began, then ended, meager sandwiches of bread on bread. No meat between the daily routine of tearing oneself from dozy dreams and returning to bed, somnolent again. Naught but sand, in fact. Humanity persists in a directionless line, voyaging, voyaging toward… The generations cycle idly like annual flowers. I travel on a plane in one direction on a line segment of indeterminable length, yet I too live in cycles. In one, eating, another, driving, a third, wanting The fourth consists of turbulent seas. Upon these I sail irrationally, master of my intent and nothing more. Here consciousness monsters cease their torments as I anchor in the shallows off mind’s luminescent shore. Realm where existence is a distant memory, and cares are but paranoid shadows, the polarized sweets and sours of life rain down in confused, fantastic showers. In this blended up hash of horror and delight— but the light cycle’s turning, the end’s come to night. The day’s just beginning, and streaming through my window the bright morning extends its daily invitation to...