Posts: 239
Threads: 40
Joined: Jun 2011
Loretta,
I have only just seen this-- on its 5th edit!
I find it nicely sculpted, and won't add more than to say that had I written this, I would have been greatly tempted to add a line or two before your first line, preferably about a church-clock being heard a long way away (which would tie in later with your 'tick, tick'), but principally, to give me elbow-room before getting to 'Inside' . I would have changed 'inside' for 'within', and then had the next 'within' pick it up, and I should have stuck in a third to-wards the end.
I do not suggest you now do this, though I suppose you could. Repetition can, it is true, be a damned nuisance, but it can also be very effective -that is my point.
I think your work-shopping has retained or enhanced the meaning, while improving the form.
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
(05-29-2014, 06:19 AM)abu nuwas Wrote: Loretta,
I have only just seen this-- on its 5th edit!
I find it nicely sculpted, and won't add more than to say that had I written this, I would have been greatly tempted to add a line or two before your first line, preferably about a church-clock being heard a long way away (which would tie in later with your 'tick, tick'), but principally, to give me elbow-room before getting to 'Inside' . I would have changed 'inside' for 'within', and then had the next 'within' pick it up, and I should have stuck in a third to-wards the end.
I do not suggest you now do this, though I suppose you could. Repetition can, it is true, be a damned nuisance, but it can also be very effective -that is my point. 
I think your work-shopping has retained or enhanced the meaning, while improving the form.
Thank you abu, I will look into your comments which seem interesting; concerning form i have had very appreciated leadership. Loretta
Posts: 417
Threads: 40
Joined: May 2014
(05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night?????????? i would get rid of "the"
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.comma? I'm not a grammar guy but...
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.mmmm i love it
There is no exit from himselfi think this is a bit lazy compared to the rest of the poem. Isnt the wolf his exit? Even if he's not a fan.
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears;
the wolf's descent upon his will
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn;
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair.
I still feel like part of the story is missing.
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night??????????I choose to completely ignore this. You should, too
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears; fuelling the fire of his fears....surely
the wolf's descent upon his willPeriod.
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill. The hour of the wolf is time to kill. All on one line. Dual purpose but in one room I could argue a cliche. Still your call.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn; Getting difficult now.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks the approaching dawn;
not knowing of the violent storm.
What storm. Oh, I don't know. I am not knowing.
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon; AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! Why the semi colon?
a battered shell of man "The" not "a". You need to be definitive or it could be a complete bloody stranger who has nothing to do with this story and who happened by and got himself unfortunated, as you might say. Shells traditionally get broken...fish get battered
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair. Of our despair
Apart from that, well I need a massage.
Best,
tectak[/b]
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
(05-29-2014, 10:32 PM)tectak Wrote: (05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night??????????I choose to completely ignore this. You should, too
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears; fuelling the fire of his fears....surely
the wolf's descent upon his willPeriod.
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill. The hour of the wolf is time to kill. All on one line. Dual purpose but in one room I could argue a cliche. Still your call.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn; Getting difficult now.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks the approaching dawn;
not knowing of the violent storm.
What storm. Oh, I don't know. I am not knowing.
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon; AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! Why the semi colon?
a battered shell of man "The" not "a". You need to be definitive or it could be a complete bloody stranger who has nothing to do with this story and who happened by and got himself unfortunated, as you might say. Shells traditionally get broken...fish get battered
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair. Of our despair
Apart from that, well I need a massage.
Best,
tectak[/b]
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
Abu suggest distant bells to introduce the shack and mimic the tick. I tried it but don't prefer it; is it because of the way it is written? I agree with everything else (not because of "meant" to kill) but your's is more poetic. I disagree at the clock, my first edits had the man being torn apart, vomiting,
pacing; therefore,, the clock was unknowing of the violent storm; yes, i know a clock is unknowing but I felt it symbolic; sorry about the punctuation; I feel like this is really your poem; boy, do I have work to do! Thank you very much. I will edit again if i can find where; for the last time. I hope you know how much I appreciate your time and effort. Best, Loretta
Posts: 239
Threads: 40
Joined: Jun 2011
(05-30-2014, 07:21 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (05-29-2014, 10:32 PM)tectak Wrote: (05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night??????????I choose to completely ignore this. You should, too
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears; fuelling the fire of his fears....surely
the wolf's descent upon his willPeriod.
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill. The hour of the wolf is time to kill. All on one line. Dual purpose but in one room I could argue a cliche. Still your call.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn; Getting difficult now.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks the approaching dawn;
not knowing of the violent storm.
What storm. Oh, I don't know. I am not knowing.
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon; AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! Why the semi colon?
a battered shell of man "The" not "a". You need to be definitive or it could be a complete bloody stranger who has nothing to do with this story and who happened by and got himself unfortunated, as you might say. Shells traditionally get broken...fish get battered
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair. Of our despair
Apart from that, well I need a massage.
Best,
tectak[/b]
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
Abu suggest distant bells to introduce the shack and mimic the tick. I tried it but don't prefer it; is it because of the way it is written? I agree with everything else (not because of "meant" to kill) but your's is more poetic. I disagree at the clock, my first edits had the man being torn apart, vomiting,
pacing; therefore,, the clock was unknowing of the violent storm; yes, i know a clock is unknowing but I felt it symbolic; sorry about the punctuation; I feel like this is really your poem; boy, do I have work to do! Thank you very much. I will edit again if i can find where; for the last time. I hope you know how much I appreciate your time and effort. Best, Loretta
Loretta,
I hope I have not lured you from the straight and narrow. I had just been taken with the idea of several 'withins' dotted though the poem to pick it up. Some people like to put a poem away for a month or two, and then come back, but do emember it is yours -you make all the choices, and reject ideas which don't appeal, even if they come from Zeus himself, or tectak.
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
I wrote this over emotional poem 2 months ago and have been itching to make it better; with lots of help. Now I'll go to edit 6 if I can find it? Thanks again, remember, I am trying! Loretta
(05-29-2014, 12:58 PM)Qdeathstar Wrote: (05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night?????????? i would get rid of "the"
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.comma? I'm not a grammar guy but...
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.mmmm i love it
There is no exit from himselfi think this is a bit lazy compared to the rest of the poem. Isnt the wolf his exit? Even if he's not a fan.
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears;
the wolf's descent upon his will
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn;
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair.
I still feel like part of the story is missing.
Thank you Q for reading and commenting. Despair lives inside the man; the wolf is a metaphor showing the destructiveness of despair. Best, Loretta
(05-26-2014, 06:36 AM)tectak Wrote: (05-26-2014, 06:02 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (05-26-2014, 12:50 AM)tectak Wrote:
Hi tectak: gall: something bitter or severe. Quite. NOT acidicThe man brings in his internal baggage of despair, which is the wolf within. Loretta Then say so in the poem by showing not telling
tectak; tell me that a man hearing surreal voices has not been through a storm! Loretta
(05-29-2014, 10:32 PM)tectak Wrote: (05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night??????????I choose to completely ignore this. You should, too
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears; fuelling the fire of his fears....surely
the wolf's descent upon his willPeriod.
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill. The hour of the wolf is time to kill. All on one line. Dual purpose but in one room I could argue a cliche. Still your call.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn; Getting difficult now.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks the approaching dawn;
not knowing of the violent storm.
What storm. Oh, I don't know. I am not knowing.
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon; AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! Why the semi colon?
a battered shell of man "The" not "a". You need to be definitive or it could be a complete bloody stranger who has nothing to do with this story and who happened by and got himself unfortunated, as you might say. Shells traditionally get broken...fish get battered
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair. Of our despair
Apart from that, well I need a massage.
Best,
tectak[/b]
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
(05-29-2014, 10:32 PM)tectak Wrote: (05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night??????????I choose to completely ignore this. You should, too
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears; fuelling the fire of his fears....surely
the wolf's descent upon his willPeriod.
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill. The hour of the wolf is time to kill. All on one line. Dual purpose but in one room I could argue a cliche. Still your call.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn; Getting difficult now.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks the approaching dawn;
not knowing of the violent storm.
What storm. Oh, I don't know. I am not knowing.
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon; AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! Why the semi colon?
a battered shell of man "The" not "a". You need to be definitive or it could be a complete bloody stranger who has nothing to do with this story and who happened by and got himself unfortunated, as you might say. Shells traditionally get broken...fish get battered
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair. Of our despair
Apart from that, well I need a massage.
Best,
tectak[/b]
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
And wasn't he beaten up (battered), and is there not a phase a shell of man when he is empty.?
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 6)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and clenching jaws,
the man is struck.....with mounting cause. ? (there needs a bridge/transition between jaws and surreal voices)
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fire of his fears....surely No Loretta. I meant surely this is what it should be! I think from this I should better suggest that you go it alone from now on. You do not HAVE to take ALL critique as being the best possible, including mine
the wolf's descent upon his will.
or
the man has lost control and will.Better
The hour of the wolf is time to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
the battered shell of man Shattered shell? I thought you might find it on your own [/b]
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cro
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fires of his fears;
the wolf's descent upon his will
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn;
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
(05-30-2014, 07:21 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (05-29-2014, 10:32 PM)tectak Wrote: (05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Midnight church bells ringing slight;
deep through the woods this eerie night??????????I choose to completely ignore this. You should, too
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling fires to his fears; fuelling the fire of his fears....surely
the wolf's descent upon his willPeriod.
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill. The hour of the wolf is time to kill. All on one line. Dual purpose but in one room I could argue a cliche. Still your call.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn; Getting difficult now.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks the approaching dawn;
not knowing of the violent storm.
What storm. Oh, I don't know. I am not knowing.
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon; AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH! Why the semi colon?
a battered shell of man "The" not "a". You need to be definitive or it could be a complete bloody stranger who has nothing to do with this story and who happened by and got himself unfortunated, as you might say. Shells traditionally get broken...fish get battered
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair. Of our despair
Apart from that, well I need a massage.
Best,
tectak[/b]
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
Abu suggest distant bells to introduce the shack and mimic the tick. I tried it but don't prefer it; is it because of the way it is written? I agree with everything else (not because of "meant" to kill) but your's is more poetic. I disagree at the clock, my first edits had the man being torn apart, vomiting,
pacing; therefore,, the clock was unknowing of the violent storm; yes, i know a clock is unknowing but I felt it symbolic; sorry about the punctuation; I feel like this is really your poem; boy, do I have work to do! Thank you very much. I will edit again if i can find where; for the last time. I hope you know how much I appreciate your time and effort. Best, Loretta That is why I am stopping now. it is YOUR poem.
Best,
tectak
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
Hi tectak: your suggestions are most helpful. With the amount of comments; i can say that I have had every opposite critique as possible, and it get's confusing: ie, some people say the last stanza is the best and some hate it! YOU have been most helpful. Best, Loretta
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(05-30-2014, 07:53 AM)abu nuwas Wrote: (05-30-2014, 07:21 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (05-29-2014, 10:32 PM)tectak Wrote:
Abu suggest distant bells to introduce the shack and mimic the tick. I tried it but don't prefer it; is it because of the way it is written? I agree with everything else (not because of "meant" to kill) but your's is more poetic. I disagree at the clock, my first edits had the man being torn apart, vomiting,
pacing; therefore,, the clock was unknowing of the violent storm; yes, i know a clock is unknowing but I felt it symbolic; sorry about the punctuation; I feel like this is really your poem; boy, do I have work to do! Thank you very much. I will edit again if i can find where; for the last time. I hope you know how much I appreciate your time and effort. Best, Loretta
Loretta,
I hope I have not lured you from the straight and narrow. I had just been taken with the idea of several 'withins' dotted though the poem to pick it up. Some people like to put a poem away for a month or two, and then come back, but do emember it is yours -you make all the choices, and reject ideas which don't appeal, even if they come from Zeus himself, or tectak. 
Amen to that.
tectak
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
(05-31-2014, 01:43 AM)tectak Wrote: (05-30-2014, 07:53 AM)abu nuwas Wrote: (05-30-2014, 07:21 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote:
Abu suggest distant bells to introduce the shack and mimic the tick. I tried it but don't prefer it; is it because of the way it is written? I agree with everything else (not because of "meant" to kill) but your's is more poetic. I disagree at the clock, my first edits had the man being torn apart, vomiting,
pacing; therefore,, the clock was unknowing of the violent storm; yes, i know a clock is unknowing but I felt it symbolic; sorry about the punctuation; I feel like this is really your poem; boy, do I have work to do! Thank you very much. I will edit again if i can find where; for the last time. I hope you know how much I appreciate your time and effort. Best, Loretta
Loretta,
I hope I have not lured you from the straight and narrow. I had just been taken with the idea of several 'withins' dotted though the poem to pick it up. Some people like to put a poem away for a month or two, and then come back, but do emember it is yours -you make all the choices, and reject ideas which don't appeal, even if they come from Zeus himself, or tectak. 
Amen to that.
tectak
(05-31-2014, 03:20 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (05-31-2014, 01:43 AM)tectak Wrote: (05-30-2014, 07:53 AM)abu nuwas Wrote: Loretta,
I hope I have not lured you from the straight and narrow. I had just been taken with the idea of several 'withins' dotted though the poem to pick it up. Some people like to put a poem away for a month or two, and then come back, but do emember it is yours -you make all the choices, and reject ideas which don't appeal, even if they come from Zeus himself, or tectak. 
Amen to that.
tectak
(05-31-2014, 03:20 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (05-31-2014, 01:43 AM)tectak Wrote: (05-30-2014, 07:53 AM)abu nuwas Wrote: Loretta,
I hope I have not lured you from the straight and narrow. I had just been taken with the idea of several 'withins' dotted though the poem to pick it up. Some people like to put a poem away for a month or two, and then come back, but do emember it is yours -you make all the choices, and reject ideas which don't appeal, even if they come from Zeus himself, or tectak. 
Amen to that.
tectak
(05-31-2014, 03:20 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (05-31-2014, 01:43 AM)tectak Wrote: Amen to that.
tectak
Hi tectak: it says on the forum that you posted a reply; I enter that and see only old messages; perhaps it's a mistake. Just for info. I am changing V1, L12 to "the man is pierced with mounting cause"
And L15 not sure whether to use, extinction or destruction. PS: If there was a class named tetak's class I would jump in; but I'm sure you'll be glad to get rid of me for a while. Really, thanks again, Loretta PS: if I missed a message that was important, please pm me because I can't find anything on this thread anymore.
Posts: 2,602
Threads: 303
Joined: Feb 2017
(05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 6)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and clenching jaws,
the man is pierced with mounting cause. I cannot understand this line. That is all.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fire of his fears;
the death of his sanity and will. Disconnected phrase. What is the death of his sanity and will?
The hour of the wolf is time to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes within
to shine upon
the shattered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf within;
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cro
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fires of his fears;
the wolf's descent upon his will
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn;
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
(05-31-2014, 05:20 PM)tectak Wrote: (05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 6)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and clenching jaws,
the man is pierced with mounting cause. I cannot understand this line. That is all.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fire of his fears;
the death of his sanity and will. Disconnected phrase. What is the death of his sanity and will?
The hour of the wolf is time to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes within
to shine upon
the shattered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf within;
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cro
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fires of his fears;
the wolf's descent upon his will
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn;
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.
His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)
Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair,
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.
With tearing claws and
gripping unrelenting jaws,
the hour of the wolf is near
there is no exit from
no place to run from here
no angel's wings to bless
this man made loss
a kindom lost
The man begins to pace,
his heartbeat is a frantic race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall,
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits,
for a fearful weeping place,
now sucks his living breath,
his will:
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)
Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.
The Hour of the Wolf (original version)
Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
tectak: I edited on the novice site: pierced: by the wolf's claws, relating to the piercing on the cross he prays to. I read part of a poem by C.E. Lewis; and the Maya Angelo site: that to me is hard to understand. Thanks again, Loretta.
Posts: 417
Threads: 40
Joined: May 2014
(05-19-2014, 01:13 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: The Hour of the Wolf (edit 6)
Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
of the wolf, his piercing claws
and unrelenting gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fire of his fears;
the wolf's descent upon his will.
The hour of the wolf is time to kill.
The clock on the wall, it
tick why did you get rid of the s? It tick tick?
tick
ticks approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes within
to shine upon
the shattered shell of man a man? I mean, i guess your trying to add meaning, but everywhere else its a man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf:
the depth and living hell
of our despair.
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
Hi Q: thanks for reading and commnting: To my ears the sound of flow is interrupted when I added a; at this point, to me, the rhythm is more important. The tick was suggested by a moderator and I think it also adds tp the sound. Best, Loretta
Posts: 417
Threads: 40
Joined: May 2014
Ah, yes. I see, but i think he meant "the man" not just man... "the man" is probably better; more definitive as they say
just mercedes
Unregistered
Only change I can suggest is -
tick
tock
ticks
depth, hell and despair - all abstract concepts
Wolves' claws don't pierce - they rub, grind against
abrade
bark
corrode
damage
erode
excoriate
gall
grate
graze
hurt
impair
inflame
irritate
peel
ruffle
scrape
scratch
skin
wear
Posts: 222
Threads: 12
Joined: Apr 2014
(06-01-2014, 11:05 AM)just mercedes Wrote: Only change I can suggest is -
tick
tock
ticks
depth, hell and despair - all abstract concepts
Wolves' claws don't pierce - they rub, grind against
abrade
bark
corrode
damage
erode
excoriate
gall
grate
graze
hurt
impair
inflame
irritate
peel
ruffle
scrape
scratch
skin
wear
(06-01-2014, 11:33 AM)LorettaYoung Wrote: (06-01-2014, 11:05 AM)just mercedes Wrote: Only change I can suggest is -
tick
tock
ticks
depth, hell and despair - all abstract concepts
Wolves' claws don't pierce - they rub, grind against
abrade
bark
corrode
damage
erode
excoriate
gall
grate
graze
hurt
impair
inflame
irritate
peel
ruffle
scrape
scratch
skin
wear
Hi Mercedes: Thank you for reading and commenting; actually like the sound of tick tick ticks, was suggested and I liked it. Yes, the abstract holds more interest for me usually than the concrete. I believe a wolf has very sharp pointy claws; and being pierced relates to his prayers at the cross, as well as the pain of despair, I could say tearing claws, but pierced is what I feel he is. Best, Loretta
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