Every now and then I read a post, find it interesting or provocative and then formulate thoughts in my head and maybe questions for clarification or further illumination, only to discover, at the very end of it, that ‘comments are closed’.
WTF?
You are posting something presumably to be read by others, so surely you have an interest in their impressions and reactions. What is the point of posting in the first place, otherwise?
Is it a protection against criticism? Is it because you consider your own posts to be sitting on some sort of pedestal way above the plebiscites (a group of admittedly very ordinary people such as myself)? I probably have this all wrong, but it just comes across as arrogance to me.
So, by all means, put me straight. Clear up my misunderstanding, because, as always, my comments remain open.
This is my second attempt in response to Sami’s 50 word challenge which I suddenly realised I mucked up the first time. Somehow I thought it was supposed to be about the points of a compass. It wasn’t. Sorry, Sammi. I should learn to read rules ….
Anyway ….
*
Looking to the heavens
For the holy trinity
No sign of my salvation
In that vicinity
Unsure of the status
Of my own divinity
As I’m staring down the blackness
Out towards infinity
Left the bible reading
Lost my virginity
God, it seems that you and I
Have no affinity
*
Here’s the original effort, which has nothing to do with Sami’s challenge, as it turns out, except that it has 50 words in total ….
My success rate in NYC Midnight writing competitions remains consistently poor. Just occasionally there is just a tiny blink of hope (or an error in judging) which propels me unexpectedly into a 2nd round. Such an occurrence transpired recently in the ‘Rhyming Story’ contest where my 1st round thing about some poor sap out on a space mission managed to qualify. If you are really, really bored, it’s here.
So the second round requirement was for a Romance dealing with the notion of ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’ and featuring an emotion of resentment. So it was an open invitation to continue with an exploration of male insecurity and feelings of inadequacy. It’s a subject I seem to know more about than I’d really like to admit …..
Anyway …..
The Day I Jumped The Fence
The grass is always greener when you’re on the other side, but to step on someone else’s patch – that takes a lot of hide. He watches as his lawn is cut, his something on the side, he takes offence, he leaps the fence, surrendering his pride.
Here’s another one from Alicia’s pile of words. She’s no spring chicken anymore, let’s face it, and she’s not taking it all that well. I don’t think she’ll ever understand that men of a certain age feel invisible sometimes, too.
Richmond Road 