What a delightfully well-started tale. The lead characters are interesting and have rough edges to keep us on our toes. The telling style slowed my interest a bit at the beginning, but that's a choice for the author. Readers are left to decide if a bit of wordiness is too much to handle.
Here, we have questions left to resolve and other characters to explore before the story moves forward. I wish I had the rest of the story, so I could charge forward and see how big the troubles they've just stepped into are.
Nicely done, except for the telling and wordiness.
The jagged glare of faith comes shining through
as we peek underneath the flowing prose.
Your story shows determination too
a few more steps along the path you choose.
Can knowing truly bring us bright sunlight?
Attention turns to thorns and makes us think,
that struggles bring us to our true delight
instead of gentle trails that would not link.
Now, reaching for the parchment’s purist page
we touch upon the prayer and final truth.
If left alone to ponder just the stage,
we might fall victim to our own uncouth.
Life’s transient moments show us but the trim
and leaves what’s underneath remote and dim.
I read a review recently where the book in question is described as a "White Dwarf" because ideas in it are packed so tightly. This little piece might also qualify for that title.
Advice is something plentiful and cheap
and often worth the price you didn't pay.
I ponder rice, and all those carbs to keep.
It leaves me mulling what the heck to say.
Another read and orange juice leaps to fore.
It stirs a deep romantic sort of verve.
How can that be? I must discover more.
Alas! I lack the culinary nerve.
But, is it right that I'm just going on
without the truth of citric flavored rice.
I turn my mind to thoughts of being gone
but held in check by wondering if it's nice.
Solutions can be found in just one place.
The kitchen can assuage my shattered brain.
Will boiling orange juice only bring disgrace?
I've got to know if I have gone insane.
The answer in your last and final turn
leaves me to clean and soak with more to learn.
Delightful, how you’ve taken on the task
of showing us the joys without detail.
I see my way, but there's no need to ask
for places where the music goes on sale.
Your lyric tells us where to go from here
for entertainment without being bored.
I thank you for the guidance, but I fear
that I fall short in friendships 'cross the board.
When hearing upbeat songs and other stuff
I find myself uncertain what to do.
I know I've gained a little (just enough).
to see the need for friends is all quite true.
Congrats on all the wisdom in the words.
We, grouches, think that friends are for the birds.
You open with a snicker, loud and clear,
to keep me reading on to find the why.
But on we go, with nothing much to cheer.
I see my boring self and start to sigh.
Then, from the shadows of the middle lines,
a glance inside reveals a thought, a cheer.
There’s no need now, for me to cut and run.
My thrashing guilt delivers one sad tear.
The crisis comes in shards of glass you say,
where chuckles build the ups and downs we know,
Will clotting blood come through and save the day
before its time to smoothly end the show?
The turn delivered in the final line,
is one that needs no magic to define.
Now that's the way to grab a reader's attention. We're off to an action start with no wasted words. You've shown us how to let a reader's imagination write most of the story. At first, I thought the last sentence was unnecessary but on second read I came to believe that it gave us one more round of vivid visualization.
The daffodil escapes my shattered brain.
I peek beneath smooth prosaic glow,
and wonder at confusion I retain,
determination bent (not in the know)
Where is the golden blossom in its wake?
Let's search again for clarity and grace,
then sniff the lines for clues which we can make
the lack of resolution a rare case.
Ah, butterflies take charge and they can show
poor Leah that the time has come to leave.
The statue takes a pass and now we know,
the message of the sword "it's time to grieve."
No cheers arise when in the final stand
the butterfly is off her trembling hand
We leap from boring self to raging bull
a chance to elevate our grasp of Sid
while learning at the same time that we're full
of chances to learn all those things he did
You point to little tweaks (We're on a roll),
which shows us how to move our trembling feet.
We learn that we must all pay psyche's toll
while mumbling of our loss and its defeat.
When reading of distractions and such stuff,
we know that every bit of it is true.
But still, we know deception's not enough,
to march us through the mire of what we do.
Once more the sun peeks out from what we've read,
and turn our big, red pen to things we've said.
The burden borne by those who know all things
prompts us to sit, and sip a whiskey sour.
Attention drifts to ponder lifelong scars,
then read the piece again, within the hour.
Goodbye…No time to squander on lost nerve.
Although such thoughts can prove confusing when
an author's long-sequestered deep reserve
goes public with a bright, well-guided pen.
And now, we see spilt milk—no words withheld,
until she spills the beans the same way, too.
We sit and wait. The secret silence swelled,
then shrink beneath the weight of her adieu.
We never said good-bye—we sat alone.
The answer just a droning dial-tone.
The Rapture comes. The doubter wonder whether,
he's saved by taking that ascending path.
Instead, he stumbles through decaying weather,
trembling, red with cold; now warmed by wrath.
Left behind with all the dogs and cats
Surrounded by his scattered bric-a-brac,
designer suits, with racks of shoes, and hats,
Uncertain now, he swears they're coming back.
"There's nothing wrong. It's just a minor hitch."
He clutches all his goods. "How can this be?"
surprised to join it all, down in the ditch
"Now where's my cozy cottage by the sea?
He trudged his lonely path. The lines are blurred
between his mad descent, and life interred
A shadow, as once viewed by Freud and Jung,
leaves each of us to fear our bleakest thought.
We wonder where that cryptic bell had rung,
and when the bill comes due on what we've wrought.
His frozen words rip through my shattered mind
producing but a withered suffering sigh.
Lo, what came of those joys I thought I'd find?
Has Jung defined the bed where futures lie?
I should have known, but could not know.
Dejection shuts my eyes.
Depression chills like winter snow
with frozen deep replies
Thank you for the keys to my despair.
My Psychobabble shadow fills the air.
At last, a bit of logic stir the flame
to makes us look again beneath our feet.
Could veggies from the earth support our game,
or should the lowly carrot just retreat?
Where is that beet, which leads the great impasse?
The well-worn thoughts of dirty built duress.
We stand to watch the washtub's futile pass,
but sink beneath the Covid's mighty mess.
But cleanliness exists with some renown,
and carbs expand our bellies on the way.
When fertilizers tear our clean dreams down,
we scrub the chicken dung in which they play.
Clean veggies, just a dream, as we all know.
They give a place to start and then to grow.
Now that is a great short story. The backstory falls into place without a lot telling an the picture becomes absolutely clear ( All generated in the reader's mind.)
Nicely done.
I do believe the 1200 words could have been cut considerably by tightening phrases like: "My parents were wealthy and were sending me to a prestigious university to study medicine and become a doctor."
Eliminating unnecessary words could produce something like: "My wealthy parents were sending me to a prestigious university to study medicine." Tighter phrasing will make it easier and faster to read.
You open with sarcasm in the air
then let the cat sneak slowly from the bag.
The politician's fate leaves much to fare;
The ridicule and confidence may drag
then from the light which fills the middle fun,
we look inside and find unbridled fear.
There is no place this piece can cut and run.
No moment’s pause to stop and have a been.
The Perot and Romney joined in just a flash
of NAFTA and dust which grabs our thought.
It's then we see the sudden wild crash
which spreads before us all. (See what it's wrought.)
Your observation in the final lines,
Shows us beguiling magic it defines.
The Shadow drifts across my shattered brain.
I peek beneath the rainbow's ruling glow,
and wonder at confusion we retain.
A shadow with intent and in the know,
Forgotten? How does that fit shadow's wake?
Let's search again for clarity and grace,
then sniff the inner lines for what could make
this path defined by Red a simple case.
Ah, there! The shadow darkened. Way to Go!
The silence waits, with nothing to retrieve.
Unnoticed, stress sneaks in and steals the show.
Is this the place for ghost to pause and grieve?
Now cheers arise when in the final stand
Past friendship comes around to shake your hand
A Journalistic style fills the air
then lets the cat sneak slowly from the bag.
The story flows with nothing much to fare;
The truth wills out, and then it starts to drag
But, from the light which fills the middle lines,
we look inside and find unbridled cheer.
The school is fine. No need to cut and run.
No bullied pause to stop and shed a tear.
The writer reaches forth and in a flash
we see the doubts grab hold and chill our thought.
It's then we see the sudden wild crash,
but, up again to view what she has wrought.
The ghost appears within those final lines,
and lets us see the magic it define.
An ode to dreary raindrops, what a hoot.
I peek beneath the prose and see the glow,
Where drought or simple logic gets the boot
and muddy paths gain credence, in the know.
But should that dreary sky leave in its wake
a smile with breath drawn deeply and in grace.
I sniff the air for clues of how to make
the lightning and the boom a pleasant case.
There! Madness in the downpour starts to show
we see the droplets pound against the face.
Eureka! There it is, and now we know.
There’s less to meet the eye or to displace.
No cheers arise when in the final stand
the water wins the race and swamps the land.
The meaning here escapes my shattered brain.
I peek beneath the metaphoric glow,
and wonder at the bits here to retain.
The crows, a murder found and in the know.
Leaves not a battered body in its wake.
Let's search again for clarity and grace,
then sniff the bookshelves for a clue to make
death by simple comma a rare case.
Ah, there! I trudged the commons long ago,
and found metallic luster to retrieve.
But nay, the answers we don't know
are just another pause to make us grieve.
Now cheers arise when in the final stand
the coma comes around to shake your hand
A glance toward a friendship in the wind
where VERTIKA searches 'neath the rug.
Could there be hidden doubts within the role,
or are they shadows on the holes we’ve dug?
Why mention hate and strife that we recall,
are they but truths we've shucked forevermore.
Hope shines there, just like beacons on the wall,
as artifacts that we’ve been searching for.
It’s here, we find a prize or two to keep,
So leap afore and grasps this moment's gem,
knowing if it grows, then it can reap
the joy in trust confirming one of them.
Perhaps the endless friend's just in our mind,
Could there still be one left for us to find?
This outline on the role and advantages of statistical management systems in healthcare is well done and illustrates a number of areas where the volume and accuracy of data available to the modern researcher are used to enhance care, efficiency and to lower cost.
Delightful, how you have turned 'nothing special'
to something brimming over with renown.
We see you bored, but let's not jump the gun
We'll wait until the climax or meltdown
The rescue comes as dinner with a friend.
It wins perspective as a moment's cheer
and grows to fill the fate that she'd extend.
This beats the lonely evening. That is clear.
When reading of the tender touch and such
I find myself believing that it's true
The view through passioned eyes is just too much
to fail or misbelieve what you must do.
I smile and gain a bit from what you've said.
You've wiped the dreary fog out of my head.
There's motivation here for all to see
An elevation of our stash of dreams.
While learning at the same time that it's we.
who find out nothing works out as it seems.
You point to where the motivators hide,
and show their nature, as both slow and fleet,
producing all those thoughts which stand beside
and give us strength so we will not retreat.
When reading rising words and all that stuff.
We know that every bit of it is true.
We know our inner core is not enough,
to shake the fog of doubt from what we do.
We each soak up a bit of what is said,
Still worried by the inner fears we dread.
The Oddman soon descends to where it's warm.
There, plans for life at ease may drive him wild.
It's feelings and emotions of some form.
which turned the wild guess. Now it's defiled.
With smiles, he tries to find another way,
even though he knows the swan's song's sung.
To grasp the rose could promptly ruin his day
and placed his foot upon hell's bottom rung.
Of trashcans and of horrors left to sing.
'I save the world,' he says, 'and past the test.'
Then conscience smiled and says 'Is that your thing?'
He knows now how to be his very best.'
The wild guess precedes the things he said.
And then the "YES" fills up my empty head.
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