Peredhil

Re-write. The "So I'm"s started to grate on me. fixed a verb tense; spelling. So I'm walking briskly down the hall, wanting to get OUT of the hospital, as I've completed the interview. I dislike hospitals even as I cherish and appreciate those who heal and who are healed. They just seem to reek of old pains which stain the walls like a subtle scent that one can't track. I walk past the rooms, avoiding people in white and soldiers in camouflage, as they stride purposefully with clipboards and IV bags and other implements of healing. My boots make an annoying squeaking noise every time my right foot hits the ground, and I find my thoughts silently chanting cadences to the rhythm produced. I pass open doors, I glancing in curiously, always wondering if I'll see someone I know, yet hoping not. I peer into this one room and I stutter-step in surprise. There are bright crayon drawings all over the walls and a young man lying propped up against starched white pillows in the bed. But what catches my eye is the short blond with the ponytail lying sideways across the bed where his legs should be. The sleeve of his left arm is neatly folded up and secured with a "hair scrunchy", one of those wide stretchy fabric things that girls and women use. The scrunchy is pink with red and white hearts and matches the band tying the girl's ponytail into place. He smiles over her intent form - her attention is totally absorbed in meticulously creating another crayon masterpiece - and rumbles a bass, "Heya, Sarge, how're you?" "Fine," I reply. "Nice scrunchy!" "Yeah," he laughs. "When my battle buddies see it, they'll razz me to no end. I've got two more on the pajama legs that you can't see. Specialist White, who's one of my nurses, has been taking her down to the Shoppette and letting her buy sets of four - three for me and one for her." He beams happily down at his child. "How'd it happen, soldier?" I've found that most of them appreciate honest curiosity. They know their life has changed, and pretending all is peachy is annoying. "IED, ya know, an Improvised Explosive Device? This one had bolts and nails in it. I was on a dismounted patrol and I happened to be the one in front of the alley. "Bummer." "Naw, I'm blest. My wife is still over there, Stop-loss in effect, so we don't know when she'll come back, and this way I'm home with Amber. Plus I'm alive, which is a huge bonus when you have an angel like mine." "How's she taking it?" He reaches down with his right hand, careful of the IV, and nudges Amber. She looks up in annoyance. "What Daddy?" "Sarge wants to know what you think of Daddy's Owies." She turns and stiffens when she sees me. "Three chevwons and two Wockers are a Sawgent Fiwst Class Daddy! Not a Sawge," she corrects severely. Turning a high wattage smile on me, she pipes, "Good Afternoon, Sawgent Fiwst Class." "Good afternoon, Miss Amber." Her eyes are the green of an old Heineken beer bottle. She has bits of green crayon on front teeth from helpful chewing in the creative effort. "What are you drawing?" "I'm dwawing for Mommy. We mail Mommy evewy day. Its a twuck, cause she dwives one." She holds it up for my scrutiny and looks at me proudly. I nod my approval and point out some details I like - and am pleasantly surprised when she knows the nomenclature and model of Mommy's truck. "So what do you think of your Daddy's Owies, Hon'?" "Well, they'weh bad, but it's okay. God left him his hugging ahm, and he w'ites with it too. And Mommy and I have all ouw hands so we can help him. And I fit just wight on his bed now to keep the bad dweams away fwom him." She pauses and then nods, as if she's decided she's met all requirements in her report. "It was good meeting you, Sawgent Fiwst Class, but I've got to finish this befouh mail call." She turns back to her drawing and my eyes meet her Dad's proud eyes over her back. "Pretty smart girl you have there," I say, my voice a bit thick. "Yeah," he replies looking down at her. He looks up and continues, "Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest man in the world." We exchange nods again. He thanks me for stopping to talk and I'm on my way. The quiet "just-so" positive attitude I keep encountering in this place is inspiring. I just wish the circumstances which bring it out weren't so harsh. But I'm a soldier, not a story-teller, so I guess I'm done.

Happy birthday Wren!

Peredhil zips through, pausing to bow deeply and then enthusiastically hugging Madoka-chan, then shooting away again after Real Life.

No internet at home any more (hence no Messenger programs) and doing many R.L. things. Y'all are in my thoughts continually, although I only sneak in here occasionally. *Big Peredhil Hugs*

Restrict retarded reprobate reptiles.

Rachel means a ewe of God (way back in old Hebrew), And I'm sheepishly admitting, I think this ewe is you. You're a bellwether leader Of so much at Pen And yet you're gentle through and through, You're one of my oldest friends (since waaay back when) One of the truly truest few. And so as I take this dare today, (I simply must honestly say,) There are few ewes in this world so grey I like so much as I like you -- Gwai. Dares go out to Signe and Tralla...

Swooper all the way. Which creates problems on re-writes in that I'm a different person and end up revising it until it is a different story. But 98% of everything you see here at the Pen from me was written in one pass and not reworked.

Aimee! Politely flying hug-tackles Nimue has an account here - send her a PM. She usually responds when I PM here a birthday hug.

Much love Fin' and many hugs.

Ignoring the fangs, Peredhil Pounce-Hugs the succubus tightly. Merry Christmas!!!

This shares the feelings of loss really well. Good song; I wish I could hear the music in your heart that goes with this.

I think this is one of your best so far. Good vocabulary, wistful yet meaningful questions, and an ending with hope.

Just a suggestion - If you revise, do it here in the thread, and make it a new post. That way others can track the growth of a poem, from it's beginning to its final form, and we can all learn from it together.

What an amazing saga through the years Full of truths hidden beneath the fears Opened into cleansing light at last. Welcome to the Pen. If you always write from the heart, you'll stay an astounding poet.

welcome - I really like this.

Really good. Meter is a little rough in a few places when I read it aloud. I took the liberty of changing some "your" to "you're" in your piece. There's a lot of depth and heart in this.

Outstanding

Ack!!! Don't EVER destroy your works! If nothing else, keep them for seeds, watered with time, that when you've developed your skills you can revisit and bring to fruition. Go reread this!!!

This is a neat word-picture and would make a great intro to a fantasy novel. A few nick-picks I noticed: To keep the meter consistent in stanza two, "leaf strewn" should be "leaf-strewn". Maybe remove the "a" in "or a stealthy footfall"? In the next line, "Where are thee brothers" would have to be "Where are thee, brothers," to make sense to me. Something about the flow of the 4th stanza seems awkward - maybe read aloud and tweak? I normally don't pick on things like this, but I feel this could be a really good piece with a bit of tweaking.

Oddly fascinating twisted word order. I could read several things into this, but I'm not certain that any of them fit the whole. I did like it though.

Students, friends, life... This reflects a lot of groups. I know it takes energy and commitment to maintain remote connections in a world of immediate demands. Sad how someone so important in the present can become a distant memory in a moment.

Very clever! Reminds me of James Joyce, or perhaps even more of John Lennon.

Love's love is held out for lovers, while a Romanticist is never alone while able to dream...

I like this, although too often I feel alone in my thoughts. I still smile though.

I've loved the word "Morpheus" since I first heard the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack. That said, a tight focused poem with excellent word choice.