What makes a writer?
Narcissism. Insecurity. Constant need for attention and acceptance. Lack of money. Passion. Skill.
I started a blog for selfish reasons. I wanted to have fame and recognition. Maybe if I like and share this and push my "skills" onto my friends and family I may get that. Likely that is not so but it really is worth a try.
I suppose I should say my heart, soul and life entwine with words. From birth I have been a story and until death I shall be one as well. These are my words and each day shall a new one arise.
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed" Ernest Hemingway
15
November 2013
The
Caterpillar
There once was a curious, green caterpillar who decided to venture
out into the snow. As each little leg, with boots on tight, marched
into the pretty white fluff, a chill went through his soul.
“Oh my! It is so cold!” cried the caterpillar as he climbed back
to his home in the tree. He began wishing for the day he could play
with his friends, the bees, again and not feel the chill of winter's
frost. Caterpillar loved the bees. They were fun and zippy and could
fly all day in the expansive blue sky. The little caterpillar, with a
black cape draped over his back, daydreamed about flying with the
bees. He and his buzzing friends would fly with all the bugs and
prance on all the beautiful flowers. He loved his imaginary
adventures and couldn't wait to tell his friends.
Caterpillar began to feel chillier and even a bit sleepy so he
pulled his cape closer to him and got in his little bed for a great
slumber. He slept and slept, dreaming of soaring through the stars
and the clouds, not knowing he was growing and changing. One warm
spring day, caterpillar awoke and wiggled his way out his once cozy
bed. It had become so small during his sleep and his little black
cape had fallen off to the bottom of the tree. He stretched and
yawned and waited for the bees he knew were soon to come.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Went the
bees with their quick moving wings. They were excited to see their
good friend, the caterpillar, again and tell him of all the honey
they had made.
“Caterpillar! You have grown!” exclaimed one bee.
“Why look at those wings!” said another.
Confused, caterpillar shook himself about until he was fully awake
and felt the new wings he had sprouted in his sleep. He jumped and
danced, so happy he could play in the sky with the bees.
“How glorious! How magnificent!” cried the bees. “Come fly with
us caterpillar!”
Caterpillar jumped from the tree and fluttered his new wings. His
dream come true, caterpillar played all the days with his buzzing
friends and had adventures each new day. He found new lands and made
many new friends, happily leaving behind his days of crawling through
the snow.
16 November 2013
Winds of Days
Wisp... wisp... wisp
Over the winds, over the days.
Wisp... wisp...wisp..
Over the hallows, over the years.
Wisp... wisp...wisp...
Here comes the wind, jolly and
free, looking for solace as she may be.
Wisp... wisp... wisp..
Here comes solace, freedom and peace..
Wisp... wisp... wisp...
Sacred, lone, cheek by jowl, jointly by thee.
Wisp... wisp... wisp..
Here she comes, scared
as thee. Forever flown to peace by me. Come one, come all by freedoms
plea. To hearts avail.
Wisp... wisp.. wisp...
Thy wind shall be.
Wisp... wisp...wisp..
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