marius

Glad to see you join us Doug! And, fifty brownie points for submitting when you've no home internet! Anyway, fun romp and I'm smiling at Barbara's childhood games ... "pretending to be princesses, prom queens and prostitutes." Tee hee , marius did not know about the 'oldest profession' until the very late teens. Times have changed. : )

Good morning all and may the muses be with you!

marius

And for those who want to work on editing here's a site that is fairly concise. Indeed there were some suggestions I'd not thought of in a while.

Example: watch for redundancy.
"It was raining outside." Indeed, where else would it rain ... oh yeah, in my grandmother's house but that is another story. : )

http://www.poewar.com/writer-edit-thyself/

giraffe

Went over the words. It's 404 w/o title. It's not very good, but it was very difficult to write. Please don't trash it.


FOG OF THE EVENING DOG

It's rhythmic. It's rhythmic.
We dance around the log going
WOO woo woo woo WOO woo woo
Fog of the evening dog.

The metal lion fights us as we're
Dissin the genius white man
Pass up all that 'better than'.
You have the super tribal ban.

Your words cloaked in double-speak
disturb our tribal bear.
Our lion arches his back
Fog of the evening dog we wear.

All of the forked-tongue talking
You put us in your movies.
Not to flatter us but to
show off Hollywood newbies.

Treaties, treaties rhythmically
pound like drums with broken skins.
Come to your passion and
and end these ruinous sins.

Now you put us on display and
video our Pow Wows.
Most of us are a bunch of drunks
while fog of evening dog bow wows.

Our ancestors are just as important
as yours but just more reverent.
They'd never steal or defraud you.
Our cultures are so different.

It's rhythmic. It's rhythmic.
Fog of the evening dog.
We don't just file away the
dance around the log.

We offer you the orchid
of peace and maybe a pipe.
You never accept it, but
maybe the time isn't ripe.

Disbursed to reservations
didn't stop our religions.
The only thing holding us back now
Is your beligerrance.

You let us have casinos
and dirt where nothing grows.
Talk about survival, man,
While white man's lawn he mows.

Woo woo woo woo, Woo woo woo.
We look funny on TV.
White men with their painted faces,
we laugh at what we see.

You've gotta have some humor
to get through all these messes.
You do the pow wow at sold venues
And wear the native dresses.

I say to myself 'Hell,
at least they are still paying me."
Then home to your rugged life
where children ain't obeying me.

I live on the reservation
right outside of Taos.
We call it the Pueblo.
It represents our house.

Kids go to the stream
and try to fish with nets.
Tourists take their pictures and
more surreal it gets.

We have our holy places
where tourists aren't allowed.
We keep these as reverent
to our fathers. We are avowed.

"What am I gonna do, Daddy?"
"You are gonna fish and get tips.
You look so cute they can't resist.
You heard that from my lips."

"Will I have to go to war?"
It's rhythmic. It's rhythmic.
The fog of the evening dog
will teach you.

marius

No trashing from me, giraffe. ; ) Looks like you did work very hard on this one. Lots of nice images. Think my "native" friends would enjoy it. It does have a rhythmic feel too. Great to see you trying a new format. Was it fun?

giraffe

Marius, I wanted it to be funnier, but this is what I got. It's a good exercise for me. Many would be able to zip through it like drinking a glass of milk. It was a self-challenge to me and I'll probably revise it. Thanks for your comments.

giraffe

BTW. I may have come out with a decent lyric. Finally. It needs some cut and paste, but I can hear it.

Nylecoj

Part two! 380 words, as requested this is an addition to LadyH's story. Enjoy!




An elf crouched amongst the flowers, caressing the soft pedals of an orchid, her cloak spread out around her hiding her slender form under its dark shadow, her black hair falling on her shoulders rippling down her back in soft waves, her dark eyes piercing the forest glinting in the moonlight. She was Celynor, the storyteller, keeper of all the histories of the world, finder of secrets, master of puzzles, waker of words.

The rumble of thunder shook the earth, but no lightning split the sky, no cloud hid the moon. The shaking became rhythmic, like footsteps, growing stronger, coming up from below the earth. Then, silence. A long neck stretched its way upward, gleaming silver under the moon.
Smiling in awe, Celynor shuddered as a dragon sprang from the earth and fanned his wings. The moon hung like a medallion above him, just out of reach of his massive jaws. Many things gathered to stare at the silver dragon, squirrels, birds, wolves, a fairy touched him, and many more with no tactile form hovered nearby. He seemed curious, delighted, proud. Rising slowly, Celynor watched, knowing that she would never see anything like it again, nor would she ever forget it! She watched the dragon lift himself on his mighty wings, and soar away, gazing after him until he disappeared behind an arch of trees. What a tale to spin! The awesome figure of the dragon still in her mind, she began to walk back towards the elven halls, where she would willingly bear the disingenuous compassion of her fellow elves over her lost mind. She laughed aloud, yes they thought she was insane.

As she entered the elven palace, she made straight for her own bower, not stopping to flatter anyone by talking to them, something she rarely did; not avoiding giving a kind word where it was due. So she passed nearly unnoticed, just the way she liked it, making others smile without them realizing she was there or when she had gone.

Later she would tell them the story of the rising dragon, wove carefully with words wrought into fabulous sentences that would bring the dragon to life before their wondering eyes. Only one person need know before she told the tale, and that was the Queen.

giraffe

Five, So real and heartfelt.

Dragon, scooted those words in unnoticed - again. Cool bodyguard.

marius

giraffe, you'd said something about writing lyrics. Hope it turns out well.

Nylecoj, enjoyed "the keeper of all the histories..." This story sounds like it could keep going, or maybe the two of you are going to write another? Am loving the "tag-team" writing between you and lady! Will there be more? You've got my vote. : )

ladyhwin

Oh yes!! This will be continued most definately! : D

380 words - no title

The sun shone down on the forest, lighting up the world, glittering in dew drops. And near the mountain, the bright rays flashed onto a mammoth form nestled against the rock, caught and sparkled on the green scales of the dragon.
Oblivion slowly opened his eyes and gazed about before raising his head and getting to his feet. A wisp of smoke curled around his head as he sighed in pleasure at the sight of what he now ruled.
The combination of chattering squirrels and singing birds was music to him, like nothing he had ever heard. Was this how he was supposed to feel? Enjoying nature and such instead of hiding in a cave, hoarding treasure?
You are right to be confused. A strange voice echoed in his head.
Turning, Oblivion watched as a creature emerged from the orchid patch, a tall cloaked figure that bowed and looked kind.
“Peace,” the magician said verbally. “I have come to acquaint you with the forest.”
Oblivion relaxed slightly.
The magician smiled. “Come and I will explain.” He led the way to a wide path that snaked its way into the trees.
The dragon followed warily, discovering with amazement as he entered the tactile cover of leaves that his color had changed, no longer silver, but blending flatteringly into the forest as though he really belonged.
The magician seemed to be in a hurry, his quick pace matching the rhythmic monotonous tone of his voice as he pointed out different creatures: proud birds, sly, disingenuous raccoons, even a hiding bear cub.
Oblivion was astonished by the amount of creatures that inhabited the forest. He had never seen so many living things at one time in his life.
The magician turned, his look somehow arch, yet at the same time somehow evil. The medallion on his belt glowed blue as he raised his hand.
Oblivion felt the bolt as it struck, heard the enraged cry of his friend-turned-enemy as the orchid fairy’s magic overpowered the darker power, saw as the magician directed his spell towards the trees around. The branches began to bend downwards about the dragon, even as he stepped back out of fear. Within moments, he was trapped inside a cage of trees with the magician’s laugh echoing cruelly around him.

Nylecoj

Here is the next part, 380 words exact!



Celynor stepped around the waterfall into a low garden hidden under the trees in a little dell at the back of the elven palace. Willows draped against the crystal clear pool where the waters of the fall gathered before running away between the rocks. Standing tall under the draping boughs of one of the trees, dressed in a flowing white gown, with a silver wreath upon her golden hair, one hand raised to touch a blue faerie dragon, was Katharine, Elven Queen.

The faerie dragon fluttered softly, clinging to the queen’s slender hand. She smiled, arching her fingers to give the little, butterfly like dragon more room to land, then catching sight of Celynor, the queen turned.
“Greetings Queen.” Celynor began, bowing low.
“Celynor! Don’t!” Laughed the queen taking her hands and spinning about the garden, “You have been holding orchids.”
“Yes, and watching dragons!” The queen’s smile faded.
“There was a magician here while you were away,” She whispered, “he claimed he was studying dragons, but he was a disingenuous as his flattery was false.”
Celynor frowned, “What did he want?”
“He asked all sorts of questions about dragons, slinking about, absolutely reeking of stolen magic that leaked from a medallion on his belt. He was too focused on whatever it was he wanted to notice though. He didn’t notice anything that wasn’t tactile, and then only if it threatened to hit him.” Smiled the queen grimly
“Typical magician!” Celynor laughed, “Where is he now?”
“I made him leave when he started snooping into places he didn’t belong, but tell me about the dragon.” Quickly Celynor recounted what she had seen.

When she finished all was silent for a moment save for the rhythmic falling of water.
“I think we should find out more about this dragon, and before the magician does.” Katharine said at last. Celynor nodded in agreement.
“Then let us go, you and me, before the world sheds her dark cloak of night. Sometimes this crown is to much to bear,” The queen continued, “an adventure is just what I need!” Celynor smiled compassionately. Katharine had been her best friend since chance had thrown them together.
“Dragons can find dragons, bring your faerie dragon, and we will need speed!” Their eyes met and they exchanged smiles.

midnightpoet

Marius is crackin my own whip on me, so I thought I'd check in...I'm leaving tomorrow for my new home and don't know when I'll have a computer again. I'm currently staying at my Muse's house...so I'll see if the two of us can't come up with a bit of a story to keep Marius from whipping me anymore.

mum23

.....tentatively sticking my toes in here.... I haven't looked at Thinkwrite before... looks like fun!

I saw the word list and this just poured out. It's only 135 words, including title, but here it is... for what it's worth! Oh... bear became borne, and comrades replaces compassion! I hope I didn't break any 'rules'!

Now, I'll read the others!




WAR

The medallions which were borne
upon each and every breast
Now lay still and bright and silent
as the comrades came to rest.

The march, it had been strenuous
for the old men near their end.
Their grief, not disingenuous
as they remembered fallen friends.

Their marching had been rhythmic
the atmosphere tactile.
The onlookers threw orchids,
while they wept and waved and smiled.

And now, they quietly gathered
underneath the arch.
In their cloaks and hats and medals
… these few old men left to march.

Imitation, it is said,
Is sincerest flattery.
These men who’d been to war and back
Would simply not agree

No more should young folk go to war
To kill and fight and maim,
For no one wins, we all must lose,
And nothing ever is the same.

marius

Nylecoj/ladyhwin - what a tale you're weaving and what fun it seems you are having too! : )

midnightpoet, ... no, no .... not using whip *ON* ... but perhaps in the general direction of (mischievous grin). And, since you checked in with us, you can have the whip back. [Tee hee, I tried using a bullwhip once. Snapped myself. Guess I'm better with pixies.] Since you're staying with your muse seems like you might just get something in here. Will look forward to it. ; )

Mum - Welcome to ThinkWrite! So glad you joined us. Your poem, "War" is a lovely heart-full piece and timely too. Thanks for contributing. Hope you stick around, and please feel welcome to submit more writing, comment on the writing of others, ask questions and definitely have a good time. ; )

Nylecoj

Thank you Marius! We are definitely having fun!!

Welcome to ThinkWrite, Mum! Enjoyed your poem a lot.

marius

Word count 380 and all the words should be there.


The Favor

Were they were dreaming of the bear, his hideous roaring and the life he took? The rhythmic clacking of the spinning wheel had lulled them to sleep for now but she could see all three of them twitching. Or maybe it was her.

They had covered John with her orchid-colored cloak, an extravagance he’d given one Christmas. It was the only store-bought clothing she owned. It was the only way she knew to stay behind and go with him too. They set him in the ground and when they returned home, she flinched at the claw-marked door.

The Moritz family brought fresh pies of autumn fruits and the Sorrensons brought jars of pickled beets. Their oldest, Sven, would stay until the winter wood was chopped. Then he would go. She would be glad to see that: his mother was disingenuous with her charities and Martha did not look forward to the time when that woman would collect her favor.

Martha arched her back and caught a flicker of light on the medallion. It was a piece of flattery, something her great-grandmother had owned. It had tactile pleasures of another world, another time, and she fingered it with compassion for all the women widowed too early.


One year later Mrs. Sorrenson came to collect her favor. She arrived in the early morning when September’s frost had painted the prairie grasses with red-tinted yellows and deep purple blues. She wore town clothes and when she sat by the hearth, Martha knew it would be no easy request.

“It took fifteen years but I’ve saved and I’m leaving. Now. Today.” She handed Martha an envelope and moved to the doorway. “You and I were never friends, but Nils has always liked you and now that ...... well ... it’s in the envelope. I’m not coming back, ever.”

The meadowlark sang from fence-post perch, morning salutations that wove through Martha’s shock. To leave five sons? To leave a good man? She sighed wearily at the envelope and watched Mrs. Sorrenson’s buggy disappear into the sun.

A flash of meadowlark lifted to the sky. That was when she remembered his laughter last summer when Mrs. Sorrenson ran screaming from the summer dance at Old Skeeters.

“My boys joke - the bear made the wrong choice.”

mum23

Thanks for the welcome!

I've just had some time to read a few of these.... Wow, there are some real writers here!

Did I interpret this incorrectly? I assumed that 380 words was the upper word limit... is it supposed to be exactly 380? Apologies if I got it wrong.

Maybe I should have read the rules first, but my poem really wrote itself and I submitted it on the spur of the moment. I should have done some more punctuation, but, had I hesitated long enough to do that and find out about rules and the like, I would have talked myself out of it! Even with anonymity, putting myself out there for public scrutiny is scary!

marius

Hi mum23, there has been a lot of talk about rules. The basic TW rules have been to write something with an exact word count and to use all of the words in the list. However, if you review previous TW's, there is a lot of breaking or bending of these rules.

Personally, I'm happy if people follow the rules but just as happy if they don't. What *I* like is to see people having fun writing and getting those creative juices flowing. So, as far as I'm concerned ... for this section of ThinkWrite ... you can use any word count and also use some, all or none of the words on the list. Just have fun!!!!! : )

marius

and ... mum ... you wrote, "Even with anonymity, putting myself out there for public scrutiny is scary!" I've felt exactly the same way!

THAT is why I'm not picky about the rules. There are some who very much like the rules to be followed (and I respect that position) but as far as I know, every single person that perfers rules be followed also agrees that everyone is welcome and if the rules don't work for them, then okay and they are still very much welcome.

marius

Okay ... sweet dreams to all you wonderful TW folks. Hope those muses are working for you all.