Take a seat.

G’day. The Orchid Room is a fluid collection of some of the internet’s most interesting new writers. It evolves organically which is why it is named after a flower. My name is Paul. And this is The Orchid Room. There is a stage with a bored looking band. On the stage is a microphone with a stand. It is very rarely used as the room is small and very intimate. To be heard one only needs to speak. It is populated by various shady characters of uncertain origin. Time seems a little distorted by the music and the scent of silk perfume,

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24 Responses

  1. I’d like to recline on a chaise longue
    by a window that looks out over the Huangpu
    while someone plays exalted piano
    and I listen and unravel
    the mysteries of this tantalizing room…….opium.

  2. Id like to slide a chair
    up to the stage,
    sit in wide eyed innocence
    Listening to the people
    banter and play,
    all the while peeling
    layers off my well placed
    skin….

  3. Hi Paul,

    I wrote a piece for here. I posted it on my blog.

    http://dewyknickers.wordpress.com/2008/01/11/once-more-with-feeling/

    Rose

    xo

  4. I’d like to sit in the smoky gray
    with my inhibitions
    swirling up up
    gathering in clouds
    on the ceiling.

    I’d like to step
    out of my self,
    leave my skin
    in a wrinkled pile,
    kick it out of they way.

    I’d like to sit naked,
    a heart beating
    to the rhythm
    of a poem,
    a soul thrumming
    to piano notes
    that weep.

  5. smoky grey cigar smoke unfurls
    above my head
    as if my thoughts dance and depart
    visibly, presenting me as

    A person who is more skilled
    and thoughtful
    but I am more willed
    and artful, in this life

    and in the next
    I will be too
    saxophone moans
    and screeching tones
    speak words that hide
    in my mouth

    next to my breast
    next to my heart

  6. These are a couple of great Orchid Room poems. Music, atmosphere, sensuality, intelligence, let’s dance,

  7. *strolls back to the mic*

    *ahem*

    I’m here
    You’re here

    If that’s the case
    why is the silence
    shattering my ears,
    when we can fill
    it with conversation?

    You’re not here
    I’m not there
    with you,
    like I promised,
    but I am trying.

    Maybe not as hard as you,
    but from here, it looks
    like your efforts lack
    the sincerity needed
    for my security.

  8. Hoho, that is sprightly, pop in question
    my sincerity and disappear,
    so in reality it is not even time you are risking,
    who is it then was insincere,
    who supports, who disappears,
    who stands to gain in this transaction,
    the one who acts against reaction?

  9. Every action demands reaction
    To each thought process that floats
    or flies, take your pick,
    it is up to them to divulge
    the inspiration behind
    such motives.

    One cannot disappear
    and support at the same
    time,
    of course, it is not linear
    so anything goes
    in a world of smoke and mirrors
    and machines made by men,
    yet could be mastered by monkeys.

    (That was awesome!! Again, my lovely Paul….right off the top o my noggin!)

    (Lets keep this little exercise going….(((YOU)))

  10. I a sorry to intrude . Since I had not seen the actual money for my scolarship I can not even afford paying my water bill, going out to get drunk is out of the question. So I have to use this virtual space to put my feet in my mouth and utter bad poetry and get over it one more time. But, as said, I would not like to interfere, I sat myself in the corner:

    You know who I am: woman, alone, corner table.
    Come; just tell me how pretty I am tonight.
    I will receive your flattery as flirt, as smile:
    the ocean cajoles the beach ,Palm Springs,Florida.

    And, yes you can take me out one day.
    And no, I’m sweeter inside
    And, yes I fall in love, at times
    And no, waste no words on me: I already have mine.

    You saw me before: woman, alone, corner table,
    I wear smoke as my veil and
    tonight I blast away my love for a man.
    Gotta go now, see you again?

  11. Ahh, the lonely lost and beautiful ones. They drift in shyly and drift away again in clouds of smoke, perfume and tender grief. Prey, I call them. Please, come again,

  12. With a scarred and battered guitar, a stringy haired old man walks stiffly to the stage. He glances around (not disapprovingly) at the sparse crowd gathered. He blows his bit of smoke to mingle with the the hazy air. “I wrote this song to be played so I might as well play it”. And the crowd is hushed as if he said the world would end in ten seconds.

  13. Well, you don’t need to applaud…and I’m sorry for kicking the mic stand…HA! I’m awaiting moderation! It’ll be the first thing I ever done in “moderation”…I’m going to go pick a fight with Mamu just to see if he’s as tough as I think I am.

  14. From out of the gathering crowd a youngish man of moderate appearance sleeks over to the front of the stage, props up the stand, and powers up the mic. The old man returns to the stage looking almost as battle scarred as the guitar in his hand.

  15. The black ink tattoos on the big Maori’s face and bulging forearms stand out in stark contrast against his brown skin. He grunts at me and nods his approval of my song. I bow slightly rethinking my previous ambitions and decide Mamu is a generous soul (when he wants to be)… a lovely lady smiles at my ragged persona and extends a a welcoming hand. I take this delicate flower in my own calloused paw and kiss it gently…” so good to see you here” she purrs…and I feel a moment of speechless embarrassment…( a rare thing for this old troubador) I recognize her from a faded picture the piano player used to carry close to his heart…I’m glad I could make it Narnie, I reply. I’ll be here tomorrow night as well. Now for an encore…whatever the crowd wants…a poem, a song…for my brother and my friend…a tribute to the late, the great, the majestic Paul Squires…

  16. ((((((F))))))

    It is very good to see you here.

    I’m touched by this, thank you.

    • Ah, love, how could I NOT be here? My love is as true in death as in life…I cannot stop my own heart from beating but as John Donne once said, ” Let us melt and make no noise, no tear floods, nor sigh-tempests move; ‘Twere profanation of our joys…To tell the laity our love.” But we know…we know.

  17. I sit here, way in the back row, hiding in the shade and coming out at night like a beautiful secret, looking out at the world I’ve given up on…..but not Paul. He never gave up on anyone, always there, like an omniscient sunon our heads.

    He is missed.

    eman (aka harmonie22)

  18. What a party that was…and what a kick that punch has…that Tanqueray gave it a bite! Happy Birthday Paul!

  19. ” I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping…still my guitar gently weeps” George Harrison…….

  20. FLASH FICTION
    Overlooking the sea; behind wrought iron railing we sat on folding patio chairs.

    The boardwalk below was full of life this time of evening.

    Bored with our game of twenty-one the piano player said to me,

    Why don’t we play a different sort of game, F.?

    He knew perfectly well my name but preferred to call me by the single initial I often used in our correspondence.

    I’m game Mozart, I replied with a hint of sarcasm.

    Undaunted by my snide remark he only smiled and straightened the brim of his grey fedora.

    You pick out a person or a couple and I’ll tell you their history and future; then we’ll reverse the challenge and it will be your turn.

    I immediately set my gaze on an odd looking woman in her sixties walking a French poodle on a chain. Okay, I said, the old woman with the pooch.

    Oh, that’s an easy one, my friend replied.

    She fell in love with the man of her dreams. He was a Spanish sailor who spent most of his time at sea. When he retired, he bought her a fancy little dog and purposed to her.

    They were married and soon after he took deathly ill of the ague and died.

    Now she walks along the boardwalk remembering their many fine evenings together with the little dog. She will continue this ritual as long as her own health allows and then she will join her husband in the great beyond. The little dog will die of grief soon after.

    How morbid you are! But inwardly I was smiling at this new form of entertainment my friend had devised. Alright, I said, your turn to pick the next victim. He picked a couple walking hand in hand at the distant end of the boardwalk and I watched them intently for several minutes. The man was younger than myself and walked with the haughty air of a gentleman on holiday. He wore brown slacks and a white cotton shirt and kept tilting his head into the sea breeze as if trying to shake away some unconscious trouble. His companion was a woman of stunning beauty but evidently much older than himself. She wore a green skirt and a patterned blouse and clipped along in sandals of the type one often sees at the beach. He is a scuba instructor I said. And the older woman he is with is having an affair with him while she presumes her husband is out of town. But her husband will spot her today on the boardwalk because he came home early and stopped to visit an old friend for reminiscing and a game or two of cards. The husband will no doubt catch them together in a romantic embrace later at their hotel room and shoot them both to death.

    And I am morbid?!?!

    But tell me, F., wherever did you come up with a story like that?

    Oh, it’s no story I stammered as I stood quickly and walked from the patio back into my friend’s apartment. I found my jacket and felt for the cold hardness of my pistol in the inner pocket. It’s a surety, I said. And with that I bid my friend adieu and crept stealthily down the back stairs to follow Gloria and her lover.

  21. The previous is a story…Gloria in the Game….I hope you enjoyed Paul…wherever you are!

  22. FG, I’m sure Paul loved it. I did. (((((you))))) – Mimi. xx

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