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April 24, 2014
10:29pm EDT

Rated: 18+ | Book | Personal | #1300042
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life
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Such Longing: Poetry Of Nature Love
Product Type: eBooks
Amazon's Price: Price N/A

Journalist turned blogger.

Read me, don't read me. I'm going to dare you to read anyway.

I update my portfolio page as often as possible. glaedrfly Go there to see new messages. I also encourage you to read my notebook, biography and more. I'm always updating, because I am restless.

THANK YOU alfred booth, wanbli ska for the ribbon and continuous support!

My blogging days at Writing.Com began here >>>
My Journal  [13+]
This is my pulpit. I'm no preacher, just long to be heard like the rest of us.
by glaedrfly
Previous ... -1- 2 3 4 5 ... Next
April 22, 2014 at 6:27pm
April 22, 2014 at 6:27pm
Children's Story
Future illustrated children's story?

ID: 1987911 (E)
Adolescent POV story that teaches sibling patience, understanding and love.
by glaedrfly

April 19, 2014 at 4:57pm
April 19, 2014 at 4:57pm
The Mix
I will say things in writing to a person that I would not say to someone in person. Does this make me a coward or does corresponding through social media allow us greater access to expression?

Now, I will say there are limitations. Inflections, gestures, tone and some of the give and take in certain scenarios are missing. There are certain intimacies that cannot be duplicated in words. The beauty of it for a writer is to try. Can we find the right words to move another? There is power in these conveyances, if we can strike a chord with a reader.

I long for those internet embraces. I will be the first to admit I have shortcomings, but am learning every day the impact my words have had on others. I know humility and I know love. It is a bittersweet mix.

April 19, 2014 at 2:53pm
April 19, 2014 at 2:53pm
Mining Days
I'm always intrigued by old stories from my hometown. Was doing a bit of digging today and found a very unusual story. Reporters back then wrote like they were giving first hand accounts, seldom using attribution. Though this piece is published in Kalamazoo, I suspect the information was either taken from a local paper or reporter. It almost reads like fiction.

Fatal Injuries to Two Mill Employes at Iron Mountain

Iron Mountain, Mich., July 8--Kim Harvey, a millwright, with a man named Price for an assistant, was engaged in repairing a pulley in the Metropolitain Lumber company's mill, when the machinery suddenly started. Harvey's clothing was caught, and he was whirled around the shaft. In one of the revolutions his feet struck Price, who was on a beam above, knocking him some distance. Price struck on the floor squarely on his head and received injuries that may result in his death. Harvey continues to revolve around until every article of clothing excepting one shoe had been stripped from his person, when he dropped to the floor. Strange as it may seen, none of his limbs were broken, his injuries being of an internal nature. He cannot live. -Kalamazoo Gazette, July 9, 1898

English was like a second language in an area packed full of immigrants. I remember visiting homes as a paperboy where old women only spoke German or Scandanavian and being told by my friends, their neighbors or grand kids, that they never wanted to learn English.

The stories of lives lost in mining accidents in our area are quite sad and yet a way of life. Makes me think of the old movies where people struggled to make a few bucks to feed their family, even if it meant life or limb. My grandpa worked in the mine until he went on disability in 1933. He inhaled a good amount of stuff in his lungs that made it difficult to work underground again.

He came to America in 1893 at the age of 15 and settled in Iron Mountain. Second from right, Grandpa in the very old days at the bar where I learned to drink.

April 14, 2014 at 8:51pm
April 14, 2014 at 8:51pm
Blood Red Moon Prophecy
I'll have blood shot eyes if I stay up tonight and watch the first of the tetrad, that is, the first of four blood red moons over the northern hemisphere during the next 18 months. And there's a little story about a biblical prophecy about the end of days connected to this.
April 11, 2014 at 3:28pm
April 11, 2014 at 3:28pm
Character Driven Life
I get it. Watching a character struggle with self-doubt is a turn off. We want our flawed hero to be optimistic because we are on a fence of our own. We read for escape and not to be dragged back down into the morass.

Conflict-resolution becomes a sticky subject to tackle, because a writer wants to implant his own insecurities to supplant in the escalating action. To be honest with ourselves, there are few true supermen and their stories are seldom dramatic like the struggles of a loner who yearns to fit in. Maybe, one that picks up that sword to battle the white page and hope that someone will respond to the visions in words spilled forth.

The separating line between fiction and reality is a clear division, but one that one wants to blur a little more each day. I spend x amount of time with the distraction of a good tale and x amount of time surrounding myself with a support network. But, when you cannot control the ratio? A lot of time alone leads to delusion.

May happy times lie ahead in the words with good friends and our readers.

April 11, 2014 at 12:42am
April 11, 2014 at 12:42am
Give Someone A Chance
I've been rereading my first blog, from the beginning, and remembering what I struggled with and how optimistic I was starting on the path here. I became disillusioned, as I am sure many have, because my expectations were not met. I yearn to find a place in this internet dungeon where I can envision a glimmer, just a crack of light to help me escape. I want to get back what little innocence I had when I started here and begin again. Just doesn't seem like I will find what I am looking for here, maybe nowhere.

Embrace those newbies and let them know they are loved and don't quit on them during their awkward phases and struggles for worth and recognition. Expect people to be a little unreasonable. Be patient and help them understand, if you truly are angels. Unconditional support will help them see, while I still cope with this self-imposed dark hole I put myself into.

April 9, 2014 at 2:45am
April 9, 2014 at 2:45am
The Force

Never gets old.
April 7, 2014 at 4:01pm
April 7, 2014 at 4:01pm
Glad they're back...

April 3, 2014 at 7:15am
April 3, 2014 at 7:15am
Tumblr grrrr!
I officially hate Tumblr. Can't figure out how to make blog public or how to link it here and have my posts be seen...the dashboard is so simplistic it's stupid, making me nuts!

Attempts to google help doesn't work. They have changed tumblr so much that advice from six months ago is outdated. It's like they want to insulate me from main stream internet traffic and isolate me in a little community of bloggers who don't know I exist either.

Hey! This is too familiar. *Rolleyes*

March 30, 2014 at 6:03pm
March 30, 2014 at 6:03pm
All A-Twitter
I've decided I need a place where I don't feel compelled to be politically correct and chose the current internet den of iniquity Twitter. Don't know where I am going with this, but for now the more humorous 'rant' side of me that separates from the writer in me (sometimes). It's already an odd mix. Bringing two of my worlds together in a sense.

Going by bron glaedrfly...for now. Since I'm not famous enough to be known by one name...or be known.

If you are new to Twitter or thinking of joining, make your 17th tweet a haiku (use #thweet to tag) like I did. Or senyu.
March 21, 2014 at 2:33pm
March 21, 2014 at 2:33pm
Haiku - Blaze...Fresh
Your paper words blaze
Char them all down to the ground
A fresh voice crackles

Took a few words jotted down on notepad and turned it into a haiku. Originally wrote:

'Set fire to words on paper
Char them all down to the ground
Your voice is too distant.'

I changed the ending to provide a result rather than further the theme.

Unrelated, I'm sure, I had written in the column, "save on medication & alcohol." Oh, now I see the math to support that logic. Must have been doing taxes again!

Oh, and..."polar vortex winter apparel fluctuations." Winter clothes closet is a mess!
March 18, 2014 at 8:22pm
March 18, 2014 at 8:22pm
Jesters at the ready...
April Fool's Day is nearing. Pranking someone is not my thing. Being pranked...not so much. However...

Something to chew on...

ID: 1195045 (13+)
The Prankster 
A troubled boy cannot appease everyone with his attempts at humor.
by glaedrfly

Spring break is coming. Might be time to take a much needed break from this site and recenter myself in the real world with people who apparently love me? *Confused*

I require a break because I need to get my head out of cyberspace...have gotten into that rut with writing. My family doesn't understand me as a writer, but they do require my attention for awhile. It will be good to get back when I have something new to share with my friends here.

March 13, 2014 at 11:25pm
March 13, 2014 at 11:25pm
Poem In newsletter, short story, too!!
A poem of mine was featured in the poetry newsletter this week and would not have known if Blüeyez hadn't pointed it out. Been awhile since I've been aware that one of my efforts earned attention in a newsletter. Nice to be back.

ID: 1335139 (ASR)
As Deep As I Could 
We take a chance on acceptance, fail and try to find answers.
by glaedrfly

ID: 1977616 (ASR)
Attitude Flying 
Alliteration in this effort written for a contest prompt.
by glaedrfly

ID: 1977655 (ASR)
Gentle Doe 
An encounter with a deer in the wild strikes love in a lonesome heart.
by glaedrfly

Whaaaaaaaaaaa..... A short story, too? Dang, I got to keep up with these things. I will have to thank the folks for highlighting my works...

ID: 1181914 (18+)
Death Of A District Salesman 
Ever have one of those manipulative bosses that will do anything to get ahead?
by glaedrfly

My fantasy of wishing I could off the boss for making me jump through all those hoops only to get forced out of my job in the end.

March 3, 2014 at 11:04pm
March 3, 2014 at 11:04pm
Poetry Fail
Contests are good if you need inspiration to write and bad if you have expectations that don't match what these judges are looking for. I found a few contests that I thought I could contribute something meaningful to, only to find my efforts are not worthy of esteem.

I don't discount the "Dear Me" contest win. That was the biggest, out of about 90 entries. It also tells me I know how to write and yet some of my best entries can't crack the top 3 out of 7 or 8? In poetry, no less.

I know I said I was doing away with poetry for the novel pursuit. I think my latest effort should be my last until the novel is done. I think these little messages are steering me back on course.

It is sad that this poem written to a prompt wasn't worthy tonight...

ID: 1977616 (ASR)
Attitude Flying 
Alliteration in this effort written for a contest prompt.
by glaedrfly

February 25, 2014 at 4:47pm
February 25, 2014 at 4:47pm
Say Something
February 22, 2014 at 9:30pm
February 22, 2014 at 9:30pm
How To Feel
I'm processing a lot of thoughts and cannot find the words tonight for how I should feel. I guess if everyone assumes a position of indifference, there would be such uninspired participation, if any at all, at this site. So when I hear a call to action, there is a part of me that is always willing to help out.

Sometimes, I feel like such a sucker. I have enough on my own plate and I want to launch when someone is in distress. My wife is constantly questioning my motivations.

"They need someone.." And then it goes on from there. You sometimes find you're standing in the middle of nowhere and someone is yelling at you to get out of the field.

You try to lend a hand here or there and get handcuffed while people breaking rules all around you are ignored. And then when you finally offer up your humble offerings you get a 'that's not what we're looking for' and look up to see if the writing on the wall has changed again.

This is all obtuse. Some might know what I mean. The more I think people want me to shut up and go away, the more trouble I'm tempted to make. I guess I should just pity their ignorance or their intentions that I cannot fathom.

Dammit, why don't I come out and say it. Don't care to be ostracized again, or just don't care?

It feels good when you can contribute and do something that could be more positively defining as a member, instead of them mucking it up and taking away all the fun their could be. My head is spinning again...

I don't want to believe I've wasted my time as a member of this community. I want to believe their is more in me that people don't get to see because they haven't met the person.

Been like a yo-yo these past seven plus years. Wish I could decide...spinning...guess I'm going to lose before I start. I feel sorry for every hopeful newbie who becomes disenchanted because they will eventually not be newbies anymore.

February 21, 2014 at 2:05pm
February 21, 2014 at 2:05pm
She shelters within the weed
As they lob cocktails over her wall.
You can't see her eyes;
veins thick with the mud
she uses to douse the flames,
rising higher, as she goes numb.

Bayonets stab acidic animals
floating in her challised waters.
Bloody war engines blast
their arrival; colorful lights
synchronize with the volleys.

The diminutive fighter approaches
warriors battling, chanting;
refusing refuge in their arms,
dims her dark, dry eyes
and dances to her own song.

Don't like the ending. I think I'm going to add more/edit this. It is for someone who would rather be up all night enjoying the late-night scene rather than be tied down to 7 AM job. I also think there's more at work with her that she has yet to realize.

Noticed the first stanza wound up with six lines. Can I get away with 'challised' to show how the water is held? Checks his poetic license to see if it is up to date.
It's sad that when you end something before your muses are done feeding you thoughts, because it is hard to pick up where I leave off. Hope I can add more to this.

February 20, 2014 at 12:33am
February 20, 2014 at 12:33am
Latest Rant...cracking
I need to find some way I can be me and feel comfortable not having to apologize for it. I need to be able to assert my opinion without the fear of rejection. Too often how I feel about myself is tied to the opinion of others.

My dad made me this way. He got to be arrogant and demeaning to others who stood up to him and played the martyr if we did not go along with his game.

Here I am wandering around in this stream, wanting to appease my father and uphold all that my mother bestowed me with kindness and a strong shoulder for others. Nothing left for me? These two who left this realm more than 10 years ago couldn't have been more divisive influences on my life, and I am about to crack at my foundation.

I want to be stronger and tell people off like I sometimes do and not come back and retract all that my passion will demonstrate. I've had to be a chameleon for so many people, it's a wonder I don't have an identity crisis. Well I do, just not so severe that it has stricken me with insanity.

I desire the company of friends and have hated that I was a phony to get in their good graces only to discover that the friendships were more fantasy than reality. Maybe, I tried too hard. So, I stopped trying.

I want to crack. I welcome it. I hope there is a shiny, resilient new person beneath this flimsy exterior who can grab the world by the tail and fling it into orbit. I desire peace of mind and an attitude that says you're either with me...well, that's it.

Meekly gets off soapbox/pulpit to spend some time in repose to consider his latest rant to the wall.

February 19, 2014 at 9:13pm
February 19, 2014 at 9:13pm
Relaunch of the surgically repaired shooter
It started in low, then started to grow. That line from the classic cartoon was the narrative playing in the back of my head as I stood on the basketball court just 10 minutes after my physical therapy session ended.

It had been a rough week with my arm and back since my last PT session one week ago. Shoulder tightness plagued me and could not properly do my home therapy, let alone stretch. I even overdid it one day and sensed immflamation as I tried to sleep. I was not getting good rest until two nights ago.

Dan, my therapist, had to get me stretched out before taking measurements for my doc, who I see on Monday. I was still progressing in all but one area with range of motion. Then, I did some physical exercises including two circuits on machines that got me strong after becoming limber.

I walked downstairs to the gym, took off my shoes and picked out the best ball. Dribbling was a bit stiff. I shot with my left hand for awhile and felt frustrated. There were a bunch of young athletes around, probably semi-pro football players. I didn't like looking like an old fart in the gym, chasing a ball as my shoeless, big feet thudded against the hardwood floor.

I dribbled with my surgically repaired right hand. I've been able to do this for nearly three months. It felt pretty good. I lifted the ball straight up in front of me, while using my left hand to hold down the shoulder. I hoisted it mechanically several times. There was no pain. I was loose and ready.

I've been shooting the ball from short distances with the right for several weeks.i had difficulty with accuracy. I could launch 15-footers a week ago and watched them all sail left of my aim, but not today.

I stood at the free throw line and tossed up a shot to see it rim off. It felt good and no mechanical issues. I was just a bit weak. I remedied this by making sure I stretched from my legs up to my back as I stood upright before each shot was released. I managed four free throws in a row at one point. I had been alternating between the left and right hands to make sure I did not overdo it. As I could not connect appreciatively with my left hand, the thoughts crept in, Try a three.

I made sure I was just outside the arc -- 19-feet away. It was not easy going at first, but I mixed up right and left hand dribbles behind the back or between the legs after hauling in the caroms of each miss. I still alternated shooting hands. I moved inside and started canning, even swishing, right-handed shots. I even took a few fade-always that hit their mark. Then, I took it into the corner behind the line.

The sun streamed through a wall of window panes. Visually, the light eliminated all backdrop and made it hard to judge distance because the red rim became a silhouette fading into the shadows of midday. I launched. I knew the distance and it landed perfectly, catching enough of the far side of the rim to send it careening right back to me. I scooped up the ball off a bounce and in perfect rhythm launched another in flawless, easy motion and down it went. That's when the line from How The Grinch Stole Christmas began to play in my head.

I guess you could say my heart grew three sizes. I thought I could stop there, but this was encouraging. I flopped around in my socks on that floor for another fifteen minutes making it rain form everywhere. I envisioned going back to the YMCA and putting on another shooting clinic, then leaving before the full court games began. Even though I can do this again, I am a long way away from twisting and contorting my torso and limbs in action.

I thought I would never return to play. Now I am thinking I could be physically better than before. I need some cardio and more strengthening. But, I'm coming back a surgically repaired shooter itchin' for a relaunch.

February 19, 2014 at 1:40pm
February 19, 2014 at 1:40pm
cool. desirable.
fire. craving.
thirst my flame
quench my thirst

lost. misdirection.
sign. deserving.
nod your indication
guide my pith.

Aimless poet searching
never saw you coming
Would you just dare
pull me down to kiss?

Your cool desire
like fire I crave.
Lost without a sign
in this pith -- please guide
an aimless, searching...


Tossedx Handsx
Timex Stopx

I don't know where I was going with this other than I had a bunch of disjointed thoughts like words bubbling to the surface and then I started putting together the connections to make some sort of message out of it to send to another.

It could be like reading someone's own code like morse, synophore, smoke signals or a ouija board. Examples not used here, but could be referenced in a similar poem. In my own cryptic way I try to understand myself so I know what it is I am meant to say. Well, then, the message is delivered and I imagine she hushes me, but return is hard and perhaps I am just hushing myself.

The little x's are periods that come with emotion. It's like adding some force to get those words to halt at the end. Perhaps, they could mean something more. I only look at my note book and see them there and know the emotion I felt as I put each one down after those final four words.

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