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Heidelberg, 2011Heidelberg, your streets runHeidelberg, 2011 by julietcaesar
with the blood of philosophers -
roses and rubies cascade
where they once meditate upon
the river Neckar, the pink stones
of fallen castles to be spat upon
by the people. Heidelberg,
your history outweighs the secrets,
it catacombs through snow
like coffee grains wedged
between wrinkled stones.
The Altstadt is your legacy,
an anachronism; the Hauptstrasse
rambles through like a goatherd
beating a path for sheep; The Universitat
boasts arches and sandstones enduring
on history's pedestal - now lost
in the squall of market stalls peddling bratwurst
in the rain.
Heidelberg, from the Philosophenweg
I can see autumn's shadow collide
past and present, when summer leaves
brown in fainter sunshine, curl and whisk away
to dust the crimson rooftops, the pebbled paths
that once inspired scholarly thoughts.
Under my feet they promise of snow
sleeting from the peaks
of gingerbread mountains, white
and sugary, clumped
and rolled by human hands. I stumble,
and the earth c
Frankfurt am Main, 2011i.Frankfurt am Main, 2011 by julietcaesar
When I came, you were squirreling rain
into your cobblestone pockets, reborn
as Sydney City misery - or so I thought.
exiting the Hauptbahnhof, trams clanging
by, the Occupy tents wilting into the grassroots
of financial greed. The only stars present
surrounded the Euro statue, glittering
in defiance of the masses. Coin-sized
they'll shine as Christmas lights in urban sprawl,
while bitter autumn ruminates, drawing
leaf-like creases on the river foreshore.
A splinter of sun in morning cloud curls
around Starbucks, an American outpost
in German streets. I pricked my finger
on leaflets past their summer
use-by date; the blood welled
like a puddle. Raincoats shivered.
Museums rolled past like revolving doors;
mahogany Goethe Haus presses deep
in memory, melancholy,
as writers' houses oft proclaim. Pigeons peck
outside. Night draws and gluhwein beckons,
like smoke from a thatched roof.
A lone puppet leans, hugs a baby
as rain dwindles to penny-size droplets. We met
St RainI called him St Rain. He didn't go by any other name; he was as nameless as a baby in the Middle Ages and he didn't seem to care. He came to school in bare feet but wore his school uniform with pride. Even as the dust of the desert came sweeping over from the plains, dirtying the white of our school shirts, he would smile and simply turn to the clouds.St Rain by julietcaesar
That's when I thought he had something to do with the rain.
The drought had been going on for more than ten years now and the dam levels were reaching critical levels never seen before. Five years ago, we could still skip stones across the plummeting water but now they just go plop in the ooze, or sank into white crystals that were spilling from the earth as the waters fell. Someone pointed out it was free salt and we didn't have to go rummaging the city stores for our ever diminishing supplies but we all knew this was the type of sodium chloride we should avoid.
St Rain didn't care.
When the sun popped over the horizon and the kangaroos
you'll suffer unto meI was a four-year-old fatherless pageant baby when Mother found the listing for Challenger. For weeks she complained about the California public school system. Said I wasn't fit for it, wasn't right for it. "We live in a shithole. Public school systems rely on money and the income in this area sucks. They're all hoodlums here. You'll get raped, mugged, killed, murdered and then what? All the I'm sorries in the world won't bring you back. I'm not letting that happen to you. You're getting a better foundation than I did at your age."you'll suffer unto me by rushingtide
Mother always wanted the best for me, didn't care about the cost. She scoured the Yellow Pages for private schools, called them up, visited them with me in tow, dressed in pink and bouncing brown curls. Harker was the better, more expensive school, the rival to Challenger. Uppity kids wearing blouses, sweaters and in-fashion light-up shoes roamed both places. We settled on Challenger in the end. Mother didn't like the whole "boarding school" atmosphere at Ha
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Grammar GuideGrammar Guide For Self-Editing or Editing GroupsGrammar Guide by LateNightLady
by Kelly Mortimer ©2008
A Awkward Sentence Structure Rearrange, rephrase, or try deleting unnecessary words.
Aa Additive Adjunct No comma before too when its the last word of a sentence, and too means also. Ex: Jane graduated from high school too. Use a comma when too appears elsewhere and still means also. Ex: Jane, too, graduated from high school.
Ap- Attribution Punctuation When using an attribution such as said, dont use a period at the end of the preceding sentence. Use a comma, a question mark, or an exclamation point. Dont capitalize he, she, they. Exs: I have to move into a new house, she said. --Its huge! she said. -- Im going to live here? she asked [or said]. If the attribution comes before the sentence, use a comma. Ex: She add
Writing 101 - Func.Sent.Persp.Writing 101 - Func.Sent.Persp. by nycterent
Functional Sentence Perspective (FSP)
1) What is it?
The functional sentence perspective looks at how language functions in the act of communication. It pays special attention to context and questions related to the theme-rheme (topic-focus) structure of a sentence.
Rheme is the part of a sentence that gives further information on the topic (the theme).
A sentence combines old information with new information. The position of the information tends to emphasize how it should be understood.
The new information tends to appear near the end of the sentence, while the beginning acts to put it into context.
-- Tomorrow, we will drive to the park.
-- We will drive to the park tomorrow.
In the first sentence, the speaker assumes that it is known that the event will happen tomorrow, and clarifies only what will happen ("drive to the park"). Thus "park" and "drive" are both potentially new i
A Short Guide to BrainstormingA Short Guide to Brainstorming by illuminara
Got nothing to write? Stuck in the middle of a story? Just getting your mind wrapped around a new idea? Asking yourself, "Where do I go from here?"
Here is the two-step guide to story development. It works every time, 100% guaranteed.
Ask yourself this simple question: "What if?"
Staring at a blank page? Ask "What if . . . ?"
Stuck in the middle of a story? Ask "What if . . . ?"
Don't know how to end your story? Ask "What if . . . ?"
Don't think your story is going in quite the right direction? Ask "What if . . .?"
Ask yourself this second simple question: "Why?"
What if aliens invaded our planet?
What if the antagonist is obsessed with redheaded women?
What if the good guy dies in the end?
What if the protagonist lies to his love interest instead of telling her the thing he desperately wants to get out?
Here's the point:
Absolutely anything is possible in the world o
|I don't know if I will have the time to write anymore letters|
Because I might be too busy trying to participate.
So if this does end up being the last letter,
I just want you to know that I was in a bad place before I started high school
And you helped me.
Even if you didn't know what I was talking about
Or know someone who's gone through it.
You made me not feel alone.
Because I know there are people who say all these things don't happen.
And there are people who forget what it's like to be sixteen when they turn seventeen.
And know these will all be stories someday
And our pictures will become old photographs
And we'll all become somebody's mom or dad.
But right now these moments are not stories.
This is happening.
I am here and I am looking at her
And she is so beautiful.
I can see it.
This one moment when you know you're not a sad story,
You are alive.
And you stand up and see the lights on buildings
And everything that makes you wonder,
When you were listening to that song
On that drive with the people you love most in this world.
And in this moment, I swear, we are infinite.
I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. The Book Thief, Markus Zusak|
Seven years is a long time to be here in deviantART. I basically grew up here surrounded by many wonderful people who have taught me important life lessons. And there's still so much to learn.
I'm a writer and will always be one, because I believe in the power of language and the imagination to transform people's lives, whether in words of poetry or a well-written story.
In the real world, I am a medical journalist but here I relish being a short story writer. I have dabbled in novels, poetry and flash fiction over the years though as I've pushed the boundaries of the writing craft.
I've been published in a flash fiction collection. And outside of dA, I've been published in print, online, radio and TV on news, features and even opinion.
But the most important thing for me is to strive for improvement and enjoy above all the inane madness that writing brings to my life.
When I can afford time, I lurk a lot around the Literature Forum, suggest Lit DDs, occasionally critique and join in the madness of prompts set at awesome groups like transliterations. I also run a List of Useful Writing Blogs. I am a strong supporter of the Literature Community here. I've wandered off looking for other places for writing, but I've always come back because the community is equal to none.
Thanks for dropping by!
If you have a DD suggestion, send one of them a note titled "DD Suggestion" with the link to the piece and if you like, provide a description on why it should be a DD!
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