immersed in dickens and hawthorne, i cannot easily shake off the dusty antiquity of a bygone era.
however, its scant reality inhabits, not the present, but my sad hearkening back to the shadows of long ago.. hot blood pulses anew within fingers i thought stilled forever in a writer's graveyard of unwritten verse.
it is a reluctant awakening to a life much sadder than that endured by storybook friends who cannot see me, know me.. permit me, therefore, to reenter that precious twilight betwixt my present and the past, the faraway there of dearly departed poets.
Points well made, Wasa. Simplicity and clarity.
The above is about the third edit. Cutting out the so-called dead wood is not the problem it used to be.
I could start a bonfire. Of course, the use of certain words and phrasing is intended as a transport back in time. I really don't talk like this. It's meant to be specific to an era. Nevertheless, I appreciate the wise counsel regarding pretentiousness.
Thanks!
immersed in dickens and hawthorne, i cannot easily shake off the dusty antiquity of a bygone era.
however, its scant reality inhabits, not the present, but my sad hearkening back to the shadows of long ago.. hot blood pulses anew within fingers i thought stilled forever in a writer's graveyard of unwritten verse.
it is a reluctant awakening to a life much sadder than that endured by storybook friends who cannot see me, know me.. permit me, therefore, to reenter that precious twilight betwixt my present and the past, the faraway there of dearly departed poets.
. . . inspiration will come but she has to find you working. -- sparrowdown
I can really use that advice.
Thank you!
immersed in dickens and hawthorne, i cannot easily shake off the dusty antiquity of a bygone era.
however, its scant reality inhabits, not the present, but my sad hearkening back to the shadows of long ago.. hot blood pulses anew within fingers i thought stilled forever in a writer's graveyard of unwritten verse.
it is a reluctant awakening to a life much sadder than that endured by storybook friends who cannot see me, know me.. permit me, therefore, to reenter that precious twilight betwixt my present and the past, the faraway there of dearly departed poets.
Dear humbled:
I always look forward to your extraordinary way of making your thoughts, expressed in prose, so poetic. Excellent point regarding all those inhibitors. I wrote on the "Moonlight" thread that I initially feared my forays into moon lore would constitute me a pagan. Big deal.
Thanks, as ever, for your contributions!
immersed in dickens and hawthorne, i cannot easily shake off the dusty antiquity of a bygone era.
however, its scant reality inhabits, not the present, but my sad hearkening back to the shadows of long ago.. hot blood pulses anew within fingers i thought stilled forever in a writer's graveyard of unwritten verse.
it is a reluctant awakening to a life much sadder than that endured by storybook friends who cannot see me, know me.. permit me, therefore, to reenter that precious twilight betwixt my present and the past, the faraway there of dearly departed poets.
Well, I do think the picture of the contemplative poet is pretty cool.
Do you, fellow writers, ever experience the look above? Not to mention what's going on inside the skull . . .
immersed in dickens and hawthorne, i cannot easily shake off the dusty antiquity of a bygone era.
however, its scant reality inhabits, not the present, but my sad hearkening back to the shadows of long ago.. hot blood pulses anew within fingers i thought stilled forever in a writer's graveyard of unwritten verse.
it is a reluctant awakening to a life much sadder than that endured by storybook friends who cannot see me, know me.. permit me, therefore, to reenter that precious twilight betwixt my present and the past, the faraway there of dearly departed poets.
Immersed in Dickens and Hawthorne, I cannot easily shake off the dusty antiquity of a bygone era. However, its scant reality inhabits, not the present, but my sad hearkening back to the shadows of long ago.
Hot blood pulses anew within fingers I thought stilled forever in a writer's graveyard of unwritten verse. It is a reluctant awakening to a life much sadder than that endured by storybook friends who cannot see me, know me.
Permit me, therefore, to reenter that precious twilight betwixt my present and the past, the faraway there of dearly departed poets. If I search within the darkened channels of elusive time, may I find old friends who have been rendered immortal in ink?
a walk in the moonlight will do me good.
i shall understand inner turmoil in a new light, that proffered by the softly suffused illumination della bella luna.
the black shadow of the walking dead, cast upon a meandering path by the gracious moon, will be my companion.. treading my way slowly, reverentially, to the frosty view above that patiently awaits me, i stop dead at land's end.
Greetings and thanks, mother Teresa:
Likewise, are the words you have written lovely!
a walk in the moonlight will do me good.
i shall understand inner turmoil in a new light, that proffered by the softly suffused illumination della bella luna.
the black shadow of the walking dead, cast upon a meandering path by the gracious moon, will be my companion.. treading my way slowly, reverentially, to the frosty view above that patiently awaits me, i stop dead at land's end.
Thank you, LV101 and recovering, for responding. I like writing about "Her," for reasons you've stated -- and then some.
While the poetic prose is largely metaphorical, I wondered when I wrote the above (edited) some eight years ago if it would appear Goddess Moon had supplanted Jehovah in my affections. In my original JWD thread, Dark Moon, I built up a narrative around what Job had declared an impossibility for him: secretly worshipping the moon.
Yet, I have gotten favorable replies from JWs on other forums.
Best Wishes, all.
BTW, LV101: Conversely, do those who live in stone houses throw glass?
a walk in the moonlight will do me good.
i shall understand inner turmoil in a new light, that proffered by the softly suffused illumination della bella luna.
the black shadow of the walking dead, cast upon a meandering path by the gracious moon, will be my companion.. treading my way slowly, reverentially, to the frosty view above that patiently awaits me, i stop dead at land's end.
Thank you, humbled, for your thoughts and the lovely "moon" piece. I do happen to play it on the piano.
yep, taps out, throws in the towel, waves the white flag!
in today's watchtower it basically said don't expect any results due to widespread apathy and opposition.
but you can still bear fruit just by going through the motions of being regular in field service.
Perhaps a return to the "internal ministry"?
You can never get enough fruits of the spirit.
a walk in the moonlight will do me good.
i shall understand inner turmoil in a new light, that proffered by the softly suffused illumination della bella luna.
the black shadow of the walking dead, cast upon a meandering path by the gracious moon, will be my companion.. treading my way slowly, reverentially, to the frosty view above that patiently awaits me, i stop dead at land's end.
Wishing you and your boys happy trails, Perry.
"The moon is mysteriously comforting."
YES!
Thanks.
