Affronted by Fronteds

Writing, Write, Person, Paperwork, Paper

Pixabay

Frequently, I look on with dismay

Barely perceiving what they’re trying to say

Totally overwhelmed by adverbials fronted

Often, making me feel my grammar is stunted

Regularly, they precede an action to follow,

Their artificial use, I find hard to swallow

Frequency,  place, time, or manner

Rapidly throwing them in, can make you stammer

Whatever happened to simple nouns and verbs

In our grammar?

 

Padre

 

Awake In The Night

crescent moon, crater, dark, HD wallpaper, luna, moon, space, astronomy, night, sky, planetary moon, half moon, beauty in nature, copy space, moon surface, tranquility, scenics - nature, no people, crescent, nature, tranquil scene, clear sky, low angle view, majestic, outdoors, space and astronomy, astrology, moonlight, eclipse, 2K, CC0, public domain, royalty free

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It’s going to be another long sleepless night.  It’s frustrating sometimes to be one of the only people awake, while the world slumbers.  I am hot, my uniform seems too warm for the conditions and it sticks to me uncomfortably.  

The loneliness is the worst part.  Okay, my supervisor does come around periodically to check on things, but for the most part I am alone here in the night.  I often wonder why I signed up for this in the first place.  It’s not like the money’s that good, and the odd hours just emphasise that to me.

I jump as a light comes on on the control panel in front of meIt is the moment I have trained for!  I hope I am up to the challenge.

“Welcome to Happy Burger, can I take your order please.”

Padre

Tale Weaver #264 – Awake In The Night

 

 

Fleeting

 

Pixabay

Sometimes I think that I will find

The secret of having peace of mind

But then come dilemmas that on me bind

Making me feel I’ve fallen behind

These moments sometimes are even combined

Making peace and chaos ill-defined

Confusion and clarity intertwined

Uncertain, unstable, fleeting

Like the pattern of this poem that rhymed

 

Padre

Written for d’Verse Poetics: Impermanence

 

The Mermaid’s Return

The banshee howl of the wind in the rigging was now beginning to be rhythmically punctuated by the drumming of the storm-swell surf upon the rocky shore.  Oh, if only our good ship, Mermaid could live up to her name, and carry us safely seaward.  But such was a forlorn hope as there was a sudden explosive crack as the foretop snapped, showering the deck with splinters.

Captain Higgins called the order to abandon ship, and before the words had fully left him, a titanic wave swept him from the deck and from our view.

“You heard the cap’in,” Rogers, the first mate bellowed.

The two remaining boats were lowered, and every soul remaining on the ‘maid scrambled to save themselves.

I was tossed from the gig into the icy waves, to be almost immediately dashed upon an up-crop of jagged rock.  Though winded, I managed to scramble upwards above the hissing spray.  I was battered but alive, but not so my lovely ‘maid.  With saddened heart, I watched her prow pitch heaven-ward as if to offer her spirit.  Then slowly at first, and then more rapidly, she slid backwards under the waves to rejoin her fellow mer-folk.

 

Padre

 

Daily Writing Prompt

Ismism

Handcuffed, Arrest, Oppression, Racism

Pixabay

I have studied at the International School for Holocaust Studies at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, the Centre for Holocaust Education at UCL Institute of Education, and taken part in several courses and workshops from the Holocaust Education Trust, and Yahad-In Unum.  Through it all one mantra introduced to me by Professor Yehuda Bauer has stuck with me: “There is only one race – the human race”

One of the most challenging, yet rewarding aspects of my role as an educator is the teaching of ethics.  Here again, ideas of “the other” are a major concern.  It is one of the early exercises that I engage in with my students is an attempt, to isolate “who is the other?” within the class.  When gender, gender identity, height, weight, eye and hair colour, and a vast array of other distinctions are considered – the only possible answer is “everyone.”

I often shock some students when I comment that there are no such things as black people or white people.  All humans are actually on a spectrum of brown.  Yes, very light or very dark in some cases, but nevertheless – brown.  Objections are countered by a simple experiment of having students place their hands on a sheet of white paper.

But in society today we still have to deal with racism, sexism, classism, ageism, antisemitism, islamophobia, xenophobia and so many more.  Isn’t it time we begin to show our dislike of something sensible like the “isms” themselves?

 

Padre

 

 

Under-Calculation

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Alex Stoddard

Like with many pets that look so cute when they are small, the Zurgs had miscalculated exactly how big their acquisition from that beach on the third planet would get.  They had found it while on last decade’s vacation and the children pestered them to keep it.

“Xixi, you really have to stop indulging the kids,” Xorgon Zurg said glancing over to the pet corner.

“What do you mean?” she replied.

“That biped you got for Ziron.  It’s eating us out of house and home.  And, its out-growing its tank again.”

“It’s not like you need to take care of it,” Xixi retorted.

“No, I just have to pay for the stupid thing.  Do you know what the vet bills come to?  I thought not.  ‘It’s a little one,’ you said.  ‘It won’t eat much.’  Do you know what the water alone costs?  What’s a Xenonian to do?”

Padre

Photo Challenge #304

 

 

 

Finding Clarity: A Reverse Cinquain

Confused, Hands, Up, Unsure, Perplexed

Image by Robin Higgins from Pixabay

Confused
Uncertain in chaotic world
Seeking a mind-peaceful
Assuredness
No doubts

Colleen’s syllabic poetry theme this week is  “FINDING CLARITY.”  I have approached it as an goal to which we can aspire.  It is written in the reverse Cinquain form. Collen’s useful poetry form “cheatsheet” notes that “a . . . cinquain is a form of shape poetry and is always centered on the page. The required syllables needed for each line give it a unique shape. The cinquain (aka the quintain or the quintet) is a poem or stanza of five lines.”  A reverse Cinquain is “a form with one 5-line stanza in a syllabic pattern of two, eight, six, four, two.”  Confused?  Well, I hope you find clarity.

 

Padre