It isn’t very often that we see
A 'not-a-poem' thoroughly resound.
But here it is, a flowing one-two-three
A better scene not likely to be found.
You paint the breeze for all of us to see.
The currents sure as soil beneath our feet.
Once more, the one to gain from this is me.
Just fifty words to reach our last retreat.
Some claim we’ve ruined the world with dash and flash,
But don’t believe a bit of it is true.
These fewer words are not enough to crash
my need to prattle on (that's what I do.)
In only fifty words a lot is said.
I hope I can wrap that around my head.
Silence is the golden cause we pray
It keeps our view inner visions keen.
The poet says it holds the truth at bay.'
But silence puts deep thoughts into routine.
When looking through that windows at the day
Those wondrous things keep counsel with the earth.
Do we now want to ban the quiet way?
My mind resorts to painting what it's worth.
My mind turns quickly to the quiet time,
I dream of nature's sunshine and the calm.
The beauty of the quiet Autumn clime
can not compete with summer's warming balm.
The world of silent Winter has its place.
I'd rather have God's sunshine on my face.
FIRST IMPRESSION: You have a terrific idea for the storyline of Magic Fingers but we are too far down the line at Chapter 3 for me to a feel for how the story is flowing at this point, so I went back and read Chapters 1 and to before I gave it a try.
In Chapter One, we get off to a good start by tying the story to midnight and the Great Houdini. Your use of the magic number thirteen for the birthday of Harrly's mother's illness.
APPEAL: Based upon of my guesses of where this story might go from here, I believe it will appeal to those who enjoy fantastical adventures.
PLOT: A reviewer of one of my yarns once gave me this tidbit about writing a plot: "If an author writes, 'The king died, and then the queen died', there is no plot, but if the author writes, 'The king died, and then the queen died of grief', the author has a plotline for a story." A plot is a causal sequence of events; the why things happen in the story. The plot draws the reader into the characters' lives and helps the reader understand the choices the characters make.
You have given us that causal relationship to mull as be move forward with your story.
REFERENCING: You gave a good solid reference point with the Houdini's death and the use of the EKG. At first glance the reader might wonder if that technology was really available, but a quick check shows it was and that it was in the news at the time with the discoverer given an award that year. Nice job.
SCENE. SETTING, IMAGERY: Scenes were set, but mostly through telling description. No senses engaged.
POV, STYLE, VOICE & CHARACTERS: I've combined these four because the real issue here is that we're in the first person the main character is clearly identified but it required a telling paragraph. We know Harrly has magic powers and we see them gradually exposed.
GRAMMAR/PUNCTUATION: There are a few SPAG issues, such as: "I laid on top of my lonely bed and stared into the voyage of the ceiling." I seem most likely that you intended "I laid on top of my lonely bed and stared into the void of the ceiling." However, this isn't supposed to be a proofread, so I leave it to you to clean them up.
EMOTIONAL CONNECTION: In chapter two we see the emotional connection built with Harrly's relationship to her father's new love interest. Again you use the ominous thirteenth as the date of his proposal to Barbara. That is a good bit of plot stirring through minor issues.
JUST MY PERSONAL OPINION: The plot isn't altogether clear. Of course, the opening conflicts are just beginning. The suspense at the close of chapter two gives us plenty of interest to keep the reader in the game.
That said, you've got a terrific opener. My expectations were very high after the first paragraph, and the unexpected scenes peppered throughout are brilliant. That's where you really shine! Where the characters come to life. I like them. I want more time with them. Just at chapter two's conclusion, we get a glimpse of the MC and the plot. And both look good!
Many of us, as new writers, spend a lot of time, trying to learn about the issue of 'Showing instead of telling'. At first, it's hard to grasp just what that means. But, it turns out to be one of the most important lessons to learn.
Here, the story begins telling us how the protagonist feels about the 'pathetic' moment and about his attitude toward the teacher's pet. The first few paragraphs dwell in-depth on the issue of a boring prank. Does the reader care? It might have drawn in the reader in a bit if it had used your excellent skills with dialogue to convey the scene. But that would have been hard to pull off too.
I suggest you read what information you find on WDC concerning the subject of showing instead of telling, and then, read Noah Lukeman's The First Five Pages before tackling a book-length story.
We spend a lot of time, as new authors, learning about the issue of 'Showing instead of telling'. At first, it's hard to grasp just what it means. But, it turns out to be the most important lesson to learn.
Here, the story begins with a colorful description of choice of breakfast food. The first paragraph dwells in-depth on the issue. Does the reader care? It might have drawn in the reader in a bit if it had used the sense of taste, the crunch, or milk squishing about in the mouth to share a sensation. But that would have been hard to pull off too.
I suggest you read what information you find on WDC concerning the subject and then, read Noah Lukeman's The First Five Pages before tackling a book length story.
When vamparina stomps her muddied leather,
The multitude press 'round to join her throng.
She tells them of her triumph over weather,
and how the trembling foe will not last long.
But allies want to talk instead of battle
On hillsides scattered with the brac of fear.
She raised her sword and struck a hearty rattle
then spat the words, "That's all I want to hear!"
A vampire slayer tossed her in a ditch.
It seemed all hope was lost, but they knew she
would win this fight without the slightest hitch.
and that is all that there would ever be.
"Too much!" She shouts and turns a sharp 'bout face
Bedecked with blood, her followers gain favor
and smash the bloody foe straight in the face.
Another blow for all of them to savor
A few more vampires join her in the night,
Now, vamparina's horde will not take flight.
The Raven of this search, we know is real.
Long left to struggle sorely on its own,
to find those learning moments and to feel
there’s more to be discovered than a groan.
Now, should a bolt of insight steal the show,
hold to the upside of the Raven's track.
Grab all the strength you can from after-glow.
The land of life's beginning won’t be back.
The damage from the past, we hear you say,
can never quite be shoved beneath the rug.
Those broken dreams will never win the day,
just add some more to all those holes we’ve dug.
But think of that support which you have found
The world will help you spread it all around.
Why should we leave the stress of life behind?
To do so might let boredom rule the day.
Stress is the measure God left us to find
to raise a questioned frown along the way.
We plan until we're sure we've got it nailed
and then the moment's truth presents its face.
Embarrassed, nerves affray, we find we’ve failed.
Now, grasp the learning tool of our disgrace.
Here, all in all, you’ve shown the lesson well.
We take a nap and do it all again
Learn once again that stress will surely tell
what strength we gain, from just the proper spin
But truth be told, it's just as satan guessed
with all that recognition, we’re still stressed
Premeditated murder in their gold,
relentlessly their ruffles multiply;
face their frills and step into their fold;
it could be said each spring, 'I live to die'.
I brave the bludgeon of their buttered-cup,
pure innocence of spring that they portray,
for fluted frills I offer spirit up,
platoons of petals bear my breath away.
Are Iris, then, the witness to my death?
They know I only knelt for yellow kiss.
'A suicide!' declared the Baby's Breath,
'She gladly went the way of golden bliss!'
While Roses write the rhyme of thorny kill-
they leave a dearth of death by Daffodil.
You tell us of a time of bitter days
All pushed aside and dulled by founded fears
No cheery objects fall within your Gaze
they're blurred out, but still don't foster tears
Where anguish crowds the conscience from the world,
a bloody hand reveals the dreaded sin.
No flags of satisfaction are unfurled
to shade the cart to hell, which you are in.
No friends aligned and nothing to be gained,
you've done your best to polish off the slate.
Leave only that which fate has deep ingrained,
and that required by nature. It's too late.
No friends you say, there still might be a few.
You need but one, and that my friend is you.
tauqeerwrites questions: "Little do we know."
We see it's not just grasping for a thread.
But even so, like so many poets glow,
this showed a vivid scene in what we read.
The question though still drifts there in the fog,
of things we think we know, and little more.
Those brilliant verses lie there like a log,
inviting all who read to write the score.
Those simmering words will lie there with his stuff,
while all the old sagacities hold true.
Deep down, we know we know. That's not enough,
to pin the pride of rightness to our view.
One thing that you have shown us with this piece
"Homer" holds the bragging rights, at least.
Short lines without a rhyme, but who can tell
with notions everywhere dispensing dread.
Tradition has it, free-verse can do well
but can we trust a single word that's said?
One glance reveals the notches on his hip.
A smile sends us tumbling to the bottom.
His smirked enhanced, he curled his upper lip,
"Unique, this is. By George, I think we got 'em."
The poet chased them all the way back home
where rhythm giggled, rhyming held his head.
Free-verse cannot soothe my aching dome
When recognizing strength and prayer as one
this wordsmith shows a path of some renown.
We try and learn that we have jumped the gun
and wait to hear God answer or meltdown
This tale could go 'most anywhere from here
and show perspective for the place of prayer.
What is that rumbling feeling? Is it fear?
Just know, it's all that holds both Earth and air
When reading this adventure and such stuff.
We know that every bit of it is true.
And yet, we know that it is not enough
to shake the power of hope from what we do.
Each of us can gains a bit from what your said,
if we allow God's thoughts into our head.
My first impression:
You have a great idea here for a story to grab your readers and hold them to the end. There are plenty of complications to keep the reader interested, without much wordiness, repetition, or excess description.
What I liked most:
The smooth flow made easy reading as you exposed the thoughts and fears.
My general suggestions and technical concerns:
Even though dialogue carries the story well, a bit of narration might help to separate the friend and the spirit. Perhaps a few more action tags such as you used in the beginning to identify the spirit.
This is an excellent story segment. I don't want to suggest that it needs much work.
Rating and Rationale:
I gave this 4.5 stars because, the story flows smoothly with only the use of 'seemed' and 'seem' in adjoining sentences weakened this vivid, and complex story. It needs very little to make it 5 worthy.
To read the mind of women, as a rule
Is wrought with pitfalls leading but to grief.
The woman smiles at Ed the nodding fool,
and jumps in quick to show him her belief
He thinks he's one who understands her ways,
and holds her in her place and on the track.
His drunken binge continues on for days.
She throws his empties in the trash out back.
She cannot take some more. I hear her say.
'I've got a plan without a single hitch.
My broken bones and teeth have won the day.'
She tossed her only empty in the ditch.
The rose she'd chose had wilted and decayed.
But, satisfaction now was not delayed.
The search for magic places that are real
leaves each of us to struggle on our own,
to find those learning moments where we feel
there’s more to be discovered than a groan.
Now, should a bolt of insight steal the show,
hold to the weed which keeps you on the track.
grab all the strength you can from hits of blow
and spin that moment's buzz, it won't talk back.
The damage from the past, we hear them say,
can never quite be shoved beneath the rug.
Those broken dreams have never won the day,
just added more to all those holes we’ve dug.
But think of all the misery you've found
and know tomorrow's high will just rebound.
As bandit flows verse smoothly from the pen,
we see those things that we have seen before.
Yet sculpted with a light and hearty ken,
to keep us searching on for even more.
Our clueless search for spring starts with the leaves.
Here, Autumn's grim reality set in.
We shiver, watch icicles on the eaves,
and try to find an upbeat Christmas spin.
We look on forward past the dreaded snow,
imagining the green of promised land.
At last, we see a hope and think we know
that spring will come with nature' warming hand.
Children love stories, or so it's been said
of horses and rescues and things that they dread.
We follow Ronny and watch as he sees
a branch for the taking, without any bees.
You point to his heroics on a roll,
and show his courage, with only three feet.
Now farmer Fred jumps in to make the goal
and save ol' Ronny from a sure defeat.
We marvel at the horse and what's to come.
But know that every bit of it is true,
then shake our heads and say "It's not so dumb",
not knowing what this wild tale will do.
The sun peeks out on Ronny's sweet delight.
The kids all smile. You know you've done it right.
I'd have given you a five for this one if you'd used some form of meter.
Here, Netty once again defies the norm,
and dips her oar into the sacred word.
We learn that poetry need not have form,
to share a message worthy to be heard.
You point us to salvation on a roll,
and show that prayers can move those trembling feet.
Acknowledging that we all pay the toll
when mumbling of loss in our defeat.
When reading of such things as "When I come",
we know that every bit of it is true.
But still, we shake our heads as if we're dumb,
not knowing that a thought's release will do.
Eternity peeks out. We hear what’s said,
and face the final truth, a task we dread.
I hear your plea to quell excessive rage
watch as unknowing witnesses decline.
No green-eyed monster here. Just turn the page
and dump the problem where our souls entwine
The wild thoughts leave little here to brows,
and will adhere to honesty and trust.
But twisted truths cause tempers to arouse
and falsehoods turn our thoughts from glow to rust.
The final thought: to leave it all to God,
is worthy of a strong respectful nod.
This was an excellent present this without disclosing the pilot's national interests. One can be sure that the Japanese pilots approaching Pearl Harbor had such a notion in their heads, just as did the British and American pilots on their thousand plane raids against Berlin. As did the Al-Qaeda pilots on nine eleven.
We open with a though, both loud and clear,
to keep us reading on to find the why.
That tale of Eden's trees and beaming cheer
shows all the same old stuff. We start to sigh.
Then, from the middle lines, here comes the fun
we see the angels tweeting, just like the birds.
No conflict here. Perhaps I'll cut and run.
In verses of this kind, there's more than words.
The crisis comes; the shadow's lost its way,
recalling all those ups and downs we know,
as youthful cravings have now saved the day
before the time to smoothly end the show.
Reminders of what's missing in this show
the final line gives all we need to know.
You open with a question in the air
then let the cat sneak slowly from the bag.
Addiction's fate leaves nothing much to fare;
But boredom too can become quite a drag
Then from the light which fills the middle lines,
I look inside and find unbridled cheer.
This is no place to simply cut and run.
No reason now, to stop and shed a tear.
The internet and art joined in a flash
of soul reflecting dust which grabs our thought.
That's when we see the sudden wild crash
of doubtful better time which quitting wrought.
Your observation in the final line,
needs no beguiling magic to define.
The used-to-haves can put us on the run
and make us doubt the truth of our own renown.
We see the cup, but do not jump the gun
while digging through the mire of up and down
That cup could go most anywhere from here.
You've shown us half-full views within the fog.
What is that rumbling feeling? Is it fear?
Let's take a moment now to pet the dog.
To figure out our lives that's quite a trick.
Pandemic spins the yarn as if it’s true.
The view through this short essay here is quick
to show the well-developed stuff you do.
Each of us gains a bit from what you've said,
You've helped me shake the fog out of my head.
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