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Snowflake

Cubby — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 15:05:57 +0000

A snowflake so perfect was found on the ground,
Its beauty was one that was simply profound,
And even when I picked it up with my hands,
The crystals remained in their translucent strands.

I thought it was strange, what an odd little flake,
All made out of ice and yet wholly opaque,
But when it endured and not melted but new,
Was when I discovered that I was one too.

Poetry Writing Exercises 113: Wednesday 12th June

morgenbailey — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 11:15:30 +0000

Here are your four poetry exercises for today. Time yourself for 15 minutes for each one, then eithe

Moonflowers

Cubby — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 06:07:25 +0000

I was a thornapple, upon once a time,
But then I committed an inordinate crime;
I tried to grow wings and fly close to the sun
Whose face I had longed for since life had begun.
I used all the tricks I could find in my bag,
And I finally found a large yellow flag.
After some tinkering, then tested and true,
I took out my kite and I presently flew
Straight up to the sun, but the light was too bright;
I fell to the earth and was sheltered by night.
And now it’s the moon that is calling my name,
But this time my flight surely won’t be the same.

Waver

Cubby — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 19:42:31 +0000

A frown is a smile that has had a bad day,
So tired and grumpy, a dismal display.
It lurks in the corners of wavering lips,
And then resolutely, downward it dips.
Your smile is held hostage, the ransom is high,
It just digs down deeper the more that you try,
But if it is ticklish, then find the right crook,
And you’ll see a grin or invite a left hook.

Vocabulary Exercise 1

Cubby — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 18:14:34 +0000

A bumptious person seems to have a little too much pride,
They’re really self-assertive with obnoxiousness implied.

The word defenestration, well, here’s what it’s about,
It means to throw someone or thing, through a window out.

The word discombobulated, it always makes me grin;
In fact it means the opposite – upset, confused within.

This next word’s really easier than the way it sounds,
Ubiquitous - it simply means it’s everywhere around.

This will be messy, but here we go…

There was a bumptious man who really liked to brag a lot,
So irritating, now we’re making a defenestration plot.

Reading traffic signs can make me feel discombobulated,
But since they’re so ubiquitous my confusion’s unabated.

SOCKS

Pete Armetta — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 13:05:19 +0000

self-revelation is annihilitation of self narrating and parabling labeling a box stigmatized so slig

Poetry Writing Exercises 112: Tuesday 11th June

morgenbailey — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 11:15:20 +0000

Here are your four poetry exercises for today. Time yourself for 15 minutes for each one, then eithe

[my writing life] Waiting for Water

laurasalas — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 10:14:25 +0000

Water Can Be… (Millbrook, 2014) doesn’t come out for eight more months, but it’s been front and center for this past couple of weeks. First, I got to see the fantastic finished art by Violeta Dabija (I hope to get to share a sneak peek soon). Then, I wrote the dedication (to my parents–both nature lovers of the first order). Finally, I’ve been checking over copyediting questions and working with my editor on one rhyming pair that has been a bit imperfect all along. The art is complete, so the concept can’t change. So we’re debating whether to keep the original text or replace it. I’ve fussed with this pair numerous times. I came up with several options, but we have decided to stick with the original. One of the things I love about picture books: the amount of time and consideration that goes into four small words. Next up…marketing materials. I need to get started this summer on a book trailer, teaching guide, etc. So excited!

P.S. I got to have lunch Friday with Carol Hinz, my editor from Millbrook, and take a tour of Lerner’s offices–will share a few pics soon.

En Garde

Cubby — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 06:25:24 +0000

The things I don’t know are shockingly big,
What I know is shockingly small;
One is an elephant spanning the globe,
The other, an ant on the crawl.

A master at fence, I guard myself well
From the facts that try to thrust through;
They often give up in bewildered awe
Of the parries an expert can do.

One Year - Poem

kyrleigh — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 02:29:46 +0000

So this is a poem I wrote for my boyfriend. It’s personal, but not too personal to share.

Exactly one year ago from today,
I fumbled for all the right words say
To get you to like me the way I liked you,
Little did I know you felt that way too.

And then on that day from the very start,
You let me be a part of your kind and true heart.
I’ll never take that for granted, not now or never,
Instead I’ll treasure that decision forever and ever.

It’s amazing how everything still feels riveting and new
And I don’t thank you enough for the things that you do.
But my appreciation is always there in the back of my mind,
Whether we’re miles apart, or together, intertwined.

Each and every moment brings us closer and closer,
We’re like a song and love is the composer.
Nature plays our melody as birds chirp in spring,
Reminding me that you’re my one, my only, shining king.

You’re the first best friend I ever really had,
You know all my secrets, the good and the bad.
Together we giggle about childish things,
I love all the little joys our relationship brings.

You love the face I make when I’m thinking,
And avoid judging me for my lip syncing,
How did I find someone that loves all my quirks?
I guess that’s just one of love’s greatest perks…

My hopes for this poem is that it’s special and true,
It is the first poem that I’ve ever written to you.
So happy one year to you, my sweet dove,
I look forward to many years of everlasting love.

DrNanaPlum's Rhyme Corner.

the secret keeper — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 01:38:56 +0000

Reblogged from On The Plum Tree:

I love to write in childish rhyme. I really do it all the time. A Doctor and a Nana too, 'Tis ontheplumtree that I grew. And this is where I shall be writing, stories that are so exciting, by scribbling scribes ~ those authors who ~ love the child in me and you. But first I want to introduce ~ two books, I hope, will produce ~ excitement and a flitter flurry, of orders that will simply hurry, across the land and open sea, to read to children where they be, to stimulate imagination ~ and create a small sensation!

Me + You + Jail

freemindsbookclub — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 18:00:44 +0000

By IS

I remember those days we used to kick it after dark
Kissin’ your neck, my head laid on your heart
Neva thought dat love could ever be split apart
Guess I was wrong cuz dis shyt is just the start
I’m realizing that fantasizing is timeless
Living in this cell
My only comfort is rhyming
Yeah, girl I miss u
Know dat I miss you and all the shyt we done been through
It’s like my love unraveling like some tissue

Poetry Writing Exercises 111: Monday 10th June

morgenbailey — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 14:06:24 +0000

Here are your four poetry exercises for today. Time yourself for 15 minutes for each one, then eithe

Extremities

Cubby — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 11:57:21 +0000

My hands are cold, they always are,
A destination too afar
For warmth to travel, so it seems,
The tips, they find are too extreme
To stay for long, they cut it short,
A more hospitable resort
Is what they seek and hope to meet
But won’t if they fly south to feet.

Short Story Daily 267: Billy No Mates

morgenbailey — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 11:00:42 +0000

Billy No Mates

They say we all have good and evil within us, meet Tom and Billy.

Billy looked up. “What are you doing here?”

“Come to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Tom sat down. “Because I’m your brother.”

Billy leaned forward. “No, Tom. You’re a horrible little oik.”

“Billy!”

“You’re a … little …”

“Don’t!”

“You snitched on me. What do you expect?”

“I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry.”

“Too late now.”

Tom looked around the room. He was surprised to see just two others, talking to each other and ignoring them.

“You’re not so snow white yourself.”

“What?”

“Mr Taylor’s front garden.”

“I’ve never been in Mr Taylor’s front garden.”

“Picky little shit! You weren’t in his garden.”

“You said-”

“Not IN his front garden. I saw you drop litter into it.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“I didn’t!”

“Did too!” Billy spoke loudly enough for the others to turn to him.

Tom noticed the scared look on one of their faces. “When?”

“The day before I… the day before.”

“I… oh.”

“Yes! See? Not the darling son mum thinks you are, are you?”

“It wasn’t litter.”

“Rubbish.”

“It wasn’t! It was a snail!”

“What?”

“A snail. I almost treaded on it.”

“Trod.”

“I almost trod on it, then, and I didn’t want anyone else to squish it so I picked it up. Mr Taylor has a lovely green garden so I dropped it over his fence.”

“Mmm…”

“Is that why-?”

“They’re going to keep me in here for years.”

Tom looked down into his lap. “I know.”

“And you knew you’d get me into trouble when you snitched.”

“I had to.”

“No… you… didn’t.”

“I liked Mr Taylor!”

“You didn’t know him.”

“He said ‘hello’ when I walked past and he was outside. He was nice to me.”

“Well he wasn’t nice to me.”

***

Picture above courtesy of morguefile.com.

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You Have So Much...

Cubby — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 10:12:48 +0000

Its potency is fully masked
In camouflage of black and blue,
Despair will hide it lovingly
To keep the light from shining through.

It haunts our thoughts and feeds the ground
That hungers for its fertile seed
And changes from its crawling form
To wings the moment you succeed.

The modern fashionista

kwhpoet — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 00:14:05 +0000

Cinch in that fat waist ‘til no more can you breathe
Then pull tighter, ‘til it makes you want to heave

Take a bra cup for you three sizes too small
And overflow – make just like a waterfall.

All that you can find – feathers, fur, skins and lace
Will help keep you ahead in the fashion race.

But the best accessory to show your charm?
By far – to have a dapper man on your arm.

Of All Things

Cubby — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 20:46:12 +0000

Don’t look at me, yes, just like that,
I’m not a pesky little gnat
That you can swat and flick away
With scornful things your look can say.
Yes, I may have tattoos and rings
And sport a mohawk, of all things,
But it still stings a tad deep down
To constantly see people frown.
They look at me with fearful eyes
Or jump away in frank surprise,
Like I will somehow taint the air
By quietly just sitting there!
Like on a bus or on a train,
Or even worse, yes, on a plane,
Their nervous shuffle makes me cringe
And swings my patience on a hinge;
It makes me feel like being mean,
Just to act the way I’m seen.
I’m not a vicious, wicked troll,
I’m not the mud under your sole,
I’m just another human being…
But maybe that’s not what you’re seeing.

Message of the Week 4: Edgar Allen

Lola — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 17:21:23 +0000

In the fourth installment of my Message of the Week series, I’m bringing you Edgar Allen, a repeat offender poet.

He first sent the following message to me some weeks ago:

I’m wondering what exactly he was hoping to make amends for? Perhaps cluttering my inbox with his senseless rhyming?

While I have to give him props for being more creative than a majority of the other assholes on OKCupid, I didn’t find his poem particularly interesting, amusing, or original, so I ignored.

I’m assuming his basic, rhymed poetry struck out with a lot of girls because he changed usernames and switched solely to Haiku form, which was obviously just guaranteed to work since it was such a total departure from his last attempt. This week’s message:

(My profile references origami, so that’s why he said what he did.)

I’m wondering if he forgot he had messaged me from his other username or if he just refused to believe his poetry failed to woo me.

I thought about sending him back this:
“The Haikus don’t work
Any better than the rhymes.
You should just give up.”

But, again, I didn’t want to risk my reply rate going up unnecessarily. If only that weren’t a factor…

Just so you know, his entire profile is completed in poems. I’m not kidding. They’re horribly cringeworthy, but at least, he’s consistent.

Riddle #7

Cubby — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 15:05:59 +0000

I can be short but
Also too long;
I can reply if you’re
Scared you’re wrong.
Sometimes a treatment,
But not very nice,
I really can’t help
To break any ice.

What am I?

Hint 1: I am debatably audible.
Hint 2: “To break any ice” is in the figurative sense of “to break the ice”.
Hint 3: My “treatment” usually occurs after a spat.

Link to answer: http://tinyurl.com/w33zs

Riddle #6

Cubby — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 14:35:55 +0000

You’re very rude but
Your hair is so rich,
Very particular,
You know how to switch.

You’re really too much,
I don’t think I can sit,
But you go lay down
As you see befit.

Who are you?

Hint 1: A “once upon a time” fictional character.
Hint 2: This character broke something.
Hint 3: Porridge.

I will also accept Brian’s non-fictional answer in comments.

Link to answer: http://tinyurl.com/k4vfms8

Short Story Daily 266: Eight a year

morgenbailey — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 11:00:44 +0000

Eight a year

“Another bank holiday!”

“We only get eight a year.”

“Eight! That’s one every… six weeks. Plus all your other holidays.”

“Six and a half, but we deserve them.”

“And I have to pay for them.”

“20 days a year isn’t as much as some companies.”

“Be grateful you get any. They don’t in the States, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure they get Thanksgiving.”

“Yes, alright. And Christmas, but they certainly don’t get 20 days… So, what are you going to do with yours?”

“Heading to Brighton for the day.”

“Nice. The weather is supposed to be good.”

“And you?”

“Barbeque.”

“That’ll be fun. But it’ll mean it’ll rain. Beach, barbeque, Bank Holiday, rain”

“Let’s hope not. Right, I’ll let you get on. See you on Tuesday.”

“Yes. See you then. Oh…”

“Yes, Tom?”

“Can you tell mum ‘thanks’ for the jam. It’s lovely.”

“Will do.”

***

Picture above courtesy of morguefile.com.

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For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

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Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

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Stalker

Cubby — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 10:45:13 +0000

In the wee hours of the night,
Or early hours of the morn,
Silence prowls where sleepers lie
In the wombs of dreams unborn.

It stalks the echoes one by one
That linger in the soiled air
And swallows whole the ghosted breaths
To tidy up its littered lair.

The Dream - Part II

Cubby — Sun, 09 Jun 2013 06:10:27 +0000

Hello, welcome back,
What took you so long?
I thought I said ten;
I guess I was wrong.
Well, settle in quickly,
Your cup is still here,
I think when you left
An ass disappeared.

The sky was still green,
The grass was off-white,
A tail in the sun
Gave just enough light.

My question unanswered,
I sat on a rock,
And as I sat thinking,
It made a loud squawk.
I jumped in the air,
The rock did so too,
And as I watched stunned,
It actually flew.
It skimmed past a pig
Who looked up and cried,
“I thought I was the one
Supposed to have flied!”
Another loud squawk,
A pebble dropped down
Right on the pig’s head
And made a small crown.

I walked to a stream
That had fish fishing fowl
Using socks as their bait,
All dressed in a cowl.
They nodded their hoods
As they met my eye,
The one with the beak
Was a little bit shy…

What an odd look…
What is that strange beep?
Fine, I’ll let you go;
I guess dream talk is cheap.

Short Story Daily 265: His job depended on it

morgenbailey — Sat, 08 Jun 2013 11:00:39 +0000

His job depended on it

The corpulent official stared down at the cream-filled doughnut. He smiled and sighed, patting his generous stomach. He knew this delicious treat was doing him no good but he had to do it. His job depended on it.

He turned round in a panic as he heard a scratching noise behind him, but then remembered it was his son’s turn to look after his class’ hamster.

Turning back to the plate, he picked up the doughnut and settled into reading the paper’s front page article: ‘Twin Town’s New Totem Pole’, being careful not to spill anything down his Santa suit.

***

Picture above courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to this blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See

Amazon.co.uk: Morgen Bailey's Writing Blog: Kindle Store

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for outside the UK **

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.