This is a lovely, happy, life-embracing poem. I particularly like the wording of the first line.
Your poem reveals the fact that you have risen above the previous impediments to enjoying life to the full. One can sense a feeling of freedom at your sense of letting go.
It's interesting that you do not make any reference to a conscious decision to break way from the restraints you felt The experience of freedom to love life and not care what others think of you seems to have unfolded naturally. Was that by any chance related to your maturing with age age?
You say that this is a work in progress and I have taken cognizance of that. I am sure the poem will reach perfection
The distant past is a good time to have chosen for this melodrama. It allows for the possibility of the ink well drying up and time for the dust to collect, emphasising that the nature of the relationship. The word "brittle" also gives an idea of the fragility of the relationship. So, too, I think, does the word "faux", no matter its actual context.
The first stanza indicates that something of value to the writer lies between the dusty covers of the book, and of course the reader is soon disabused of that notion. The repetition of the first stanza at the end of the poem, with "ever" being replaced by "never" is effective in its sadness.
In this poem is the white paper a pretense that hatred does not exist?
It seems to represent the fact that
"...we are blind
To the other color to show their mind"
It's interesting to note that you mention more than once that hate (or hatred) is a choice. To this I would like to add my opinion that hate or its counterpart is very strongly influenced by example from parents. Do you agree?
Your poem is well constructed and well though out, making good use of rhyme.
I am not a pro at writing nor at reviewing, but pick up a good writing style in this short piece.
I know you intended it as simply a "flash", but think it needs just a little more context to make it's meaning clearer to the reader.
I can resonate with a seventeen-year-old boy pounding down the stairs for a nice bite to eat (Pounding and eating are typical activities of a boy at that age!)
You have a vision of the father sitting nearby. Perhaps just one more sentence would round up the story. I am thinking of a glimpse into the father's feelings or the current relationship between the boy and his father.
Your 500-word story has a lot of impact. It comes to a climax quickly and deflates quickly. This reader pondered, to the last line, how the situation would end.
The pyromaniac is not evil, but it seems he pays for his disorder with his life, only because of the goodness in his heart.
Well, here's an example of why we should "live every day as if it were your last"!
Your story is a stark reminder of the scourge of dread diseases and a good portrayal of a victim and what goes through his mind. I do so hope that the victim is not you, but it shows such insight that I should imagine you have seen a story or stories similar to this playing out.
One can pick up a parallel between the doe and the victim.
The bit of humour in this piece is a welcome relief but one cannot escape the sadness and the regrets.
I was really interested to read about home visits by teachers to meet the parents, and to see the circumstances in which the student lives.
I never realised until reading your article and the attached report card, how much the teacher needs to interact with students, particularly the poorly performing ones, to give them a bit of extra help and show them that their teacher cares.
Above all, I've gathered, is that a student needs someone to want the best for him - someone who cares about him.
Thank you for introducing these ideas to me.
I can see that you are making an effort to write in English, even thou your home language is probably not English.
Love is a word that I think about daily, as I become older. (I'm a 70-year-old woman within a content marriage of forty-five years. We have two healthy and self-sufficient adult sons.)
I would not want to live with any man besides my husband. But even in these seemingly ideal circumstances I question what love is.
My husband and I recently retired at more or less the same time. We've been "living together", in the real sense, all day and all night for months on end for the first time ever!
"Do I love him?" I asked myself. "I am content to have him around. He's not perfect (and neither am I). But do I really love him?"
I decided that I needed to define love before I could answer that, and so I was thrilled to read your views. What resonated most strongly with me was the following paragraph:
"Love is the ultimate form of respect that I can show to another human being. For the most part, it is non-refundable. Like I mentioned, it is a commitment. The only way I can ever renege on my love for another would be if that person were to change into something unrecognizable from the individual that I learned to love. And even then, I am not sure that could happen. For someone to change that drastically, they would have to experience great changes in their lives, endure unthinkable things. Who would I be if I were to abandon them because of their weaknesses, because of the damage suffered, because of their loss of self? Never will someone need your love more than at that moment. Their very soul hangs in the balance. How can you ever turn away?"
As my husband aged, I realised that I had do all of this, especially now that he's at a vulnerable age, and I do. He's given me good reason to, for, in his own way, he has always shown me that he loves me.
We don't talk about or philosophise together on what love is. That sort of thing is not in Leon's nature. We share some interests, and are gapingly distant when it comes to others. We have both forgotten our manners on occasion and broken the rule holding our tongue when we ought to, as well as other rules. But our marriage stays intact.
Believe me when I say that I read your essay to the last word.
I say that I realise that I am one of the luckiest women in the world and am grateful to the 'n'th degree.
Thank you for this essay. It has opened my eyes further than I ever expected from any source.
I see this as a relevant commentary on vaping, rather than as a comedy.
"Vaping, as smoking did, attracts those easily persuaded." This is true, and as with ordinary smoking, drug use and the use of alcohol, unfortunately it becomes additive, as you state later in the piece.
I like the sarcasm in, "Also, vaping is better for the environment as a whole. Which, of course, is the number one concern of vapers."
You explain, without actually mentioning the word "manufacturer", how manufacturers draw in the vapers: Their product must appeal to the sense of sight, smell, and to the customer's personality. It must make the customer feel good about himself. Thus is the nature of capitalism.
You tell the reader that peer pressure too, encourages vapers.
"No one tells them how addictive a little pod can become. No one tells them about the mood swings and headaches they will have when they are unable to hit their vape all day. No one tells them how dependent they will become on a little piece of metal to ease their stress, ..." No, of course not. Money has to be made and who cares about the victims? Not the manufacturers, that's for sure! This is very sad. Actually, maybe some parents do warn their youngsters, but what's a parent's advice - when one is a teenager - compared to peer pressure?
Oh, Shnuzo! I do hope that your poem is not based on the truth. To me, too, tickling is torture (unless I am the torturer, because then I don't feel a thing!)
Tickled till you pee? That could be me .
Why are siblings nasty to each other? What's the psychology behind it. Who gains in the long run, the perpetrator or the victim.
Never mind. It's all about kids being kids and it's also about poets entering competitions on poems for children!
The language in your poem conveys well your very heavy heart.
You seem to have self control and strength (which often help each other out).
It's apparent that you don't want to burden the world with your trouble/s and the couplet,
"I cannot drench the beautiful things here
I cannot drown the beautiful things here"
reveals this.
I refer to the repetition of "It does not pour outside" This shows a strong will.
I haven't finally decided whether you are an atheist or not, but if you were to put a gun to my head, I'd say you are (that is if I didn't want to die).
You seem to be casual about "beliefs" and "opinions". I got that from the only other piece of yours that I've read, which examines how people feel, see and rate any gender and its multifarious whims.
I would say that here you're telling people that if they believe in God, that will help them along their path.
I believe that your motto could be "Each to their own."
Many thoughts and emotions about life lived and still to be lived abide in the mind of a person in the autumn of their life.
Autumn leaves falling referring to years gone by is a good metaphor, and if the leaves are seen as beautiful and inspire gratitude in the viewer, he is fortunate to have had some happy experiences and wise enough to acknowledge this to himself.
This is a powerful poem. After one reading I am filled with sorrow for the little boy who did not receive examples of how to be a fit man of the house.
Guidance by way of words and example are the means to teach a young boy how to be a good family man an in his turn teach his children how to treat his family well and steer his children in the right direction.
I used to assume that men had more confidence in personal relationships than women. Further into my adulthood I learned through various sources and my own experience that this is often not the case.
Your story demonstrates this to me but, more importantly, it demonstrates that the man is a gentleman and also a gentle man.
The story is well written, though not a prizewinner.
I like the fact that the birds' victim is a man who would want to retain his dignity and composure, particularly in public. Perhaps a little more could have been made of this by the strike being observed by someone of importance. I do realise, however, that you were probably limited by a maximum number of words, as well as by time, in this contest, but the planning stage by the seagulls could have been just a little less wordy.
Your use of the the glint reflected from the door was a good idea.
"Swoop" and "Fats" are suitable names and the words "key", "spring" and "bowl" are used suitably.
Oh, no! Please don't amend this poem. I'm amazed to read that it was written by you when you were five years old. You're not kidding us on this point, are you?!
Is it true that the spots turn orange when the bugs are older (or when the spots are older - maybe they regenerate.) I always wondered why some ladybugs had red, and others orange spots.
It's a poem full of fun, information, and love of nature.
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