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more space blog entries The Perfect Road trip (E) A road trip turns a vacation into an (unwanted) afventure #2348149 by (254) The 2022 Jeep Cherokee, a beacon of modern engineering, was currently serving as a mobile palace for a most unusual royal entourage traversing the vast, green expanse of Iowa. At the helm was I, a man whose patience was as sturdy as the Jeep's chassis. Sharing my journey with my wife, who, for reasons of self-preservation and marital harmony, would remain nameless. She considered herself, quite rightly in her own estimation, a Princess - and, by extension, believed her devoted husband should also embrace his role as a butler, driver, launderer, as well as one who oversaw the driving and snack procurement. Her furry subjects completed the tableau: Bella, an Australian Shepherd with boundless enthusiasm and an equally boundless bladder, and Spot, my cat, a magnificent Calico whose primary contribution to the journey was an unwavering, deeply judgmental stare directed exclusively at the man behind the wheel. It became apparent, approximately thirty minutes after crossing the Nebraska border, that this road trip would be less about scenic marvels and more about the delicate dance of biological necessity. Bella, bless her heart, was the first to signal. A whimper, a rapid-fire pant, followed by an unmistakable "I must go NOW" tailless butt wag. I, ever the obliging chauffeur, pulled off at the next rest stop, Bella leaping out with the joyful abandon of a dog who had just discovered grass for the first time. No sooner had Bella completed her urgent business than a regal cough emanated from the passenger seat. "Darling," the Princess declared, "this stop seems rather fortuitous. A lady of my... delicate sensibilities... also requires refreshment, and perhaps a moment to exist outside the confines of a moving vehicle." Her "refreshment" invariably involved a detour to the nearest gas station for an extra-large Diet Pepsi, a pretzel, and a strawberry licorice, and a frantic search for a restroom that met her exact standards of cleanliness. Meanwhile, Spot, nestled on the back seat, watched the spectacle unfold, his multi-colored face a mask of feline disdain. Miles dissolved into a blur of cornfields and charmingly dilapidated farmhouses, punctuated by Bella's increasingly frequent "potty emergencies." Each stop was a carefully orchestrated ballet of leashes, door-opening, and the Princess's pronouncements on the local amenities. One such stop, prompted by Bella's most dramatic plea yet - a low, mournful howl paired with a paw frantically scratching the window - led them to a particularly rustic-looking gas station with an attached "Iowa's Largest Corn Maze!" sign. While Bella happily investigated every blade of grass, and the Princess assessed the restroom facilities with the keen eye of a royal inspector, I found myself idly perusing a rack of local postcards depicting oversized pumpkins. Suddenly, a shriek echoed from the gas station. The Princess stormed out, a look of utter horror on her face. "Darling! The paper dispenser was empty! Empty! Do they not understand the fundamental necessities of a civilized society? One cannot endure such an oversight!" She gestured wildly towards the restroom door, as if inviting the entire state of Iowa to witness her indignity. Spot, perched on the dashboard like a particularly discerning gargoyle, swiveled his head slowly. His gaze, as ever, was fixed on me, who merely offered a sympathetic, if resigned, shrug. It was, to Spot, simply further proof of our inferior planning. Our journey resumed, the Princess now armed with a hastily purchased (and thoroughly inspected) roll of emergency tissues. The potty breaks continued with a regularity that suggested a hidden schedule, each stop slightly more elaborate than the last. Bella, at least, was enjoying the frequent stretch breaks, scampering off leash (in designated areas, of course) like a furry, four-legged arrow. Just as the sun began its lazy descent, painting the Iowan sky in hues of orange and purple, we encountered something genuinely unique. Traffic slowed to a crawl. Up ahead, a procession of vintage tractors, polished to a mirror shine, chugged along, each piloted by a proud farmer in overalls and a straw hat. It was a local "Tractorcade," a charming, slow-moving parade celebrating agricultural heritage. "Oh, darling, how quaint!" the Princess exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her recent toilet paper trauma. She immediately pulled out her phone, demanding I slow down even further so she could capture the perfect Instagram story. "And look! That one has a little piglet in the passenger seat! How utterly adorable!" Before I could fully appreciate the porcine co-pilot, Bella emitted a sudden, sharp bark. Her butt wiggle was making a frantic, full-body wag, and her eyes were fixed on an open field to their right. "She needs to go again, doesn't she?" I sighed, already reaching for the turn signal. I could practically hear the Princess's internal groans. The Princess, mid-framing shot of a particularly ancient John Deere, looked up in exasperation. "Again? But we just stopped ten minutes ago! And the light is perfect for this Tractorcade!" Spot, however, offered no such complaints. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of both the marching tractors and the increasingly desperate Australian Shepherd. When I eventually pulled the Jeep over to a dusty shoulder, allowing Bella to bound out, Spot finally broke his silence. A single, slow blink, followed by a languid stretch and an even slower blink. It was a blink that spoke volumes: You brought this upon yourself, human. And now, you suffer. As dusk settled fully over Iowa, casting long shadows across the endless fields, the 2022 Jeep Cherokee continued its eastward journey. The day had been a series of bladder-induced detours and unexpected rural charm, overseen by a watchful feline, and navigated by a patient royal chauffeur. The Princess, now contentedly scrolling through her Tractorcade footage, occasionally offered a critique of the roadside foliage. Bella, exhausted from her many explorations, snored softly in the back. And Spot? Spot just stared, a silent, furry sentinel, already contemplating the next day's inevitable cycle of demands and biological necessities, all played out against the backdrop of America's heartland. It was, in its own chaotic way, a perfect road trip. Words: 1005 Read, review, and write about road trips. Reminded me of my own epic road trip circa 1975 when I hitchhiked across the US for one month. I also drove across the country in 2016 to celebrate my retirement from the US Foreign Service, an epic three-month adventure 31 states and ten thousand miles In 2016 To celebrate My retirement From the US Foreign Service My wife and I set off On an epic road trip To discover America In all of its splendor And wonder Driving 10,000 miles From coast to coast Traveling to 35 states We drove through Rural backwater Towns That reminded me Of third-world nations Isolated in extreme poverty Where there was Not much is going on And extreme poverty Was the norm There was quite a scene over on planet today. Many said it was a huge fire with the smoke being seen for miles. The rescue team brought me back this report. Snickers (E) Snickers lost his humans, and the world is a big, scary place. #2347797 by (463) A nicely done poem about a dog being seperated from his human master and finding another human a witch to take his place. Well done The fire One day A fire broke out In the forest Behind the town Of Medford Oregon The wildfire soon spread All over the town Consuming the entire town Until nothing was left Just another wildfire In the burning West coast Read, review and write about fire. Ashes of Wrath (E) A man consumed by wrath risks everything to expose a rival, only to destroy himself. #2347818 by (302) Ashes Of Wrath Word Count: 1,901 Mark Brennan clenched his fists the day Robert Langley stole his presentation. Every chart, every late-night edit, every careful idea—Robert claimed them with a grin before the board. Applause swelled around him while Mark stood at the edge of the room, invisible. He told himself it didn’t matter. But that night, staring at the ceiling in his dark apartment, Robert’s smirk replayed again and again. The memory weighed on him like a stone. At first, Mark’s wrath was quiet. He would outwork Robert, prove him a fraud. He arrived earlier, stayed later, accepted projects until exhaustion bent his shoulders. Still, Robert glided through the office untouched, laughter trailing behind him. His every success felt like an insult, a blade twisting deeper. When Mark’s manager pulled him aside for a “performance check-in,” warning him about burnout, the stone cracked. “He’s doing it again,” Mark muttered in traffic that night, knuckles white on the wheel. “Making me look weak.” Wrath whispered back: Do something about it. It festered. Robert’s voice grated. His presence filled every room, every hallway. At home, Mark scribbled in a notebook, pages full of bitter vows. He won’t get away with this. Not again. By December, his notebooks overflowed. His sister noticed first. “You sound different,” she said during a late-night call. “Like something’s eating you alive.” He laughed it off, but her words stung. Yes, something was eating him—chewing through his sleep, his patience, his life. One rainy evening, Mark followed Robert into the parking garage. Their footsteps echoed in the damp air. Robert hummed as he unlocked his car, unaware of the figure in the shadows. Mark’s hand wrapped around his house key, picturing it carving a jagged line down Robert’s spotless sedan. His arm twitched. His pulse roared. But he froze. He only stood there, chest heaving, as Robert drove away into the night. The holiday party was the breaking point. Mark almost stayed home, but the thought of Robert giving a toast dragged him there. The ballroom glittered with lights. Robert’s voice rang out smooth and confident. “Another successful year—thanks to teamwork, dedication, and a little creativity.” Applause erupted. Mark snapped. “Creativity?” he shouted, shoving through the crowd. “You mean stealing ideas and pretending they’re yours?” The room froze. Dozens of faces turned. Robert’s smile faltered. “Mark, maybe we should—” “No.” Mark’s voice cracked like a whip. “Everyone here deserves to know who you really are.” Murmurs rose. A manager stepped in, urging calm. Robert shifted, uncomfortable for once. For a fleeting second, Mark felt victorious. He had exposed him. Monday morning shattered the illusion. HR called him in: complaints about his behavior, warnings about his temper. He was “not a good fit.” By noon, Mark carried a cardboard box out of the building. His apartment greeted him with silence. His notebooks lay open on the table, pages dark with anger. Robert’s name still shone in company press releases. Mark’s own disappeared overnight. Wrath had promised him justice. Instead, it hollowed him out and left him empty-handed. Late one night, he stood at his window, staring at the city lights blinking against the dark. His reflection looked back: gaunt, hollow-eyed, older than his years. For the first time, he whispered the truth aloud. “I let him win.” The city kept shining, uncaring. Behind him, the notebooks lay waiting, filled with the ashes of his wrath. Word Count: 1,901 A great story about wrath and how it can consume and overwhelm people turning everything into hate and fear. Wrath and the desire for revenge has been a constant refrain in the life of Donald Trump a poster child for the so called seven deadly sin poster Child for the Seven Deadly Sins Donald Trump Is not a Christian In fact He is the poster child For the so called Deadly sins Particularly wraith Revenge and anger Which are motivating things In his life He lives for revenge Against his enemies Real and imagined, Read, review and write about uncontrolled wrath. Imagination (E) Won Honorable Mention Write 4 Kids #2325400 by (1,010) Imagination Johnny was out in the backyard playing one day when he heard a noise in the yard next door. Curious, he brought over an old pail to stand on so he could see over the fence. He couldn’t believe his eyes: a silver unicorn with a mane of gold stood there. Suddenly, a puff of smoke appeared, and a troll materialized. In the middle of the yard was an area of brilliant green, roped off like an arena. Johnny watched in awe as the troll and the unicorn began throwing colored rings of fire. Just then, he heard his grandma calling from the house, “Time for lunch, Johnny!” He heard her go back inside, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the magical scene before him. The rings of fire weren’t aimed at each other but at two golden hoops. The troll’s rings burned with a fierce flame, while the unicorn’s rings glowed a shimmering silver. Some of the rings didn’t reach their targets, falling short and fizzling out. Johnny was completely entranced by the spectacle. “Wow, this is amazing,” Johnny whispered to himself. As he continued to watch, he noticed the unicorn and the troll seemed to be enjoying the game, despite their fierce competition. The unicorn’s mane sparkled in the sunlight, and the troll’s eyes gleamed with excitement. Suddenly, Johnny felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his grandma standing beside him, smiling kindly. “It’s time to come inside, Johnny,” she said softly. “But Grandma, look at the unicorn and the troll!” Johnny exclaimed, pointing over the fence. His grandma chuckled. “Oh, Johnny, you have such a wonderful imagination. Come on, let’s have lunch.” Reluctantly, Johnny climbed down from the pail and followed his grandma into the house. As they sat down to eat, Johnny couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen. “Grandma, do you think it was real?” he asked. His grandma smiled and patted his hand. “Sometimes, the most magical things are the ones we imagine. But remember, Johnny, it’s important to come back to reality and enjoy the moments we have here and now.” Johnny nodded, understanding the wisdom in her words. He realized that while the magical scene might have been a dream, the joy and wonder it brought him were very real. And so, he learned to cherish both his imagination and the world around him. Moral of the story: Imagination is a wonderful gift, but it’s important to balance it with the reality of the present moment. Cherish the magic within your mind, but don’t forget to appreciate the beauty of the world around you. innerlight G M. Crook © Copyright 2024 innerlight (innerlight at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Imagination is a wonderful thing. You expressed well the childlike imagination and creativity we find among children, sadly too many adults have lost their capability for imaginaiton as they confront the practical side of life Read, review and write about imagination. Imagination I have always Had the gift Of imagination From an early age I have spent So much time Living in my dreams I don’t dream dreams I dream movies Filled with action Drama Pathos Love and death Often taken place In strange alien planets As my imagination Runs towards Sci-fi fantasies A Sweet Tale of the Missing Basket (E) Friends, here is another cute tale for children. Hope you like this one. Thank you. #2348167 by (14) “I knew I had found something crucial when I found this packet,” exclaimed seven-year-old Seeta. The whole family had gathered at the Ambikapur woods for a picnic that morning. It comprised her parents, Mohan and Mandira, and her two younger brothers, Monu and Sonu. The weather was perfect for a picnic: azure blue sky, light breeze, soft spring sunshine, and the chirping of birds. The highlight of the spot was the serene beauty of the river Ambika, flowing quietly at the edge of the woods with soft gurgling noises as it pushed past rocky boulders strewn on its path. This wood was part of the state reserve forest, where protected wildlife such as deer, monkeys, and bison lived in the dense inner core. This area was off-limits to the general public. On the fringe, however, there was a lightly wooded area where picnicking was permitted within a certain fenced portion. That area was blessed with great scenic beauty, with tall, evergreen trees like Neem, Sal, and Babul scattered here and there. The main attraction was the river, with its serene blue waters providing the perfect backdrop for a joyful picnic. Today, all five members were in a jolly good mood because this picnic represented a welcome respite from their daily routines. Mohan could enjoy a day away from the work pressures of his office. Mandira could have a day to herself, away from her domestic responsibilities. And the three children could enjoy a day away from studies. Having arrived by car at around 8 am, their happiness increased when they found that they were the sole picnickers. The children played hide and seek and other games to their heart's content behind the trees while their parents reclined on a large red bedsheet, sometimes playing card games and sometimes lost in the natural beauty. The glad mood of the morning was interrupted when a shocked Mandira noticed that one of their food baskets was missing – the one with fruits, nuts, candies and other ready-to-eat breakfast items. Immediately, Mohan and the three kids fanned out in different directions, looking for the missing basket while Mandira stayed back to guard the remaining hamper. As they searched, their calls of "Where could it be?" and "Has anyone seen the basket?" echoed through the woods. The children started to get worried, and their smiles began to fade. "What if we don't find it?" Monu asked, his voice tinged with concern. "We'll be so hungry!" Sonu, the youngest, added, his eyes welling up. Just when they were about to give up hope, Seeta shouted, “Look! What have I found!” Her dad and two brothers converged on the spot as fast as they could. It was a big Neem tree, and at its base lay a shining but empty packet of peanuts. Indistinct sounds came from the tree. An astonishing scene greeted them when they looked up: their basket was now in the midst of a chattering group of monkeys (that included a couple of babies, too!), merrily helping themselves to the fruits and other goodies inside. The family's initial shock turned to laughter as Sonu blurted out, “Papa, look! Not only are the monkeys having a nice picnic with our breakfast, they're enjoying it to boot!” Well, there was nothing more to be done about it. And if truth be told, the children weren't unhappy. Albeit unwillingly, they had shared their joy with the forest inhabitants. Their school had taught them the motto, “Live and let live.” Who knew that they could watch its live demonstration right before their eyes so soon! On returning, Seeta, the star detective, proudly told her mother, “Maa, I knew I had traced the thief the moment I caught a glimpse of the vital clue – the packet. But the thieves happened to be so cute!” Everyone laughed at her remark. The gloominess over the lost food was gone. Soon, all the kids became busy devouring the delicious lunch that Mandira had prepared with great care. After all, doing detective work is tiring, you know! Children, let's now take leave of this family as they relish their lunch. See you soon with the next story. God bless and goodbye, darlings. A great story about a picnic in the forest surronded by the magic of nature Picnics are great adventures indeed The picnic in Tilden Park Many years ago I went on a picnic In Tilden Park In Berkeley, California With my college girlfriend After lunch In the haunted forest We made love In the woods First time either of us Had sex in the great outdoors The picnic lunch was good too Read, review and write about picnics. writing com another This Old House (E) I am convinced my new apartment is haunted! #2171135 by (391) I will live in this old house as long as the ghosts let me. The day I moved in they greeted me, However calmly, without rattled chains, In barely noticed passing mirror reflections, Subtly looking at me as I passed by. I will live in this old house as long as the ghosts let me. One late night in hot August, Little footfalls, echoes in the dark Destroyed my slumber. I will live in this old house as long as the ghosts let me. Holographic and barely visible, On the other side of a veil, Unliving but not quite gone, Searching and watching, Eternal vigilant company. I will live in this old house As long as the ghosts let me. © Copyright 2018 Lou-Here By His Grace (tattsnteeth2 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Writin A great little poem about living in an old house that is haunted and coming to terms with living with ghosts Sam Adams Inherited an old mansion From his late uncle In Eagle Point, Oregon When he went to take over the house He felt a bit uneasy He sensed that there were spirits Floating about the old house Spirits that were not particularly Friendly ghosts But Sam and his wife Decided to stay But called in a Korean shaman To perform a ritual cleansing To chase the spirits away After the ceremony The ghosts departed And were never seen again Read, review and write about haunted buildings. Witness (E) Flash fiction entry #2347412 by (370) My name is ... no, you don't need to know that. You just need to listen. It started with a phone call. A deep throaty voice told me, well something about someone. I'm naming no names until I know the veracity of the information. I went to examine the scene of the crime. Yes, there it was. All the proof I needed. There was only one person who could have done it. "Morning Dad." The picture of innocence in those pink fluffy rabbit slippers. "Do you have something to tell me?" "No." "About last night maybe." "Nothing happened last night." “This is your last chance” "Okay, I broke your tail light but it wasn't my fault. That tree just jumped out of nowhere." 122 words Damn the trees did it again just jumped up and chased me down damn trees Green Trees Don’t Like Us I sometimes wonder What do trees think Of us human beings? Do they notice us Do they care? Are they indifferent Or are they hostile Thinking that humans Are their enemy As we often will cut them down Murdering them in their sleep Read, review and write about those shady trees. STATIC Eye of the Storm (ASR) The very worst place to be in a tornado. #2347350 by (2,378) Spring’s chill morning air had since receded into memory, replaced by the sweltering humidity that quickly follows Summer sunrises in Texas. From their vantage point in the air traffic control tower overlooking the Abilene Regional Airport, FAA employees were treated to a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the darkening sky and its portent of the devastation to come as encircling winds accelerated to Category 3 speeds. the eye of the storm offers every living soul its ominous gaze Great haibun about tornado watchers getting ready to deal with an approaching tornado Read, review and write about tornados. Torndos Tornados They are among the most destructive Of storms Erutping almost without notice Spreading widespread havoc Mahem and destruction In their wake As they bear down On defensive towns And villages Across the land Prompt for September 27th, 2025 Some dust bunnies from Oklahoma drug me all the way to planet to show me this item that frightened them. I guess it was a horror story for them. heard there was a serious search for an unknown object on planet and found this item when I got there to investigate. WhatchaWhatcha lookin' for Gramps?" "Huh? Oh, hey. I dunno. It was here a minute ago." Connor studied his grandfather hunched at his scarred desk rubbing his forehead. When had he shrunk? He used to be so tall. Was that a tremor in his pale hands? "Don't worry. I'll help you look for it. Is it in this room? What are we searching for?" The frail shoulders shrugged and the wrinkled brow furrowed. "I can't get a grasp on it. It seems to have slipped away. The best I can tell you is it's nearby. It has to be. The whatchamacallit. You know." Connor sighed and thought I wish I knew. This isn't easy for either of us. "Could you describe it? Like, is it big or small?" In response, his grandfather stared off into the distance and shook his balding head. "How about a colour? I bet we'd find it if it stood out. See that red pillow over there? It is so bright against the grey armchair." Gramps shook his head. "I know it has a name. That thingamajig is on the tip of my tongue." "Maybe if you get up and walk around the room you'll see it. You said it's in here, right?" His grandparent pointedly refused any help as he struggled to stand. "It was just here with me. Where could it have gone?" Both men scanned the cluttered den before the elder slumped back into his chair. "Don't grow old Connor,' he whispered, " there are too many days like this." "I'm sorry, Gramps. I have no idea what we are seeking. It must be so frustrating for you." "That's it", shrieked the old man. "I had an idea. Now what was it?"macallit (E) When you search for both the correct word and the fleeting concept. #2345938 by (847) well I can relate to this poem about having a senior moment as I am almost 70 and have had a few senior moments lately but overal am not too bad off I still am physically fit and mentally sharp Getting Old I am almost 70 And some days I feel it I wake up Filled with anxiety And pain Dreading getting up But knowing I must And somedays I spent the whole day Lost in memories Of things pass But most mornings I wake up Just happy To be alive Everyday I wake up Is a bonus day A gift from God For me to enjoy With my wife By my side I don’t feel That old any more Read, review and write about getting older. Prompt for October 15th, 2025 There was a party over on planet , but I got there kind of late. However, I found these awesome details. STATIC The Hat Experiment (E) A science loving teen builds a wild LED hat. #2346882 by (703) ena sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, staring at the pile of fabric scraps her sister Marla had dumped in front of her. Threads clung to her jeans like static-charged spiderwebs. A pair of scissors gleamed mockingly under her desk lamp. The entire room smelled faintly of hot glue and frustration. She was hopeless at this. Her mother could sew a dress in an evening, humming contentedly while the fabric came together as though it had been waiting for her hands all along. Marla had inherited that gift, turning old curtains into skirts and hand-stitching embellishments on her sneakers that had the girls at school begging for custom orders. Jena, though? Jena once sewed the sleeve of her sweater to the kitchen tablecloth. Yet here she was, being forced into this doomed project because of one ridiculous rule: “No hat, no entry.” Bianca Morrison’s end-of-the-year senior party was supposed to be the stuff of legend; poolside DJ, lights strung through the trees, entire backyard transformed into a carnival. Jena had already written it off. Parties weren’t her thing. She preferred the comforting logic of her computer, the neat puzzle of programming loops and writing if-then statements. But Marla wanted in. And since siblings were allowed as plus-ones, she’d cornered Jena in the upstairs hallway two nights ago, eyes wide with desperation. “Please, Jena. Everyone’s going. Clara’s older sister is taking her. Even Ella’s tagging along with her cousin. You can’t just let me be the only one stuck at home.” Jena had crossed her arms. “I don’t even like parties.” “You don’t have to like it! You just have to get me in the door.” Which led to now: Jena fumbling with a needle and thread, while Marla sat perched on the bed like an anxious overseer. “That’s not how you start a hem,” Marla sighed for the third time. “Well, excuse me,” Jena snapped, pricking her finger yet again. “Not all of us were born with Mom’s magic sewing powers.” Marla softened. “I know. But maybe if you try...” “I have tried,” Jena cut in. “And failed. Every. Single. Time.” Her eyes drifted toward her desk, where her half-finished robotics project sat waiting. A thought sparked in her mind, bright as a filament. “What if,” she said slowly, “I didn’t sew a hat. What if I...built one?” Marla frowned. “Built one?” “Yeah. Like an experiment. Engineering instead of crafting.” Marla hesitated. She knew that gleam in Jena’s eyes, it meant an idea was hatching, and no force on earth could stop it. “Fine. But it has to look like a hat.” I can relate to this story about a science experiment that went wrong as I am real nerd and my favorite classes growing up were science classes Read, review and write about LED lights. Science class Nerd My favorite class Growing up Was science classes As I was a nerd Loved reading Sci-Fi And watching sci-fi Movies and TV My favorite Star trek Of course A group of Hula girls ushered me quickly over to planet to see an erupting volcano. We found this item where the volcano had once been. STATIC Pele's Heart (E) Kilauea volcano #2348405 by (1,132) Pele's heart exploded with heat and molten fire, she is present on the isle-- not just some fairytale attire. Pele yearns for the days of yore when aloha lived within the heart, too many come, don't understand the gods exist, are a vital part. There is an essence in Hawaii, waiting to open up your soul. It permeates, if you allow it. It melds you together, will make you whole. I've traveled far across the world and ne'er found elswhere the heart found here. Magical and special, genuine and dear. Hawaii is a way of being; spirit, word, life, and mind. Intrinsic, all-consuming, braid of living, ties that bind. In every step, in every moment, in every thing you do; it is simply how to live, faithfully and true. I've met good people in other places, of many cultures, of many races, but only in Hawaii have I found that essential part that defines the who they are, and it all comes from Pele's heart. I loved this poem about the volcanos of Hawaii and how you personify the volcano making it come to life well done Volcanos They say That someday Yellowstone Will erupt Becoming a super volcano The mother of all volcanos Perhaps ushering in The end of human civilization As it spreads molten ash All over north America And kick starts The next ice age Read, review and write about volcanos. Prompt for October 16th, 2025 Scooby Doo and the gang showed up and directed me over to planet and showed me this information about ghost hunting just in case I ever found myself in the position to need such information while exploring the WDC galaxy. Ghost Manifestations (E) Things to learn if you are going to do Ghost Hunting. #2348128 by (10) Read, review and write about your thoughts on ghost hunting. Specters and Entities can appear in different forms: Shadows; ghosts are sometimes seen as dark silhouettes, like against a wall. These are sometimes known as shadow people. Hat Man is a type of shadow person that wears a hat and cloak. Certain reports say they have glowing red eyes. Shadow people are believed to be neither good or bad. They just watch over and observe. But some can be malevolent or benevolent. There have been shadows seen at Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia. Mist or fog; spirit can manifest itself in a hazy or vapor form. Like the famous photo of The Brown Lady of Raynham Hall in England, taken in 1936. Orbs; spirits can appear as a ball of light, like Will-o-the-wisp. There have been orbs witnessed at cemeteries in New York and Chicago. And at Gettysburg, there have been pictures taken of strange, floating lights. Full body apparition; ghosts can sometimes be seen as an entire human shape and form. Or sometimes just a face or head have appeared. At the Stanley Hotel and the Titanic exhibition, full body apparitions have been observed. And ladies in white have appeared in different grave yards around the country. Also noises can be made by ghosts. From banging to footsteps, from incorporeal entities. These are normally referred to as "Poltergeist activity". But they can be characterized as Mischievous or noisy ghosts. Ghosts can appear in different shapes, or alternate materializations. There are different types of Hauntings: Residual hauntings; where spirits repeat the same action over and over again and they do not interact with living people, also known as an imprint, earth bound spirit, or stay behind. Intelligent hauntings; where a ghost can interact and possibly communicate with the living. Like Traditional Haunting. Mischievous, noisy ghost, makes noise, moves objects. Poltergeist; can be considered to be a type of psychic phenomena, called Psychokinesis. This is when a person, (like a young child), can move objects with their mind. Ghosts can also cause poltergeist type activity, things moving and flying around, but I would call them a mischievous or noisy ghost. Demons; It can be dangerous to write or talk about evil spirits sometimes. Portal Haunting; Thin Spots, between this world and the spirit realm, boundary area. Sometimes an old mirror can act as an opening to another level of reality. Hauntings and manifestations of incorporeal spectral entities are parts of Ghostology, the study of para-spiritual activity. © Copyright 2025 Paranologist (paranologist at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work. Be honest, encouraging and respectful. Include your overall impression and tips for improvement. See also: "Guidelines To Great Reviewing" Thanks a lot for the detailed discussion of ghosts, and hauntings. I learned a lot aobut ghostlogy from reading this account writer’s digest Prompt for October 18th, 2025 Dr. Doolittle called me over to planet to report a case of the gloomies. When I arrived, he showed me this item. How My Day Will Go (E) A poem about insecurity, loneliness, self-image, and isolation. Please give feedback! #2348350 by (8) Read, review and write about isolation. As one gets older One often reflect Back on one’s life And sometimes One feel lonely All alone Lost in thought And meditation Thinking of the past And all those People Who have gone on In his life Leaving him alone With his thoughts |
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