Category Archives: Essays

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 4 March 2018

Sometimes I have no words. Today is one of those days when the sum total of the past week says it all and all I can say…all that needs to be said is…

“This…”

Have a lovely week! ❤️

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 4 March 2018

it is too soon for spring
beating ever faintly in syncopation with the rain
listen to the wind
we never woulda guessed…
winter’s snap, an early spring denies
how do you do it, straight-faced,
wisdom’s an uncommon thing
daring us to believe
rain-sopped, soggy grey
out of this World
clouds race on tempest streams
you know, we should talk
some say ‘twas the egg
even saccharine infused
dreams give way to longing
eden must have been beautiful
life goes on
to those who linger
believe…but remember

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


Phub – Friday’s Word of the Day

Today’s word of the day is phub. Dictionary.com defines phub as a slang word that means to ignore (a person or one’s surroundings) when in a social situation by busying oneself with a phone or other mobile device: hey, are you phubbing me?

Wiktionary tells us it’s a word that was created by combining the words phone and snub sometime between 2010-2014. But we’ve probably been phubbing for a bit longer, even though there was not a word for it yet. Phub, they explain, was coined by Adrian Mills at the McCann advertising agency as part of a campaign to promote the Macquarie Dictionary by creating a new word.

Have you been phubbed? It’s certainly a thing. We are attached to our phones these days, what with tweets and posts and texts that bombard us on a minute by moment basis. And by game apps; those addictive,mindless diversions that divert our attention from everything around us into a strobing screen…just one more round…a win, at-long-last. I’m must come clean. I have probably been a phubber. I may not have intentionally phubbed anyone, but I’m most certain I have done it. Not that I can recount a clear example. It’s all a blur.

I think it’s a good practice to establish rules of etiquette in this age of pocket media devices by setting up situational “no mobile device zones”. For example meal times, forcing everyone around the table to engage in conversation. Remember conversation? You don’t? When I finish this post I’ll send you a text link to Wikipedia so you can learn about it. 🤪 better yet, here’s the link…CONVERSATION. Sorry…didn’t mean to shout at you. 😊

you know, we should talk
true friends don’t let friends flubber
texting is for bots

~kat


Twittering Tales #73 – 27 February 2018

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About the challenge: Each Tuesday I will provide a photo prompt. Your mission, if you choose to accept the challenge, is to tell a story in 280 characters or less. When you write your tale, be sure to let me know in the comments with a link to your tale.

A final note: if you need help tracking the number of characters in your story, there is a nifty online tool that will count for you at  charactercountonline.com .

I will do a roundup each Tuesday, along with providing a new prompt. And if for some reason I missed your entry in the Roundup, as I have occasionally done, please let me know. I want to be sure to include your tale.

Finally, have fun!

And REMEMBER…you have 280 characters (spaces and punctuation included), to tell your tale…and a week to do it. I can’t wait to see what you create this week.


Twittering Tales #72 “Hopewell” – The Roundup

pexels-photo-816501

Photo prompt by Leigh Heasley at Pexels.com

Starting us off…

He tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly. She leaned against the door, face pressed against the glass, when a stone column caught her eye, “Hopewell”.
“More like hopeless,” she thought.
He broke the silence, “We could adopt…”
“Really?” she slid over, leaning into him.
(276 Characters)

From Michael at Morpethroad:
Hopewell’s creaking door, the butler’s crossed eyes, his hideous hump and a habit of standing too close were all signs to beware of.
The chill as you settled in bed, the ghostly screams in the night,
The rattling of chains, Cousin Boris’ slimy handshake ensured a sleepless night.
(278 characters)

From Willow at WillowDot21:
Another morning in the gray soulless house. She crept out of the door into cold gray air. Her case was light as she carried it down the drive so as not to wake those in the house
Out of the gray gates for the last time! Today the first day of her life in colour.Farewell Hopewell.
(280 Characters)

From Reena at ReInventions:
Get Well Soon messages indicate you are unwell. But Hope well?
“Jim, better check the map again. I have a hunch we are heading for trouble.”
(139 characters)

From Fandango at This, That, and the Other:
“Hopewell?” Dan said as they passed the ivy-covered stone post on the road to the hospice. “I see no hope and nothing well about any of this.”
“Don’t worry, son,” Alex said. “My time is just about up and I hear the drugs they give at this place will make my passing quite pleasant.
(280 characters)

From Rules640 at Life at 17:
“Before you is a little place,
Go there and you will enjoy your stay
But if you wanna leave,
If you wanna go back to your place,
You should know you won’t be allowed.”
“Read this before you enter” the guard had told her. Days after being stuck inside she wished she had read it before.
280 characters

From Jane at Jane Dougherty Writes:
Just terrible bad luck, the inquest said, that she had wandered in during the few seconds the security barrier was down.
The coroner ordered the establishment to clean off the ivy from the plaque that indicated ‘Hopewell Psychiatric Hospital.”
244 Characters

From Hayley at The Story Files:
All that was left of the old manor house was the front gate post with the name plaque on. The driveway led to nothing and nature was running wild. What happened no one knew for sure, there were too many secrets that the dead now kept.

From Jan at Strange Goings on in the Shed:
She stared at the name intently, it filled her with dread of the darkest kind. Her soul curled at the edges, repelled by the prospect of revisiting old nightmares. Ana was the last of the bloodline and had to break the Curse. They warned her not to return, too late she was back.
(279 characters)

From Lorraine at My Frilly Freudian Slip:
Hopewell. They’d all hoped well. Her parents, the doctors.
The wail of approaching fire engines over-powered screams from inside the institution.
She smiled as she walked past the gate. She had hoped well enough.
[211 characters]

From Leena at Soul Connection:
She:-Silent Plce.Bird Chrpng,Sound Of Dry Leaves Crushng n..
He:-N Spirits Roamng(Laughng)
Very Funny
HOPEWELL
Wht?
Its Wrttn Here.C On Pillar
She Clckd Pic n Draggd Him 4wrd
Its Gng To B Dark n V R Alone
No
(Teasng)U Mean V R Nt Alone?
Ahaa Haa.Shut Up
As Dey Crsd Pillar,Spirit Follwd Dem.

From Joy at Poetry Joy, 3 Tales:
Obscured
Almost obscured by leaves
this sign breathes renewed
hope into her sad soul
signalling a new beginning
where joy and optimism
overcomes pain
(139 characters)

We hop
She squirms higher in her seat because, at age 5, she can barely read. But she sees “hop we” as indicator of her family being happier here.
(139 characters)

Secrets lurk within
Hedged in by dense
undergrowth, accessed
by dusty driveway
a house stands proud
looks inviting but is
far from it, for deep
secrets lurk within
(140 characters)

From Peter at Peter’s Pondering:
For a school founded in 2001 it sure was a strange old gate post.
Mo had chosen this particular High School for the sports, and he was looking forward to joining the athletics team.
He was a little wary though because to be accepted he knew he must first find the other gate post!
(280 characters)

From BroadsideDotMe, a bit of history on Hopewell?
“Hopewell”, the little known public school where the teenage Adolf Hitler spent a year learning English. The school was so proud of its connection with “Mien Kampf” that to this day the gateway has but a single, well lets not be vulgar about this, a single roundel upon the gatepost. It would be prudent not to mention the school song.

From Radhika at RadhikasReflection:
Uma slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The place looked very familiar. Recollection came in a flash. Her husband, in her previous birth, had brutally murdered her a few months after the wedding. She recognized the old man walking out. She knew what to do…
Letter count 280

Very creative takes this week. There was something mysterious about this ivy covered entrance with its name…Hopewell…Hope Well. You all took a few twists in the road on this one. Excellent tales! This week, I had a little fun with the photo…sorry, couldn’t resist. But I think there might be a few more stories hidden here. A ditch, a broken down bridge, a fence in the distance, a lake in the background. Something happened in this place. The question is, what? Have fun fellow tweeters. See you next week at the Roundup!


Twittering Tale #73 – 27 February 2018

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photo by MabelAmber at Pixabay.com

Paw Paw got tired o’ waitin’. He took to buildin’ his own wall. Make ‘merika great. Give ol’ Mr. Trump a head start. We never woulda guessed they’d of impeached the greatest president this country’s eva’ seen. But that’s what they done. Paw Paw pretty much gave up after that.

(277 Characters)

~kat


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 25 February 2018

If you are reading this, you have survived another week on this planet. It’s a crap shoot isn’t it? We are born into this complicated world with a fierce sense of survival that is so easily swayed by false senses of security. The truth is, as the sayings go, “none of us are promised tomorrow” for “we will not leave this place alive”. Which is all the more reason to seize each moment.

Still, it’s hard not to worry, to suffer angst and fear. Fear is a heartless beast. It likes to build on hypotheticals and what ifs. Even more despicable are those who exploit and profit from its proliferation.

But, what if we could accept the inevidabilty of our mortality. What if we were not afraid of our emotions; the highs and the lows and actually embraced the exquisite passion to be found in ecstasy and in grief?

Would the fear-mongers have less control over us? In truth, they would like nothing more than to dictate to us how we should be feeling. They thrive because we are willing to abdicate our freedom to their twisted protectionism. Resignation and compliance is the price of liberty they say. But it is not freedom.

We are not free unless we shed our dependence on powerful others who have only their own best interests at heart, and take our rightful place as individuals. We need each other we say, but not for reasons the powerful would have us believe. We need others who remind us that we are valued; that our dreams and hopes are worthwhile endeavors; that give us room to live and feel, and yes, even die with dignity; that we are perfect even in our imperfections; that we are mortal and yet magnificent in each breath we take, each tear we shed, each utterance of joy. And we are free only when we are fearless.

How is this possible? Well, you know…you do. It is today and you are here, breathing. There is this. A simple, single moment to savor. Is it enough? If you can answer “yes!” then you know true freedom and nobody can take that away.

Peace and kindness to you. Have a wonderful moment…have many!

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 25 February 2018

the sting of loss settling in
winter bones shimmer
more like hopeless
swelling in the mist,
it’s already old news…
but it’s a temporary fix,
it’s okay if you don’t want to admit it.
flag at half staff
the fog clears
amidst the cacophony
all honor is slain
I see you, alright?!
a songbird sings
a change is coming
the fall of an empire.
listening to the wind
there’s a hint
no one sees…
my heart knows
innocence cannot be restored
a face in the crowd

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


Rasputin – Friday’s Word of the Day

Friday’s Word of the Day at Dictionary.com is Rasputin. It is defined as

1. any person who exercises great but insidious influence;

2. named for Grigori Efimovich Rasputin, 1871 – 1916, a Siberian peasant monk who was very influential at the court of Czar Nicholas II and Czarina Alexandra.

Dictionary.com gives the following summary on the origin of this eponym (a word relating to, or being the person or thing for whom or which something is named: of, relating to.):

Grigori Efimovich Rasputin (c1871-1916) was a Russian peasant and self-proclaimed mystic and holy man (he had no official position in the Russian Orthodox Church). By 1904 Rasputin was popular among the high society of St. Petersburg, and in 1906 he became the healer of Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov, heir to the Russian throne and the hemophiliac son of Czar Nicholas II and his wife, Czarina Alexandra Feodorovna (a granddaughter of Queen Victoria and a carrier of hemophilia). In December 1916 Rasputin was murdered by Russian noblemen because of his influence over Czar Nicholas and the czarina.

Rasputin, I learned, is something of a legend. He was a towering man at 6’4”, believed to be a healer with clairvoyant powers. He had a wild appearance, that earned him the nickname, the “mad monk”. Though he was married and had a daughter and two sons, he earned notoriety as a philanderer and drunkard. Oddly his promiscuous behavior was, according to him, a religious practice. He believed that in order to be redeemed of sin, one must immerse oneself in it. Word of his orgies, that he called sessions of “rejoicing”, spread, much to the displeasure of the Orthodox Church. Despite his horrible hygiene, he had plenty of willing partners and hundreds of followers who called themselves “Rasputinkis.”

Eventually his wild living caught up with him. Several attempts were made on his life. The first was made by a masked woman who stabbed his abdomen so violently his entrails spilled out. The intervention of a surgeon saved him that time.

He would eventually meet his end but, as his murderer would learn, Rasputin was not an easy man to kill. On a single night, he was poisoned, which only seemed to give him a buzz, shot four times, with one bullet directly to his head, followed by a severe bludgeoning and finally he was bound and tossed into a frozen river. An autopsy later showed that he died from drowning and hypothermia, even after being poisoned, shot, beaten and, some believe, castrated. His pickled member was supposedly displayed throughout the region, a relic of sorts, said to have properties that could cure men of impotence.

Everything about Rasputin was larger than life. But it was his sinister control over the Romanoffs that eventually led to his demise and soon after, the fall of an empire.

Today we use the word Rasputin to describe someone who has evil influence over someone in power. I can think of a few examples…

Frankenstein’s Igor,
Bush’s Cheney, Trump’s Bannon,
ruthless Rasputins

~kat