This is beautiful, and I'm slightly embarrassed to say, it brought tears to my eyes. I love the mystery hidden in your words. I especially love the sense of caring, and selfless love the Jester expresses. There are many horrors in the world, but your poem reminds us there is also love.
Such a clever idea, to break up the name and expand each part so beautifully. The second stanza is perfect, with the in-line rhyme of core and bore, and the conjuring up of ancient pent up energies released.
The giant gulp of the fourth stanza pushes the poem on, capturing the power involved. Then you describe the wave, the sudden imposition of destruction. I feel the proper word to describe your poem is 'awesome', in the proper sense of invoking awe in the reader. An awesome poem, from a Master poet.
When I was trying to get through the NaNoWriMo last year, I set myself goals for each day, but also specific rewards for reaching those goals. The first week completed I treated my wife and myself to a cup of coffee and biscuits at a favorite shop, the next week a kebab take out that I especially enjoy. The rewards weren't big or especially expensive, but they did act as an incentive. Hope that helps. Do you have anyone that you trust who has PayPal and could take payment to for you, sorry I'm sure you've thought of that already. I hope matters improve for you.
Garden paths indeed, how I was led! I loved how misleading this short piece is. It seemed that it was going to be dark, maybe even very dark, but I'm afraid nothing had prepared the causal reader for the horrors of dirty laundry. This is a great example of how much can be achieved with very few words, artfully arranged. Thank you for the chortle and the smile.
Having read this post, I then followed the link and read all of the '4 Études written in November'. Your words convey, (to me), a melancholy mood, which is reflective and inward looking. Each sentence suggests self awareness, and accumulated wisdom. The final part, which this posting reproduces communicates a little of that wisdom. Nothing seems laboured, economically you describe the day, and then the mystical significance of the leaping frog. Taken as a whole, I found this a fascinating work.
Ooh I like this so much. Saw it in my 'Online Authors' list, and how could I resist. You rhymed 'stance' with 'extravagance', which is sublime. Nonsense maybe, but skilfully played, like the best sports, bravo Sir, an excellent poem.
Your short story is told as a recollection of a childhood event. It is told in a very natural and realistic manner, explaining who everyone is and how they matter to the protagonist. I could easily imagine the horror that he or she experienced upon opening the oven, and that it would create a lasting memory and an aversion to cabrito.
One suggestion I would like to put forward is that you split the paragraph that begins 'I was eight years old and life was great.' It is a little long, and I had to read the middle twice to understand what it meant to say. I'd start a new paragraph at 'Gramma Cata, my father's mother...'
This particular sentence 'And this day was no different. Aunt Cleatis, my father's sister, Uncle Richard and their five kids had loaded up their car and driven to Corpus after work on a Friday evening to spend the weekend an pick up my Gramma Cata.' I would consider splitting as well, perhaps like this:
'And this day was no different. Aunt Cleatis, my father's sister, Uncle Richard and their five kids had loaded up their car and driven to Corpus after work on a Friday evening. Corpus is where we lived, and they were going to spend the weekend with us, and then take my Gramma Cata back with them.'
Only a suggestion though.
I really enjoyed reading this, and I learned what cabrito is.
Wow. Just. Wow. This is really powerful, and skilfully executed language. Love how the last stanza echoes the first, and concludes your poem so neatly. Hard to pick, but I think the lines 'Like the flow and ebb of tides I will wash upon your shore
Until I’m swept back out again and ache and want for more.' are probably my favourite, using 'flow and ebb' rather than 'ebb and flow' was perfect.
I like this a lot. You've highlighted the surprising similarities between conflicts of the heart and those on the battlefield, (loved the Pat Benatar song when it came out incidentally). The rhyme scheme doesn't sound forced, and the first stanza is a great opener, especially the lines 'where you exploded into my heart, and left a wound I can’t forget.'
I would suggest opening the final stanza with 'When the battle's over', drop the 'And', especially as it is repeated on the next line. The syllable count of your lines varies quite a bit, but having read the poem aloud, I don't think this is an issue here, it sounds very good.
An impressive poem, and I like how professional your Portfolio looks too. Welcome to WDC, I look forwards to seeing more of your works.
P.S. - I've nominated you for a merit badge in the Great Groundhog Merit Badge Giveaway.
Whoa! The horror I feared was not what you revealed. This is utterly brilliant, especially because of the several stings in the tail it conceals to spring upon us. You have it all, the characters, interaction, details to create a vivid impression as I read. This isn't a review, it's simply a message to say your story telling is awesome.
This is excellent, it is really well written. Your plot is intriguing and leads to a very satisfying denouement. Noah is vile, and you put this across with plenty of references that leave little doubt just how unpleasant he is. The idea of a serial killer watching a dramatisation of his deeds, and being so annoyed about the inaccuracies is darkly humorous, and invites the reader to guilty schadenfreude.
I hope we see more from you, this is a superb start.
What a lovely poem. You've changed something that might be thought commonplace into an offering of thanks and praise to God. The rhyme scheme is simple, but largely effective, and though the last two lines of the third stanza don't rhyme, this doesn't detract at all from the feeling of joy and happiness that you express.
What a clever inversion. You've written a great example of how an author can turn an idea on its head. We're so used to thinking of a goldfish bowl as a small space where everything is on view, that we use it as an idiom.
Here you've used the goldfish as the observer of a 'goldfish bowl' like office environment, which is a neat twist. It was fun to see how the people tried to avoid answering Alice's phone.
This is a very personal and introspective piece. Reading it made me feel concerned for the author, which means it was well written, as it conveys the author's unease of mind. It uses various examples drawn from sources personally known to you, which helps explain how you arrived at that state of mind. As it was written several years ago, I can only hope that the sense of dread has passed, to be replaced with a brighter viewpoint.
This is fascinating. Having read it several times, I am making guesses as to the story your poem is telling. Bad memories or maybe even ghosts of some particularly unpleasant event have risen, seemingly triggered by the falling snow. The speaker is stripped of the comfortable fog they have used to suppress the horror, and left 'an isle' - i.e. alone to face the music.
What is especially interesting is the way you have structured some of the lines to maintain the rhyme scheme. 'fled has my calm veneer', is a specific example. This presentation of words in an unexpected order can make the reader make more effort to read, and this means they actually get more out of it.
A dark and chilly peace, highly appropriate for the season.
Nicely nightmarish, my only quibble is no self respecting cat is going to have a collar referring in any way to canines. My favourite lines are the last two of stanza three, great rhyming there.
And the moral of the story is, "always read the fine print". Man was an idiot, but hey he's male, we mostly think with our. Anyway, well written, clever and with a dry humour too. The logician in me thinks that the Surf and Turf guys will remember that Fern admitted to spraying the graffiti, but that isn't really the point is it. I enjoyed reading this.
Ooh the humour here is chilly. This is a finely observed tale of the outsider having to deal with her distant and emotionally oblivious family. The sheer lack of thought that has gone into choosing Leah's present illustrates how little feeling her family seem to have for her. On a wide scale it illustrates how often gifts are given mechanically, because 'it is Christmas, therefore I must give a gift'. The nod to 'what to get people who have everything', is another pointer to the same commercially driven fallacy that gift giving is essential.
The resolution is rather sad and depressing, which sadly is an accurate portrayal of what it feels like to get something you don't want and are expected to be grateful for.
Very impressive short story, well written, and, to my mind at least, carrying a deeper message.
Hello, Congratulations on your anniversary. This is a clever short story, I like how you set Karen up to reach her nadir, and then spring the impossible happening. Using the very medium which has been stressing her, as the means by which her dead husband's spirit communicates briefly with a message of comfort and hope, was perfect.
I also liked how the last line echoed, but reversed the 'Impossible, but happening.'
This is a great example of how much can be conveyed in really very few words... if they are well written.
Hmm! I'm not convinced that many children actually look forwards to bedtime, unless it is Christmas Eve of course. You poem rhymes nicely, and conveys an earnest yearning for sleep, which personally I can relate to. Part of me can imagine this being read by a desperate parent, hopeful of persuading a bright eyed and bushy tailed toddler that sleeping is really a great idea. Especially like the imperative conveyed in the last two lines. Neat little poem.
This brought back such pleasant memories. Loved some of your word choices, especially 'oyster oriels', and 'streaming seaweed standards'. You captured the ephemeral nature of the sandcastle, and expressed your wonderful imagination at work. What a lovely poem to read on a dark December day, bringing a brief flash of sand and sunshine.
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