Content: life

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This suicide poem of a Samurai is an attempt to underscore the cultural differences between western culture and eastern culture. The west is largely Christian. In Japan Christians amount to less than 3%. The culture is largely agnostic--Buddhism and Shintoism are the primary 'religions' although they are more philosophies than religions.//Imagine not believing in a supreme being and contemplating the end of your life as an absolute ending, by your own hand?//This poem is the creation of the author's imagination and is not at all authentic. I'm not Japanese but I've lived in Japan for nineteen years over a thirty five year period from the mid fifties to the late eighties. I graduated from a Japanese grade school in 1964.//The Japanese have a deep sense of honor. They are particularly sensitive to anything that reflects negatively on themselves, their family or their company. Most suicides in Japan are over issues of honor.//Personally, I'll never forget receiving a hand delivered wedding invitation on Monday, only to have it have it retrieved the following Monday, because the father of the bride opposed the marriage, and executed his wife, son and daughter with a Samurai sword, and then took his own life. The groom was the President of a large Japanese distribution company.//This poem, and many other cultural differences and nuances, are what inspired me to write the novel Executive Samurai.

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I just did some tweakin' and would love any feedback or suggestions on this poem. I had the most trouble with the second stanza, but kinda think I like it now, maybe; I'm going for a staccato, choppy sound with 'are plucked or hewn', so I'm wondering if that works or not. Your help is always appreciated. :)

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feedback welcome

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A tale of redemption, of beleiving in something greater than oneself, in trusting in change, while holding onto hope. Faith. Despite Addiction, reality, the things beyond our control. It questions the powers that be. Hopes in the One true Power above. Faces the problems surrounding us today. And isn't afraid to tell it how it is. The inner-struggle. A place in society. Coping to survive via drugs. Recognizing racismn, past injustices, future revelations and the guts to do something about it. A comic tragedy of the upmost kind.

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maybe it's the time of year, time for poetic pondering, i dunno...the dimming glow...just like the twilight...looking back on a love that felt so right but had nowhere to go...

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AS ALWAYS, YOUR FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED.

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Sort of a "stream of consiousness" thing.

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This was inspired by Brosna11 Im not sure if I covered the criteria so if anyone is familiar with this form don’t hesitate to rebuke me lol

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Thoughts of not being. Death and dying.. reconciliation to truth. Letting words come into focus and put down without thought.

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I try to encourage any and all feedback. I realize this poem is cryptic, so here is the meaning of this poem for those who are interested: My mother died last year, so I was the one grieving in this poem. My wife and I decided to have a third child after my Mom's death. I didn't actually want the third child until I lost my mother, which changed my mind. It seems that I have been to several funerals of relatives and friends lately and it forced me to think of my own mortality and how short life is. My decision to have another child was born out of my grief for my mother and my realization that children are the only way to extend oneself into the future. My wife and baby boy are both fine. Little Noah Elisha was one day old when I wrote this poem. Tanka is defined as follows: "Haiku is always written in 3 lines. Tanka has an additional 2 lines of 7 syllables each with a line space after the Haiku section." Also, I am following the Japanese traditional rule that long vowells count as two syllables, or onji.

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It was a poem that I wrote about a story I created, about a boy and girl who grow up together, but the boy's father abused him. They made a pack to run away when they were teenagers, but one the night they were to run away the father killed the boy and it crushed the girl. They had a common interest in butterflies and she finds the letter from the boy that says, "The truth about butterflies is that no matter where I am, if you see a butterfly it is just me saying hi."

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It was a very quick poem that I wrote and a very random write. Any feedback wanted; thank you.

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Poem about life also the use of allegories in expression in poetry or any writing. Hope is to get readers who hesitate reviewing poetry to take a leap in faith as there is no wrong way to review if you say how a work 'feels' 'provokes' or if it doesn't. Still good feedback and can help enrich one's own writing. Poetry is not my favorite genre. I don't even own a book of poetry except for my mothers. Only poetry I read in on this site. I write it as do not feel confident in other genres. I too am learning to try though. To stretch oneself is to grow and stay flexible.

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My experience of enlightenment and perception of the nature of reality in 1000 words.

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This is a story for anyone who likes to contemplate life's biggest questions... Because they don't come any bigger than those addressed in this book. Whilst I'm classifying the work as fiction, the story is built around my own personal experiences, and incorporates occult knowledge of the highest order. As such, I know that this project has the power to change lives - and liberate minds. Join me, then, as I embark on a journey that very few have taken, and even fewer have written about. "To rid ourselves of our shadows - who we are - we must step into either total light or total darkness." - Jeremy Preston Johnson

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The Premise of ‘The Gold Mine.’ Jacob Townsend inherits a a gold mine in the Sierra Nevadas, from his Great-Great-Great-Grandparents, Tom Watson and Eliza Townsend. In the box containing the hundred and fifty year old legal documents is a map made by Eliza to the location of the mine and a diary written by Eliza. The innovations she designed and had built would amaze engineers of today. Scheming relatives would like to take a peek at that map. Living in present day Dallas, Texas, Jacob takes a business trip to Caracas, Venezuela with his friend, Jessica Lopez. While there, a copy of the map is stolen from their hotel room and a flight in a small plane to a local gold mine is sabotaged, forcing the pilot to land on a river in the jungles of Venezuela. The pilot and the two of them trek through the forest and raft down the river trying to get back to civilization. They encounter a Drug Gang, who hold them hostage. What Jacob does to escape will stay as a nightmare with him as long as he lives. Back in the US, more relatives make attempts to steal the map. An attack on Jacob leads him to a Drug Lord, Manos Santos in Brazil who has connections in the US. Jacob seeks help from the CIA who turn him down, but not before meeting an agent named Marilyn who falls for him. Now he has two women on his hands. He goes to Rio de Janeiro at the height of the Mardi Gras Festival to track down Santos and confront him. At the shoot-out in Santos mansion, Jacob is wounded. Marilyn makes a surprising appearance and helps him escape. Jessica is furious but thankful. The diary leads Jessica to believe that Eliza and Tom may have perished in the mine. With a GPS system Jacob and Jessica trace their way to the mine. Using modern safety suits they penetrate the interior of the mine to find a few surprises. One of them being the body of someone they know, overcome by poisonous gases. Now they know who had the map stolen. Another chapter in the diary leads them to an amazing find.

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16-year-old Katie Smart has always been painfully shy and self-conscious. Her one ambition is to become a professional photographer. Possible romantic interest from Greg, a teenage worker her father hired to keep up the grounds surrounding their New England farmhouse, the increasingly sinister attentions of her photography teacher, and a sudden change of attitude toward her from Ben, the hottest and most arrogant boy in school, combine to send her into an emotional tailspin from which she may never recover. --- FIRST DRAFT IS COMPLETE and I have begun to edit.

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A reflection of humanity!!

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Is anyone in the mood for a road trip? I promise, it will be different than any road trip you've ever been on. I'm interested in if this works as a first chapter and if you are intersted enough to read more.

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daily life can be a philosophical journey

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An unknown entity begins writing letters to the editor. R-Restricted

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I call these 'floaters' as they are thoughts that float through my consciousness. I grab them and type them down or are forever lost! Emotional feedback as well as technical

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Just having fun.. hopefully a tad of wisdom thrown in. Observations made about living. Choices.. Any and all feedback welcomed except for those who think it stinks.. ha... keep it to yourself. ONLY KIDDING

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Observation from years of living and observing. This is not always the case as many 'willing hearts' are never snatched up by another. But once in awhile... love comes calling. Technically help is always needed but top priority is always the 'vision and feelings' evoked. Can always 'fix' the technical but if emotionally void it is useless

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I seem to have a habit of making existential observations about everyday items. Perhaps the madness increases as the end approaches. You may critique my work until your fingers bleed. But, you shall never shred what hath been forged by me, for I have copies that you cannot see. Join me in my quest to rescue my Dulcineaic existence from the totalitarian incinerator of inevitability. WRITE LARGE, WHILE YOU CAN. Perhaps something will survive the shredder of souls, the trash-masher of minds, crusher of creativity, the disposal of deliberation.

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A brief free verse look at today.

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A story about loss and gain.

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A month shy of graduation, despite her demons, Kiralyn Jacobs should have the world at her feet, but when she's chosen as the new keeper of The List and people around her start dropping like flies, she quickly learns the spinning orb on which we all tread is anything but a step stool. It's more like a hell...from which there's no escape...no escape but death. Others before her, much stronger, larger, braver, smarter, gave in to self-destruction. As broken as she is, how does she stand a chance and how can she save the one guy she loves from reaching the top and being lost to her forever. * * * I'm working on Sapphire Reign right now, so this is a back burner project that I will pick up a later time. I'm looking for feedback on the voice, because I've never wielded First Person before, and the overall concept.

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An expression of the unknowns in life.

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A simple theme.

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This is my attempt at possibly publishing a complete nonfiction memoir of my Dad's and my relationship as he ages through Alzheimer's. It has humor as well as very surreal moments, but nothing too sad. I'll leave sensationalism to Hollywood when it comes to these type stories....no crying here! Actually, the four years before Dad passed, I laughed many times and I felt I wanted to get it on paper for those afraid of the unknown side of Alzheimer's! Thanks for reading--please give HONEST feedback as I can definitely take it, and NEED it as well!

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He rises again this time in 2008 ... he is rested, hungry and slightly worried. He has no idea how long he has slept, nor does he know the state of the world ... he is not even sure if he wants to be the 'Savior" this time around or just a plain Joe the plumber type.

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Johnnites is a thriller/ horror dealing with the eternal struggle between good and evil. But what have a young writer, a mythical being and a serial killer have in common and can they stop the evil lord before he claims the earth for himself.

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This was originally a lyric to a song I worte. I did a little cut and paste to make it look somewhat like a poem. As most of you know, I am a very poor poet. But sometimes the muse insists at the risk of her going on extended vaction if I do not comply. A little Psychology 101 mixed with a little humor. It's meant to be a little bit of fun. It suffers significantly from a technical POV. But my very best poetry is pretty bad. Hope you enjoy it.

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Just a sort of dark humorous reminder to keep things in perspective. Any an all sharing is welcome.

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Are you kidding... call 911 for God's sake... she finally cracked up!!!

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Ask any dog lover and they will tell you that Fido is as much a part of the family as Julie or Jimmy. There is joy with a new puppy, fun and frustration with growing and training, companionship through adulthood, and sadness in death. This story deals with death and how this writer handles it. All feedback and critique is appreciated.

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True story of a conversation I had one afternoon with a very sweet, but oh so innocent, former student. Enjoy! :)

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What are we to make of life when it takes so many forms?

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This is a story about a small college baseball that wins a game but there is more to it than that!

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Life in the South circles and swarms me.

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This piece is presented solely to encourage thought. The questions asked-I suspect, have been asked since the emergence of conscience, thinking mankind. Obviously there are no definitive answers to these questions. However, as death is truly the only inevitable, universal experience that all creation experiences, perhaps it's worth asking these and many other questions. If nothing else realizing that your questions are shared is of value, isn't it? At least that is the motivation that prompted this poem. It is the last in a series of five poems that started with 'Why God?'

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Franky, the father in The Bunch, was my Dad. The story is a creative nonfiction story of an event from my childhood. Little League rocks.

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Sit back and reflect upon your day. At any time during its course were you inconvenienced by someone? Did they delay you at all? Their actions might have been very subtle you might have even blamed yourself for selecting the wrong check out line or you should have left the office earlier. But what was the result of this momentary delay? Maybe nothing or…..maybe it changed you destiny.

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I was thinking about the holiday season, and this little ditty popped into my head. Hope you like it.

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Firstly, I would like to say a big thank you to everyone who has given me so much help and encouragement over the last few weeks. Due to this I have decide to completely rewrite Beans stairs and other dreams. Whilst some parts remain unchanged, I think that it will now be easier to read and a little more logical. It does not really have chapters as such and will be divided into 4 or maybe 5 parts. This section introduces Steve as the main character but begins much earlier in his life. Once again, thank you to all of you who have given me feedback so far.

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This was written as I pondered the magnitude of my situation. My husband and I are both in our 60's, and got married in August, 2005; he after 30 years divorced, myself after 15 years. We met on-line; it was love at first e-mail, and was a long distance courtship, of sorts! He had just had surgery for cancer; I was a full-time missionary in D.C.The wedding was the wedding of my dreams! But, because of his health situation(there is no cancer!), things are moving a lot more slowly than I would like! We still can't be very active, but hope to travel a lot...whenever!!! This is the first time I have done this; your feedback is truly welcome!

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