Flight and Transformation.
The night is dark and the moon shines bright, the stream sings sweetly to those who listen carefully and the owls tell a sad tale of life and loss. The dark haired boy and bright eyed girl whisper sweet nothings as they walk hand in hand, under my reaching arms I watch them with unseeing eyes and I play them a soft melody with my leaves. Night turns into day and day into night, on and on, until the storm breaks the chain.
The sun brings the birds’ incessant chatter and their gossip spins around me truth, lie, truth, lie. Small creatures run around me others climb upon me; still I stand as strong as time. Indeed you could call me a keeper of time histories lost and forgotten.
How many secrets do I hold? How many people cried at my feet? How many offered a small tribute and prayed for a miracle? Who has hidden in my roots safe from the night or their pursuers? How many songs have I heard drifting through the wind?
My leaves change to reds, oranges, yellows and they strain for their flight, never knowing they will tumble to the forest floor. Maybe it’s kinder to tell them, to say, “It’s not a flight but tumbling death”. But I’d rather they think they are just moving on with one last passionate dance with the wind. I alone bear the truth of a thousand goodbyes, the whispering embraces as they glide across my branches, down my trunk; some realizing at last that this is the end. Catching on to a small sliver of wood on a broken branch, clinging until they grow wet and weary enough to succumb to ther demise, tears falling from their quivering skin.
They get carried off by rake or my wind and I never see them again, and I stand here and wait. And I nurture another hundred exited children; their captivating green transforming me into a majestic being. I nurture and I watch and I wait, for one day I will also fall to the wind. A great thundering surrender and then I will lay on the forest floor, a home to the small creatures around or I will be dragged off and transformed once more.
I would love to get some creative criticism but please be gentle.
I also would love to here if you liked it and if possible what you liked about it?
I loved the imagery in this piece, WickedKoko. I love the thought of a sentient, wise, slightly wistful tree looking over the people and creatures wandering beneath it.
I have to agree with Darga, I loved the imagery of the tree and it's children, personally I couldnt find much wrong with it.
Thank you Darga, I think about it a lot. I like the idea of trees watching over and remembering everything around them.
Thank you too Wraithking :D
Notice how it pained WraithKing to say he agreed with me :P.
We'd love to read more of your work, WickedKoko, if you care to post it!
You use very powerful and emotional imagery WickedKoko. The simple and yet intricate beauty of the words you used to write from the tree's point of view gave me chills (the good kind). I'd love to read more of your work if/when you share it :D
Ditto to what the others have said, very lovely imagery.
You requested some concrit, however, so the piece as a whole seems disconnected. The first half concentrates on the people that have interacted with the tree and the second on the trees relationship with its leaves (which I have to admit as being my favourite. Your anaolgies were lovely). There is no real connection between these two parts and as a result it kinda feels unfinished (is this actually the case) and a slight rambly.
There are a few grammatical things as well and some of your punctuation could be played around with to help make the writing more effective, but overall you have a wonderful way with words.
thanks everyone... again :)
I see what you mean about the lack of connection and I think that was what was bothering me about it so double thanks :)
I know what you mean about the grammar and punctuation too, I usually have it proof read by a friend, but he's on holidays. I am trying to improve as well.
well next I might post some of the story I'm working on but I want to get a bit more done first :)
If you're writing a novel you should consider joining prodders :D
[act]Starts chanting one of us, one of us, one of us and waves his cattle prod around[/act]
[act]raises eyebrow at WK, wondering where exactly snippets of said story are hiding...[/act] :P
Please, lets not divert the attention from the rightful author of the thread ;D
[act]speculates that attention hasn't actually diverted from orginal author and that there is just some confusion present due to the fact that WK and WK are bother called . . . well . . . WK[/act]
Hey, I was WK first, wasnt I? O_O
I might join prodders once Uni is a bit less hectic and I'm not sick (I have been sick hence the late reply and disappearance) :(
and yes you were WK first and therefore do have rights to the title :) lol besides I'll answer to (almost) anything :P
Wow... that was some powerful writing. I found that just perfect. I loved the language and everything! Pretty much what everyone else has been saying, but I'm just saying it again.
Please do join Prodders! We can [strike]zap[/strike] gently encourage you :nods: ! I can't wait to read more of your writing!
Ebony and Ivory
The morning light shines through the window and glistened on my black shining surface. I hear soft giggles and tumbling footsteps, this is new. I began to panic, surely not before our morning together. I hear her calm, measured footsteps and relief washes over me, and as the door opens I feel myself almost shiver with anticipation. She’s here.
Ebony, Ivory, Ebony, Ivory
Her beautiful fingers open me up and I smile at the day. Her fingers caress my keys lovingly. She gently rests on my seat and begins to sing with me. I sing my melody strong and clear and her deep voice dances around my song. It is pure heaven and I pour my heart into it. But then she stops and I feel someone sit clumsily beside her and feel chubby little fingers jab at me roughly.
My cry sounds harsh in the silent morning and I hear a small chuckle from my Amber, “Be gentle Camille.” Camille, that must be the owner of the light weight and the clumsy, fat little fingers. I feel gentle fingers caress me and I sing again, her voice notating my speech. A small voice, tinged with pure excitement repeats after her and reaches out and I feel a much gentler but shaky push. So I sing to her, a little shaky myself.
Ivory, Ebony, Ivory, Ebony
Who would have thought that those clumsy, painful fingers would be singing with me, a sweet high voice dancing with my deep one, a song that might have even been sweeter than mine and Ambers, although Amber hadn’t ‘flopped’ lazily into my chair, painfully bashed my teeth and stamped on my feet roughly, once a week for a year, before finally sliding into me and pirouetting through many sweet and beautiful mornings.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!
I listen for her eager footsteps, today was a say with Camille. I wait and I listen to the sounds of movement then I finally hear it, her feet rushing more than usual and stopping outside the door. “Miss Smith” I listen closer, that’s Amber. “I did it, I got my own piano. Thank you so much for teaching me and letting me play yours all this time.” Her voice was as excited as two years ago, when she was learning how to sing with me. Then her footsteps retreated and I finally realised, she was leaving. No more mornings of sweet delight would we share? Her own piano; I had been replaced.
Ebony, Ivory, Ebony Ivory
I went back to singing only with Amber and felt the loss of Camille in the loss of her songs, more upbeat than the choruses I know shared. I still sang strong and proud but I sometimes I felt myself fumble. A small quiver as I thought of different fingers tapping me gently of a tough vibrating with bliss and of her sweet voice merging with mine.
Thump. Thump. Thump! Thump!
I had never heard such heavy steps before and I waited to see who could cause such a loud noise. The door swung open, Amber her face calm as always but beside her a rough looking boy, tallish and skinny and he throbbed with energy. A new Camille and I felt myself shrink away slightly in anticipation of days of poking and prodding of starting and stopping. If his steps were so heavy, what would his hands be like?
Ivory, Ebony. Ivory, Ebony
Thanks Vestie :D
This is a story I wrote the other day for a friend. (She teaches piano.) I wrote one like it at school when studying "journey" but in my honest opinion my old one was better If I can find a copy I'd love to post it here (It's my favourite)
Although this is all I've really done this week and last, because I'm sick and I felt like sharing something :)
Wow, i love both of your stories so far. It's amazing how you can make something come so alive just with the thoughts you have given them. Should i start talking to trees and piano's? you almost make me think i should, lol. :P
Can't wait to see what you write next, I hope you keep making things come alive!
well basically I'm spreading my crazy round through short pieces of writing :P
I'm so glad you like it :)
She knows it’s him before she opens the door. She knows this time will be like, every other before.
He knows this is wrong. He knows the end, to this old song.
She ignores all her tears.
He ignores all their fears.
They both share a glance. They both begin to dance.
A month or a year, A month to hold dear.
Is this love or hate? Is this too little to late?
That's very interesting, WickedKoko. Makes me think of a meeting between two people who love each other a great deal, but who for some reason aren't meant to be together. Is that what you were aiming for, or did I misinterpret?
no that's pretty much the gist of it.
It's two friends of mine who for 3 or 4 years now, have been on/off because he leaves whenever they have the smallest argument. Then he comes back and they are back together again. I just have hard time seeing him actually stay and not leave whenever it get even a little hard.
I put it up because that is all I've written recently; I have a major case of writers block.
I suggest music. Might not be the perfect cure, but find an old song you used to love, or a totally new song you've never heard. Then turn on repeat for a little while.
Like i said, might not work every time, but it's my favorite way to get some inspiration. Hope you can write soon!