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1
1
Review of Year by Year  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
** Image ID #1458778 Unavailable **


To Jeff
~~~*Leaf*~~~
From Vince J. Arcuri

~~~*Leaf*~~~

YEAR BY YEAR

~~~*Leaf*~~~


The first one I remember, not so long ago, I was a little boy all bundled up, protected from the snow. The kitchen smelled like chocolate cake, my friends were at the door of our little house in Oregon, the day it snowed and I turned four. We didn’t have a lot of things, but we wanted all we had. What more could I have asked for but a loving mom and dad?



My thoughts and dreams go back to then and echo in my mind, so vivid in their wonder, so precious in their time. Me and Darryl wild and free, like it was yesterday, and daddy always went to work, while momma let us play. We lived and loved and left a mark upon that little town. Everything was smiles back then, we never wore a frown.



Another minute passing by, a minute gone away. Another one I can’t take back, or spend another day. As fantastic as it was for me, it was all I’d ever known. So safe and warm and full of love, that place that I called home. I know I can’t go back to then, and even if I could, with all the gifts He’s given me, I just don’t think I would.


When I was five, we moved away, once more when I was ten. I was short and fat and quiet, I had trouble making friends. So much had changed for me in such a very little while, I never thought that I’d fit in, I’m sure I never smiled. Kids are mean at that young age, and they savaged me with mirth. They never saw into my heart, they just mocked me for my girth. I wonder if they look back now and regret the things they did? The man in me forgives them what they put upon that kid.

~~~*Leaf*~~~

When I was twelve we moved again, with no complaints from me. I’d grown a foot and lost some weight, the swan in me set free. I played some ball cuz I was tall and found that I fit in, at a school out in the country where my heart has been since then.

Why do I identify with the little time spent there? Just a couple years of life that could have happened anywhere? Perhaps because it was the place I grew into my skin? Now I know it matters not if I am fat or thin, but how I live and love and share the gifts that lie within. That’s a lesson taught to me by someone I once loved, and how I oft remember falling, though I wish that I’d been shoved.

The two lane roads and Douglas fir gave hope to that young man, who was always going somewhere fast, but never had a plan. The highway led to freedom and the city called to me, there would be no college, love so lost, so the pavement set me free. I went away not looking back and faced a bitter world, finding more than I had bargained for in the arms of a young, blonde girl. Everything I hoped for, everything I dreamed, nothing ever turns out quite the way it seems.

At nineteen years I was a king, at twenty such a bore. By twenty-one I’d lost my hair, it didn’t matter anymore. At twenty-two I was alone, again at twenty-four; an empty house awaited me, at twenty-eight once more. Somewhere back along the way I made the wrong damned turn, and spent ten years of my bitter life slowly getting burned.
~~~*Leaf*~~~
But not all the pages written in that chapter of my life could be blamed upon the infidelity of a narcissistic wife. I could have been and done the things to make it all work right and rose to the occasion to become her shining knight. Looking back from where I am to the dreary days back then, I’m glad I didn’t waste my time, it’s much better where I’ve been.

By thirty years I had a home, and a job or two or three. No one else was paying bills or washing clothes, and all I had was me. I tried so hard to stand up tall, a lonely man about to fall, so big and tall and yet so small, I bitterly thought I’d lost it all. Somewhere out there lived a girl who meant the world to me, and if I held on long enough, maybe I would see?

Sure enough, by thirty-one, while I was playing, having fun, an angel found me, short and sweet, it wasn’t long before we’d meet. The day was warm and time stood still, the first kiss blossomed, such a thrill. Before I knew it we were wed, the best day of my life, and the best thing I have ever done was take an angel for a wife.

There have been some ups and downs, moments I’d take back, and things I wish came easier to keep us both on track. But I have faith in her and I, and love that knows no bounds. I’d sell my soul to buy her cheerios, as crazy as that sounds.
~~~*Leaf*~~~
So here I am at forty just a single grain of sand, slowly sinking downward through the hourglass of man. As depressing as that sounds it is important here to note that I’m the grain on top!! and that I’m filled with hope.

While there are things I’d take back now, to change the world for me, I’m wise enough to understand how foolish that would be. I am the man I’ve grown to be because of those mistakes. Those bitter lessons temper me and help me hit the brakes. They slow me down to think ahead and see the way things are, to enjoy the laughs and feel the love that makes us who we are.

When I visit here again, forty-one I’ll be. I wonder if I’ll recognize the man I thought was me?

~~~*Leaf*~~~


By Jeff...Scifiguy
2
2
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ | (5.0)
Hi Melkor
You say, 'at thirty-four'. I can say at, 'at 69, 70 next week,' and I am still trying to write. One step forward, two back.

Well written


Vince
3
3
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Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: 13+ | (5.0)
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HI Velenna

I read through your story without looking for errors; I wanted to get the feel of your writing style and storyline. All I can say is that you're a good writer and it shows in this chapter. You have scenes of building action and character development. Keep up the good work

Sincerely
Vince*Smile*
P.S. Thank you for reading my Nereid.
4
4
Review of Whisper  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE GROUP  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
Simply Positive Group Signature.

Hi Jim (Sum1)

Wonderful...Simply wonderful. So beautiful and sad. Human emotions are fantastic and putting them to words are a gift. ...

Sincerely
Vince *Sad*

Whisper

~~~~*Heart*~~~~

I heard a soft whisper in my ear today,
What was said, I’m not sure I can say,
It didn’t matter for my lover had spoken
Her very first words since she’d awoken
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
She’d been asleep these past few years,
I’d sat by her bed; cried many tears.
She lay there as if not really alive
Sometimes I thought it was all a lie
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
After all, just yesterday we’d been in the park,
Feeding the birds, her favorite was a lark
But when I thought about all that had passed
I realized that yesterday, was 10 years past
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
I’d read to her of my hearts desire,
I sat with her and never tired.
I’d remind her of the places we’d been,
And tell her again of ones yet to be seen
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
Through it all she lay peacefully,
Her breathing steady, her face serene
She never responded, at times I couldn’t cope,
But through it all, I never lost hope
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
Then today like lightning out of the blue,
She whispered to me, “I Love You”
My heart is singing, I’m filled with elation,
Already was planned a great celebration
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
But as soon as she whispered those three words so true,
She took one last breath and faded from view
Her soul was gone just that fast,
I just stood there, my face aghast
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
I came to this park where we’d met long ago,
Wondering now if I could continue to grow
How would I live, how would I survive
Nothing mattered now, I wanted to die
~~~~*Angel*~~~~
But in all my misery, I remembered one thing
How our love took flight, it was never a fling.
I knew she’d want me happy you see
She’d be there in heaven, waiting for me
~~~~*Angel**Heart**Angel*~~~~
Wait, what is that whisper I hear?
My Lovers sweet voice in my ear?
But when I look around and call her name,
I realize, it’s only the wind again

~~~~*Angel*~~*Heart*~~*Angel*~~~~

So I’ll live my life and know I’m not alone,
She’s with me forever, wherever my home.
And when I die we’ll meet once more
Forever together, of that I am sure.

~~~~*Leaf2*~~~~

Jim Dorrell
9/15/06
5
5
Review of The Mighty Oak  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE GROUP  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
** Image ID #1458778 Unavailable **

Hi Jim

I saw you name written on both the poems I am reviewing. You write very well. I get the impression you can just 'sit down and crank them out' No? Well ... anyway, I liked the poem and appreciated the last line: What man did not know in all thier wisdom so far flung..That though to them the oak was old, one hundred is still a teen...let a tree live one thousand years, you'll see just what I mean.

Thank you for sharing with your WDC family
Vince *Smile*

The Mighty Oak

~~~~*Leaf1*~~~~

The mighty oak had lived in the forest for over one hundred years
And now if it was possible, it would shed quite human tears
It survived storms that tried to tear it from end to end
But now was facing something it could not comprehend
~~~~*Leaf2*~~~~
A massive fire had threatened when it was young and green
The heat had burned off many leaves, and left its limbs picked clean
It had once provided a home where an eagle made a nest
And felt the tickle of children climbing its wooded vest
~~~~*Leaf3*~~~~
It witnessed covered wagons roll by, pulled by oxen, mules, and men
Several limbs were lost while young, for wagons that needed a mend
People in cars had drove by, not noticing the beautiful tree
Almost as if they didn’t care, or did not want to see
~~~~*Leaf4*~~~~
Scars were on its trunk from someone’s small sharp knife
A heart, initials, and an arrow, expressing their love for life
Squirrels seemingly defied death, as they leaped from branch to branch
And not too long in its memory, nearby had been built a ranch
~~~~*Leaf5*~~~~
A dirt road now ran near the oak, but still not too near
The mighty oak had grown stout, survived those many years
It had felt the gentle touch, of lovers embracing its girth
And knew at that moment, what life was really worth
~~~~*Leaf1*~~~~
A storm now threatened the oak, one it couldn’t understand
Was the need of man to gain more space, to devastate the land
Humans had decided that the mighty oak should go
And in its place they’d build a new road, going to and fro
~~~~*Leaf2*~~~~
As the moment of truth neared, while saws were being staged
Other humans knew of the plan, and a battle they did wage
To save the mighty oak from a seemingly shameful end
They refused to allow the saws to cut one single limb
~~~~*Leaf3*~~~~
After weeks of vigilance, the environmentalists eventually won
Many of them slept near the oak till the battle was finally done
The road was diverted, now curved ‘round the mighty tree
It was left in its prime, for everyone to see
~~~~*Leaf4*~~~~
What man did not know in all their wisdom so far flung
That though to them the oak was old, it was really young
If age is considered in tree years, one hundred is still a teen
Let a tree live one thousand years, you’ll see just what I mean

~~~~*Leaf5*~~~~


Jim Dorrell
3/30/07
6
6
Review of The Jester  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE NEWBIE REVIEWE...  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
Simply Positive Group Signature.

Hi Sum1

The poem is well written. The last two paragraphs the poems inner meaning surfaces. It appears that the jester is not a happy person, but uses a forced facades to make the audience happy.
Then there is this sad paragraph:

They are gathered together and taken to their rooms
Sleeping the night away while knowing of their doom
For cancer will take them, or something just as bad,
But the jester brought them a delight they’d never had

Their smiles and cheers were all the reward he would need
He knew he’d helped them forget their sickness indeed
Another night would come with more children to amuse,
For this was his curse, how he paid his long life dues

~~~~*Sad*~~~~


Well written and thank you for sharing your work WDC family.

Vince*smilt*
7
7
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
For use by Simply Positive Newbie Reviewers

Hi Sum1

In your poem you humble yourself to God above. Your explaining your pain but also asking for your love to be returned to you safe and soon. Very well written and for a good cause.

Thank you for sharing your work with your WDC family.

Sincerely
Vince*Smile*



Praying For A Sign

~~~~*Heart*~~~~

I kneel before you here today
I pray for my man every day
My arms reach out for my true love
Show me the sign, my God above
~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
It’s been so long since he’s been gone
My heart aches so, to him I’m drawn
You alone know who I speak of
Show me the sign, my God above
~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
Can’t you see the ache in my heart?
I’m not whole while we’re far apart
He is my love; all I think of
Show me the sign, my God above
~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
I wait here, my arms open wide
Look at me, I’ve nothing to hide
Without him, my heart knows not love
Show me the sign, my God above

~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~

by Sum1

8
8
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE GROUP  Open in new Window.
Rated: 13+ | (5.0)
A new Simply Positive Reviewers Group Signature.

I have been accustomed to seeing the shrine's along side the highway, near school crossings, on the main town roads and even parking lot entrances. My first impression, I accepted it, thinking it was a nice way to show family and friends remembrance of the deceased. Now, after reading your story, my view is altered. I agree with your view; it would be the view of the one who lost their life at that location.
~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
Thank you for sharing your work with your WDC family

Vince
9
9
Review of My Heart's Melody  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE GROUP  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.5)
For use by Simply Positive Newbie Reviewers

Hi desertrose

A poem written form your heart to another is a very special poem, with a connection between two people. The poem is well written and should be shared.

Thank you for sharing your work with your WDC family. And soon to be shared with the one it was written for.
I added some visual-spin to the poem, I used the writing.com MLhelp
Vince*Smile*

My Heart's Melody

~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~

Three little words in a brilliant song
that is never forgotten.
It goes on and on.

As the melody dances, soft and so sweet,
I hum a harmony
to make it complete.
~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
The music flowing swiftly through my soul,
lifts me higher
as it makes me whole.
~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
A few magic words in a sweet little song
fill up my heart
as I sing along.
~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
Those three little words will always be true.
And the song in my heart
has always been you.

~~~~*FlowerR*~~~~

by desertrose
10
10
Review of Empty Vessel  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE NEWBIE REVIEWE...  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
** Image ID #1518015 Unavailable **


Hi Amay

         Not only was your story well written but it contained instructional information. There are many people, myself included, that one time or another in their lives, will be interested into turning a blob of clay, into a beautifully fired work of personal art.

This is the part I liked mostly.

         They sat and he explained to her. He created the pottery. He loved working with the clay. It gave him joy to be able to share his craft with others in his humble shop. But, the pottery was the medium to get others to think. He molded clay, with his hands. How many lives were molded and shaped by someone’s touch? Everyone has the potential to nurture someone along the way. A gentle prod, a word of kindness, sharing hope are all ways that people can help mold another’s life. So you see, it’s just an empty vessel. It’s what you do to fill it that makes it truly special.

Thank you for sharing your work with your WDC family

Vince *Smile*
11
11
Review of Kid's Poems  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE NEWBIE REVIEWE...  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (5.0)
** Image ID #1518004 Unavailable **

Hi Pinestategal

I was going through reviews and I seen the words, children poems. Since I am almost going through my second childhood, I thought I'd prepare myself. The poems are well done. Each poem's story works well with your choice of rhyming words. I commend you on each poems subject. Children should just gravitate to them as an adult reads the cleaver lines. I could see them in a children's book with illustrations added.

Thank you for sharing your gifted work. And thank you for allowing me to review them. I will add some of my visual-spin to them...Just a suggestion of mine. Use it is you care to.

Vince*Smile*


Kid's Poems

SHOES
~~~~*Ornament3y*~~~~

It's time for school

And I'm almost ready

But I can't find my shoes

Are they under my teddy?



Not in the bathroom,

Not on the stairs

I can't even find them,

Under the chairs



I looked in the closet,

And beneath my bed

Even under the pillow

Where I lay my head



They're not by the T.V

They're not on the floor

Maybe I left them

Right by the back door



Mom says to hurry

We are going to be late

School will be starting

It's almost eight



I suddenly found them

And it was so neat

Right where they should be

Right there on my FEET



SPIKE
~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~

Meatloaf for supper,

That's not what I like.

Maybe I'll give mine

To my dog named Spike.



Mom sure won't catch me

If I am clever tonight.

I just have to do it

When she's out of sight.



I asked her for more milk

But she just won't leave

Maybe I'll shove it

Inside my right sleeve.



Maybe I'll hide it

Under my plate.

Perhaps she won't notice

And she'll think I ate.



She's looking at me

And I think she knows.

But I think that meatloaf

Smells just like toes.



Oh good she just left

To answer the door.

Now I can drop it

Right on the floor.



Outside the window

Right there by my bike.

Sits that traitor, that coward

My dog named Spike


FISHING
~~~~*Ornament3B*~~~~

Today I went to catch a fish

To put in momma's serving dish

I put a worm upon my hook

And settled back to read a book



I waited and I watched my line

Hoping soon to see a sign

I played with sand, I played with rocks

Took off my shoes, took off my socks



I pulled it in to check my bait

I even added extra weight

Though I was bored I didn't quit

Just checked how far that I could spit



I wandered to the waters edge

And sat upon a little ledge

The water on my feet was mild

So soon I started kicking wild



I splashed and kicked, then something queer

Made me holler with great fear

I started to scream, I started to shout

There on my toe, was a big fat trout!



by Pinestategal
12
12
Review of Logan  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE NEWBIE REVIEWE...  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.0)
** Image ID #1518002 Unavailable **


Hi Acendence

I read the whole story … and I have to say, I ‘m impressed. You have captured a scene in an orphanage where two of the oldest girls, River 14 and Trinity 17, were best friends. You described in writing, River’s stuttering and her legal blindness. And then you created an emotional confrontation over the fourteen year olds handicaps. There were just a few errors that I typed in red

Keep up the great writing and thank you for sharing with your WDC friends.

Sincerely

Vince*Smile*

Logan
The story of a forever orphan finding love in an unexpected place


Dear Diary: It was colder than usual today. I had another interview for a foster family and another rejection, shocker I know. They said they were looking for someone “younger”, I don’t even see why I need a stupid foster family, they’d just dump me in a year when I turn 18, so who cares. I think it’s just because the orphanage is sick of me. I don’t blame them I would be too after 17 years, heck after seventeen years of having no one to talk to but this stupid diary I am getting a little sick of myself.


Trinity sighed as she let her old composition notebook fall shut in her lap. She looked to the left and the right of her grossly undersized children’s bed. To her left were four beds full of girls none older than nine, and to her right were seven beds with nine girls eight of which were under nine. The ninth girl was fourteen, her name was River, and she was Trinity’s best friend.

“T…T…Talkin’ t...to your…yourself again?” River asked Trinity smirking as she rolled over to face her. Trinity just smiled back and raised one of her eyebrows at River. River was born with a stutter and she was legally blind; it was due to some progressive mental disease that Trinity had never heard of before. That was why, in Trinity’s opinion, she hadn’t been adopted yet. She couldn’t find any other reason why someone wouldn’t want her. River was beautiful, smart, funny, and very kind.

“Yes, if by talking to myself you mean writing in my diary, then yes, I’m talking to myself.” Trinity said scrunching up her whole body so she could fit under her covers. She looked at River’s foggy blue eyes as they gazed straight over her head searching aimlessly for Trinity’s face. Trinity’s eyes filled with tears as she looked into River’s sightless eyes, she was so over come with emotions that she had to turn away from her. River turned her head in such a way that her ear was facing Trinity rather than her eyes; due to River’s blindness her other senses had heightened, especially her hearing.

“St…Stop that! If.f…anyone’s g…g.gonna feel so…sorry for m..m..me it’s m..me.” River managed to say as she reached out her hand searching for Trinity. Trinity reached out for River’s hand and took it by the wrist, then placed it on her face. River moved her thumb gently back and forth stroking away Trinity’s tears, carefully attempting to avoid her eyes. “I’m s…sorry ab…about your f…f..foster…” River began.

“Interview?” Trinity asked attempting to finish River’s sentence; she nodded. “It’s ok; I wasn’t really expecting to be adopted anyways.” River looked at her quizzically. Trinity and River were so close that Trinity could read River’s facial expressions like a book. “I’m too old, and not pretty enough.” Trinity explained her bottom lip quivering slightly.

“T…T…True you a…are an o..o…old l..la..ady, b..but…” River tried to finish her sentence but couldn’t.

“Shhhhh…it’s ok, do you think you could maybe write it down, you do need the practice.” Trinity joked, and River nodded. Trinity ripped out a piece of paper from her diary and handed River her pen as she placed her hand on the paper.

Trinity began reading as the words were scrawled slightly crookedly across the paper. “True you are and old lady but the Trinity I know is beautiful.” Trinity was still bitter about the interview and now this(,)comma she didn’t know how to feel. She didn’t think (,)comma she just reacted.

“How would you know? You can’t even see.” Trinity said as she started to cry.

“I may not be able to see your face but I can see better with my heart than most people can with their eyes” River wrote slowly and practically illegibly, but she didn’t react the way Trinity had thought she would. Once River was finished writing Trinity didn’t know what to say so she just rolled over and left River sitting there with a pen and a piece of paper in her hand staring off into eternal
13
13
Review of The Moon At Noon  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE NEWBIE REVIEWE...  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.5)
** Image ID #1518015 Unavailable **

Hi Jess
I thought the poem is well written. The subject of our Moon is a fascinating one. Romance wise and Scientifically also.
Thank you for sharing your work with your WDC family. I added some Visual-Spin, my coined phrase...Use it if you care to. I use the Wriiting.com ML help located in the left column under writing tools.

Vince *Smile*

The Moon At Noon

~~~~*Star*~~~~

I saw the moon at noon
And it made me think of what could be
I saw the moon at noon
And it was all that I could see
~~~~*Star*~~~~
The impossible that no one thought
The way we dream from that point on
The dreams that overcome our thoughts
That last all through the dawn
~~~~*Star*~~~~
With the moon I am at peace
It calms the feelings inside
I think about the days to come
And what lies on the other side
~~~~*Sun*~~~~
The sun is bright
I cannot see
The moon is light
The stars are there for me
~~~~*Star*~~~~
To calm you from what goes on
The time will be soon
Just turn your mind and look
Look for the moon at noon

~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~

by Jess

Copyright 2010 Jess (UN: crimsonblood23 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
14
14
Review of One By One  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE NEWBIE REVIEWE...  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.0)
** Image ID #1518015 Unavailable **

Hi Jess

Nicely written love poem. The words have a rhyming ring with each passing verse. Here is a nice passage.
"They drift away
One by one
As the darkness of the night
Slowly moves on"

Thank you for sharing this poem with your WDC friends.

Vince




One By One

~~~~*Leaf2*~~~~

They drift away
One by one
As the darkness of the night
Slowly moves on
~~~~*Leaf3*~~~~
The moon so bright
The stars around
One by one
I'm lifted off the ground
~~~~*Leaf2*~~~~
The dreams so subtle
The heart so true
One by one
Falling for you
~~~~*Leaf4*~~~~
The feelings strong
The feelings I like
One by one
Praying for right
~~~~*Leaf2*~~~~
One by one
It falls in place
The heart no more
Needs be chased
~~~~*Leaf5*~~~~
Happy for once
Don't wish to be done
The smile on faces
One. By. One.

~~~~*Leaf2*~~~~


by Jess
15
15
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE NEWBIE REVIEWE...  Open in new Window.
Rated: E | (4.5)
For use by Simply Positive Newbie Reviewers

Hi Khaki

I read the poem twice to get an understanding. It is philosophy of a time and culture, about life's direction and which path to take. A poem for the deep thinker, not the whimsical decision making.
Thank you for sharing your work with the WDC family.

Vince *Smile*


Destiny... (The Move Ahead)

~~~~*LeafR*~~~~

"All paths go to same place" is the key to mysticism.
~~~~*Leafy*~~~~

Lowing to self, I ask slow

O my master! Where to go?

~~~~*LeafR*~~~~

Said the self left in me,

“To wandering paths in woods and meads

lying ahead in world of treads.”

~~~~*LeafBr*~~~~

“To the path which lead you to

the valley of thy destined goal.

Not the path which left you in

the valley of horrible den.”

Thus, answered the other power.

and left me in a confused mark.

~~~~*LeafR*~~~~

I felt done when a voice within

told me a certain thing.

“Never to worry what path grace

All paths go….. To same place.”

~~~~*LeafY*~~~~





by Khaki's
16
16
Review of Breaking Glass  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
In affiliation with SIMPLY POSITIVE GROUP  Open in new Window.
Rated: 13+ | (4.5)
A new Simply Positive Reviewers Group Signature.

Hi Justin
Very good plot and character presentation. The story has a military psychological thread that was woven well throughout the story. I enjoyed it and was able to visualize what was happening.
Note: My son went to Hofstra in the late 80's..I will read through your text and add in red any suggestions I may have. They are my suggestion only. Use what you wish...The writing is well formatted...Something I appreciate.{c}



Breaking Glass

As published on http://www.thewritehelper.com


The old man pressed his fingertips to the label. He eased away air bubbles and wrote a number in black ink.
“There’s so many types of stamps, Jeffrey. There’s commemorative, definitive, and special ones. We very much want to collect some special ones.” The old man silently cursed the v in the pronunciation of his w’s. It was the toughest part of speaking English.
“What’s kahmemative?” His grandson, Jeffrey, flipped through channels on the television. The boy’s eyes were blue crystals. His hair fitted him like a yellow helmet.
“Commemorative are the ones printed larger,” the old man said. “They show pictures of historical people and events. I don’t make collection of those. I have many animal stamps in these glassine envelopes, well, not like real glass.”
Jeffrey was lost in cartoons. He giggled as a coyote ran off a cliff and suspended in the air. “Did you see that, Opa?”
Our children, they are naive. They will buy into anything we—the old man shut his eyes and tried to quiet the voices in his head. He pictured his wife in her vanilla wedding dress, cheeks flushed because he had snuck into the dressing room and seen her before the ceremony. It was an image he returned to many times before.
Once refocused, he applied another label to his collection. Five hundred and forty-three stamps, seemingly anonymous, were now named and numbered.
On the television, a newscaster with dark,(, delete-place after slick hair, slick hair announced the station’s interview with director Steven Spielberg.
“He has a big nose, Opa. He looks like a clown.” A boyish giggle.
“Speak through flowers, Jeffrey.” The old man grunted and returned to his stamps. Through a magnifying glass, he admired the tiny details of his favorite square. A baby panda looked up at him, gnawing on a green leaf that faded toward the perforated edges.
“Dad, I’m back!” a baritone voice sounded throughout the small home. “It’s terrible out there.” Alex entered the kitchen and the soles of his shoes squeaked on the tile. He greeted his father with a handshake. “Thanks for taking care of Jeffrey. I’m sorry the meeting took forever. I’ve gotta drop this kid off at home and get back to work.”
Jeffrey jumped on his father’s lap, hugged him, and turned back to the television. A mouse in a sombrero sped across the screen. A coyote trailed behind, pistol in hand. Jeffrey clapped.
“You haven’t gotten a new TV?” Alex asked the old man. “Jeffrey’s got a color set he watches back at home. It’s ‘86, Dad, time to embrace technology.” Alex pulled pieces of snow from his cufflinks and tossed them to the floor. “Actually, I think I know someone who can get you a color set for wholesale.” He put Jeffrey down and stood up. “Thanks again for taking care of him. I’ll see you soon?”
The old man nodded. He stared at his stamps and listened to their footsteps patter across the tile. When the front door clicked shut, the old man went to the window to make sure Alex’s car wouldn’t slip on the ice and knock over his mailbox again. “See you next year,” he whispered.
In the quiet house, the old man decided he would cook himself a Bratwurst dinner, possibly with strudel for dessert. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d made a traditional German meal, usually settling on microwave dinners and frozen vegetables. As he looked through the refrigerator, he thought of what Jeffrey had said about Steven Spielberg, and then flushed it from his mind.
The old man put two sausages in a pan and started the stove. As he tended to the sizzling meat, he recalled how Jeffrey laughed when the cartoon mouse aimed a pistol at the coyote. The old man reached for a knife to open the links and see how well they were cooking.
Burn them until their insides are black.
The knife slid into the old man’s finger. Red drops trickled onto the white tile. He pressed a washcloth against the cut, but still it throbbed.
The old man turned off the stove, walked through the bedroom, and into the bathroom. In the jumbled medicine cabinet, he found a brown, unlabeled bottle and swallowed four pills with a glass of water. He reapplied force to his finger and looked into the mirror.
That’s a strong Roman nose you got there, boy. Powerful features, perfect measurements all the way around. A soldier’s skull.
The old man rarely spent more than a moment’s time with his reflection. He had no one left to impress. But now as he stared into the mirror, he saw that the scar across his cheek had healed considerably, the indentations shallow under wrinkled skin. He ran his fingers over the wound and felt the cold of a Berlin winter.
Mama! Papa! Mama! Pa—The old man stumbled and bumped his knee on the bed as he exited the room.
He sat again at the kitchen table. His finger was numb. His head was dizzy from the pills. As he struggled to stay upright, the old man huddled over his stamp collection to find its colors more vibrant. An eagle soared against the backdrop of an American flag, and a turtle crawled out of its stamp to bite a rabbit in the next one. His favorite panda still looked up innocently as if begging.
Look away from their eyes. The rest of it can be forgotten. Not the eyes.
The old man kicked violently against the legs of the table. More pills would bring him peace, but he dared not go there again. Through a blur he saw Jeffrey standing upright, neatly dressed in the black uniform, his arm raised to the sky. In the middle of Jeffrey’s uniform was the hooked cross, an emblem more powerful than any stars or stripes. The old man reached out and tried to grab his grandson’s arm. But the more he reached, the further Jeffrey stepped back into darkness. The old man knocked over a glass of water that poured over his stamp collection.
Now is the time for total eradication.
He kicked wildly.
Throw the rest in the pile and do as you’re told.
He flung himself up from the table and stumbled to the bedroom. In the closet, he found the hammer just as he’d had left it. Mustering strength, he mounted the stack of encyclopedias Alex had given him for Christmas. He used both arms and hoisted the hammer to the top shelf. The nails up there had rusted, making it easier to pry them from the wooden panel. As he pulled, a layer of white webbing coated the hammer. A group of spiders crawled back into the wall, back toward the silver lockbox. The old man swung the hammer and splinters flew like sparks.
Just stand guard. It’s all you have to do. They’re only boys.
He swung harder and eventually the wooden panel fell. The old man felt electricity in his bones as he reached inside and touched the container. He held it cautiously as if it were some magical box, all the miseries of mankind waiting to be released. A voice echoed inside the metal.
Mama! Mama! Ma—
The old man closed his eyes and tried to picture his wife, but all he could see was the young Italian boy who had escaped from the barracks. He saw the boy rounding the corner with a fire in his eyes so furious that not even half a century’s time could extinguish it. Using a fork stolen from the feeding quarters, the boy carved deep into the old man’s cheek. He remembered that horrible pain, the immeasurable anger. The old man watched himself rise from the red snow and walk over to the naked boy whose skinny fists pounded into a wooden door. The boy’s cries grew louder and caused commotion inside the women’s barracks. Mama! Mama! Dozens of women huddled near the voice, scurrying and scratching like penned animals, but it was nothing a Luger couldn’t silence. The old man watched himself jolt with recoil. The boy’s body was so thin that the bullet cracked as it dug through bone. The small frame twitched in the snow. Mama! Ma—A second shot, and the body had lain still.

When the old man woke up, he was lying in the closet on a toppled heap of encyclopedias. Chunks of web-glazed wall panels were sprinkled across his shirt. He wiped them off and stood up, then walked to the bedroom window. The world outside was white with the falling of winter. His mailbox was a foot deep in snow.
The old man returned to the closet and picked up the silver lockbox. As he held it, he watched a spider dangle from the top shelf, its legs spinning silk for a new home.
“Forget what I did,” the old man told the spider, “but don’t ever forgive me.” He took a moment to admire the airborne ballet, then he re-stacked the encyclopedias and mounted them.
Two empty shell casings rattled inside the lockbox as the old man easied it into the wall.
17
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Review of I MISS YOU MOM  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
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Hi Skymac

This could have been you first poem in your mom's memory. Another well expressed poem of your loss. Your faith is the bond for your strength to continue your assignment in life. That is to nurture your family. Your doing fine and it shows in your poems.

Thank you for sharing your work with your WDC family

Vince *Smile*



I MISS YOU MOM

~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~

Mom, nine months ago today
God called you home to stay


Mom, how I would love to just hear your voice
I can imagine you singing in heaven to rejoice

Many times I've seen you in my dreams
I now know what sadness truly means
~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
Sometimes I hear a noise in the hall
I think of you, and the day we got the call

I think of you keeping watch over us, like a guardian angel would do
You know that we love you, and that we are thinking of you too

Somehow in my heart I just truly know
You keep watch over Laura and see her grow
~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~
Sometimes it is hard not to cry for a while
Then I think of you in Heaven and have to smile

When my chimes ring, I believe it is your way of saying hi
From your home in Heaven, way beyond the beautiful sky

When I get sad I remind myself, you're in a much better place
Mom I will think of you often, and remember your beautiful face

So to my mom Grace, who went to Heaven in 2004
I still miss you and one day, will see you on Heaven's shore

~~~~*Ornament3Y*~~~~


by Skymac
18
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Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
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Dr M C Gupta

A well written poem on the legend of Robin Hood. Including your research into accompanying legend history.
This is well written and worthy of framing. This is in my opinion.
Keep on writing and sharing your work with your WDC family.

Sincerely
Vince ( Vince J. Arcuri )

ROBIN HOOD: a sonnet—award winner

~~~~*Ornament3y*~~~~

There must be some reason why Robin Hood,
The King of Outlaws is remembered still.
He did not have regard for lega-lhood
For his men the law meant what was his will.

Though many legends does his name unfold,
The “Golden Arrow” is the most famous.
The Prince of Thieves, as he was often called,
Said to his seven score merry men thus:
~~~~*Ornament3y*~~~~
“The Nottingham Sheriff I do care not.
My writ runs large in the Sherwood forest.
To help the poor I do rob the rich lot
It’s in the starving people’s interest.

That’s why he was the hero of his day,
And continues as such even today.

~~~~*Ornament3y*~~~~

* Awarded third prize in the "Invalid Item" , “ Once Upon a Time - History Contest”
* Initially written as entry 470285 in the book MISCELLANEA, {item: 963917}


A note on Robin Hood--

         Robin Hood, the Prince of Thieves, is a legend that has persisted since at least 8 centuries ago, when his name started being immortalized through popular ballads. From 1227 onwards the names 'Robinhood', 'Robehod' or 'Hobbehod' occur in the accounts of several English justices. Whether there was a person name Robin Hood , and, if so, what was his real character, is not sure. Anyhow, there is certainly a grave bearing his name.

         The character of Robin Hood has been painted differently in different times, from a noble man to a vagabond and outlaw. He, along with his band of ‘seven score merry men’, greatly exulted in teaching a lesson to the Sheriff of Nottingham, who was a tyrant and gravely abused his position, appropriating land, levying intolerable taxation, and unfairly persecuting the poor.

         Robin Hood is the archetypal English folk hero; a courteous, pious and swashbuckling outlaw of the mediæval era who, is famous for robbing the rich to feed the poor and fighting against injustice and tyranny. He is usually associated with Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire. Further details can be viewed at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Hood


Dr M C Gupta
21 November 2006
19
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Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
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Dr M C Gupta.

There is a thread of personal experience woven into your poems. Deeply ingrained in the fabric of your words a possible confession lies within. However, there is a story to be told. And a lesson to be learned. I praise you for your choice of words. Well written.

Allow me to add some visual-spin on you poem. Use it or discard it. For it only my suggestion.{c/}

Vince




WORK: award winner

~~~~*Leaf*~~~~

Work and work and work and work,
No time to play or rest;
For worship and prayer no time,
No time to play or jest.

Why must we work all the time?
Why not take life easy?
In daily rigmarole why
Should we be so busy?
~~~~*LeafBr*~~~~
Too much work and no play does
Make a human crazy
Why not on a sunny beach
Lie down and feel lazy?

But, alas! The constant work
Has killed all my spirit,
Though I may take vacation,
I shall not enjoy it.
~~~~*LeafR*~~~~
I think some are made to work
And some, just to enjoy.
I was put in the first lot.
No doubt it was His ploy.

~~~~*Clock*~~~~


by Dr M C Gupta
20
20
Review of LOVE: a sonnet  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
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Dr. M C Gupta

Yet another poem written from a sad heart. Emotions are the result of the entity each of us exist in while we occupy our earthly host's body-form. I will not suggest any changes for you know better then I, what you are relating to the humbled reader. You are the master of your poem's spirit.

Thank you for sharing your well written work. Keep on writing.
Sincerely[/c}

Vince.





LOVE: a sonnet


~~~~*Heart*~~~~

Love is an emotion that is unique,
It just cannot be kindled or be killed.
Coming from heart, it does not bear critique,
It has been as man’s strongest power billed.

In love one can truly give one’s own life,
But one driven by love can take life too.
For husband, sacrifices does make wife,
Husband also loves her, it is but true.
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
But when love is another name for sex,
It loses its power that is divine.
When its value is paid in bills or cheques,
It turns from spirit to the cheapest wine.

Love bonds are deep in the lovers’ heart laid.
It’s not love if it’s sought to be repaid.

~~~~*Heart*~~~~

by M C Gupta
9 April 2006
21
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Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: E | (5.0)
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Dr. M C Gupta 'Khalish'

Thank you for your elegantly written 7 syllable poem. I am also an author as you are and know the wonderful feeling when your literary toil is given some positive exposure beneath the light under the reader eyes.

Your poem, STAIN OF LOVE, closes a gap, created when one has a failed love. It is well written and should be framed. Allow me to add some visual-spin to your work.

Sincerely
Vince J. Arcuri


STAIN OF LOVE: a ghazal

~~~~*Heart*~~~~

My love, you must not blame me,
And, as heartless, not name me.

Though my love was deep and pure,
You somehow could not claim me.

Having wantonly wandered,
Why come back and defame me?
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
You have broken my heart once,
Please, again, do not drain me.

I’m learning to walk again,
Leave me alone, don’t maim me.

I no longer have the spark,
No use trying inflame me.
~~~~*Heart*~~~~
Paths of love for me no more,
I feel as if they shame me.

I want to go far away,
I wish none to restrain me.

Now I am my own master,
Why should anyone rein me?

Love’s a dirty word, Khalish.
It will forever stain me.

~~~~*Heart*~~~~

by M C Gupta ‘Khalish’
7 July 2003



22
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Review of The Chaser.  Open in new Window.
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Rated: 13+ | (4.5)
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Hi Moony

Nice well written poem. I made one suggestion on a word I thought was misspelled, I added it in red. Otherwise its well done.
Keep up the good poetry.

Sincerely
Vince*Smile*

The Chaser.

She stopped, turned around and stared at the chaser who looked like a gentleman. He was chasing her from the bus stop.

This place was overcrowded, so she could easily shout for help. Crossed arms on her chest, she stood firm.

He approached her and simpered.(Whispered.)

“Ma’am, you dropped your cell phone in the bus.”



by Moony-The Writer
23
23
Review of MY GRANDCHILDREN  Open in new Window.
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Rated: E | (5.0)
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Hi Sherri

To the best Grandmom Landon, Wyatt and Sherridan could have. Bless you and your family.


Sincerely
Vince J. Arcuri (Vince*Smile*
24
24
Review of My Haikus!  Open in new Window.
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Rated: 13+ | (5.0)
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Hi Smilingsun

         Your neatly arranged 'The Collection of My Haikus' is something I'm sure your proud of. I know how much time and effort you have expended just to make it happen. Keep up the good work.


Sincerely
Vince*Smile*
25
25
Review of You're Crazy  Open in new Window.
Review by vince Author IconMail Icon
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Rated: 13+ | (4.0)
** Image ID #1518003 Unavailable **

Hi July

Well here I am about to review your poem. The poem's thyme is asking for a violent death. You're asking the violent person, to kill you softly and with the sunrise, make it a surprise. Your alluding to the use of a knife. And wish they cut you deep, keeping the blood inside. I remark at you poem subject, but then, it is your choice what you wish to write about.
I am assuming in this case you are trying to paint a visual scene. That you did, and vividly. This is why I did rate it a 4.0

Let's see some of your other poetry directions and subjects you can author.

Keep on writing.

Vince~*Smile*


You're Crazy

~~~~*Sad*~~~~

Kill me softly, whisper as loud as you can,

With the sunrise try, and make it a surprise,
~~~~*Sad*~~~~
Cut me deep, and keep the blood inside,

Leave me forever and come to me afterward,
~~~~*Sad*~~~~
It hurts when I'm happy, yet it's pleasant when I'm sad,

It doesn't matter, everything I do is to keep myself from going mad.

~~~~*Sad*~~~~

by: July
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