The Art of Writing

What is the art of writing? Is it grammar, spelling, Paragraph formation or a good story? All of these contribute to good writing. I have to admit when I first began to write poetry I was careless with my writing. I had forgotten everything I was taught in high school and college. I made the assumption that the publisher would automatically edit my fine prose. I failed to cross my t’s and dot my I’s. With that lesson I began in earnest to be a better technical writer.

Did you ever start an endeavour and not be up to the task? You can do the task but when you were finished  you were not satisfied? Like a loaf of bread that does not rise to the occasion . I love to write. Some days my imagination wanders away and I need to put my writing aside.When this happens I read the experts on how to develop stories. I listen to music to stimulate my mind. The Who , a musical group were great poets. I look the verses up on line to give me inspiration. Elton John, old time song writer Glen Miller, any of the established groups or musicians have great lyrics to stimulate the mind.

Content of poetry always befuddles me. Do I write with my emotion or what is popular of the day? What do people want to read? I write my best poetry when something stirs me. It could be my puppies playing with a squirrel or a disabled man walking down the street. Sick relative or death in the family or politics that fail my idea of freedom. I am not a person who writes what people want to hear. Boring!

I want to stimulate you mind and emotions. Is that what you expect from a writer? I hope so! Hang on it is going to be a nice ride.

Pura Vida

Writing

 
Cigars and Johnnie Walker Red

There was this little house down the block
Where a large old man sat and rocked
He sat on a rocking chair he made himself
On a porch with extra chairs he made himself

His house was immaculate and brightly painted
Blue trim with a tan exterior,also beautifully painted
A bright blue door to make you feel welcome
Unfortunately visitors came very seldom

Windows were cleaned every week
By the gardener whom kept the yard neat
In the back yard he had a small garden
He grew tomatoes, broccoli: vegetables he was fond of

The gardener took care of the weeds
Controlled the insects as needed
Kept it organic as best as he could
The old man supervised as well he should

The old man began his day drinking a cup of coffee
With a little Johnnie Walker Red
As a matter of fact, he did the same just before going to bed
He sat on his porch smoking his cigar
Sipping his coffee staring afar

Watching the children as they walked by
Parents, kids in hand very seldom said hi
He would sip and wave at those who would hello
Those people made him more mellow

Roses, carnations and daisies of different colors
Lined the fence in his wife’s honor
She passed away five years before
He never raised a voice or a hand he swore
They had two children, a girl then a boy
They we His pride and joy
They visit from time to time
They are too busy making a dime

The old man would think of them often
He would call them and his mood would soften
In mid morning he would go to his barn
A garage he built to hold his cars

He would tinker with them with the intension to sell
Nary a one would he actually sell
He just like to tinker and have some fun
Then he would garden in the afternoon sun

In early afternoon he was back on the porch
A large canopy covered him so he would not get scorched
Protecting him from hot sunny days
He enjoyed living life his own way

From time to time he ventured about town
Riding a tricycle he roamed around
He liked the park as he watched families at play
He sat laughing as the children played

He was not a lonely man
He was always a solitary man
Careful with whom he kept company
He felt people disrupted his harmony

One morning while sipping on his Johnnie Walker Red
A young boy whistled yelling “hi my name Is Ted”
With all the courage of a young boy, walked right up and held out his hand
The old man stood up and shook his hand
Smiling as he towered over the boy
Sat back down laughing with joy
No one has ever ventured into his yard
Most said hi from afar

He gestured to a chair and the boy sat down
The boy said thank you as he looked around
They spent the afternoon in small talk
The old man decided to go for a walk

” Come with me, let me show you around”
He took him to his barn as Ted did not make a sound
Ted was astonished not by the cars
By the models of planes and ships in jars

Shelves filled with model cars, planes and ships
It is a hobby that keeps him mentally equipped
He tellsTed, ” at seventy five I have a few years left”
“I like to learn new things and become adept”

“When you start something you do it well”
“Mastery brings pride and makes you karma swell”
With that he sits Ted at the work bench
Coaches him to do his best

The following weeks they paint a model car
A forty nine dodge a rare kit by far
It was the beginning of a great friendship
The old man and boy developed a kinship

Years later as the boy became a man
After the old man died he would buy his land
The family let him keep the rocking chair
He would sit in the open air

Rocking, sipping coffee with his Johnnie Walker Red
Smoking a cigar in memory of his friend

Author: tmnugent

Poet Author. Living in Costa rica Pura Vida. Love to travel, play with my dogs and write poetry. My girlfriend and I enjoy life and could't be happier living here

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