Poetry

Looking at the Clouds of Rain

The clouds on the horizon look

like snow capped mountains,

something I haven’t seen

in a decade or so.

Their shape is implanted

in my brain.

These clouds are real

but they are not mountains.

The mountains seldom change.

Right? Right?

Perhaps I’ll see them again

one day

if the clouds don’t drown me first–

I know they’re still there.

Poetry · Stuff

Filling in the Blanks

You will never work

a day in your life

if you enjoy what you do

and I find I don’t work too much

these days;

instead, through highs and lows,

it gets better

and this little hobby

fills in some

missing blanks

.

.

.

.

.



This little notification showed up earlier today. I don’t keep track but it also hasn’t felt like four years.

So thank you all for being you and thank you for putting up with me 😃 Can’t wait to keep reading your wonderful works.

God bless!

Cory

Poetry

The Ailment and the Remedy

I always thought that it would be easy

to run out of words

to convey a single theme,

a single idea,

a single person from

the endless crowds.

I thought it would be easy

and I thought that I’d forget you.

I thought a lot

but it was nothing at all

while the subjects spoke freely

without my help.

I thought it would be easy to stop

yet I can’t seem to separate

the pen from the paper

even when–or even especially when–

I want to.

Good or bad, come what may . . .

I write

Poetry

Where They’ve Been

I knew that I loved you–

no question of when . . .

like when you were dancing

with words through your pen,

when the paper lit up

like flames with no fire,

when the smokeless smoke rose

yet even higher,

when the clouds formed above

through smoke and through haze,

when the words came back down

completely unfazed,

when I saw them dancing

back home once again,

and you looked happy

when beaming your grin . . .

I knew that I loved you–

no question of when–

even though they’re just words

you know where they’ve been

.

.

.

.

.

I’m posting this here because both were inspired by the same song. I usually write specific inspirations in the tags but if I’ll give non-existent points fo you if you can guess it.

Hint 1: it’s an older song.

Hint 2: it destroyed a few pianos on the Looney Tunes 😄

Poetry

Add title

Start writing…

but what?

Where do I draw the line

between the words

and the inspiration?

Will they know

what I’m saying

when I don’t always know

myself?

Maybe if I cut the line

instead of drawing it

then there would be

room for change.

Start writing…

and tiptoe

through your mind,

stomping with

evasive words

Poetry

“Like for a Like”

Digital tears fall much like real ones

and the voids fill much the same–

no one wants to be alone.

Why be true to yourself and others

when another option exists,

when another option almost always exists?

Wouldn’t that make it good

by default? Manufactured for the quickest

form of an emotional high,

we know so many

yet know so few

in the lonely stretches of creation

and in these empty halls

of the created–

but

no one wants to be alone.

Poetry

In a Hurry

In such a rush

to write it all down

I forgot a few things,

not

things like words

or the stories I’ve tried

to tell

but

things like living

simultaneously

and things like

the words and stories

that should have been written

before I had to think or ask

about it

Poetry

A Serious Author

Seriously

the pictures come together

in my hurting brain,

seriously

they move in quick succession

and the wonder of something old

like film

is fresh on my mind,

seriously

the pictures try to make sense

in words of adjectival abominations

but they come out

even worse on paper

or screen,

it is serious, most serious,

but I seriously end up laughing

at it,

thinking of a joke

that would make them weep

Occasional Prose · Stuff

A Spiel About Characters and Stories (but the switchyard operator in my mind just threw up his hands and took an early weekend)

If the title didn’t give it away, this is just me airing out some thoughts. Don’t expect a lot of clarity.

See the source image
If you don’t want to decipher the garbage fire, try turning off the WordPress Reader and turning it back on again (or simply call 0118 999 881 999 119 7253)

Sometimes I ask indirect questions in order to get more direct answers. It is more of a last resort than anything else but it does serve a purpose. I’ve had an embarrassing amount of free time this week for a multitude of reasons and it has got me back into writing my other stories. And, of course, whenever I get back into that I hop on a metaphorical rollercoaster that has no safety bar.

I made a bit of progress on one short story over a month ago but when I working on it, I got some not-so-great phone calls two nights in a row. I’m not superstitious at all but that sinking feeling in my gut still remains when I look at the draft.

The other story? If you’ve followed this site for a while, then you know it’s that dog and cat story. I am at a constant crossroad with it. It is my oldest story (and yes, there is a story) but there remains another problem: it’s that dog and cat story. I’m of the mindset that a story should say something. It has always been more about conflicting personalities working off of each other, as well a satirical look at small-town America, but I often wonder if I’m pairing my characters with the right stories. And that has been fresh on my mind too, especially with all the free-time I’ve had this week. I want the characters to have their moment in the spotlight but there are a lot of characters.

I asked an indirect question on an Instagram story earlier and admittedly, I was fishing for a certain response. It was also a bit of a broad question but I will ask all of you here too (even though I’m showing my cards):

What is the best, or your favorite, series? It can be from any medium.

I’ve enjoyed the few answers I’ve received. The method to my madness was/is this: what do all of these series have in common? Some of them share characters, some share themes, others share locales. I wanted to see how many had large casts of characters. The only one that did was Star Wars and when it comes to characters, the galaxy far, far away seems like an outlier. Many series do have a large quantity of characters and pull it off nicely. Others do not. Star Wars seems at its best when it is focused on a smaller groups of characters. Compare each successive trilogy: the original had only a few and they were able to delve into the common mythologies shared by many cultures, the prequels had a few more characters and sometimes had to take a back seat to the story, and the sequels had new characters bursting from its seams that had to fight for relevance in their own films. Star Wars has shown promise on television by breaking up the many arcs but it is also another medium.

I wouldn’t call the five Chronicles of Prydain books by Lloyd Alexander my absolute favorite but my goodness, there is something to be learned and admired in his approach. The Book of Three introduced Taran the pig-keeper and he was insufferable. The story was good but the main character was not. But the books only focused on a handful of characters and with each one, they were able to be fleshed out. I almost dreaded the fourth book because it was solely about Taran and yet he had grown substantially as a character by that point. You felt for him. The ending of The High King is gloriously executed. Had I started with that book like I intended, I would not have had the same appreciation and respect that I have for it now. Those books are guides for character progression, plain and simple. But should you have to read or see something else to appreciate something? I think The High King could stand on its own while many stories today exist solely to set up another.

So: a few characters or a lot of characters? How many stories? Should there even be more than one story? Should there be any story written at all? I’ve asked myself these questions many times and I can see pros and cons for each.

C. E. called earlier this evening and we had a good chat. None of this came up, of course, but he indirectly helped settle my mind for now. We talked for a little bit about an old hangout we went to. Many, if not most nights for a few years we went there to have a drink, usually at the same table. Everyone there knew us. That was seven or eight years ago. A lot has changed. But I went back there without him three or four years ago. I didn’t recognize a soul in there. It was renovated. Oddly enough though–and for the record, it had nothing to do with us–that spot we frequented had a table set up with no chairs and a light above it. It’s a funny thought to think that it might have been considered sacred because of us. It’s a funny thought to think that all of these complete strangers had no idea why that particular table had to be set aside as a memorial and yet they did so without a second thought. It’s a funny thought to think that at one point, two friends sat there, never reserved it, but a new group of people keep it there in reserve anyway.

It’s funny because there’s a story behind it. Every person in there had a story. Every one of you has a story. Life is full of characters.

And so, though my mind is settled for now, I will have to ask myself directly or indirectly once again:

How many characters need their story written?