you stand by me in the day's bright sun or in the pouring rain with your feet firmed to bear us both as much in joy as in strife when life lets us know we need our souls to hold hands and stay one
Sleep tight my poet for in your dream world you go colouring your sphere whose fleeting tenure not break with wild realm of reality the kiss of the muse and so inspiration comes curdles long life in short time with pleasure, pain, faith, hope and love; I never believe in dreams – they were just for kids like one of their childish games but you came and I’m in flames – I’m still smiling with that beam; now I believe in daydreams hoping you are my mainstream as my heart you have inflamed – dreams to be with you.
To sleep, perchance to dream Horses gallop across moonbeam To dream, ah, that is so divine Sailing across the river Rhine Where all her thoughts meshed And waking up feeling refreshed Playing on each other in different fields It’s as rough as a public park, the outfield
A couple of stories written for Reena’s Xploration Challenge #194. The prompt was to write something using polysyndeton. I decided to write a couple of stories, 1 long, complex sentence each.
Tactile Night
Couldn’t sleep (or wouldn’t,) so I went for a walk and when I stepped from the warmth of the hallway, the sky launched itself at me and the cold carried me down the street as the branches curled above, and I walked and walked and felt like a strange, grey thing, but then my thoughts slid into the shades as I saw something on the street, a shape stopping beneath a street lamp, its ears poking upward, steam rising around it, and then it rushed towards me, without sound, and I moved in a walk, but then ran, ran, and ran, and my legs slowed and wobbled and shrunk into the concrete, and the creature rose…
A sage suggestion and an important part of everyday and every night, for that matter, communication because before and if and when we decide to utter wiseacre and detrimental remarks acting like egotistical smart alecks and real know-it-alls, we should think long and hard and strictly think again and again about how our garrulous unkind and disrespectful words impact and even leave emotional scarring on the vulnerable and hapless souls struggling through life each and every day here there and everywhere, a daymare and even a nightmare for each precious moment of every single hour of the day, and years upon years to eternity, unfortunately.
It is art of creating complex sentences, by using conjunctions instead of commas.
Write a sentence, or maybe you can pull a story or flash fiction or poem in this style.
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The darkness of night had fallen long ago and although we all were tired after the labors of our busy day we could not find solace in restful sleep so I asked grandpa to tell us a story not a horror story mind you but something like the fairy tales of the old but grandpa being grandpa had other ideas and when he started clapping his hands and tapping his feet we knew that he was going to entertain us with his favorite Scottish ballads and that was exactly what he did he sang song after melodious song entertaining us all and…
Shhh! It’s your turn now, the skies have turned dark,
The dragons have masked the all glistening Sun,
From a place far away, they’ve come in drones,
Like bees that suck nectar from flowers, they’ve come in drones,
Are those obscure stars peeking, now that skies have turned dark?
In drones from a land sans sunshine, land without mighty Sun,
While the flock fly away, all but one remain, unmasking Sun,
Taking with them secret of Earth with their remote controlled drone,
All this while it was light, they’ve turned the settings to frigid dark.
A red ball of furious Sun, in throes of drone of dark.
Poetry form :- Tritina
More about Tritina :-
The Tritina is a modern form created by cutting down the Sestina. Like a Sestina this form repeats the end words of each stanza. The form is made up of three triplets…
The wannabe poets gathered around their professor, the beloved group she called poets as if a secret handshake. They sat at their usual after class front window table, it was comforting. This Friday evening however, it’d be packed, a sold out welcome spring poetry extravaganza. She was the featured reader of course, and as the bar filled there were whispers, and glances. As the hushed tones turned to a low rumble, she reminded us that we are poets. We talked about the line-up, who would open, who would introduce her. Both were favored, as it was standing room at capacity and the crowd was eager. I was about to ask, when should we start, she said “Shhh! It’s your turn now”.