Intriguing, how you led us down the trail
and showed directions to salvation's way.
We watch the weakened soul's disparate flail
to see the clues dispenced in what you say
You show the unwise, in their deeds so foul,
all fall within salvations cherished place.
And though they’re bent on holding up the role,
of 'bold and resolute' before our face.
But, that's the way of grace, which we recall,
from such an era as that of the beast.
We clasp our hands in prayer and that ain't all.
Forgiveness is one prize and not the least.
Well settled in the path of well-thought prose,
bob county leads us down a starlit path.
Each line presents a glimpse at what he chose,
to hold in check our view of artful wrath.
Examples flourish of the way to right
our mistakes and those deeds lost in the past,
without engaging in the tattoo fight,
nor cluttering ourselves with what will last.
In truth, the 'art of art' jumps in so deep,
it rises but to fill the artist's need.
Each line digs in and lets reader reap
more clues to where the final scene will lead.
Thanks for this trip through tattoos on our mind,
left there for all artful types to find.
One day aboard the site, this hearty soul,
has grabbed the oars and given quite a tug
To show a new perspective to the role,
of shining lights into these holes we’ve dug.
But buried ‘mongst the images which fall,
are often truths that we have seen before,
which shine like beacons gleaming on the wall,
of artifacts that we've been searching for.
In truth, I dive into the list so deep,
and leaping forth, grab for that moment’s gem,
left there by you, so we could reap
the joy in finding them.
Perhaps the notions floating from your mind,
contains another one for me to find.
Once when I was younger and invincible as hell
I met a man who'd done his time (and he had done it well)
He needed no reminded that the reaper stalked his path
His four score years and then some had shown him nature's wrath
He offered no regrets at all for his misguided youth
And told me of his arrogance, his rudeness and uncouth
But now he saw that dust to dust was close upon his heels
And tried to pass the word along of just how sad that feels
In those days of my ignorance, I failed to catch the drift
Our perch upon the hill of life left far too large a rift
Now my four-score has also gone I feel the reapers breath
And recognize my friends resign at his approaching death
Thank you for reminding me of those days long ago
And of a man who tried to tell me what I didn't know
You have a terrific opener and chapter hook, to end the segment in a way, which will bring the reader back. Dialog is where you really shine! In fact, I believe it's your writing forte. Although, each piece of dialogue needs to be set apart as a separate paragraph.
To be honest, and this has nothing to do with your writing talent, the first thing I did when I opened your chapter was wince.(e: shock) You need to do something about the formatting. No line breaks makes it nearly impossible to keep one's place. Consider your readers; reading a story should never be a contest of wits. Leaving it the way it is will most assuredly cost you readers. Paragraph breaks are important to readers.
I can make a few suggestions for that first edit.:
Be careful to use as few adverbs as practicable for the ideas you want to convey. Wordiness, repetition, and adverbs are the new writers' biggest hurdles. They almost always reduce the impact of the written word. Here is your opening with a few ideas from the readers POV:
I always (cut 'always') wanted to know what really (cut 'really') changed around Pautilus these past few weeks...I mean Pautilus was almost never suspectible to "change", Pautilus was always the same (cut (the same') peaceful but for some odd reason there was always this thing I've been noticing (cut ' for some odd reason there was always this thing I've been noticing') for the past two weeks that I didn't really (cut 'really') understand. The local police were always swarming (cut 'were always swarming' use 'swarmed' around the local (cut local') area, entering stores and homes and arrests were happening (cut passive voice: 'arrest were happening' use 'arresting people') at an increasing rate. You're probably wondering, why I should care about any of this? Well, (cut author intrusion: 'Well, why I should care about any of this? ') two weeks earlier a new mayor was elected by the name of Bosh Mannington (cut passive voice 'two weeks earlier a new mayor was elected')
You are off to a good start. Keep up the good work.
This is a nicely done opening for a military adventure set in an environment unfamiliar to an American readership. If it is intended for and English speaking audience it will need a major edit to capture the translation as much of the phrasing is not that which an English speaking reader is accustomed to.
The story is off to a super start and I'd love to read the rest of it.
You've done an excellent job of painting the way many of us remember that day. Going about our business in the usual way then the shock of the unbelievable news.
You turned the story to its conclusion in a way that left all of us who remember that day nodding our heads.
It isn’t very often that we see
A tear from an old codger such as me.
But this time, though I know it cannot be
a moment of wet eyedness set me free.
You show us step by step, the puppy's joy
reminding us of little things that spin
emotions which arise and then alloy
with smiles to turn this story with a grin.
Some say we’ve ruined the world with all our greed,
But here we see that that may not be true.
We see a homeless man with much to need,
shake off his own and knowing what to do.
The POV keeps readers quest alive,
alert to see if puppy will survive.
The comma use escapes my shattered brain.
I peek beneath the punctuation's glow,
and wonder at confusion we retain.
A murder with intent and in the know,
should leave a battered body in its wake.
Let's search again for clarity and grace,
then sniff the bookshelves for a clue to make
death by simple comma a rare case.
Ah, there! As Truss has shown us long ago,
in declarations of Eats, Shoots and Leaves,
we find the answers, we now know,
as more than just a pause that makes us grieve.
Now cheers arise when in the final stand
the comma comes around to shake your hand
Thank you for all the examples for us to chew on. All of us on WDC learn a lot when absorbing your delightfully well-done work.
An outline for a tale to come appears.
We marvel at the detail thrown our way.
We see those bits of truth from long past years,
which shades the tone of everything they say.
As Cloud and Night drift through this strange old world
somehow, it seems familiar (like our own).
They find a challenge as their plans are twirled,
and see surprise that they are not alone.
In truth, we know the segment is too short,
to form a first impression, but it's there.
Perhaps the time has come, they must abort.
But, there seems little chance of when or where.
These steps we see, raise questions to resolve,
to turn the tale and make the plot revolve.
Step from the curb and cross the street of life
Azure has left us with a lot to mull.
This segment shows the faintest hint of strife
as she begins life's need to sort and cull.
This first step in the traffic whizzing past
leaves us a place to feel what's gone before,
but nothing paints a picture that will last.
For meaningful suggestions, we need more.
Reviewers must be cautious of the past.
Don't reach and grab what seems a moment's gem
The traffic flying by we know will last
Let's see another page or two of them.
Perhaps these words, while plain and down to earth,
will give a place to view this tale's rebirth.
With memories of youth, the clock ticks back
There must be something better 'round the bend.
Thoughts leap there to here, I grab the flow
and watch while worse refreshes at the end.
Then, fingers crack and wonder lifts its head.
It sends its rafting message to the fore.
Another promise lost. More things we dread.
The questions drag on deep, them heaps on more.
The twist propels me on then reels me in
I feel the suspense building once or twice.
Then, that which we suspected starts to spin,
those promises unkept, they ain't so nice.
Excuse my muse. He needs to take a rest,
to grasp this novel outline as the best.
A well turned tale of clearing up the air
You let the truth sneak slowly from the bag.
The closet's state leaves nothing much to fare;
but secret terrors soar with each lost rag
then from the light which fills the middle lines,
we look inside and find unbridled cheer.
There is no place for us to cut and run.
No moment’s pause to stop and shed a tear.
The needed space returns as in a flash
the empty hangers grab our dashing thought.
It's then we feel the free unhaunted crash
which spreads before me what that space has wrought.
Your observation in the final line,
needs no beguiling magic to define.
Soul bound in sadness, rust and in despair
SomaSilver ponders how things seem
exploring what is locked and what is fair.
No dozing here to find another dream.
Then, from the shadows of the chains and doubt,
she looks inside and finds where self-doubt reigns.
There’s nothing left to clear up with a shout
but Moebius still fills the heart with pains.
We see the locks click shut on happy love
where solace might allow great thoughts to shine
fulfilling all those dreams brought from above
when fears and wants both shatter and combine.
Your observations in the last and final line,
are ones that needs no magic to define.
One month aboard the site, this hearty soul,
has grabbed my ear and given quite a tug
by tossing out a pronoun 'this' to bowl
me over with the questions 'neath the rug.
When following the link which you've displayed,
I find a tale you've shown me once before,
which seems a worthy yarn (the theme delayed),
with just the flow that I've been searching for.
In truth, I know not what you will not keep
but I leap forth to grasp that moment’s gem.
There must be something here which I can reap
How does Wordpress fare as one of them?
Perhaps I missed the boat, back at the link,
Another clue might help with what I think.
One day aboard the site, this hearty soul,
has grabbed the oars and gave a mighty tug
To show a new perspective to the role,
of shining light into the holes we’ve dug.
But buried ‘mongst the tidbits where they fall,
are truths we’ve seen so many times before,
which slow like beacons gleaming on the wall,
of artifacts that we've been searching for.
In truth, when lies and hope are in so deep,
we sometimes leap to grasp that moment’s gem,
left there by someone else for us to reap
a sense of joy in finding one of them.
Perhaps the verse that floated from your mind,
can motivate another's urge to find.
The salty winds of life-long storms display
their tortured, twisted limbs both torn and scarred;
these massive burdens fill his every day
his questions stand unasked, in silent guard.
We see the memories, anchored through and by
those tangled thoughts which mine the faded soil;
His arms reach out and beckon to the sky
The old guy now relieved from all that toil.
It takes a while for some of us to catch the drift
The face of life leaves far too large a rift
Past fourscore years, he feels the reapers breath;
hands off the burden of approaching death
Your verse has mighty power, depth and more.
We must rethink those things we thought the score.
You open with the question of the day
then let the facts sneak slowly from the bag.
But on this thought, we all have much to say;
We see our boring selves and start to drag.
Discussion rages through the middle lines,
we soak it up and find unbridled fear.
Could our best bet be just to cut and run,
or should we simply stop and shed a tear.
Two notions joined forever at the hip,
as clouds of doubt obscure our train of thought.
It's then we see the truth begin to slip,
which spreads before what all this verse has wrought.
I thank you for my share of what we see
in something low as 2 AM
And yet without it, we would always be
uncertain if our place was just a sham.
You point us to the joys within our mind,
as here because of cheers that bounce our feet.
We see inside ourselves the things that bind
us to our plans avoiding last retreat.
Some claim that confidence is all we need,
But I don’t think a bit of that is true.
Our arrogance can only plant the seed.
Truth finally shakes the soil from what we do.
The restlessness hangs on, despite what’s said,
But 2 A.M. is a guard from what we dread.
A verse for lack of love, that's quite a hoot.
I peek beneath the quatrains shows the glow,
Where all that lovey stuff here gets the boot
While turning on its head what's in the know.
What should that rip and tear leave in its wake,
a broken heart but lacking couth and grace?
We sniff the bookshelves for a clue to make
death by afflicted loving a rare case.
Ah, there! As graceful quadric verses show
we see the unrequited ‘fore he leaves.
Eureka! there’s the answer, now we know.
There’s less to drag us down and make us grieve.
No cheers arise when in the final stand
the logic comes around to shake your hand
This is a perfect thought as you well know.
The words arrive as called for in the test
they bear the ribbon tied up in a Bow.
But driving me insane is where it’s best
Leaving me (as 'you') with dripping eyes
they earn their five-star rate, which you deserve.
Another perfect is the verse’s size.
a perfect limit you chose to observe.
But were you satisfied to fill the bill?
Not even close. You found another perfect thing,
to give your readers something more to thrill.
Your path to nowhere also made it sing.
Well settled in the path of verse and prose,
Don Two has led us down the poet's path.
Each line presents a view of what he chose,
to hold in check our all-consuming wrath.
The ringing phone, a shocking thing to write,
but it's a memory soured from the past,
engaging us in nature's urge to fight,
and cluttering our day with what won’t last.
In truth, a seller, fallen in so deep,
is doomed to fail, so he'll soon go away.
Each line of gauntlet rips the bits we keep
as memories of the daily scenes we lead.
Thank you for the verse to sooth my mind,
there'll be more calls tomorrow of that kind.
Well settled in your path of verse and prose,
You've grabbed the oars and given quite a tug.
To show us all a simple one of those,
which fills the bill and all those holes we’ve dug.
Just two short couplets lying where they fall,
show us a truth that we’ve all seen before,
which glow like beacons hanging on the wall,
of artifacts that we are searching for.
In truth, we other members, in so deep,
my leap forth here to grasp that moment’s gem,
left glowing there so each of us can reap
the sense of joy in finding one of them.
Perhaps the bunny hopping in your mind,
is left by you, as one for me to find.
The Easter season of 2004 was the perfect time for Megan Rose to pen this excellent piece. And now, fifteen years later approaching the Christmas season of 2019 is a perfect time to bring it back for the rest of us to read.
Thank you for sharing it again.
Cheers,
Norbanus
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