I love the idea of a dog sashaying in a fancy and comfortable set of shoes. I've seen canines frantically attempting to shake off their footwear and they mince about. Lucy and her daily walks needed those protective shoes. The possible illustrations could be so cute. Kudos to your rhymes. Imagine dogs sharing testimonials for shoes. Thanks for this enjoyable read!
I like this concept. I can visualize the illustrations for this story and they would be fantastic if drawn by the right artist. Twenty centipedes wearing shoes...haha. Sorry, I have a few observations. I miss the word 'to' in the first line as in 'go to Kmart.' I like your rhymes although garden and kindergarten are not too dissimilar. Your rhythm, the syllable pattern is not consistent. In your introduction you claim this poem has twenty-one lines. I count sixteen. Thanks for the read!
This is fantastic! You reached back to not only give advice, but you gifted yourself with validation, encouragement. We all need to hear, or read more of that. Who doesn't question themselves and entertain the doubts? Writing is all about taking a leap and never giving up. By the way, my Mom's name is Carolyn. Thanks for this great read!
Ah, this curmudgeon, this crotchety old man is really a romantic at heart. He blusters, but he has no bite. He is devoted to Marge, so how wretched could he possibly be? Yes, he is likeable. How bad could he be to tolerate all those felines? He has failed to fool two women. I enjoyed the exchange between Marge and the old man re the cats. Neither took offence. Thanks for the read!
Nice twists! Definitely a different take on receiving a memento and an inheritance. This is manipulation and control from beyond the grave. You've described sibling rivalry magnified to a deadly level. Is murder justified if it is a request, a behest? This creates a new meaning for the word 'executor'. Thanks for this chilling read.
I enjoyed this. Very creative reply to the prompt. Who knew Santa of all people could be depressed and bored. Ah, his wife is a genius and a gem. So, the mystery is explained, a cat designated the deadline for Writer's Cramp. I agree. Why mess with a winning formula? I like Writer's Cramp as it is. The daily prompts are inspirational.
This is delightful! You describe Henry and the emotions vividly. An unexpected invitation to meet and mingle with the faces that accompany the names could be life-altering indeed. I must admit I've never thought about appearances, or wardrobe with colour. Sigh, you are so correct. Cell phones cannot be slammed abruptly to end a conversation with appropriate drama. Thanks for the read.
Ah, families and their complexities. It's not always black and white, is it? Some siblings hold onto a slight, a grudge, as if they were a dog with a cherished bone. It's as if they need the anger and the hurt to survive. They justify their feelings whether they are misplaced, or not. I am constantly being reminded that people raised in the same family are not at all similar when it comes to their memories. They have different recollections and viewpoints. Yes, they are entitled to this, but where do the intense emotions, the spiteful, bitter ones originate from? That last hug you received that sad day was a warm one, but it still had to be a hidden one. That's a shame.
Hello. I like the premise behind this story. Everyone struggles to find a way to fit in, but also to be special, unique. Children especially like to consider what-ifs. A flying cow would be quite the spectacle. Thanks for this charming tale. May I suggest you edit with capitalization in mind. A few sentences do not begin with a capital letter, but that is often a typo. In one sentence you typed 'fiend' which is clearly a far cry from a 'friend.'
I chose this piece of your writing because I lived with terrible physical pain for years waiting for a knee replacement. That kind of pain is exhausting and all-consuming. Thankfully, my children were adults and long gone from home. I can't imagine having a child, or being a child in the situation you describe. It would be devastating. As you portray, it is a day by day existence.
Short and sweet as limericks tend to be. You managed to discover a rhyme for oregano, impressive. You've told the tragic tale of true love. Two birds separated by a holiday tradition. Thanks for the laugh! From this day forth I shall remember your turkey.
I'm a mother and well, I once had a mother. Sometimes, we say and do ridiculous things. We carry the burden of many concerns and they often must be blurted to purge the weight. I laughed at the punchline. Never mind the Mom has just sprung the idea of being a werewolf on her child, but she also foists a scarf upon him. Nice recovery Mom. Explain the solitary, flimsy scarf will be useful when he converts back to his human, naked form. Great story delivered with the word restriction!
Hi! I chose this flash fiction because I noticed the name, Sandy, my name. Long story short, my parents christened me with the same name as my maternal grandparents' dog. Anywho... I like how you describe the sudden devastation, but afterwards the river is once again a beautiful sight. You create a happy ending with the return of Sandy, hooray. With the word restriction you've painted a vivid picture.
My ancestors served in the military, but I have no personal experience of any of my contemporaries serving. I can only imagine it is a constant worry to family and friends. What military persons do is beyond exemplary. They sacrifice. There's no doubt of that. May I make one suggestion? Perhaps add an 's' to 'limb.'
I know what it's like to mourn your mother. Yes, a Mom is not perfect, but she is our whole world. We miss her and that never abates. Memory is connected to all of our senses and smell is a strong one. Why do most of use forget the sound of a voice? I laughed at the fond, but truthful memory of your mother not being able to carry a tune even if it was sealed in Tupperware. Vivid detail there. Hugs!
Your poem states your situation so succinctly. To get along, you hide your true pain and feelings. So many people expect you to be and act okay. When and if they ask if you're all right, they don't want to hear the truth. They want to hear a reply of "fine." Sad, but true. I gather writing is your outlet. Thanks for composing this poem.
Sorrow and grieving are indeed sharp pains. Everyday elements are never the same after a death of a loved one. Even breathing is difficult. Hearing a familiar voice could be comforting. May I suggest you correct "stabbing me to deep" to "stabbing me too deep."
Whew! You describe a great deal of action here and paint a vivid all be it gory scene. I cannot imagine discovering such a bloody site. Would I be able to act on pure instinct like your discoverer? I like your pacing here. There are are a few issues, or typos if you will. I believe you missed a period here. "Only one word had come out crystal clear to her had been 'Lucas'." I noticed two misspelled words, 'excruciating' and 'wielding.' You caught my attention for sure with this writing.
Haha! Something naughty and something(s) nice. I love this rollicking poem. I must admit to never before picturing a drunk Santa, nor a farting Santa. You've made him believable with his foibles. I suppose with all his travels and travails he needs sleep wherever he can take it. This gives 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' competition.
Wow! This is quite the campfire story. Your descriptions are vivid and I struggled as Byron did to breathe. I felt the tumbling and the terror. I camp all the time in different terrain and all manner of weather. Never have I experienced such an unpleasant surprise. I like the ending...oh oh, what about the weather? Byron has the story of all stories to share. Great writing!
I love Billy's logic! If no one may attend school if they are ill with Covid then they are not there, right? He does carry on with his own brand of resistance. The 'vira-scissors' doesn't stand a chance of invading Billy with his antibodies and 'uncle-bodies.' This is well written. It's a wonder we ever learn to speak English, isn't it? Thanks for the laughs!
You are correct, if Dumbo could fly why can't I? Being wingless and blessed/cursed with a generous backside should not be a legitimate deterrent to flying, no, not at all. That padded derriere serves as somewhat of a cushion for the many false starts and crashes. So, determination and grit are the secrets to soaring? "She landed as daintily as Dumbo". Now there's an image! I'm also left with the idea of a bruised pine tree holding a grudge. Hmmm, blackberry bushes are needy and "little vampires." Good to know should I attempt my own first flight. I appreciate your subtle humour and word pictures. Thanks for the laughter. I'm cheering for stubborn Juliana. She deserves a flight permit based upon sheer perseverance.
I like the concept of farm animals communicating in a common language, in this story, 'cow.' Young children love sounds and they love repetition. A 'moo' and a 'hoo' are similar plus they rhyme which is a bonus. May I suggest you use less of the word 'now' in this paragraph "while Hooter is mooing the lullaby with the cows." I can picture the illustrations for this book, cute cows and a proud owl.
Yep, you've described the dance of trees in a storm. I read your bio and noticed you live in B.C. The trees there are enormous, majestic, breathtaking! I've always marveled re trees and storms. Why do some survive while others are knocked down, or yanked out by their roots? It's also a wonder that many trees live and grow for hundreds of years. Maybe the dancing ones are those survivors. I like how you describe thunder claps as percussion.
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