The words are few, but meanings fill the stage,
Each of us sees our own resplendent grief.
Those who know all, may feel a bit of rage,
And stir our evil souls but no relief.
Time smirks at us, we see with modern eyes.
'Builds character?' That notion is debunked.
No matter of the pressure or the whys,
the ambiance of mourning has been junked
So, stand upon our patience and our trust,
One day we'll find it's passed disspite the hitch
Contempt for memory's, and for our lust,
we bury these reflections in a twitch.
Past deeds rush in to try and make a case,
Ignoring all those tears upon the face,
A poem to one’s self. What could it mean?
Perhaps a moment's grasping for a thread.
Or maybe, just like other verses seen,
It gives the muse a rest from what's not said
You paint the questions for us, in the fog,
and drag our doubts right out there on the floor.
Those brilliant phrases break out from smog.
We think it matters not. Who’s keeping score.
Those simmering words will stay here with our stuff,
while all the old clichés are holding true.
deep down, we know that this will be enough,
to shake the doubts off things we hope to do.
One thing that you've shown us with this thoughtful piece
just letting life roll on provides release
We listen to the doubts as habits rule
Why do the same old thing, it just brings grief?
Mom cringes as she tries, like any fool
but doubting that she'll find help or relief.
We see the conscience finely steal the show
she chatters on, defining a new track
while making clear she really does not know.
Is there a way that he can take it back?
But truth falls into place and takes its toll.
She's left with wishes sad, but so untrue.
Karma turns its back. (Won't play its role)
She prays that boy will find what's right to do.
Rushing forth, now that he's on his way,
She knows that he will soon forget this day.
You've done quite a job of character exposure here with the Vickie character. Tim is dumped out there with all his warts and shortcomings, but with Vickie you let her plans sneak out into the story a little at a time.
This appears to be part of a longer piece since there is no resolution. Some closure for this segment will add a lot of reader interest.
You have done an excellent job of capturing the grief we feel at the loss of a loved and loving pet. You brought a tear in reading your story and remembering my last lost loving canine. For some months, I could not abide the thought of bringing another into my life. When I did, I found another best friend, but it did not take away the pain of one I'd lost.
By George, you kept me glued to the page. You let us use our imaginations to picture the setting and to see the various characters.
The differences held by the astronauts and the ways they thought of what they believed while waiting for certain death is well presented and forces almost every reader to evaluate what they might do.
You've grabbed us by imagination's pull
and shown us stuff we've never seen before.
The wet floor soaks into our socks of wool.
Why had we left our sandals at the door?
But, even though the silly deed is done,
The theme now turns me to another track.
We stand there waiting for the warming sun
but cold drops splat upon my worried back.
I bend my thoughts to writing on this par
and know I've stepped in away above my head.
I'll just admire this effort from afar,
and wish my nerve let me step where I dread.
The talking turtle may not be a first
but prompts my muse until he nearly burst.
Thank you for allowing those of us who have not had to face breast cancer in our personal lives an opportunity to see the devastation and the fight to survive the disease in a personal way.
You've done an outstanding job of showing us your story. I wish I could offer some helpful suggestions, but I don't see opportunities for improvement.
Obsession with the word comes shining through.
We see a book reviewed in massive depth
Here, Venky shows us all what we should do,
But many find our talents are bereft.
You show us both the cases and the view
and keep attention on the book at hand.
We hope for skills to gain a thing or two.
Alas, attention drifts toward the land.
But, here we find a work of such renown
we may learn even from our drifting thought.
The nation turns a page from Britain's crown
then finds their own dismay in what they've wrought.
Reviewing a review I find is hard
but Venky's done the best in that regard.
That is a nice job of bringing your readers into the story by showing us something which we have to face in our own lives. There is no resolution in your story, but we have no trouble seeing the picture as it may apply to ourselves.
To ponder old, lost love can lead astray
like watching wayward moths carouse and play
Take care when that sad music's in the way
the moth holes might let in the light of day
Reflections from the world of dreams unfound,
leave passions unfulfilled as barren dust.
Is there not left a morsel to renown?
No need for hanging on. Sometimes we must
But when the ship of care pulls to the dock
No second-guessing where or there or when
A new love interest found among the flock
can shake down all those urges once again
You've done an excellent job of showing us the impact of that terrible diagnosis and introduced it in a way that assured our attention throughout. It gave us a needed perspective of one who has seen the full picture. It's an enlightening read, and it must have been satisfying to write.
Grammar and Mechanics:
You did a great job of telling your story from the most important POV of one suffering the disease and from the POV of one in remission.
Well settled in the path of verse and prose,
Dream Soulstruck, here, delivers quite a tug.
We wonder at the Hadesshe has chose,
which shines a light into the holes she's dug.
But buried ‘mongst emotions, we have guessed,
at needs fulfilled as we have seen before,
But temporary fails the groping quest,
she'll have to find the source for something more.
In truth, this tale is really not so deep.
But still, it prompts another moment’s gem.
For just three years, there's many yet to reap.
We see the dreams of finding one of them.
Perhaps the story floating from the past,
will prompt to find another which will last.
The nightmare of that search for worth is real
It leaves us each to struggle on our own,
to find those learning moments where we feel
there’s more to be discovered than a groan.
Now, when a bolt of insight steals the show,
you show those worthy calls along the track,
and grab the strength you can from worth’s soft glow
for satisfaction no one can take back.
The cheer gained from each path, we feel you say,
fulfills the need to give your life a tug.
Those hanging heads have never won the day,
just added to the deep, dark holes we’ve dug.
But here, you've built those worthwhiles to a mound
and made sure that you've spread it all around.
This is an excellent example of an article for this type of essay. It could be revised to fill the bill for almost any subject or event. You've shown us an introduction, a solid foundation, a bit of the item's history and then, taken us through the part of the issue which you wish to emphasize.
Without a thought of what is yet to come,
my scrambled thoughts allow me not a word.
I ponder where we're heading (at least some)
and tamp down all the notions that I've heard.
On second read, I see what's white and black.
I check my head. Is it still on my shoulder?
I posit past ideas, giving slack,
as I have done since youth when I was bolder.
The clearness grows, and that is when I turn,
thinking that I understand it better.
A friend steps up. Her doubts are still aburn.
It gives me no relief to simply let her.
Without a thought intact, I see the light,
my brain spins with this newly found insight.
While searching through the depths of what you write
for ways to turn a smile to all the blight
I'll bury all the shards of what I've broke
and wipe away the tears before I choke.
The truth you've laid before me to unfold,
has happily grown clear as I grow old.
A ghost comes marching in and then we see
a picture of a life we understand.
The dollhouse yet to come, will never be
and yet the dream hangs on as something grand.
You point to what the ghost one day might find,
but each encounter turns on disbelief.
Her parents and her brother, not unkind,
all flee and leave her to her lonely grief.
The plot, the theme, the setting, and such stuff,
all fall in place as if the yarn were true.
Expectations for the genre are enough,
to fill the blanks, just like they always do.
The ghost remains a child, and that is fine.
But all around, the world must still decline.
Well said, with very good supporting comments but I notice this article appeared in 2004. After nearly twenty years, what have been the results? Has the legislature done anything to overcome the people's wishes?
I see that the governor's slot is still filled by the loony left.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.83 seconds at 9:30am on May 02, 2024 via server web1.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
