Limerick – Landslide


Added some thoughts to the beginning.

Mandibelle16

Limerick

I sat down to write about a limerick last week and I wasn`t sure what kind of story I could tell that would involve a limerick. The limerick I came up with wasn`t cheeky or funny like limericks are supposed to be. The limerick is just about making it through life. I was having a terrible time last week. Just certain things in my life were conflicting and nothing seemed to be going my way. My limerick is just about making it through those bad times in life, being tough, and that eventually something will give and life will, afte often after a catastrophe, go back to being manageable. I think a `landslide` is like when all doors close and you don`t see the window open on the otherside. It“s when you`ve hit rock bottom. It`s when you`re in the eye of the storm. But then after the storm…

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Poem: Hiking the Hill


I wish you were here at the top of the hill, where the sunset gleams on boulders and rocks.

This place that we hiked to is far out of the way, there’s not a soul for miles either way.

So, we sweated and breathed in the humid air, yet we kept on walking through heat and sunshine shower.

You fell once as we stepped over circles or rocks and forest debris, you may have twisted your ankle,

But you continued just the same, and we both kept on going though you limped as we strode.

The wood was alive with the smell of pine, and a rabbit just stopped to stare at us hiking.

We were panting and dirty and there was a moment or two, I thought we’d have trouble with a little brown bear.

When we reached the hills summit, we looked down below, the great hill (a mountain) was glowing in sunset.

We camped for a day or two, you hated that the most, rocky hills are not places for sleeping your best.

And stiff and stumbling we came back down the hill, many hundred pictures, and aches and pains later.

The hill is a memory, that I fondly look upon, the time that I spent with you, now that your gone.

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – The “Orange” Painting


” This is not quite what we are looking for Jane,” Mrs. Hammerstein said to me. ” It’s a bit abstract for my tastes.”

” It’s a wonderful painting,” declared, Mrs. Hammerstein’s son Bobby ” those drops of water are so clear and they jump right out at you and out of the orange background. Well it could be anything: it could be a sky, an orange sunset; it could be a view of nature that the sunset colors. . .”

“Oh, I agree” I said to Bobby smiling ” it’s a beautiful mish mash of orange. And those rain drops, it’s as if you are looking through a window at such glory, they are the best part of the painting.” Bobby smiled back at me. Mr. Winehouser was going to be so impressed with me when I sold the “orange” painting from the art gallery.

The same day it sold to Mrs. Hammerstein, the painting was stolen. I felt I must have really sold the picture, for someone to steal it. To bad for them, it was just a fake. The real one hangs over my bed at home.

Word Count: 181 words

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