Random Haiku

My gloves in my hands.

My snow boots are in my feet.

It’s opposite day.

Happy New years Eve!!!!

The Spool of Thread

Random poem I wrote about wishing to live moments again.

We hear the people saying as we walk the square.

That they wish that time was a spool of thread.

A spool that they would unwind and unwind till the present they fled.

In the gallery they speak of art, of Picasso and Monet.

That they see magic in the strokes of the brush on the paint.

The only things the present hasn’t begun to taint.

You and I shall go, to the bridge.

The bridge over the sun-set splattered water, red.

And then we shall see that the art is not dead.

We shall go to the pier.

To see the ocean waves.

And watch the fishermen catch their fish, sparing them a watery grave.

We shall go to an open field and see the moon is calling.

We will feel in our hearts the heart-felt call of the stars.

And in the clouded sky the red twinkle of Mars.

And today we shall remember these moments.

And wish that we lived it again.

And then you and I shall unwind our life’s spool of thread.

Snowflake-Memory Poem

This is a poem I wrote about how snowflakes are like memories. Enjoy and comment!

Snowflakes are like memories.

They drift down on to your tongue.

Stay there for a fleeting second.

Then melt away into nothing.

They fall thickly, accumulating in thick piles and mounds.

They cushion your falls.

And chill your bones.

Then melt away into nothing.

They come in blizzards.

And in muddy slush.

They can be ugly or beautiful.

Then the melt away into nothing.

All seem the same.

But all are different.

Everyone is unique.

But they all melt into nothing.

Some stay for ages.

Others do not.

Some disappear as they are falling.

They all eventually melt into nothing.

The only thing we can do is put them in the freezer and hope.

That our memories don’t melt into nothing.

Haiku Monday

From now on every Monday I will post a Haiku (or poem if I fail on a haiku)

This haiku is a haiku I wrote about a baby Japanese Maple that is in our yard. Tomorrow I will post a picture of it, I can't right now because it's dark outside.

Gray wilting branches.

Drooping over cold hard ground.

Maple in winter.

Ayla's Writing Piece

Fear is like a fence, you can't go through it, you cant break it, but you can go over it and leave it behind.

Haiku a day challenge.

I have a new challenge for myself, and that is to write one haiku everyday for an entire year. I encourage other people to try this or a variation of this like: a poem a day, a page of a story a day, and etc. Along with that I am resuming my quest to make 1000 paper cranes. Happy Holidays!

After the battle.

This is a piece describing the mood after a battle. Remember war is not the answer. Happy Holidays.

The battlefield is shrouded in an eerie silence. The only sound other than the cries of the wife’s and children of those men killed in yesterday’s bloody massacre is the sound of the river next to the the crimson battle field.

Death, a cloak, so heavy, of the memories of lost comrades and friends. Soldiers from both side see the carnage and bow their heads in respect of the fallen. Regret and guilt spills over some, tears fall on to the stained ground and the soldiers wonder how this horrible thing could've happened. The sin of war.

Big Line Prompts List

These are a bunch of line prompts that I wrote down at writing group. These are some of my favorites.

Happy Holidays.

I give thanks.

The food is set on the table.

Let the note slide.

She stepped off the train and everything shifted.

Each belly cries.

In the empty school bus upon the seat she found a diamond necklace.

There are ladders in the sky, starry skeletons.

You are dropping down behind the hill.

The glass workshop is now a laboratory.

A single feather fell.

Dreadful things have been going on there.

The emperor of ice cream.

We feaster well in to the evening and through the night.

Winters without snow.

Patience and the mulberry leaf become a silk robe.

Line Prompts

I will be posting a gigantic list of line prompts when I get home. So yeah.

Happy holidays

Haikus

Tumbling, falling.

In never ending descent.

Floating in the clouds.

Branch over water.

Draped with webs of frozen ice.

Sits, frozen in time.

Oh and by the way, this is the 100th post on this blog! Yay!

Happy Holidays

The Lost Voice-- Chapter One.

This is a new story I just started. In the land of Saltinea ( pronounced, SAL-TEEN-UH) when a person is born they have no voice. At the age of twelve they go out to search for it. This is the story of a girl named Lyr's search. It is told partly in diary entries and in live action. Please enjoy and comment. Happy Holidays everyone!

Hello reader, if this book has found its way into your hands, I know that I can trust you.

Welcome to the diaries of Lyr Tolasquiss.

Chapter 1

Birthday

In the land of Saltinea for the beginning part of your life you can’t talk. You have no voice. Then when you reach the age of twelve you are turned free into the city in search of your voice. No one really knows how you find it. But most people do find it anyways. Now that I am turning twelve, I will leave my parents forever in search for my voice.

Dear Diary,

This is my first diary entry and I hope to have many more. Today, my twelfth birthday and along with many other gifts, I received the typewriter I am writing these diary entries on and a diary for me to glue the entries in to. It wasn’t much, Mother baked a cake and we all sat around the table as I blew out the wax candles. To me this tradition seems very strange. In the birthday dinner, the snuffing of the candles and the making of a wish is the highlight of the dinner. But it seems to me that birthdays are meant to celebrate life, not focus on snuffing it out into darkness and smoke.

But today has even more importance than that for today I enter the city alone, for the first time in my long life I will finally be able to freely explore Saltinea’s dark alleys and tiny shops. For the first time I will be alone.

Lyr

October 8^th

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Lyr walked out the tall wooden door of her house and tasted the crisp, sweet fall air. Finally she thought, some privacy. She hopped briskly down the cracked stone steps that separated her house from the cobble stone road in front of her. A sound rang through the air, filling the street with music. Walking down the narrow street was a street performer carrying an organ grinder. Sitting on top the interment was a jacket and hat clad brown monkey. She smiled enjoying the melody that floated lightly away from the ever-cranking organ grinder.

The man smiled too in a wide grin that showed Lyr a yellow holey smile.

“A bit of coin for a cold old man girly?” he asked hopefully. Holding out a red velvet pouch.

Lyr shrugged, then shook her head putting on what she hoped was an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, mister,” she whispered. She then walked quickly down the road. The organ man followed her.

“Don’t like to talk missy?” the man asked smiling in amusement. Lyr shook her head looking down at her brown clogs. “Well then, why don’t you let me help you find your voice?” He asked seriously. “I be an expert at speaking as it would happen,” said the man thoughtfully. Lyr shrugged once again, shifting around awkwardly. “Is that a no?” asked the organ man disappointedly.

“Yes sir,” mumbled Lyr finally making eye contact with the street performer.

“Calls me sir she does,” laughed the man a grin painting itself on his face. His face suddenly turned somber once again, “But are you sure about my offer, girly? I’ve been wanting to go on an adventure for a while now, this is my last chance to have some fun with my life,” said the man sadly shaking his head. “I can help you find your voice,” he offered hopefully. “Everyone has a voice you know,” the organ grinder pointed to himself, “I found mine years ago when I was a child. It was easier for me than it might be for you. The trick is to see something that you can’t keep silent about,” he said knowingly.

“So how about it,” said the organ man logically, “ You need your voice, I want an adventure, everyone wins,” he paused, “So what do you say,” he asked.

Lyr nodded.

Please give me feed back!

I know that I already posted this, its just that I really want feedback. I will be entering this poem into the MA science poetry contest. So please give me your constructive criticism. I want my poem to be perfect when I enter it.

The orchestra of the storm booms in victory over its arch enemy sunlight. The violins of swaying trees and the cellos of creaking trees are joined by the loud timpani of falling trees.

Deep gray storm clouds push away the sunlight rudely dismissing it as inferior.

Bright lightning flashes, splitting the spines of frail tress roughly apart. Boom! The ground shakes as the weeping willow falls on to the soft spongy ground.

The willow is not the only one weeping; a mother bird sings a lamentation at the sight of the circle of twigs that has been crushed under the heavy trunk of the willow.

The sadness of beautiful songs that will never be sung.

A mural of rain paints the soggy sky adding more to the symphony of the storm.

The storm slowly becomes dormant once again waiting for the right moment to strike once more.

A lot more of Otto

This is a bunch of the Otto story. Happy Holidays, and please enjoy, follow and comment. This was really fun to write, so yeah. Cheers Everyone!

Otto woke up, he stood, slowly absorbing his surroundings. I am alone, he thought letting the strange idea roll around in his brain. It was completely silent. It was as if some one had pressed an almighty mute button.

Never in all of his life had he experienced such calm, such silence. Noise was his life boat, his comfort. Living in Brooklyn noise was the only thing he could always count on being there. Now he had nothing.

He stood in the center of a spiral. The spiral was created by tiny pebbles and sand that would be found in a zen garden. Otto walked out from the center of the gigantic spiral. Whenever he stepped on a ridge that formed the lines of the spiral he felt the pebbles moving down under his foot, but when he looked back he saw no depression or indent in the mounds.

How long he walked he did not know, the land was gray and day and night were no different so as he walked in the endless spiral he lost track of time. He felt no need to eat, drink or sleep. The only feeling he felt was a faint tugging as if someone had attached a string to his chest and was lightly pulling. The feeling never strengthened or weakened and became familiar to him, a comfort as was the endless spiral which never ended and seemingly never would.

As Otto walked in the spiral he started to notice small changes. Now little sprigs of grass and weeds scattered the pebbles of the spiral. Eventually the surface of the ground changed and instead of pebbles the spiral was now formed by cobblestone.

One thing that didn't change however was the tugging feeling in his chest.It was always there, pulling him forward. But one day it suddenly stopped. As it stopped Otto staggered backward suddenly having to support himself. He looked ahead of him. There was a sign. The sign read:

Transitions,

Take the North Path,

187 Shingles North

Behind the sign the spiral stopped and formed a smooth granite pathway. Otto stepped on the path.

Photos

These are some pictures I took at Duck Harbor beach in Welfleet, Cape Cod. It is one of our favorite beaches and is a rock beach. These are pictures of some dunes near the beach. Cheers and Happy Holidays.

Inheritance Cycle Book Review

Happy Holidays Everyone! This is my first book review! Enjoy, more writing coming soon.

The Inheritance Cycle consisting of: Eragon, Eldest, Brisingr, and Inheritance are the four books that make up the series. Written by the fantastic author Christopher Paolini I highly recommend them to anyone who enjoys reading fantasy. The series is a bit classic and cheesy and will remind some people of Lord Of The Rings. But otherwise the series is almost flawless. The character names are interesting although some are hard to pronounce and the language is eloquent but not overly complex. Most lose ends are tied and there are only a few nagging problems. In some books there are some parts that seem pointless. Characters that you might think are important only show up in one book and there are some contradicting parts of the books. The plot has many twists and turns and is interesting to read. The action sequences are particularly well written and detailed. Most characters have interesting unique personalities and this series gets you imagining your own fan fiction of the series. These books are not for people who can't finish long books. The 4rth book is 800 pages and the three before are not far behind. Over all I would give it a 9.5/10. This is a must read for all who enjoy a long fantasy book.

MA science poetry contest.

So some people from ARMS (Amherst Regional Middle School) are entering in the Massachusetts Science Poetry Contest. The entries will be from all over the state! I'll be posting the weather poem I posted a while back. So wish me luck!

Hennings Short Story

The Reed Garden. By the way it's a first draft.

A few centuries ago the kingdom of Tillsyn was flourishing. The sun shined in the sky, sheep bleated in the grass, and the Philosophers and bards wrote in their houses. But most importantly the wall stood tall, protecting all the people of the kingdom from the wild lands to the east.

Bandits had snuck into the land and had stolen 7 kegs of gunpowder and had used it to blow out a section of the wall. Somehow they had gathered what seemed to be all the bandits from their side of the continent and informed them of the soon to be hole in the wall. Once it was open they came flooding through, hammers swinging. In seconds what had once been a ten-foot hole was transformed into a seventy-foot gap. Mayhem ensued.

For its 31^st anniversary celebration the town of Overlevnad had decided to open a reed garden, for we the citizens were very strong thinkers and good philosophical writings were getting increasingly rare what with all the illiterate book-burning bandits around.

The garden was to be built around the thought provoking Whisper Stone in the center of my town. There were three things amiss about the Whisper Stone. The Whisper Stone had appeared about two years ago but for some strange reason nobody could remember when, and it seemed like it had always been there. It gave off faint whispering noises in what seemed to be a foreign language from across the sea. And lastly the town always seemed to have good supply of luck. All the blizzards and white outs mellowed around us, all the diseases never quite managed to reach our herds and taxis were relatively low.

I ran a tea-shop in that town. It was quite profitable since it was well known that a good cup of tea (or two) did wonders for the mind.

The reed garden was made up of four concentric circles of water. In between two were strips of land covered in reeds. Connecting all those circles were quaint little wood bridges. The third piece of land like the others had its edges covered with reeds, but the center was paved with cobblestone and in the midst of all this sat the Whisper Stone.

For a long time my village had been ignored by parties of bandits, partially because of our almost complete absence of riches and partially because of our strange luck. Well, as one of my customers once said to me “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”

Our luck rubber-banded the night before the reed garden was set to open. I was wakened by a loud crash from downstairs in the shop. I opened my eyes, pulled on my robe, and realized the building across the street was burning. I stood there wondering what was happening until several crashes followed by a smash shook me out of my train of though just in time to see a looter peal away from my shop, carrying away the remains of my money drawer.

I ran down stairs in close pursuit and skidded to a stop as I observed the world of fire and death my town had become. I turned around to see my house go up in roaring flames. I heard an insane laugh and saw something silver blur past my head, heard a thunk sort of noise, and saw a knife handle protruding from my door frame. I threw myself left as another throwing knife thunked into the space where my right eye had been occupying only a moment ago. I picked myself up and turned to face my attacker. He was a youngish bandit, about 23 year of age and he was wearing a smile that seemed too big to be able to fit on a human face. I knew instantly that that was the smile of a mad man.

I ran into the ally way on my left and made a break for it. As he ran after me I heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. I turned onto Thorn Street and saw that most of the buildings were missing one and a half floors; there would be no hiding here. The two other streets I tried had no good hiding places either.

My feet eventually took me too the reed garden. Why not? I thought. So I ran in. my pursuer was still only about fifteen feet behind me. So I ran to the most accessible hiding spot: behind the Whisper Stone. I slid behind it as the young man pulled up in front of the entrance. He immediately started searching. I pushed closer and closer to the rock until something immensely strange happened: I fell inside the Whisper Stone.

And now all I can do is to repeat this, and hope and pray that someone will listen.

More of the Jeweler Story

More of the story I started in the last post. Please enjoy and comment.

Rynheart walked slowly into The Lone Eye Tavern and sat down on one of the spinning stools at the bar. Keirin the bartender eventually made his way up to Rynheart and politely asked for his order.

"I'll have a mug of warm ale and some bread and cheese." Keirin nodded before walking to a ale barrel and letting the ale run from the metal tap into a pot. Keirin then put the pot over a large fire in a small brick oven. After about five minutes Keirin took the pot off the stove and poured the ale into a chipped mug. He handed Rynheart the mug along with a plate with half a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese.

A man dressed in shabby patched clothes sat down next to the Jeweler.

"Hello Rynheart," said the man staring at the surface of the bar.

"Hello Cobbler," said the Jeweler taking a long sip from his mug of steaming ale. "How's the business?" asked Rynheart.

"Not so good," said the Cobbler gravely. "Customers are starting to gravitate towards the cobblers of Angora, they're starting to create an industry for the trade there, it's not good for local business."

"Tell me about it," said Rynheart sympathetically, "Its the same for me, customers are going to the big stores in the city," he said shaking his head sadly.

The bell on the door tinkled as a group of customers walked in for their evening drink.

"It doesn't help that I lost another apprentice today," said Rynheart sipping again from the mug. He swayed slightly on his stool. "Until I find a new one, works going to be a lot slower."

"Gee Rynheart, you go through apprentices like you need a new one every other day," said the Cobbler with a small smile.

Rynheart took a large bite of cheese and then washed it down with a loud slurp of warm ale. He tilted his head back, downing the mug in a loud gulp.

"I'd better go Mr. Cobb," he said his words slurred. He got up from his stool before staggering out the bar door.

Story Beginning- The Jewler

Hi! This is a beginning of a story I started at writing group and edited at my house. Enjoy and please comment because I love comments so much!

Cheers Everyone!'

nAtHaN

In the town of Liflan where magic is as common as flies and books are considered holy it is very unfortunate to be born to a family made up entirely of illiterate cobblers. So unfortunate is the case of Zoda the street urchin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Give me that chain, Spako," said Rynheart's commanding voice.

"Will you stop calling me that!" exclaimed the apprentice angrily giving his master the chain.

"No Spako," said Rynheart putting emphasis on the nickname. "I'll call you 'dirty pond scum' if it pleases me," said Rynheart haughtily.

"I quit!" shouted the apprentice grabbing his coat before walking out of the door.

"If you leave you can't come back," called Rynheart with a tinge of regret in his voice. It was to no avail, the boy was gone. I shouldn't have pushed him so hard thought Rynheart sadly closing the wooden door.

Rynheart walked sadly into the jewel room. It was his safe house, a place where he could hide from the troubles of his life. He plucked an emerald from a velvet cushion where it glinted in the light. Its cold surface was like frozen satin under his callused fingers. He sighed putting away the jewel.

It was always hard to lose an apprentice, but even harder was the task of finding a new one to replace the old one, a boy or girl who had the Sense. He walked in to the main store from the jewel room, dusty pine floor boards creaking under his leather boots. He went to his coat hanger where he lifted up his wool jacket and moose-skin hat. He walked outside, he was met by a thin flurry of snowflakes that chilled his nose and his hands.

He pondered as he walked. How would he know if a apprentice had the Sense or not? All of his previous apprentices had been brought before him by their eager parents looking to rid themselves of a troublesome child.

His mentor had said he would just "know." Maybe that would happen.

Ghost Poem

I can't believe it's December! Can you?

The weeks are just flying by.

Here is a short poem I wrote today. It's not much, but it is rhyming and you will rarely see a rhyming poem on this blog as I very much prefer free-verse.

The spark jumps, meeting coal, its kin.

The door creaks open, the ghosts file in.

The sweep upon the boy sleeping next to the coal.

And slowly commence to suck out his soul.

The boy rises as if in a trance.

And begins to move in the eerie ghost dance.

The ghosts they smile wide smiles are tall.

They too begin to dance throwing shadows on the wall.

As they dance the dance the surround the boy.

Who grins as if he has gotten a toy.

The suddenly he dies in a ooze of blood.

And the evil ghosts leave as the house begins to flood.

So beware you all don't sleep next to the coal.

Else the ghosts will come and suck out your soul.

Yes, I know ominous, but hey I was bored:)