Peredhil

Finish this! Even without an EQ background, this begs to sing.

And Cyrano stood by, watching love flower, bloom and die, But it wasn't love for him. Many heart's sigh, have brokenly uttered this cry Denied love on Fate's whim.

Like Ursula LeGuin said, "Only in silence the word" Everything has a beginning middle and end -some fear to start because they fear to lose. I'm contrary and I'll defend. It's better to cherish the moment and live a while Life is the only coin we have to spend.

Heh. It doesn't matter what you say, In my mind I'm sure that I'm right and true, that you will see 'cause m'cause is honorable and pure. I like this poem, 'tis neatly done and also pleasureable to view. So I thought I'd grab a second to reply This poem back... from me to you.

This reads like the prologue to a weary warrior's tale The fulsome fighter's plea It's not the bright shining bardic lies Told bairn on bended knee. It reeks of real, the pain, fatigue Which perhaps was the plan? The last two lines when read aloud For me just didn't scan...

Might makes Right, or so it's told A handsome uniform looks so bold But wakes of pain become rather old And on your poem, I'm rather sold.

Ooooh. I liked this. How did you fit so much in so few words? I like!

I liked it there I like it here You criticize so well we give in to fear But to deny you praise Is to be silly goose My cheers I raise sung like Dr. Seuss. Good work Cyril. You seem to be an all-around writer. I'm pleased I can't pigeon-hole type you.

I like this on a few levels. I kept wanting to slip into a Nordic saga chant, but the meter didn't quite support it. I like the setup, the exploration, and then the resolution. An entire tale within a poetic piece.

Heh, I'm a sucker for haiku in general, and anything that references Pink Floyd in particular.

Gratz on the win... I don't know though, for me, I had trouble hearing the meter in my mind as I recited it, and some of the line breaks didn't seem to fit. But then, it could just be me. Reading it aloud, what do you think?

Heh, poetry runs in your blood, the word sings in your line already words begin to flood He's doing this just fine!

I liked this, faithful and true he was cleaved fast to she that lived above. Something in the last just doesn't seem to scan - Should it be rather perhaps, "love's" not love?

Avaunt! Hear the hounds? The foot is ahunt again!

As the Rubber Chicken exits stage left, two men dressed in tweed suits enter stage right, deeply in conversation. "So you see, old bean, it simply won't do." "But that's how it is, and where ever you go, there you are." "I'll grant you that, but when you arrive, you might be able to adjust things such that you aren't, if you follow me." "Quite, dear chap, I follow you keenly, but I'm not certain whence we'll proceed." At this point, the pair stop center stage, and turn to a quarter facing, so that each is three quarters facing the viewer. The man on the right pulls a thick folded paper from his pocket. With the assistance of the other, they unfold it to a life-sized photograph of the Queen of England - put with Elton John's face in place of hers. "And there it is. The Queen's eyes ARE red in the center. Do you think it was the glasses, or the camera?" "Well, what I think it -" He raises a finger and pauses dramatically, I think it's time for something completely different!" A giant foot descends from the ceiling and squashes them as the curtains sweep in from both sides. Parting, the curtains reveal...

Those were fun. For the information of the Gentle Reader, an Oleo is a short skit, often involving a song, or based around a single joke. If the Players are skilled, they can juggle a running gag through them. Back in the old days of live theater, many were ad libbed, and tried to set each other up for either great lines, or for failure - depending on the politics and feelings within the Cast. Many a Greenroom discussion (the Greenroom is where the Cast Members could relax out of character, away from the audience, and discuss the nuts and bolts of a performance) revolved around how best to present their comediac fun. Tragedy is easy - every one relates. But Comedy is a Killer. You know, there's no reason we couldn't revive that thread. It's just interwoven silliness, after all... But I agree, comments here. Peredhil whips out his Magic Wand of Eraser, and removes all the extra blank lines that the transfer from Ezboard left in the posts of the archived thread.

I'm afraid my only reference is nobody of consequence...

This is hauntingly good in its way. Nice off-the-cuff poem. Don't sweat the SoLs too much. I know you, and you're much smarter than you give yourself credit for. Like the monkey who swallowed the grapefruits said, "These too will pass." Hugs -Peredhil

Thanks. It was all based on a dream I woke up, still Seeing. My dreams tend to be like that - very detailed with a soundtrack (which unfortunately, as I don't write music, I left out). Went back and edited out the errors I found - thank you for the suggestion. Heh, sorry for the scare, but my household isn't THAT weird!

Peredhil begins laughing in delight. There are a couple of quotes, for example, President Andrew Jackson or Raymond Chandler, which would fit in this thread. But I think I'll leave the focus on this fun quirky work.

Rah! Welcome back!

Looks confused. I thought an innuendo was an Italian suppository? Good poem.

That was WELL written. Hands Melba, the Almost Secretary of the Pen, a hanky. She's crying so hard her kohl has made Alice Cooper streaks down her chubby cheeks and is dripping on her orange and green sarong. HONK Peredhil gravely accepts back the dripping hanky and extends another, patting her hennaed hair gently. That was a nice twist ending, not what I expected.

Welcome! Peredhil bustles in and gets Racouol a frothing glass of Ole Peculiar. (Literally frothing - Racouol has to beat it once with a frying pan to tame it enough to drink. It doesn't have a kick, but it has an aftertaste and bite.) Guido and Nuncio use small DustBusters™ to vacuum off the rest of the journey dust. I've always been quite amazed at those pockets of yours! You should find some old friends around, and many waiting to be new. Don't hesitate to make your way into the Recruitment Hall...

"It's really all simple logic. Although the adversary - remember? Satan means adversary? - is great at twisting things. That," Dad gestured at the flame, "is just a physical manifestation of a spirit. One of the third that fell with an archangel." Suddenly there was a burst of light, and the flame was gone. In its place was glowing light, purest white with a delicate rose tint. His breath caught in his throat at its purity and beauty. It shifted delicately into a translucent image of his grandmother. He felt tears as he remembered her. She'd always loved and accepted him like no other. "Honeybear," G'ma said, "It was a devil, but I've been watching over you. I've driven it away now. I love you." He felt himself sob, and quickly brought it under automatic control. He wished he could cry, release the pressure pushing at his cheeks and making his throat tight, but he'd forgotten how, hours and hours of practicing control of emotions holding his emotions in unwelcome check. "G'ma?" "Yes, I'm dead. But I'm in heaven, and I watch over you constantly. I'm here waiting for you." "Which," his Dad's soft voice interrupted, "is another lie. The dead are dead until the times specified are met -and it says no man knows when that will come. We're to be ready." He suddenly hated his father. G'ma, his own mother, was standing right fricking in front of him, and he was not only ignoring her, he was saying she wasn't there. What a bastard! Dad would deny him any comfort in his life at all. He felt something again alright. He felt like killing the cold old man. The logical part of him which never slept reminded him of all the consequences, the years in prison, the loss of Jazmin, and everything else, but he was shaking in rage and hatred. He looked at the cold years of his miserable life stretching ahead of him, and felt hopeless. G'ma was waiting. He'd kill his father and them himself and join her. He looked at the silvered athame in his hand, already stained with his blood. And the sparrow's blood. "Sorry, but it's my responsibility to let you know the truth. This isn't my mother. It's just another lie." He looked G'ma over carefully, and pursed his lips. "You've gotten better at it," he informed her. Grandma snarled at him. "Unnatural son. Shall I tell him all the things you did when you were growing up? How you killed your own horse and blamed your best friend trying to raise spirits? God will never forgive you." She turned back to him, love beaming from her eyes. "He's an unnatural son, cloaking his evil in pretend good. Look how you feel right now. If he loved you, would he do this to you? God hates people like him. You'd be doing God's will if you killed him right now." As he hesitated, she came and put a gentle hand on his arm. He felt her, warm and alive. He knew that touch! "You've done some bad things lately, but this will wipe them all out, in blood. I can help you. Let me in and I'll steady your hand." His father looked at him steadily as he hesitated still, begining to shake. "Logic..." Dad said, "I know that sometimes the bible doesn't make sense when you listened in church, but the principles were pretty simple. Consider, what institutions would arise if people had Free Will? If they could gather with likeminded others, and then picked and chose what parts of the truth fit what they believed, instead of believing, however difficult, what it said." "Shutup. You're making it all confused." "No, I'm making you think. Painful, isn't it? It's always easier to believe lies. It takes courage to change, having to think." "Kill him," advised G'ma urgently, "he's just distorting everything." "Son-beam, would you believe I can relate to you?" "No! You always are so understanding and don't understand anything. You can't steal this!" "It's not that I don't understand, just that I often don't agree. And I'm not stealing anything. I could end this any time, but I feel it's important that YOU understand." "You can't end anything. I know spells. I'm bigger and stronger now. And I've got a knife. Just shut up." "Kill him," G'ma whispered quietly in his ear, nudging his elbow forward. His father began speaking quietly, inevitably. "I was raised in churches," he said, "and began to look at the people. I decided, like you, that God wasn't there because the people still had flaws, were tragically human. They'd get together and talk about God, then screwup all week. So, like you, I began looking around." "I found the books, they're always around if you look. I did the rituals, I descended into the self-abuse." He was suddenly aware of the pain and the blood on his body. "I felt empty, cold and numb except when I was hurting, raging, hating. I saw people as things to manipulate, objects to use, and knew the satisfaction of making them do what I wanted - and thanking me for it!" "And yes, the bugs, mice, and birds, turned into animals and finally my own horse. His sacrifice to power was also a sacrifice of my 'weakness', in that I still could love things. After all, you can't be your own god and control spirits if you have weaknesses. Logic... if you really want this power, you're gonna have to sacrifice everything for it." "Jazmin too. Maybe not physically, but I'll bet you're already getting ice inside yourself, and between you. You'll have to envision more and more perverse things into order to feel with her. And perversion is the antithesis of intimacy." "You should've killed him," observed Grandma, drawing away slightly and shaking her head sadly. Dad nodded acknowledgement of her point to her as he stopped talking. He watched the byplay blankly, not understanding. He felt like a tornado was spinning inside him, and hoped he wouldn't puke. "You always were good with the words, weren't you," continued Grandma. Dad continued to watch her without fear, but refusing to reply. She turned back to him, and gestured to the knife. "Honey, his poison is already making you weak. I can't help you kill him now, you've been tainted too much and lost the moment. But I can give you the strength to end this and come with me. Don't think, don't hesitate. Do you want to live with this? With this constant preaching his version of the truth? With him holding this over you everytime you make a simple mistake? Come to heaven with me..." She held out a bespeeching hand to him, as tears began streaming down her face. "I - no. No. That is a lie. Dad doesn't throw the past at anyone." Suddenly he had something he knew and held onto it. His legs buckled and he felt cold. He realized he was naked in front of G'ma and dropped the knife to cover himself. "Well, that's the choice then." His father turned to his mother and continued. "First, truth. In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to appear as you are." He vomited. Tossed chunks on the floor, and couldn't stop gagging. He thought it had shown him nightmares when he was first summoning it, but this! The most horrible part was that it was truly beautiful. And he couldn't describe the horror. Dad had been right though, the feeling of cold and hate was making his feet and hands numb. Fire wasn't this devil's only friend; Don McLean had been clueless when he sang that. "And finally, in the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to be gone." And it was. Just like that. All the words he'd studied for control, all the chalk. Just five words in his Dad's believing mouth and it was all useless. He felt so incredibly stupid. His Dad stepped around the chalk and vomit mess and used his shirt to wipe his trembling mouth. "Isn't that just fascinating, the power when appropriate? Back in the old days, when it was just angels, the bible tells us that all Michael could do is defend and say 'the Lord rebukes thee'. Of course, that probably wasn't it, translaters you know." He kept up a steady stream of calm words as he helped him from the room. "After your shower, you'll have to clean up your room." "I know I know, I made the mess, I clean it up." "And then we can talk about my mistakes of this nature, and your grandmother's mistakes of this nature, and how smart people can be so stupid. Try not to interrupt TOO much. You're so smart, you know what I'm going to say two words into the sentence." He paused in the bathroom door and looked down at his greying father. "Should you really be teasing me right now?" "Can you think of a better time? It's done, all that's left are consequences. You clean up a mess, we talk, we move on. Like I always say..." They laughed as he chimed in on the quote. "There is therefore now no condemnation for those..." He finished the sentence with Dad out of habit as the words took on a whole new meaning. This had been going on for generations in his family? He made the shower hot as hell. It stung wonderfully on his cuts. Generations? His family were, like, pirate spiritzor-ninjas! Too COOL. He began humming as washed.