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I'm hidden amongst the rambling rose-entwined within my rambling prose-please beware of the thorns.

I'm a budding new writer who hasn't got a clue. I love words, but only know a few. I'm up and coming, so I'll continue my growth. With any luck, I won't get tangled.

Then again, that is what pruning sheers are for, eh? It's all about nipping bad habits in the bud. Snip a little ill spelling here; nip a lot of bad punctuation there; clip a few clumps of questionable grammar and viola! Erm, or something like that.

I have an insatiable yearning to learn from experienced writers. I anticipate budding into a beautiful articulate blossom. Hopefully, I won't wilt in the process.

Think I can do it? Bob the builder says I can! Well, that's what the princess (my niece) tells me.

Getting the ideas floating around my head down on the page does not come easy. I must work hard for it, and it requires much digging coupled with seemingly endless clicks through dictionary.com's thesaurus in search of just the right word. The upside to this is my vocabulary is growing; slowly but surely.

While reading my work, should you find errors in any area (and you will), please don't beat around the bramble bush. Take out your pruning sheers, or I'll continue to grow wild.

One stipulation, though: before unharnessing your pruning sheers, do be certain that your garden is free of pestilence. Goldenrod, doth not a garden make.

(Aaah...aaah....aaaah!...AH-CHOO!)

At present, I am reading The Elements of Style by William Strunk, as it was gently recommended by Mr. Ashton Gray; the real American Idol and resident Curmudgeon on the Writer's Box.

Should you care to pay the box a visit, please click on the link to your right.

My passion is ...

I'm not at all certain.

I know too much about ...

nonsensical things and not enough about matters of importance.

My parents always told me ...

I talk too much...

My childhood ambition ...

To grow up and still be alive!

My favorite memory ...

The birth of my son...

Why I write ...

Sybil makes me do it!

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Everlasting by Kathleen Woodiwiss

My first job ...

Working at Hayband packing old men ties.

My best moment ...

Seeing the smile on my son's face when he caught his first fish...

My inspiration ...

I don't rightly know...

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Twilight

7 of 11

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Twilight mist drizzle dewdrop kisses upon clay
as forlorn creaking of tattered limbs thirst new life,
and frosted green blades beneath oak's canopy lay

dormant...

Night prowlers fall victim to ravenous birds of prey
as hollowed trees echo crickets' combative chirps,
and frosted green blades beneath oak's canopy lay

dormant...

Croaks repulse serpents while in shadows they stay
as forelimbs swoop on wind's wings marking echoes,
and frosted green blades beneath oak's canopy lay

dormant...

Sunlight's affection kisses dawning eyes with warming rays
as songsters tw...

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