Delightful, how you’ve shown to everyone
what drives this story forward with renown.
We see our way, but we'll not jump the gun
we'll wait until the climax or meltdown.
This tale could go 'most anywhere from here
and show perspective of a place for prayer.
What is that rumbling feeling? Is it fear?
We know that holds together Earth and air
When reading all is lost and all that stuff.
We sometimes start believing it is true
Our view, through readers eyes, is just enough
to shake the disbelief from what we do.
Each of us gains a bit from what was said,
if we can shake belief out of our head.
The jagged cries of pain have stoked the fire.
we listen now with sad and soulful minds.
The soothing observation pull our ire
and turn us to the words where hope reminds.
Can knowledge of those horrors turn us right?
Or knowing turn to the soothing all-time stills,
with Savior giving all our souls delight,
It shows our savored words. Can we fulfill?
Now, reaching for the parchment’s purist page
we touch a moment’s truth. The poem ends,
we’re left adrift beyond love’s precious stage,
with memories of what this verse appends.
Your bio lets us know that this is real;
a tribute for a love that we can feel.
Mom guards you from the ravages of pain
and holds the line when troubles rise again.
You stand for her and honor all her strife
and show us how she helped you through your life.
Please keep on writing just the way you do
It's clear to all, you're telling us what's true.
You have done an excellent job of drawing our attention to the positive aspects of Nigeria, rather than the horrors we see in the media accounts we read more often.
Thanks for providing the list of sources, so we can learn more if we have further interest.
Who wants to leave the stress of life behind?
To do so might let boredom rule the day
Stress is the price where situations find
you turning smiles and frowns in every way.
You plan ahead and know you’ve got it nailed
until the moment truth presents its face.
Red-faced with nerves affray, you know you’ve failed
to skip the learning tool of your disgrace
But all in all, you’ve shared the story well
Now, take a nap and do it all again
Dream once again of what you’re gonna tell
those non-friends, just to give the proper spin
But planning how to cope, you may have guessed,
and all that preparation, you’re still stressed
As always, Kotaro keeps the action flowing and holds my attention from the first line to the end. Here, the blend of cultures shown could hardly be better. However, this tale seems to beg for more. More buildup to attack by the 'killers'. More connection between the main character and Mia. He says he's never seen her before, but she knows his name. The ritual burning at the end needs more rationale. Perhaps this is a first idea piece for a full-length novel?
whatever this story is, it kept my nose to the page. I can't imagine rating it as less than 5.
I like the way you've set us at ease with the boring opening to see the caretaker at tea, with not a care.
The timeline needs a bit of work though, as the knock at the door care at 3:38 PM and we find the caretaker occupied at that time pumping the s***ter. Of course, if this is the beginning of a longer story (and it must be, with all the loose threads hanging out for our imaginations to pluck at) all could be settled in future segments.
The turned lock at the end lets us know that there is a lot of story yet to told.
Nicely done. I'm looking forward to the rest of the tale.
Those wild notions search both heart and soul,
for truths, we only dream of being said.
As though they’re bent on ramping up the role,
of things imagined, just so we can dread.
Doubts sometimes pop up in our recall,
those truths imagined, though they're never seen,
shine in the mind like chains hung on the wall
and nothing shows us what they really mean.
But truth, when it is wallowed in so deep,
Can sometimes make us think that it is real.
It lies there, germinating so we reap
our grief with absolutely no appeal.
We only know that truth within our mind,
It’s one thing that rejecters never find.
Intriguing, how you've led us down the trail
of rain's exciting and delightful day.
Some watch the rainbow and the birds but fail
to see the many clues along the way
Tp feel the droplets hug, and kiss the foul,
and serve to keep a smile on the face,
as though they’re bent on ramping up the role,
of things imagined just to hold our place.
But, that's the way of tales which we recall,
from times when others squeal about the beast.
While holding hands beside the garden wall,
with raindrops disturbing, not the least.
The seeker of the rain shows us the way,
to tell a tale with very little said.
This seems like more than just a poem. Buried in this piece there seems to be the beginnings of full-length horror novel. At least we have a character summary for a powerful villain, who could be a worthy adversary for a hero to chase for three or four hundred pages.
I'll be looking forward for the rest of the story...
The shocking strength within your verse appears.
We marvel at the meaning thrown our way.
Those arcs of truth cast reasons to our ears,
and shade the tone of everything you say.
We settle from the jolt of this strong world
somehow, it seems familiar (like our own).
While showing us the courage you have twirled,
you've shared with us a grace not overblown.
Delightful, this limerick you’ve shown.
The subject is one that's well known.
We could learn from him
though chances are slim
we cannot bear ego’s millstone
Today is the limerick's day.
I figure there must be a way
to honor this verse
and not make it worse
while joining the party to play
To non-believers like myself, it seems
apparent this condition can not be.
For when the light of understanding beams
we think solution’s there for all to see.
We find conditions such as you describe
as gone when truth exposes where they hide.
There must be more to this destructive vibe
than something used to conquer and divide.
But slowly, just a bit may spill our way
and let us grasp to the slippery, sloping fact
that there is really light within the gray
and though we cannot see, it’s not an act.
I hope the skills you need are tucked away
within some thought which someday comes your way.
The Condor spreads his wings. The clock ticks on.
There must be something more just 'round the bend
Thoughts leaping here and there, and maybe yon
we watch the plot rush on to witches end.
Then, fingers crack and wonder lifts its head.
Up pops a shaking message to the fore.
Another link comes out to thought we dread.
A view of problems past, heaps even more.
The witch's plot propels me. (Reels me in)
I feel suspense is building, once or twice.
Then, that which I suspected starts to spin,
I sip the plot and find it ain't so nice.
Excuse my muse. He needs to take a rest,
and grasp this screenplay's outline as the best.
No nits to be picked with this verse
The view though could hardly be worse
That loss that you fear
is nothing to cheer.
It strikes and it needs a reverse
As always our love-life is flawed
Young lovers have scratched and they’ve clawed
They often are lost
with very great cost
by actions that should be outlawed
A look back over decades in the dust
Shows memories best left as ancient lore.
We watch the tragic truth build up and bust,
then wait while happy times take to the floor.
But somewhere, ‘midst enlightening middle lines,
We find a price that common sense won’t pay.
Then day by day, we lose what time defines.
That's just the way it was back in the day.
We learn of Jessie's screams that reeled 'em in
and raw excitement does it, once or twice,
then others give the deed its proper spin
as gossip fills the town, that ain't so nice.
The title lets us know there'll be a way,
That's just the way it was back in the day.
Delightful, how you’ve found this lonely spot
Where truths emerge without deserved renown.
We see our way, but let's not jump the gun.
We'll wait to see the climax or meltdown
This story dragged my thoughts from here to there
and forced perspective through the swirling fog.
Where are those long lost memories we share?
This truth has left me knee-deep in a bog.
You caught me, with these thoughts I should have had,
and now, I see that all of it is true.
This view, through reader's eyes is not so bad.
It's shined a light on something I should do.
I gained a bit from what your story said,
if I can shake the fog out of my head.
By opening with the question, you set the tone as an essay on that subject. This is not a bad idea for an opening scene. These three sisters are each trying to gain control of the situation. Here are a few suggestions:
When Aurora 'practically ' shouts, she weakens her attempts to get attention and your opening, which needs to grab the reader's attention. Let her 'shout!'.
Star's response is aimed at a third party, who has not yet been introduced. It comes across more as author intrusion. Let her speak to Aurora.
When Eclipse enters the scene, she simply states the obvious, which she could reasonably do as an internal thought, but would probably be more effective if directed to the two younger sisters.
Your prompt book may be just the thing to motivate a lot of story beginnings. You're on your way to getting a handle on story/article beginnings. Keep 'em coming.
Thank you so much for letting us know what we must do to join the UFO. I have always suspected there was more to the stories being spread around about aliens.
I will be on the lookout for that floating holographic sign and showing me the way to salvation.
You've done an excellent job of showing us the thrashing thoughts of a student trying to justify a lack of concern about rankings and grades.
It's true, many rationalize poor grades as 'just numbers' but as your essay shows, they also represent a student's unwillingness to take responsibility for their own actions. An attitude that will haunt them throughout life.
Tomorrow, what a grand and peaceful thought.
Just the notion prods imagination wild.
A picture of what wasting time has wrought,
A steady growing heap, but not defiled
With yesterday not getting in the way,
and unaware, at all, the trap is sprung.
The guilt trip hangs around to ruin one’s day
And plants a foot upon hell's bottom rung.
Without the least despair, we flunk the test.
The pile builds and with it our regret.
It's time to turn a page and do our best.
Procrastination smiles. 'You wanna bet?
The broken treaty flaunts another kind
of haunting, which will never leave the mind
Blood flows and it spatters my feet
No chance of a hasty retreat
I'm wasting our time,
to put this to rhyme
but somehow, it still came out neat.
I'm shaking my head. (Time to go.)
But stuck here, with nothing I know
But blood on the soul?
A frightening role
This story has much more to flow.
You've grabbed us but we still don't know,
the turn which could make the verse grow
The forest is dark.
The choices are stark.
We now need the rest of the show.
Poetic verses flow in tribute here.
A worthy recognition of the past.
A muse may search vein for pain or cheer,
but here, we find a truth we know will last
We stand upon such giants, don't you know?
Such inspiration gushes from your pen
providing all with hints from which to grow,
and pointing to a stop to start again.
This treasure gathered from a land of love,
adds riches to the hoard we have in tow.
We see here, Kara standing tall for life,
And taking on the burdens we all know.
You've set a poem here that's just the thing,
to put my sleeping muse into full swing
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