Content: life

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This is the second half of my short story Nathaniel. It is told from his POV. I'm thinking it should probably be a continuance of the first story and not separate. Let me know what you think. It involves some conflict, because my feedback said you wanted some.

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I just want to know if it's entertaining. One of these days I'll glom all these stories together into an anthology. Is it worthy?

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Value the part that brought us life. *Not encouraging rape.

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Feedback always welcomed.

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For anyone who's ever thought about having guinea fowl, or anyone who enjoys laughing at those of us who do. Guineas make my chickens look like geniuses.

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Cancer patient Jim, and his wife Carol, settle in for their first day at the Bluelight Cancer Institute. Carol thought they’d stumbled into a little theater production. People were laughing. People were crying. A tiny woman, dressed in hospital wrinkled blue, was telling a joke. A young volunteer chuckled with a patient. Two men argue about who has the best tuck. This can’t be a cancer institute. CAROL AND JIM is the first of eight connected short stories about cancer chaos. Your frank comments are greatly appreciated.

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New to site and this interface is driving me crazy... anyway i think I got the dang poem posted. Long story... I don't write poetry but was criticizing a poet on another site and wrote her what I thought she should do to make her poem and in doing this I wrote a fragment of a poem. Anyway she wrote back and told me it was the best and most sincere criticism she she'd ever received, then suggested I work out the bugs in this poem. Maybe we are a poetical team in the making. Anyway i had fun and to me it makes sense to me. Aloha

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Jake Wilson lives a life very much to himself. He seems content enough. He is close with his sister, Michelle. And his best-friend Alex is a pickup artist that tries to bring the best (or worst) out of Jake. And he has a decent enough job, which he only hates most of the time. Everything seems to be fine until a series of events leads Jake to question who he is. He meets the girl of his dreams, Chelsea. He receives a concussion. His ex-girlfriend, Rebekah, comes back into his life. His estranged father dies. And Jake's life spins out of control. But after receiving the concussion, Jake begins to see the masks he wears, and he begins to feel a burning in his stomach. It is at this moment that Jake begins the strenuous journey of self-discovery.

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I'd better explain a couple of things which may have you scratching your head. Muti = Af for medicine, poison, etc etc. Sun-downer = a drink (or 3) imbibed at about the time the sun’s going down, being 5:30 – 6:30 around these parts. I look forward to comments.

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Correne Johnson, 18, is all the things most women never want to be: Overweight, illiterate and unloved. And she is being molested by her Aunts fiance. She uses her addiction to the Oprah Winfrey show and Oprah's TV wisdom's to challenge her Oppressor. These actions could either end her life or save her.

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Sometimes we can self-destruct by separating ourselves from the things we need.

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Something we all will face.

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Life can throw some curveballs, and I certainly received an off speed pitch this weekend. Nine months worth!

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One of those pieces that simply fill my mind without trying. In a way a story about myself and many other abused children whether it physical/sexual or emotional starvation. I beat the odds as do many as children are also warriors in their own right. They fight back.. as I did. Many sadly don't as the mountain too steep. Not meant to be a 'feel sorry' piece but more an eyeopening piece about offering encouragement over stifling it. Any and all feedback ... mostly emotional pull of the piece.

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My experience of living with my husband of thirty years who is spiraling down through Alzheimer's, our lives together on a sheep farm, and memories of things past. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am republishing for the many newbies who may have new eyes, and for readers who might want to take a second look. Not to mention Strongest Start 4 now that there is a non-fiction category.

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Rosa, an illegal immigrant from Honduras, is asked by a fifth grade neighbor child, doing a school assignment, to tell her life story. She begins with the easy parts, thinkng deeply for the first time about the hard parts as she goes about her life as a home health aide. Through the storytelling and events such as a new client and a health workers' strike she begins to look at herself,her work, and her family life consciously and pridefully.

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All feedback welcomed

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Observations of living for over a half century. Well over may I add! Using an altered Haiku format. Definitely not in best writing form but sick or not ... a writer writes!! Critical commentary always welcomed as here to better my writing.

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All feedback welcomed

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This little poem has been percolating in one form or another for a couple of years. Easter seemed like an appropriate day for it to appear. Comments welcome.

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This suicide poem of a Samurai is an attempt to underscore the cultural differences between western culture and eastern culture. The west is largely Christian. In Japan Christians amount to less than 3%. The culture is largely agnostic--Buddhism and Shintoism are the primary 'religions' although they are more philosophies than religions.//Imagine not believing in a supreme being and contemplating the end of your life as an absolute ending, by your own hand?//This poem is the creation of the author's imagination and is not at all authentic. I'm not Japanese but I've lived in Japan for nineteen years over a thirty five year period from the mid fifties to the late eighties. I graduated from a Japanese grade school in 1964.//The Japanese have a deep sense of honor. They are particularly sensitive to anything that reflects negatively on themselves, their family or their company. Most suicides in Japan are over issues of honor.//Personally, I'll never forget receiving a hand delivered wedding invitation on Monday, only to have it have it retrieved the following Monday, because the father of the bride opposed the marriage, and executed his wife, son and daughter with a Samurai sword, and then took his own life. The groom was the President of a large Japanese distribution company.//This poem, and many other cultural differences and nuances, are what inspired me to write the novel Executive Samurai.

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Doing a little carpentry this weekend. Comments welcome.

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I just did some tweakin' and would love any feedback or suggestions on this poem. I had the most trouble with the second stanza, but kinda think I like it now, maybe; I'm going for a staccato, choppy sound with 'are plucked or hewn', so I'm wondering if that works or not. Your help is always appreciated. :)

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Out of all the poems I have wrote, this one is the most personal. I was weeding out some work when I revisited this. As artists, we have a hunger to be heard. We stumble around like clumsy Jesters..

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maybe it's the time of year, time for poetic pondering, i dunno...the dimming glow...just like the twilight...looking back on a love that felt so right but had nowhere to go...

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AS ALWAYS, YOUR FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED.

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Sort of a "stream of consiousness" thing.

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This was inspired by Brosna11 Im not sure if I covered the criteria so if anyone is familiar with this form don’t hesitate to rebuke me lol

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Thoughts of not being. Death and dying.. reconciliation to truth. Letting words come into focus and put down without thought.

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I try to encourage any and all feedback. I realize this poem is cryptic, so here is the meaning of this poem for those who are interested: My mother died last year, so I was the one grieving in this poem. My wife and I decided to have a third child after my Mom's death. I didn't actually want the third child until I lost my mother, which changed my mind. It seems that I have been to several funerals of relatives and friends lately and it forced me to think of my own mortality and how short life is. My decision to have another child was born out of my grief for my mother and my realization that children are the only way to extend oneself into the future. My wife and baby boy are both fine. Little Noah Elisha was one day old when I wrote this poem. Tanka is defined as follows: "Haiku is always written in 3 lines. Tanka has an additional 2 lines of 7 syllables each with a line space after the Haiku section." Also, I am following the Japanese traditional rule that long vowells count as two syllables, or onji.

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Poem about life also the use of allegories in expression in poetry or any writing. Hope is to get readers who hesitate reviewing poetry to take a leap in faith as there is no wrong way to review if you say how a work 'feels' 'provokes' or if it doesn't. Still good feedback and can help enrich one's own writing. Poetry is not my favorite genre. I don't even own a book of poetry except for my mothers. Only poetry I read in on this site. I write it as do not feel confident in other genres. I too am learning to try though. To stretch oneself is to grow and stay flexible.

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A reflection of humanity!!

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Is anyone in the mood for a road trip? I promise, it will be different than any road trip you've ever been on. I'm interested in if this works as a first chapter and if you are intersted enough to read more.

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daily life can be a philosophical journey

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Does duty preclude a young girl coming of age? Where is the line drawn between common sense and public opinion? Feedback welcome

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I call these 'floaters' as they are thoughts that float through my consciousness. I grab them and type them down or are forever lost! Emotional feedback as well as technical

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Just having fun.. hopefully a tad of wisdom thrown in. Observations made about living. Choices.. Any and all feedback welcomed except for those who think it stinks.. ha... keep it to yourself. ONLY KIDDING

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Observation from years of living and observing. This is not always the case as many 'willing hearts' are never snatched up by another. But once in awhile... love comes calling. Technically help is always needed but top priority is always the 'vision and feelings' evoked. Can always 'fix' the technical but if emotionally void it is useless

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I seem to have a habit of making existential observations about everyday items. Perhaps the madness increases as the end approaches. You may critique my work until your fingers bleed. But, you shall never shred what hath been forged by me, for I have copies that you cannot see. Join me in my quest to rescue my Dulcineaic existence from the totalitarian incinerator of inevitability. WRITE LARGE, WHILE YOU CAN. Perhaps something will survive the shredder of souls, the trash-masher of minds, crusher of creativity, the disposal of deliberation.

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A brief free verse look at today.

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A story about loss and gain.

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Just days ago, Madelyn Jacobs thought not getting into any of her top three colleges or snagging the guy who serenaded the summer stars were the biggest nightmares in her life. That was before being raped by her best friend’s boyfriend. That was before being put in a coma by the jealous bitch when she misinterpreted the scene. That was before trying to function after waking up all broken and torn, only to have a demon or something bust into her bedroom and tag her as The Keeper of some freakin’ list.



When the first person of ten dies in her presence, that’s way weird. The second time, it’s bloodcurdling. She can't avoid people, she tries. She can't run, she tries. An unseen hand always ushers her to the next demise, randomly shows her the list, in windows, in mirrors, on scraps of paper, even behind closed lids, and makes her feel more powerless than ever. And the sweet singer she loves now stands at number seven. As tattered as she is, can she find a way to break the curse before others die and the lover of her heart is gone forever?



*Strong language

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An expression of the unknowns in life.

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A simple theme.

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This is my attempt at possibly publishing a complete nonfiction memoir of my Dad's and my relationship as he ages through Alzheimer's. It has humor as well as very surreal moments, but nothing too sad. I'll leave sensationalism to Hollywood when it comes to these type stories....no crying here! Actually, the four years before Dad passed, I laughed many times and I felt I wanted to get it on paper for those afraid of the unknown side of Alzheimer's! Thanks for reading--please give HONEST feedback as I can definitely take it, and NEED it as well!

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He rises again this time in 2008 ... he is rested, hungry and slightly worried. He has no idea how long he has slept, nor does he know the state of the world ... he is not even sure if he wants to be the 'Savior" this time around or just a plain Joe the plumber type.

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Johnnites is a thriller/ horror dealing with the eternal struggle between good and evil. But what have a young writer, a mythical being and a serial killer have in common and can they stop the evil lord before he claims the earth for himself.

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This was originally a lyric to a song I worte. I did a little cut and paste to make it look somewhat like a poem. As most of you know, I am a very poor poet. But sometimes the muse insists at the risk of her going on extended vaction if I do not comply. A little Psychology 101 mixed with a little humor. It's meant to be a little bit of fun. It suffers significantly from a technical POV. But my very best poetry is pretty bad. Hope you enjoy it.

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Just a sort of dark humorous reminder to keep things in perspective. Any an all sharing is welcome.

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Are you kidding... call 911 for God's sake... she finally cracked up!!!

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True story of a conversation I had one afternoon with a very sweet, but oh so innocent, former student. Enjoy! :)

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What are we to make of life when it takes so many forms?

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This is a story about a small college baseball that wins a game but there is more to it than that!

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Life in the South circles and swarms me.

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This piece is presented solely to encourage thought. The questions asked-I suspect, have been asked since the emergence of conscience, thinking mankind. Obviously there are no definitive answers to these questions. However, as death is truly the only inevitable, universal experience that all creation experiences, perhaps it's worth asking these and many other questions. If nothing else realizing that your questions are shared is of value, isn't it? At least that is the motivation that prompted this poem. It is the last in a series of five poems that started with 'Why God?'

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Franky, the father in The Bunch, was my Dad. The story is a creative nonfiction of an event from my childhood and part of a chap book collection about growing up with Frank Keenan. Little League rocks. Patchwork Path picked the story up for publication as "The Goy Boys" in their Treasure Chest anthology.

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I was thinking about the holiday season, and this little ditty popped into my head. Hope you like it.

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Firstly, I would like to say a big thank you to everyone who has given me so much help and encouragement over the last few weeks. Due to this I have decide to completely rewrite Beans stairs and other dreams. Whilst some parts remain unchanged, I think that it will now be easier to read and a little more logical. It does not really have chapters as such and will be divided into 4 or maybe 5 parts. This section introduces Steve as the main character but begins much earlier in his life. Once again, thank you to all of you who have given me feedback so far.

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This was written as I pondered the magnitude of my situation. My husband and I are both in our 60's, and got married in August, 2005; he after 30 years divorced, myself after 15 years. We met on-line; it was love at first e-mail, and was a long distance courtship, of sorts! He had just had surgery for cancer; I was a full-time missionary in D.C.The wedding was the wedding of my dreams! But, because of his health situation(there is no cancer!), things are moving a lot more slowly than I would like! We still can't be very active, but hope to travel a lot...whenever!!! This is the first time I have done this; your feedback is truly welcome!

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