These thoughts of time pass smoothly from your pen,
Revealing interruptions seen before.
but painted with a slightly different ken,
to keep us searching on for even more.
We find a clueless pondering above,
when thoughts of grim realities set in.
They scatter bits of wealth, and health and love,
acknowledging it's our time to begin.
But looking past the little that we know,
imagining the green of promised land,
we bury friends and mothers and we grow
the patience that we need to take a stand.
Last summer's rose is rotted and decayed,
We wait the new hand dealt, but it's delayed.'
In looking back across those many years
it doesn't seem so very long ago.
But Chatty Cathy's gone; no string pulled tears,
while gingerbread and lights remain just so.
We'll not forget that yummy Christmas fudge
nor all the useless toys beneath the tree
We made the New Year promises to judge
and hung the ornaments for all to see.
Thank you for this reminder of the past.
Now, nearly ninety years. I think they'll last.
As happens when determination rules
a winning strategy brings only grief.
Here, debt relief results in feeding fools
dead sure that free lunch turns another leaf.
But, when The growling hunger steals the show
we make a mad dash down a different track.
Inflation soars with that free money flow
and all those great ideas, out of whack.
As busted bubble debris ebbs away,
we turn to face the music. No, we ran.
The broken promise lost for one more day,
we tossed the new plan A into the can.
So when you see temptation gathering round
be off to where you know you can't be found.
The nightmare in this search for what is real
leaves each of us to struggle on our own,
to find those learning moments where we feel
there’s more to be discovered than a groan.
Now, should a bolt of insight steal the show,
it's back to court along another track.
We grab what chance we can from hope's faint glow
but know the judge's view, won’t turn back.
The damage from the past, we try to say,
can never quite be shoved beneath the rug.
but forlorn dreams have never won the day,
just add more to those deep, dark holes we’ve dug.
But thank you for the truth that you derive
but lawyer fees will keep the grief alive.
I like the way you dropped in the phrase "turning" and then let us stew with it for the first page or so before you exposed the word "Werewolf" and let us chew on that for a while.
This is a super job of leading us down the path to your world, where Christy has her unique position.
There is an opportunity for improvement at the opening to begin with action and expose the other information a little at a time, rather than allowing the descriptions to lead the way.
You are off to a great start. I'm looking forward to the rest of the story.
Recreational reading, eh? That's always been the secret well of ideas and prompts which got me going in the morning. That's pretty gutsy, putting a real person in you story and letting him look over your shoulder while you find a spot for him. Good luck with that!
I have heard that writing a journal is an interesting and helpful activity for some, but I've never had the nerve to try it. It might force me to think about what I'm doing and that could spoil my whole day. Your few words here certainly raised the issues that concern you.
What a unique way to build a story. You've grabbed our attention by using February 29th to make us feel at home and then, concocting this interesting idea of backwards day as the conflict to resolve.
Socrates, misguided yet beguiling
shows us here a truth that's best forgotten.
It paints the know-it-all as right and smiling
but places blame in a way that's rotten.
Buried 'neath his wise and ancient skin
there lived a wise ancient heart
reflecting on that all too ancient sin
of wanting someone else to make the start.
Walls have their place as your blog clearly shows.
But used to stifle thought it comes up short.
A wall requires some thought from one who knows
and not a gag for countering retort.
To contemplate such depth’s too much for me.
My faith is fixed too firmly on the ground.
Without it, we would always fail to see
The stark resolve required, which Joseph found
You point to fatherhood for all to see
how Joseph helped set Jesus on his feet.
Without concession that for him and me,
We all require until our last retreat.
Some say we’ve ruined the world with modern stuff
but don’t believe a bit of that is true.
Faith holds back evil's hand and that's enough,
to give us strength, in spite of what they do.
I thank you for this glimpse of Joseph's past.
A message that'd well done, and it will last.
Well settled in her path of verse and prose,
Sumojo grabs the oars and gives a tug.
We see a life of meaning, just like those,
we all find, looking back at holes we’ve dug.
But buried ‘mongst bits and how things fall,
are truths we must face and look for more.
The folks gone by, like pictures on the wall,
bring us to places we are searching for.
In truth, when seeing someone dig so deep,
into life's ups, and downs, and gems,
it shines a light on memories we keep
of past mistakes and ways of righting them.
Perhaps these thoughts, now laid out from your mind,
will point to other stories you can find.
I’m glad to see this verse received so well
By Cheshire, such a wordsmith of renown.
The heart beats on, we've learned but who can tell
No worry of despair or big meltdown
The heart, the core, beats strongly on from here
producing all of life, including me
You paint the heart alive emoting cheer
With hope entwined for all the world to see.
When reading of such depth and all that stuff.
I know that every bit of it is true.
for all those modern notions aren’t enough,
to shake the truth of life from what you do.
I know I'll gain a bit from what you said,
If I can keep the cobwebs from my head.
One of the most powerful ways to reach an audience is through the characters' emotions, and you have taken full advantage, with this slap across the bow of established propriety. Your unique rhyme scheme of repeating words further keeps us at attention as you drag us to the finish line and the final hail.
What a great opening line. You give us the tragedy in one sentence. The resolution though is not developed to show the why.
I came across a tidbit about writing a plot the other day: "If an author writes, 'The king died, and then the queen died', there is no plot, but if the author writes, 'The king died, and then the queen died of grief', the author has a plotline for a story." A plot is a causal sequence of events; the why things happen in the story. The plot draws the reader into the characters' lives and helps the reader understand the choices the characters make.
YOu've covered the subject and made your points well. The text however is not well written. Or at least it needs a serious edit for word use and phrasing. There are a large number of tense shifts and plural/singular mismatches.
A careful re-read and edit will probably clean it up nicely.
Even without action in the opening, you got us off to an interesting start through Kira's enthusiasm for the old stone house. It would be more captivating for the reader if you found a way to show her introduction to the old place through some kind of action.
That first bit of action is always the hardest. I grew up reading nineteenth-century yarns and those ingrained into me an expectation of long scene-setting rambles for my first chapters. Of course, I eventually had to scrap them all, but it was a hard lesson to learn.
We can't know, from this opening, where the story is going from here, so I don't have any notion of whether it is a project worth pursuing. You have given us something to look forward to while recognizing that the story could go almost anywhere from here.
My suggestion is that you open with an action of some kind and to scale back some of the lengthy descriptions.
Corona Warriors fight, and we all cheer.
They battle something never seen before
It sneaks into our lungs, with naught to hear,
but promises of drugs give hope for more.
We, clueless optimists, see plans appear
and send forth shouts of "Here they come again."
Corona scatters us cringing in fear,
Surrendering, but longing for a win.
Big Pharma brings us hope. It's quite a show
with tests and trials till they understand.
But, politicians finding ways to make fear grow
Impede the Warriors as they make their stand.
Delightful how you've recognized the force
who stands to take the risk for us, of course.
Rainbows show us interesting things, sometimes. Recently, here in the eastern U.S., rainbows showed us the residue of the California fires on days when we could not see a cloud in the sky. Yet another reason to appreciate and love rainbows.
Chérie Morelle speaks, that all may hear
of hot and deadly, climbing and alive.
We learn of rage, and red. But not of fear.
The fireplace crackles and the dreams derive.
The spirit of an author through and through,
with strength to flush these words into the world.
No matter of the things that others do,
nor which way round the pot ideas twirled.
As often happens when temptation rules
a winning strategy brings someone grief.
This woman smiles at all us nodding fools
I jump in first to seek her quick relief.
I find I'm falling now. My sight is blurred.
Will she someday reveal where I'm interred?
Drugged, lost, and dull, I watch the distance scene,
The slow propelling of a nowhere life.
Forever grinding. Giving us a chance,
to see our soggy dreams take one more slug.
I rise, encumbered by lust's forbidding ache.
What can I do to soothe temptations strife?
The lesson moves in close. How can I take
the path out of that short and hapless life.
One moment and that sad temptation's gone,
Its light, a harsh reality of truth.
I know I’m not the course and jagged one.
I pick the pig's remains out of my tooth.
Just then, the smell of doubt drifts in again.
It grabs my thoughts and hauls good sense away.
No further minding of that loss and pain
collecting trophies of my day at play.
Some sadness for the logic that I lost
but not a moment more on living’s cost
Poetic free-verse flows with all its thrill.
A tribute for a swirling cast of will.
What holds the current's crashing, smashing stain?
Could darkness guard our view of all the pain?
Then dawn sneaks in and buffers all our strife.
Its fingers grasp the trees, the rocks, the life,
as would a mother fighting for her young.
The refrain soothes the scene when it is sung
But now, the darkness takes another turn
to hold the fog in place. (Don't let it burn)
When nothingness descends to end the song
it dissipates to mist as things go wrong.
You've set a poem here that's just the thing,
To put my sleeping muse into full swing.
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