Short Story Saturday: Striking Midnight

Genre: Poetic Prose
Rating: Everyone
Time of Writing: December 2013
Image from livescience.com

There stood a man, all dressed in black
On New Years Eve (we’ll call him Jack).
While inside his house he stood so warm
Outside there toiled a winter storm,
And while outside the winter storm toiled
Inside his head he’d decided he’d spoiled
The year he’d been given, this twenty-thirteen. Continue reading “Short Story Saturday: Striking Midnight”

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In the Morning

The sun has come to rest;

The day has all but ended.

And laughter speaks of zest

And spring’s last day impended.

Furniture fills the hall

As my hall mates start to clean,

And talk of the next fall

And the year that had just been.

The rooms all look empty

As college boys come and go

And say with somber glee

“See you next semester, bro.”

But while spring’s end can’t be glummer,

In the morning starts the summer.

Love in Ten Lines

Special thanks to the blogger for Memorphilia, who has nominated me to join the “Love in Ten Lines” poetry challenge. I don’t normally get too much into poetry, but I thought, hey, it’s a challenge, what can I do? So now my reply to this.

The guidelines, for all others who want to be participants:

1. Write about love using only ten lines.
2. Use “love” in every line.
3. Each line can only be 4 words long.
4. Nominate around ten others who would be interested in the challenge.
5. Let ’em know you nominated them.
6. Title the post “Love in Ten Lines.”
7. Include a quote ’bout love.

So here’s my go at this:

Strange Love

Love never gives up,
Still love must not
Run towards unreturned love.

Love endures all things,
Still love must not
Lust towards unrequited love.

Love is always hopeful,
Still love must not
Hope towards nonexistent love.

This love is strange.

Nominations:

Double U Poet
The Midnight Writer
People, Things, and Life
The Dusty Poet Corner
But I Smile Anyway

And that’s it. I don’t know a lot of poets on WordPress, mainly prose writers. I should get around to fixing that. Thanks so much to each of you. You have all guided me at some point along the way of my writing journey. Until I decided to join WordPress, my writing was moving at not much more than a crawl. Now it has changed into an all-out sprint. (As you’ve probably guessed by now, this isn’t one of those challenges where you copy and past near verbatim what the last blogger said.) Thank you all for joining me in this, even if I’m not the most reliable for day-to-day blogs. College and such.

Anyway, anyone is able to join up, this doesn’t just go to those I nominated. If you’re interested, just start typing! Typing takes you all manner of wonderful places.

Easter Morning

**NOTE BEFORE READING: This is an extremely Christ-centered poem. If you have a great distaste for religious content in your poetry, do not read it. Thank you.**

To know God in His holiness

Could take on mortal’s toil,

And shroud Himself in lowliness

To trod on earthen soil,

To be tempted by the one

By whom He was most hated,

With the plan, as God the Son,

To save what He’d created,

To be hungry and tired and sad

As all at some point are,

So His understanding of man

Was not just from afar,

And know His final breath would be

Completing His great plan,

While hanging nailed upon a tree

As His blood fell on the sand…

I know all this, and ponder still,

Yet this tale I don’t dread.

There still is ink left on the quill,

And Jesus is not dead.

For this was just a passing phase,

His guard stone rolled away

And Jesus walked from His grave

As nature sang in praise

Nails, they were but stepping-stones,

And pain but a sensation

As He prepared heavenly homes

For all who’d choose salvation

There is no greater love

Than His which makes us free.

His love has now brought life

To sinners like you and me.

A Sound in the Deep

A sound.

It was all that we’d need

And all that was found.

They heard it o’er three thousand miles

From where it seemed to be.

I hope they found the sound worthwhile

And recall knocking knees.

No skeleton to prove a death

Or sights to prove its mass;

No measuring to prove its breadth

Or eyes to prove it’d passed.

For monsters of that large a size,

Are not meant to be found

By corrupt mortal human eyes.

All we will need is sound.

A sound.

It was all that we’d need

And all that was found.

A sound down in the deep.

(Another experiment into poetry inspired by the story of the Bloop. Look it up here.)