To see the sunset
Setting on the horizon
Fills my heart with joy
To see the sunset
Setting on the horizon
Fills my heart with joy
People are colours. People are green.
People are red and everything in between.
Mother’s blue. She’s feeling low,
but when she’s with her family she starts to glow.
She’s now a gorgeous shade of pink, radiating love.
We all know she’s been sent from up above.
Father is brown. He’s practical and earthy.
He never gets caught up in flights of fancy.
When mother is blue, he always knows just what to do.
Children are green,
all innocence, not mean.
All is in jest
As adults know best
Life is yet to come
We all go through this stage
Learn and play and ripen with age.
Lesson 6 OPTIONAL EXERCISE:
Take a line of dialogue from a story you’ve written, and think of three completely different situations where someone might say that line.
(I am learning that writing short stories are not my thing. However, I really enjoy writing poems. But here goes something – comments are welcome)
Twin Power or Not
Have you ever wished that you had the power to become a twin? You thought about how fun that would be to have another you. Someone who was able to do your chores or even take a beating for you. How about someone to share things with and be your personal home friend? That would be so cool.
But really would it be like having another you? Would that person really be another you, or would it be someone who just looks like you? The other you may not even act like you. So would it really be cool to have someone like that. Guess what? I was giving this unique and strange power to bring forward a twin. This power went beyond wishing for a twin but designing this awesome person.
What happen? One day I was just tired of being the only child especially the only girl. People use to say to me, “You’re really lucky not to have a sister or brother.” While others would make this statement, “I know you are glad to be the only child.” But they didn’t know my situation and what I faced. I was a very lonely individual. To me, luck had nothing to do with it.
As I stood by the French doors, gazing out of the window. I begin to drip away, far away in the deep part of space. I was so removed from this earth that I could not hear anyone talking around me. As I continue to stare out, I felt myself going farther, farther, and farther into the world of space. You may say I was into the Imagination Space World. It felt so real to me.
In this Imagination Space World, I saw many different and strange things. There were two sets of everything. This scenery was bizarre. Even though everyone seems to be very cheerful and thrill as they walked and talked to each other.
For me, I was walking in this Imagination Space World by myself. I was alone and sad. I continued to walk until I hit this big door with a bang.
This door just appeared out of nowhere and I ran smack into it. Unfortunately, I did not get hurt. However, the door opens wide and begged me to come inside. I could hear it saying, “Welcome.” “Come in.”
I realize that doors do not open by themselves nor can they talk. My curiosity took over and I went straight in. Immediately the door closed with a loud bang. I jumped and turn around towards the door.
When I turn back around there was this tall man standing in front of me. I screened because he startled me. He said, “Don’t be afraid for I am here to grant you your wish.”
“What wish?” I said, “For I didn’t wish for anything.”
“You’re are really lucky today,” He said. “You wanted the power to create a twin sister that looks and act like you.” As he stood with his chest lifted up with great proud coming from his eyes.
“I never wished. I was just thinking about it as I was looking out the French door window.” I replied.
“Oh well,” He mumbled, “Whatever you want to call it, I am here to grant it.” As he turned, He grunted, “Follow me.” Did I break his proud or what?
Your parents are always telling you never to follow strangers, but, in this case, I guess it would be okay. So, I follow this strange and tall man. He took five steps and turned around. He stated, “We are here.”
Are you kidding me five steps that all and we are here? We barely moved. I played along and I asked. “We are where?”
With a robust voice, he stated again, “We are here.”
With a puzzled face I said, “Okay.” Who am I to argue with this weird stranger?
He looked directly at me with wide and glassy eyes. It felt like he was penetrating me. Did he have x-ray vision or what? He stated, “I have given you the power to create yourself a twin sister. However, she has to think and act just like you.”
It was my dream comes true. Finally, someone to share my beating with, my clothes, my room, and my thoughts, this was awesome. I wanted a home personal friend. Since, I was not allowed to go out.
Then he vanished into thin air with a poop, leaving nothing behind.
I found myself back in the room looking out of the French door windows. Was I really lucky to meet this weird strange man? Did he really give me the power or not? Only time will tell.
Lesson 6: Choose a topic for a poem. If you want, you can use one of these topics: shadows, the rain, dancing, a tree.
His Love Protects
it is just about that time of day,
when everything goes silently gray;
the dark clouds slowly take the sky;
while the white ones sadly say good by.
in the distance I can quickly hear,
the rumbling storm drifting near,
with each piercing hardening sound,
causes a sudden fear to come around.
even in the darkness night,
I feel this strange chilling fright.
wondering what will happen next,
would this area be its major climax.
then there was a gentle soft touch,
which my body needed so much;
he always there when rain clouds form,
making me feel so safe and warm;
and just when I think he is miles away,
he moves in a little closer and quietly say,
“I am here always as the raindrops fall.”
this tear down that large barring wall,
and creates a sense of coziness,
taking away all that stormy cloudiness.
causes the noisy night to be silently still,
for I’m now covered in the arms of his will;
while we breathe together as one;
just like our Father and Son.
Write a story or poem that includes the phrase “There’s something I want you to do.”
Live Your Dreams
There’s something I want you to do …
Stand up for your belief no matter what others may say because you have control over your destiny.
There’s something I want you to do …
Move toward the center core in your life that causes you to put a smile on your face because it will brighten up your day.
There’s something I want you to do …
Surround your environment with positive energy that will cause others to witness your energetic behavior.
There’s something I want you to do …
Reach for the illuminated stars and pull them down so that they can become your realities.
There’s something I want you to do …
Stop standing in someone shadow for they can never make your shadow appears.
There’s something I want you to do …
Release the pain and heartaches in your life for they can never bring out your beauty.
There’s something I want you to do
Stand and Move but Surround and Reach yet Stop and Release
For this is something I need you to do …
Enjoy your life by living out your dreams.
Sarina often dresses up as a fairy. When she does her magic wand comes with her. One day she insists on going to day care dressed as a fairy and brings her wand with her. “Mummy”, says Sarina. “If anyone is feeling sick today I will touch them with my magic wand and make them better. Sarina’s mother responds, “Of course darling, it’s a magic wand and that’s what magic wands do.
Sarina tells her friends that she can make people feel better with her magic wand. Ava, Sarina’s best friend tells her that Jodie (Sarina’s favourite carer) has a headache today and she can make her feel better with her magic wand.
Sarina goes up to her and places her magic wand on Jodie’s forehead. She asks Sarina why she’s doing this and Sarina replies that she’s making Jodie feel better with her magic wand. Jodie thanks her thinking Sarina is just playing. Almost instantly the headache she had disappears. She doesn’t connect this to the wand, but to some painkillers she just took.
In the afternoon the children are playing outside. Jack is running across the yard when he stumbles and falls grazing his knee. He’s bleeding, so Jodie goes to get the first aid box in the room. When she returns she notices Sarina touching Jack’s knee with her wand. She shouts at Sarina to stop. Sarina is hurt at being told off by Jodie and backs away.
Jodie kneels down to attend to Jack’s knee. She can’t believe her eyes. No blood, not so much as a scratch. Could it be possible that Sarina has some kind of ablility to heal. Her headache and now Jack’s knee?
Jodie encourages Sarina to come closer. She says, “Look Sarina you have made Jack all better!” Sarina peers at Jack’s knee. A smile crosses her face. “See I told you I make him all better. Yay!!!”
What if there was no colour in the world? What would the sky look like, the deserts, the forests and the oceans. Would there be a sun? What would it look like?
Life would be dull, dreary and depressing. Nothing would grow. No forests, no flora or fauna to speak of. Life as we know it wouldn’t exist without the magic of colour. It would affect us as human beings. We would be dull and lifeless beings. We would be like sheep. Nothing to differentiate between one another.
Colour brings so much richness and variety to our world. Colour is all around us. We don’t just respond to colour visually. We respond on an emotional level. Our moods are affected by colour in both positive and negative ways.
Life without colour; monotonous. Life with colour; wonderment and rapture at all we can see, hear, feel and touch.
“Bugger the steps,” growled the old man as he paused halfway to the entrance of the stately building. “Never had to go through all this to do my banking back home.”
Leaning on his sturdy mahogany walking stick, George Andrews did not linger on the fleeting discomfort and his sombre thoughts returned to the morning’s events at his daughter’s house.
“Robbie! get your arse outa that bed,” Rebecca shrieked. The old man had winced as he poked amongst the tomato bushes that struggled for survival along the back fence. The hostile retort of her husband Don echoed across the yard.
“He wouldn’t be so bloody tired if you hadna’ let him watch T.V. all night.”
“Why don’t you shut up. You know it was the last episode of the series,” Rebecca retaliated. Don’s silence reflected the family’s dull acceptance of the undercurrent of conflict that always seemed to be present.
Since the old man’s mild stroke, his daughter and her husband had insisted that he should live with them for a while so that they could help with his recuperation. The prospect of living alone in his own large but empty home had prompted him to accept the offer.
His wife Marjorie’s death two years ago had produced periods of extreme loneliness for him, so the opportunity to occupy the sleep out and live for a while with his immediate family had been accepted. But instead of being the comforting experience he had anticipated, his stay was beginning to raise questions in his mind as to what life within the modern family really had to offer.
On reaching the top of the steps at the bank, he paused to catch his breath.
“They won’t even let us open our own doors these days,” George reflected as he negotiated the large electronic door. Reluctantly joining one of the lines of customers waiting to do their banking business, he propped himself on the stick and mulled over his predicament.
He couldn’t reconcile the daughter he was seeing now with the one he had proudly walked down the aisle those few years ago. Rebecca had been the apple of his eye; fit and healthy, well spoken, considerate of others and optimistic about the future and what it promised. Although he was loathe to brag, he had been extremely proud of her and silently considered that he and Marjorie had done a good job in raising their only child.
George’s gaze brushed across the docile forms that shuffled tentatively forward through the intimidating corridors of tasselled ropes and curt instructions printed on cardboard signs. Only the youth in the adjacent line momentarily held his interest. A nervous demeanour and dishevelled appearance prompted George to utter, “little bastard looks as though he’s going to rob the place.”
His thoughts soon however, returned to the family he had left in its usual state of turmoil that morning. He could not comprehend the life-style he was witnessing.
The family unit was continually fighting over its financial problems and yet both parents worked long hours at a variety of jobs.
“If only they would stop insisting on accumulating every new and expensive item known to Man,” George thought as he pictured the new Volvo, the massive flat screen, the plush leather lounge and the seldom used swimming pool.
The family’s incessant concern about its social life and standing was also a source of wonder and irritation to George. It seemed to him that the results in no way warranted the anxiety, arguments and expense that Don and Rebecca were prepared to endure.
They and their son Robert, appeared to be caught up in an ongoing competition between friends and neighbours to see which household could consistently maintain the most ostentatious display. This contest, it seemed to George, demanded the accumulation of grander possessions, the taking of absurdly expensive holidays and the interminable pursuit of social involvement and acceptance.
By now, George had achieved the halfway point of his mission to withdraw a few dollars from his account. He was not impatient for he had nothing much to do today and he fleetingly pictured the horticultural chaos along the back fence.
The youth had, he noted, only two customers between himself and the teller. But before George’s gaze moved on, a woman was pushed roughly aside and the boy began screaming and wildly waving a gun at the surrounding customers.
Stunned disbelief turned to horror when people suddenly realised they were enmeshed in an attempted bank robbery. Deep rooted anxieties erupted as ingrained images of violence and death began to assume a terrifying personal relevance.
Spittle flew from the boy’s face when he rushed a few metres and savagely pushed a woman in the chest sending her sprawling across the gleaming patterns on the marbled floor. He pointed his gun and her moan of terror immediately removed any lingering doubts in the room as to the precariousness of the situation. Fear became the robber’s accomplice as he graphically outlined his intentions towards anyone who interfered. Madly rolling eyes and twisted mouth signalled impending mayhem.
In an instant he changed direction, grabbed a young girl around the throat and with the gun forced roughly in her ear, dragged her to the counter. Ripping a plastic bag from his jacket and thrusting it under the window bars, the youth shrieked at the gaping teller.
“Fill it up you bitch or I’ll blow her away…I don’t give a f…..!”
George had not moved. For some reason he had been able to observe proceedings in a calm and detached manner, sheltered behind the shield of advanced years. Maybe he was in a contemplative mood today for he felt little anxiety, only a profound sense of disgust at such a violation.
“Surely one of these young fellas will do something about this idiot,” he mumbled under his breath. But as he searched the faces of the ten or so young men that were present, George saw only fear or a determination to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Nowhere in the bank office did he detect a sign of resistance or opposition to this abysmal act.
The hot flush around George’s temples and the acceleration in his heart rate told him that he was rapidly losing his detachment and was becoming increasingly emotional about the situation.
“A couple of blokes from the old C Company would fix this bastard,” he muttered. “Shhh,” softly pleaded the terrified lass cowering behind him.
The unfortunate hostage was by now reduced to a state of helpless terror and physical distress. The robber was having difficulty maintaining his grip as her knees buckled.
“Hurry up you bitch,” he screamed above the pathetic moans of his captive. As the teller thrust the bag back under the bars, George could see that the terrified girl had begun to urinate. As the pool spread around them, the youth suddenly realised what had happened.
” I’ll kill you for that you bitch,” he cursed flinging her to the floor. Each frame of a slow motion movie ticked over in the deathly silence that enveloped the room. He aimed his gun at the girl’s contorted face and George could feel a massive rage building.
Arrogantly confident of his total dominance, the youth suddenly decided to take his leave. Slowly waving the gun, he began to shuffle towards the front door, simultaneously pledging the demise of anyone who had the temerity to stand in his way.
The hollow feeling in George’s gut, the shortness of breath and the dizzy flushes in his head told him that if the opportunity presented itself, he was about to do something that would be, considering his age and condition, extremely stupid.
As in a scripted movie, the youth paused in his retreat and spun around to issue a final threat. “Stay where yous are or yous’ll get this,” he snarled, turning to run.
Stark images.. the mahogany stick raised upwards before smashing down across the bridge of a nose..blood squirting through the air as if pumped under high pressure..feet and legs still intent on escape towards the front door, upper torso in momentary suspension before recoiling and hurtling downwards .. notes and coins spewing in all directions and scattering across the marbled floor..silence as an old man recovers from his mighty swing. Shock and wonder as he resumes his attack, repeatedly striking the bloodied and writhing form..the eruption of chaos as three or four young men rush in to gleefully jump up and down on the robber’s remnants and wild encouragement for their endeavours from the onlookers.
George was exhausted and, feeling symptoms that could only be considered as worrisome, sought the refuge of a large leather lounge he could see near the bank’s entrance. Flopping down into its soft folds, he caught his breath and subsequently admitted to himself that maybe he had been rash and premature in his condemnation of Rebecca’s choice of large and expensive furniture. He then turned his attention to the pandemonium.
The robber was obscured by the large group of customers that milled around him, venting their anger by screaming their suggestions as to what his fate should be. Others stood back, drained and shaken while others still, rendered assistance to the ashen-faced who had flopped along the walls. Distant police sirens added to the cacophony that filled the room.
“I think I’ll do my banking tomorrow,” George muttered as he heaved himself up onto the stick and shuffled out the door.
The old man had spent most of the afternoon immersed in his mission of mercy with the struggling vegetable garden until he heard Robert arrive home from school on his new multi-geared mountain bike.
As usual, it was hurled down on the driveway as the boy made his headlong charge to the refrigerator to extract a feast which generally consisted of cake and ice-cream washed down with a can or two of Coca Cola.
“No wonder the kid’s so fat and pudgy,” thought George as Robert pushed past with barely an acknowledgment.
“How was school today mate?” he enquired determinedly as he followed Robert out of the kitchen.
“Shithouse as usual,” was the rude reply.
The stony silence that ensued told the old man that conversation with his grandfather was the last thing that the lad desired as he launched into one of the noisy computer games that seemed to occupy a large proportion of his waking hours.
George returned to the garden feeling strangely perplexed about the day’s events. The collage of incidents and attitudes he had witnessed depicted a hard and impersonal world which contained very few of his own standards; standards that he admitted were rather traditional and maybe belonging to the past, but still, standards that he imagined were basic to living a good life.
Life in a so called modern household was not life as he knew it. Life, as reflected in the microcosm of his daughter’s family, was a devotion to the frenetic scramble for material wealth and social standing. It seemed to be introspective and constantly under-scored by tension, always oblivious to people and issues on the outside that had no direct influence on their little orb. Life in this family, to use the vernacular, was a bitch!
George was preparing the vegetables for tea when his daughter and Don struggled through the door. They looked tense and washed out and it was obvious they had been arguing during the journey home. The old man’s attempt at pleasantries had little effect on the hostility that pervaded the kitchen.
Don collapsed into his chair with a beer and flicked on an Arnie video that he had been watching the night before and Rebecca attempted to extract some conversation from her son as she went through her mechanical procedures of preparing the evening meal.
In exasperation, she turned to her father. “How was your day Dad?”
“Well..you wouldn’t believe what happened today Rebecca..”
“Peter rang today,” interrupted Don. “Wanted to know if we were going to the Rotary Charity Ball on the fifteenth.”
“I don’t think we’ve received an invitation,” Rebecca replied hollowly.
George felt a tinge of embarrassment, knowing that the lack of an invitation would be a crushing social setback.
“The bastard knew that before he rang,” Don snarled. “You’d better see what you can do tomorrow.” Rebecca did not respond and hung her head at the prospect of such an embarrassing and difficult task.
George shook his head, disappointed at the resentment and gloom such an apparent rebuff had generated within the family.
Halfway through the meal, after Robert had scoffed his steak and picked through his vegetables and had returned to his computer games, Don rose to adjust the television.
“Damn..I’ve missed the news,” he said, gunning Arnie with the remote. Arnie had been providing the meal with a background of screams and grunts, heavy machine gun fire and explosive eruptions in the course of wiping out yet another city block and its occupants. However, despite his undefeated status so far that evening, he was no match for the invisible death ray of the television remote control.
George froze as he stared at the screen and heard the announcer rounding off the report from outside the heavy electronic doors.
“…could not identify the elderly gentleman with the walking stick who disappeared after heroically foiling the youth’s violent attempt to rob the bank. Police and bank officials hope that he will come forward so that his gallant action can be acknowledged by the many grateful customers that were in the bank at the time of this vicious armed attack.”
As the news item wound down with scenes at the bank and some inane interviews, Don was launching forth with his assessment of the snippet.
“Silly old bastard…some people just go looking for trouble.”
“Some young people need help, don’t they,” Rebecca sighed as she rose to clear some dishes.
“Arnie would have blown him away!” Robert contributed as he re-joined the table for dessert.
George excused himself and after pushing away from the table, headed for the porch.
“I think I’ll go and have a look at the stars for a while,” he said.
“What’s on tomorrow Dad?” Rebecca attempted cheerfully as she sensed the old man’s change in mood.
“I think I’ll start getting ready to go home Rebecca,” he replied. “Might start looking around at some retirement villages for my old age.”
As he closed the door, he shook his head as he heard Don’s cold comment.
“I couldn’t stand being locked up with all those old farts, all sitting around waiting to die.”
“You’re all half dead now only you don’t know it,” George mumbled as he dropped his legs over the veranda’s edge.
The click of the door made him turn and he detected an enquiring tone in his daughter’s voice when she said,
“Dad…didn’t you go to the bank today?”
They flew around the branches and in between the leaves
Searching for a sheltered place protected from the breeze.
They spied the beam they knew quite well and landed there to rest
“Nee deep” chirped Pee. “My dear,” he said. “It’s here we’ll build our nest.”
Her little feet she planted down and looked Pee in the eye
“This’ll not do. I can’t build here. I cannot see the sky.”
“There is a roof and see how strong.” He danced along the beam.
Reluctantly she nodded. “I know we are a team.”
They began to look for mud. Each clump it seemed like gold
But sadly dry, hot days prolonged; the nesting put on hold.
They saw the pond and in it, the slimy oozy moss
They gathered it and piled it high. The result- it was DEAD LOSS.
And then at last the drops began and rained throughout the night
Next day the ground was all awash much to the birds’ delight.
They worked beside each other as they toiled all through the day
They gathered mud and layered it with grass and sticky clay.
Alas! Some efforts were in vain. The mud fell to the ground
But finally they looked with pride. Their nest was soft and sound.
Pee looked at Wee and gave a wink. “I’ve done what I must do.
Hop in, my love, it’s your turn now to lay an egg or two.”
Wee hopped inside and fluffed around and thought, “What’s this about?”
She sighed and wondered what to do, then a tiny egg popped out.
“Nee deep, nee deep,” she called to Pee. “Fly quickly. Look! So new.”
“How clever Wee,” chirped happy Pee. “Try again, love. Make it two.”
And so began their parenting. They took it turn about.
They’d warm the eggs then have a break. They fluttered in and out.
They watched the sun rise in the east and then they saw it set
Their role was now important – little eggs they’d not forget.
A storm rolled in with winds so strong and little bits of hail
Pee sat down low and stretched his wings. Dry eggs. He wouldn’t fail.
Then early in the morning, a dark shadow hovered near
Poor little Wee she glanced around. Her worry turned to fear.
She left the nest in such a fright and trembled in a tree
One egg was gone. The other smashed. The culprit! It was free.
For Pee and Wee this was the end. There was nothing left to do
An empty nest that held such hope was all that’s left to view.
“If only we could stay one more day”, Marcy said to her husband, Tom. He was laying back on the chaise lounge, book on his chest, eyes closed, totally relaxed. It was good to see him do nothing. He worked so hard, too hard.
He looked at her with a smile that made his eyes sparkle,”Let’s just enjoy the time we have left.”
Later that night as they were sitting in their favorite restaurant, both of them watching the waves crashing on the rocks below, Marcy thought about the first time they came here, so many years ago. She smiled, as she thought of their first honeymoon.
“Do you remember…,” she started.
Tom gazed at her tenderly. “The first time we came here?” He grinned and said, “Of course, I do! It was our second night together. We had just gotten married, remember?
As her mind went back to that day, Marcy remembered all of the preparations she went through just hours before walking down the aisle. Her shaky hands trying to put her long, dark hair up with tiny white roses intertwined in it. She remembered how Loretta, her maid of honor, laughed at her and took over. She remembered feeling like she was the only woman in the world, and Tom was the only man.
Quietly, Tom and Marcy shared their memories once more. The day that Alexis was born; her graduation; her wedding; and finally, the birth of their little grandson.
They had a lifetime of memories in twenty-five years; and were looking forward to the years ahead. There are no, ‘if only’s’ in life. There is only the future.