Competition for Romance Writers!

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Hi everyone. I want to start off by saying no I have not abandoned my blog. I’ve spent most of my “writing time” reviving and fixing up my manuscript. Progress is slowly being made and hoping to be done sooner than later after years of putting it aside and making excuses.

I got this in my email and thought it would be great to share! For those of you who are fantastic romance writers you should take a look at this!

https://www.eharmony.co.uk/dating-advice/dating/love-story-competition-2?utm_source=CURTIS+BROWN+CREATIVE+MAILING+LIST&utm_campaign=09c4741941-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2018_06_07_01_26_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_5df635d3ae-09c4741941-61625213#.WyPLR8lrm7N

Nemi-B

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Wicked

If the face of a man was a portrait of his personality

It would be blue, now red, now safe

Some would be abstract and open to interpretation,

Some fearful,

Others sweet and beautiful,

Others faceless,

If the eyes of a man held the expression of his heart

They would shine bright, now dark, now wicked

Wicked for he could see to the very depths of your soul

Wicked, for his smile could melt the heart of a goddess

His words like sweet nectar, will trap…

Flip a coin, and his passions fiery and fearful, not for the faint of heart

Will be the oppressor,

But if his eyes could betray the extent of his conduct,

There will be no lilies trapped in webs of poisonous honey

For they would fleet away in an instant

And all will be plain as day.

-Nemi B

Words

And there are no words, and there have been no words,
For your eyes speak truths I can only dream,
Truths that I have only dreamed,Image result for heartbreak
And there is no sound, yet the silence screams,
It screams that the end, is upon us,
But is it truly?
There goes that burning, the one that lingers on my heart,
It says different,
For the world over I have been, and deep down I know, as I have always…
There will never be another you.

-Nemi B

Image Credit: Google Images

 

 

The Haunting

But will it crumble at my touch?
Or burn until we fall?
The elevating sounds only then they heed my call,Image result for romance painting
The sounds a’rich with color that only ears can see,
To you myself I give, to you myself I leave,
So that I am not, but I am…
Beyond all comprehension I babble like a fool,
I babble through my fingers against the tender keys,
Will it crumble at my touch, the flesh above your bones?
Will this burn until we fall?
And have none left to call?
Do you feel my quickened pulse? The fables left concealed?
Of your eyes, your lips, the haunting

The haunting of your gaze and the hands that play like fate,
The haunting of your smile, I shall perish at this rate,
Love me now or never, down the cliffs we roll… to jagged edges and rippled waters
To you myself I give, to you myself I leave,
So that I am not, but I am
Can you tell of the fables? Can you feel my pulse?
For by your eyes, your lips, I am haunted
It would burn until we fall, and none will be left standing,
For if the world began today, it could not have been later,

Whence first our eyes beheld, did we know the game of fate?
Or like mere mortals were we led unbeknownst?
For my life, you have altered to the very strings that bind, gentle sighs, your laughter, you haunt me

I babble through my fingers against the tender keys, do not you hear the music?
From you it was begot, it’s written in your eyes, it’s carved upon your lips,
It taunts the blood within so that it boils,
I shall perish at this rate!
Apaixionado por você, ou meu coração está louco!

I babble through my fingers against the tender keys, and time is endless…
Of your eyes, your lips, I am haunted.

-Nemi B

 

Image Credit: Google Images

 

All is vanity

Image result for jewels paintingShe rips her heart out thinking it will stop the pain,
Hoping to turn cold, like ice and fails
She lets go of the one she cares about because it makes her feel insane, because all is vanity, all is vain.
Emotions play like chords on a guitar,
Feelings none but she can explain, but not with words,
Not with words,
Do not suffer her to speak, for her thoughts are confusion but her heart is sure,
So let her show you…
But, you refuse her,
You stay her hand and refuse her comfort
You shun her because your walls are high and mighty
But you do not see, for you are blind,
Blind to behold that only one bold can venture unarmed into the lion’s den,
Or one foolish…foolish with emotion because all is vanity, all is vain,
You fail to see that which you have been served on a platter of gold,
Until it rots and gathers the flies so that it must be cast out,
For all is vanity and all is vain… and even the best of meals will rot untouched
Comfort refused, silence for compassion and coldness for warmth…a punishment ill received,
A punishment that turns sweetness to venom against its will.
Those high walls…they will not keep,
There will come a warmth persistent in its craft that the irons would melt, and you will find that all is vanity,
And all is vain.

-Nemi Boyo

 

 

Image credit: google images

The Voice of Eden

Eden      The fragrant smell of aged wine drifted into the air like one being called forth by the melodious pipe of a sorcerer. She sat by the window seat, still like the statue of a saint, hardened like forged steel. But her countenance, it was filled with grace! Her dark hair rolled softly about her shoulders like a silken threads, and her smile, in the days she used to smile, lit up the very night sky.
When Eden’s father died, one can say that misfortune and his friends arrived upon her threshold. Her life lost its luster, and she became a shadow of herself. Bright lively eyes became stern and brooding, lips that easily curved remained a firm line like she bit them in order to remain silent and unspoken to.
She shunned gay colors, but consented to black and grey, forever in mourning. The voice of Eden, it danced upon one’s ears as lightly as a feather would brush against the frail leaves of a tree- her father loved to hear her sing. It lingered like the drowsiness that often accompanies port. It soothed like the drops of rain on the day of an unforgiving summer, and it nourished the hearts of all who were blessed to have heard it so that they ached and lusted to their ruin. And when Aunt Betsy came to visit, Aunt Betsy who was to Eden like a breath of fresh air…still there was no change.

“Can she no longer speak?” Aunt Betsy inquired of her mother

“The doctors say she is in a state of shock…”

“For two years! Mercy me” Aunt Betsy clucked her tongue

“Shh, do not speak of it” her mother cautioned weakly, nervous fingers gripped her tea cup as though clinging for dear life. She could not bear to see Eden’s almost soulless eyes, fixed upon her in disapproval of being discussed.

“But she cannot carry on so!” Aunt Betsy exclaimed eyeing Eden pitifully out of the corner of her eye as she sat by the window, looking out at the world below. Things went on in this manner, until one night when the clock struck twelve, and a maid whom had awoken to get herself some water, caught a glimpse of a figure in a white flowing gown. She gasped in surprise “Why, t’is Lady Eden, upon my word and clothed not in black!”

The figure turned to reveal tear stricken cheeks and then Eden did a most surprising thing startling the maid out of her wits so much that she knocked over a lamp, and it crashed to the ground!

Eden spoke.

Quietly, but audibly enough.

“Papa was poisoned by mother, it is with these hands that I fed him the medicine which I thought would make him well, but it was all her doing, all of it, Oh Marian! Do you think papa would forgive my childish foolishness?” Her voice had not lost its radiance for all the silence it had borne these two years and her hands, which now gripped the shoulders of the maid were alarmingly firm and cold. Marian, still very much startled, managed to somewhat collect herself on hearing the sound of approaching footsteps. The noise had awoken the Manor. But Eden was already gone!

As Marian fumbled for words to explain what had just occurred, leaving out Eden’s distressed message while eyeing her mistress with a curious eye, it was with excitement on hearing that Eden had spoken at all that the mistress of the manor, along with Aunt Betsy, the doorman, and the servants made their way to Eden’s chamber, where they found her lying peacefully in black like a princess in a picture book.

Not a single breath escaped her, Eden was cold as marble.

-Nemi Boyo

 

 

Image Credit:  http://asimg.artsolution.net/tsmedia/MacConnalMasonMacphoto/MacConnalMason1162008T123442.jpg?qlt=100&ftr=8&cell=950,500&cvt=jpeg