Like a lion, slinking away from the crash and slash of battle in an unstated surrender of power and purpose, retreating from the savannah like playground, enduring the roars of a pride rallying around a new king, retreating under the thunder of grumbles and growls, was my baby sister's former bully.
Wonderful! The very long noun phrase that serves as the subject delays the verb, "was," creating so much build and tension. The image of a lion slinking away is so vivid. There's also tension in that we don't know until the very end what the lion refers to, i.e., the "target"-- my baby sister's former bully. The balance creates a beautiful rhythm, and so does the assonance and alliteration. The simile extends all the way through. So good!
I like imagining you, the unseen observer of this pride of unpleasants, plotting to avenge your baby sister. Lions have no natural predators, so you must be another lion - no bigger, perhaps, but a real street fighter.
I like the hard sounds that keep piling on: "power and purpose", "playground, enduring the roars of a pride", and "thunder of grumbles and growls. The sounds echo the lion's domain.
Shawn, you've used the inversion of the simile, 'My baby sister's former bully was like a lion' to immense power and the sensory imagery nails it all down. Bravo!
Only like a fox, drawn by some presence or absence in the night impossible to hold or name, one haunted the voice you could still almost hear, ranged the distances of memory over the moments of a single life alone, and then haunted the memories with their warmth and their absence; the memories, which were her.
Beautiful! Such a lovely structure, as the mind travels over the memories of her. We get to travel with that mind before we know what is being compared to the fox. The balance throughout renders such a good rhythm and serves as a container for alliteration, "memory over moments," and antithesis, "their warmth and their absence." We keep coming back to memory" and "memories," and with the repetition, it feels like the past is most alive.
No more than like an untamed mustang, driven by muscle memory or hormone elusive to understanding, one tore up the ground of the corral, flew over the vast range, and then leaned against the fence; which was marriage.
So good! I love the delay here, and the simile is so unexpected. I kept trying to guess: what is the mustang, and when I found out--ah, yes, surprising and inevitable. You have the contrast of flying over the vast range and then the stasis of leaning against the fence, and the marriage contains it all.
The arc of your three verbs—tore, flew, leaned—tells the whole truth. And marriage at the end, plain and specific, landed like a breath released. Wonderful, Lori!
Today like the keel, impelled by some danger or desire underwater invisible to reason or reckoning, I traveled the warm-then-cold currents, counterbalanced sweet memories of my past against ages of grief unchallenged, and then traveled back to my three with their wounds and their wondering; the balance, which was my sanity.
Beautiful! "Impelled by some danger or desire underwater invisible to reason or reckoning" — such a gorgeous way of describing intuition: that sense that something is wrong, that someone needs something, that some kid is in danger. The "warm-then-cold currents" suggest traveling great distances in a variety of situations. The balance and alliteration of "their wounds and their wondering" is lovely.
I very much like the notion of a mother as the keel of the family boat. Let the father handle the flashy rudder, it's the keel keeps the family on course.
There are some phrases that cause me to pause to savor how perfectly they work - invisible to reason or reckoning was one, then - with their wounds and wondering. Impressive.
Like a lone wolf patrolling the periphery of it’s pack, she struggled to find an entry point into the order of human species she had come to regard as depraved and cruel, feeling akin to a fish skinned alive by raw emotions that made the air hurt, with malintent lurking between every crevice, rock formation, underbrush and deep dark bodies of water into which she had tread to the point of exhaustion; then she sunk her bottomless reservoir of compassion into the world of homeless panting canines reveling in their barks, tail wags, licks and lust, so loving, nonjudgmental and grateful to be near her despite their abysmal treatment at the hands of her own kind.
So powerful! The image of the "lone wolf" on the periphery is wonderful, and we learn that the pack is the human species. The four-or-more list makes entry feel impossible: "every crevice, rock formation, underbrush, and dark bodies of water..."After the semicolon, she finds refuge, sinking into "her bottomless reservoir of compassion" and turning to the dogs. The lone wolf finds the right companions. Beautiful!
Thank you, Nina. Nothing is more heart -wrenching than watching authentic footage of the desperate, frantic movements of a grief-stricken wolf, the identified target for expulsion by their pack circling the wagons to oust one of their own, and the wolf ultimately giving up, taking flight to watch his former pack in the distance howling on a hill.
"... fish skinned alive by raw emotions that made the air hurt." i love this line. It goes very well with the rest of the sentence, " barks, tail wags, licks and lust." really well done.
Thank you so much, Rosalind. The answer to your question, I haven't a clue what we would do absent our dogs. Dogs are perfect and life without them is an agony I cannot bear to contemplate.
Very intense and powerful imagery, using the lone wolf simile to shine a light on the human species, depraved and cruel, and love the last phrases -homeless panting, alliteration on licks and lust…so loving… despite abysmal treatment. Great stuff!
Only like the faithful, intent on their exhortations and exaltations amid the smoky smell of incense, a connection with the deity up on high, inflicting and imposing rules for a miracle with prayers mumbled dutifully, a connection that fixes their faith but doesn’t stop their minds from thinking about supper or sex; mere mortals, after all.
With most of the sentence devoted to the attempt to connect with the "deity up on high," there's an implied sense that it takes a lot of work to make that connection. It's almost like the humans build up an appetite after that arduous labor, so they turn to "thinking about supper or sex." The ending is great.
The moment supper or sex broke through all that incense and exaltation—that's Woolf's humanity exactly. Mere mortals, after all. Well done for going there, Rosalind.
Rosalind, I found this difficult, too, but finally clutched at courage and got ready to post my fumblings, only to see yours first! Just brilliant, so well done!
Perfectly worded description of those who require external controls that religion provides with incense, rules and abstractions to temper their own self loathing for being human when all is said and done
Like a vampire, he sought out the most vivacious and voluble guests at the huge family reunion, those whose energy he could drain as if it were blood, sending them fleeing to the generous bar, shuddering that they could be even distantly related to such a bad-breathed bore, quickly draining a double vodka on the rocks to fortify their conviction that they had never been, nor would ever be, the kind of person others fled from at a party.
So good! The image of a vampire is perfect and extreme. I love the alliteration and balance with "vivacious and voluble" guests. The comparison continues with "drain as if it were blood." The vampire is turned in their minds into a "bad-breathed bore," the opposite of what they want to be. Again, an extreme at the end with "never been, nor would ever be."
This sentence is hilarious, clever. It would not be a party or a family gathering without their presence. Fearing a familial connection, even on a granular level, prompting their flight from this "bad breathed bore" seeking refuge in a double vodka, fomenting their disinhibition of thought regarding how others view them is a scream. So clever.
Also the vodka immediately bolsters the illusion that they are far wittier than they are. So they go right back in the crowd to prove it, and probably do just the opposite. But who cares, it's an open bar, and everyone is quite sure they are being terrifically funny.
Your above comment is so relatable during my childhood, as I stood among coteries of boring, inebriated adults knocking back martinis and gin & tonics, attempting to sustain a coherent discourse beyond, "Great party," leaving me perplexed as to why people of any age would think they were having a rip roaring time just because they had a drink in their hand. Of course, these gatherings invariably ended after a guest or 2 would urinate in the living room fireplace or accidentally knock over and shatter a priceless vase. Go figure.
My parents didn't entertain often, if you don't count individual dinner guests. But the one big party they threw as part of "The Gourmet Club" in our Washington D.C. enclave, I perched at the top of the stairs, the sounds of the party wafting up, increasing in volume along with consumption of alcohol. Unable to witness the kind of behavior you mentioned, I was instead enraptured, so anxious to be old enough to be able to participate. And indeed, I was a great party-goer in my 20s in NY. Although I did knock over a piece of Dresden china once the host had stupidly not put away in a small, packed studio. I still feel bad about that.
A valuable piece of Dresden china displayed in a small studio stuffed with hard partying humans is crying out for a knock over as is a ham sandwich left on a coffee table beckons a hungry dog. Please. Release your guilt now.
Yes, don't we all? (unfortunately) The worst is when you have to work with one of them - the only relief being that invariably, everybody feels the same way, and you bond over it.
In college there was a guy who showed up at every party anyone gave. He was obnoxious and no one knew how he found out about the party; he had a way of emptying a room, nicely done.
Like an old truck, destined to drive hard and long on country roads that twist and deceive, he smoldered in the ditch, chewed tobacco and bit his nails, smoldered in the ditch of desire and deception; the ditch, his undying lust for the neighbor’s wife.
So good! "Smoldered" is the perfect word to repeat, helping to set up "the ditch of desire and deception; the ditch, his undying lust for the neighbor's wife." The simile of "like an old truck" gives me a sense of his personality and age. You personify the roads with "twist and deceive," which also helps set up the ending.
As if the election for a union was won before the vote begins, Mac’s mantra to counter the bosses coming anti-union campaign of well-placed firings, random changes in pay, cancelled break times, denied time off, accusations of theft and nefarious misconduct, the key was ignoring the legal requirement of filing for an election with at least thirty percent of possible members signing authorization cards, he rallied the members to embrace his philosophy of having at least eighty percent of employees sign cards before the union election, so that the company’s lawyers would not know the extent of the inner workings of the organizing committee’s plan to win the election before the vote; Mac would drill holes in the Turtle’s hard shell and the union would walk away with their prize: a company that can’t do whatever it wants because the workers won’t let them.
I love the long list of the bosses' anti-union campaign! It goes on and on; they use everything they've got to fight the unionization of the workers, but Mac knows this. He's prepared!
Mac rallying his members before the vote even begins—that opening has real force. And your final line lands exactly right. The subject matter alone took courage to bring here. Nice!
Unions are a messy business where nothing is what it appears to be or should be. This compelling narrative walks us through it in a way that implies that neither side really prevails, that they will end up sacrificing their respective prizes in service of causing mutual irreparable harm. Am I off base?
Sadly Diane you are off base. The notion that the union through collective bargaining is "causing mutual irreparable harm" leaves me flat since this is not what happens.
IN the story, like real life, the reason the organizing happens is the shitty way they are being treated. It's usually a fairly democratic process.
Sounds like you've had a shitty experience or heard "stories" about the evils of unions.
Like a sudden, unexpected voltage; crackling in a quiet room and charging the air, it promised a current that could both shock and illuminate. He walked into my life, a force like a match dropped in dry brush; he drew me in, he ignited sparks, and he drew me in deeper with a thrill of possibility; we had met to test the waters, but we ended up playing with fire.
So good! "Crackling" is such a good word, and follow it with "charging," you have the ring of the --ings for music and balance. More balance with "shock and illuminate." What an interesting pairing, because "shock" can bring harm and also delight. The comparison of the man to a "match dropped in dry brush" is vivid and powerful. I love the image arc from "ignited sparks" to "playing with fire."
All the animals, stuck within the confines and explicitly ignoring the onlookers, so bored and complacent, fondling their belly buttons, their members, imprisoned day and night, night and day; the world, the zoo in which we live.
Wow! The ending! I love the swivel of "day and night, night and day." But then comes the metaphor: the world is a zoo, and the animals are us, "stuck within the confines." Such a smart sentence and so compressed.
Just as the octopus, a chameleon in constant propulsion, hiding, rappelling in and over a prairie of Posidonia, the beauty of marine life is revealed in a multitude of changing forms, fish darting, crabs digging, stirring up the deep; the Posidonia waving like a vast field of green pompoms, cheering on the inhabitants of the Mediterranean sea.
Beautiful! So many compelling images and everything is moving. You have the string of --ings with "changing/darting/digging/stirring/waving/cheering," which brings so much energy to this sentence! The simile at the end compares the "green pompoms," which are associated with cheerleaders, to cheerleader, "cheering on the inhabitants of the Mediterranean sea."
Like a lion, slinking away from the crash and slash of battle in an unstated surrender of power and purpose, retreating from the savannah like playground, enduring the roars of a pride rallying around a new king, retreating under the thunder of grumbles and growls, was my baby sister's former bully.
Wonderful! The very long noun phrase that serves as the subject delays the verb, "was," creating so much build and tension. The image of a lion slinking away is so vivid. There's also tension in that we don't know until the very end what the lion refers to, i.e., the "target"-- my baby sister's former bully. The balance creates a beautiful rhythm, and so does the assonance and alliteration. The simile extends all the way through. So good!
I like imagining you, the unseen observer of this pride of unpleasants, plotting to avenge your baby sister. Lions have no natural predators, so you must be another lion - no bigger, perhaps, but a real street fighter.
I like the hard sounds that keep piling on: "power and purpose", "playground, enduring the roars of a pride", and "thunder of grumbles and growls. The sounds echo the lion's domain.
Shawn, you've used the inversion of the simile, 'My baby sister's former bully was like a lion' to immense power and the sensory imagery nails it all down. Bravo!
oh boy, this is strong stuff, and that word bully brings it all home. So good.
Love the ending, Shawn
I love the finish on the bully! "Crash and slash" is a favorite too. Nice work.
Only like a fox, drawn by some presence or absence in the night impossible to hold or name, one haunted the voice you could still almost hear, ranged the distances of memory over the moments of a single life alone, and then haunted the memories with their warmth and their absence; the memories, which were her.
Beautiful! Such a lovely structure, as the mind travels over the memories of her. We get to travel with that mind before we know what is being compared to the fox. The balance throughout renders such a good rhythm and serves as a container for alliteration, "memory over moments," and antithesis, "their warmth and their absence." We keep coming back to memory" and "memories," and with the repetition, it feels like the past is most alive.
Thank you, Nina.
The paradox that the presence or absence of the same thing might induce the same effect.
I love the phrase "impossible to hold or name". And the ending her, great.
That's my favorite bit, too, so evocative.
Thank you, Lori
this has a lovely sense of the large and the small qualities of life.
Thank you, Norm
this is great Janine, all those memories and voices
Thank you, Rosalind. There are many
No more than like an untamed mustang, driven by muscle memory or hormone elusive to understanding, one tore up the ground of the corral, flew over the vast range, and then leaned against the fence; which was marriage.
So good! I love the delay here, and the simile is so unexpected. I kept trying to guess: what is the mustang, and when I found out--ah, yes, surprising and inevitable. You have the contrast of flying over the vast range and then the stasis of leaning against the fence, and the marriage contains it all.
The arc of your three verbs—tore, flew, leaned—tells the whole truth. And marriage at the end, plain and specific, landed like a breath released. Wonderful, Lori!
Thanks, Janine.
Wonderful images. "flew over the vast range, and then leaned against the fence; which was marriage"--priceless, as was the placement of the semicolon
Thanks, Diane.
'marriage' came as a complete surprise. Love it!
"driven by muscle memory or hormone elusive to understanding" is an awesome way to say instinctual. Great imagery throughout.
Today like the keel, impelled by some danger or desire underwater invisible to reason or reckoning, I traveled the warm-then-cold currents, counterbalanced sweet memories of my past against ages of grief unchallenged, and then traveled back to my three with their wounds and their wondering; the balance, which was my sanity.
Beautiful! "Impelled by some danger or desire underwater invisible to reason or reckoning" — such a gorgeous way of describing intuition: that sense that something is wrong, that someone needs something, that some kid is in danger. The "warm-then-cold currents" suggest traveling great distances in a variety of situations. The balance and alliteration of "their wounds and their wondering" is lovely.
Thank you, Nina!
I very much like the notion of a mother as the keel of the family boat. Let the father handle the flashy rudder, it's the keel keeps the family on course.
What a lovely thought! Thank you, Mark!
Beautiful, Sarah. Ebbs and flows of life.
I always appreciate your comments, Janine. Thanks!
Really beautiful journey this sentence takes us on, and the ultimate perspective and sense of purpose that nursing other's wounds gives us
Thank you, Diane.
Great sentence. It holds together all the way through.
Thank you so much, Norm. That was a huge part of the challenge, for me.
Fabulous, Sarah, so good underwater first and then back to your "three" firmly on ground.
Thank you, Rosalind. I hadn't realized that aspect of it!
There are some phrases that cause me to pause to savor how perfectly they work - invisible to reason or reckoning was one, then - with their wounds and wondering. Impressive.
Gosh, Lori, thank you so much. This affirmation will stay with me for a while.
Like a lone wolf patrolling the periphery of it’s pack, she struggled to find an entry point into the order of human species she had come to regard as depraved and cruel, feeling akin to a fish skinned alive by raw emotions that made the air hurt, with malintent lurking between every crevice, rock formation, underbrush and deep dark bodies of water into which she had tread to the point of exhaustion; then she sunk her bottomless reservoir of compassion into the world of homeless panting canines reveling in their barks, tail wags, licks and lust, so loving, nonjudgmental and grateful to be near her despite their abysmal treatment at the hands of her own kind.
So powerful! The image of the "lone wolf" on the periphery is wonderful, and we learn that the pack is the human species. The four-or-more list makes entry feel impossible: "every crevice, rock formation, underbrush, and dark bodies of water..."After the semicolon, she finds refuge, sinking into "her bottomless reservoir of compassion" and turning to the dogs. The lone wolf finds the right companions. Beautiful!
Thank you, Nina. Nothing is more heart -wrenching than watching authentic footage of the desperate, frantic movements of a grief-stricken wolf, the identified target for expulsion by their pack circling the wagons to oust one of their own, and the wolf ultimately giving up, taking flight to watch his former pack in the distance howling on a hill.
"... fish skinned alive by raw emotions that made the air hurt." i love this line. It goes very well with the rest of the sentence, " barks, tail wags, licks and lust." really well done.
Thank you Norm. Always appreciate your comments.
The lone wolf and the panting canines—that contrast carries a whole life in it. Bravo, Diane!
what would we do without our dogs! wonderful
Thank you so much, Rosalind. The answer to your question, I haven't a clue what we would do absent our dogs. Dogs are perfect and life without them is an agony I cannot bear to contemplate.
Amen and Amen.
Very intense and powerful imagery, using the lone wolf simile to shine a light on the human species, depraved and cruel, and love the last phrases -homeless panting, alliteration on licks and lust…so loving… despite abysmal treatment. Great stuff!
this was hard... Woolf is so brilliant...
Only like the faithful, intent on their exhortations and exaltations amid the smoky smell of incense, a connection with the deity up on high, inflicting and imposing rules for a miracle with prayers mumbled dutifully, a connection that fixes their faith but doesn’t stop their minds from thinking about supper or sex; mere mortals, after all.
With most of the sentence devoted to the attempt to connect with the "deity up on high," there's an implied sense that it takes a lot of work to make that connection. It's almost like the humans build up an appetite after that arduous labor, so they turn to "thinking about supper or sex." The ending is great.
Yes, agree with Nina. Wonderful ending, ‘mere mortals, after all.’
thank you Nina, I really appreciate everything you do and all your comments.
It was hard, but you certainly rose to the occasion.
thank you Mark, you're so kind.
I enjoyed the light touch of humor: supper or sex, mere mortals, after all
good, I'm glad you liked it !
The moment supper or sex broke through all that incense and exaltation—that's Woolf's humanity exactly. Mere mortals, after all. Well done for going there, Rosalind.
thanks Janine, such an interesting exercise.
I like the set up for the last line stopping the thinking of supper and sex.
Thank you Norm!
Rosalind, I found this difficult, too, but finally clutched at courage and got ready to post my fumblings, only to see yours first! Just brilliant, so well done!
Thank you Sarah, and yes, it was hard!
Perfectly worded description of those who require external controls that religion provides with incense, rules and abstractions to temper their own self loathing for being human when all is said and done
thank you so much Diane, I'm glad you agreed with my sentiment
Like a vampire, he sought out the most vivacious and voluble guests at the huge family reunion, those whose energy he could drain as if it were blood, sending them fleeing to the generous bar, shuddering that they could be even distantly related to such a bad-breathed bore, quickly draining a double vodka on the rocks to fortify their conviction that they had never been, nor would ever be, the kind of person others fled from at a party.
So good! The image of a vampire is perfect and extreme. I love the alliteration and balance with "vivacious and voluble" guests. The comparison continues with "drain as if it were blood." The vampire is turned in their minds into a "bad-breathed bore," the opposite of what they want to be. Again, an extreme at the end with "never been, nor would ever be."
The true horror about these energy vampires is they mostly seem to be blissfully unaware of how inept their social skills are.
My cross to bear in life has been that people like them think that because I make them laugh, I like them.
This sentence is hilarious, clever. It would not be a party or a family gathering without their presence. Fearing a familial connection, even on a granular level, prompting their flight from this "bad breathed bore" seeking refuge in a double vodka, fomenting their disinhibition of thought regarding how others view them is a scream. So clever.
Also the vodka immediately bolsters the illusion that they are far wittier than they are. So they go right back in the crowd to prove it, and probably do just the opposite. But who cares, it's an open bar, and everyone is quite sure they are being terrifically funny.
Your above comment is so relatable during my childhood, as I stood among coteries of boring, inebriated adults knocking back martinis and gin & tonics, attempting to sustain a coherent discourse beyond, "Great party," leaving me perplexed as to why people of any age would think they were having a rip roaring time just because they had a drink in their hand. Of course, these gatherings invariably ended after a guest or 2 would urinate in the living room fireplace or accidentally knock over and shatter a priceless vase. Go figure.
My parents didn't entertain often, if you don't count individual dinner guests. But the one big party they threw as part of "The Gourmet Club" in our Washington D.C. enclave, I perched at the top of the stairs, the sounds of the party wafting up, increasing in volume along with consumption of alcohol. Unable to witness the kind of behavior you mentioned, I was instead enraptured, so anxious to be old enough to be able to participate. And indeed, I was a great party-goer in my 20s in NY. Although I did knock over a piece of Dresden china once the host had stupidly not put away in a small, packed studio. I still feel bad about that.
A valuable piece of Dresden china displayed in a small studio stuffed with hard partying humans is crying out for a knock over as is a ham sandwich left on a coffee table beckons a hungry dog. Please. Release your guilt now.
Oh, because of that truth I only feel bad about it about once ever 15 years or so for about 12 seconds. I think t can live with that.
Voluble! A bad-breathed bore! I'm giggling because I know those people!
Yes, don't we all? (unfortunately) The worst is when you have to work with one of them - the only relief being that invariably, everybody feels the same way, and you bond over it.
That's a great imagery for a social vampire we all know and flee from!
Love this vampire image, and his vividly wicked observations of the guests and the bad-breathed bore (nice alliteration too)!
In college there was a guy who showed up at every party anyone gave. He was obnoxious and no one knew how he found out about the party; he had a way of emptying a room, nicely done.
Like an old truck, destined to drive hard and long on country roads that twist and deceive, he smoldered in the ditch, chewed tobacco and bit his nails, smoldered in the ditch of desire and deception; the ditch, his undying lust for the neighbor’s wife.
So good! "Smoldered" is the perfect word to repeat, helping to set up "the ditch of desire and deception; the ditch, his undying lust for the neighbor's wife." The simile of "like an old truck" gives me a sense of his personality and age. You personify the roads with "twist and deceive," which also helps set up the ending.
"The road that twists and deceives" would make a great line from a country music ballad about infidelity.
Very nice Anne! I can see this truck and feel his desire-also, repeating the verb smoldering really works.
the ditch of desire and deception; the ditch, his undying: great alliteration. works well.
As if the election for a union was won before the vote begins, Mac’s mantra to counter the bosses coming anti-union campaign of well-placed firings, random changes in pay, cancelled break times, denied time off, accusations of theft and nefarious misconduct, the key was ignoring the legal requirement of filing for an election with at least thirty percent of possible members signing authorization cards, he rallied the members to embrace his philosophy of having at least eighty percent of employees sign cards before the union election, so that the company’s lawyers would not know the extent of the inner workings of the organizing committee’s plan to win the election before the vote; Mac would drill holes in the Turtle’s hard shell and the union would walk away with their prize: a company that can’t do whatever it wants because the workers won’t let them.
I love the long list of the bosses' anti-union campaign! It goes on and on; they use everything they've got to fight the unionization of the workers, but Mac knows this. He's prepared!
Mac rallying his members before the vote even begins—that opening has real force. And your final line lands exactly right. The subject matter alone took courage to bring here. Nice!
Thanks Janine.
Unions are a messy business where nothing is what it appears to be or should be. This compelling narrative walks us through it in a way that implies that neither side really prevails, that they will end up sacrificing their respective prizes in service of causing mutual irreparable harm. Am I off base?
Sadly Diane you are off base. The notion that the union through collective bargaining is "causing mutual irreparable harm" leaves me flat since this is not what happens.
IN the story, like real life, the reason the organizing happens is the shitty way they are being treated. It's usually a fairly democratic process.
Sounds like you've had a shitty experience or heard "stories" about the evils of unions.
Like a sudden, unexpected voltage; crackling in a quiet room and charging the air, it promised a current that could both shock and illuminate. He walked into my life, a force like a match dropped in dry brush; he drew me in, he ignited sparks, and he drew me in deeper with a thrill of possibility; we had met to test the waters, but we ended up playing with fire.
So good! "Crackling" is such a good word, and follow it with "charging," you have the ring of the --ings for music and balance. More balance with "shock and illuminate." What an interesting pairing, because "shock" can bring harm and also delight. The comparison of the man to a "match dropped in dry brush" is vivid and powerful. I love the image arc from "ignited sparks" to "playing with fire."
🥰
The passion and the sparks set off and "ended up playing with fire." It all worked really well,.
Thank you. I love these exercises and playing with something I have written add just lean all in and play :)
All the animals, stuck within the confines and explicitly ignoring the onlookers, so bored and complacent, fondling their belly buttons, their members, imprisoned day and night, night and day; the world, the zoo in which we live.
Such a clear succinct portrait of the world we live in using the animals at the zoo. Very well done, and so true.
I like the switch at the end making us look in the mirror.
Wow! The ending! I love the swivel of "day and night, night and day." But then comes the metaphor: the world is a zoo, and the animals are us, "stuck within the confines." Such a smart sentence and so compressed.
Just as the octopus, a chameleon in constant propulsion, hiding, rappelling in and over a prairie of Posidonia, the beauty of marine life is revealed in a multitude of changing forms, fish darting, crabs digging, stirring up the deep; the Posidonia waving like a vast field of green pompoms, cheering on the inhabitants of the Mediterranean sea.
Using an octopus, you brought out the similarities with all the creatures of the deep--maybe that's the way to make a better world.
I wish! I feel a song coming on…I’d like to be under the sea, in an octopus’s garden…
Beautiful! So many compelling images and everything is moving. You have the string of --ings with "changing/darting/digging/stirring/waving/cheering," which brings so much energy to this sentence! The simile at the end compares the "green pompoms," which are associated with cheerleaders, to cheerleader, "cheering on the inhabitants of the Mediterranean sea."
Thanks so much for your insights Nina! Inspired by an octopus I spotted last summer when we were snorkeling…
It's such a pleasure reading all the variations of this sentence! So much creativity and playfulness--what an inspiration!