Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

On the channel today, we feature a tie for first in last week's challenge, and announce Challenge of the Week CCXXIX, which is linked just below this small paragraph, which will technically consist of four lines, because four lines just adds up on this hot and bright summer Thursday. Hope you sexy-minded beasts are keeping cool.

Number 229: https://theprose.com/challenge/14099

Channel link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6baahLzdXPY

And.

As always.

-Thank you for being here.

The Prose. team

A like without a read is a box without the chocolates. It's the froth on a milkshake. A kiss blown from the other side of the street. Am I guilty of such false love? Of ticking boxes without bothering to read more than the first few lines? Of course. The little heart looks so much nicer when coloured in, don't you think? A like is my smiley face stamp on the back of your hand for fitting at least one of your yellow plastic pieces through the correct and corresponding shaped hole. It might be considered as damning with faint praise, but then...

how many of you have actually bothered to read this?

Love that s(mothers) you--does so--by denying inspi(ration)

The sum less than the adding of the al(locations)

Which goes beyond ex(changing) put-on airs

Having no inspi(ration) to create--or pro(create)--theirs

A s(mothering) love causes only stale air ex(change)

To(get)(her) or not--it's false and e(strang)ed

Until you can('t) take it any(more), sur(render) to the fire

And give up on venting and s(imply) ex(pyre)

... I

believe

in Soul

in which

I draw our

attentions,

to the very S

as in pluribus...

multus tumultuous

that signifies an uS

in an equilibrium

as such Ssssss's

in our balances

top and bottom

heading off

in opposite

but equal

directions

with this

sensuous

central

swerve

that

links

uS

all

up

~

06.20.2023

We Became Each Other's Soulmates challenge @DanPhantom123

There4 was a time when gay meant being happy. There was a time when queer meant odd. Not any longer.

Until the late sixties, gay people across the globe were secretive about their personal actions. If they weren't, they would lose, their jobs, their family, their friends. The term "coming out of the closet" became the metaphor to disclose their sexual orientation. Then came a thing called the "Stonewall Riots".

On June 28, 1969, the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in New York's Greenwich Village, was raided by police. But instead of responding with the routine compliance the NYPD expected, patrons and a growing crowd decided to fight back They wanted their freedom to congregate, and the police tried to take that away from them. This incident changed the face of gay and lesbian life. Communities from all over the globe lent their support, and from this, the phrase, "Hell no, we won't go" came to be more than a phrase but their outcry for independence.

Myself, I'm a straight white male who never had a thought of turning the corner but that doesn't mean that I'm afraid to turn the corner and accept people for who they are. I will say that when I was younger, gay men came on to me, but I declined and there was no pressure, no hatred. We simply understood what we did and did not want.

I have met and become friends with many gay individuals over the years and in many respects, outside of their sexual preference, they are no different than anyone else. They have a mind, two legs, two arms, two eyes, and when they bleed their blood is as red as mine.

However, a major turning point was when AIDS hit the globe everywhere. People became frightened and angry with gay people and those old enough may remember the stupid things people said regarding getting AIDS from gay people. The big one was "toilet seats". Then came sharing needles. "Breathing the same air". The list is almost endless.

It took decades before AIDS came under control and today, people don't talk about it that much, but then came the right to live openly with a partner. Their significant other. And that blew open a new can of worms. Gay people wanted the right to get married.

The LBGTQ+ community marched, they gave speeches, they supported one another. No other movement in U.S. History has ever seen such an outpouring, such an outcry against human rights. Religious leaders spouted from the Bible where it would say. "one man and one woman", but history has shown us that being gay has practically been a thing since the beginning of time.

The most famous homosexual couple in Roman history around 500 A.D., are two Roman leaders, Antinous and Hadrian Although Hadrian was married, ancient sources reveal that he also had several relationships. And both insured each would have a stable or concubine of male slaves for their enjoyment. In 67 A.D., Nero, also an emperor, actually married his male slave, Scorus, in a public ceremony. These are just a few factual examples.

In today's society, being gay is pretty much an accepted way of life. Granted, there will still be a small percentage that will snub gay people, mainly the church "hardliners", but science has proven a complex interplay of genetic hormonal and environmental influence, meaning that that the X and Y chromosomes are and have become interchangeable determining one's thought process and their gender identity.

It all boils down to one thing today. Acceptance. If being gay makes you happy then I see nothi9ng odd about being queer.

To those who refuse to buy into any of this ... get over yourselves.

(FYI ...The federal government formally recognizes marriage in law for the first time with the passage of the Revenue Act of 1913. In 1929, all states now have laws regarding marriage licenses.)

The setting sun was purple shadowing the sagebrush when the Rocking Horse Kid moseyed on into the town of Moist Gusset to go a courting his sweetheart, Miss Fanny Dimples.

He rode a white appaloosa with black spots painted on its hindquarters, like polka dots on a neckerchief, he called Joiner. Joiner Dots.

Twin leather holsters held a pair of pearl handled revolvers. Not that he'd ever shot anyone. He didn't need to. When the bad guys heard he was in town, they skedaddled for the hills as fast as their skes could daddle.

A white stetson hat kept the sun out of his eyes.

His cowboy boots had pointed, silver tipped toes.

He wore a pair of fringed chaps for fringing the high chaparral.

And spurs that jingle-jangle-jingled.

Miss Fanny Dimples lived in a two room tar-paper shack behind the respectable tearoom where she helped her widowed mother. When he jingle-jangled through the tearoom's door, Miss Fanny looked out the window with its blue gingham curtains.

Where's your horse? She asked him.

The hitching post was already taken, he told her.

Moist Gusset was a one horse town.

The Kid's full name was G. Russell Horne. Miss Fanny had soon shortened it to Rusty. Rusty Horne and Fanny Dimples were often seen parading, arm in arm, down Main Street. Moist Gusset's only street. Fanny twirling a yellow parasol all the way from Paris, Paris Texas. And Rusty trying not to trip over his spurs.

On Sundays after church, Rusty would hire a surrey from the stables to take Miss Fanny picnicking by the river. And if he played his cards right, she might even allow him the familiarity of dunking his jam fancy in her pot of cream.

Everything was satisfactual. Little bluebirds were doo-dahing their zippeties. Miss Fanny was the belle of Moist Gusset's annual harvest barn dance and Baptist Ladies Mud Wrestling contest, taking home the winner's blue ribbon.

Down in the barnyard

Swinging on a gate

Take your girl

And don't be late

Chicken in a bread pan

Picking out dough

Swing your girl

And do-se-do

Allemande left

With the corner maid

Meet your own

And promenade

Promenade

Two by two

Now walk 'em home

Like y'ought to do

Here we go

Heel and toe

Hurry up cowboy

Don't be slow

Swing 'em high

Swing 'em low

Turn 'em loose

And watch 'em go

Bow to your corners

Weave the ring

Cats can't fiddle

And dogs don't sing

Rusty was proudly promenading Miss Fanny in step and in time with the other heel kickers when a hand tapped him on the shoulder.

Pass on through, said Rusty. Nobody's handling my Fanny, but me.

Buck Ryder had been drinking. Corn-jugged to the eyeballs, he wasn't about to take no for an answer. He swung a wild haymaker at Rusty's lantern jaw.

Rusty ducked. Buck just about swung himself off his feet. His punch found the preacher's wife instead. Reverend Lamb was a peaceful man of God, but he couldn't abide to stand there and turn the other cheek. Snatching up a bottle of elderberry wine from the refreshments table, he smote Ryder a mighty blow crying, Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord!

Stumbling backwards, one of the outlaw's windmilling arms knocked the fiddle player's elbow. And while the wallflowers wilted, the young bucks yee-hawed and waded in. All hell broke loose. Tables were overturned. Chairs were thrown. A smashed lamp set the stacked bales of straw ablaze. And the fiddler struck up Bonaparte's Retreat as the barn burned down around them.

Hoisting Miss Fanny over his shoulder, Rusty done git while the gittin' was good.

She so deeply loves

The deeply damaged

You know the ones

Others don't bother to manage

Stray cats and clearance plants

Things that need a second chance

Despite the neglect, rejection, and hell

She believes her love can make them well

This moment of silence is just for me.

Cut out of a time when sleep's avoided,

I sit alone.

A bird chirps a song of morning dew,

and sometimes others join in—

A chorus ensues.

The sun has hours to arrive.

Once in a while, the hiss of a car zips through.

Moisture on tires ripping across asphalt

then back to silence.

There’s something in the silence that can’t be engineered.

Because it’s more a feeling than a sound.

There are always sounds, but not always peace.

and peace is everything in a world where there is none.

So, I sit alone and steal this moment for myself,

while you lay and dream of better years,

better days,

or better moments to come.

I wait patiently inviting the sun to peek its curious eyes over that mountain

so when you wake, I can greet you with a peaceful start to your day.

Your smile is worth the deprivation I endured.

<>< <>< <><

sweet slow summers,

shy skittish kisses by the swing set,

picking and skipping rocks by the shifting stream.

the soft petals of callow youth fall silently on oblivious grasses.

time has no patience.

how your bloody clock hands are choking me!

now your summers are begging,

and your kisses are begging,

and the stream is crying and burly.

and i beg of u sweet summer water,

let me swim upstream with the spry scarlet salmon,

through the salty blue pacific,

slip by the frothy currents,

and sleep eternally in silky grey sands of innocence.