• Lovers Lane

Moving, driving the body to awareness. Shaking her slim hips, silky black hair flaunting provocatively she looks so sexy (he thinks). His seed is nearly cumming from his pants as he disappears for a few minutes to fix himself up. Her smart mind knows him and his penis, not worrying about it.

She climbs up to the art display section where all the local people dance. She throws her arms and hands in the air like a mime. Sort of improvising (hell you had to call it something!) (him again) she lifts the right leg up then left…

Feature page

We have a new feature page showcasing the good work of the writers here at the Rock zone. J.D. Harms, Jessica and Vic, Mark and me are showing off our quirky styles, from older pieces to the new ones. Take a glance by going to feature page then press ‘go to page’. Hope you are all dandy. I am not particularly inspired this week hence my feature page! Ha..

Cheers, Mimi

Please read-important information..

Hi hello ciao bonsoir good day/night! How are you folks? I know this comes out of nowhere usually at the end of a good writing session just to irritate you and make sure you remember to always use your apostrophes ok? Good.

So Boys Grrls tell me all. What’s happening. Have you noticed ArtRock being mentioned in a couple of features. Nice to be recognised for hard labour. More people are begging me to come stay here forever! I have to turn them down= we don’t do articles here nor non fuction. Read the bloody blog dick!

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You. It was always you. And you knew it. I’m sure we loved each other from afar, no words spoken, no hate, a love that could live peacefully like it should. Love isn’t meant to be messy but mostly it is isn’t it? People speak badly of it, folk trample on its delicate heart. You treat it well; as well as you could without malice, and we share in its beauty. Crumpled, dusty, damaged, folk just can’t stop fucking with it, making it something to loathe, to not look forward to, to fear, run away from, pick at its sores…

Drag my sad, depressed aging ass along the boulevard seeking a new gem, something to make me feel better. You know.. like normal, instead of having nitty gritty every day and night. Moan, moan, you know it’s grim up north! Yes, and poor Harriet just had her teeth done looks a thousand years younger! Really Maude? Why yes. The conversation flows across snow, swept grubby pavements to old chip wrappers flying through the breeze. Now I’m a Trojan horse; trickster tempting, enticing typical Taurean state of being. Wait, I’ll steal your wallet if you don’t check! …

Pithy bubbles of squeak

I was perusing various Medium settings before settling on curation guidelines. I realised after reading through it that my little prose poems don’t conform at all. It sounded more like the articles on say life’s lessons such as how to write a letter, story, on a blackboard and maybe how to get claps from the clappers. Ha yeah he’s got the clap! Not to mention followers. What like Charles Manson? And I heard God has quite a handful of them. Partner program. Hmm.. maybe we should get a divorce? I don’t mind going to other places…

Claws like witch’s hats ready for scratching my eyes out for I deceived my crow and now he’s mad; mad as hell. Stretching morning clouds hiding the sun looking north view with binoculars uh oh I see the flapping wings a-coming towards the window I pull the blind down. Beak taps mildly first asking for a sultana which I throw out via a crack in the sill. Then Stilton starts to caw loudly shouting at me wanting to see me I think he’s in love who knows with crows? ‘Shut up!’ I whisper lying on the bed. Opening the blinds…