Moon Project
>My heart’s been struck lately by how beautiful this life is and how so many people wish to destroy it. We have Muslims slaughtering people, serial killers and pedophiles everywhere. There’s murder, not just throughout the world but in our own streets. Sensibilities are destroyed at every turn and common sense gives way to the blind following of leaders who at best are only serving themselves and on the other side of the spectrum, serving our enemies.
This ridiculousness and weakness steals our self esteem and our creativity. I’ve decided to begin a project. Anyone may join in. I think I’ll name the project “MoonStruck“. (Yes I know about the movie. The movie has nothing to do with this.)
Each month I’m going to post at least one poem based on the moon. Each month’s “moon” piece will have the month’s name followed by the word “moon”. Other words may be added, ie “Hot August Moon”, or simply be titled “August Moon, September Moon, etc.”.
The purpose of this project is to produce creative poetry that builds the writer’s self esteem. It takes courage to write AND publish a piece of poetry. Anyone who wishes to participate may send me their poem(s) related to the moon to author@michaelrayking.com. If I enjoy the poem, I’ll post it here on my blog.
This is an opportunity for writers to ‘guest blog’ on my site, and hopefully cull a tremendous collection of poetry on a focused subject. My first poem is simply titled, August Moon.
Be sure to include your name with the poem. Hey, a short paragraph about you would be nice to include as well. Relate the poem to the month’s moon in some way, but the subject matter will be up to you. I’ll post what I feel are the best. Actually, I’ll probably post most of them as long as they are not vulgar. This is poetry… Also, I will not publish any of these poems other than on this blog site. If at some point, a collection of poetry is published, it will happen with the written consent of the author. I have no plans for a publication, but, heck, one never knows. This could become such a good project that I feel compelled to get the work “out there” in a more widespread market. For now, though, this is simply writers doing what they love…
Baby Steps
>You wouldn’t know fiction is my passion by the way I post to this site, would you? I love writing and fiction dominates my dreams but I appear to struggle to get a rhythm going.
I post sporadically, I dream too much and I follow through far less often than is needed to be successful so far. I must write “so far” or I’ll simply give up. Many factors spring into a writer’s life that derails even the best of plans.
I wonder at times at my decision to pursue The Dream. Yes, I want (and need) to make money writing, but that’s not The Dream. The Dream is to be successful. Success can involve many facets and take on many faces. Money is simply one of those faces.
I envy those who make writing their ‘hobby’ and don’t quit their day jobs – only for a moment each day. Then I look at what I’m doing, the amount of time I have left in this life (nanoseconds to maybe thirty years) and I come to the conclusion that writing is a noble way to exit.
I could slave away for a corporation like millions or billions of contemporaries, but that life is not my desire. So what if I fail? So what if people scoff at my writing and laugh at my foibles? What will it matter to me a hundred years from now?
Yes, I’m ranting a bit. I’m upset that I’ve allowed too many obstacles to my writing hold sway over my determination to press forward. I’m ranting because I remain my own worst enemy. I’m ranting as a means to jolt myself back on track.
Yes, these are baby steps. Yes, there are many trials ahead. Yes, I love what I do. For this reason, I continue to write, struggles and all. Fiction will come yet from these fingers…
The Cold Bite of Autumn (Part 11)
>Daniel stepped back and scanned the cabin. One room, one queen bed, one door. Substantial floor space, even with a small table, allowed a sense of openness. Claustrophobia might otherwise overwhelm anyone staying here for any length of time.
“They meant the world, and you turned. That means you thought they could pull it off.”
Samantha’s lips tightened and her voice thinned to an icy whisper, “what it meant was I thought I had a chance to get back a life.”
“My apologies,” he said as he put dry goods in the small pantry. “I didn’t know you were so emotionally involved.”
“Yeah, that’s something that doesn’t usually come with the territory does it?” Samantha laid back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know when it happened or how, but somewhere I lost my edge.”
“By edge, you mean your ability to distance yourself from feeling?”
“No, losing my desire to kill. Too many people need to die to make this world a better place. I knew I had no chance to kill them all and I also knew my contributions were limited at best, so what’s the point? I just wanted to settle down and forget.”
Daniel opened the door, hesitated and said, “I’m going to scrounge up some firewood. Back in a few.” The door clanked shut followed by footsteps fading from the cabin porch.
Okay, Another Poem
>Soft West Virginia Rain
Gentle droplets on a lush emotional landscape
Sadness mixed with joy
Solitude varied from melancholy to peace.
Soft West Virginia rain defines my heart
Life-giving and placid, home and friends
Tranquility wafts like breezes through a calm drizzle
Cares of the world no longer piercing my mind.
Soft West Virginia rain tugs at my soul,
Whispering pleas to stay my feet
Soft West Virginia rain mends me whole
And I wonder at how I could ever leave.
Fiction's Footsteps 