Any Writers Here?

[bob.e]

Here's A thread for us writers. Post your poetry, short stories, commentary's, or whatever your writing about. By way of introduction I am a free verse poet, writing character based poetry, taking place in a small harbor town. I follow the life of my main character "Matilda" as well as the lives and going ons of the people of "Delby", and the people surrounding "Matilda", my poems cover a time period of 1900 to the 2000's. I'm trying to come off of a writers drought. A hospitalization last March has had a severe affect on me (dying twice on the operating table can do that to you) I'm going from writing 60 to 70 pieces a year down to 8 pieces last year. I've written one piece this year and one in December, lets hope the drought is over. I'll share my first piece for this year to get us started.

a cold whisper

​

as the moon sleeps

it’s blissfully unaware

that a cold whisper wends its way

around the smoke stacks & chimneys of delby



there’s a cold whisper in the air tonight



hearth & stove fires are banked for the night

fires wane from roaring flame to dying embers

waiting out the night— waiting for the dawn

for kindling & resurrection



‘cause



there’s a cold whisper in the air tonight



matilda peers out through a window

that’s slowly frosting over

diamond like sparkles slowly descend

as the fog freezes & lazily drifts to the ground



‘cause



there’s a cold whisper in the air tonight



matilda sits at the piano— her fingers

dance a mournful dirge across the ivory keys

while abby fiddle in hand plays over ‘round & above

matilda’s mournful finger dance



‘cause



there’s a cold whisper in the air tonight



the ice queen has come

the snow queen

is soon to follow

we know winter is near



‘cause



there’s a cold whisper in the air tonight

 

[Spider]

Hey Bob. Nice thread. Do be sure to head on over to the Newbie forum to introduce yourself!

 

[CBLindsay]

Welcome. How cool to have a writer on the forum. I am not a writer myself but I knew a guy (he passed last year) who was part of a writters guild and he ran a non-profit writers club. He was a really cool guy. I'm not sure what exactly a writers club does but I do know he helped my non-profit do some wrtting for our website and other publications.

One of my favorite teachers in grade school intriduced us all to poetry and made it a practive to regularly read poetry (Shell Silverstien mostly). I enjoyed it as a kid but my ability to write poetry is pretty minimal. I have no idea what your process might be or even HOW you could pump out 80 plus such poems. It is a cool thing that you have consitent characters that you kind of "live" through. I wonder...do the people of Delby happen to shave using DE or straight razors? Maybe they enjoy wonderfull bagder brushes (I can't imagine they use boar brushes)? When you say the 1900's time period I immediatly think of things like Williams shave soap, Gillette DE razors and Genco straight razors.

Good luck with breaking out of yor writters block in 2025.

 

[Jaro1069]

There are a few writers on here ( that I know of ) and a few who have published books.. Nice to have you here.. I hope you enjoy yourself....

 

[bob.e]

I've not posted in a while but I'm back here is another of my poems

a present from a stranger



(1)​

the old traveler sat alone

at a table near to where matilda & saffy sat

sharing a pot of tea & eating pastries

his quiet courteous manner belied

his scruffy coarse appearance

he was taking tea daintily

with hard weathered hands

working hands

dirt under the fingernail hands

in a fine porcelain cup

one sip at a time



all the while he wrote

upon a sheet of paper

he had taken from a his knapsack

he’d write a bit

pause— holding pen to lips

as if deep in thought

then write some more

in what was later found to be

the fine script

of a gentleman

or a scribe



finishing his tea

he walks over

to matilda & saffy

then with an impish grin

leaves the paper

sitting on their table





tipping his hat

he bids them good bye

as he walks off



never to be seen again

(2)



written on the stranger’s paper



The twilight embers of a dying day glow,

Illuminating the distant horizon;

Day turning into night.

As night time settles,

A soft lullaby sang by Mother Moon

Carries us off slowly to dreamland.

Meanwhile, the stars commune with one other,

One by one blinking into view.

Offering guidance . . . to the sailor,

Dreams and passion . . . to star crossed lovers,

Wisdom . . . Mystery . . . Answers . . . and Riddles . . .

To those seekers and believers willing to look up.

And the falling stars, heaven’s special delivery messengers,

Bring dreams, visions, and wishes come true,

To those lucky enough to see them.

Night time . . . so dark and wondrous;

So unlike the day when Father Sun sings so loud and boisterous.

There are no secrets in the day sky,

The sun, a few clouds, maybe even a rainbow,

All . . . in a field of blue.

But there’s magic,

Mystery,

And secrets . . . in the night sky.

So— I await the twilight embers of a dying day,

The final fading notes of Father Sun’s song,

And the magic . . . of the night.​

 

[MarkB]

I’ve co-written a novel and have several short stories. Will try to post some up eventually. I need to get back into it. I had several ideas germinating that I want to flesh out and finish. Had thought about working on something with my niece. She’s a writer as well.

 

[Jaro1069]

Just a quick one I wrote tonight to post here , sooo......

The blade is sharp, the morning still,
A ritual pure, a tranquil thrill.
With steady hand, the lather spreads,
A soft caress where whiskers led.


The straight razor gleams, a work of art,
Each stroke a beat, each pass a start.
The crisp, clean line, so finely drawn,
Like dawn’s first light, it carries on.


A dance of steel, a gentle glide,
As precision guides where stubble hides.
The warmth of water, the scent of soap,
A moment's peace, a touch of hope.


Each pass a whisper, close and true,
Revealing skin with morning’s hue.
The world recedes, the blade and I,
In quiet rhythm, just passing by.


To shave with care, with time to spend,
A joy that only few defend.
For in each stroke, a man is made,
With artful hands and blades well laid.