Poetry Bus Poem - Crooked Line

This week the wonderful Bug came to the rescue of a near driver-less bus, and did so with the great prompt of starting a poem with the words 'I am a crooked line'. 

I wish I could say that I wrote an equally great poem, but I'm afraid that is not the case, but I did write something, albeit in a rush this morning, sorry Bug.

For some wonderful bus rides from this great prompt, visit HERE

Crooked Line

I am a crooked line,

that splits and divides,

like veins that throb of an unknown kind.

There are times I am angry, afraid, or less sure,

and times I feel happy, brave and self-assured.

The way I can laugh like nothing else counts,

or cry so hard my heart just might bounce.

When I thought things would be straight,

they never could be,

because life has a habit of tricking you see.

Right from the start of that very first line,

there are twists and turns of an unknown kind.

You need to travel the path neither afraid nor confused.

It’s all about being crooked,

both happy and sad,

and running the line,

from beginning to end,

by grabbing on tight for the ride of your life,

as the crooked line’s truth,

is found in the fight.

Thought for the Weekend - Robert Frost

'Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length.'

- Robert Frost - 

Photograph Prose - When Newness Fades

Photograph Prose is a lovely new web site, and one that some of you might already be familiar with.  The idea behind it is that prose or poetry pieces are matched with photographs from their current gallery of images, a collaboration of the writer and the photographer.

All you have to do to participate is link into their site and register your details.  Once you are registered, you can view their UP Exhibit and submit a prose piece/poem against an image. 

I sent in a poem earlier this week, (a previous poetry bus one) about older relationships.  You can view it HERE on Photograph Prose.

When newness fades,

and years of being take their toll,

when things that matched,

seem less sure,

perhaps you should discard,

replace, or maybe just renew,

by looking close again,

to see what wasn’t obvious before.

Old patterns fade and fabrics wear,

but shape and form,

a solid base,

can ease together,

and once again embrace.

Novel Madness - Update

I am probably starting to bore everyone at this point regarding my blasted novel, because if I am boring me, then I am most certainly boring you.  But the update is this.

I finished editing of chapters 1-3, with the knowledge that chapter 1 needed turning on it's head.  So, I took a break and went back to look at my pitch letter, and the story goes something like this. 

The first pitch letter was brutal, to the point that I had to squint an eye closed to avoid seeing it too clearly, the second one was better as it got a kind of structure to it, the third one, I was told by hubby seemed confident, self assured without being over the top.  This was the one I sent off to my four readers/victims.

I got lots of good advice, which was indeed brilliant, so I made all the subtle changes, and ended up with version 4, well really version 44 because I kept re-doing it.  So there I was kind of happy, you know in that well, maybe, probably, ah yes it is grand, sort of way, when I realised that after I put in 'dear Annie Agent' address lines, date etc, that the blasted thing was a page and a half long, which in the rules of pitch letters is a big no, no, hard enough to get someone to read chapters and synopsis, without exhausting them with the pitch letter.

Soooooo, yes I cut the blasted thing, slashed sentences in half, which at the start made them look less attractive, stayed up until 2 o'clock this morning, changing bits, until probably the 99th version stared back at me from the laptop and I said fine, over, done, dusted, never to be revisited, unless sanity is prepared to be risked, etc etc.  And in my sad, trying, making progress at the speed of a snail way, I was happy.

Sooooooo, today after doing the day job that pays, I planned to clean my house, get that spring cleaning started and feel all fresh and marvelous.  But did I?  Of course not.  The masochist in me pulled out chapter one to believe it or not, tentatively review how I was going to turn it upside down. 

I started by writing completely new opening lines, rewriting them until they looked reasonably good, then tried to incorporate said lines into original opening chapter.  I was halfway through this when I made my discovery.  What was that you might ask?  Or not! 

Well I discovered that the narrative voice which now begins the chapter (the new bit) was very different to the rest, and better which is good, but not so good when you think about the rest of it which I now know I will need to change, and just like a breeze that takes you by surprise on a calm sunny day, a voice from one of my readesr/victims floated by, and I remembered her saying of the first three chapters, that the narrative voice in chapter 1 was weaker than the narrative voice of the other two main characters in chapters 2 & 3.

I guess, I had chosen to ignore this piece of knowledge, but now that it has jumped up and bitten me, after spending the last 2 hours working on the chapter, I am going to walk away from it, because 2 hours ain't going to fix it baby.

Anyway, I will return to it, because I am sad, mad, bad, all rolled into one, but in the meantime, here is a link to some good rewriting advice for anyone interested.  Don't all stampede at once!


http://justinelarbalestier.com/blog/2008/01/02/how-to-rewrite/

The Hellfire Club

My walking/photo journal has been a bit hit and miss of late, other than laziness and tricking myself into believing that I am too busy, there is no real excuse. 

But I did go walking on Sunday, all the way up to the Hellfire Club.  It is an historical place in Dublin and one which gives you a great view of the city below.  I like going up there, mainly because I love walking in the forest, and the journey up has many wonderful forest distractions.  The breeze once you reach the top, is not for the faint hearted, so if you are going up on a blustery day, wear heavy shoes to keep you from flying off.

Historical background regarding the Hellfire Club is below for anyone interested.

The Hell Fire Club, is situated at 1275 feet, near the summit of Mount Pelier.  The site was originally a passage tomb. The tomb dates from the Neolithic Period (4500 - 2000 BC) and was constructed within a circle of large boulders known as a cairn.
Speaker Connolly built the house on Mount Pelier Hill in 1725. Connolly was one of the wealthiest men in Ireland; he had a Dublin house in Capel Street and a country estate at Castletown, near Celbridge. He constructed the club as a hunting lodge. Connolly is said to have destroyed the cairn while building the hunting lodge, making use of the boulders in its construction. (Sounds like something a modern day developer might have done in Celtic Tiger Ireland )
Anyhow, some time later the roof, which originally was slated, was blown off in a great storm. Locals attributed this misfortune to the work of the devil, in revenge for the destruction of the cairn. Following this event the lodge was seen locally as a place of evil. However Connolly replaced the slated roof with an arched one of stone.
The building consisted of two large rooms and a hall on the upper floor. A small loft was over the parlour and hall. The hall door was reached by a flight of steps. On the ground level was a large kitchen, servants' quarters and a number of small rooms. All the windows faced north, commanding a magnificent view of Dublin.
After Connolly's death in 1729, the Hunting Lodge remained unoccupied for a number of years until it was acquired by the infamous Hell Fire Club, from which it got its name. Hell Fire Clubs were established in the eighteenth century, and were associated with outrageous behaviour and depravity.
Richard Parsons, the first Earl of Rosse, established the Hell-Fire Club in Dublin in 1735. The president of the Hell Fire Club was named 'The King of Hell' and was dressed like Satan, with horns, wings and cloven hooves. One custom was that of leaving the vice-chair unoccupied for the devil - in whose honour the first toast was always drunk.
The Clubs became associated with excessive drinking. Scaltheen, a drink made from whiskey and butter was served in abundance during meetings of the Hell Fire Club.

Another story about the club concerns a young Bohernabreena farmer, who curious to find out what went on at the meetings, climbed up Mount Pelier one night. He was found by the members of the Club, dragged into the building and allowed to see the nights' activities. He was found the next morning wandering around the area, unable to speak and tradition says he spent the rest of his life deaf and dumb, unable even to remember his name.

The Blog World of Socks

Some of you might have picked up the post last week about how the Blog World of 120 Socks was celebrating being 6 months old.  Well if you did, you know all about my mini plan to achieve 60 followers by the half-year point, the aspiration being that by the Blog's 1st birthday, there would be 120 socks/followers.
 
As Blogland has its own magic, my dream was realised and by the end of last week I had 60 socks/followers (now at 65!)

I was also secretly on the lookout to reach 10,000 hints by last week.  Yes, I know I am a very, very, very sad person.  

Again my wish became a reality, and I can now confirm that the award below for the 10,000th hit in the world of 120 socks, goes to Dave at Pics & Poems. 

If you haven't visited Dave before, my advice is to do so immediately, as you will be wowed by his poetry.




10,000th Hit Award
Pics & Poems



The above award was designed by the fabulous Alias Jinksy, who you can visit HERE and is far more creative than 120 socks will ever be!

Moon Change

 





Moon Change

Standing halfway up my mother,

neck bent back, I looked hard at the moon,

heard stories about the man who lived in it,

full of cheese and shaped like a banana.

Older, out the back garden,
I saw it through my brother’s telescope,

all white and round and full of dark holes

that he told me were  ‘moon craters’.

Crossed- legged below the kitchen table,

I watched Neil Armstrong land on it,

bobbling with his flag of stars and stripes,

listening to the men from N.A.S.A.

Later I kissed under it, long and deep, 

dark romantic laneways lit by indigo blue,

falling in love and right back out again,

wondering who was looking at who?

When the kids were small, I swore by it,

wishing sleep would replace lonely nights awake,

whilst now, above the mountains it guides me home,

even in the light of day, teetering behind clouds.

Through the window on the upstairs landing,

it feels closer now tonight,

my neck bends back, just like a child,

as I remember piece by piece, the moon change.

Panther

Panther

Silent moving shadow,

melanin coat,

keenly stalks her prey,

the hunt with slow majestic grace begins,

fixated stare that black-blood curls,

as paw to ground,

a soundless lethal shift,

which calls the wild,

the time to pounce,

as body sprints in rapid flight,

and shoulders glide,

to twist and turn,

from dust and earth, she leaps,

to trap her prey,

whine and wimp,

of throttled throat,

or broken crunch,

to deadly silence,

chase over,

battle won.

The Saving of Sobul - Chapter 1 - Part 4

In the Forest of Answers the air was chilled, sharp and biting.  From the white earth grew tall brittle trees covered by emerald moss.  Makaylah and Peigi held hands in the forest and waited, all the time looking around them.  It was over the spirit of Makaylah that the light came.  Finjela, the mythical daughter of Oisin rose from nothing. At first faceless, her long feathered wings spread out like a peacock consuming the light, whilst behind her, amber stones of richness glowed.

‘My dearest Makaylah’ she whispered from above,  ‘do you not know that he is here to take the light from you, that the snowdrops which protect you are his only means of bringing Sobul out of the darkness.’

‘I know Finjela, but what of my heart, it hurts so.  It aches as if he has already stolen my past and my future?’

‘If you go with him, like my father you will take earthly form, and the gods will no longer be able to save you.’

Colias and Indra having followed the amber glow of Finjela arrived as she issued her last warning.

    

‘Makaylah,’ called Colias, ‘if you come with me I will take care of you always.’

‘Brave Colias, do you want her to die for you? What price are you prepared to pay?’ roared Finjela.

    

‘I would die for her in an instant.’

Finjela spreads her wings out across the white earth and created a pool into the future.  In the glistening water, Colias and Makaylah were standing barefoot in the Forbidden Stream, the white snowdrops around Makaylah’s head rose and were absorbed into the golden ball of Indra.

    

‘What does this mean Finjela?’ pleaded the soft voice of Peigi.

    

‘It means this is their destiny, should they choose it.’

Just as Makaylah felt Colias in her heart, both knew right at that moment, that they had no other choice.

When they left the Forest of Answers, and arrived at the Forbidden Stream, they followed the vision, placing their bare feet in the water of dangers.  The white snowdrops rose into the golden ball just as they had seen in the pool that Finjela had created.  Colias knew he must stay and protect Makaylah.  It would be Indra now, filled with the light from the snowdrops that would return to save the Kingdom of Sobul.

As Colias and Makaylah kissed, the force of the centuries rose, emptying them of all godliness. Within moments they turned into their earthly forms, Makaylah the red deer, with one small snowdrop remaining on her forehead, and Colias transformed into the body of a Great Irish Elk, his antlers giving him the height of a grown man.

They watched Indra as he set off on his journey to Sobul, both of them knowing that the trusted guide, had a difficult path ahead. 

'Peigi, you must go with him to the edge of our world.'

'But what about you Makaylah, should I not stay here and ensure you do not come to any harm?'

'Colias is with me.  Go my dearest sister.  Indra has the snowdrops, part of me is with him and therefore, part of you.  There are dangers at the edge of our world that you can see him safely through.  After that, he must face his journey alone.'

To be continued in Chapter 2

Thought for the Weekend - Ashleigh Brilliant - TARGETS

With a surname like 'Brilliant', your life is bound to be a little unusual, so here a quote and a cartoon from MR BRILLIANT himself!

'To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first, then call whatever you hit the target.'

- Ashleigh Brilliant - Author & Cartoonist-