Crazy wisdom, necessary wisdom, ignored wisdom, the kind of wisdom that seeps out of her heart and onto the page, a wisdom that sleeps inside her and everyone else ignoring their own wisdom in favor of the pseudo-wisdom slinking through the ethers, it’s a mind grab knotting the stomach while she stares at the teacup, amazed at the sound of the rain.
Setup: same scene as last week. This is just before Hank capsizes, he sees a Great Blue Heron fishing on the shore. She singles him out. Her gold eye with its black center pins him.
Fierce stare, fierce beak, fierce feathers, fierce wild bird twisting into a soup ladle and mocking the fierce strangeness of fierce blue hag, what could be more fierce she’s the opposite of Hank this fearful intruder with choppy heartbeat, he wrenches from her gaze and aches with awe.
Obscene desire, obscene longing, obscene dreams, the heat flushing her cheeks as she observes the young woman—undeniably obscene how can it not be this raw raging hunger for her deep in her own bones her face a life map, fills her glass again, seeking sanity in silence.
Odd season, odd sayings, odd house, odd dissonances hanging over and colliding with odd ideas of odd Hilda Miazga who looks like an odd, tent-shaped apparition, what’s even odder is she is more robust than Celeste with a surreptitious smile, she wishes for headphones, washes her hands and shakes them dry.
A window blind is drawn, blind white light, blind alley bright, by blight, my eyes blind to see blind eyed. A man. A blind man’s white eyes probe a black trash bag with red tipped cane to hear glass bottle clang. My eyes watch down the alley way. He kicks his worn shoes below his tattered trousers, finds hi precious prize.
A loud roar, a deep roar, a lion’s roar, a clamorous roar passing by frantically waving trees, drawing attention to his angry roar. What could be more disturbing than a drunken roar, a roar from the man she called husband, from the man she called John, from the man she was running from?
Wow. I love the repeated 'wrong', and the emotions conveyed by the structure of this. I can't bring myself to be comfortable about that comma after 'chin', though. I just don't know if I like it. I want it to be a full stop. Hmm. Not sure. Nevertheless, I did the same with mine.
Here's my sentence (I couldn't come up with an adjective to describe the narrator, and I cheated a bit, turning my repeated adjective 'soft' once into an adverb and then a noun):
Soft sky, soft breeze, soft grass underfoot, soft features on the ancient faces of sculptures watching from softly shadowed recesses punctuating the brickwork of this edifice, its soft curves, how can I silence such softness that enfolds me right now when I need hard edges, hard resolve, I approach the building and enter, all brittle, ready to break.
Creepy night, creepy trail, creepy oak tree, creepy noise echoing past the rigid rocks seeking out creepy thoughts of a murderer, what could more creepy than a murderer holding an axe like me with my delicate fingers, I turn on my flashlight, laugh with my friend and text mom.
Crazy wisdom, necessary wisdom, ignored wisdom, the kind of wisdom that seeps out of her heart and onto the page, a wisdom that sleeps inside her and everyone else ignoring their own wisdom in favor of the pseudo-wisdom slinking through the ethers, it’s a mind grab knotting the stomach while she stares at the teacup, amazed at the sound of the rain.
Setup: same scene as last week. This is just before Hank capsizes, he sees a Great Blue Heron fishing on the shore. She singles him out. Her gold eye with its black center pins him.
Fierce stare, fierce beak, fierce feathers, fierce wild bird twisting into a soup ladle and mocking the fierce strangeness of fierce blue hag, what could be more fierce she’s the opposite of Hank this fearful intruder with choppy heartbeat, he wrenches from her gaze and aches with awe.
This is my first time here. I just tried the exercise and it was so fun. Thanks so much! Loved this.
I appreciate your input and encouragement.
Book ordered!
Obscene desire, obscene longing, obscene dreams, the heat flushing her cheeks as she observes the young woman—undeniably obscene how can it not be this raw raging hunger for her deep in her own bones her face a life map, fills her glass again, seeking sanity in silence.
Odd season, odd sayings, odd house, odd dissonances hanging over and colliding with odd ideas of odd Hilda Miazga who looks like an odd, tent-shaped apparition, what’s even odder is she is more robust than Celeste with a surreptitious smile, she wishes for headphones, washes her hands and shakes them dry.
It's not quite there ....
A window blind is drawn, blind white light, blind alley bright, by blight, my eyes blind to see blind eyed. A man. A blind man’s white eyes probe a black trash bag with red tipped cane to hear glass bottle clang. My eyes watch down the alley way. He kicks his worn shoes below his tattered trousers, finds hi precious prize.
A loud roar, a deep roar, a lion’s roar, a clamorous roar passing by frantically waving trees, drawing attention to his angry roar. What could be more disturbing than a drunken roar, a roar from the man she called husband, from the man she called John, from the man she was running from?
Wow. I love the repeated 'wrong', and the emotions conveyed by the structure of this. I can't bring myself to be comfortable about that comma after 'chin', though. I just don't know if I like it. I want it to be a full stop. Hmm. Not sure. Nevertheless, I did the same with mine.
Here's my sentence (I couldn't come up with an adjective to describe the narrator, and I cheated a bit, turning my repeated adjective 'soft' once into an adverb and then a noun):
Soft sky, soft breeze, soft grass underfoot, soft features on the ancient faces of sculptures watching from softly shadowed recesses punctuating the brickwork of this edifice, its soft curves, how can I silence such softness that enfolds me right now when I need hard edges, hard resolve, I approach the building and enter, all brittle, ready to break.
Creepy night, creepy trail, creepy oak tree, creepy noise echoing past the rigid rocks seeking out creepy thoughts of a murderer, what could more creepy than a murderer holding an axe like me with my delicate fingers, I turn on my flashlight, laugh with my friend and text mom.